Disclaimer: I wrote to Fox, complaining that they didn't list me in the credits on Bones. It turns out you need to actually be involved in making the show, which, y'know, I'm not. Oh well.
I know this is short, but it's coming only two days after a nice long chapter, so no complaining allowed.
If I haven't said it already, FauxMaven is an awesome beta. Thanks!
--------------
The incessant beeping in the hospital room was slowly driving Booth insane. His eyes were closed to the room and its other occupant, trying to tune out reality for a little while longer. The dull ache in his muscles made it hard to stay still but he was grateful that he wasn't more seriously injured. He felt an itch arise on his scalp and his fingers twitched with the need to scratch it. The itch grew nearly unbearable, teasing him, begging for a little relief, before finally subsiding. He heard the person in the chair next to him shift, a rustle of clothing that signaled impatience or maybe worry. Finally he heard her rise and head to the other side of the room. He cracked open an eye just to see the back of Brennan's head disappear around the door. Booth let out a sigh.
He felt bad for pretending to sleep while she clearly wanted to talk to him but he couldn't handle it just yet. He remembered all too clearly the events of the previous twenty-four hours and as much as he tried to ignore it, his insides writhed every time he recalled what had happened.
It wasn't really his fault and he knew that. He had been poisoned and if Brennan hadn't been there, he most likely would have been another victim for her to identify and examine. Still, he couldn't help feeling like he should have been better able to resist the effects of the drug. If only he hadn't thrown up all over Brennan, tried to shoot her, and then attacked his rescuers. He could accept that he had been whiny, that wasn't a big deal. But he also remembered saying some awfully cruel things to his partner when she had been trying to help him.
No, he wasn't quite ready to talk to her yet.
Before long there was another knock at the door and Booth hastily shut his eyes. He heard the squeak of sneakers and felt someone fiddling with the intravenous line in his arm. Opening his eyes, he saw a young woman, her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. Her cartoon character-covered scrubs stretched tight around her clearly pregnant belly. Booth smiled up at her.
"Good morning, Agent Booth," she said, then indicated her hospital badge. "I'm Charity, I'll be your nurse today."
He nodded at her and watched her switch the empty bag of IV fluids for a new one. As she adjusted the valve, he felt a rush of coolness spread up his arm.
"That might be a little cold," she told him belatedly, an apologetic smile gracing her lips. "How are you feeling?"
"Much better," he told her.
She showed him a ridiculous chart of ten faces, with expressions ranging from neutral to what passed as extreme agony for a smiley face. "How would you rate your pain?"
After a moment of considering the faces, he indicated the one above the number three, the face with a straight line for a mouth.
Booth sat patiently while she checked his vitals and made accompanying notes on his chart. She offered him more pain medication which he declined for the time being. Watching her stand and head out the door, he was chagrined to see Brennan waiting for the nurse to leave.
"Hey, Bones," he mumbled as she came in and reclaimed her spot next to him.
"How are you feeling?" she asked quietly, her worry plainly shown in her eyes.
"Better," he said, then paused. "A little embarrassed."
Brennan quirked an eyebrow at him. "What for?"
Gesturing meekly, he said, "You know, yesterday. Everything."
He held his gaze on his blanket-covered feet but he could feel her eyes on him.
"I'm sorry," she sighed. "Hodgins said I shouldn't have done it. I didn't think it would make you feel bad."
Turning to look at her, Booth gave her a confused look. "What are you talking about?"
"The vomit, of course. As it turns out, there really wasn't much of a need for me to collect it anyway, but I didn't know that would be the case at the time." Her cheeks were tinged with pink and she looked abashed.
He had forgotten all about her collecting his vomit as evidence and he felt himself sink a little deeper into his shame. He couldn't really blame her for doing what she had thought was necessary, but still. Letting his head rest back on the pillow, he gazed up at the ceiling.
"Is that not what you were talking about?" she questioned.
"No, it wasn't. Well, sort of, I guess."
They were silent for a while, only the sound of the machines and the rustling of clothes and sheets filling the room. He glanced at her occasionally, wondering if she felt as awkward as he did. She didn't look it. Briefly he thought of telling her that he was tired but he didn't want to hurt her feelings.
"So, uh, did you find anything in the killer's pack? Or have your squints learned anything from the bodies?" He felt like this was a safe topic and that if he could prove himself here, it would make up for some of his behavior the day before.
"Zack identified the murder weapon," she told him. "It was a shovel and pick combination tool. They'll check to see if he was carrying one with him. Hodgins will try to confirm that it was Atropa belladonna that you were poisoned with since the doctors here haven't been able to."
"No ID on that last victim?"
Brennan shook her head in response. Booth was starting to feel a little better with something productive to concentrate on. He tried to assemble a picture of how the killer worked.
"So the guy picks his victims at random and poisons their water, right?" He waited for Brennan's nod. "He shows up after they're feeling the effects and offers to help them off the trail. He punctures their throats with a pick, then stores the bodies in that storage facility."
"Right."
"But we found where he had been hiding the bodies. So if he's looking for more victims, that would indicate that he's found another place to store the bodies," Booth suggested.
"That seems likely," she conceeded. "Unless he's just going to keep them wherever he kills them."
Booth shrugged. "He had to have had a reason for moving the bodies to that storage space. I don't think he'd change his method now." He reached up to rub his chin. "We need to check all the local storage places to see if anyone has come in that matches our killer's description."
Nodding in agreement, Brennan said, "I can have Angela send along her enhancement of the fake driver's license the guy used at the storage facility."
"That would be great," he responded, watching her stand and move towards the door. "Tell everyone at the lab I say Hi."
"Angela's here. She's in the waiting room."
"She's here? Why'd she come all the way up here?"
Brenna flushed and looked down at her hands. "I think she thought I needed, um, emotional support." When she glanced up, she gave him a pointed look. "Do you want to see her?"
"Sure," he said, and she left the room. Emotional support? Brennan must have been more scared about the killer than he thought.
When Angela came into the room, she gave him a gentle hug and spent several minutes fussing over him before he managed to convince her that he was really alright. Brennan looked distinctly uncomfortable. The women sat and they all chatted for a while. Angela was able to keep the mood light and Booth was grateful for the distraction. Eventually she told them that she was going to head back to D.C. and get to work. When she left, Booth and Brennan lapsed into silence again.
It was Booth that spoke first.
"I'm sorry that I wasn't able to be there for you. I didn't realize how, uh, upset you were about fending off the killer."
"What do you mean? I wasn't scared of the killer," she said, puzzled.
"Well, you said you needed emotional support."
Brennan looked down at her lap. "I was sort of referring to being worried about you."
Averting his gaze out of embarrassment, Booth wondered what to do. He knew how Brennan felt about him, and he felt the same way towards her. But wasn't this just another example of the danger they faced?
"Listen, Bones—Temperance," he started.
"No, Booth," she interrupted. "I get that you're nervous about us. There's so much than can go wrong. But we've already made that first step and I don't think I want to go back to the way it was before." She had leaned forward and was staring at him with a kind of intensity in her eyes that made it difficult for him to focus.
"But it seems like every other day one of us is getting hurt or kidnapped or put in the hospital. What will it be like if we're, you know, involved?"
"The danger of our jobs isn't going to change because we're seeing each other." She paused, then said, "Booth, I don't want my life to be all work."
A stab of guilt pricked his heart and he wanted so badly to just agree to give it a try. But he had screwed up so much lately and the thought of starting a relationship that was rocky before it even got off the ground didn't seem right.
"Haven't you ever thought that if we were meant to be together, that it wouldn't be this hard?" he asked.
"No," she said simply.
"Listen, I know we've kind of already crossed a line. But maybe we should end it before it's too late. Before we ruin our partnership and our friendship."
Brennan stood and moved closer to his bed. She rested her arm on the rail near his head and gazed at him, her eyes flicking back and forth between his, as if searching.
"I think you're wrong. I think you're choosing to make it hard, and that you could choose to make it easy." She shrugged slightly. "I'll let you think about it. I'm tired and I need a bed." She glanced down at his hospital bed.
"But before I go..." Brennan trailed off and leaned down to him, bringing her face very close to his. She brushed her lips gently across his, testing. Of their own volition, his arms reached up and encircled her, the hand that was free of an IV burying itself in her hair. She ran her tongue along his lips, asking permission, and he opened his mouth to her. Her breasts pressed against his chest and she was so warm in his arms and in his mouth. He felt himself harden in response but before he could lose himself totally in her kiss, she pulled away.
She smiled at him, her expression a mix of sadness and seduction.
"I'll come back this evening," she told him, and left.
Booth shifted uncomfortably on his bed. Damn, was she persuasive.
----------
Just another little note.. that last little conversation was inspired by the song Cold Hands (Warm Heart), by Brendan Benson. That song was in The Boy in the Tree.