Booth slumped into a chair, and wearily rubbed his hands over his face. They'd done it. He'd driven like a madman, pushing the truck and himself to the limit. They were five miles into the safe zone before he felt like they were no longer a very big, very loud target. They finally reached an area with a hospital - his pride that Bones had lasted the entire ride had turned to shock when he'd stepped around to her door. Sitting bolt upright, gripping the door handle, she was completely and deeply unconscious. He hadn't even known – in the darkness, he'd thought she was okay, that she was staying quiet to conserve energy. Her muscles had been so stiff and locked that he'd had to pry her hands free before he could pull the door open. He'd agonized over the sight of the blood stain on the truck seat, suffered at the thought of her suffering. When he'd rushed into the medical area, Bones in his arms, they'd whisked her away and he hadn't seen her since. Most of the medical personnel didn't speak English, so he couldn't even ask how she was doing. They have five more minutes, and then I'm going to find her. I shouldn't have let her out of my sight – what was I thinking? Pushing out of the chair, he paced in the small room like a caged beast. Has it been five minutes? He checked the clock. Two minutes – works for me. He headed down the hall, easily brushing past the flustered nurses, and started checking beds. He found her in the fifth room, stretched out, being attended by medical personnel. He moved close, leaning over her, his eyes fixed on her face. "Bones. Bones, can you hear me?" Gently he stroked her face, hoping for a response. After a moment, her eyes, clouded with exhaustion and medication, fluttered open and focused on him. He gripped her hand, trying to hide his concern behind an encouraging smile.
"Hey, Bones, welcome back!"
She scanned the room, apprehensive. "Booth - where are we? Did we get away?" She tried to sit up, but his hands on her shoulders stopped her. "God, Booth…!"
"Wait, shh, it's okay, Bones, we're in friendly territory. Everything's okay."
She subsided, dropping her lids as she fought for control. I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry. She knew it really didn't matter if she did or not – he always read her like a book. I wish…I'm so tired, I want to go home. She glanced up at him and saw compassion on his face. Compassion…and something else… she was just too tired to analyze anything. "When can we go home?"
"Let me talk to the doctors – or try to anyway, since I don't think any of them speak English – and see what's going on. You'll be okay for a minute?" She smiled wanly, and he stepped into the hall, finally locating a bilingual doctor. She heard patches of the conversation – broken ribs, laceration to the vastus lateralis, hairline fracture of the fibula…the murmured conversation continued, but she stopped listening. Please just let me go home, please…
"The doctors are being cautious – they want to observe you for a few days." She hadn't even heard him re-enter the room. She looked at him, and a long silence passed between them. Finally, he continued. "I spoke with Hodgins when we got here – there's a Learjet waiting at the airport, with medical staff. Ready to go, whenever you think you're strong enough."
Emotions overwhelmed her, and she swallowed hard. He understood. "I want to go home. Please, Booth, take me home."
The pilot glanced back from the cockpit, eyeing the tall man. Since takeoff, the guy either sat with the patient, or stood over her – always watchful, looking down at her sleeping form. Occasionally he stepped back slightly, so the medical personnel could check on her. Several times he'd held her hand close to him, and once he'd seen him brush his lips against her forehead. Poor guy. Must be his wife.