AN: Confession - until this story, I had deliberately avoided writing "partner in peril" fics and judging by the struggle I had with this chapter, that was a wise decision on my part. There's a fine line between creating drama and dipping into melodramatic soap opera-ish-ness and I've gotta be honest, I'm still not sure I stayed on the correct side of that line. Writing, rewriting, editing, deleting, putting back in what I'd just deleted, would he cry, would he not cry . . . *sigh* Uncle. I give up. I do funny, people. Funny and silly and fluffy. This is none of that. So, it is what it is. If you get a whiff of cheese, I can only hope that you'll stick a clothespin on your nose and come back anyway to read the rest of the story.
Charging forward . . .
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Somewhere along the vast network of his nervous system, in the millions of electrical charges that sent impulses of thought and awareness speeding toward the correct processors in his brain, Booth knew the surgeon was speaking. He saw Dr. Kao's lips moving. He watched them form words. He even occasionally recognized one or two.
But not one in ten made it past the jumbled swell of sound in which he walked.
Instead, terrified of what waited for him, hypersensitive to his environment and surroundings, every other sound was magnified and enhanced in a jangled surge of noise that swirled around him violently, tangled in confusion, beating at his subconscious.
The physician's rubber-soled shoes squeaked against the polished linoleum floor.
A printer at the nurses' station began to hum.
From an unnaturally quiet room, an IV monitor beeped a warning.
He tried to gather his scattered thoughts . . . pretended to listen . . . tried to focus . . . They passed a small group of nurses gathered near a bank of elevators who fell silent and eyed him appreciatively as he followed at the doctor's heels. One of them joked, "Dibs on whatever patient he's here to see," and he flinched as the light notes of their teasing laughter landed on his skin like barbs.
The hallway grew longer and longer with each step. He was aware of every breath he took, he felt the rush of blood through his veins . . . he counted every thumping beat of his heart.
A young woman stumbled out of a doorway and threw herself into the arms of a drawn, sad faced old man who slumped against the wall. "He's gone, Dad. He's gone," she sobbed.
Her grief cut through the wall of his own and almost knocked him to his knees. He was saved by Dr. Kao, who chose that moment to stop in front of a partly open door.
"I'll be out here if you have any questions." The physician spoke in a low, quiet voice to the much bigger man beside him who, despite his size, suddenly appeared almost fragile. He felt an unfamiliar urge to offer comfort. "Her physical injuries . . ." He stopped, then began again. " Despite their appearance, her physical injuries will heal, given time. She is breathing on her own, and that's a good sign."
Booth nodded, offered an automatic whispered "Thanks" that he didn't even notice, and put his hand on the door.
One step inside and his breathing was reduced to short, quick pants of air as he struggled for control. "Bones . . ." The words escaped in a harsh, broken rasp. "Bones . . . Baby, look at you."
Lying outside the heavy white hospital blanket, her left leg was encased in a thick white cast from foot to mid-thigh. The arm that lay above it was taped securely to a padded splint, with her index and ring fingers separately bound. Ropes of gauze were wrapped around her head and below that, the skin on the right side of her face was scraped raw and red, covered in ointment tinted pink by blood that still oozed from the wounds.
"Bones . . ."
He shuffled closer, his feet heavy and awkward, as he stared at her with horror. Her bed was surrounded by machines . . . it seemed to him as if hundreds of miles of tubes ran from her body to the IV poles that stood like sentries behind her. Her lower lip was split and swollen, a small strip of fabric held a gash on her chin closed, another bandage stretched above her eyebrow, more scrapes and bruises scattered over her right arm - there seemed to be no part of her exposed to his view that had been left uninjured.
"God . . ."
He pulled the one chair in the small room as close to the right side of the bed as his knees would allow and reached out. His hand hovered in the air . . . where could he touch her? His fingertips brushed delicately against her side - he recognized the feel of the bandages that wrapped around her ribs and withdrew with a sharp gasp. Finally, he lifted her relatively uninjured hand carefully between both of his and, eyes closed, his elbows resting on the bed in a pose of prayer, brought her fingertips to his lips.
When his eyes opened again, he noticed the nail of her middle finger was broken to the quick . . . and the fragile thread that held his self-control in check snapped. He pressed her hand against his jaw and allowed the tears to fall.
"What were you doing out there, Bones?" he whispered as his eyes traveled over her from head to toe. "What were you doing? Why didn't you call me?" He pressed his lips into her palm. "I would have been there . . . I would have gone with . . ."
With infinite gentleness he touched her face. "It's going to be okay, okay? You're going to be fine. You're gonna be fine. It's going to be fine." He nodded as he spoke, unaware of the words he used, his attempt as much to reassure himself as to comfort her.
He let his fingers brush carefully against her ear lobe, aware as he did so that beneath the bandages wrapped around her head, her hair had been cut away from that part of her scalp. "You just have to wake up, alright? You have to wake up. You can't -" His jaw clenched hard. "I don't give you permission to let go, Bones - you hear me?"
He clasped her hand again between both of his and resisted the urge to squeeze hard. "You can hear me, I know you can hear me." He spoke with his lips against her fingers. "You hear me, don't you, baby?" His eyes closed as pain burst out in a torrent of words. "Stay with me, Bones, stay with me. I can't let you go. I can't let you . . . I know it hurts, it's going to hurt . . . I know . . . I'll help, I promise. I'll be here, I'm not going anywhere, I promise. Stay with me, Bones. Stay with me. Don't leave me."
"Don't leave me."
He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there, holding her hand, whispering to her and to himself, when a nurse appeared in the doorway.
"Sir?" Her voice was quiet and gentle. "I'm sorry but you'll have to go back to the waiting room now. We'll let you know if -"
"No."
"I'm sorry? I didn't -" Her face reflected her confusion at his response.
"No." His eyes blazed as he glanced up briefly.
She shook her head. "Sir, I know this is a difficult time but the hospital has -"
"I'm not going anywhere." His voice was hard and uncompromising.
"But . . ." The young woman lifted her chin then disappeared from the doorway. She was back within minutes, an older stern-visaged nurse at her side.
"Sir, you will have to return to the waiting room now." The older woman's tone was decidedly less hesitant.
"No."
Her shoulders heaved as she gave an exasperated huff. "I understand how you feel -"
"I'm not leaving her."
"Sir, I'm sorry. I am, but we have rules that have to be followed. I don't want to bring in security but -"
His head lifted, his eyes bored hot into hers. "You'll need more than one."
Taken aback by his implacable stance, the two women exchanged a startled glance before the older nurse spun on her heel and left the room, followed quickly by the other.
Alone again, Booth lifted Brennan's bruised fingers to his lips once more. "I'm not going anywhere, Bones. I promise," he whispered.
He didn't see the confrontation in the hallway between the two nurses and the surgeon, who was still outside reviewing Brennan's chart, or the final, defeated gesture Dr. Kao made toward her room.
He just knew he wasn't leaving Brennan alone.
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Hours later he dozed off fitfully, hunched over the hospital bed, his head resting on the bend of one elbow, his other hand still holding hers. He came awake with a startled jerk at the feel of a gentle touch on his shoulder.
Max stood beside him, staring down at his daughter with wet eyes. "Ahhh, Tempe." He was drawn and grey and looked every one of his sixty-plus years. Booth covered the age-spotted hand on his shoulder with his own. "Look at my little girl, Booth."
"She's going to be okay, Max," Booth whispered, his sleep-roughened voice made darker by the effort to keep his emotions in check. "She'll be fine. You'll see."
Max nodded. "They said . . . has she woken up yet? Has she said anything?"
Booth didn't trust himself to speak for a moment. "Not yet," he answered, finally. "She will, though. She will."
The faded blue eyes traveled over Brennan's injuries. "What if . . . If she doesn't . . . I don't think I could -"
"She's going to make it, Max," Booth vowed. "You know Bones, she fights everything. She'll make it." He stood up and the two men embraced. "She will," Booth repeated as his hand patted Max's back. "You'll see. She'll come through this."
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Happy thoughts: fluffy bunnies and Julie Andrews songs and baby giggles and cotton candy so sweet it makes your teeth hurt.
And chocolate. And sex.
