AUTHOR'S NOTE: So...Is everyone set to find out what happened to Booth, Cam and the rest of the squints? - :) For those who read my one-shot 206 Facts, the set up I use in this chapter was the original scene of 206 Facts before I decided to go with the car and the skeleton.
Faux Maven, thank you for helping me work out this chapter until it was exactly how I saw it in my head. It's beyond fabulous that I am granted this much creativity and that you are willing to follow wherever my whims take me. I know I can be a handful...especially when there's very little time and a lot of pressure to shape a chapter just perfect for publication. It's a shame people don't get to see the amount of time we devote to every chapter. A week sometimes isn't enough, as we experienced with this baby!
To everyone who read and reviewed chapter 13, thank you. Honestly, I cannot thank you enough. The response to this fic has been overwhelming. I can only hope to maintain this quality and keep you all interested!
- XIV -
-- WITNESSING --
One way to destroy the morale of an entire community or just one person in particular in a short time is by forcing them to watch the torture and torment of their loved ones. Witnessing how they writhe in pain, or are sometimes executed, is a deliberate and highly effective psychological torture. It terrorizes the mind of the one forced to watch, often to a point where he breaks down and goes insane.
With basically the entire team in the hospital, severely injured (or perhaps even dying), Brennan and her companion find themselves fighting emotions that keep them in a chokehold. They are forced to witness the agony and pain their friends must endure and are tortured by the sight and feel of it all. They are the community that is nearly destroyed by being seeing and judging the consequences of Madman's actions.
Friday November 30 -- D.C. hospital -- 21:34
With each tick of the second-hand on her watch, one of Brennan's high-heeled boots rapped curt and precise on the clean hospital floor. The sharp tapping of her heels was drowned out by the hustle and bustle of the ICU. Despite the late hour, nurses brushed past Brennan, hurrying along the corridor in their continuous survey of their patients until their shift was over and they could go home. Brennan hardly paid attention to them as she walked down the hallway illuminated by harsh fluorescent light. In her right hand she carried one of her favorite extra large bags containing her usual personal items. Only now Booth's effects were mingled in with hers. His black expensive suit lay neatly folded along with his nearly impeccable white shirt under two evidence bags holding the ugliest plain grey tie Brennan had ever set eyes upon, and the deadly 'Anello Della Morte' Booth had been wearing on his finger when he arrived at the ER.
In response to the memory of an unconscious Booth, his head lolling from side to side with every jerk of the stretcher as a pair of medics ushered him through the doors of the ER, the fingers of Brennan's free hand cramped. She tried to relax, but as soon as she caught sight of the FBI Agent guarding the last door on her left at the far end of the hallway, her fingers curled into a tight ball. Her nails dug into the soft tissue of her palm marking the skin with blood-red crescents. She concentrated hard on keeping her pace steady and fast, but as soon as she got within fifteen feet of the silent agent guarding the entrance to Booth's room, her courage failed and her footsteps faltered.
As Brennan halted in front of Booth's guard, she squeezed the strap of her bag tight enough to turn her knuckles bone white. With her lips pulled to a thin line to quell any faint tremor, Brennan met the FBI Agent's stare.
"Dr. Brennan," he murmured, acknowledging her with a respectful nod.
Instead of returning the quiet greeting, Brennan switched her bag from her right to her left hand and asked, "Is Booth awake yet?"
He shook his head. "He's been quiet so far. I haven't even seen him move yet." Sliding his hands down his pants pockets, the FBI Agent leaned forward. "It's bad. He got to him good, Dr. Brennan. He got to him good."
Brennan felt the urge to gulp and back away as Booth's colleague moved away in the direction of the coffee machine a bit further along the hallway. "I know," she whispered in a voice spiked with hurt.
She threw a quick look around her, assessing the pair of nurses popping in and out of rooms in their evening rounds, before breathing in deeply and taking a few brave steps toward the threshold. But somehow she couldn't bring herself to cross it. Somehow she couldn't push herself past the doorframe. What she saw on the other side of the door seemed like another world, one as different from the busy and harsh reality of the ICU as the Jeffersonian was from the Hoover Building.
Darkness filled every corner, crawled over every surface, dominated the room with its eerie silence and oppressive weight. There was not a single light present, except for the cold glow cast by cardiac and respiratory monitors, to chase away the ink black night spilling in through the blinds obscuring the window. There was not a single fleck of brightness apart from the faint greenish glow of ICU instrumentation to alleviate the pain pressing down on Brennan's conscience. Caught in a vortex of hurt, fear and adrenaline, Brennan could do nothing but stare at the unconscious form of her partner surrounded by medical instruments meticulously recording his stats accompanied by a steady stream of beeps, sucking and ticking noises. With every ounce of her being she wanted to run to Booth's side, grab a hold of his hand, and pour all of her strength into him. But she couldn't. It was as if she was chained to the doorway and could only stare at him from a distance, forever suspended in time until she found a way to break loose and enter Booth's room.
For a long time the only thing Brennan saw was the tiny cut right above his jawbone, close to his earlobe. Made by a too sharp razor blade, about half an inch in length, the shaving cut was a nick of skin, almost invisible from Brennan's position near the door. Yet in her head it stood out on Booth's cheek as if it circled his throat from ear to ear. Brennan knew it was there because only nine hours ago she had run her fingertips over it. Her stomach involuntarily clenched at the memory. The decadently sweet yet masculine taste hidden in the depths of Booth's mouth still lingered in hers. It coated her taste buds and made the sight of him lying in a hospital bed, crisp clean sheets tucked tightly around him, all the more jarring. Which was why Brennan was filled with dread, and a reluctance to abandon her intense study of the tiny shaving cut and look at the whole of Booth.
But curiosity and an uncharted tender longing drew her gaze away from the shaving cut dotted with miniscule blood crusts. Her eyes stole over his features, drinking in the sight of his five o'clock shadow that sharply contrasted with the paleness of his skin. Anger made her ball her fists at her side, instant shock rippling through her when she sensed the depth of her raging emotions. Before she would have been mad, but she would have retained a cool sense of logic. Before she would have asked every doctor she met for information about Booth's condition; she would have demanded to be kept in the loop. Before... she would have done all those things before. Everything had been different before. How could it be possible that one impulsive, passionate kiss could change the world they knew, the reactions Brennan was familiar with?
It was as irrational as the fate Booth had fallen victim to. Impossibly still he had lain on that table, surrounded by Egyptian artifacts, not even waking when she had smashed the exhibit case with every ounce of strength she possessed. Panic had driven her from the parking lot into the museum, fear had pushed her to abandon logic and break the glass with a crowbar. It had been stark terror that had sent adrenaline spiraling through her. And now unspeakable hurt kept her from crossing the threshold.
She might be incapable of moving, but at least part of her reaction to those extreme feelings skittering across her skin was natural and familiar. Brennan was relieved to find she did what she usually did when faced with raw emotion. She distanced herself, backed away from the ravine of emotional breakdown, and snuggled into the cool coat of superficial indifference. Determination etched in the thin, pursed line of her lips, she squared her shoulders, picked up her bag that was leaning against the doorframe, and boldly stepped into the room. She might be unable to switch to full clinical mode so she could efficiently deal with her fear and desire to protect her partner, but that didn't mean she was going to surrender without a fight. Yielding to her inner turmoil and allowing it to drag her over the edge of insanity wasn't an option. Only for so long Brennan could bend without breaking, especially after having been tormented so much in the last two weeks. Her eyes locked onto Booth as if she needed him to be her anchor in preparation of the inferno that would engulf her as she wandered into the room.
Fingers twitching while holding onto the strap of her bag, Brennan's face softened as she caressed Booth's features with her eyes and slowly approached the bed. Apart from his deathly pale color and the deep shadows under his eyes, not counting the scratch on his wrist and the bruise engulfing his tattoo, Booth bore no outward marks from the attack; but the damage was there nonetheless. The killer had done more than simply drug Booth and lock him inside a glass cage filled with inert gas; he had poisoned him as well.
As if musing over Booth's poisoning took her one step closer towards disintegration, Brennan abruptly changed directions and, instead of coming to stand next to Booth, she bolted towards the window. There she set her bag at her feet and tightly wrapped her arms around herself as she stared out into the dark night.
Hippomane mancinella, known to the public as the Manchineel tree, was the primary cause of Booth's unresponsive state. If Booth had only been drugged and exposed to inert gas, a night at the hospital for observation would have been all he had to endure. But thanks to the intervention of a madman, Booth now had Manchineel tree venom swirling in his bloodstream. It was one of the most toxic of plant poisons, could remain active for over a hundred years, and was often associated with the 'Anello Della Morte'. This thought prompted Brennan to glance at the bag by her feet. That 'Ring of Death' was safely bagged and sat next to another evidence bag with the grey tie Booth had been wearing.
The second Brennan had noticed the ugly grey tie around Booth's neck, she had known the killer was sending her a message. Was stealing Booth's beautiful "Spirit Bear" tie his way of letting her know he thought he had succeeded in destroying Booth's spirit? Or was he telling her he had eliminated Booth so he could take his place as her partner, appropriating the right to wear Booth's tie? Brennan shook her head, dismissing all painful memories associated with Booth's vibrant ties and guided her thoughts back to the 'Anello Della Morte'. In the morning she would examine it herself for signs of Manchineel tree venom. If what the historian she once dated had told her was correct, then she would have to look for a hidden cavity in the ring and sweep it for traces of poison.
Sudden fury, a fierce reaction to the unfairness of their situation, an emotion called to life by the killer's shrewd and devious intentions, filled Brennan. It was glowing hot and liquid, like lava, and poured relentlessly into her, setting the whole of her on fire. Within seconds she was burning up, falling prey to the inferno she had foreseen, and felt like punching a wall, smashing a window, just something to ease the tension wreaking havoc in her mind. But she couldn't. Such explosive display of the storm whirling inside of her wasn't normal behavior. It would shred and shatter her mask of apparent calm. She couldn't moan or cry or wail over Booth's predicament any more than she could erase the hurt tearing and scratching and biting at her like a pack of bloodthirsty wolves. Brennan was incapable of expressing the pain terrorizing her soul just as she couldn't find the courage to turn and face her partner, walk up to him and touch his clammy skin. She just couldn't and wouldn't and…
Booth mumbled something, almost too softly to register. Brennan's eyes widened and two seconds later she found herself whirling around. The sight of an immobile and ghostly white Booth leapt up and confronted her, burning into her retina an image she would never forget. Her arms fell to her sides and her breathing became shallow and faint. Instantly the furious sea of flames burning away her sanity was dimmed to the faintest flicker of anger. This was too much. This was well beyond anything she could coherently process. How was she, a woman used to distance and logic, supposed to handle her normally 'vibrant with life' partner now bound to a bed with unnatural sleep forced upon him?
Brennan quietly sighed in resignation, picked up her bag, and for the second time within ten minutes started for Booth's bed. Gingerly she sank down in the chair directly beside him and tucked her bag in between her feet, not daring to look at anything but Booth's hand. For a long time she stared at it, then moved up his arm, allowing her gaze to slide over his entire body covered with a flimsy hospital gown, taking in the absence of visible signs of battle and the death-like trance he was trapped in. Leaning forward in her chair, folding her arms on top of the starched sheets, Brennan eventually ended her intense scrutiny gazing at Booth's impassive face. What she wouldn't give to see him crack a smile at her right now. What she wouldn't do to spare both of them the agony of experiencing this exact moment. Anything to help him wake up, anything to help him fight the poison. Anything, just about anything, Brennan realized. She wanted to connect to him, wanted him to know that what he had said right before he had kissed her senseless was mutual; Brennan needed to have her say in the chain reaction that had been set in motion the split second after Booth had planted his lips on hers.
Shaking slightly, Brennan curled her hand around Booth's hand and laced her fingers with his. Hesitantly, as softly as Booth's earlier sleepy mumble had been, her thumb stroked the back of his hand. With every caress the chaos clamoring in her mind receded. For the first time in hours a comforting calm settled over her and Brennan pushed out a breath in relief. This was where she was meant to be. This was what she was supposed to do. Standing back, avoiding her partner, waiting for insanity and hurt and grief to overtake her had only wound her up until she was nothing more but a simpering mass of nerves wishing for a spine.
"You have to wake up, Booth," Brennan whispered. " You have to come back to me. I... I need you. I..." Uncertain she kept her eyes trained on his face as she tightened her grip on his hand. It felt as if the missing piece of the puzzle fell into place, as if a tiny morsel of her soul was mended as she repeated Booth's earlier words. "I care about you. A lot. More than I should, but I do."
"That's quite a confession, Dr. Brennan."
Quick as lightning Brennan dropped Booth's hand and jumped to her feet. Her heart beat wildly in her throat as she pinned the woman standing in the doorway with an ice cold glare. The dim light dominating the room made it almost impossible to see who was staring back her. Relaxing when recognition eventually dawned, Brennan resumed breathing. Cam lifted an eyebrow in question and nodded at Booth. "I'm sure he'd love to hear it when he's awake."
Brennan drew her arms around her and tried to paste a smile on her face, the result a watery quiver of her lips quickly transforming into a grimace. "And encourage his male ego to develop some more? I don't think so."
"You consider this a case of 'ego boosting'? Your choice, I guess..." Cam strolled over as casually as she could, wincing in pain whenever she shifted weight onto her right foot. Restrained groans of hurt were locked behind grimly set lips. A bandage covered the right side of her forehead and Cam's favoring of her right arm didn't go unnoticed by Brennan. Releasing a silent but tortured breath, Cam lowered herself onto the side of the bed, at Booth's feet. In response to Brennan's furrowed eyebrows and calculating stare, she straightened, trying to ignore the stabs of pain flashing through her body. "I'm fine, just peachy, have never been better. Thank you for asking. It's the others you should worry about."
"How are they doing?" Brennan asked, turning away so she could look at Booth again.
"They're in pretty much the same shape you left them in an hour ago. Zach's wounds are healing nicely, Hodgins is receiving the antidote, and Angela is doing great apart from having her left arm in a sling."
Brennan shook her head. "I can't believe she jumped in front of Hodgins when your car exploded."
"She loves him. That's a good enough reason I should think," Cam murmured. "Nothing shows your feelings more than protecting the one you love by covering them with your own body."
"She shouldn't have been forced to do so in the first place. That explosion should have never happened," Brennan quietly said. Anger clearly rang in her words. Cam couldn't blame her; at the moment she herself had to battle back her intense desire to strangle whoever had destroyed her car and had threatened to murder her in the process.
"But it did. We're just lucky we weren't too close to the blast." Cam cringed upon recalling how the explosion had hurled her against a parked car. Angela and Hodgins had been closer to the blast, but had the common sense to fall to the ground and stay down until the worst had passed. "What we've got to do now is nail the bastard who's after us." Brennan nodded in agreement. "All we need is a place to start. Wasn't Booth on his way to check out a drop off point or something?"
"He was." And Brennan left it at that.
Cam felt her colleague's reluctance to continue, her hesitation to acknowledge that there was something they could do. It was strangely unlike Brennan to be so passive if a solution presented itself. But in a way Cam understood Brennan's reluctance. If she had been in Brennan's shoes, she wouldn't have been eager to leave Booth's side either. The strange connection the two partners shared didn't allow Brennan to leave before she had received a sign that everything was going to be alright with her other half. Shock registered and realization slammed home, forcing Cam's eyes to widen and her breath to catch in her throat. Two halves of a whole; it was obvious and plain to see, now more than ever. The killer was trying to separate them by taking out everyone Brennan knew, one by one, but all he succeeded in doing was to drive the whole team – and two members in particular -- closer together.
Cam cleared her throat, pretending to pluck a non-existent bit of dirt off her jeans. "Did something...Did Booth..."
Brennan's reaction cut her off before she could form a proper sentence. As soon as Cam mentioned Booth's name, Brennan tensed, her shoulders rounded, and anxiety flashed over her features. Apparently the shock of finding Booth entombed in an exhibition case was still present. Cam didn't hesitate to abandon her line of questioning for the time being. Perhaps she was Brennan's superior, and perhaps she had the right to ask questions and receive answers, but those rules didn't apply to personal matters. She would try again later. For now she settled back against the foot board of Booth's bed and closed her eyes.
Brennan remained upright. For some odd reason she couldn't bring herself to sit down again. Every muscle in her body screamed with strain and hurt and fatigue, but they wouldn't allow her to drop down onto the chair she had been sitting in earlier. So she stood at Booth's side, arms locked tightly around herself, eyes trained on Booth's face, ready to catch even the slightest glimpse of his awakening.
Neither had a clue of how much time passed before Booth began to mutter again. Incoherent, slurred and far from understandable, his mutterings were balm to the shreds of Brennan's soul. The killer had pierced the 'Soul' tattoo on Booth's wrist, injecting his own concoction of venom and sleeping drugs right into Booth's body and soul. It was unmistakable evidence of his hatred toward Brennan's partner, of how much he wanted to tear Booth's soul apart...and destroy Brennan's while he was at it. Their killer obviously didn't appreciate just how connected they were. When Booth hurt, Brennan hurt too. When Booth awakened, she would too. Now Booth's soul was in danger and hers was at risk as well. But every innocent syllable that fell from Booth's lips surprisingly knitted pieces of her back together, bit by bit until her clenched muscles loosened and Brennan found the strength to sink down onto the uncomfortable chair next to the bed. Cam's eyes were still closed but a faint smile danced around her lips while she listened to Booth's sleepy murmurs.
"Booth kissed me."
Brennan's blunt statement reverberated through the heavy silence that smothered the room and bounced off the walls. Brennan expected Cam, Booth's former lover, to jump up in surprise or at least open her eyes, but to Brennan's astonishment Cam didn't even sound the least bit surprised or horrified when she replied, "He did?"
Brennan nodded, even though Cam still had her eyes closed and couldn't possibly see her. "Yes, he did. At the Hoover building. In front of everyone."
One eyelid was raised and a dry retort followed. "Nice going." As she felt Brennan tense up again, Cam sighed and opened both of her eyes. "I can't say I didn't expect something like this to happen. It was inevitable considering the way you've been dancing around each other." Brennan frowned in response. Cam shifted around as she carefully weighed her next words. "Look, Dr. Brennan, don't give me any 'We're just partner' speeches. Just listen to me. Booth kissed you and I'm pretty sure you kissed him back. That's fine, perfectly acceptable, perfectly natural. It fits right in with your 'biological urges' scheme. Just don't dismiss it too easily. Booth has had his eye on you for quite some time now. We've all noticed, well, except for you, and it doesn't work to your advantage, at all."
"It doesn't?"
Cam shook her head. "You're not used to his kind of caring. It's unconditional, intense. When Seeley loves someone, it's with his whole being." Cam sat back, crossing her arms. "I want you to consider, before you decide anything. You need to be sure you know what you're getting into. Because once you accept his affection, there is no turning back."
"You sound as if you speak from experience." Brennan tilted her head. "Did he love you unconditionally then?"
Cam smiled weakly. "He came close once...the first time we were together." Her gaze dropped to her lap where her fingers were fiddling with the hem of her sweater. "He believed he loved me for all he was worth, but he was fooling himself...both of us, actually. He loved me for all I was worth. That's why I let him go. I couldn't handle not having all of his heart." Releasing her sweater, Cam lifted her eyes to gauge the effect of her words on Brennan. "He didn't make the same mistake again. When we decided to give it another try last year, Booth knew exactly what I was worth...and it wasn't much, I'm afraid." She tilted her head as she subjected Brennan to an assessing stare, murmuring, "It's different with you. He considers you worthy of much more, maybe even more than he's capable of giving." Shaking her head and straightening, without breaking her eye lock with Brennan, Cam tried to soothe the panic that was edging its way into Brennan's gaze. "It's why he's never allowed himself to cross that line with you. He knows the second he does, he would be lost. It's hard to love someone unconditionally when you're Seeley Booth."
"I..." Brennan swallowed. "I don't understand. What does all of this mean?"
Shaking her head, Cam got to her feet and briefly touched Brennan's shoulders. "It's not up to me to make you understand. Ask Booth...when he's awake and with you again. He'll do a far better job than me."
Brennan slowly nodded as she considered Cam's speech. Eventually her nodding turned decisive. "I will," she promised. "But for now we have a murderer to catch."
"Yes, we have," Cam agreed, smiling.
Silence returned to the room as they both sat back to watch over Booth. With every other member of their team in the hospital, there was little they could do now except to rest and heal. But tomorrow...Tomorrow Brennan and Cam would go hunting.