Title: And the Center will Hold
Spoilers: Up to early Season 3
Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were, there would be a shirtless David Boreanaz in every ep. Seriously. Every one.
A/N: This chapter is from Brennan's POV, and was one of those chapters I could see in my mind but wasn't sure if I got it right in writing. Introspection isn't my strong suit. We're working our way slowly to the conclusion, only a few chapters left. Thanks for all the helpful reviews.
From her vantage point perched just inside the back of the ambulance, Brennan could take in the whole chaotic scene. Directly across the smoky parking lot were the charred remains of her car. I really liked that car, she thought.
Surrounding the aforementioned car were Hodgins and Zack, and a host of technicians from the FBI crime lab. Hodgins was barely suppressing a grin at being in charge of collecting the trace evidence, although he had hugged her fiercely when he arrived on the horrific scene.
The horrific scene… indelibly imprinted on her brain.
For a few seconds after the blast, she had lain there listening to sizzling metal shards land around her and heard as well as felt, the razor sharp tinkling of glass raining down. Booth had immediately been at her side.
"Bones! Bones, look at me, are you okay?" Booth was running his hands over her, checking for injuries. She had not been rendered unconscious, but the force of the blast had thrown her to the ground, as well as Booth. He had been several yards further from the explosion, however, and did not hit the asphalt quite as hard. She, on the other hand, had the breath completely knocked out of her.
Unable to speak for a few moments, she gulped in acrid air a few times before answering. "I-I'm okay Booth. Just – just need to catch my breath." Satisfied she was unhurt for the most part, he pulled her roughly against him. "God…Temperance…." She could feel his heart pound against her ear as the words wrenched out of him.
A few seconds passed, before he came back to himself and simply stood, helping her to her feet. "C'mon Bones, lets get over here where we can breathe. I'll call Sam and get a team here; you sit down for a second and shake the glass out of your hair."
Remembering, she shook her head again slightly and heard more slivers hitting the metal bumper of the ambulance. Booth had insisted she let the EMTs check her out, despite her protests. Except for a slight ringing in her ears, she felt fine. She knew her ribs would be sore the next day, but they were definitely not broken. And her cuts and scrapes were minor enough not to warrant more than band-aids.
Yet for once she was happy to let others take control of a crime scene. Sam had given Hodgins the green light to collect what he needed and to direct the FBI crime scene unit, so he was bossing Zack around as they collected evidence from her still smoldering car. Sam was the Agent in Charge, and was the director of the now-controlled chaos, managing the agents that had arrived at the parking deck. Booth was on his cell phone, helping her coordinate the beginning investigation.
He looked over at her from where he stood by the crime scene tape, and gave her a slight nod before returning to his conversation. She watched an EMT try to bandage a deep gash on the back of Booth's hand, caused by flying glass no doubt, as he continued to talk and gesture. The blue and red lights from the FBI vehicles illuminated his annoyance with the young man as he tried to get Booth to hold still. With an exaggerated eye roll, he finally stopped moving for a moment and let his wound be covered, then immediately resumed pacing and talking, waving his hand in frustration over something said on the other end of the line.
Bones couldn't seem to tear her eyes away from him, as his "God…Temperance…" played over and over again in her mind. The ringing in her ears was not loud enough to drown out all the sounds reverberating in the cool night air, but it lent an air of focus, as she observed him. His non-bandaged hand was on his hip, with his wrist and hand peeking out from the unbuttoned sleeve of his formerly bright white dress shirt. Booth always wears immaculately pressed white dress shirts she observed, as though this was a fascinating discovery about her partner. His tie was loosened, and his jacket had long been tossed away onto the trunk of another agent's car. She knew he was wishing he was wearing jeans and one of his faded tees. Booth hates to wear a nice suit to a crime scene. But this wasn't supposed to be a crime scene, this was Booth walking me to my car, annoyed but still making sure I was safe. Booth and I were arguing and I was going to give him his pen back as a truce. His lucky pen…
He caught her eye again, this time a slight smile accompanied his nod in her direction. She flushed a little at being caught staring, and looked away quickly, but her gaze was drawn right back to him.
It washed over her gradually, almost crept across her skin, one millimeter at a time. It covered her so slowly, it was as though each individual cell, each helical strand of DNA, became aware one at a time. And it moved across her consciousness in waves as well, each wave bigger than the last. Until it was like the pounding surf, relentlessly drowning each helpless grain of sand.
Once she was completely submersed in the feelings she began to recognize them. Recognize them as comfort, friendship, desire. Love. She was in love with that man. In love with Booth.
It was too much. Too much to absorb after the days events. Jumping down from the back of the ambulance, she barely made it to the front bumper before her stomach emptied.
A/N: Yes, this was short, but I didn't want to drag out the cliffhanger for those of you who begged, I mean asked, for a quick update.