Chapter Two: Backward

Brennan was fighting the growing panic, but the fear was beginning to edge out. If she hadn't been given a sedative, she would have sprinted out of the hospital by now. She knew felt as healthy as a horse…or is it horse healthy? That's something Booth would have said…She swallowed hard. What if, by some chance she had been in a coma? What caused her to lose two years of her life? The last thing she remembered (and that seemed like an hour ago, if that) was turning away from Sully and going back into the Jeffersonian. Well, you did feel a pain in your head, but that went away as soon as you opened your eyes…Brennan bit her lower lip. Sully…Why the hell was her doctor practically the long-lost identical twin of her previous boyfriend? The more she studied Sullivan, the more confused she became. The man called himself Sully for Christ's sake, that has to be more than coincidence…and why am I not 'Doctor' Brennan anymore? Her mind raced, and the terrifying thought crossed her conscience: what if my life never happened? What if it's a trick of the mind?

"It can't be, it can't," she whispered hoarsely. That has to be wrong. I existed; I still know everything about bones. Booth existed. Angela existed. Everybody did. Brennan felt herself calm as she mentally reviewed the bones in the human body. Human hand has the scaphoid, lunate, triquetrous, pisiform, trapezium, trapezoid, capitates…there are 206 bones in a matured skeleton structure, and infants can have up to 350 bones…a broken hyoid bone located in the neck can be signs of strangulation…brittle bone syndrome causes patients to break limbs and ribs easily, fibrous dysphasia causes lesions on the bone structure…no way my life was a figment of my imagination. I know bones like Stephen King knows horror.

She began to feel sure of herself again.

Then Sullivan walked back into the room.

With him were two med students. The nametag for the woman read 'S. Brady' and the man next to her was 'R. Leonzi.' Brady looked fresh out of high school, and her eyes radiated a need to please. She was shorter than the two men by an easy foot. Leonzi's face on the other hand was tight and drawn in. His eyes darted round in his sockets quickly, and Brennan was given the impression of a weasel. Brady gave Brennan a small smile, but she didn't return it. As far as Brennan was concerned, she didn't belong here, and she sure as hell wasn't going to be a science project for two med students. All Brennan wanted was to go back to the Jeffersonian and do her job. Funny, since that was the last thing I wanted an hour ago…

Sullivan checked Brennan's stats and asked, "How are you feeling, Ms. Brennan? Are you experiencing any pain?"

Brennan bit back the reminder to Sullivan to call her 'Dr.' Instead she retorted, "I'm feeling fine, with the exception of my growing irritation. You haven't answered any of my questions." To Brennan's surprise, she felt the sedative wearing off. The angrier she became, the more she was able to move. She knew it was the adrenaline that was clearing out the drug. The minute I'm steady on my feet, I'm out of here…maybe I'll pop Sullivan one and blame it on 'disorientation'. What the hell, he's ruining my day and he looks just like Sully. Kill two birds with one stone…or is it rock?

She saw Sullivan grimace and he apologized, "I'm sorry. There's someone coming in today to help explain--"

"But you could have at least told me why I was here in the first place," Brennan pointed out.

Sullivan frowned, growing impatient. "Quite frankly, Ms. Brennan, based on your previous behaviors and assumptions, I don't think you'll believe me."

"Damn right I won't. You say I've been in a coma for two years, and yet I feel fine. An hour ago I was working on identifying a victim in my lab at the Jeffersonian--"

Leonzi interrupted, "Dr. Sullivan, why is the patient doing so well? Shouldn't she have catalepsy?"

"I have a name," Brennan snapped.

Sullivan ignored her and explained, "Every coma patient is different. Some will wake and will have to go through physical therapy to gain control of their limbs. Other times their minds will have completely deteriorated. In Ms. Brennan's case, her mind is sharp. Her movements come easily, which indicates she does not have catalepsy--a waxy flexibility that occurs when the body has remained in one position for an extended period of time. Our patient's case is an odd one since yesterday her brain activity on the Glasgow scale remained at a 2. The only affects of her coma seem to be delirium--"

"Bullshit!" Brennan interrupted vehemently.

"--she has no knowledge of how she got here, and is under the delusion she is a doctor and works at a fictional place called the 'Jeffersonian'…" Sullivan finished.

"I want to talk to Booth. Special Agent Seeley Booth of the FBI. He's my partner. He can verify that I am Dr. Temperance Brennan and I work as a forensic anthropologist at the Jeffersonian's medico-legal lab," Brennan said confidently, holding on to the fact of her vast knowledge on skeletons and bones.

A knock on the doorway brought the group's attention away from Brennan. Peering her head around the students and Sullivan, her heart skipped a few beats. A slow, triumphant smile spread across Brennan's face. Chuckling, Brennan announced, "That's Booth. That's my partner."

Booth stepped in, his brows coming together in confusion. He shook hands with Sullivan and asked, "How is she?"

Sullivan blew out air and answered, "It's like she's never had a medical crisis. She's healthy, physically. I wouldn't doubt she could run a marathon, but mentally she seems to be delirious…" he lowered his voice, causing Brennan's cheeks and neck to turn red with annoyance and frustration. "She believes she's a forensic anthropologist who works with you."

"But I've never met her in my life."

Any remnant of Brennan's smile faded into oblivion. Dear god, did he just say he's never met me? This has to be a cruel, sick joke…he couldn't do that to me, could he? Her head spun and self-doubt once again flooded her system. She felt herself beginning to hyperventilate and her pulse raced. Trembling, she demanded, "I want some goddamned answers, now!"

Booth spared her a glance, and sympathy poured from his eyes. "Ms. Brennan, I promise to explain everything in a few moments." Brennan's hand flew to her mouth as a reflex. Oh no…he wouldn't do this to me. This can't be happening. He didn't call me Bones. Booth didn't call me Bones. Involuntary tears sprang to her eyes. She suddenly felt helpless and it killed her. Every second that passed made her start to believe her entire life was false. Who the hell am I?

"Booth…" she whispered. His eyes darted to hers once again, and she hoped that something would spark his memory, that her plead would end the nightmare she was enduring. Booth nodded to Sullivan and the group left the room. Booth pulled up a chair and sat. He's the same. He talks, moves, hell, he even wears the same cologne as in…as in what? My imaginary life?

Digging out a file, Booth asked gently, "Ms. Brennan how much do you know?"

"I don't know what's happening, Booth. They're all saying I've been in a coma for two years, and that I'm not who I am. Booth, don't you recognize me? We are partners, how can you not remember this?" Brennan fired off, her eyes becoming even more bloodshot and watery.

Booth studied her intently before prodding, "I'm sorry Ms. Brennan. I know this must be confusing. Maybe if we start, you'll remember things--"

"How can you say that?" Brennan whispered. "I know who you are, doesn't that raise some red flags? You're Special Agent Seeley Booth of the FBI." You were a sniper, and you told me that you want to put as many bad guys in jail for the number of lives you took in the Gulf, Brennan added as an afterthought. She kept that bit in, deciding it would be catastrophic for her if she freaked him out and he left without giving her answers. Brennan could tell by the way he shifted in his seat, and how his eyes wouldn't meet hers that she already unnerved him a bit. Brennan whispered, almost inaudibly, "Just tell me what happened."

Clearing his throat, Booth began slowly, "Ms. Brennan, on September 13th, 2005, you were attacked by a convict on the run. You were hit with a crowbar in the head, which caused your two-year coma--"

"September 13th? That's when we became partners, after the Cleo Ellers case…" Brennan whispered again, in a daze. Booth sharply met her eyes after mentioning Cleo Ellers. Brennan motioned for him to continue, but Booth replied, "Look. I don't understand how you know what you know, but keep throwing out random facts of my past or present, and I can't do this. Please."

Brennan nodded dully, and Booth continued, "You were in your office when it happened. You are a 31-year old wedding planner--"

"The hell am I! Marriage is an archaic institution, and anthropologically speaking, mammals are meant to have many mates, not just one. Wedding planning is not my occupation," Brennan broke out of her daze and vehemently burst at Booth. He stared at her for a few moments before asking, "Are you finished?"

Brennan crossed her arms and muttered, "Yes."

"Your birthday is May 3rd, your parents--now deceased--were Matthew and Christine Brennan. Your father was a science teacher, and your mother was a bookkeeper," Booth gave a quick bio and added, "no siblings."

Brennan scoffed, "Well, at least you got my birthday right and metaphorically no brother." A wave of disappointment hit her. She had forgiven Russ for abandoning her when she was fifteen. He was only nineteen, she couldn't' have expected him to raise her after their parents left. But his recent run in with their father caused Russ himself to became a fugitive after breaking rules of his parole. She hadn't seen or heard from him since, and it hurt.

Ignoring Brennan's remark, Booth started again, "Your attacker was a man named Howard Epps."

Brennan's eyes widened and she turned to say, "Booth, Epps--"

He wagged a finger at Brennan and his eyes warned her not to finish the sentence. He didn't want to know, and she didn't want to scare him off by spouting facts about Epps after being in a two-year coma. Reluctantly, Brennan closed her mouth. What kind of backwards world am I in? This can't be reality. Her eyes flickered to Booth, and a sense of longing and sorrow pounded her. We were friends. Without each other, we would have been dead by now…It never happened. The life I thought I had never happened, it was just some reality my traumatized brain created…no, I can't accept that. I just can't, no matter what he tells me.

"Howard Epps was arrested for murdering his girlfriend. After he escaped prison, you were his first target. You were arranging a wedding for the two. In the two years that have passed, we haven't been able to catch him. And he hasn't stopped killing. Epps is the worst serial killer to hit the East Coast, hell, maybe even the nation. On average, about four people a month are killed. Only recently, he's beginning to slip up," Booth finished tensely.

Brennan did the math. "Ninety-six or so people. How could he have not been caught by now?"

"His I.Q. is off the charts. He has a bad habit of committing a murder without leaving any evidence behind, and if there is, it's directed to a completely different person. Example, his eighth victim, Marla Henney, made it seem like the pizza delivery boy brutally beat and strangle her. He sets up crime scenes," Booth spat out. Brennan detected a hint of rage in his voice, and a feeling of déjà vu came over her. He didn't 'accidentally drop' him off a roof for nothing, Brennan mused mirthlessly.

"So," Brennan exhaled, "that's what happened." She shook her head. "I refuse to accept this reality."

"Believe what you want, Ms. Brennan. I know this is hard, and though I can't explain your confusion, this is the truth. This is reality," Booth declared. Brennan closed her eyes, at a loss. There was no rational reason, hell, no reason at all to explain what was happening. She knew Booth had given her more information about Epps than he intended, but Brennan understood that he was trying to answer her questions.

She had the responses now. Didn't mean she had to like it.

"Booth," Brennan said quietly, ignoring the fact she should technically call him 'Agent Booth', "don't call me Ms. Brennan."

"What should I call you?"

She closed her eyes an answered, "Bones would be nice." She didn't need to open her eyes to see his bewildered expression. "But Tempe will be acceptable."

Another pair of footsteps echoed against the marbled floor. Brennan hesitantly opened her eyes again to find another familiar face. Short, standing at five-foot-seven, a thick head of curls and the bluest orbs Brennan had ever seen made his way to Booth. Booth coughed, trying to push Brennan's astonished face in the back of his mind, introduced, "Tempe, this is my partner--"

"Jack Hodgins," Brennan finished.

Hodgins smiled and answered, oblivious to the awkward situation between Brennan and Booth, "Glad to know I've been talked about. I'll take it as a complement. I hope Booth hasn't been bothering you too much, ma'am."

Brennan shook her head, and Booth was once again staring at her the same way she'd analyze a bone. Never thought Hodgins would end up in government. Then again, I am apparently the complete opposite of what I was. A wedding planner? Please. Brennan paled. She knew she was beginning to accept what she was being told. But I can't. Things don't add up. How do I know what I know? Booth knows things aren't what they seem either. I'm going to have to prove some things…

"I'm going to give you an address, Booth," Brennan started to say. Booth listened, but she could tell by now he was disconcerted with her. "1523 Sherbrooke Blvd. Do you know where that is?"

Booth nodded and answered, "Yeah, it's a couple of streets away from the Smithsonian and the other museums." Brennan nodded. It's the Jeffersonian's address. Come back with that, and I can start finding out what's happened to me. I just need to check and see that the Jeffersonian does exist.

"Just tell me what building is there, please," Brennan stated.

"Sure," Booth said lightly. With a sinking feeling, Brennan knew he wouldn't. Would she entertain a crazy person's notions? She was going to have to find out for herself.

And she swore she would get to the bottom of this nightmare.

AN: Push that review button, pretty please. Also, I'll be leaving the 6th on vacation, so don't freak if there isn't an update for a week. )