Chapter Three: Nowhere Else To Go
Brennan paced angrily on the ammonia-scrubbed, white-tiled floor of her hospital room, while applying pressure to a new hole in her arm. The IV that use to be connected to her body hung loosely off a machine, and the covers were tossed to the ground. Brennan had scared the living daylights out of the on-duty nurse when she leapt off the bed, demanding that she see Sullivan. The nurse had turned white in the face, shocked that a two-year coma patient was ripping various tubes out of her arms. The sedative Brennan was administered had worn off long before Booth left with his partner, 'Special Agent Jack Hodgins', and Brennan was determined to leave the hospital. Unbelievable. I am going to find out how to get the hell out of this backwards world myself. I know this isn't real.
Dr. Sullivan returned, anger etched clearly on his face. "What are you doing?"
"I'm leaving. I would like some clothes and a bandage for my arm. That shouldn't be too hard, Sully," Brennan replied, throwing in the nickname to see his reaction.
Sullivan frowned even more and Brennan caught his eyes narrowing. Moving to a nearby cabinet, he pulled out a box of band-aids and tossed them to his patient. Brennan caught it effortlessly, causing Sullivan to shake his head once more in utter confusion. "I still don't understand how you are able to react and move like this after being in a coma."
"I was not in a coma, I was working two hours ago," Brennan said simply as she applied the bandaged onto her self-inflicted wound. She saw Sullivan turn solemn and sighed loudly, as if he were trying to reason with a heroine addict to stop using in order to save their life. His eyes held the hopelessness one had when trying to convince someone of the truth and others kept denying reality. Brennan swallowed hard, trying not to lose her confidence. She had to be right; everyone else around her was wrong.
"You shouldn't leave, Ms. Brennan. You clearly need help. You were the victim of a horrendous attack by a now notorious serial killer--" Sullivan started to reason once more.
Brennan interrupted, "I'm leaving, Sully. I know it's against medical advice, so as soon as you give me my papers and some clothes, the inevitable will be over with."
Sullivan looked at her sternly and tried a different tactic. "You have nowhere else to go."
"I'm going to the Jeffersonian," Brennan replied, her eyes holding his steadily. "Now may I have what I asked for?"
Sullivan shook his head slowly, understanding that defeat was in his future. He turned to leave, his cheeks burning with indignation and concern for his patient. He stopped in the doorway and without turning around, he asked, "How'd you know my nickname was Sully?"
Brennan let out a humorless laugh and answered, "It's what you told me to call you when we first met with the case in Florida."
Sullivan shook his head, now fully convinced Brennan had mental problems. He had never met her before, not until she came under his care two years ago in a comatose state. He knew that the hospital could detain patients if they were liable to themselves and/or others if they were mentally unstable, but Brennan had shown neither of these characteristics. He had to let her leave.
Shaking his head, he went to retrieve Brennan's items.
The sun shown warmly on Brennan's slightly pale cheeks as she exited the hospital. Readjusting plain navy sweats she had been given and rolling up her sleeves, she began to head towards the Jeffersonian Institute. Brennan had no money with her--not even enough to just simply call her workplace. Nothing wrong with walking, except that it'll take longer to get my answers. She began walking towards her destination, a growing knot in her stomach. Even if she would find the Jeffersonian and the others, and after either Angela, Zach, or Cam confirmed her identity, there was still the matter of how she ended up in the hospital. You could have been hit on the head. Something hurt, and someone shouted. You may not have remembered. That was explainable--but what was the excuse for Booth, Hodgins, and Sully?
Brennan stopped dead in her tracks as she came to a conclusion.
There was no reason at all to justify her closest friends' reactions to her.
"What is going on?" she breathed out, panic taking over. She started running, sprinting on the cracked and dirty sidewalks of D.C. People stared and pointed at the frantic woman, but Brennan ignored them, intent on racing her way to the Jeffersonian steps. Wind started to whip at her face, and she didn't even acknowledge the tears of self-doubt and desperation leaking from her eyes. For the first time in for a long while, Brennan was terrified. She didn't even realize someone following her in a black SUV. After five minutes of relentless running, Brennan's heart was pounding fiercely inside her chest and her breaths were becoming ragged and choppy. She slowed when she came to Sherbrooke Blvd, reducing her breakneck speed to a jog. Sweat dampened her forehead and face, mixing with the lingering salty tears she had unknowingly shed in her frustration and creeping despair. The car tailed her still.
1501...1503...Brennan recognized many of the buildings. After all, she had driven past these same houses and businesses on her way to work everyday for years. They were still standing; surely the Jeffersonian Institute was there, just as it always had existed. 1519...Brennan realized the area was becoming more crowded with people. She was two building complexes away from the museum. Someone with a load of shopping bags collided with Brennan, sending the contents of the plastic bags to the ground. Flustered, Brennan quickly apologized and picked up the bag and some of the fallen objects. Ignoring mutters from the other overweight woman, Brennan caught the address of where the shopper had originated.
"No…"
Dropping the bag once more and turning from the outraged woman, Brennan shoved her way through a crowd of happy, energetic midday shoppers and bargain hunters. Brennan began to feel herself hyperventilate as all hope of clinging to her reality disappeared slowly. Suddenly a giant of a man who smelled of sweat and French fries snatched her arm and whipped her to the wall of a building. He pushed against her hard, grinding her face against the brick, hissing, "Who the hell are you pushing around? That was my wife back there, you stupid bi--"
"Let her go, FBI!" a strained voice boomed from behind the two.
Brennan felt the other man release his hold and step back hesitantly. Brennan rubbed her cheek and looked up into the face of Seeley Booth, whose gun was trained on her assailant. Brennan searched behind him and found a black SUV crookedly parked with the door still flung open. Brennan let out a shaky breath. He must have been following me…
Brennan's attacker stepped back immediately after Booth began reaching for handcuffs. "Sorry, I'm leaving now, okay?"
Booth shot him a steely glare as the other man hurriedly made his way past Brennan and Booth, bumping and pushing people out of the way himself. Booth shook his head in disgust before asking, "Tempe, are you alright?"
Brennan stiffened as she shook her head, "No." Before Booth could react, she raced around the corner, her suspicions and heartbeat racing. Booth shouted her name, but she ignored it. The last brick of the surrounding building became a blur as the address 1523 Sherbrooke jumped out at her. She came to a halt, shaking her head. Across the street was a huge parking lot. The Jeffersonian wasn't there: in its place was Sherbrooke Blvd. Plaza.
Her home was a goddamned mall.
"Tempe!
Booth nearly ran her over in his attempt to catch her. She turned, inches from him. He saw her lower lip trembling and her eyes were wide with shock. She became still otherwise, before asking, "What's wrong with me?" God, what is she going through? Booth thought sadly. He moved to place a hand of comfort on her shoulder but she jerked back quickly, as if contact with him were fire.
"Don't touch me!" she almost screamed. Facing Booth, her voice raised another octave, "What happened to me! I am Dr. Temperance Brennan, and where did the Jeffersonian go? Where's Zach? Where's the Booth and Hodgins I know? Huh?" Booth tried to get her to stop yelling and causing a scene by grabbing her shoulders. She shoved him back as he attempted to calm her.
"Look," he started. "I can't imagine what you're going through. But for two years, you were in a coma. Before that, you had a life. And it wasn't this imaginary place called the Jeffersonian. I looked into it, okay? There was never such a building. And you were not an anthropologist--"
"But I was!"
"I'm sorry--" Booth was becoming just as exasperated as she was.
"Don't give me that," Brennan snapped. "I know things. I know things about bones. Hell, looking at you and your posture, I could tell that both of your feet were fractured in many places." Booth paled visibly. Brennan grimaced. Okay, so I'm cheating because I looked at his x-rays, but what the hell am I going to have to do in order for him to believe me?
"By your build also, I'd say most of the muscle mass you had accumulated today was the result of military training…"
Booth held up a hand, his eyes dark. "How in the hell could you possibly know this?"
Brennan shrugged and answered, becoming slightly more calm, "Because I was a forensic anthropologist." Booth didn't comment as he folded his arms uneasily across his chest. Brennan pointed out to a young redheaded woman around twenty, saying, "That woman with the orange shopping bag? Her gait suggests that her hips are widening because she's pregnant. And that man who just passed us--" Booth looked and Brennan explained, "Judging by the lumps on his knuckles and due to his age, I'd say he has osteophytes--"
"Osteo-what?" Booth gritted out.
"Bone spurs," Brennan explained, "they usually form due to arthritis."
A woman with a baby in a stroller pushed between Booth and Brennan. The child's almost-too-wide eyes peered at Brennan curiously before turning back to his bottle. Her eyes raised, and she announced to Booth, "The kid that just passed us has another skeletal disorder. Though X-rays would confirm it, I'd be willing to bet my professional career that he has craniosynostosis."
Booth looked at her blankly.
Brennan explained, "It's when some or all of the sutures in the skull close too early. Some of the symptoms include swelling in the head, bulging eyes, flat facial structures, fused digits--"
"You could be making this up for all I know," Booth interrupted.
"No, I'm not," Brennan said evenly. "I wrote books--they were on the bestsellers' list. Bred in the Bone, and my latest one was going to be called Bone Free, but I changed it--"
"Well, you're right about the books. But they were written by a guy named Zach Addy. He's pretty good, except that he doesn't use a lot of science on his books. Some of it's completely made up," Booth supplied.
Brennan let out a mirthless laugh. "Unbelievable. Zach, of all people…"
"Guess that means you aren't who you say you are."
"I swear to you what I'm saying is real. Besides, how could I make up your fractured feet, or that you were a sniper, a Ranger," Brennan challenged. Booth's jaw was clenched tightly, his eyes darkening. He became very still, just as Brennan had moments before. The thick silence made Brennan anxious. But now I have his attention. Time to up it a notch.
"Booth, we worked on cases before. We were partners. Howard Epps? He has a nasty habit of brutally beating and strangling young, pretty women. They tend to be blonde, but from what you told me, he isn't as picky anymore. He likes to play games. I'm also willing to bet at one point in time he gave you clues on a dead girl's body that led to a live victim." Because that's what he did. And that was the first time I killed somebody. I would never, ever forget something of that magnitude.
Booth moved suddenly, forcefully grabbing her arm and leading her to the alley. Brennan detected panic, confusion, and loathing in his eyes and posture. Once away from the crowds, he growled, "She wasn't alive. She was dead when we finally found her. How do you know all this? How could you possibly know?"
Brennan shook free and answered, "It's what I've been saying all along. I am a forensic anthropologist and we were partners. I don't know what's happening, and I gather you don't either."
"Damn right I don't."
"Well, did I convince you that I'm not a wedding planner?" Brennan sighed, her hands on her hips.
Booth only stared uneasily at her.
"Fine. You want me to go into your past and present? You're with the F.B.I. because you want to put as many bad guys in jail for the people you killed as a sniper. A cosmic balance sheet, if you will. You have a brother named Jared and he gave you a scar when the two of you played "Soldier" as kids--"
"Stop," Booth muttered.
"Oh, and you have a son. Parker," Brennan added. Booth looked at her sharply, causing her to pause. He stepped forward, crowding her personal space. He leaned over her, threateningly. Brennan only glared back at him.
"Now you got something wrong. I don't have a son." Booth whispered harshly.
Brennan wracked her brain, realizing this was the first time he denied something she said about his life. "A daughter?" Brennan tried. Who knows? Hodgins is in government, Parker may be Patty or something…
Booth let out a forceful breath and replied steadily, "Wrong again. I don't have a kid."
He pushed off the wall and Brennan watched as he counted to ten, letting a sudden build-up of stress release from his body. He didn't face her for a long time, letting information process. Brennan waited, knowing he was just as shocked and perplexed as she was. Deciding it was time to break the silence, she asked, "Why were you following me?"
Booth didn't answer her at first, and Brennan thought he hadn't heard her. Suddenly he told her, "You had me curious at the hospital. Needless to say, I have a helluva lot more than what I bargained for. I had the feeling you'd check yourself out by the way you were acting."
"And…"
Booth turned, his expression like stone. "And I thought you would need my help. You were attacked, people are telling you that you aren't who you are--"
"Don't start patronizing me, Booth," Brennan breathed wearily. "I know you still don't believe that I am a forensic anthropologist at the Jeffersonian, so just tell me the truth. Why were you following me?"
Booth lowered his eyes, his expression softening. Truthfully, he answered, "You don't have anywhere else to go. I, along with the people I work with, believe you need to be in a safe house. Especially with Epps still out here. And we can help you find more answers about this whole thing."
Brennan let her arms drop and she muttered, "What if I really am crazy?"
"Well, then, we can help you figure that out."
Brennan sighed, admitting, "I have nowhere else to go." She looked at him, and he nodded slowly. He placed a hand on the small of her back, leading her out of the alley.
It was almost like old times.