086. Choices
The pain washes over Booth as the sirens grow louder outside, the sound of Max Keenan's hurried footsteps lost in the growing commotion. The pressure of Brennan's hand burns into his shoulder like the red-hot poker, shattering his shell of carefully constructed numbness. Shame and rage twist his gut, more painful than the injuries he's been refusing to acknowledge.
Nothing hurts more than this total loss of control, of power even over his own body. A stupid mistake, an underestimation, and all because of the asinine need to prove himself in light of recent events. He always gets in trouble when he's feeling the most responsible. He ought to have figured that out by now.
"Booth?" Brennan's hand tightens on his shoulder, her voice filled with concern, and he wonders how long she might have been trying to talk to him. She does something with a knife, and his hands are suddenly free.
"Yeah," he grunts, sitting up, vaguely aware of other agents pouring in the door. He thinks of Max, and wonders for a moment whether Brennan is going to hate him for unknowingly bringing them back together. But then Booth thinks that she must understand, knows as well as he does what it's like clinging to whatever it takes. Realizes only now that he's been waiting for her all along.
"You're going to have to see a dentist now," she says, wincing as she brushes feather-light fingers over his jaw. "But your injuries appear to be minimal, all things considered. They weren't very good torturers. I've seen cases where—"
Booth cuts her off, ignoring the pain in his head as he leans over to wrap numb arms around her. Their last conversation about hugs skitters instinctively through his mind, and he thinks he just might be admitting to being scared. But then her hand comes up to tangle in his hair, and he knows he won't be thinking of anything else for a very long time.