Standard disclaimer applies...I don't own Bones or Fox, and absolutely no copyright infringement is intended...just admiring a little & trying to overcome some writer's block!
--
Brennan laid on the bed, unmoving. She was growing increasingly aware of people coming in and out of the room, and was starting to wonder why these people were disturbing her sleep. Slowly, she cracked open one eye.
Where was she? She didn't recognize the pea-green paint above her.
Before she could even begin to process this realization, a man's head popped in her line of vision. He looked tired, yet his face broke into a smile as he grabbed her shoulders and said something about bones. Bones? Was there a dog around?
The man disappeared, and Brennan took the opportunity to lift up her head and see where she was, and what sort of bones might be lying about.
Her eyes grew wide as she took in what appeared to be a hospital room.
Suddenly the man came sliding back into the room, clutching the thin wrist of a thirty-something woman with black hair, dressed in some sort of scrubs. She was quickly trailed by a man with a clipboard.
The first man smiled, tears pricking his brown eyes and approached her. She took in his sturdy build and brown hair, mussed from being pressed against the vinyl of the chair for so long.
She guessed that he was some sort of businessman from the black suit he was wearing, and she allowed her eyes to drift down his body until—
"Get him away!" she shouted, scrambling into the corner of the bed farthest from the man. "Get him away!" she gestured frantically at the man, pleading at the black haired woman who she guessed was a nurse.
The man stopped in his tracks, his face taking on a look of concern.
"He's got a gun!" Brennan shouted again, pointing at his waist.
The nurse looked at her quizzically.
"Of course he's got a gun, honey," she said. "You know that."
Brennan slumped back against the headboard, incredibly confused.
"Why would I know that?" she snapped. "I don't even know this man. I don't know any of you. Would somebody just tell me what the hell you are all doing here? What I'm doing here?"
The man laughed nervously.
"C'mon, Bones, don't joke around," he said, faltering. "You know I carry a gun. Aren't you always asking for it? 'Booth, give me a gun. Booth, let me drive.'"
Brennan scrunched up her nose.
"Who's Booth?"
--
Three hours later, Booth found himself plunked once again in a vinyl chair, this one in the imaging department. Burying his face in his hands, his mind reeled around what was happening.
She doesn't know me. How can she not know me? I've been with her every day for two years, I was there when she went down, I've been there every day since. I talked to her while she was in that coma, what ever happened to coma patients being able to hear visitors? How can she not know my voice? How can she not know, not have any idea that I've been here, that I—"
"Booth, sweetie?"
His head popped up at the sound of Angela's voice and he looked at the people scurrying down the hallway. The artist got to him first, landing in the chair next to him with a rubberized sort of thud.
"Careful, Angela," he managed to spit out in a sort of half-chuckle. "Your legs are going to stick to that chair, I guarantee it. They're solid plastic and glue."
"Never mind that, Booth. What happened? Where is she? What do you mean, 'she doesn't know who I am'? What kind of message is that? You can't just leave that on someone's voicemail, Booth."
He shook a thumb over his shoulder at the glass doors behind him.
"She's through there," he said. "They're doing a CAT scan on her brain to see what happened…to see why she doesn't seem to know who anyone is anymore. That's what I was talking about, Angela….she doesn't know who I am." He dropped his head into his hands once more as Angela began to rub his back, shooting a concerned look at Hodgins leaning against the far wall.
"Booth, sweetie, you mean she—"
Angela was cut off by a tall man emerging through the doors behind them.
"Agent Booth?"
"That's me," he said, lifting his head once more. "What's happened to her?"
"The scans show some damage to critical areas of brain tissue," the doctor said. "We are afraid that Dr. Brennan is suffering from a form of post-traumatic retrograde amnesia."
"English, please…she's the one who's good with all the medical terms, doc," Booth sighed into his hands.
"Well, Mr. Booth, she might not be anymore. As a result of Dr. Brennan's head trauma, the brain tissues are no longer transmitting the same memories that they once were. Dr. Brennan is currently not aware of events occurring before today, you see."
"How long will this last? Forever?"
"At this point in time, it's hard to say. We think that this may be a form of source amnesia—that is, she will eventually recall certain pieces of information but be confused as to how she knows these things."
Angela looked at the doctor.
"Well, what are we supposed to do? She doesn't have anyone except for us…and she doesn't know who we are! We can't just turn her out onto the streets."
The doctor laughed, prompting a glare from the group. "Erm, no. That's not to be expected, Ms, um—"
"Montenegro."
"Ms Montenegro. Well, we suggest a reintroduction period to take place in the hospital before we release Dr. Brennan into your custody. At this point, you can really only attempt to reestablish trust and relationships. It is key that you convince her that she can trust you."
"OF COURSE she can trust us!" Booth shouted, jumping out of the hard chair and pacing back and forth across the floor. "Trust us? Trust us? I'd give my life for her, she knows that…or she did…."
Angela stood up and embraced him.
"Booth, shh, it's okay, we'll get her back, okay, we will. We just have to work with her…"
"Good God, Ange, it was hard enough sometimes when she was all together there…and now…she has no idea who I am. She has no idea who. I. am. None. She doesn't know how wonderful she is, what she does, what we've done…"
Angela simply held him as he slowly began to crack apart in her arms, her own tears falling into his hair as she thought about the road that lay ahead.