Sometimes silence was more painful than shouting.

Silence wasn't like a bomb. It wasn't like a gun. There was no sudden jarring, overwhelming pain. It crept up on you. Like a blade digging into flesh, deeper and deeper, more and more blood flowing until you couldn't take it anymore. That was silence.

And there was no noise in Cam's office.

The pathologist sat at her desk, staring out the window. Her lips were pursed, hair mussed; no longer the epitome of a leader. Not that she'd ever been. And certainly not after this. It was the responsibility of a leader to keep her team safe. To take one for the team every time, to keep the bullet from striking the person it was intended to. Cam was trying to think like Brennan or Zack. Trying to use logic. She had not pulled the trigger or pointed the gun. She had not been careless, she had not assisted Brodsky in any way. And yet there was the nagging feeling that it was her fault.

Booth's call had come five minutes ago, a horrible slap to the face that they still didn't have Brodsky. He'd sounded almost distraught, as worried about Brennan as he was Vincent. No doubt he was the one making all the calls. Letting everyone know what had just happened to one of their squinterns. There were details to be gotten, as the FBI agent had said a total of two sentences to her. But he probably had only wanted to say it once. And she couldn't blame him. Squinterns were not supposed to get hurt.

I have to call his mother. She realized. Of course. It was her responsibility to notify the family members of anyone injured or killed working at the Jeffersonian.

It helped to take things step by step. First, you need to stand up from your desk, Cam. Then you need to go over to the drawers across the room. Then you need to open the bottom one, Cam.

She was kneeling on the wood floor, taking out a thick manila folder when the quiet voice sounded behind her. "Hey." It was Michelle.

Cam turned, offering her adopted daughter a weak smile. Michelle still wore her name badge from her day at work, she'd come right to the Institute, by the looks of it. "How was your day?" It was an effort to get the words out, as she stayed sitting back on her heels.

"Fine…" her daughter frowned. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"That obvious, huh?" Cam stood, brushing off her pants. Only some of the dust came off, leaving her black pants stained grey at the knee. Some part of her brain registered that it was time to vacuum.

"Did someone get hurt?" Michelle's eyes were wide as she took a step closer. Out of the doorway. Then a few more, so she was standing behind Cam, peering over her shoulder at the folder that her mother had just set on the desk.

"I don't think you know them," it was pointless, trying to protect Michelle from the information. Absolutely pointless. She would find out by the end of the day, regardless of whether or not Cam let her know. Cam walked back around her desk and sat, turning the folder to face her. Nigel-Murray was printed neatly in black sharpie marker across the front, along with the 'emergency contact information' stamp.

"Who?" Michelle demanded, just as Cam had known she would.

"Mr. Vincent Nigel-Murray." She said, trying to keep her voice even. "He was shot earlier today."

Silence for a few moments. Not as bad as before, though. Silence was better shared. Then, "Is he…" Michelle's voice was fearful, as she didn't finish her question. It was easy enough to guess exactly what she meant.

"No, he's not." Cam reached up and brushed a strand of hair out of her daughter's face. "But close. Dr. Brennan and Seeley are at the hospital right now." She paused. "I have to call his mother. And tell her what happened to her son." What would I do if I got that call? Cam wondered. If someone halfway across the world told me that had happened to Michelle? She didn't want to think about it.

Michelle stared at Cam for a moment, lips parted, forming a small 'o'. The two stayed frozen a moment. Then Michelle quietly walked around the other side of the desk, and wrapped her arms around her mom.

They stayed like that for five…ten…twenty seconds. Frozen.

"Thank you, honey." Murmured Cam, running a hand through her daughter's hair. Michelle didn't respond. When they finally broke apart, Cam took a deep breath, flipping open the folder.

A large part of her wanted to wait, wait until they had news or some idea of how he was going to be. But as a mother…she wouldn't want to hear about Michelle being shot after she had died. Not if there had been a chance for her to say goodbye. She picked up the phone, all too aware that her hands were trembling. She punched in the numbers almost robotically, and then held it up to her ear.

One ring. Maybe she wouldn't pick up.

Two rings. What was she supposed to do if Mrs. Nigel-Murray didn't answer? Call back later? Leave a message?

Three rings. What did you say in that kind of message, anyway? Everything? Nothing? To call back because it was urgent?

She answered on the fourth ring. The voice was obviously a British female. "Vincent?"

"No, Mrs. Nigel- Murray. This is Camille Saroyan. I'm the Head of the Forensic Division at the Jeffersonian Institute." Cam was surprised to hear how calm her voice sounded. Calm and detached. And almost robotic.

"Is something…wrong?" There was obvious concern in the women's voice on the other end. Concern, but not fear.

"I'm…" Cam trailed off, "I'm calling to notify you…" she stopped again, taking a deep breath, closing her eyes. Michelle squeezed her hand, eyes brimming with sympathy.

I can't back down now. "Mrs. Nigel Murray, our team has recently been involved in the investigation of several murders believed to be traced back to a renegade sniper, Jacob Brodsky. He was working with Dr. Temperance Brennan and Agent Seeley Booth in the lab earlier today."

"He's mentioned Dr. Brennan before…he speaks very highly of her…" his mother obviously had no idea where this was going.

"Your son, Vincent, was shot earlier today. He was inside the Institute when it happened." She'd gotten the full account from a security guard who'd been on the scene. Booth hadn't wanted to repeat it. "We believe Brodsky was responsible." Perhaps it had been too abrupt, too blatant and blunt. But there was no taking back the words now.

A gasp from the other end of the line. Then a brief silence. "Is he…" her voice was trembling.

"No," she said it louder, more hastily, than she'd intended. "No," Cam's tone was more gentle the second time. "But he's currently in surgery, and in critical condition."

"Will…" her voice was faint, "Will he pull through?"

"We're not sure yet." Cam gripped Michelle's hand more tightly, knowing she would be eternally, selfishly grateful that it had not been her.

Silence. And then a somewhat choked sob, "Oh, god. He said it was safe."

"It is safe, ma'am, he doesn't work in the field…" Cam trailed off, knowing that her words were falling on deaf, uncaring ears. It didn't matter if the job was supposed to be safe. Not if your child was inches from death.

There was sound in the background, another voice, male. "Mom, what is it?" Static from the phone, and then a different person was talking to her. "What happened to Vinnie?" He sounded remarkably like the British intern, but his voice was noticeably deeper. Vinnie…she hadn't known he had a nickname.

"This is Camille Saroyan from the-"

"I don't care who in the bloody hell you are. What happened to my brother?" Cam was saved from repeating herself by the fuzzy, choked up explanation that was offered by Vincent's mother on the mother end of the line. "What do you…he's a bloody bone expert, not a cop!" Now he was yelling at her again, "How did it happen?" The intensity in his voice was frightening. "Forget it. Dammit!" He swore, muttering under his breath, "And we're in the middle of the bloody festival…" the line went dead.

Cam stared at the phone, silent. She wasn't sure what she had expected, but it hadn't been that. "I didn't know he had a brother." She finally said, resting her elbows on her desk and putting her head in her hands.

"Who was that?" Cam hadn't heard Angela walk in, but now the artist was standing in the doorway. One hand was placed across her swelling belly, the other was smoothing her hair. "Hodgins said we should pick you up…something about going as a group." She sounded almost scornful, but Cam knew it was an attempt not to cry. "I think we all do. This is as bad as the Epps thing." There was another break in her speech, "You know, with the powder, when you started foaming at the mouth and then Zach nearly got blown up trying to get the poison…"

"I know what the Epps thing was, Angela," Cam sighed, pulling her daughter closer for a hug. Michelle gave her a wide eyed, questioning look. "It's fine, Michelle. It was a long time ago."

Angela glanced between Cam and her daughter, and appeared to choose to remain silent. "Can you drop Michelle home on our way?" Cam asked, letting go of the girl again, and standing up.

"No, Cam. I want to come."

Cam hadn't expected that. She turned, tilting her head to the side, with a frown, "Michelle, you didn't-"

"He talked to me about colleges. Even though you threatened to strangle him," her daughter offered her a small, sad smile. "He said I should try studying abroad for a semester, wherever I went. Either at Cambridge or Oxford or something. Because it would be a good experience," her eyes welled up, "My teacher agreed with him." She shook her head, "You're always talking about your little surrogate family at the lab. I'm part of it, too, even if I'm not usually here."

Cam wordlessly nodded. Angela glanced between them, and then turned and headed out towards the car. Cam and Michelle followed.

Arastoo wasn't sure why he'd gone out to an extremely late lunch, let alone with Fischer. The two of them had been lurking around in limbo with nothing to do, horribly bored because Dr. Brennan had never given them instructions. She'd never even showed up to give them instructions, actually. And Fischer had been moping around, droning about rehab and whatnot because he didn't have any of that disgusting tea.

"Let's go out and get some food," Arastoo had finally said, exasperated.

Fischer had stared at him dully, before morosely agreeing with an 'I guess I can do that." They'd ended up at some junky pizza place, sitting across from each other in a plastic booth. Arastoo, being the polite one of the two, had made several attempts to start up some sort of conversation. All of them had resulted in uninvited complaining and an increasing urge to hit his head against the wall.

Arastoo was just about ready to leave Fischer in the restaurant and head back to the Jeffersonian when his companion's phone went off. The other intern let out a morose, seemingly practiced sigh, as he held it up to his ear. "Hello?"

Whatever had been expected, it hadn't been the expression that slid onto Fischer's face. Shocked? Horrified? Somewhat panicked? Whatever it was, it wasn't good. "Fischer…" he murmured.

He hadn't expected Fischer to give him a glare and elbow him, fingers clenching the phone so tightly that his knuckles were going white. Silence for a few seconds. Then, "How did it happen?"

More silence. Arastoo shifted uncomfortably, eyes on the clock behind them. "We're…we'll come." Fischer shoved his phone in his pocket, scrambling up, grabbing the other intern's elbow. When Arastoo tried to pull away, his companion gripped his arm tighter. "We need to go now." He dragged the Islamic intern towards the door.

"Wait, Fischer, slow down. What happened?" Arastoo frowned.

Fischer gave his arm another tug, "Vincent just got shot, dammit!

Normally, he would have been embarrassed to be with someone who shouted something that loudly in a restaurant. But despite the fact everyone was staring at them…Arastoo couldn't have cared any less if he'd tried. "What…" his voice was hoarse. How did it happen? Why? Wasn't he in the lab today?

"Move your ass, or I won't tell you anything." Fischer finally succeeded in hauling the other intern at the door, and then went bolting for the car. Arastoo stood frozen in the doorway for only a moment, and then ran after him.

Vincent…he hadn't known the other intern well, not right away. They'd worked different shifts, and though they saw each other at lunch, and the Founding Fathers every Friday, they hadn't really talked. Usually, everyone ordered a single shot to start. Except for himself, of course. While the others drank shots, he consumed copious amounts of Diet Coke. His usual aversion to others drinking was put aside for the sake of a goof time. So long as he didn't have anything, it wasn't against his religion, after all.

Then, one Friday, it had been four shots and two Diet Cokes. It had been confusing. Arastoo hadn't been able to figure it out right away. Who hadn't ordered a drink? Wendell always ordered their drinks, but he had a shot glass in front of him. That left four. Daisy. Fischer. Clark.

Of course. The small British intern, who always sat next to Wendell. Vincent Nigel-Murray. He held the same type of glass as Arastoo, paying the other intern no mind as he argued playfully with Daisy. There was nothing different about him…at first glance. When he really stared…Vincent was thinner. More tired looking. But it wasn't the kind of thing you'd notice. Not if you were looking for it.

Arastoo had been mostly quiet for the rest of the gathering, puzzling over the matter. No one had noticed; he was generally quiet, anyway. Or at least he'd thought so. As he'd escourted the bunch to the car- he was designated driver, naturally- Wendell had tapped his shoulder.

"Dude, you okay? You were quiet this evening." The blonde intern frowned.

Arastoo glanced over his shoulder. Daisy was clinging giddily to Fischer's arm. Fischer was tripping over his own feet. Clark and Vincent were close behind the two, laughing, trying to keep them on their feet. Not close enough to hear. "Vincent didn't drink tonight."

Comprehension dawned on Wendell's face, and a frown flitted across it, "That's…you should ask him." He said, falling back in line with the rest of the interns, grabbing Fischer's shoulders just as he teetered forward.

So he did. Arastoo made sure Vincent ended up in the passenger seat, and turned the radio up loud. When he was sure the others were engaged in conversation, he turned to the British intern. "So…you and I both stayed dry tonight," he tried to keep the tone light. He wasn't trying to pry. In fact, he wasn't sure why he even cared. But he couldn't push down a prickle of worry. Vincent had always drank as much, perhaps more, than the rest. It just seemed so out of character.

"Yeah. Uhm." Vincent glanced out the window. "Did you know that every year, Americans throw out enough soda bottles and cans to reach the moon and come back twenty times?"

Arastoo was silent for a moment, realizing the British intern was hesitant to talk. "You don't have to tell me," he finally said.

A pause, and then, "No. It's fine. Wendell said I should talk to people about it, anyway." Vincent cracked a smile, "I seem to have developed a…drinking issue…during my travels."

It took Arastoo a moment to process that, "Oh. So you're…"

"A member of the AA, as of last Sunday," he said, simply.

Vincent Nigel-Murray was recovering from an alcohol addiction, and the only person who knew was Wendell Bray. Dr. Brennan needed to know. It wasn't right for him to have to deal with it on his own. And even if the forensic anthropologist wasn't going to be supportive, it wasn't the kind of thing to keep under the wraps…

It had been as though Vincent could read his thoughts. "Ah…I'd be…very much appreciative if you could keep that to yourself, for the time being. The rest of them will know when I have to apologize for my misdeeds." So he had.

When they reached the car, Fischer was tugging at the handle of the passenger seat like a small, impatient child. "Open the door! Vincent could be dying while you waddle along at the rate of a damn sloth!"

Vincent could be dying…it hadn't really hit until now. And it hurt.

The plastic chairs in the waiting room were uncomfortable, cold, unwelcoming. This Agent Booth knew from sitting in the seats, waiting to hear the news about fellow soldiers. It hadn't often been anything good. He hated to see Brennan sitting there, hands gripping the armrests, looking at the door leading to where the patients were every few seconds.

He'd stepped outside to make the calls. There was no need to make Dr. Brennan hear him announce the British intern's plight over four times. Now he hurried back inside, sitting next to her, instinctively sliding an arm around her shoulders. "Any news yet?" He murmured.

She shook her head, biting her lip, tears threatening to spill over onto her cheeks again. Booth wished he knew the right words to say. He didn't. Bones finally sat back shoulders slumping in defeat, and she rested her head on his shoulder.

They stayed like that for a long time. He wasn't sure how long exactly, but at least an hour. Every time the door opened, they would both stiffen. Only to have the doctor call a different name. Parents cried in relief that their children would be okay. Wives hurried in to see their injured husbands. Sisters hugged their brothers as they limped out, using crutches with legs in casts. There was no news of Vincent.

"Did you call everyone?" Brennan finally whispered.

"Yeah," Booth said, closing his eyes, pushing back the memories. He was no longer sure about telling them over the phone, but it was too late now.

"Temperance Brennan?" A woman with greying brown hair stepped through the door, glancing around the waiting room.

Brennan was on her feet quick as a flash, standing over by the doctor within seconds. "Is Vincent okay?"

She took a deep breath, "Vincent Nigel Murray just came out of surgery. The ballistic wound caused him to lose a lot of blood. It's a miracle he didn't die from blood loss before we got him here."

"Go on," Booth prompted.

"The bullet pierced one of his lungs. It also shattered two ribs, and broke another. The shattered bone punctured his other rib. He's currently on life support…a ventilator. He can't breathe on his own at this point. The blood loss caused him to go into shock." She paused. "Our biggest concern right now is that he'll go into cardiac arrest, and there's not a good chance that he'll pull through if that happens. We're also not sure if he'll wake up, the rapid blood loss caused a lack of oxygen to his brain for a period of time. We had to give him blood transfusions."

"What are his chances?" Booth asked, a hand on his partner's shoulder.

The doctor pursued her lips. "At this point? Not good."

"I want a statistic," his voice was harsher than he meant it to be. But Bones needed facts, not generalizations.

She sighed, "About twenty-five percent. Call his family."

"Already done." Booth pulled Brennan closer.

"Can we…" Brennan faltered, "Can we see him?"

The doctor nodded, and wordlessly turned and led them down the hall. Booth moved quickly, keeping Bones moving along, trying to keep her from noticing the ICU sign as they walked through the double doors leading to the private rooms in the unit.

He looked smaller against the white sheets, with the ventilator and IV drip and monitors and systems occupying much of the room space. His face was deathly pale, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. Two chairs, considerably more comfortable looking than those in the waiting room, sat next to the bed. Booth sat down in one of them, but Brennan was over by the bed instantly. Leaning over the bed, she brushed his hair out of his face. One of her tears dripped onto the pillow. "Vincent, I don't know if you can hear me right now. But if you can," she swallowed. "You need to get through this, Vincent. We have the conference, remember? Hodgins even motorized the dinosaur suit. I can't do it without you." Her voice had taken on a desperate edge, and she reached over and clasped one of his pale hands. "You're my favorite, Vincent. You're my favorite." She turned and looked at Booth, eyes pleading for him to do something. Looking at him as though he had the power to wake Vincent up.

And once again, there was nothing he could do. But damn, he would've given the world to be able to.

Author's Note: Hopefully I haven't started to bore you all yet. Reviews would be much appreciated!