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Disclaimer: Bones is, surprisingly enough, not mine.
The Scientist in the Station
The police cruiser pulls into the hospital, and Booth grits his teeth he remembers Bones's injuries. He yanks the steering wheel and jerks to a halt beside the squad car, throwing open the door as the officer crosses over to open the back door.
"I got it," Booth says, stepping in front of the officer. He reaches in and helps Bones out, careful to avoid jostling her right hand. He can't help but shiver at the touch, at how warm she is. He realizes suddenly how long it's been since he even brushed by Bones, let alone touched her purposefully. He can't remember the last time he set his hand on the small of her back, something he always used to do. He can't even remember the last time he locked eyes with her.
He feels her shiver almost imperceptibly under his hand and wonders what that means. Does it mean she's disgusted at his touch? That she's just as affected by his touch as he is by hers? Or is she just tired? He shakes his head and decides on the last one. Knowing Bones, she's probably just exhausted from working herself to death. He wonders when she last slept and ate and realizes that it's been a long time since he's asked after her wellbeing. Too long. A flush of guilt ripples through him, and his grip tightens around her hand.
"You okay?" he asks softly.
"I'm fine," she huffs, pulling her hand away from his. "It's just a minor concussion. Head wounds tend to bleed profusely, so the amount of blood isn't indicative of a serious wound. And my wrist will be fine."
Oh, Bones. Always so clinical, even about herself. He eyes the dried blood on her face and the way she cradles her right hand, and clenches his fist.
"What happened, Bones?" he asks. "Did the guy hit on you? Did he touch you?" Tell me he didn't touch you.
She shakes her head. "He didn't touch me first. I hit him."
He pauses for a split second in surprise before asking, "Why?"
Bones turns and starts for the hospital doors, the officer and Booth on her heels. Her expression is unreadable again, and he gives up trying to figure her out. They get inside, the police officer flashes his badge, and the receptionist points them to the waiting rooms. They continue on in silence.
"Why?" Bones repeats finally, her eyes on the ground, on the doors in front of her, anywhere but his. "I don't know why, Booth."
She doesn't know? Doctor Temperance Brennan doesn't know?
"There must be a logical explanation," he says, brow furrowing. "Why'd you hit the guy?"
She shakes her head. "I don't know."
She sounds like she's trying to convince him. She sounds like she's trying so hard to convince him that he sees the truth: she's trying to convince herself too.
About what?
"You'd better make up your mind about that," the police officer says sternly, his eyebrow raised, "because we're going to take a statement to see how charges will be brought up."
Charges? Booth automatically wants to protest, to demand that any threat of charges be dropped immediately because there's no way Bones is guilty of criminal activity, no way Doctor Temperance Brennan did something without a reason. But Bones's I don't know makes him falter, makes him wonder what really happened. Who's to blame?
A doctor comes out and leads Bones back into the examination rooms. Booth automatically moves to join them, but Bones waves him away. He stops in the hallway, surprised and confused as Bones deliberately shuts the door in his face. He thinks for a split second that it's all a practical joke, that she's going to open the door again any moment now and laugh, that she'll tell him it's all a prank. Or maybe it's a dream. But the door stays shut, and he doesn't wake up. So he follows the officer slowly back to the waiting room, his brow furrowed, more worried than angry at the moment.
He finds Angela pacing in the almost-empty waiting room, her expression anxious. When she spots him, she sighs in relief.
"Got stuck in traffic," she says, clearing her throat. "How's Bren?"
He shrugs slowly. "I don't know. She didn't let me in there with her."
Angela looks at him in surprise. "What?"
"Just what I said." He shakes his head helplessly and says, "I don't know what's going on with her. She seemed fine when I saw her at the Jeffersonian a few hours back."
"She seemed fine when I took her for drinks too," Angela muses, her arms crossed. "We danced a little, had a beer, and the next thing I know, she and this other guy are going at each other's throats. It was vicious."
Booth clenches his jaw. "She's hurt. What happened, really?"
Angela sighs. "I can't tell what happened at first, but by the time they really got into it, everyone was crowded around them watching. It got pretty bad, Booth. It wasn't Bren trying to put down some guy trying to make a move on her. It was like she was really trying to kill him." She shudders, her expression troubled. "It was scary. I've never seen her that way before."
His fist clenches again, hard enough to make his fingers pop. What the hell has that guy done to rile Bones up like that? It must have been a hell of a lot, to make her lose complete control and scare even her best friend. He decides to pull some rank and get his hands on this guy as soon as possible so he can wring some answers out of him.
With a sigh, he pulls out his phone and dials Hannah. When she picks up, his shoulders relax ever-so-slightly, and he says, "Hey, Hannah."
"Hey. What's up?" She sounds sleepy.
"Sorry for waking you," he says apologetically, "but I probably won't be back for a while. There's a whole mess going on here, and I can't get away."
She sounds resigned but understanding. "Yeah, Seeley, sure. Do your job. Say hi to everyone for me, will you?"
He smiles tiredly and looks over at Angela. "Hannah says hi."
Angela smiles back. "Hi, Hannah."
"Angela says hi," he says. "So I'll call you back later, okay? I'll get this cleared up as soon as possible."
"No, take your time," she murmurs, her voice muffled like she's burying her head into a pillow. He smiles slightly as he imagines her slumped in bed, her eyes half-closed with sleep.
"Love you," he says. It comes easily with her, these I love you's. Easily in a way it never was with Bones.
"Love you too," she answers. "See you."
"See you." He shuts the phone and slips it back into his pants pocket with a sigh.
"You think it's because she's lonely?" Angela asks quietly after a moment.
He turns to her. "Huh?"
"You think she's acting this way because she's lonely?" she repeats. "I mean, we don't spend as much time with her as we used to. I've got Hodgins and the baby…" Guilt flashes across her expression, and she looks at him in sudden shame. "God, Booth, I've been such a bad friend lately. Tonight was probably the first time I've seen her outside the Jeffersonian in a month. I haven't been paying much attention to her recently…God, now I feel really bad."
Her words make him think, really think. Shame tingles down his spine as well when he thinks about the last few weeks and about how little a role Bones has played in his life since he returned from Afghanistan. How little a role he's played in hers. He remembers before their separation when he and Bones used to go out all the time, when he dropped by her apartment at all odd hours of the night with takeout and she'd let him in anytime. He tries to remember the last time he asked Bones to go out with him and can't.
Damn it. He'd thought he'd been doing such a great job of pleasing everyone when all he's really been doing is pleasing himself. Of course Bones is lonely. How could he have not seen it before? He's so damn blind.
Angela hears him sigh and looks at him questioningly.
"I haven't been much better," he says heavily. "God, I'm an idiot." An idiot for not seeing this earlier. An idiot for shutting out his best friend.
Angela sighs too. "We've got to do better, Booth. I don't know what's got her all emotional like this, but we should be there for her. Whatever she needs."
"Whatever she needs," he repeats. A promise. Bones is his friend. He'll do anything for her.
Within reason, he reminds himself quickly. He's got more responsibilities now, namely his girlfriend. He can't go gallivanting off to Bones's side at every call now. He's got Hannah to look after. I'll do anything for her within reason, he promises silently.
Except he realizes that he's done exactly that: he's come running all wild-eyed and panicked the instant someone's even mentioned Bones. He can't be doing that anymore, not now that he has Hannah. Not now that he has someone more important in his life.
The last time, he promises himself. This is the last time he'll be leaping in to Bones's rescue and leaving Hannah behind. He's got to be moving forward, and he can't do that if he's practically clinging to the past, to Bones. Old Booth would have popped up the instant Bones snapped her fingers; new Booth is going to act on his own will, on his own schedule. With regards to his own feelings.
Just as he sighs, the door to the examination room opens, and he snaps his head up. Bones comes out with her hand in a splint and a bandage across her forehead, half-hidden by her hair. The doctor comes out behind her and shuts the door, files in his hand. Before Bones can say a word, Booth steps past her to the doctor.
"Is she okay?" he asks, sounding more worried than he'd intended. He can never really stay in control of himself when it comes to Bones, and it always shows.
The doctor nods. "Are you her husband?"
He shakes his head, not noticing how Bones flinches behind him. "No, I'm her partner. FBI."
The doctor flips open the files and sighs. "I suppose it would be all right to tell you some specifics. She fractured her scaphoid, and she has a slight concussion from hitting her head. I put in stitches, and it shouldn't leave too much of a scar."
Booth flinches involuntarily at the thought of a scar stretching across Bones's forehead. Even if it's hidden by her hair, he'll know it's there, and he'll worry about her all over again. Not to mention the fact that someone as gorgeous as Bones should never have scars.
Stop that, he thinks, annoyed at the way his thoughts run. Aloud, he says, "But she's okay? No lasting damage?"
The doctor shakes his head. "She's pretty heavily bruised here and there, but a couple of weeks of rest, and she'll be fine. But I want to talk to you about something else."
Booth nods. "Yeah?"
"Ms. Brennan—"
"Doctor," Bones interrupts from behind them, her voice slightly irritated. Booth's lips quirk up in a smile that he tries to hide when the doctor lets out a huff of exasperation.
"Of course. Doctor Brennan has some signs of sleep deprivation. However, she assures me she's getting enough sleep."
Sleep deprivation? He shoots her an anxious glance and really studies her for the first time in what feels like forever. Makeup hides the worst of it, but he can still clearly see the dark rings under her eyes. She looks more tired than he remembers seeing her in a long time, and it sends a pang of guilt through him. Jeez, he's feeling more and more like a bastard as the night goes on.
"It's not sleep deprivation," Bones breaks in. "I assure you, I've been sleeping enough to function."
"Functioning isn't the same thing as being alive," Angela interjects from behind them.
Bones's brow furrows in that adorable way of hers. "Of course it is."
"Really alive," Angela says, frowning. "Bren, how much have you been sleeping? Honestly?"
Bones shrugs but doesn't look any of them in the eye. "Enough."
"Really." Angela crosses her arms skeptically and gives Bones the stop spewing crap look. "So if I check the video camera footage of the Jeffersonian, I won't see you pulling all-nighters?"
Bones flushes, which is all the answer they need. Booth groans and demands, "What happened to normal working hours, Bones? I thought we got over the work-yourself-to-death phase years ago!"
She looks at him for just a moment, her eyes unreadable. Then she looks away again and mutters, "I lose track of the time."
The implication is clear, or at least it is to him: he's the reason for this. And he knows it too. He remembers all the times he had to forcibly drag her from her office at two in the morning, all the times he stopped in to make sure she wasn't killing herself working too hard. He realizes guiltily that it's been a long time since he's done any of that.
"It's okay," Bones insists, shaking her head. "I'm fine."
"If this goes on for much longer," the doctor warns, "she won't be fine. Sleep deprivation, when carried on a long time, can be dangerous."
"It won't carry on for any longer," Booth promises firmly, ignoring how Bones shoots him a rebellious glare. He knows she doesn't like people making decisions for her, but he can't help it. Sometimes she needs someone to take care of her.
The police officer sighs, and Booth turns, remembering suddenly where Bones is headed after this. "So other than that, she's fine?" the officer asks.
The doctor nods. "Rest, and she'll be fine. Make sure she gets enough sleep every night."
She will, Booth promises, as much to the doctor as to himself. He needs to start paying more attention to Bones, or as much attention as he can spare. He figures since Hannah works late on Mondays and Thursdays, he can pop in to the Jeffersonian to make sure Bones gets her rest, and on all the other days, he can count on Angela or the other squints to do the job. Their little improvised family won't leave her to take care of herself.
"Let's go then," the officer says, putting a hand on Bones's elbow. Booth shifts forward immediately to take her other elbow, giving the officer a look that says back off. Without waiting for the officer's permission, Booth pulls her slightly ahead, making for the doors of the hospital.
"You really aren't taking care of yourself," he says, more of a statement than a question.
"Yes, I am," she retorts. "I'm fine."
He hesitates for a moment before asking lowly, "Is it because you're lonely?"
She stiffens for a split second, so slight a movement he would've missed it if he hadn't been touching her. "No. Of course not. I'm used to being alone."
"Used to it," he says. "Doesn't mean you like it. Are you lonely? You want me to spend more time with you?"
"No," she says vehemently, and for a moment, he sees the Bones he knows again. "You're happy," she says firmly. "I want you to be happy."
He looks at her in confusion. "That isn't what I asked."
She shakes her head. "You're happy with Hannah. You should be spending time with her, not me."
"You don't think I'm happy when I'm with you?" he protests. "I love spending time with you, Bones."
She stops in her tracks, and he stops too, looking back at her questioningly. "Bones?"
"Booth," she says quietly, and she looks him in the eye. He sees that she's very serious and very sincere. "Booth, you have something special with Hannah. You shouldn't risk it for anything or anyone. You should be happy with her whenever you can."
His brow furrows as he considers her, wondering what brought this on. "What do you mean, Bones? I am happy with her. Just because I have a girlfriend doesn't mean I should stop spending time with you."
She sighs and starts walking again. "It'd be better if you did."
He tries to catch her arm and swing her around to find out what the hell she means by that, but they're already at the squad car. She opens the door and gets inside before he can even ask her another question, and the officer slips into the driver's seat. With a sigh, Booth hurries back to his SUV and starts after the police cruiser, Angela's car just behind him.
"There she is! There's the bitch that hit me!"
The man leaps to his feet, and Booth automatically moves in front of Bones, his own stance just as intimidating and threatening. Brennan tries to stifle the swell of gratitude she feels as she watches Booth glare down the other man, his hand straying almost subconsciously for his gun. She hates being taken care of, she reminds herself. She hates it when men assume that she is weak and helpless simply because of her sex. But she can't deny the thrill that shoots through her at the sight of Booth fiercely and almost instinctively protective. The tingle that shoots through her is not because she's afraid or in need of protection but because it's a sign he cares. He cares enough about her to be protective, to put himself between her and perceived danger.
It isn't really a sign of caring, she reminds herself. Booth would do that for anybody. And he would. But still, for a moment, she feels special.
Damn it. She's supposed to be getting a handle on these feelings. With some effort, she shuts them away and turns her attention back to the scene.
Another police officer grabs the man's arm and forces him back down into the chair. "All right, all right. We're trying to get the facts straight here, and it won't help your case if you try to attack her again."
"It won't help your face either," she hears Booth mutter darkly under his breath, his fist clenched. But he eases back beside her and stands tensely.
The interrogation room is smaller than the FBI ones, and the two-way mirror is slightly scratched and cracked in one corner. The room is slightly stuffy and dark, presumably to portray the gravity of the situation to suspects and the like. Brennan moves to take a seat on one side of the desk, and the man she fought with in the bar is seated on the other side. Although she knows she can handle herself perfectly well, she feels somewhat reassured to have Booth standing imposingly beside her, obviously ready for anything.
"So," the police officer says tiredly, "I'm Officer Cleary, and this is Officer Yates. You're going to tell us what happened in the bar tonight."
"She hit me, that's what," the man from the bar spits.
"Who is this guy?" Booth demands from beside her.
Yates sighs and flips open a file. "Fred Knowles, local mechanic."
Booth reaches for the file, but Yates slides it away. "You've got no jurisdiction here, Agent. The only reason you're even in here is as a gesture of professional courtesy."
She sees Booth visibly restrain himself from snapping back at the officer. Instead, he just crosses his arms and clenches his jaw, the muscles in his cheek tightening.
"Is that true?" Cleary asks, turning his eyes on her.
She nods. "I hit him first. But—"
"See?" Knowles exclaims from his seat. "That's it, that's the confession, right? Can I go now?"
Cleary sighs. "So you admit that you provoked him, Ms. Brennan?"
"Doctor," she corrects in annoyance. How can they read her file without noticing that detail? "And no, I did not provoke him."
Knowles starts to protest, but Cleary continues over him. "But you hit him?"
She nods. "Yes, I did. I would argue that it was in self-defense, though, or at least defense of another person."
"See?" This time it's Booth, his voice triumphant. He uncrosses his arms and even grins a little. "My partner wouldn't hit someone for no reason."
"That's exactly what she did!" Knowles protests, half-standing before Yates shoves him back into his seat again.
"Tell us your side of the story, then," Cleary suggests.
Knowles shrugs. "I was just talking to my girlfriend—ex-girlfriend—and she—" He jabs a finger at Brennan. "—came over and started getting in my face, and then she hit me."
"Do you know him?" Cleary asks, turning to Brennan.
She shakes her head, and Cleary raises an eyebrow. "So why did you go up to him and hit him?"
"Because of how he was speaking to his girlfriend," she says matter-of-factly. "He was very aggressive and threatening."
"So you hit him?"
"That isn't true!" Knowles interrupts, his voice angry. "Emily was being all clingy and I was telling her I wanted to break it off. And then this woman comes over and starts taking Emily's side, and I got mad."
"And you got aggressive," Brennan corrects.
"No, I didn't—"
Booth clears his throat from beside her, catching all of their attentions. "This is easy to solve," he says. "Just bring the girlfriend in, and she'll clear this up."
"What!" Knowles demands. "She hates me right now! Of course she'll take her side!"
"She won't lie under oath," Cleary says, sweeping the file up as he stands. "Yates, do we have the girlfriend?"
The other officer nods. "She's in the other room. You want me to get her?"
Cleary shakes his head. "I'll go interview her. You stay here and make sure none of them kill each other."
He opens the interrogation room door and disappears, and then there're four of them left. An uncomfortable silence stretches between them as Knowles shoots her murderous glares, and she stares pointedly off at the wall. She tries to suppress a yawn, but can't quite stifle it. She knows Booth is watching her; she can feel his worried gaze boring into the side of her face. Some part of her wishes he'd stop noticing her, wishes for him to move on completely and stop sending her these looks that make her shiver. Most of her revels in his attention, at the fact that he's truly looking at her for the first time in weeks.
She turns her head away further. She should stop worrying him like this. She needs to rely on herself again like she used to, so he can move on. She wants him to be happy, really. She just hadn't expected it to be so hard.
"So, you her boyfriend?" Knowles asks suddenly, a sneer in his voice.
She can't help but flinch at the title, like she had earlier in the hospital. It reminds her of what might have been, if she hadn't been such a coward. If she'd said yes.
"No," Booth says, shifting behind her. "I'm her partner."
Knowles turns a surprised look on her. "You're FBI?"
"She's a forensic anthropologist," Booth replies. She can her the familiar strain of pride there in his voice, the one he always gets when he talks about her as his partner. That, at least, hasn't changed.
Knowles snorts. "What the hell's that?"
"She puts away murderers," Booth says, his voice hard. "Which is going to be a hell of a lot harder when you broke her wrist like that."
Again with that protectiveness. Again with those flutters in her stomach. Irrational, irrational, irrational.
Knowles smirks. "She should've known better than to mess with me."
"I'm wondering how you got out without any broken bones," Booth retorts, crossing his arms. "She probably knows enough tricks to kick your ass to Wednesday."
Despite the lack of logic in his statement, she still feels a rush of pride at the way he clearly holds her abilities in high esteem. She's always known he's proud to be her partner, but she can't help but feel accomplished whenever he says it out loud.
Knowles raises his eyebrow and pulls up the sleeve of his shirt, revealing a tattoo. "Army, baby. She doesn't know enough tricks to beat a soldier. You should tell her to stop picking fights like that. I've half a mind to show her more of what I've got."
"Soldier, huh," Booth says, clearly unimpressed. He leans forward, hands on the table, looking Knowles straight in the eye. "I'm army myself, Ranger and ex-sniper. I'm not too bad at landing punches either, and I can tell you right now, if you ever touch her again, if you ever even talk to her again, I will beat you until you can't breathe. You understand me?"
Knowles laughs, clearly affecting indifference, but Brennan shivers because she knows Booth is dead serious. She shivers because she knows that if Knowles so much as looks at her in a way Booth doesn't like, Knowles will be sent to the hospital without so much as a warning. Booth, when provoked, is dangerous.
Before the tension in the room burgeons any further, the door opens, and Cleary returns. He shuts the door behind him and sighs.
"The girlfriend confirms Doctor Brennan's story. Knowles was aggressive and threatening before Doctor Brennan hit him."
"What?" Knowles demands, shooting to his feet. Brennan notes the way Booth's hand automatically flies to his gun while his other hand reaches for her. She doesn't move though, refusing to be intimidated.
"You can't believe anything my ex says!" Knowles explodes. "She's got it out for me, ever since I broke up with her!"
Cleary shrugs. "We'll check with the other witnesses and see if they corroborate her story. For now, if you post bail, you're free to go as long as you stay in town."
Booth pulls her out of her seat instantly. "Right. Great. Bail posted. Come on, Bones, let's go."
Cleary throws his hand up. "Whoa, whoa. You have to post bail first, you know."
Booth shoots her a quick look. "Bones, you'll post the bail, right? There's no problem there."
He gives her that look then, the one that says they're going to have a talk afterwards if he has to handcuff her to a chair. As much as she dreads talking to Booth about what happened, she doesn't look forward to spending the rest of the night in jail. So she nods and says, "Show me where to pay."
Thirty minutes later, they're out of the station. Booth stops in front of the doors and pulls out his phone.
"Told Angela I'd call her when it was over," he explains, noticing her questioning look.
"Oh." In truth, she'd thought he'd been about to call Hannah. But hearing that he's only calling Angela makes her illogically relieved.
Taking her uninjured arm, Booth leads her to his SUV. She tries to pry his fingers away, but he seems to find it necessary to guide her, even though she knows very well what his car looks like. So with a sigh, she lets him pull her along until they reach the SUV, where he opens the door for her and even goes so far as to help her inside and pull the seatbelt out for her. Rolling her eyes, she lets him indulge in his alpha male tendencies and seatbelts herself inside securely before he can do that for her too.
Ending his call with Angela, he climbs into the driver's seat and turns the car on. Slowly, the SUV warms up, and she sits back in the seat, staring out the window to avoid Booth's eyes.
Finally, he clears his throat. "Bones?"
She nods. "Yes?" Still not looking at him. She's afraid of what she'll see if she does look.
For a long moment, he's silent, like he doesn't know what to say. That in itself is odd, since Booth always knows what to say. She sits in silence and waits for him to say something.
"You okay?" he says eventually, uncertainly.
She nods tiredly. "I'm fine, Booth." I always am.
"Okay then." To her surprise, he turns off the engine of the car and pulls the keys out, spinning them idly in his hand. Puzzled, she turns to him.
"What are you doing?"
"Bones," he says, catching her eyes. She can't read them, which isn't a surprise, really. She's never been good at reading people.
She nods and says in the same tone, "Booth."
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "Bones, I know if I drive you back to your apartment, you'll probably lock the door on me. And if I drive you back to mine, you probably have no problem with locking the door on me there either. So let's just sit here for a second, where I know you'll listen to me."
She's afraid of where this is going. "Yes, Booth?"
He stops spinning his keys, catching them neatly in the palm of his hand. Looking straight at her, he says solemnly, "Bones, we're going to talk about what happened tonight."
Despite herself, she gulps.
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