A/N: I apologize for the delay between updates! It has been a crazy couple of weeks, but I hope to update sooner next time! As always thank you for your reviews, alerts, and favorite adds.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bones. I do, however, consider myself the "owner" of this story. You are prohibited from copying it, and if you plan to write something similar, I would appreciate if you paid me the courtesy of informing me first.
When returning with her best friend's snack, Angela paused before entering the waiting room, nearly causing Cam to run into her. Angela smiled at the sight of her husband sympathetically holding her best friend's hand. As Angela approached them, she mused that Sweets might say that her husband and best friend had bonded over experiencing a traumatic event.
"Here's your tea, sweetie," Angela said, before handing her best friend the hot beverage.
As the sip of tea nearly scalded her mouth, a memory washed over her of Booth covering her coffee cup for fear that she'd burn mouth.
"…Because, you and me, we're the center," Booth stated.
" And the center must hold."
"Right. So, are we gonna hold?" Booth asked hopefully.
After a moment's consideration, Brennan replied, "Yeah, we'll hold. We're the center.
"The center," Booth repeated.
The serious conversation soon devolved to bickering over whether or not she'd purposefully kissed his hand.
"I did not kiss your hand! You put it over my coffee cup."
"Felt like you kissed it," Booth rebutted.
"No."
"Felt like it."
"No."
Booth had been the center of her life for a long time now; she'd only been too frightened too admit it. Soon, the tiny life they created together would be the center of their lives – one life shared.
Brennan was shaken emotionally and physically at the memory of her foolish former self. As the cup of tea shook in her trembling hand, threatening to spill, a watchful Cam grabbed it from her hand.
"Dr. Brennan," Cam said cautiously, "Maybe you should lie down for a few minutes."
Angela and Hodgins looked at her wide-eyed, suspecting how her suggestion would be received.
"No," snapped Brennan, "and don't speak to me like a child."
Cam mumbled something before placing Brennan's tea on the table beside her.
"I'm sorry," Brennan said softly, "I know you intend to be helpful."
"No need to apologize," Cam said with a slight smile.
"I'm pregnant with his child," Brennan said by way of explanation, as if this may come to a surprise to them.
Everyone looked at her with both pity and puzzlement.
"I have to use the restroom," she said and promptly left the room.
They all watched Brennan walk in the direction of the restroom.
When she was presumably out of earshot, Angela exclaimed, "God! It's just too awful. After six years, they finally get their act together, and then…then…this!"
Angela buried her face in her husband's shoulder.
Hodgins gently stroked his wife's forehead, "I know. It's going to be okay. Booth's going to be okay."
"He has to be," Angela replied, her voice muffled by Hodgins' sweater, "I don't know -."
Angela's statement was cut short by the sound of approaching footsteps. Angela sat up in her seat, not wanting her best friend to see that she'd devolved into tears in her absence.
"Sweets!" Angela exclaimed with surprise, "Did someone call you?"
"I work for the FBI, remember?" replied an annoyed Sweets.
Angela and Cam glanced at one another, feeling slightly bad that neither of them had thought to call Sweets.
"Had there been any update on Booth's condition?" asked a harried Sweets.
Cam proceeded to fill Sweets in on the details of the shooting and the little information they had received in the emergency room. Sweets nodded along, somberly.
"And Dr. Brennan, how is she handling this?"
"She's holding it together," Angela replied.
"She hasn't cried?" Sweets asked.
Cam stood abruptly thrusting her hands on her hips, "Of course she's cried! If you are here as Booth and Brennan's former psychologist, you should leave. If you're here as their friend, take a seat."
Angela and Hodgins gaped at Cam in amazement. Neither of them was sure they'd ever be able to protect Brennan in exactly the same manner that Booth would as well as Cam had just managed to do.
Shamed, Sweets sat down, "You're right."
In the emotional moment, no one had heard Brennan's approaching footsteps.
She halted at the doorway upon seeing the latest member to join their party, "Sweets, what are you doing here?"
Sweets dodged the obvious question and rose to meet Brennan.
"How are you doing?"
Sweets put his hand on Brennan's shoulder then promptly removed it after receiving a glare from her.
"I…I'm worried," Brennan said tiredly.
Everyone looked at Sweets, hoping he wouldn't challenge her to explore her feelings more. Sweets, however, was content that Brennan didn't say she was "fine," and left the subject alone.
An hour passed, during which Angela confronted Sweets about the rumor that he was romantically involved with Agent Shaw. Sweets confirmed the rumor but not without his face turning bright red. Just as the conversation slowed, another person joined their vigil.
"Dad?" asked Brennan upon spotting her father's figure down the hallway.
"Sweetheart," Max said rushing towards him, "I saw it on the news."
"Th-the shooting was on the news?" Brennan asked, thinking of Parker.
Rebecca had planned on waiting until Booth's prognosis was known to tell Parker that his father had been shot. Brennan had agreed that this seemed like a wise plan. She only hoped that Rebecca didn't watch the six o'clock news.
"It was only a 30 second blurb about an FBI agent being shot, and they showed Booth's picture."
Brennan nodded, biting nervously on her lower lip.
"Oh, sweetheart," Max said to his daughter as he enveloped her in an embrace.
Two hours later
A tall, thin, man appeared in the doorway of the waiting room. Everyone was immediately silent, eagerly, but tensely, awaiting what he'd say.
"I understand you're the family of Mr. Booth."
Before anyone else could respond, Brennan was on her feet.
"Yes, we are."
The others exchanged nervous smiles at her reply.
"Are you his wife?" the young doctor asked.
"We're not married," Brennan said uncomfortably.
"Oh," the doctor replied, unlikely to make the assumption again, "If you come with me, we can discuss -."
"Anything you had to say can be said in front of everyone," Brennan replied.
"Okay. Well, Mr. Booth survived the surgery and is in recovery."
Everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief at this news.
"Fortunately, the gunshot wound to the thigh missed the femoral artery. However, the gunshot to the chest caused a pneumothorax, commonly known as -."
"Collapsed lung," Cam chimed in, "I'm a pathologist, and she is a forensic anthropologist. We are familiar with medical terminology."
The doctor, who now seemed thoroughly intimidated by the formidable women before him, continued, "Yes, well, the pneumothorax was large and did not receive immediate medical treatment. It developed into a tension pneumothorax."
Cam and Brennan both nodded somberly, "Before performing the needle thoracostomy, he went into cardiac arrest."
Brennan's lower lip trembled as she mentally reminded herself that the doctor had already said that Booth was alive.
"We revived him and were able to place a chest tube to remove air from the intrathoracic space."
"Is he…stable?" Brennan asked after searching for the correct word.
"Yes, at this point. The chest tube may need to remain in place for up to four days. If this does not resolve the air leak, additional surgery may be necessary."
A million thoughts ran through Brennan's head but only one was verbalized, "Can I see him?"
The doctor nodded, "A nurse will come to get you shortly to take you back. You can only stay for fifteen minutes. Then, he will be moved to the ICU."
"Okay, thank you."
The doctor turned and left. As his form grew smaller in the distance, Brennan turned to Cam.
"Needle thoracostomy and chest tube placement…is that the standard treatment for a tension pneumothorax?"
Cam looked at her wide-eyed, "You're asking me?"
"Yes," Brennan replied, "You attended medical school; I did not."
A surprised Cam replied, "Yes, that is the standard of care for tension pneumothorax, in my recollection at least. Paul has a friend who is a thoracic surgeon. I can ask Paul to run the scenario by his friend."
"I would appreciate that, thank you."
Cam smiled in response before proceeding to explain the doctor's words to the rest of their friends. Sweets and Hodgins nodded along, having understood some of the doctor's explanation. Angela barely suppressed tears as she gripped her husband's hand tightly. Max kept an expressionless face but reached for his daughter's hand.
A few moments later, a nurse came to take Brennan back to see Booth.
"He is still attached the ventilator and many monitors. It can be difficult for family members to see," she explained.
Brennan nodded. She'd seen Booth on a ventilator before. She'd seen surgeons cut through his flesh then saw through his skull to expose his brain. She'd seen a mass the size of a baseball removed from his brain.
Comparatively, the sight of Booth attached to monitors and a ventilator was mild. Yet, when the nurse pulled back the curtain, Brennan felt her legs weaken. Suddenly the view of Booth lying in the hospital bed grew black, and she fell to the floor.