[A/N: I hit a wall of sorts once we arrived at all of these medical issues. Skole provided an abundance of amazing information about medical stuff and surgery and medications I didn't even begin to leverage the way I could have (but boy did I learn a great deal), and my dear e-pal Kimmy also provided some very helpful insight used in the next few chapters, too. I am grateful for their help.
I remain honored that you're reading and thrilled that so many of you are following this or commenting. I almost hate to do this, but because you've all been so generous and supportive, I feel it's only fair to warn you that this tale of ours is winding down quickly. Don't worry—you'll know more about what happens after this than you can probably bear reading. Even so, I'm feeling the need to wrap this up where I had originally intended.]
Chapter 17: Some Wounds Take Time to Heal
After the doctors had removed the bullet from her thigh, they had informed Dr. Brennan that they would be admitting her overnight for observation intending to administer high-dose antibiotics and IV fluids. However, that wasn't the primary reason they were admitting her. The worried doctor had been extremely uncooperative. She appeared to have only a mild concussion, but her dramatic behavior had concerned her physicians. Those who knew her would have realized that her behavior was appropriate for her in this situation, but normal behavior for the forensic anthropologist was at best disturbing to others; her actions in distress had caused great alarm to her physicians.
Adamant that the nurses update her hourly on Booth's condition, Brennan had finally taken a step that eased the tension of relations with the harried hospital staff. After initially refusing to sign the admissions paperwork, she eventually agreed to do so only if she were allowed to pay for a private room she could use temporarily and to which Booth could be moved once he was out of intensive care. As Brennan again signed waivers and agreed to pay for any costs for the room above and beyond what Booth's insurance would cover, she flashed back to the rushed conversations she'd had with Booth's doctors when they'd taken the time to brief her on his condition.
"What... How is he? How bad is it?" Brennan had asked as the resident had pulled Cam and her into a conference room to discuss Booth's case. "There's significant bleeding. They're doing a spiral CT with contrast now to determine the scope of the damage to his right kidney."
"His kidney...," Brennan murmured, aching with the knowledge that any organ damage would be serious.
"Even a small nick to a kidney could cause the blood loss Agent Booth's suffered—right Doctor?" Cam asked to ease Brennan's concerns. He nodded.
"Dr. Brennan and Dr. Saroyan, I'd like to administer a new drug to Mr. Booth to stop the bleeding while we determine the best course of treatment."
"Agent... it's Agent Booth. He's an FBI special agent… He's my partner," Brennan corrected.
"I see... And you have Agent Booth's medical power of attorney?"
"Yes, I do. What drug? I'd like to research it."
"We need a decision now, Dr. Brennan. The drug is an artificial blood factor. I'll have my staff bring you materials about it." Brennan looked to Cam, and she nodded to show that she agreed they could trust the doctor.
"It's necessary?"
"It buys us more time to diagnose and treat his injuries."
"Then why haven't you administered it already?"Cam asked before Brennan could voice the question.
"I hope this doesn't appear crass or insensitive, but it's quite expensive. Mr… Agent Booth's insurance doesn't cover it."
"I can write you a personal check," Brennan said, turning to look for her purse.
"I understand your desire to help, Dr. Brennan, but the costs are in the thousands… perhaps tens of thousands..."
"I'll cover it. Whatever the cost. Whatever he needs." Cam nodded to reassure him that cost was not an issue.
Rushing out to have the nurses bring in the requisite paperwork, Dr. Carson replied quickly, "We'll administer the drug, locate the bullets, and move him into surgery."
An hour later, Dr. Carson had returned to inform them that the drug appeared to be working but that they'd perform an angiogram if needed to stop the bleeding. He also informed them that Booth's kidney had been nicked and—if they were able to repair the damage—he would not require a nephrectomy (removal of the kidney). The other bullet had been lodged deep in a muscle—but it hadn't penetrated deeply enough to reach Booth's organs. Dr. Carson informed them that he planned to perform a keyhole surgery in order to minimize Booth's recovery time but that they'd be more invasive if required to repair the damage and remove the bullet.
Reassuring the doctors that money was no object the way she had when she'd asked for the private room, Brennan had signed the paperwork, personally covering the cost of whatever measures they deemed necessary to keep her partner alive and give him the best care possible.
Only after they'd placed her in the first room closest to intensive care with the promise that they'd move Booth to that room as soon as he was stable enough did the scientist consent to treatment with antibiotics and minimal pain medication.
In the wee hours of the morning after a nurse came down to tell them that Booth was finally out of surgery and that he was being moved to intensive care, Brennan had finally relaxed enough to allow herself to yawn. Encouraged that she was calming down enough to give in to the need to rest, Angela demanded that she sleep until they came in with more news about Booth. It would take time for them to process him to the ICU after surgery. Desperate for her friend to keep her strength up, Angela appealed to reason and insisted that this was Bren's best opportunity to get some rest so that her own body could heal.
As she dozed off, Brennan was struck by the realization that regular life must have continued to go on for others outside the hospital. Even though she felt as if the metaphorical world had been cast off its axis, she realized that those outside the small circle of their world had no reason to despair. She almost hated living in a world in which Booth's life hanging in the balance didn't cause everyone—absolutely everyone—to stop and recognize what his loss would mean for his family, for his friends, for his country…. She winced as she stopped her internal deliberations just short of noting that losing him would be a horrific loss for her. That loss was so incomprehensible and frightening that she couldn't even pretend to add it to the list.
'Cause to them it makes no difference
It just keeps on keeping time
What Temperance saw when the nurse rolled her chair into Booth's room in ICU was even more disturbing than she'd expected. Booth looked very pale and weak and morbidly still—a ghost of the man she knew and loved. Booth was never still—even if only his knee were bouncing nervously or if he were flipping his poker chip between his fingers, he was in constant motion. Seeing him as still as the bodies she examined daily was unnerving. He looked like an exhibit in a museum—not her best friend, her partner, the man she loved watching in constant motion. She'd anticipated that he would be connected to monitors and equipment necessary for his breathing and nourishment. But what had bothered Brennan the most aside from his appearance was the fact that he'd been physically restrained.
Immediately, she confronted the nurse and demanded to have Booth released from the restraints. She knew that all patients who were intubated and on ventilators were restrained to prevent problems when they regained consciousness, but she couldn't bear the sight of Booth bound to that bed with machines breathing for him. Booth didn't like taking help from anyone—seeing machines breathing for him was hard to bear.
With concern in her expression, the nurse shook her head sadly and motioned for Brennan to move farther away and to lower her voice. She explained what Brennan already knew—that the restraints were required until he regained consciousness and could be taken off the ventilator. Seeing the woman's obvious distress, the nurse reassured her that he wasn't completely immobilized and added that a man of Booth's size might re-injure himself if he were unrestrained and moved too dramatically too quickly after surgery. Unbidden tears filling her weary eyes, Brennan nodded and rolled her chair back to Booth's bedside. The nurse walked to the other side of the bed and waited for Brennan to rip her gaze from Booth's waxen face. "He won't remember anything that happens here. This part will be harder for you than it will be for him."
Dr. Carson had informed her that Booth would be kept sedated and very still and quiet for at least a full day after his surgery—maybe two. They'd sedated him right after the move to the ICU. Brennan's eyes flickered constantly to the monitors, checking his blood pressure which the staff had assured her needed to be kept under tight control. The ventilator worked noisily to rush oxygen into Booth's lungs and to pump the carbon dioxide out of them. Until that very moment, Brennan had never understood the stories about how families had difficulty turning off a patient's life support. Such decisions were obviously rational choices made when presented with limited options. Life supported wholly by medical equipment for an unconscious patient wasn't life at all—not a life with any anthropological significance. As a consequence, she'd always assumed that a decision to end a life in which the patient would not be active or alert or contribute to society or family life in any way would be a rather simple choice to make. But as she sat there listening to the click and whoosh of the ventilator keeping her partner breathing, she had a much greater appreciation for the emotion that she suspected had to accompany the rational decision to turn off a patient's life support. It struck her that rationally understanding that a life run fully by machinery should not be continued might not be adequate to comfort the person left to remember the loss as well as to shoulder the responsibility for ending the loved one's life.
Realizations such as this were the types of stories she rushed to tell her partner. Knowing that he had inspired this revelation and that she could not share it with him was crushing. As she watched her partner's pale chest rise and fall mechanically, tears fell down her cheek. She felt helpless, worried, powerless, immobilized. Her breathing moved to sync up with the ventilator. Was she that desperate to connect with him on any level? While she didn't actually require the ventilator to breathe, she found breathing along with her partner to be comforting even though he was hardly a factor in the physiology of the experience.
Bombarded by fear and emotion, Brennan closed her eyes and said a silent prayer to the God to whom she knew her partner would have been praying to had he been able. "Heal him. He's a good man. He believes in you. He's not finished here yet. People here need him. I need him."
'Cause it ain't gonna stop the world no
But it'll be the end of mine
For the next thirty-six hours, Brennan refused to leave Booth's bedside except to give the doctors and nurses room to examine him. Sometime the late on the second day, she'd been near dozing when she'd heard the beep of his heart monitor increase. Ever watchful over his blood pressure, she woke and glanced to the machine. But before she could register his blood pressure, she realized that he was waking up. He had to be frightened. He couldn't see her where she was sitting, he was connected to tubes and machines and in an unfamiliar setting, and he might think that he'd been left alone. Bracing on the bedrail and the chair and standing as quickly as she was able while fighting the pain of her injury, Brennan shuffled down closer to the head of his bed and peered at him carefully.
As he had the last time he'd had surgery, Booth had appeared to try to mumble as he awoke. Only this time, he was disturbed by the breathing tube blocking his airway. She watched his body tense and the monitors whine more loudly as he regained consciousness. He woke, his eyes flying open and blinking rapidly, a look of fear on his face.
"Booth... Booth... Look at me," she insisted.
He was still fairly well sedated, but he was obviously trying to move and starting to fight the intubation. "Booth, you're in intensive care. You've had surgery. We're all okay. Parker's okay. There's a tube down your throat to help you breathe. I've called for the nurse. They'll take it out. But you have to relax. Don't hurt yourself. It's okay. You're going to be okay."
His worried brown eyes finally fixed upon her teary-blue ones. When she gripped his hand tightly, he calmed down just a bit. The medical team rushed into the room pleased to see that Booth was waking up. One of the nurses helped Brennan into her chair and rolled her out of the room so that they'd have room to help her partner. Letting go of Booth's hand had been terribly difficult, but she wanted to do whatever she could to help him. When she'd let go of him, he'd become confused and upset and fought against the team. It had broken her heart to realize that he might have thought she was deserting him when he needed her. The nurse had come out to tell her that they'd had to sedate him again for the short-term because he was too disoriented and confused to listen to their directions, but they'd gone ahead and removed the tube and replaced it with oxygen since he'd proven that he was strong and stable enough to breathe on his own.
While they worked on Booth, Brennan rolled her chair down to her room and slipped inside. She'd still been sitting there crying when Angela and Cam had come in to check on her.
"He's waking up. He's going to be okay," Brennan said with a shaky voice through her tears. The two women exchanged a look of understanding before returning their eyes to their weary colleague, "I'm sorry. I must be tired," she tried to make excuses for the raw emotion overpowering her. Seeing the fear on Booth's face after so many hours of hoping desperately that she'd see his beautiful brown eyes again had just been more than the exhausted woman could bear. Nodding to Angela that she was leaving to give them privacy, Cam slipped from the room.
"Bren, honey, you're exhausted. You're going to sleep until Booth wakes up. We'll come get you when he does, but you are in no shape to greet Mr. Sexy when he wakes up asking for you."
"I'm fine, Ang... I'm fine," she lied as she tried again and failed to hide her emotions.
"Shut up and let me help you into this bed or I will call them to sedate you," Angela insisted. She was pretty damn exhausted, too. She'd given up on trying to keep vigil with Brennan once Booth had been moved to ICU—they wouldn't let her in there anyway. She'd tried sleeping in Brennan's hospital bed, but hadn't been able to rest. She'd left Bren a note and gone home to crash after calling everyone—Rebecca, Cam, Bren's dad—to tell them that Booth was out of surgery and that Brennan was fine but stubbornly refusing to rest. Then she'd crashed for hours in Jack's arms.
She couldn't imagine how exhausted Bren was—she'd been up another 36 hours sitting by Booth's bedside.
"I have to be there. What if he wakes up alone?" Brennan asked even as she allowed Angela to help her into the bed.
"Cam will sit with him. Or I will. We won't leave him alone, Bren. But you are wiped out, sweetie. You have to rest. You can't collapse on him when he wakes up."
"Promise you'll wake me up."
"I promise."
"Now get some rest, sweetie."
T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . .
Two hours later, Cam had been sitting there when Booth had woken again. She'd stood quickly to make certain that he could see her so that she could reassure him, "Seeley, you're in intensive care. You had surgery. You're fine. Dr. Brennan is fine. Parker is fine."
She watched as Booth's vital signs registered his concern and his confusion. He tried to talk. "Your throat is going to be sore, Seeley. You were on a ventilator for a few days."
"Bones," he croaked, not recognizing his own voice.
"She's sleeping. She sat here for days, Seeley. I'll go get her if you want."
Booth shook his head slightly, indicating that she should let his partner rest.
"How are you feeling?" she asked.
He quirked an eyebrow at her instead of shrugging or talking. He didn't have the energy or stamina to do either. "Like you were shot, cut open, and put on life support?" Cam joked. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly but he couldn't quite manage a smile. His eyes still reflected his worry and disorientation.
"We missed you, big guy. I'm so glad you made it," Cam confessed, tears rushing her unexpectedly.
He squeezed her hand and wondered how much actually moving anything else was going to hurt.
They sat there quietly for a few moments until the doctor and nurses showed up to examine him. Cam rose slowly and smiled back at her former lover before leaving the room. She watched for a few moments as the doctors examined Booth before turning to make her way down the hallway to let Angela know that Booth was awake.
T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . .
When Brennan woke a few hours later, she was furious with Angela for letting her sleep. She grumbled as she slipped into the chair and insisted upon wheeling herself down the hallway. As she arrived at the doorway to Booth's room, she was overcome with emotion. He was sleeping again but he was now clean-shaven and his coloring had started to return. He was far too still for her to be comfortable seeing him that way, but he looked much more like her partner than he had even hours before.
She felt guilty for not being there—for missing out on his waking up. Rationally, she knew that she'd needed sleep, but that didn't ease her conscience about not being there to welcome her partner back to the land of the living.
She hadn't been there when Booth had been murmuring her name and asking for her earlier. When he'd said "Bones" his medical team had thought he was complaining that his bones were causing him pain and discomfort. They had chalked up the fact that he kept repeating the word to mean that he was in substantial pain and had given him more pain medication once they were convinced that he was on the road to recovery. As the medication had fogged everything over and she'd felt the need to reassure those worried brown eyes, the nurse had told him that Dr. Brennan would be very happy to see him alert and awake and that she'd been there at his bedside constantly, but none of them had realized that he'd been asking for her while they ran tests and cleaned him up.
Brennan had been so convinced that she was going to lose him that she now almost felt afraid to touch him. Her heart in her throat, she reached out and stroked the back of his right hand tenderly as she watched over him. She sat there for hours refusing food, drink, and rest. She would not be moved from his bedside. A few times during the night, the sedatives had worn off slightly. At those times, she'd been heartbroken to hear Booth moaning in his sleep. She could tell from the sound that his pain was not physical—the meds were keeping that pain under control. The sounds he was making were a response to his emotional turmoil. She couldn't comprehend most of what he was saying, but it wasn't difficult for her to speculate what he was dreaming about. He mumbled, "She's not my girl" more than once. She ached with the knowledge that he was reliving that scene and his attempt to focus on her with another man in order to save her—even though she had known that even that false conversation had cost him dearly. Other times, he spoke more loudly, "No, Bones! Don't!" After the second such outburst, Brennan broke down and cried again.
Booth settled back into a fitful sleep and left her there still waiting for him to wake up and be a recovering version of himself. The agony of waiting was killing her. Part of her wanted to wake him up and demand that he talk to her, but she knew that he needed time to rest.
The following morning after she had finally taken a shower—only when Angela had threatened to hose her off if she didn't, Brennan walked slowly and painfully down the hall to the ICU. Her heart stopped when she found the room Booth had been in empty. Leaning against the doorframe for support, she asked the first nurse she saw about Booth, fearing that the woman would tell her that he'd died during her absence.
"They're running some tests and moving him to a private room. No worries," the nurse had said encouragingly before walking away as if those words had not been life saving for the woman who'd heard them. A shaky Brennan returned to the room and waited.
T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . . T R A N S L A T I O N . . .
As he slowly regained consciousness, Booth's instincts awoke one by one. He felt the adequate bedding beneath him, he smelled the clinical chemical odors of a medical facility, and he heard the whirs, beeps, and other sounds of the machines monitoring his vital signs. Slowly coming out from under the fog of pain medications, he tensed. Seeley Booth wasn't truly afraid of many things, but at that moment, he was terrified. The events leading up to his hospitalization rushed back at him with brute force, leaving him afraid to open his eyes and face reality. What if she was gone? What if he had lost her? Would he have to live the rest of his life regretting rushing into that alley and letting them disarm him? Parker was safe—that much he remembered, but Bones…. He ached with the memory of her falling after the bullet hit her chest, blood staining her shirt before she fell to the ground lifeless. He really didn't want to know what a world without Bones would be like. He couldn't imagine trying to move on without her.
Across the room, a contemplative Brennan had sat dozing lightly while she waited for him to wake up. Slowly he remembered Cam telling him that her injuries had been less severe. The bullet in her leg had required simple surgery to extract it, and her bone had not been shattered by it. The wound in her chest had been superficial. It had been the impact of the blast and the mild concussion she'd suffered when her head had hit the hard surface of the alley that had rendered her temporarily unconscious.
As she'd waited desperately for him to return to her, Brennan had also had ample time to question her actions and ponder her next move. She had no way to guess what Booth might do when he woke up. Would he be angry with her for waiting until a life or death situation to confess that she'd had feelings for him? She'd been a coward. He'd be disappointed in her. Would the violence they'd all suffered because of their closeness cause him to re-draw the line that had held them apart for so long? Or worse, would he expect too much from her, demand she do and say things that she wasn't ready for? Would it be too late—had they missed their second chance, too? Her life never went smoothly. She was unprepared for the possibility that it might now.
She'd sent Sweets away when he visited and tried to talk to her. She'd known that Angela and Cam had talked to him about her obsessive vigilance over Booth, but she didn't care. She was not going to talk to Sweets about this. This was none of his business. She knew it was irrational, but part of her wanted to pin this whole horrible scenario on the young psychologist. If he hadn't pressed Booth to push her into a relationship too soon, this whole situation might not have unfolded the way that it had. Fortunately, she'd frightened the man into staying away. She had known that Booth wouldn't have wanted him there, either.
The increase in Booth's heart rate pulled her out of her fitful dreams. She rose slowly and made her way to the bed, slipping her hand into his, needing to comfort him even if it might be the last time.
The warmth of her hand in his was pure torture. Was this a dream? Was he dead? Was she alive but had nothing changed? Had he dreamt the words she'd said to him?
Squeezing her hand, he slowly opened his eyes, blinking back tears when he saw her worried face hovering above him.
"Booth...," she whispered, emotion choking off her words temporarily, "You're okay. You're in the hospital. You had surgery."
He searched her eyes for some sign, some clue. Instead, he saw only her fear. He glanced away from her crestfallen.
"Booth, are you okay? Do you remember me?"
"I remember you, Bones," he whispered. His voice remained raw and hoarse from being intubated after his surgery.
"Good," she whispered, her relief evident. "You'll be fine. You'll experience substantial pain and a minimum recovery time. But there's no permanent damage." He knew that she might be hiding behind science to mask either relief that he was awake or deeper emotions, so he tried to help, "Thanks, Bones," he said softly, but he found that he couldn't make himself meet her gaze even though he felt her staring at him.
Brennan panicked. Booth wouldn't look at her. He always looked at her. Knowing him the way she did, she'd expected him to raise the issue of their conversation in the alley the first moment he'd woken. But he hadn't. She took his aversion to looking at her as a sign of pain and discomfort that meant she'd been too late—that he'd changed his mind about thinking they should take a chance together and couldn't face telling her that she'd been too late.
Never one to avoid confrontation even if she wouldn't reveal the true source of it, she leaned closer and whispered to him, "Booth, look at me. Why won't you look at me?" she asked him desperately.
He glanced at her and then looked away.
"Booth, it's okay. You're my partner. Whatever is wrong, we'll face it together. Don't shut me out. I… I'm just so glad you're okay. I thought I'd lost you…," she confessed as tears choked off her words.
Partner. She'd called him her partner. He didn't need a translator to tell him what that meant. His suspicions had been confirmed. He'd dreamt that anything more had happened. His brain appeared to get a major kick out of making his wildest dreams seem real when he was anesthetized. He ached with the knowledge that he'd dreamt up yet another unrealistic happy ending for them. They were still Booth and Brennan—partners destined for nothing more.
Brennan squeezed his hand and pressed her palm to his face to get his attention. Unable to keep from responding to her gentle touch, he looked at her, his fear and pain clearly visible in those intoxicating brown eyes. He wasn't yet well or clear-headed enough to hide his pain from her. The medications were making it impossible for him to keep his grief a secret.
"Booth, what's wrong? You're okay. We got Kwon. We solved the case. Everyone is safe. There's nothing to worry about." She was obviously being supportive, but she'd given him no sign of any reason to hope that things might have changed or that he had any reason to hope that they might find happiness outside the neat borders of their partnership. The pain of that realization far exceeded his current physical wounds.
So what can I say?
What can I do?
I'm still in love.
Why aren't you?
"Thank you," he choked out before closing his eyes and allowing the pain medication to lull him back to sleep. It had been obvious that he'd been upset, but she hadn't been able to convince him to talk about it. Aching but determined not to leave him, Brennan kept an even more constant vigil in his room since the nurses weren't monitoring him as closely. When visitors came to see him, she left some of them alone with him, but she never strayed farther than across the hallway so that she could keep an eye on him from a distance.
Cam and Angela had spoken later of the haunted expression on Booth's face. He had been unusually quiet and evasive when each of the women had tried to find out what was wrong. He had not pretended that he was in better shape than he was, and he had avoided all conversation about Bones—even when both women had repeatedly hit upon the topic of his partner sensing that she might be the source of the cloud that hung over him.
Aching but still determined to do what he needed, Brennan had lied to the staff and snuck Parker up to see his father even though he wasn't technically old enough to be allowed to visit. Brennan had taken time to explain to him that his father was just sleeping. Technically, the child wasn't old enough to visit such a vulnerable patient, but Brennan had insisted that Rebecca bring him up. Never mind that they had pretended he was a few years older than he really was. Brennan had talked circles around the nurse until she just gave up and let the boy in.
Taking in the view of his father so pale and so still, Parker was instantly afraid. He hugged his mother tightly and looked to Brennan for guidance. "What do I do now?" Parker asked, worry visible on his small brow. "Tell him a bedtime story to help him rest," Brennan suggested. She watched as the small boy had knelt on the chair beside his father's bed and whispered to him for a short time. She understood all too well how helpless and worried the boy felt as he watched his father lie there so unnatural and unmoving.
'Cause it don't matter to the moon
If you're not in my life
She hadn't heard the prayers Parker had said for his father. She hadn't heard his pleas with him to wake up and spend time with him and with Bones. She hadn't heard the small child telling his father that he was so happy that he'd found someone to be happy with and spend time with when he was with his mother. She hadn't heard him tell his father that Bones looked more worried and upset than he'd ever seen her. He had begged him to wake up so that she wouldn't look so sad.
Brennan had only seen Parker wipe tears when he'd turned to leave the room. She also hadn't seen Booth stir as his son's footsteps had moved farther away.
No, the moon will just keep hanging round, hanging round
Like it's just another night
To find another place to shine
On some other lovers' dreams
After reassuring Parker that his father would wake up soon and come home, Brennan hugged the boy tightly. She steeled herself realizing that she wasn't going to be able to avoid the inevitable conversation Rebecca looked determined to have with her about the circumstances that had brought them to the hospital. But as she was contemplating desperate excuses for postponing that talk even longer, she heard Booth calling her name.
Excusing herself brusquely, she rushed back into the room—as afraid of what he'd say as she was that she might miss it.
'Cause it don't matter to the moon no, no
But it matters to me
When she hurried as quickly as she could to his bedside and placed her hand over his to comfort him, Booth surprised her by gripping her hand tightly and pulling her closer, "Bones. Be honest. I need to know. Was it another dream?"
'Cause it don't matter to the moon no, no
But it matters to me
Lyrics Continued from It Don't Matter to the Sun performed beautifully by Rosie Thomas
