Jared and Brennan jogged slightly catch up with Hank and the young trainer who were already in the tunnel, leading to the locker rooms and trainer's office. They were led down a wide hallway and through a couple doors where they could hear Booth hollering in pain.

"Damn it, Ross, just stop! We both know my ankle's broken and making me walk on it isn't going to make it better! Let me sit down and stop touching me!" Booth shouted at the team doctor.

"Seeley, we don't know it's broken. We gotta take some x-rays."

The young man who had escorted them through the tunnel told them to wait in the weight room and he'd come get them as soon as Dr. Ross, the team doctor was done examining Booth.

Jared began to pace. Hank sat down on a bench and motioned Brennan to join him.

"Whatever is going on, it's obviously not good. Jared and I have to go home tomorrow and I need you to promise me that you'll take care of him," he told her, taking her hand.

"Of course," Brennan said quietly. She looked up at Hank. He had a sad smile on his face.

"Seeley lives for football. This injury, whatever it is, is going to break him. He's going to give up and he's going to feel like there is no hope left for him. You need to tell him that he's going to recover. He needs to know that he's got three more years after this to achieve his dreams. He'll see the light, but only if you make him. He trusts you more than he trusts Jared. Make him see there is no good reason to give up. He'll listen to you because of who you are to him."

"Well, what am I to him?" Brennan asked.

"You'll know. In time, you'll know," Hank said, dropping her hand and standing up.

He joined Jared and started pacing around the weight room, making laps around the various equipment in the small, stuffy room.

Dr. Ross came in the weight room and stared at the ground. Brennan looked up and Hank and Jared stopped pacing.

"Seeley is being taken over to the hospital for x-rays. All of my preliminary findings show, however, that he had dislocated his knee and has a high ankle sprain. The sprain will most likely need surgery to correct everything. If he doesn't have the surgery, his ankle will never heal properly. If that was to happen, he would never play football again. But," he added, hopefully, "with the surgery, he can be expected to play in any post season games they will attend."

Hank and Brennan both breathed a sigh of relief. Jared, however, was still fuming.

"You need to fix this now. He needs to start next weekend. They're playing Ohio State next weekend. How do you expect the team to play any post season games if Seel isn't playing?!" Jared punched the closest wall to him.

"Seeley isn't going to just magically heal. He needs time. He'll be back from the x-rays in about twenty minutes. If you want a more comfortable place to wait for him, I can show you to my office. As soon as he's back we can all go over treatment options as soon as I see what's going on in the x-ray," Dr. Ross said as he waited for Hank, Jared and Brennan to follow him.

Ross left them in his office to wait. Even with the office door closed, they could hear the fans cheering and the commentators yelling over the speaker system. The small TV that was in Dr. Ross' office was silently tuned to a live coverage of the game. The Wildcats were leading by a lot now and there was no way Penn State had a chance to win the game. Booth's replacement was doing a fairly decent job, but he wasn't as good as Booth.

Jared began pacing again and Hank held his head in his hands as Brennan studied the small room. There were few personal belongings to the doctor. No family pictures or even a computer. Just a small stack of papers on the otherwise empty desk. Brennan got up to turn up the volume on the TV. The commentators were discussing what could be wrong with Booth.

"I don't know, Chet, if Seeley Booth doesn't recover soon, there is no way the Wildcats are going to make it all the way to the national championship. Let's see the replay again. We need to try to find out what exactly happened to the Wildcats' quarterback."

The screen transitioned to a slow motion replay. Booth went down slowly. They could see his joints, muscles and tendons in his left leg move and bend in ways it shouldn't. The sports journalists verbally cringed.

"Yikes!"

"Ow, that's gotta hurt. Look at the way he went down, Michael. His knee looks dislocated and his ankle could very well be broken."

"Okay we're getting preliminary reports back from the Wildcats and according to the team doctor, x-rays are done and developed and Booth is suffering from a knee dislocation and a high ankle sprain. Apparently, the quarterback has been admitted to the hospital and will have surgery early tomorrow morning to correct everything perfectly. Dr. Ross, the Wildcats' team doctor has released a statement saying that Seeley Booth should be fully recovered to lead the Wildcats to a successful post season bowl game win. Well, Michael, now who knows if they're even going to make it to the post season. They are close enough, rank-wise, to lose their number one slot. If they even lose by a single touchdown, the Wildcats are in jeopardy of missing out on their first ever national championship title."

"Excuse me?" Dr. Ross popped his head into his office, "Seeley has been admit-"

"We know," Jared said, barely keeping in his emotion, "Why did you tell the media before us. We had a right to hear it from you instead of the news!"

Dr. Ross nodded. "I'm sorry but it wasn't my decision. My bosses decide when to release things and to whom. If you'd like, I can take you over to the hospital to see Seeley."

They followed the doctor to a large golf cart just outside the stadium and drove them to the university hospital a few blocks away. Now almost eleven at night, the game was ending and fans were pouring out of the stadium sing the school fight song and getting ready to party the night away. Dr. Ross accompanied them to Booth's room. He was still muddy and dirty from early in the game and was wide awake, watching replays on TV of his injury.

"Hey, Seel," Jared broke the silence first as they walked in the door. Hank looked up to the TV mounted on the wall, saw the replays and snatched the remote from his hand. He turned it off and Booth complained.

"I want to know what they say. I need to know we're still going to make it to the title!"

"Booth, they're probably pumping you full of drugs. You're not going to remember what they say in the morning anyway," Brennan told him.

"Bren! I was hoping you'd show up! Hey, Pops, wanna get me a washcloth? I'm all dirty and I can't let pretty girls see me all nasty."

"You have other girls coming to visit you?" Jared asked, grinning.

"No…Just Bren." He smiled at her and she blushed. "Oh, come on, Bren. You know I think you're pretty. I bet you think I'm pretty hot too."

"Damn, Seel, how many drugs are you on?" Jared reached for his chart, not that he could actually read it, he just wanted to look smart in front of Brennan.

"Well, the padding you wear for football makes you pretty good. Plus your face is fairly symmetrical in all aspects. It's no wonder all the other girls on campus throw themselves at you."

"Are you saying I'm hot?"

"Are you running a fever?"

"No, I-"

"Then I doubt your temperature is high. As I was saying, yes, your symmetrical features show me you are attractive."

Booth giggled, obviously a side effect of the painkillers he was on.

Hank was tired and he and Jared called a cab to take them back to their hotel. "We'll come back in the morning. Goodnight, Bren. Goodnight, Seeley," Hank said as he and his grandson walked out.

Brennan looked back at Booth. He was staring intently at her.

"I need something."

"Are you okay? Do you need the doctor? I can go get a nurse," she said, panicking.

"Give me the remote," he demanded.

"Oh, is that it?" She asked as she handed it to Booth.

"We won, right? Mayflower didn't screw up?"

She smiled at him. "Mayflower did fine from what I could still hear at the game. We were in Dr. Ross' office for a long time after you got hurt. But, yes, we won."

He sighed. "Wanna see my ankle?" Booth had a mischievous look on his face. "They left it unwrapped, thank God. It hurts like a son of a bitch though." He lifted the sheet that covered his legs. His knee was bruised but it otherwise didn't look too worse for the wear.

His ankle, on the other hand, was an entirely different story. His normally skinny ankle was now as large as his calf muscles. Brennan wanted to touch the swollen area. She lifted a finger. "No!" Booth shouted. She jumped back.

"Sorry, Bren, but it hurts. Look, no touch!" He smiled.

His ankle was bruised all different colors. Black, blue, purple, and a little yellow splotches covered and surrounded the swelling. He had bruises all the way down to his toes, even though they were hardly affected by the injury.

"Damn it!" he shouted at the TV.

"What? I didn't touch you!" Brennan said defensively.

"No, not you. Those assholes on ESPN are saying that we're not going to make it to the championship."

"You'll be better by then. Then this Mayflower kid can stay in the side spot."

"Sideline, Bren, stay on the sideline. And yeah, if I'm lucky, I'll play in the regular season closer."

Brennan didn't want to tell him that his recovery time would be a lot longer than just two weeks. She sat in a chair close to his bed and watched TV with him. Every once in a while, Booth would take a deep breath, hold it in and let it out all in one fell swoop. That was his way of getting through the pain.

"Booth, you really should take some of the pain killers. All you have to do is hit that button."

"I don't want it. I'm going to be on it after the surgery. I don't want to take more than I have to."

Brennan stared at him, knowing full well that he was in pain, but was too stubborn to do anything about it.

"Bren, you don't gotta stay. It's almost one in the morning. Go to bed. I'll see you tomorrow," Booth said, waving toward the door.

"Your grandfather gave me a very heartfelt speech about taking care of you so I'm staying here. And you even said that I can sleep when I'm dead, even though technically, the dead do not sleep."

He chuckled. "Well then, you can watch the replays of me falling to my demise all night with me. It's staying on Sportscenter all night, baby!"

"I am not a baby," she looked at him angrily, but she couldn't really be all that mad at him. He looked too vulnerable in his hospital gown and tubes attached.

He still winced in pain on occasion and when he readjusted himself in his bed, he muffled himself to keep from shouting out. Brennan didn't read people very well, but she could read Booth. He was in pain and he wasn't about to admit it. Booth looked like he was about to cry, his face red from holding back the tears he wasn't about to let fall. Brennan grabbed his hand and held on for dear life. He looked at her and then at the button for the pain killers.

"Don't, Bren. I don't need it. Please, I promise I'll push the button all the damn time after the surgery, just don't push the button. I don't want to be a drug addict."

Brennan laughed.

"You're laughing at me?! This isn't funny, Bren!"

"Booth, you won't become a drug addict just from taking some pain killers. You have an incredibly bad sprain. Honestly, I'm surprised your ankle isn't broken. And even if you do become addicted, which you won't," Brennan added, "I'll help you through all of it. Just like I helped you with anthropology."

"Promise?"

"I promise, Booth."

He smiled at her. "Come here." Booth patted the bed on his right side. As much as he trusted Brennan, no one, except the doctor, was going near that ankle. Painfully, he slid over as much as he could without falling off. She sat on the edge and looked back up at the TV.

"No, Bren. Come on, lay down," he encouraged.

She gave in to his perfect smile and rested her head on his chest. As he realized her breathing had slowed and she was finally sleeping, he nuzzled his face in the top of her head and kissed her. He fell asleep holding the girl he was imagining 30, 40, 50 down the road.

A/N: Just a little homage to the 100th episode at the end. Love that episode! Anyway, let me know if you like it, think there's something that could be done better or something you want to see.