What if: Brennan had become a neurosurgeon instead of a forensic anthropologist?

AU? Yes

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"Sit down, Seeley."

I love my husband, I do, but his pacing was driving me around the bend.

He must have heard the tension in my voice, because he perched on the hard plastic chair next to mine and started channeling all of that nervous energy into tapping his toes.

I'm lucky to have him. Sure, we got off to a rocky start, but we've moved past that. You see, when we met, he was in town for the weekend, on leave from the army, of all things.

My parents are doctors. I'd never met anyone in the military before.

We hit it off, though, and for the next few months, we spent weekends and holidays together whenever we could.

And then I found out I was pregnant.

He asked me to marry him. I'd never been the kind to think that people should get married just because of a child, but the thought of dealing with diapers and teething, potty training and learning to talk, all of the work and worry that goes into raising a child, was terrifying. In a moment of weakness, I said yes.

We started figuring out how to build a shared life. He left the army and got a job with the FBI. We moved in together and got married and welcomed our son.

It wasn't easy, but we made it work. Sometimes, I'd look over at him sleeping beside me and think, "This is the man I'm going to grow old with".

It was a comforting thought.

A few months ago, things started to change. He started acting in a way I can only describe as erratic. Every once in a while, I'd hear him talking to someone who wasn't there, or mentioning a conversation he'd had with someone who was long dead. I thought … well, actually, I told myself that nothing was wrong, that I'd misunderstood.

Last week, he had some kind of episode at the shooting range and I couldn't pretend that everything was OK anymore. He was rushed to the hospital, and we spent the next few days sitting in rooms just like this one, waiting to see one doctor or another.

When we finally got a diagnosis, I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. The thought of a brain tumor was terrifying, but the prognosis was cautiously good. I called my mom and asked which doctor was the best, and finally we were able to get an appointment.

The institutional clock on the wall says that that appointment was 45 minutes ago.

I picked up another of the crumpled waiting room magazines and glanced at the date on the cover, wondering how a medical office that was built last year managed to have five year-old magazines in the waiting room. Sighing, I tried to read despite the jittery man beside me.

The door opened, and finally the nurse called, "Seeley Booth?" Seeley jumped up, and I followed a few steps behind as he charged after the nurse.

At least the chairs in the inner office were more comfortable, because we sat there for another 20 minutes before the doctor walked in. She was young – early thirties, maybe? - with a blue lab coat and her hair in a ponytail. She had her nose stuck in the open chart in front of her, and she barely glanced at us as she walked in.

Seeley and I exchanged nervous glances as she sat at the desk, her attention still on the file. When I thought I'd scream from the tension in the room, she closed the file and looked up.

"Mr. Booth?"

Seeley raised his hand sheepishly.

"I'd like to operate as soon as possible. No food after 10 the night before. Check in at the hospital two hours before surgery. You'll be off work for at least six weeks, maybe longer, depending on how it goes. Possible side effects include loss of vision, balance, memory loss – very rare, but I have to warn you. Any questions?"

"What should we expect as he recovers?"

I could have sworn that she'd forgotten I was even in the room until I asked the question. "Hospital for five days after surgery, possibly physiotherapy or occupational therapy, depending on side effects. We won't know until after the surgery."

She turned her attention back to my husband. "I will be doing the surgery, and one or more of my interns will assist. I'm the best in the world. You're in good hands."

I could have sworn they'd never met before, but the look they exchanged hinted at a connection that I'd never experienced. Beside me, Seeley's leg stilled and he nodded.

The doctor got up and picked up the file. "See the receptionist to schedule the surgery." On that note, she left the room.

We stood to go, and I slid my hand into my husband's, leaning ever so slightly against him.

"See?", I asked. "It'll be fine."

He was calmer than he'd been in days. "I know", he answered.

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Anyone still there?