Chapter Text
Booth hacks away at the ossified layers of faded paint and yellowing wallpaper and does his best not to inhale the musty-smelling cloud of dust and flakes that rises up every time he brings the scraper down. His arms are aching, he's covered in dirt and plaster dust, but he's humming under his breath, and if he's honest with himself, he has to admit that he hasn't been this happy since the day they moved into the house. It's a moment of pure self-indulgence, because there's still plenty of work to do in the master bathroom and the bedroom, and he hasn't even gotten started on the nursery yet – but there's no way he could have resisted when Bones placed a cool hand on his shoulder and told him firmly, "Go play in your man cave, Booth, I've had enough of you getting underfoot while I'm trying to work" before bodily shoving him out of the kitchen.
He takes a step back and casts a critical look around. There's still a long way to go until the room will look even remotely like he's picturing it, but the mere image in his mind is enough to leave him giddy with excitement. He draws a deep breath, inhaling the faint aroma of almonds and cinnamon that mixes with the stench of mold and age-old dust, and he can't help the smile that spreads over his face. Temperance Brennan, world-famous anthropologist and best-selling author, is busy in their kitchen, in their house, indulging in the baking spree she's been on for most of the past week because she's pregnant with his child and has gone into what Angela calls the "nesting phase" of her pregnancy. Life doesn't get much better than this, and the thought makes him tackle the wall in front of him with renewed energy.
After a while, he hears the stairs creak under the heavy, careful footfalls that have replaced her once energetic gait, and he turns around when the door opens, letting in a fresh wave of spicy fragrance. Bones sticks her head into the room as if to check on his progress, but the tender little smile on her face tells him that's not the reason for her visit.
"Hey." He meant to sound soft and playful, but some of the dust must have gotten into his throat after all, so the greeting comes out a little hoarse.
"Hey to you too." She doesn't come in – she has made it clear that she understands the anthropological significance of a space that he can claim as his own, even though Booth suspects she isn't too fond of the gloomy basement room anyway. "In case you're hungry, the pie will be done in a couple of minutes."
"Aw, Bones, you made pie?" Booth walks over to her and wishes he wasn't covered in dirt because he would very much like to kiss her. "That's great!"
"That remains to be seen," she answers with a frown. "I found this recipe for a cherry and marzipan pie on a website Angela recommended, but it was more difficult to make than I initially assumed, and I can't be sure yet whether the result will be of adequate quality."
"Come on, it smells great, there's no way it…" Booth pauses and clears his throat; it's only now that he notices how raspy his voice has become. He reaches for his water bottle and takes a sip; the water is cool and soothing, but his throat still feels uncomfortably dry.
Bones eyes him carefully. "Are you okay?"
He shakes his head and takes another gulp of water. "I'm fine – it's just the dust, I guess."
"You should wear a protective mask during this kind of work." She takes a step towards him, obviously forgetting her anthropological man cave rules, and brushes a few paint flakes off his shoulder. "There could be toxic metals in the old paint, certain kinds of mold are highly toxic as well, and the smaller particles –"
"Bones, I said I'm fine." As sweet as it is that she's worried about him, he'd rather not have her try out her maternal instincts on him while there's no baby to take care of yet. However, his throat has now started to itch like crazy, and Booth lifts the bottle again to wash the last of that damned dust away. The moment the water hits the back of his throat, he starts coughing.
"Booth?" Her tone is alarmed, but Booth can't focus on it; he can't get the sudden coughing fit under control, and the harder he tries to draw a deep breath, the tighter his windpipe seems to become. His throat is on fire, the burning pain quickly spreading downwards, and then grey dots appear in his peripheral vision, closing in further until he can see nothing but a swirling mass of light and dark patches in front of his eyes. Panic settles in as he realizes that he's not getting any air at all – something alien and painful is lodged in his throat, and he's choking on it, no matter how hard he struggles for breath.
He hears a voice shouting, but the words don't make sense; something heavy is pressing on his chest and shoulders – why is he suddenly on his back? – until it's impossible to move, and then a sharp pain slices through his throat, leaving him retching and gasping for air. The pain is so intense that his vision darkens further for a moment, but at least he can breathe again – his windpipe feels raw and brittle with every breath, but the panic subsides a little, even though his heartbeat is so loud in his ears that he can't hear anything else over it.
There's a hand on his face, warm and gentle, and Booth desperately tries to pull himself together. Whatever just happened, it must have given Bones one hell of a fright, and he needs to let her know that he's okay. He's still deaf from the thundering sound of his own heartbeat, but his vision is slowly beginning to clear, and at last he manages to open his eyes – wait, when did he close them in the first place? – and to turn his head towards her.
The light makes his eyes hurt, and Booth has to blink a few times, but at last the outline of the woman bending over him swims into focus. He blinks again, squinting against the sudden brightness, but the image he sees remains unchanged. Blond hair, porcelain skin, pale blue eyes that are wide with an expression of… fear? shock? disbelief? as she stares at him and then hastily steps away. She's wearing something shapeless in a sickly green color that he has never seen on her before, but there' still no mistaking her.
Booth opens his mouth and tries to speak, but the only sound his abused throat can manage is a low, hoarse groan.
"Hannah?"
"Booth!" Someone is shaking him, none too gently, but at least he can hear clearly again, and the light isn't hurting his eyes any more. "What did you just say?"
"I – what?" His throat is still a little sore, but he notices with immense relief that he can breathe normally, and that it's no longer painful to speak. Like a fog lifting from his brain, the nauseating feeling of disorientation fades, and he finally realizes that he's in his bed with a visibly upset Bones hovering over him, her eyes glittering almost dangerously in the dim light of the bedside lamp.
"Bones, I – how did I get here? I thought I was… I mean, we were in the basement…"
Her expression becomes puzzled. "Yes, we were – and then you had way too much pie, and we went to bed. You woke me up a few moments ago when you started coughing again."
"Sorry." Booth sheepishly indicates the water bottle on her nightstand (there is no nightstand on his side of the bed yet because he hasn't gotten around to assembling it). "Could you hand me that?"
"Get it yourself, my current girth makes it impossible for me to reach that far without a considerable and very uncomfortable shift in my position." Her tone is icy, and Booth winces as he gets up and walks around the bed rather than just reaching across her belly, because he might risk an elbow in his kidney if he tried that right now.
He's still feeling a bit out of sorts, but he does his best not to let her notice it as he gulps down a few mouthfuls of water. "I guess you were right about the pie," he tries to joke as he crawls back under the covers, "I must have dreamed… it was pretty strange."
"I'll say." He clearly hasn't managed to brighten her foul mood, although there's a hint of hurt in her stern expression. "It must have been a very interesting dream, too, considering that it made you moan your ex-girlfriend's name."
Oh fuck. Booth does some very quick thinking, which isn't easy given that he's still a little groggy. "Bones, I wasn't moaning anything, it was just –"
"– a dream, I know." She definitely sounds hurt now. "I'm fully aware that you have no control over the activity of your brain during REM sleep, and that the male libido..."
"Whoa, hold it right there!" he cuts her off. "It wasn't that kind of dream, okay? It was pretty unpleasant – like I couldn't breathe or something, and…" He realizes too late that he probably shouldn't have let that slip, but at least the look she gives him now is concerned instead of accusing.
"I told you it would have been safer to wear a mask while stripping the walls. The dust you inhaled –"
"Fine, fine, you win." Booth knows when it's better to give in. "I'll wear the damned mask next time. Can we go back to sleep now?"
"I'd like to know about the rest of your dream." She doesn't sound mad any more, merely curious, but there's a tense undertone to her question. Booth is a little wary of opening this particular can of worms, but he actually likes the idea that Bones might feel possessive enough about him to be jealous of a shadow from the past.
He isn't going to tell her that, of course, so he merely shrugs. "There isn't much I remember – I opened my eyes, and she was standing there looking at me. She didn't look too happy to see me either, and before you ask, yes, she was fully dressed."
Bones' eyes narrow. "I wasn't going to ask that."
"Of course you weren't." Booth shoots her a knowing grin. "It was something baggy in an awful color, too – like hospital scrubs or something like that."
She raises her eyebrows. "This had better not been a Naughty Nurse kind of scenario, Booth."
"Oh, come on." He scoots closer to her and lowers his voice to a seductive purr. "The only person I would want to play Naughty Nurse with is you, and you know it."
"That's not an option at the moment." He's very familiar with that matter-of-fact tone – something is still bothering her, and she's trying to hide it behind a façade of clinical detachment. "Even though my current condition may be very satisfying for you on an emotional level, I'm aware that the massive changes to my body have considerably lessened my sexual appeal, and it would only be natural for you to…"
"Okay, enough." This is one of the occasions when patience will get him nowhere with her. "What happened to that Dr. I'm-gorgeous-and-don't-I-know-it I used to work with?"
Her smile turns out a little crooked. "She got pregnant."
"Which only made her more gorgeous." Booth bends down and presses a kiss on her belly. "Stop giving Mommy body image issues, little one."
Bones lightly swats him on the shoulder. "Have you been talking to Sweets again?"
Booth flops back onto his pillow and sighs. "You know how he is – he's pretty much impossible to avoid now that you can't go into the field any more, and I can't threaten to shoot him all the time just to make him shut up."
"I concede your point." She turns to switch off the bedside lamp and then says into the sudden darkness, "Just as long as you don't listen to him about anything important…"
He resolutely clamps down on the onset of very unpleasant memories. That part of his life is in the past, crazy dreams notwithstanding, and he refuses to dwell on it now that the fates are finally smiling on him. "Nah, I've learned my lesson in that regard."
"Don't you forget it," she murmurs, and Booth chuckles under his breath as he closes his eyes and gets comfortable.
"I won't."
+
+ + +
+
Booth opens his eyes and is almost blinded by a bright beam of light stabbing straight into his pupils. Flinching, he squeezes his eyes shut again and tries to turn his head away from the light source, but he finds that his muscles refuse to obey him. Every last remnant of half-awake grogginess is gone in an instant as panic sets in; he tries harder, which only results in his neck muscles screaming in protest, and an attempt to draw a deep, calming breath is hindered by the fact that something is blocking his right nostril and pressing against his cheek. He wants to raise his hand to remove whatever is stuck to his face, but finds that he can't because his wrists are tied to something, and his shocked gasp turns into a pained hiss when he realizes that his throat feels painfully dry and rough like sandpaper.
That's when he dimly becomes aware that someone is speaking to him; he can't understand what they're saying, but the voice is gentle and vaguely familiar. The light is no longer bright enough to hurt his eyes through his closed eyelids, so he finally opens them again because they seem to be the only part of his body that is willing to cooperate. His vision is blurred and fuzzy, but the face of the woman watching him is close enough to his own to recognize her nevertheless, and it manages to calm him instantly – because there is no way in hell Catherine Bryar could really be standing by his bedside.
You're having a nightmare, and you need to wake up NOW. The familiar old mantra comes back to him without effort; he hasn't had much need of it lately, but he's had too many years of practice to forget how to deal with his past haunting him in his sleep. Granted, a parade of his exes isn't his usual fare, and he hopes to God that he kept his mouth shut this time, but still, this is something he can handle. Close your eyes and forget what you're seeing; focus on yourself, on what you know is real, and when you open your eyes again the dream will be over.
Booth inhales deeply and then opens his eyes to a bedroom dimly lit by the first light of early morning. Bones is snoring softly next to him, and the chilling pressure of her toes against his calf tells him that her cold feet have found their way under his blanket again. He smiles and focuses on slowing his pulse down to normal as the last remnants of the nightmare fade; then he stretches, slowly and languidly, and for once the familiar twinge in his lower back is a welcome reminder that his body is in the same not-quite-perfect working order it usually is.
Then he takes a glance at the alarm clock on Bones' nightstand and jumps out of bed with a curse. She forgot to set the alarm again, and while she's more or less free to come and go at the lab as she pleases (never mind that she should by all rights be on maternity leave already anyway), he has a meeting he can't be late for in less than an hour.
+++
Hacker is pretty pissed off at Booth for storming in at the last minute, and Booth's day goes from bad to worse after that. He's swamped in paperwork he can't get done because every ten minutes somebody walks into his office demanding his immediate attention; Bones stands him up for lunch because Angela wants to take her shopping for baby clothes ("She says it's a sacred tradition between best friends, Booth, and even though I'm sure that's not actually true I don't want to disappoint her" – because disappointing him is obviously fine and dandy), and on top of it all Sweets keeps bugging him about Booth's steadfast refusal to take Daisy into the field ever again, which has obviously resulted in Sweets not getting any every time another squintern is called to a crime scene. In the end, it takes Booth's threat to shove Sweets' shiny new gun up a place where the sun doesn't shine to get rid of the kid, and Booth slumps back in his office chair with a groan and enjoys the first moment of blissful silence since this hell of a workday started.
Not that he finally has a moment to himself, he's beginning to feel the aftereffects of his less-than-restful night; his eyelids are heavy and itchy, and Booth closes them for a second and sighs in blessed relief. He knows he can't doze off at work, but he can still rest his eyes for a few seconds before delving back into the mountains of unfinished paperwork on his desk.
His relief, however, is short-lived, because somebody suddenly grabs his arm. Startled, Booth turns his head and sees Agent Genny Shaw – who must have tiptoed in from her desk in the bullpen because he never heard a thing – standing next to him and holding his wrist and upper arm in a surprisingly strong grip. Booth wants to ask her what on earth she thinks she's doing, but he finds that he can't get a single word out. He tries to shake her off, but that doesn't work either; his arm feels like lead, and she slowly lifts it above his head and then lowers it again. His struggles to get out of her grasp merely earn him a raised eyebrow and the cheerful admonition, "Hey, didn't we agree that you wouldn't fight me any more?"
"What the hell, Shaw?" Just like that, he finds his voice again, and his chair snaps upright as the grip on his arm loosens. Blinking, Booth looks around, but he doesn't have time to figure out what's going on because somebody speaks up from the direction of his office door.
"Sir, did you just call me?"
Booth can only stare in total befuddlement; Agent Shaw is at the door and sticks her head into his office with that half-eager, half-apologetic expression she can't seem to get rid of around him. "I'm sorry if I interrupted anything, but I thought I'd heard –"
"Never mind." Booth quickly decides he has neither the time nor the inclination to ponder what just happened. "It's okay, Shaw, get back to work."
Maybe it's just his imagination, but it seems to him that she's giving him a curious look before he leaves, and for the first time he's glad of Shaw's persistent hero-worshipping because at least it means she'll keep her mouth shut about this.
Now thoroughly ill at ease, Booth decides that he needs a break. As dreadful as the coffee in the break room is, it will at least provide him with a much-needed dose of caffeine. He crosses the bullpen with a few long strides, his grim expression making the rookies hide behind computer screens and file folders, and breathes a sigh of relief when he steps out into the blessedly empty hallway.
He's about to enter the break room when he hears Shaw calling his name. With a muttered curse, Booth turns around to tell her to get lost until he's had his coffee, but she's nowhere in sight; the hallway is as empty and silent as before.
Shaking his head, Booth figures he underestimated just how badly he needs that coffee.
+++
For the rest of the day, Booth can't shake off the nagging feeling that something is off. Several times, he's close to calling Bones just to hear the reassuring sound of her voice, but she still doesn't appreciate pointless interruptions when she's working, and he also doesn't want her to worry in case he sounds as out of sorts as he feels. He isn't getting anywhere with the paperwork either, and by five o'clock he decides that he's had enough. It's not like the files on his desk are going anywhere, so he might just as well call it a day and get back to them with a clearer mind tomorrow.
He swings by the grocery store on his way home, and the familiarity of the routine task manages to calm him a little. By the time he unlocks the front door of their house, Booth is feeling almost normal again.
He lets the door fall shut behind him while trying to balance his keys and two bags full of groceries; his "Bones, I'm home!" echoes in the hallway, but remains otherwise unanswered. He isn't really surprised; it would be very much unlike her not to make up for lost time at work after she let Angela drag her away for a few hours.
He carries the bags into the kitchen and begins restocking their shiny new fridge with stuff from the three food groups in their household, which means stuff he'll eat, stuff she'll eat, and stuff they'll both eat (the last one being the smallest group by far). He's almost done when an amused female voice speaks up next to his ear in a sing-song tone, "Let's see what's for dinner tonight, shall we?"
Booth nearly drops a carton of eggs when he whips around. A part of him hopes that Bones came home and decided to sneak up on him, but deep down he knows better, because the voice sounded nothing like hers. Sure enough, there's nobody there – he's completely alone in the kitchen, and a quick sweep of the other rooms confirms that they're empty too.
Damn.
He slowly makes his way into the half-furnished living room and sits down heavily in his beloved old leather recliner. There's no way around the fact that he recognized the voice – and dreaming of your ex-girlfriend may be one thing, but hearing her voice in an empty house while you're wide awake is a whole other can of worms.
Booth takes a deep breath and forces himself to face the facts. As much as he'd love to keep ignoring the signs, something is obviously wrong with him. He's immensely grateful that Bones all but dragged him to his latest half-yearly checkup less than a month ago, when he was so busy repairing the roof that he wanted to reschedule – even if he has never admitted it to her, the fear of his tumor returning has been his constant companion ever since he was released from the hospital, and he doesn't even want to imagine what he'd do right now without the reassuring memory of her poring over his CT scans with his doctor until she was satisfied that everything was fine. You can't grow a brain tumor in four weeks, right? But if it's not that, what he hell is going on with him?
"Booth?" He didn't hear Bones coming in, which is weird considering how loud the stairs creak when you climb them, but the only thing that matters is that she's here – because he knows he can no longer hide this from her, and if he has to make her worry, he wants her to have the whole truth so they can figure out together what to do about it.
He does his best to smile at her as she carefully sits down on the armrest of the recliner, but she doesn't return his smile; she's looking at him with her eyebrows drawn together and her lips pressed into a thin line as if she were faced with a scientific puzzle she can't make sense of.
Her hand is cold against his skin when she touches his face, and he wonders whether he's running a fever.
"Booth, can you hear me?"
He wants to ask her what kind of inane question that's supposed to be, but the words won't come; the whole room is starting to spin, and the grey dots are reappearing before his eyes until the contours of her face blur and then vanish altogether. He no longer feels her hand, or the soft leather underneath him; he wants to reach out, to hold on to her, to something, but his body doesn't feel connected to his brain any more. Bones' panicked voice is calling his name, but it's getting fainter, as if he were moving farther and farther away from her; he can't see anything but whirling dark and white spots until they, too, fade to black.
+++
"Booth?"
He has no idea how much time has passed when he hears her voice again; it sounds different than before, gentle and hesitant instead of urgent and fearful. His body feels like it's made of lead, but at least he can feel it again; as he slowly drifts back to consciousness, he becomes dimly aware that he's in a bed, and that someone is holding his hand.
Opening his eyes still seems like an enormous effort, and Booth decides to allow himself another moment of rest before he tries it.
"Booth, can you hear me?" There's no missing the anxiety in her tone, and he wishes he could do something to reassure her, but he still can't muster up the energy. A part of him idly wonders what happened, but what he really wants is to go back to sleep; he can't remember ever having been this tired before.
"Booth, if you can hear me, I need you to squeeze my hand." The clear command cuts through the haze his brain is still swimming in; no matter how tired he is, this is Bones, his Bones, and he needs to pull himself together for her.
With enormous effort, Booth flexes his fingers. He doesn't manage much more than a twitch, and it makes every muscle up to is shoulder scream in protest, but Bones' sharp intake of breath tells him it was enough.
A second later, her hand is on his face again, and her voice is much closer to his ear when she speaks again. "It's me, Booth, it's Bones – do you know who I am?"
The question, and the flood of unpleasant memories it brings back, send a burst of energy through him. He's never going to forget the look on her face when she thought he didn't recognize her, back when he woke up from that coma, and he doesn't ever want to put her through that again.
Booth squeezes her hand again and notices that it's easier than a few moments before; emboldened by that, he concentrates on his eyelids and finally manages to force them open.
He's almost blinded by the sudden brightness, and it takes a while until the blurry picture he's seeing swims into focus. He's in a room he doesn't recognize, but there's no mistaking the drab pastel colors that scream 'hospital' even louder than the overwhelming smell of antiseptics in the air. He doesn't pay much attention to his surroundings, though, because all that matters right now is her.
She's still pressing her hand against his cheek, and her eyes are bright with unshed tears. Booth wants to draw comfort from the reassuring familiarity of her face, but she doesn't quite look like he remembers her – she's paler and thinner, and the skin under her eyes is so translucent that it looks almost blue. She's smiling at him, but the smile stands in stark contrast to the haunted look in her eyes, and he wonders with a pang of guilt just what he put her through during a time when she should have been concentrating on nothing but her own well-being.
That's when it hits him.
Bones is perched on his bedside and leaning over him – and there's no baby bump in the way, no protruding belly that would make it impossible for her to bend at the waist.
Booth feels the fog in his mind thickening once more, but he struggles against it with all his might. His lips and tongue won't obey him, but he has to speak, has to ask because he needs to know.
Bones seems to understand what he's trying to do and places a gentle finger on his mouth. "You shouldn't speak, it's too soon…"
He ignores her and desperately wills his muscles to do his bidding. She must notice his struggles, because she gives up any attempt to stop him and leans in further until her hair is tickling his face. "What, Booth? What do you want to tell me?"
Booth's throat feels like it's studded with shards of glass, and the muscles in his jaw start trembling with exertion, but at long last, he manages to get two words out even though he doesn't recognize his own voice in the hoarse whisper.
"How… long…?"
She hesitates, and he begs her silently not to make him repeat the question, but then her expression tightens. "Seventy-three days."
Jesus Christ. Booth stares at her, completely and utterly stunned, as the implications of her words begin to sink in.
Seventy-three days.
He has been out for over two months.
He doesn't wonder what happened because right now he doesn't care. All that matters is that the last time he saw her, she was just a few days away from having her baby, and now it's seventy-three days later, and he missed it all – the birth of his daughter, the first moments of that new life they created, her first scream, her first smile… she's been in this world for weeks without her father holding her, taking care of her and telling her that he loves her. And Bones – he should have been there for her every step of the way, but instead she had to go through all of it alone, had to bring their child into the world without him. She shouldn't have to think about anything but their daughter right now, but instead she's here by his bedside, ghostly pale from worry and lack of sleep, carrying his burden on top of hers.
Booth has to fight the temptation to slip back into the peaceful darkness he can feel hovering at the fringes of his consciousness. He knows his exhaustion is going to get the better of him soon, but he needs to hang on for a while longer.
Speaking hurts worse than before, and the words sound slurred to his own ears, but he has to trust that she'll understand.
"The baby…?"
Her widening eyes tell him that she heard him, but she doesn't answer. She just looks at him with a stricken expression, and then her face fades as the darkness closes in again.
+
+ + +
+
"BOOTH!"
He wakes with a start and claps his hands over his ears. "Jeez, Bones, you got it in for my eardrums? What's with the yelling?"
"I'm sorry," she replies a little sheepishly, "but you proved rather difficult to rouse. Did you have a rough day?"
He opens his mouth to launch into a tirade about his boss and his subordinates getting on his nerves all day long, but something is holding him back. Bones cocks her head to the side and gives him an expectant look; she's sitting in her usual spot on the armrest of his recliner and absent-mindedly rubs her huge baby belly with the hand that isn't currently wrapped around his neck. Everything seems perfectly normal, but…
Seventy-three days.
The memories come back in a rush, and Booth freezes as he begins to grasp the implications. Something is terribly wrong here – he woke up in a hospital bed just a few minutes ago, so why is he back in a moment that's three months in the past? Is he dreaming, or – the thought sends a sudden, desperate surge of hope through him – was he dreaming before, was that nightmarish scene at the hospital just that: another nightmare?
"Booth?" She seems puzzled by his prolonged silence, and for a second, Booth is tempted to just go with the flow, to tell her about his shitty day and pretend that everything else is okay. Then he thinks of her haunted expression and of the shadows under her eyes, and he knows that he can't take the easy way out if there's a chance she's really sitting by his bedside right now and waiting for him to come back to her.
Ignoring her question, he closes his eyes and concentrates. Forget what you're seeing, what's going on around you; focus on nothing but yourself, and when you open your eyes again the dream will be over.
"Booth?" Her voice sounds different now, soft and careful – and utterly exhausted. It's that tone that makes him certain what he's going to see before he even opens his eyes. His eyelids obey him without too much resistance this time, and sure enough, there she is, perched uncomfortably on the edge of his hospital bed, his hand still clutched in hers.
Not a nightmare, then.
Booth finds that he can't muster any real disappointment; deep down he already knew things were going to turn out that way. He feels a little more awake than the first time he woke up here; his head still feels like it's stuffed with cotton wool, and his tongue like a dry piece of leather in his mouth, but he can hear the beeping and whirring of instruments in the background, the hum of the air conditioning and the low chatter of the TV on the wall.
Bones leans in further, filling his entire field of vision. "Can you hear me?"
He squeezes her hand and even manages a tiny nod, and the smile that spreads over her face lights up her tired, careworn features like the sun breaking through the clouds. Booth allows himself to bask in her smile for a moment; as longs as Bones is smiling at him that way, he can believe that everything will eventually be okay again.
Then he remembers the question he asked her earlier.
Bones frowns when she sees him trying to wet his lips with his tongue, which doesn't really work because his whole mouth feels parched. A moment later she's holding something that looks like an oversized Q-tip against his lips, and Booth feels a few soothing drops of water trickle into his mouth. "I'm sorry I can't give you any ice chips," she says, "the doctors aren't sure of your ability to swallow yet, and we can't risk you choking on anything. Is this better?"
Booth nods again and opens his mouth to speak, but she doesn't give him the chance. "Your neurologist asked me to call her as soon as you were fully lucid; we need to assess how much –"
"Bones." Speaking still hurts like hell, and she falls silent immediately when she sees how much effort it costs him to make himself heard. "What about… the baby?"
She turns even paler than before, and he notices with sudden dread that her eyes are filling with tears. She leans in until her forehead is pressed against his, and her voice is brittle and rough when she whispers, "I couldn't – I'm sorry, Booth, I'm so sorry."
Booth's mind goes strangely blank; he stares at her with utter incomprehension, waiting for her to clarify, to explain what she could possibly mean by that. She remains silent, though, and before he can ask a question, Bones sits up straight and turns away from him at the sound of the door opening.
"Dr. Brennan, any changes?"
"Yes; he just regained consciousness." She sounds completely different; this is her at her most detached and clinical, and Booth finds it both disturbing and strangely comforting in its familiarity.
Then a dark-haired woman in a white lab coat steps into the room, and he doesn't know what to think any more.
"Mr. Booth, it's good to see that you're awake." She smiles at him, but Booth just keeps staring; it's too much, everything is too much, and he suddenly wonders if –
"My name is Dr. Catherine Bryar; I'm your neurologist, and I'd like to ask you a couple of questions. Do you feel up to that?"
Booth nods automatically, his mind still reeling; he has no idea what's going on here, and if it weren't for the warmth of Bones' hand in his, he would probably start believing that this is another nightmare after all.
The doctor checks her clipboard, then briskly turns back to him. "If you find it too difficult to speak, you can answer non-verbally. Do you know your name?"
Booth nods and, feeling Bones' eyes on him, manages to get out a hoarse, "Booth, Seeley Joseph." He stops himself just in time before adding his rank, then asks himself what on earth got into him. He isn't in the Army any more, after all – it feels like forever since he came back from Afghanistan.
"Your date of birth?"
"November 12, 1971." Bones is back with the wet Q-tip, and it helps a little, but Booth begins to wish they'd just let him have a sip of water.
"Do you know where you are?"
"Hospital." He's tempted to add a duh, but it doesn't seem worth the effort.
"What is your occupation?"
"FBI agent."
He keeps his eyes on Bones, and it's obvious that she's relaxing a little more with every correct answer. Then the doctor asks, "Are you married?", and Booth can't resist squeezing Bones' hand and giving her what he hopes is recognizable as a smile while he shakes his head. He remembers her affronted expression when he told her that one day she was going to propose to him, and he hopes the little nudge will make her think of it too – but she just tenses again, leaving Booth even more bewildered than before.
The doctor (he can't bring himself to call her Dr. Bryar in his head – there's just no way this is really Catherine) makes a note on her clipboard, then asks, "What is your son's name?"
"Parker". Oh God, Parker – it didn't even occur to him until now what his boy must have gone through during the past weeks, but Bones understands him before he has to say anything.
"I called Rebecca right after you first woke up, Booth. Parker knows you're getting better, and if you'd like to see him, I'm sure it won't be a problem."
"Not at all," the doctor confirms, and Booth notices the look of understanding that passes between her and Bones even though he doesn't know how to interpret it. "How old is your son, Mr. Booth?"
The question sounds more conversational than clinical, and Booth hesitates for a moment as he tries in vain to work out today's date. He didn't miss Parker's birthday while he was out, did he? But if he didn't, that means… "Ten."
Bones and the doctor share another look, and Bones squeezes his hand more tightly when she says, "Don't you think that's enough for now, Dr. Bryar?"
"Yes, it probably is." She lowers her clipboard and turns to face Booth again. "Mr. Booth, I'd like to remove your feeding tube now; I assume it's rather uncomfortable for you."
"Isn't it too soon for that?" Bones sounds worried. "You don't know yet whether he'll be able to eat…"
"The patient is conscious and responsive, Dr. Brennan, and there should be no physiological reasons for him not to be able to swallow. He'll receive additional parenteral nutrition in the beginning, but the sooner he starts eating on his own, the better, and the nasal tube will get in the way once he becomes more mobile."
It begins to dawn on Booth that she's talking about whatever is sticking to the right side of his face; he didn't really pay attention to it until now, but it is rather irritating. It's hardly important right now, though; he just wants the doctor to finally leave them alone so he can ask Bones what she meant about their baby –
Then the door opens again, and Booth draws in a sharp breath that stings all the way down to his lungs at the sight of the blonde woman who enters the room. Bones notices his reaction and places a soothing hand on his arm, but Booth barely notices it.
"It's okay, Booth, the nurse is just going to help Dr. Bryar remove –"
"No!" He barely feels the pain in his throat at the exclamation; his eyes remain fixed on Hannah Burley, who has stopped in her tracks and seems uncertain what to make of his reaction. The faint beeping of the monitor behind his bed is picking up speed, and Bones' fingers are digging into his flesh as she tries to calm him down, but he doesn't hear what she's saying. He's been doing his best to play along so far, but this is impossible, this is utterly, ridiculously wrong, and whatever strange hallucination he's caught in, he needs it to be over before he goes crazy.
Booth squeezes his eyes shut and wills his mind far away, back to the place where he belongs, where things make sense and everyone is who they really are. He can feel the darkness creeping in once more, and this time he welcomes it because he knows it's going to take him back home to his own life.
The next thing he's aware of is someone poking him, none too gently, in the shoulder, and he has never opened his eyes to a more beautiful sight than the heavily pregnant anthropologist who's glaring daggers at him.
"I know that most aspects of my work aren't interesting to you, but you usually don't fall asleep while I'm trying to tell you about my day." She sounds hurt, but Booth isn't really paying attention; he gingerly places a hand on her belly, and he can finally breathe freely again when he feels his daughter kicking against his palm.
"I'm sorry, I – I guess I didn't sleep too well last night."
"Did you have another nightmare?" She sounds more curious than concerned, and Booth is determined to keep it that way if he can.
"Just a couple of strange dreams, nothing to worry about." She clearly has more questions, but he doesn't need the third degree right now. "Bones, is everything okay with the baby?"
"Of course it is." She gives him that look he has come to know and fear – the one that tells him she's onto something. "I would inform you if I suspected that anything might be wrong with her."
"I know, Bones, I just – I guess it has just been a weird day. Can we please leave it at that?" He realizes that he sounds a little too desperate, but thankfully she doesn't pick up on it and decides to let him off the hook.
"We should probably go to bed early; you're clearly exhausted, and I'm quite tired myself. Have you eaten?"
Booth can't for the life of him remember if he's had anything for dinner, but since he isn't hungry, he just nods. "You?"
"Angela made me eat a lunch that contained enough calories for the next two days." Bones makes a face. "Sometimes I wonder whether you bribed her to stuff me with food when you're not around to do it."
Booth smiles faintly. "I guess she's just reliving her own pregnancy with you – do you remember how she put away a family-sized pizza for an afternoon snack?"
"I remember her complaining about heartburn for days afterwards." She gets up with some difficulty and holds out her hand towards him. "Can we go to bed now?"
As much as he'd love to accept the invitation, the idea of falling asleep fills him with a vague sense of dread.
"Aw, come on, Bones, it's way too early, and we've barely used our shiny new TV so far – I'll even watch one of your documentaries with you!"
Unfortunately, Bones has built up a tolerance to his puppy-eyed charm smile by now. "I don't want us to fall asleep on the couch, Booth – it's bad for your back, and sleeping in a half-upright position is very uncomfortable both for me and for the baby."
"Fine, you win." With a sigh, Booth gives in, and even though he dawdles in the bathroom and insists on reading for a while once they're in bed, he finally can't put off the moment when Bones switches off the light and declares that she really wants to sleep now. He pulls her close until her back is flush against his chest and drapes an arm around her belly; he can only hope that the reassuring feeling of their daughter lazily moving under his hand will be enough to keep the nightmares at bay.
+++
The overwhelming smell of antiseptics tells Booth what he's going to see before he even opens his eyes. It's already dark outside, and the hospital room is dimly lit by the yellowish glow of a small lamp behind his bed. The shadows paint sharp lines on Bones' tired face, which makes her look much older than she is.
It shouldn't hurt so much to see her like this – he has just seen her glowing and vibrant with the new life she's carrying, and he knows that this can't be anything but a strangely persistent nightmare, but it feels so real, so completely unlike any dream he has ever had in his life, that he can't help the nagging doubts that are creeping in. His brain clearly isn't working as it should right now, so perhaps it was just a moment of confusion that made him see an old fling in his doctor and an ex-girlfriend in a random nurse, that made him mix up images from his earlier nightmares with the current reality? Bones is still holding his hand, and there can be no doubt that it's her, the woman he knows and loves, and not some dream image that his abused brain has cooked up, no matter how much she has changed from the woman in those memories his mind keeps taking him back to.
Her drawn face breaks into a tentative smile when she realizes that his eyes are focused on hers. "Can you hear me?"
Booth just nods; his mouth is bone-dry again, and his throat is still raw from the few words he said to the doctor before.
"Would you like something to drink? Your doctor told me it should be okay."
He nods again – the prospect of a sip of water seems like a gift from heaven, and he's so focused on it that he doesn't even mind Bones holding a sippy cup to his lips and steadying the back of his head with her free hand as if he were a small child. She's careful to allow him only tiny sips, and the first mouthful almost makes him choke, but it gets easier to swallow after that. He's shaking with exhaustion by the time the cup is empty, but he still feels a hundred times better now that the inside of his mouth no longer seems made of leather.
Bones smiles again as she lowers the cup. "Better?"
"Yeah." The raspy voice still doesn't sound like his own, but at least it doesn't hurt much to talk any more, and he realizes that this may be his chance to finally get some answers.
"Bones… what happened?"
She hesitates so visibly that it makes his stomach clench with anxiety – whatever she doesn't want to tell him, it must be bad.
"Booth, you just regained consciousness, I think it would be wise to wait until…"
"No." His fingers inch across the blanket until they find her hand again. "Tell me."
She gives him a strange look, but then she squares her shoulders and nods briskly. "Very well. Do you remember that you had a brain tumor?"
Oh fuck. So you can grow a new tumor in four weeks.
Booth curses himself for being such an idiot. He should have recognized the signs instead of trying to ignore them, should have told her the truth instead of hiding it from her just because he couldn't admit even to himself that he was having hallucinations again. He's been through the same thing before, after all, he should have known.
It takes him a while to realize that Bones is waiting for an answer, so he just nods again; there isn't anything he can say.
"The tumor was successfully removed, but you had an adverse reaction to the anesthetics that were used during the operation, and it caused you to slip into a coma."
Booth wishes she would get to the point already; he knows his own medical history, and he doesn't need her to rehash it for him. "I know." He squeezes her hand and adds, because he wants her to understand that there's nothing wrong with his memory, "You wrote a book."
Her face loses the last bit of color at his words, and her wide-eyed stare makes the knot of anxiety in his stomach tighten. His heartbeat is suddenly overly loud in his own ears, and he's dimly aware of the accelerating beeps from the monitor by his bedside. He wants her to keep talking, but she just stares at him until he can't take the silence any longer.
"Bones, what… what's wrong?"
"You – how do you… never mind." He can see how she's struggling for composure, and she's squeezing his hand so tightly that it borders on painful. She sounds calmer when she continues, but the slight tremble in her voice tells him it's not without effort.
"You started having seizures, which affected your brain's oxygen supply, and you…"
Booth listens with growing bewilderment, but her words sound slurred, and they're beginning to run together until he can only distinguish a few snippets of what she's saying.
ICU… on a ventilator… minimally conscious… several weeks…
He tries to concentrate harder, to make sense of the things she's telling him, but they're drowned out by the hammering of his own heartbeat until, at last, a soft, drowsy voice cuts through the din.
"What's the matter?"
Booth takes a deep breath and feels his racing pulse beginning to slow down. The darkness that surrounds him feels warm and safe; he's in his bed, their bed, and the faint kick against his forearm tells him Bones isn't the only one he just woke up.
"Nothing." He tightens his arm around her belly and presses a kiss on her temple, gratefully inhaling the familiar scent of her shampoo. "I'm sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep."
"…kay…"
She's out like a light a second later, but Booth keeps his eyes open and tries to stay awake as long as possible.
+++
When he wakes up, it's with a feeling of profound disorientation. He's in a hospital room that looks somewhat familiar, but he can't for the life of him remember how he got here. Booth is dimly aware that something pretty serious happened to him, but he's hazy on the details – something with his brain? It would explain why he's feeling like he got run over by a truck, but can't pinpoint any specific sources of pain – he's been shot, stabbed, burned, and beaten before, so he's familiar with the pain associated with all kinds of injuries, but right now he's just aching all over.
He's alone in the room, and from the faint light filtering through the blinds he estimates that it's very early in the morning, so it probably will be some time until anyone shows up to tell him what's going on. He isn't overly worried about that at the moment; he somehow knows with absolute certainty that Bones will be back later to check on him, and he's sure she'll have all the details he could possibly want. He just hopes she won't feel obliged to get up at the crack of dawn for his sake; him being in the hospital must be hard enough on her, and stress isn't good for the baby.
With nothing else to do at the moment, Booth takes stock of his situation. The room looks like every hospital room he's ever been in, although he isn't familiar with most of the machines he's hooked up to; aside from the usual little clothespin thingie on his finger, he also detects a small plastic tube sticking out just above his collarbone.
He shifts a little and winces, both at the dull pain the movement causes and at the realization that he must be in pretty bad shape because he's not only catheterized, but also wearing plastic under his hospital gown. Waking up in hospital diapers is not a new experience for him, but he figures it's one of those things you don't ever get used to. He still can't detect any injuries, but he's shocked by how spindly his arms look, and how much muscle mass he seems to have lost in general. It would explain why every move makes him feel like he's got lead weights tied to his limbs, but it also makes him wonder with mounting dread how long he's been here already. Booth is suddenly anxious for Bones to come back; he hates this helpless feeling of having no clue what's going on, and she'll not only be able to tell him why he's here, she'll also know why he can't remember any of it.
The person walking through the door a while later isn't Bones, though – she's a nurse, fifty-ish, slightly overweight and with an air of motherliness about her. She cheerfully bids him a good morning, sticks a thermometer in his mouth while she checks the readings on several monitors, and then tells him it's time to get him cleaned up.
Booth keeps his eyes fixed on a spot on the ceiling and falls back on the detachment technique he learned after his ill-fated tour in Iraq, when he couldn't leave his hospital bed for several weeks; this part will never stop being humiliating, but trying to separate his mind from what's happening to his body eases the sting of it somewhat. The nurse is quick and efficient, and she keeps up her cheery prattle about everything from today's weather forecast to last night's talk shows until she's done. As soon as Booth has his blanket safely pulled up to his chest again, she pushes the button that raises the head of his bed and informs him brightly that he's in for a special treat for breakfast; a few minutes later she's back with a pudding cup.
Booth eyes her suspiciously. "I'm getting pudding for breakfast?"
"Dr. Brennan requested it specifically, but you sound like you could use something to drink first."
His mouth is indeed uncomfortably dry, and he figures it's the reason why his throat feels so sore when he's talking, but he balks when the nurse brings a cup with a straw and holds it to his lips.
"I can hold it myself."
"I'm sure you can, but how about we hold it together for now, hm?" The patronizing tone grates on his nerves, and the fact that he quickly discovers he does indeed have trouble holding the cup does nothing to ease his irritation. She admonishes him to take small sips, and Booth is tempted to drink down the entire contents of the cup in one go out of spite, but swallowing turns out to be pretty unpleasant, so he figures she has a point. He puts up some resistance when she insists on spoon-feeding him the pudding, but she'll have none of it, and Booth eventually gives in because he learned the hard way that you don't piss off the people who have you at their mercy as long as you need help with wiping your ass.
+++
To Booth's disappointment, his next visitor still isn't Bones; this one's a young, round-faced brunette with dimples in her cheeks and a smile that looks a lot less fake than the nurse's. She's not wearing scrubs, which makes for a welcome change, and Booth can't help the nagging feeling that he knows her, although he can't remember where he could possibly have met her.
"Hi." She drops the bag she was carrying on the floor by his bedside. "It's nice to meet you at last. I'm Genevieve –"
"Shaw." Booth has no idea where it came from, but he knew her name as soon as she started speaking.
If she's surprised, she doesn't show it. "That's right, but you can call me Genny."
"You're not a doctor."
"No, I'm your coma worker." At Booth's frown, she adds, "I work with patients in withdrawn states of consciousness because they often have a certain level of awareness, and sometimes they can learn to communicate." It sounds like something she has recited a million times. "Now that you're awake, you don't need me for that any longer, but I'm also a trained physiotherapist, so I'm going to keep working with you during your recovery."
Coma. The word triggers memories – didn't Bones talk about it just a short while ago? He already knew that he must have been out for quite a while, so this explains a few things. Still...
"Will I recover? I mean... completely?" He doesn't bother asking what happened; he'll get all the details as soon Bones comes back, but this can't wait. His heart is in his throat, but he needs to hear the truth – better to know right away what odds he is facing.
Her expression gives nothing away. "I'm sorry, but I can't tell you at this point. I'm not evading your question – it's too soon to tell, and your doctors will probably be able to give you a clearer answer after the first round of tests."
He appreciates the honesty, but his disappointment must show on his face, because she gives him an encouraging smile. "The fact that you woke up is the best sign there is, so we're going to take things from there. One step at a time, okay?"
"Okay." He doesn't like it, but there's nothing he can do at the moment but focus on the present. "So what happens now?"
"That's up to you. What's the first goal you'd like to achieve?"
Booth rolls his eyes; that one's a no-brainer. "Using the bathroom without help."
She nods. "Then we'll begin working towards that. We usually have our therapy sessions in the morning, and if it's okay with you, I'd like to keep it that way."
Booth shrugs; it's not like he has any other pressing appointments. "Sure."
"Great. Dr. Brennan usually comes in around noon, but I'm sure she'll be earlier now that you're conscious, so we better make sure we're done before she's here."
"Why?" It doesn't make sense – he'd have expected Bones to insist on overseeing every step of his treatment.
"Dr. Brennan assumed that her presence during therapy would be embarrassing for you. I kept her informed about your progress since she's your medical proxy, but she's never here during our sessions."
"But... if I was in a coma, how could it be embarrassing?" The whole thing is strange – he and Bones have been living together for months, so why did she think he'd mind her being present for this?
Genny smiles. "You knew my name, didn't you?"
Booth isn't sure what to make of that. "We've never met before... this?"
"Nope." Noticing his bewildered expression, she adds, "Look, Seeley – can I call you Seeley?" Booth just nods, and she continues, "I know everything is confusing right now. Your brain has been through a lot, and it needs time to re-adjust. We still know very little about what goes on in a person's mind while they're in a coma, so much of what we're doing here is trial and error. Just don't give up, okay?"
"Okay." That, at least, is a promise he can safely make – he's got too much to lose to stop fighting for it. He was finally living the life he always wanted, and he wants it back. "But I still don't get how you can look familiar to me."
"You went through several phases of minimal consciousness, during which you had your eyes open and reacted to outward stimuli. It's not surprising that you know me, but it's encouraging that you remember." She smiles again, and there's a hint of admiration to it that gives him an eerie flash of déjà vu. "Dr. Brennan wasn't exaggerating – you're one hell of a fighter, Seeley."
Booth winces at the use of his first name, and then asks himself why on earth he told her she could call him by it. He has hated the name since his childhood, how could he possibly have forgotten that? Then again, at least she's not calling him Sir any more.
...wait. Booth shakes his head, as if that could clear the fuzzy images whirling in his mind. He has seen her before, but it wasn't like this – she was somebody else entirely...
"Everything okay?" She doesn't sound worried, merely a little curious, but Booth has no idea how to explain to her what's going on.
"I remember you, but..." He desperately searches for a way to explain that doesn't make her think he has lost it completely. "You were different."
"Different how?" She still doesn't seem alarmed, and he has no idea whether that's a good sign or not. When he doesn't answer, she adds gently, "Look, I may not be a doctor, but patient confidentiality still applies, so you there's nothing you can't tell me. Not even Dr. Brennan will hear of it now that you no longer need her to make decisions for you."
It's something, but it's not enough. "It's pretty weird."
She smiles again. "Weird is a given in my line of work. Trust me, I've heard it all. So – I was different how?"
"You..." Booth hesitates, but then presses on. "You were an FBI agent."
"Cool!" She seems genuinely excited about the idea. "With a gun and a badge, and everything?"
Despite himself, Booth has to laugh at her eagerness. What is it with squints and guns? "Yeah, the whole shebang."
She grins at that, and somehow it makes him feel better about the entire thing. "Seeley, since you are an FBI agent, it's not surprising at all that you would insert your impression of me into a scenario that was familiar to you."
"At least I still remember being an FBI agent this time." He meant it as a joke, but Genny cocks her head to the side as if he'd said something meaningful.
"This time? You were in a coma before?"
Booth is surprised she doesn't know, considering that Bones probably gave her his medical history all the way back to Pops' great-grandparents. Or is this a test of some kind? "Yeah, and I woke up thinking that I was a night club owner."
"Interesting." She ponders for a moment, but then she claps her hands and folds back his blanket. "Okay, let's get started, shall we?"
+++
By the time Genny bids him good-bye, Booth is not only weary to the bone, but also massively frustrated. She wouldn't even hear of letting him get out of bed; hell, he wasn't even allowed to put his feet on the floor. All he got to do was move around in bed a little, and the worst of it was that she was clearly right about going slowly because he feels like he just ran a marathon. He slumps back into the pillows as soon as Genny is out the door, and he's about to doze off when he hears another set of footsteps approaching.
Bones, finally.
However, the woman he sees when he opens his eyes is a nurse, younger and much prettier than the first one, with bright blue eyes and long blond hair that is tied back in a ponytail.
Booth feels like the room just tilted to the side, so that everything is slightly off center. Something is wrong here, but he can't tell what it is, he just knows that this is not how things are supposed to be, and that it's somehow connected to...
"Hannah?"
He has no idea what made him call her that; he has no memory of her, he just knows that he knows her, with a certainty that is much stronger than what he felt when he first saw Genny.
She stops in her tracks and gives him a surprised smile, and that smile – impish with just a hint of flirtatiousness – heightens the nervous flutter in his stomach. "That's right! How did you know?"
Booth doesn't have an answer to that, but she's not waiting for one anyway. "I'll just give you the second part of your breakfast; Dr. Bryar wants you to eat normally as soon as possible, but in the beginning we're going to help you along a bit with IV nutrition."
She hooks up the IV bag she brought and then steps closer to the bed. Booth flinches when she reaches towards him, and she holds up her hand in a placating gesture.
"No needles, I promise – I'll just connect this to the central IV line in your shoulder, you won't feel a thing."
Booth clenches his teeth and forces himself to hold still; she's now close enough for him to smell her, and that scent, too, is disturbingly familiar and completely wrong at the same time.
"See? All done." She steps away, and Booth manages to relax a little. He desperately hopes she'll leave, but she goes to re-check the readings on his monitors while she starts talking about something she heard on the news this morning. Booth has no idea what to make of it, so he keeps silent; he wouldn't know what to say to her anyway.
"I'm sorry," she says when she's done, "that was force of habit, I guess – Dr. Brennan asked me to talk to you whenever I could, and I guess I'm so used to it by now that my mouth switches to autopilot as soon as I'm in here." She grins, and Booth has to look away because his mind keeps tying itself into knots trying to remember where he has seen that expression before. "Maybe you woke up because you just couldn't take my constant chatter any more, huh?"
She clearly expects a reaction to the joke, but Booth barely notices it. "Have you been in here a lot?" He's sure he doesn't remember her from a hospital room, but he didn't remember Genny from one either, and he can only hope this is another strange mix-up his comatose mind came up with.
"Yeah, both here and while you were in the ICU. Your coma worker thought that it was better for you if you didn't have to adapt to new nursing personnel all the time. There's three of us, but I cover most of the day shifts." She gives him a calculating look that makes him deeply uncomfortable. "Looks like Genny was right, given that you know my name."
Booth shakes his head again; he feels like he's just a heartbeat away from remembering what's going on, but somehow the answer keeps eluding him. As familiar as she seems, he could swear that it's been some time since he last saw her, and he's absolutely certain it wasn't in a hospital...
"How long have you been working here?"
He hopes the question sounds casual enough not to tip her off, and to his relief, she just shrugs. "At this hospital, you mean? Almost five years. Why?"
It doesn't make sense – he can't have been in a coma for five years, can he?
There's only one thing he can still ask, and no matter how much it terrifies him, he needs to get a grip on himself unless he wants his heart monitor to give away just how close he is to panicking.
Taking a deep breath, Booth tries to muster up every ounce of self-control he possesses.
"Hannah – what day is it?"
"Today's Tuesday the twenty-first." At his expectant look, she clarifies, "July twenty-first", but that still doesn't help him.
"And... the year?"
Now she hesitates. "Look, perhaps I shouldn't –"
"Tell me!"
She seems a little taken aback by the sudden outburst, and Booth hears the accelerating beeps that will inform her exactly how close he is to losing it completely, but he needs to know.
"Hannah, please tell me." He has no idea how he managed to sound calmer, but it does the trick.
"2009 – but you really need to calm down, or I'll have to..."
He's no longer listening to her; all he can hear is his heartbeat thundering in his ears, so loud that it drowns out even the shrill beeping of the monitor. Like a river flooding everything in its path once the dam breaks, his memories are rushing back in, drowning his mind in images, sounds, and smells, and in the shadows of forgotten nightmares.
You forgot, you forgot it all – you almost fell for this, almost let yourself get pulled into it, and God alone knows if you would ever have made it back... Stop this while there is still time, get out while you still can before you lose what's left of your mind!
Booth squeezes his eyes shut and brutally clamps down on his rising panic; it's not too late yet, but he needs to put an end to this right now, needs to go home before he can't find the way any longer.
No matter how real it feels, this is nothing but a nightmare, and you need to stop dreaming and go back to where you belong. Focus, focus on yourself, on who you know you are, hold on to it with all your might, and when you open your eyes the dream will be over.
Focus...
"Booth, can you hear me?"
He almost sobs with relief when her voice cuts through the turmoil in his mind, and even though she sounds shrill and alarmed, he's sure he has never heard anything more beautiful in his life.
Booth takes a deep breath that feels like a heavy weight being lifted off his chest, and finally dares to open his eyes again.
Bones, her face pale and drawn, is standing in the door of the hospital room and regards him with a look that is heavy with fear and sorrow.
"No…"
It's his voice, although he barely recognizes it; it sounds scratchy and hoarse, as if he hadn't used it in weeks. He squeezes his eyes shut and hopes against hope that the scene is going to change, that he'll finally find himself back home when he opens them again, but he can't block out the constant beeping of his heart monitor that makes it perfectly, cruelly clear there'll be no way out of this nightmare for him.
"Booth?"
Her voice is soft and calm now, but the small tremble is impossible to miss, and the gentle touch of her hand on his cheek finally forces him to open his eyes and look at her.
The pallor of her skin, the bruise-like shadows under her eyes, the clothes that hang loosely around her frame as if she'd lost weight recently – she barely resembles the woman he remembers, happy and healthy and heavily pregnant with their child, but it's still her, his Bones, the woman he'd know everywhere no matter how she looks.
And yet it can't, it mustn't –
"Booth, you need to calm down." Her hand is still on his cheek, its warmth the only anchor in a sea of confusion and growing panic, and he tries to focus on that, on her touch and the sound of her voice because everything else is too much right now.
"Please, Booth." She can't hide the anxiety in her tone any more, as if it were rising in synch with the accelerating beeps of the heart monitor. "They'll have to sedate you if your heart rate and blood pressure get too high, and I can't – not again…"
For a second, Booth experiences a wild rush of hope. This is his way out, his way home, a way to end this horror trip – but it means leaving her behind, leaving her with the fear and the pain he can see in her expression, hear in her voice, and the realization that he won't be able to do it hits him like a physical blow. It's too much to ask, too much…
"Please."
There isn't anything he can deny her when she's pleading with him like that, not even this, and Booth pulls himself together as much as he can and tries to focus, to get the turmoil in his mind under control before it swallows him up completely.
When there's nothing you can do about the big picture, focus on the task at hand. It's an old bit of cop wisdom that he has never liked much, but it suddenly makes sense, and perhaps it will manage to keep him from losing his mind.
"Okay." It sounds like an admission of defeat, and Booth feels a pang of shame as if he had run away where he was supposed to fight, but he isn't sure any longer who or what he's really fighting – or fighting for – right now. So he clings to the tentative smile that blossoms on her face as the frantic beeping of the monitor starts to slow down, and once more he tells himself that things are going to be all right eventually as long as he has her smiling at him like that.
"Will you be okay for the time being, Dr. Brennan?"
He does a double take at the question because he completely forgot about the nurse who's still standing by his bedside, and he turns his head away as much as he can so he won't have to look at her again. Bones just nods at the woman, and then Hannah's retreating footsteps tell him that she, and the feeling of utter wrongness that threatens to overwhelm him whenever she's near him, are finally gone from the room.
Focus on the task at hand.
The thought brings an unexpected surge of slightly desperate energy. "Bones… there's something I need you to do for me."
She looks surprised, but somehow pleased as well. "Anything you need, Booth."
It sounds strange coming from her; he'd have expected her to ask what he wants first before she makes any promises. "I don't want her to come back."
"Her? You mean Nurse Burley?"
He just nods, silently pleading with her not to ask the obvious question.
Bones seems taken aback, but she rallies quickly. "I suppose I could ask to have her removed from the team – but she has taken excellent care of you ever since you were first transferred to the ICU, and I'm reluctant to have her replaced by someone less familiar with your case. Has she… done anything?"
He should have known better than to expect Bones not to try to get to the bottom of a problem. "No, not at all, but… she was there, Bones. I mean, not… her, but someone just like her." God, this is hard – admitting to Genny Shaw that he had believed her to be someone else was one thing, but telling Bones about that other life, even in the vaguest of terms, feels so utterly wrong that he can barely bring himself to say the words. For just a second, he allows himself to wonder if somewhere else, he's right now lying in bed with her and telling her about the strange dream he had of her sitting by his hospital bed.
"Oh." He didn't think Bones would understand, and he's already searching for a way to clarify things without giving too much away, but it looks like he underestimated her. "You mean that you had some perception of her while you were in a coma? Miss Shaw said that there was a chance you would be partially aware of your surroundings."
"I – yeah." He's almost trembling with relief that she's making it easy for him; he really doesn't want to explain why he'd rather die than have Hannah show up for his next morning routine. "And now she's here, but different, and it's… confusing."
"I understand." She's quiet for a moment; then she adds, "I'm sure Nurse Burley will too if I explain it to her."
"Thank you." Booth slowly becomes aware he's so tense that his muscles are beginning to ache all over, and he allows himself to relax a little – too soon, as it turns out.
"Was I… there as well?"
Oh God. He manages a curt nod and focuses on keeping his breathing even; the damned beeps are picking up speed again, and he doesn't want to send her into another panic. Please let it go, Bones, just let it go…
"And was I different too?"
"You were pregnant." The answer is out before he has time to think about it, and he regrets it immediately. It just seems wrong to tell her, to drag the life they shared back home into this strange reality – almost as if he were letting go of it by talking about it, as if he were severing the precious connection by sharing it with someone who isn't part of it.
Then he looks at her, really looks at her, and her stricken expression makes him feel like the world's most selfish bastard.
"Would you prefer me to leave too?" She's struggling to keep up the clinical tone, but he knows her too well to fall for it. For a split second he wonders if she's preparing to run again, but then he realizes she's terrified of getting 'yes' for an answer.
And yet he can't bring himself to reassure her that he's not pushing her away because the temptation to do just that is suddenly overwhelming. She may not be looking for an out, but she's giving him one, and it dawns on Booth that this could be the break he has been hoping for. He's been holding on for her sake, but maybe he needs to let her go in order to end this, to finally go back to where he belongs, to the woman he's really supposed to be with.
However… for the first time, he can't bring himself to dismiss the possibility that this is the only reality that exists, that the Temperance Brennan who sits by his bedside fighting tears is the only one there is in the world, and the thought of letting her walk away again fills him with a kind of dread that is all too familiar. The memory of those agonizing first months in Afghanistan, when he missed her so much that the loneliness felt like a constant, physical ache, is suddenly fresh in his mind, and he knows that even the smallest risk of losing her for good is too much for him to take.
He took that gamble once, and the outcome taught him never to do it again.
With some effort, Booth manages to reach for her hand. "Don't leave me." He meant it as a reassurance, but somehow it comes out like a plea.
Her expression changes in an instant; she doesn't smile, but the desperate look is gone, and instead he finally sees a Bones he recognizes, fiercely determined and completely focused on the goal she sees before here. "I won't. We'll get you through this, Booth, I promise."
Booth squeezes her hand and tries very hard to believe her.
+++
The rest of the day passes in a strange kind of blur. There's a long string of tests and medical exams; several doctors and therapists want to poke and prod him or ask him endless questions, and Booth just lets it happen, lets them do whatever they please and only reacts when it's absolutely necessary. Bones is by his side most of the time, and through the questions she keeps asking (even though he can't muster the energy to do it himself) Booth gets a few snippets of information that paint a rather grim picture. He learns that the soreness in his throat is a result of prolonged intubation, that he first – briefly – regained consciousness in the ICU when he started struggling against the breathing tube, that on top of everything else he caught some kind of post-operative infection which is partly responsible for his overall weakness.
"You're one hell of a fighter." Dr. Bryar unknowingly echoes Genny's words when she shows up with an armful of test results late in the afternoon, and Booth tries not to think about how much he doesn't feel like fighting right now. He focuses on Bones' hand on his arm while the woman he could still swear he used to date starts explaining the results to him; from Bones' eager reaction, it's mostly good news, and even though Booth feels strangely detached from the whole thing, he's glad to see her careworn features brighten with every new bit of information.
According to Dr. Bryar, he has a 50:50 chance of making a full recovery, which is obviously a lot given the duration of his coma; she doesn't sugarcoat the fact that it will take a long time and a lot of hard work for him to recover both physically and mentally, and Booth just nods and leaves it to Bones to ask about details and treatment plans and suggested therapies. He's so exhausted by now that the only thing he really wants to do is sleep, and he's about to doze off when a half-heard remark jostles him back to full wakefulness.
"It's quite frequent for long-time coma patients to have trouble adjusting once they regain full consciousness, so you might consider psychological counsel to help with the process. Dr. Brennan informed me that you used to work with a therapist –"
"No." The answer is out before he even thinks about it. "You're not bringing Sweets into this."
"Booth…" Bones sounds hesitant, as if she weren't sure herself which side she's on. "You know my general opinion on psychology, but Dr. Bryar is one of the country's leading neurologists, and if she thinks that working with a psychologist you're already familiar with could be beneficial –"
"I said no." Booth isn't even sure why he's so adamant about this; he has always rather liked Sweets, but for some reason he's absolutely certain that he needs to keep the kid out of his personal business. "I'll do whatever you want me to do if you think it'll help, but Sweets stays out of it."
Dr. Bryar just shrugs and crosses something off her clipboard, but Bones isn't so easily deterred. "Would it be acceptable for you to work with Dr. Wyatt instead?"
Booth frowns; the last memory he has of Gordon Gordon is of a crowded, noisy kitchen, but he knows how little his memories count for these days. "I thought – I mean, isn't he a chef now?"
He's fully prepared for that careful, calculating look he has gotten more than once today when he answered the doctors' questions, but to his utter relief, she nods. "That's what he was planning, but I could ask him if he'd be willing to…"
"It's okay, Bones." Booth has had enough; he's so tired that he just wants this whole thing to be over. "I'm sure there's time to decide later."
"That's not a problem." Dr. Bryar seems to get the hint. "I'll send in the nurse to get you ready for the night; you still need plenty of rest, and it's been a stressful day for you."
Booth feels a pang of loss when Bones immediately lets go of his hand and walks out with the doctor, although he's glad of it when, just a few minutes later, the same matronly nurse who was here in the morning enters to take him through another round of the humiliating process that they politely call "cleaning up". She's still prattling the whole time, and Booth barely listens to any of it until a question that was probably meant to sound teasing brings him up short.
"I hear you kicked poor Hannah to the curb?"
Booth stares at her, uncertain how to react; he isn't sure what to make of the sudden onslaught of memories, of ripples on the dark surface of a pond and the sound of Hannah's voice telling him "We can just go back", and he struggles against the familiar feeling of the world suddenly tilting sideways so that everything is just slightly off. The nurse must notice his bewildered expression, because she takes pity on him.
"You said you no longer wanted her around, remember? Something about her showing up in your fantasies while you were out?"
The world slowly rights itself, now that he remembers his earlier conversation with Bones, and he's about to dismiss the whole thing when the nurse asks with a smirk, "Do I want to know what those were about?"
Booth doesn't answer, but the hot rush of blood to his face does it for him, and the nurse shakes her head and mutters something about guys being guys even when they're comatose while she finishes her work.
He wishes the ground would open up and swallow him, and he keeps his eyes shut until he can hear her shuffling out of the room. He can't remember when he has last felt so utterly mortified, and he just wants for his day to be over so he can finally give in to the exhaustion.
He wants to scream when the door opens again, but he pulls himself together when it turns out that it's Bones, a pudding cup in her hand and a hopeful expression on her face. "I'll let you sleep in a moment, but I thought you might like something to eat first."
He isn't the slightest bit hungry, but the fact that she obviously wants to take care of him – bringing him food would be the nurses' job, after all – still brightens his mood a little. He isn't happy with the idea of Bones having to spoon-feed him, but right now he's too worn out to fight her about it.
"You'll soon be able to eat on your own." It still amazes him how easily she reads him sometimes, and he gives her a grateful nod as he forces down another mouthful. Swallowing is still pretty unpleasant, but according to the doctors it will get better now that all the tubes are out. He's so tired that the room is beginning to spin around him, and Bones gets up as soon as he has finished the pudding.
"You need to rest now, Booth; I'll see you tomorrow." She leans over him, and Booth expectantly turns his face towards her. There's a small, sharp sting of disappointment when her lips only brush his forehead, but before he can react, she whispers "Good night" and steps away from the bed. She closes the blinds on her way out, and even though the light of the bright summer evening still filters through, Booth feels the welcoming darkness creep in as soon as the door falls shut behind her.
He's almost giddy with relief that he's on his own at last, with no demands or obligations to hold him back, and Booth recalls the soft sounds of her breaths next to him in bed, the tiny, fluttering movements of their daughter under his hand on her belly, and he finally lets the darkness show him the way.
The hospital sounds around him are slowly fading as the last of the light disappears, and Booth takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and goes home.
+
+ + +
+
"Wake up, Booth, you're going to be late!"
Booth slowly comes to while she keeps poking him, but when he tries to open his eyes, he experiences a wave of dizziness that leaves him groggy and disoriented. At long last, the scene before him swims into focus, revealing his fully dressed partner trying to bend over him as much as her huge belly will allow.
"Bones – what…"
"You wanted to drop me off at the lab before your meeting with Sweets, remember? I can drive myself, of course, but –"
"No way." Booth is out of bed in an instant. "A woman shouldn't drive at nine months pregnant, okay? Just give me ten minutes."
She rolls her eyes at him, but doesn't otherwise protest – they've had this argument before, and even though she'll still get behind the wheel if neither he nor Angela are available, it's obvious that it has become pretty uncomfortable for her. True to his word, they're in his SUV and on their way to the Jeffersonian less than fifteen minutes later, and even though he's still battling some remaining vestiges of drowsiness, those will hopefully disappear as soon as he gets some caffeine into his system. Their house is a coffee-free zone these days because she's suffering from massive caffeine withdrawal, and he figures he should abstain along with her out of co-parental solidarity – but that doesn't mean he won't swing by the nearest Starbucks once he's out of her sight.
Yet he can't get rid of the weird feeling that something isn't as it should be, and it keeps getting stronger the closer they get to the lab. Booth does his best to shake it off, but the feeling won't go away, and once he pulls into the Jeffersonian parking lot and kills the engine, he can't keep quiet any longer.
"Bones?"
She's about to lean in for their usual quick good-bye kiss, but stops at his tone and gives him a puzzled look. "Yes?"
"None of this is real, is it?"
She stares at him with utter confusion, and Booth feels the same way himself – he has no idea where that question came from, and nobody was more surprised than he when he heard it coming out of his mouth.
She keeps looking at him, but her expression slowly softens into one of – pity? "No, of course not."
It's his turn to stare at her. "What?"
"It's going to be okay." She gently places her hand on his cheek. "Close your eyes for a moment and take a deep breath, and –"
"No, I don't…" He struggles against her touch – he has no idea why, but somehow he knows that bad things will happen if he listens to her. She isn't deterred by his protest, though; she just gives him a sad little smile and keeps her hand where it is, and in spite of his struggling Booth can't keep his eyes from falling shut.
It takes enormous effort to open them again. The warmth of her skin on his is still there, as is the strange little smile on her face, but everything else is different. He's back at the hospital, and Bones looks tired and way too thin, but his head is suddenly clear, and he takes in his surroundings as if he'd never really seen them before.
The room, the hospital bed, the monitors he's hooked up to – he remembers it all, and yet he has the distinct feeling that he's missing something, the crucial piece of the puzzle that will finally make everything fall into place.
"Good morning." Bones' voice is hushed. "I didn't mean to wake you, but I wanted to check on you before the nurse starts making her rounds. How are you feeling?"
Booth has no idea how to answer. There's no pain right now, not even in his throat, but he isn't sure what to make of the unexpected sensation of almost uncomfortable clarity that – ironically – leaves him utterly confused.
He gently shakes his head and tries to make sense of the things he remembers. Seventy-three days… he's been in a coma for seventy-three days, hasn't he? He's certain that Bones told him about it, and it explains why she isn't pregnant any more… but why hasn't she said anything about their baby? Their baby – the baby she wanted so badly…
Wait. What did Hannah – no, Nurse Burley tell him about the date? But if it's really so much earlier than he thought, then… Bones can't have given birth yet, can she? He dimly recalls talking with her about the baby on the way to the operating room, and she didn't even look pregnant then – so if it's less than eleven weeks later now, maybe there's no baby bump yet because she's only a few months along? But there's something he's missing, some piece of information that could complete the picture, and try as he might, Booth can't seem to remember it.
Still, the realization that he didn't miss the birth of their child after all leaves him with an almost drunk feeling of elation, and he gives her a bright smile that makes her expression light up in return.
"I'm good."
Her face goes slack with relief; she exhales sharply, and for a moment she looks close to tears. "I'm so glad, Booth. I have to go now before the nurses throw me out, but I'll be back later, okay? Things are quite busy at the lab, but I already told Cam that I'll be leaving sooner every day now that you're awake, and –"
"Hey, don't stress yourself too much, okay? I'll be fine, and I'll see you later." Booth basks in the way she beams at him, and it's surprisingly easy to lift his hand and slide it around her neck as she leans in to kiss him good-bye. It seems like she didn't expect him to be able to move towards her, but he turns his head and meets her halfway to press a soft kiss on her lips. "Love you, Bones."
She draws in a breath that almost sounds like a gasp, and her smile fades as the color drains from her face. Booth experiences a sharp spike of fear; is something wrong? The last weeks must have been horrible for her, and there's no telling what such an ordeal might do to a pregnant woman…
"Dr. Brennan, you really shouldn't be here at this hour." The nurse only sounds mildly disapproving as she enters the room, but Bones is out of her seat in an instant.
"I – I'll just go…"
Booth calls after her to ask her what's wrong, but she doesn't seem to hear him and all but runs out of the room, leaving him worried and more than a little bewildered.
"Nurse, is everything all right with Bo- with Dr. Brennan? I mean – is she okay?"
The nurse's business-like expression softens. "I'm sure she'll be fine now that you're getting better. Just give her time and don't worry, okay? From what I've seen, she's a tough cookie."
"Right." Booth makes a mental note to remind Bones to take it easy when she comes back; he appreciates that she wants to be there for him, but she needs to take care of herself too, both for her sake and for the baby's.
+++
"Seeley, you need to be a little more patient – these things take time, and you'll only make matters worse by overexerting yourself."
Genny sounds calm, but there's an edge to her tone that tells him she's none too pleased with him. He doesn't really care, though; today's therapy session was no less frustrating than yesterday's, and even though she at least let him try to sit up today, the fact that he barely managed to stay upright makes him want to scream. He's so exhausted that he can hardly move any more, and he can't imagine how he'll ever get back to anything approaching his old self at this rate.
"Whatever." He knows he sounds like a petulant teenager, but right now he doesn't give a damn; he feels trapped in the useless wreck his body has become, and he doesn't see how things are supposed to get better when he can't even do any real exercising to build up his strength again.
"Hey, don't give me that." The Genny Shaw he remembers would never have dared to take such a stern tone with him, and for a moment Booth almost wants that version back. "You've already proven you can fight, you don't get to give up now."
"I'm not giving up!" It comes out harsher than he intended. "It's just… this is going to take forever."
"No, it's not. You're making a lot of progress already, even if you can't see the results yet, but I promise you will soon."
"Okay." Booth sinks back into the pillow and takes a deep, shaky breath, suddenly ashamed of his childish outburst. He'll need to do better than that if he wants Bones to stop worrying about him, and the thought reminds him of her strange behavior earlier.
"Genny, can I ask you something? Something about Dr. Brennan?"
She hesitates. "Look, I'm hardly the person to –"
"Please." He does his best to slip a bit of the old Booth charm into his tone. "She's going to deny it if I ask her because she doesn't want to upset me, but I think something's going on with her. You've seen her a lot during the past weeks, haven't you?"
"Of course I have; she's the one who brought me in to work with you."
Booth frowns. "I thought you worked for the hospital."
Genny shakes her head. "I'm an independent practitioner."
"Huh." He's a little surprised, but the details hardly seem important right now. "So – do you think she's okay? She seemed a bit off today."
Her expression softens in a way that reminds him of the nurse's earlier reaction to the same question. "A prolonged coma is always hard on the people close to the patient, especially when there are phases of minimal consciousness like you had them. It sounds strange, but it's often more difficult to deal with the fact that someone is breathing on his own, maybe even has his eyes open and reacts to stimuli, but you're still not able to reach him. Dr. Brennan hired me because of my experience with coma patients, but in most cases there's just no telling if the patient is aware of his surroundings, and that wasn't easy for her to accept."
Booth can imagine how difficult it was for Bones to deal with a situation where there were no clear answers, where even she had to fall back on hope and faith because science would only get her so far. "And you're sure that's all there is to it? I mean, it's slow, but I'm getting better now, am I not?"
"Yes, you are – but you know I'm not the one you should talk to if you're worried about Dr. Brennan, don't you? I'm sure she'll be back soon, so you should just ask her."
"Okay." Booth isn't happy with the answer, but he realizes she isn't going to tell him more.
"I'll see you tomorrow, then." She grabs her bag and pushes the button that lowers the head of Booth's bed. "Try to sleep for a while now, you must be pretty exhausted."
Booth obediently closes his eyes as soon as Genny has left; he's sure Bones will be back before long, and he doesn't want her to see him completely wiped out. He's out like a light in a matter of seconds.
+++
"Hey there, big guy."
Booth blinks groggily; he isn't quite sure whether he's awake or still dreaming, but the voice sounded familiar even if he can't immediately place it.
"Bones?"
"Sorry to disappoint; she got held up at the lab." When he's finally able to focus, he sees Cam sitting on a chair by his bed with a huge grin on her face. "Besides, I wanted to see you too."
He would have preferred Bones, but he tries not to show it. "Camille."
"Don't call me Camille." The playful tone doesn't fool him; he can see the tears that are welling up in her eyes as she takes his hand and squeezes it. "It's good to see you back among the living."
Booth belatedly notices that her hair is once again long enough to be tied up into the messy knot she favored back when he first met her, and for a second he feels an irrational stab of panic at the thought that he might have been out long enough for her to grow it back. Then he shakes his head and admonishes himself to stop being ridiculous.
"I'm not much of a sight these days, I'm afraid." He tries to sound flippant, but he can still feel his cheeks burning with embarrassment; Cam is a medical doctor, so she'll know perfectly well what all the stuff that's attached to him is for, and he isn't comfortable with that.
She rolls her eyes. "I'm a pathologist, Seeley, you look a hell of a lot better than most of my patients."
"Don't call me Seeley."
At that, her eyes finally spill over, and Booth finds himself wrapped up in a hug that is tight enough to make his stiff muscles scream in protest. He keeps quiet, though; he figures he owes her this.
"Damn you, Seeley." She sounds like she's suppressing a sob, which is very unlike the Cam he remembers and gives him an idea just how bad things must have been. "I swear I'll kill you myself if you ever pull another stunt like that, okay?"
"Okay." Booth does his best to sound normal, and to his relief, she seems calmer and a little embarrassed when she pulls back.
"You'd better mean it, G-man, because I bet she does."
Surprised, Booth turns his head in the direction the new voice came from; it's only now that he notices Hodgins on the other side of his bed. The bug man gives him a wink, and Booth appreciates the attempt to cover up Cam's momentary loss of control.
"You doing okay?" Hodgins keeps his tone light, and Booth gratefully plays along.
"Never better." He cranes his neck as much as he can to scan the rest of the room, but he doesn't see anyone else. "Is Angela on babysitting duty today?"
Damn, there's that carefully neutral look again that tells him he said something wrong, and it's a lot more disturbing to see it on Hodgins' face than on that of some random doctor. Booth turns to Cam in the hope of getting help there, but her poker face sucks even worse than Hodgins', because the mix of shock and bewilderment in her expression is completely obvious. He tries to come up with something to gloss over the awkward moment, but he has no idea which topics are safe, and he realizes he'll have to start watching what he says from now on if he doesn't want everyone to assume that he's brain-damaged.
After a few tense seconds, Cam starts talking about things at the lab, and Booth does his best to nod and make non-committal sounds in the appropriate places. He knows that Cam and Hodgins are here because they're worried about him, but he just wants to be left alone until he feels a little more like himself again.
They both seem to get it, because they beat a hasty retreat after just a few minutes, even though they both promise to be back soon. Booth keeps nodding and doesn't protest when Cam hugs him again, but he's relieved when they're finally out the door.
He wishes Bones would come back already; she said she wanted to leave the lab early, after all, so he doesn't understand what's taking her so long.
His already bad mood worsens further when the next person who walks in still isn't Bones, but a guy who's barely old enough to shave and introduces himself as a speech therapist. The kid immediately starts babbling about a ton of stuff he has planned for him, and Booth manages to listen for maybe thirty seconds before dismissing him outright. His throat barely hurts any more, and he has no trouble talking, so he definitely isn't going to do any of the weird exercises the guy insists he needs to do.
He tiredly closes his eyes when the kid has finally left in a huff that reminds Booth of Sweets at his most obnoxious, and he's about to drift off when the sound of soft footfalls brings him back.
"Hi." Bones gives him a tentative smile, and even though it makes him feel better, he's suddenly nervous. This is his chance to finally get some answers, but all of a sudden he isn't sure any longer if he's ready to hear them.
Bones doesn't give him time to say anything anyway. "I'm sorry I'm late, I had to finish a review that took me longer than expected, and then..." She hesitates and gives him a look that seems almost apologetic. "Booth, I realize it's not my place, but I had a long talk with Parker on the phone."
Not her place? Booth can't think of a reason why she would assume that he might not want her to speak with his son, but she keeps talking before he can ask her. "Rebecca told him that you woke up, and that he'll see you soon, but it seems he wasn't satisfied with that because he called me today without his mother's knowledge and asked me how you're doing and when he'll be allowed to visit."
"Not yet." There's no way he'll let Parker see him in his current condition, barely able to move and completely helpless; no matter how much he misses his boy, he won't force him to live with that image of his father in his mind. "I want him to wait until I'm better."
"I assumed as much." He's relieved that Bones doesn't try to force the issue, but she isn't done. "But would you consider calling him? I'm sure it would be much easier for him to wait a little longer if he could at least talk to you."
Booth hesitates; as much as he'd love to hear his son's voice, he hasn't forgotten the way Hodgins and Cam looked at him earlier, and he's terrified of saying something that will make Parker think he has gone crazy. "Okay, but could you maybe put him on speaker? So you... can help me out if I don't know what to say?"
He can't interpret the sidelong glance she gives him, but to his huge relief, she doesn't ask for an explanation; she just nods and pulls her cell phone out of her purse.
+++
"I love you too, buddy, and I'll see you soon. Be good for your mom in the meantime, do you hear me? Bye."
Booth watches as Bones ends the call and slowly puts her phone away as if she wanted to give him time to get a grip. Weighing every word throughout his talk with Parker has left him tense and exhausted, and he has no idea what to make of the mess of jumbled emotions that are the result of the conversation. Bones seems uncertain what to say, and Booth finds that he isn't faring much better.
At long last, he says the first thing that pops into his mind. "Do I really sound funny?"
She doesn't pretend not to know what he means; Parker, with a kid's brutal honesty, complained several times that it was difficult to understand him because he sounded 'funny'.
"Your speech is still slurred, yes – especially when you're tired." Kids have nothing on Bones when it comes to being brutally honest, but he appreciates that she's not tiptoeing around the issue. "Your enunciation is clear enough to understand what you're saying in direct conversation, but I imagine it's more difficult over the phone."
Booth sighs. "Maybe I need that speech therapy after all."
"You already started speech therapy? How did it go?" She sounds downright eager, and Booth finds himself wishing he had given the baby therapist a chance instead of throwing another tantrum, but of course he isn't going to admit that.
"It all sounded a little too weird for me..."
"Booth, it's an established form of treatment for exactly the kind of problems you're having. Mr. Yazbeck came highly recommended, and his credentials are quite impressive, so I'm sure he knows what he's doing."
Booth knows she's probably right, but he feels the need to voice at least a token protest. "Bones, the guy told me he wants me to sing!"
The corners of her mouth quirk up for a moment. "I'm sure you'll quickly convince him to reconsider that approach."
"Hey!" Booth does his best to appear affronted, but the truth is that the gentle dig is such a welcome moment of normalcy between them that he has to swallow a lump in his throat before he can continue. "I didn't hear you complain about my singing when we did Hot Blooded!"
He'll never forget how she joined him on that stage, carefree and unembarrassed and full of enthusiasm – it's a memory he treasures even though things were so difficult between them at the time. From the way her face falls, though, it seems that his remark brought back a very different kind of memory for her.
"No, but I almost got you killed."
It takes him a moment to realize that she's talking about the exploding fridge during the first year of their partnership. He hadn't even thought of that – it seems like it happened a lifetime ago.
A lifetime ago...
"Bones, I need to ask you something." His stomach clenches with sudden anxiety, but he can't avoid this talk any longer; he needs to know.
Her eyes go wide with something that could be surprise or panic, but then she visibly pulls herself together and nods.
Booth draws in a deep breath and puts his cards on the table. "All this – the hospital, the coma... it's real, isn't it?"
The I don't know what that means he expected never comes. Her face loses the last bit of color, but that's the only outward reaction she shows. "Yes, it's real. I realize that you're confused about a lot of things, but –"
"It's okay." It really isn't – nothing is okay, not by a long shot, but he can't think about that now; not when there's something so much more important.
"Then why won't you tell me anything about the baby?"
Deafening silence follows the question. Bones' eyes go impossibly wide for a second, but then she squeezes them shut, and her pinched expression makes her look as if she were bracing herself for a blow. Booth suddenly finds himself longing for the comforting numbness that used to creep up on him the last few times the topic came up, but his brain keeps functioning with merciless clarity. Why doesn't she answer? What is it she's keeping from him?
"Booth." Her eyes are swimming in tears when she finally opens them, but she manages to keep her voice steady. "I'm not pregnant – I couldn't possibly go through with the insemination after everything that happened. I promised you, remember?" When the only answer she gets is stunned silence, she presses on, "I know what you told me before the operation… but you didn't die, Booth, and I always knew that you would never give up, that you'd keep fighting, and… and I could do no less."
She reaches for his hand and squeezes it, but he can't bring himself to move a finger. "Booth, I'm so sorry – I'll never forgive myself for upsetting you so much that it stayed on your mind even while you were in a coma, but there is no baby, and I swear that I'll never ask anything like that of you again."
He still keeps quiet; he doesn't know if his voice would obey him even if he had any idea what to say. It doesn't make sense, nothing makes sense – he knows what she's talking about, he remembers those agonizing days when she was hell-bent on having his baby without him, but that was ages ago, and they left all that behind them when…
I'm pregnant; you're the father. He can still hear those words as if it had only been yesterday that she spoke them, but he finds that he has trouble pinpointing when he heard them – his rational mind tells him it can't have happened before the coma, but the memory is real, there's just no way it's something his brain cooked up. It can't, it must not –
"Booth?" Her voice is finally thick with the tears he can see in her eyes. "Please say something, you're frightening me."
"I don't… it doesn't make sense." Her grip on his hand tightens, and Booth holds on to it, suddenly grateful for the physical reminder that she, at least, is really here with him and not a figment of his imagination. "We were going to have a baby – you were nine months along…"
"That never happened." She sounds gentler than he has ever heard her. "You said that you couldn't be a father without being involved in the child's life, and I respected your decision. It's okay, Booth – all that matters is that you're going to be fine."
"It doesn't make sense." He hates how bewildered he sounds, but there's nothing he can do about it – the ever-present exhaustion is beginning to catch up with him, and he just wants the world to go back to normal, but he feels like he's underwater and can't figure out which way it is to the surface.
"I know, but it will get better, I promise."
The Bones he remembers would never make a promise she can't keep, but how can things possibly get better? If it's true what she's saying, if there really is no baby… Booth shakes his head to clear it; the idea is ridiculous, and he doesn't know what even made him consider the possibility that it might be true.
"I'm tired, Bones." It feels like taking the easy way out, but his thoughts are beginning to drift away in all directions, and it gets harder and harder to concentrate on a here and now that seems hardly worth hanging on to it. "I… I guess I need to sleep for a while."
"Of course. I'll see you –"
"Can you stay?" The hasty question is automatic; it feels utterly important to keep holding on to her hand for as long as he can, and right now he doesn't care how needy it looks to her. "Until I'm asleep?"
Her fingers tighten further around his, but she manages to give him a watery smile. "I'll stay as long as you want me to."
+
+ + +
+
He can't remember how long he has been sitting on the hard stone steps, the empty baby carrier by his side, his eyes still fixed on the spot where her car disappeared from sight. He isn't sure how he got here – his mind is a kaleidoscope of blurry images and half-formed memories, and he has no idea what's happening to him. All he knows is that he life he knew was ripped away from him, that all the happiness in his world has suddenly vanished without a trace, and he doesn't know what to do about it or even what it really was that he lost.
He remains perfectly still and waits for something to happen, something that will give him the energy to get up and start working on getting back what was taken from him, but nothing does. The nurse comes in for the usual morning stuff, but Booth doesn't even acknowledge her; he stays motionless and keeps his eyes on the empty road until they fall shut on their own accord, but the image remains with him even after that.
When he opens his eyes again, it's to the painfully familiar sight of his hospital room, and the bright sun outside the window tells him it must be late morning already. His mind is still fuzzy with the remnants of the dream – was it a dream? – that left him with a gut-wrenching feeling of loss and no memory of what actually happened.
"Good morning."
The unexpected voice cuts through the haze in his brain and forces him to focus on the present. Booth slowly turns his head and sees Dr. Sweets sitting in the chair by his bedside. The young psychologist has a bright smile plastered onto his face that reminds Booth of the expression he used to wear during therapy, but in spite of that he seems tense and ill at ease.
"It's good to see you again, Agent Booth."
"What are you doing here?" Booth didn't mean to sound so harsh, but Sweets it the last person he needs right now; he wants someone who'll give him straightforward answers, and he knows better than to expect that from a shrink.
Sweets flinches, but manages to keep his smile in place. "I apologize for intruding, but your neurologist told me that a short visit was okay, and I wanted a chance to talk to you before Dr. Brennan comes back and throws me out."
Booth frowns, but Sweets keeps talking. "Don't worry, I'm not here in a professional capacity – Dr. Bryar informed me that you'd rather not have me as your therapist, and I assure you that I understand. I just – I felt you deserved an explanation."
Booth perks up at that; maybe the kid will turn out to be helpful after all, but he still can't get a word in because Sweets asks, "How are you doing? It must –"
"I'm fine." Booth tries for the most dismissive tone he can muster; admitting to any kind of weakness around Sweets is like slitting your wrist in a piranha tank. "A little hazy about some things, but the doctors tell me it'll pass."
There is no baby, and I swear that I'll never ask anything like that of you again…
Booth digs his nails into his palms and shoves the memory aside. He can see that Sweets is dying to pester him about details, but thankfully the kid doesn't try to push his luck.
"I'm glad." For the first time, Sweets' smile looks genuine. "For a while, we thought we might not get you back. Except Dr. Brennan, of course."
Booth has to grin at that, even though he feels uneasy whenever anyone mentions just how close he seems to have come to not making it. He's sure that Bones would give him all the details if he asked her, but so far he has been reluctant to bring it up.
"I guess Bones knows me better than the rest of you."
"I've come to realize that." Sweets pauses for a moment, and when he continues, he isn't smiling any more. "I just – I can imagine what you must think of me now, but I'd like to at least explain my side of things, and I swear that I've never been happier about being proven wrong. I… I shudder to think what would have happened if Dr. Brennan had listened to me."
Booth frowns again; he's used to Sweets not making much sense, but that last statement still sounded strange. He can think of several occasions when letting Sweets push his buttons has gotten him into all kinds of trouble – You're the gambler… I don't want to be your age and wind up like you… – but when has Temperance 'Psychology is a soft science' Brennan ever given a damn about anything Sweets had to say?
"Sweets, I have no clue what you're talking about."
Sweets seems completely taken aback. "But – I thought that Dr. Brennan told you, and… and that – I mean, I figured it was the reason you didn't want me as your therapist…"
Under different circumstances, it might be funny to watch Sweets floundering, but right now it just makes Booth impatient. "Okay, what the hell is going on?" Belatedly, a significant detail that Sweets let slip registers with him. "What did you do to Bones that you think she told me?"
The kid looks like a deer caught in the headlights, but he pulls himself together under Booth's glare. "I… I tried to convince her to let the doctors take you off life support."
Booth stares at him. "You what?"
"Booth, let me explain!" Sweets sounds almost desperate now. "You were no longer able to breathe on your own after those horrible seizures, and since Dr. Brennan is your medical proxy, the doctors had to inform her that a decision about whether to keep you on life support might become necessary because all the signs pointed towards massive brain damage. They… they told her it was likely you would never wake up again."
Christ. Booth feels like his insides are turning to ice at the thought of what she must have gone through.
"I need you to understand." Sweets sounds downright pleading. "I've come to know you quite well, and I was absolutely certain that you wouldn't want to keep living like that – hooked up to machines in the ICU, with your consciousness, your personality, everything that made you you gone forever. I… I tried to make Dr. Brennan understand that you'd prefer death to such an existence."
"You told her to let me die." The idea unnerves him even though Sweets has a point, because the thought of spending the rest of this life as a vegetable makes Booth shudder.
Sweets nods miserably. "Angela and I both tried to convince her that letting you go peacefully was the right thing to do. She took it very badly – she swore that she'd never even consider it unless the world's five leading neurologists independently declared you brain dead, that… that she has never known you to give up, and that you'd want to keep fighting for as long as you could."
I knew you wouldn't give up. Booth tries in vain to remember when she told him that (or did he tell her?) – he can't recall the occasion, but the words themselves are crystal clear in his memory. "No offense, Sweets, but I'm kinda glad right now that Bones never listens to you."
Sweets relaxes a little at the light tone and even manages a rueful chuckle. "To be honest, Agent Booth, right now I am too. The doctors eventually found out that you had some kind of infection, and you started getting better when they treated that, but Dr. Brennan has refused to talk to me ever since. Cam tells me she hasn't even fully mended fences with Angela, and given how close she and Angela used to be…"
Booth takes a deep breath and tries to wrap his mind around the concept of Bones fighting to keep him alive all by herself, without even the help of her best friend. Damn, damn, damn…
"I get that she's angry, but I hope she'll believe me one day that I was genuinely trying to help." The pleading tone is back, but Booth doesn't particularly care about Sweets' guilty conscience right now; all he can think of is Bones and the hell he put her through. If he'd only been honest with her about his symptoms instead of trying to hide them…
"I'm not sure if the doctors told you about it, but she fought tooth and nail to get you the best possible treatment, and she's been with you every step of the way. I know you two keep saying that you're just partners, but..."
Booth doesn't hear the rest of Sweets' nattering. The ground is dropping away from under him, and then the room begins to spin, faster and faster until there's nothing but blurred colors and a cacophony of weirdly distorted sounds that hurt his ears and make him dizzy. He tries to find something firm to anchor himself, but there's nothing to hold on to, he's once more underwater with no idea which direction will lead him back to the surface.
"Sir? You're not supposed to be here."
The clipped voice cuts through the din, and just like that, the world rights itself. Genny Shaw is standing next to Sweets and glaring at him in a way that appears weirdly out of character, and Booth blinks a few times and tries to figure out what just happened.
"Visiting hours aren't until three o'clock, so I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave."
Sweets scrambles to his feet like a scolded schoolboy and mumbles something before beating a hasty retreat, but Booth doesn't hear it. He can feel the familiar darkness lurking at the fringes of his consciousness, and more than ever he's tempted to give in to it. Nothing makes sense, and he just wants to go home…
"You okay, Seeley? You look a little green around the gills today." Now that they're alone, Genny is back to her usual cheerful self, but it barely registers with him. Something to anchor himself…
"Genny, do you know when Bones – when Dr. Brennan will be back?"
"Around noon like usual, I guess." She sounds utterly unconcerned, and Booth tries to draw some comfort from that, and from the impish smile she gives him as she winks at him. "It looks like she can't get enough of you."
You two keep saying that you're just partners…
Booth clenches his teeth and knows the darkness won't stop beckoning him until he feels her hand in his again.
+++
Booth nods off right after lunch – the nurse finally let him try to eat on his own, and even though he managed not to spill too much of the tasteless goo she'd brought him, the whole thing left him irritated and exhausted. His dreams are disjointed and nonsensical, but there's an underlying feeling of dread that doesn't let him sleep peacefully.
"Booth? There's someone here to see you." Bones' gentle voice cuts through the chaos in his mind, and he gratefully follows as it guides him back into wakefulness. Even the bleak surroundings of his hospital room feel friendlier than the inside of his brain right now.
The warm hand covering his isn't hers, though; its skin feels wrinkled and paper-thin, and when Booth finally manages to open his eyes, he's looking into the beaming face of his grandfather.
"Shrimp!" Pops looks worn and old – much more so than Booth remembers, and his easy smile doesn't quite match the way he clutches his grandson's hand. "You really want to give me that heart attack, don't you?"
It takes Booth a moment to come up with a coherent reply. "Pops, what – what are you doing here?"
The old man scoffs. "What, you expected me to stay in Philly and twiddle my thumbs while you're making your way back to the land of the living? I would have come sooner, but Jared couldn't get away from work until today, and he wouldn't let me drive on my own. As if I couldn't drive any longer just because…"
Pops rambles on, but Booth isn't listening any more; he has spotted Jared lurking in the corner behind Pops' back. His brother shoots him a grin as soon as he notices Booth noticing him, but he, too, looks tired. "Hi there, big brother."
"Hey." Booth does his best to grin back. To his disappointment, Jared is the only other person in the room besides him and Pops; Bones is nowhere to be seen. She must have slipped out right after waking him up, and for a moment he wonders if she's avoiding him.
He fumbles for the control button that adjusts the head of his bed and raises it as far as it will go. It's hugely uncomfortable and makes him feel like he's going to fall forward any second, but it's still better than having to talk to Jared while he's flat on his back like a baby in its crib.
"How are you, Seeley?" Pops' question, sounding very different than his earlier tirade, forces Booth to focus on his grandfather again.
"I've been better, but… I manage." There's no point in giving Pops more reason to worry about him. "They tell me it might take a while, but I'm going to be fine, Pops."
"Thank God." The room is silent for a moment after the old man's heartfelt sigh, and Booth desperately tries to think of some way to change the topic because he really doesn't want to discuss his health issues in front of his brother. There was something Pops said earlier…
"What were you doing in Philly? Did you get kicked out of the retirement community again?"
"Retirement community? Ha!" Pops points over his shoulder at Jared. "What is this, a conspiracy? First your brother seems to believe that I've gone senile and won't be able to live on my own once he moves out, and now you too?"
"Pops, Seeley really doesn't need to hear about that right now." For once, Booth is grateful for Jared's habit of interrupting other people's conversations, because Pops' rant left him more than a little confused. Since when is Jared staying with their grandfather? Pops sold the old house in Philly after his bypass operation –
"Yeah, yeah, I'll be good," Pops grumbles as he struggles to get up from the plastic chair by Booth's bedside. "I have to take a leak anyway. Don't go anywhere, Shrimp, I'll be right back!" He squeezes Booth's hand again, then lets go and shuffles out of the room.
The silence that settles between the brothers as soon as they're alone isn't exactly uncomfortable, but it feels awkward nevertheless. At long last, Booth decides to play it safe.
"How's Padme?"
Jared frowns, and Booth considers a second too late that he might be staying with Pops because Padme kicked him out. It would be just like his brother to mess up the first good thing that happened to him since –
"We're not talking about the Star Wars chick, are we? Because that's the only Padme I know." Before Booth can reply, Jared adds with a grin, "Tempe said you had some weird dreams during your coma. Don't tell me you actually dreamed up a girlfriend for me?"
Booth stares at him; there it is again, that suffocating sensation of being underwater with no idea which way is up, and on top of it there's the burning sting of embarrassment. His brother was probably the last person he wanted to know about his struggles with reality, and for a moment he wants to resent Bones for blabbing them out to Jared of all people.
Then he thinks of how Jared might have reacted if she hadn't warned him.
For what is probably the first time in their lives, Jared doesn't jump at the chance to humiliate his big brother. He keeps his tone light and asks, still grinning, "Knowing you, you probably fixed me up with a female sumo wrestler with hair growing out of her nostrils, huh?"
Booth is more than glad to play along. He still feels deeply unsettled by the whole thing, but he knows he can't let it get to him right now. "Nah, she was pretty hot. Would have to be, what with being an escort."
Jared makes a face, but then he smirks. "I'll take that over the sumo wrestler any day."
At last, Booth can bring himself to smirk back. "You would."
The moment of glorious normalcy doesn't last long, though; as much as he'd love to avoid it, there are some things he needs to ask Jared in order to sort out his confusing memories. "Jared, why are you staying with Pops? I thought you…" He doesn't finish, afraid he'll get something wrong again, but Jared doesn't seem to mind.
"Mostly thanks to you, big bro – I was only three weeks into my vacation in India when Pops let me know you were in the hospital. He –"
"You did go to India?" The relief that some of Booth's memories finally turn out to be true is almost overwhelming for a second.
Jared eyes him curiously. "You don't remember that?"
"Yeah, sure I do." Booth does his best to sound sure of himself. "So you came back?"
"What, you expected me to let Pops fret all by his lonesome?" Booth is only too familiar with that surly tone, and he seriously didn't expect he'd ever be glad to hear it. "You know he keeps having heart trouble and won't admit it – if you hadn't gotten him drunk last Christmas, we still wouldn't know that his doctor thinks he'll need a bypass sooner or later, remember?"
Booth just nods; he doesn't add that he also remembers Pops getting the bypass surgery and moving into a nursing home afterwards.
"Okay, so I came back and moved in with him for the time being to keep an eye on him. Got a job in Philly too – it's shitty pay and even shittier hours, but for the moment it pays the bills."
Booth can't help thinking that Jared's reasons for staying at Pops' house instead of finding his own place might not have been quite so selfless, but still, it's more than he would ever have expected of Jared. Then again, Jared did sacrifice his career to save his brother's life…
That did happen, didn't it?
Booth feels like the insides of his brain are turning to jelly as he tries to figure out if what he remembers can possibly be real; if he was really caught on that ship with the ghost of a dead army buddy; if the Gravedigger who almost took Bones from him really turned out to be a tiny, harmless-looking woman. Heather Taffet – he remembers her dying, remembers her head exploding like an overripe melon right in front of him, but that too seems almost too weird to be true. It must have happened, though – because Jake killed Taffet, and Jake also killed Vincent, and then he and Bones…
You two keep saying that you're just partners. Wasn't that what Sweets said just this morning? Or did he imagine that too?
Booth shakes his head in a futile attempt to clear it. He just wants answers, wants someone to tell him what's real and what isn't, and right now he doesn't even care if that someone is his brother.
"Jared –"
His brother just looks at him expectantly, and Booth freezes; of the dozens of questions he wanted to ask just a second ago, he suddenly can't seem to remember a single one. There's one thing though, something that has been nagging at the back of his brain since he first saw Pops by his bedside, and this is actually something he can ask Jared without giving away too much of what's going on with him.
"Jared, is Dad still alive?"
It's obvious that this is the last question Jared expected him to ask, but it takes him only a moment to overcome his surprise, and he shrugs with an indifference that seems just a tad forced. "How the hell should I know, Seeley? I don't give a damn one way or the other."
"Right." Booth shakes his head again as if that could get rid of the memory of sitting in his recliner with Bones perching on the armrest, a wooden box on the coffee table in front of him and her arm around his shoulders, pregnant belly pressed against his side…
There is no baby, and I swear that I'll never ask anything like that of you again.
"Miss me, Shrimp? Look who I found in the hallway!" Pops is back with Bones in tow, but Booth has trouble focusing on either of them; the world is getting blurry around the edges again, and everyone's voices are muffled and distant as if he were underwater. Bones is saying something about overwhelming him –
"You look wiped out, my boy; I guess the lady is right, we should let you rest." Booth can't remember many moments in his life when he has heard Pops sound so gentle, and they were never happy moments. At least things are getting clearer again, and Pops' voice no longer sounds like it's coming from far away when he turns to Bones and gives her a quick hug that obviously takes her by surprise.
"It was good to finally meet you in person, Dr. Brennan. You'll keep me updated, won't you?"
"Of course I will." Bones takes a hasty step back as soon as Pops lets go, but the smile she gives the old man is genuine. "It was good to meet you too, Mr. Booth."
Booth watches the exchange with growing unease; he could have sworn that these two have known each other for a long time, that Pops took a shine to her the first time he saw her and even entrusted a secret to her safekeeping –
But… if Pops told Bones something he wanted her to keep secret, why is he remembering it?
Then Pops is hugging him good-bye, and suddenly it's too much.
Booth isn't sure how he mustered up the strength, but as soon as Pops' arms are around him, he finds himself clinging to the old man with all his might. All he wants right now is to be twelve years old again so his grandfather's arms will still be those of a man strong enough to take on the whole world and make all the bad things go away. He's so tired of fighting on his own, and he just wants someone to tell him that everything's going to be okay, that this is only a bad dream that will be over as soon as he finally wakes up.
"It's okay, Booth, I've got you."
The soothing voice isn't Pops'; it's Bones who's speaking, and then her arm is around Booth's shoulders, gently easing him back into the pillow. "Here, let me lower the backrest a little, this position can't be comfortable for you."
It's only now that Booth realizes he's completely out of breath, and that the beeps of the heart monitor are picking up speed. He wants to focus on calming down, but it's too much, everything's just too much…
"It's going to be all right."
How can she even say that with a straight face? Booth is torn between laughing at the cruel irony and screaming at her for making empty promises, but he doesn't have the energy for either. All he can do is try to get a grip; it takes a while, but at last the obnoxious beeping slows down. His surroundings begin to register on him again – Pops and Jared have left, and Bones is sitting in the chair by his bedside. She's smiling at him, but the smile doesn't reach her eyes, and suddenly the need to make her understand becomes overwhelming.
"Everything's wrong, Bones, and I – I feel like I'm going crazy."
"You're not." She sounds completely certain, but that's because she doesn't have all the facts. "A certain level of confusion is completely normal after a prolonged –"
"No." The vehemence of the interruption silences her, and Booth presses on before she has a chance to recover. "You don't get it, Bones – things are supposed to be different, everything's supposed to be different, but it's like I'm the only one who remembers…"
"Remembers what?" The clinical tone falters a little when she asks, "Is this about the fact that you thought I had gone through with the insemination?"
"You didn't… it wasn't like that." Booth lowers his eyes; there's no way he can look at her right now. "I – I remember us, Bones. You and me – we were going to have a baby, and…"
Her sharp intake of breath makes him look up again; she has gone very pale, and her expression is one of dawning comprehension and – horror?
"Booth." She sounds like she's choking on something. "You thought – you think that we are… together?"
Booth feels his mind go blank; he can only stare at her, completely dumbfounded, while the plea No, no, dear God, please no starts running on a loop in his brain. It's not a prayer, it's not even a conscious thought, just an utter refusal to accept that anything so totally wrong could ever be true.
You two keep saying that you're just partners.
Bones' eyes flit to the heart monitor for a second, and she's obviously struggling for composure when she says in a strangely flat voice, "So that is why you kissed me yesterday." When he doesn't reply, doesn't even react, she whispers as if she were talking to herself, "This is all my fault."
Then she visibly pulls herself together; she reaches for his hand and holds it so tightly that it's painful, but her tone is once more detached and clinical. "Booth, you and I are partners. We have been working together for four years – or maybe five, if you count –"
"The Gemma Arrington case." The reply is automatic, and it brings a tiny smile to her face.
"That's true. Our first case, back in August 2004."
Five years ago.
Booth shakes his head; it just can't be true, and he's waiting for the familiar darkness to start seeping into his mind any second now, but instead the fog in his brain is lifting, forcing him to assess his situation with merciless clarity.
"We almost slept together back then."
"Yes, and we later agreed that we were never going to overstep that line. We're partners, Booth, deep down you know that – and in time, it will come back to you." Why is her voice trembling if she's so sure about it?
"But I remember…" He pauses for a second and tries to get his whirling thoughts in order; this is Bones, so every argument he makes needs to be flawless. "I remember us together, Bones – that first night at my place, and then… when you told me you were pregnant, the night after Angela and Hodgins had their baby –"
Now she's giving him that look, the one he keeps seeing on the faces of pretty much everyone he talks to. "Booth, Angela and Hodgins don't have a child – they're not even a couple any more. They broke up almost a year ago, don't you remember that?"
When Booth doesn't answer, she keeps talking. "I can't even imagine how difficult and confusing this situation must be for you – but you are getting better, and things will get easier as you recover. I spoke to Dr. Bryar just before, and she's still very optimistic about your prognosis. I can ask her if –"
"No." Booth cringes with embarrassment as he suddenly remembers all those questions he heard Bones ask his doctors over the last days – he didn't think anything of it because those things aren't an issue with the person who sees you naked every day, but if it's true what she's saying, if she hasn't actually ever… except maybe that one time when she broke into his bathroom after he got shot –
Did that actually happen? He remembers the moment with perfect clarity, but he keeps finding out how little that counts for. Almost without thought, Booth slides his hand under the neck of his hospital gown; there it is, the familiar feeling of puckered scar tissue under his fingertips, and it reminds him how Cam once told him, back in his rookie days, that a person's body is a much more reliable witness than their mind.
Bones watches him closely; it must be obvious what he's doing, but she seems to misunderstand his reaction.
"Is your scar troubling you?"
"No, I…" Booth flounders for a moment. "I remember how I got it."
Is he imagining things, or is she suddenly fighting tears? "You almost died for me."
"I know." Because I love you.
He doesn't say it, of course. After what she just told him, she won't want to hear it, but that doesn't make it any less true, and among all the confusion and the uncertainty, Booth finds a little comfort in the fact that there's something he can rely on no matter what.
He also knows that it's probably the only thing he'll be able to rely on from now on, and he has no idea how he's supposed to deal with that.
+
+ + +
+
When there's nothing you can do about the big picture, focus on the task at hand.
Booth sometimes feels like the old cop mantra is the only thing that's keeping him sane during the days that follow. It's as if the world he knew has fallen apart, and now he has to watch it putting itself back together into a shape that looks like one of those Escher pictures –completely wrong and bizarrely real at the same time, and always changing before your eyes when you look too closely.
He tries not to think about it. It's a technique he has perfected during his years in the Army, when too much thinking would only distract him, and distraction was something he couldn't afford. It's a part of his life he thought he left behind for good, but right now that's the least of his worries.
There's only one thing he can do right now, and that's putting every shred of energy he has into getting better as quickly as possible. He hates being helpless, and it has been a long time since things were as bad as they are now, with him barely able to sit upright, let alone get out of that damned hospital bed. Genny keeps admonishing him to be patient, but he'll have none of it; he pushes himself harder whenever he feels like collapsing, and even though progress is agonizingly slow and his hard-won victories are so tiny that he once would have considered them pathetic, they quickly become his sole focus during his waking hours. He puts up with everything the doctors throw at him; he even goes along with the crazy ideas of his speech therapist, and with all that neurological stuff that makes him feel like he's been sent back to kindergarten. Constant humiliation is something he has learned to deal with a long time ago, and it's a price he's willing to pay if it will help him become himself again.
Exhaustion becomes his ever-present companion, but it's more than just an unavoidable side effect of the grueling daily routine – it's a buffer between his consciousness and the full impact of this harsh new reality. There's no lying awake at night once another day is over, no empty, sleepless hours that would force him to think about things that are too much to bear.
Sometimes, there's a moment when he's not on his guard and something slips through the cracks of the walls he has put up around his mind, but thankfully it never lasts long; in the end, he can always count on the warm, welcoming darkness to take it all away as soon as he closes his eyes and allows his tired body to relax. Then, finally, there's no need for defenses or pretenses any more – another battle is behind him, and even though the new day will bring the next one, he won't have to think about it until morning.
Every evening, Booth says a quick prayer of thanks when the nurse on duty switches off the lights and bids him good night; then he closes his eyes and goes home.
It's no longer the effortless switch it was in the beginning – he can't just let his mind wander while he falls asleep, because that will inevitably leave him caught up in dreams filled with loss and fear and the crushing feeling of loneliness. The life he left behind is no longer a linear chain of events that picks up where he left it when he finally makes it back; now it's a swirling kaleidoscope of brightly colored images and happy memories, and like a child chasing a swarm of butterflies he reaches out blindly and picks whatever is within his reach. It doesn't matter what he ends up with – all the memories of them, and of the life they were leading together, are equally welcome to him, and even though a part of his mind keeps telling him that none of it is real, Booth doesn't care as long as he can go back to where he belongs.
Sometimes, when it all gets too much during the day, he even allows himself a second to ponder which memory he's going to choose that night, which moment he'll get to relive with them as soon as he puts another day's tasks behind him. It's addictive in a way that even gambling never was, but he doesn't care about that either; all that matters is that at the end of the day, he'll be home again.
Coming back is another matter entirely.
He has begun to dread waking up each morning – it always begins with a perfect moment cut short, with the sudden sensation of everything he loves slipping through his fingers and leaving him grasping at empty air. That's when, most days, confusion settles in; he hardly ever knows where he is or what happened when he opens his eyes, and when the realization finally hits him at the sight of his hospital room, he always feels like he can't breathe for a second. Some days, he can barely bring himself to keep his eyes open; during those first moments of the day, the temptation to slip back into the darkness and refuse to ever come out again is almost too much to bear, and the only thing that makes him fight the impulse is the fact that most days, Bones is sitting by his bedside when he wakes up.
She is the one thing that makes him hold on to the cruel reality of the day, no matter how wrong and off-key it feels. He doesn't know much about anything else, but he knows her, knows beyond a doubt that she's really by his side, almost out of her mind with worry and still determined to get him through this ordeal no matter how difficult it will be. He can't leave her behind, can't let her fight for him in vain, and for her sake he hangs on and faces the fight each new day brings.
And yet – ever since he told her a small part of the truth, allowed her a tiny glimpse into the life he shared with her, things have been different between them. She seems hesitant, almost awkward at times; Booth, too, doesn't really know how to behave around her for fear he'll once more do something she'll consider wrong or out of character, like that ill-fated kiss that obviously still troubles her. At the same time, it's almost unbearable to be near her and not touch her, to censor everything he says, every gesture towards her because he suddenly needs to hide how he feels about her.
The first day after he told her, Bones didn't come in until noon, and Booth spent a hellish morning filled with fear that he'd made her run again, that his revelation had unsettled her so badly that she couldn't be near him any more. Yet she was sitting by his bedside when he woke up from a brief, fitful nap after lunch, and he was so relieved that he automatically reached for her like he'd done every day before. Bones, too, made a move as if to take his hand like she always did when she sat next to him, but halfway through she froze, and then hastily tried to cover it up by running her fingers through her hair.
Booth felt a crushing weight settle on his chest. He could only stare at her as she looked back at him, wide-eyed and pale-faced as if she, too, had no idea how they were supposed to deal with this. He cursed himself for having been stupid enough to tell her, for doing the one thing he should have known would drive her away. It had been so easy to forget how things used to be between them, and he knew there was no telling how much damage he'd done, if there would ever be a way for him to –
That was the moment he saw her stricken expression change into the steely determination he'd come to know so well, and then she slowly, deliberately, reached out and covered his hand with hers.
Booth can still feel the cool touch of her skin on his whenever he thinks back to that moment. He doesn't know what it's costing her, but she keeps coming back every day, and no matter how awkward things get, she has never given him any indication that she might consider pulling back. He's learning to keep a tight rein on his tongue and on his heart because he doesn't want to make things even more difficult for her – but sometimes, when he's tired and sore and lets his guard slip for a moment, he looks into her eyes and sees the woman he loves, the woman who has become the center of his life, gazing back at him. Those are the moments when all his defenses crumble, when the stark reality of what he has lost – or maybe has never had – is staring him in the face and leaves him no way to keep his eyes shut. He wants to reach out, to hold her tight and assure himself and her that they're still them, that he's right here and will never stop loving her, and it takes every last ounce of strength to keep his mouth shut and try to push everything he feels for her back into the darkest corner of his mind.
During the days when that happens, he throws himself into his therapies and exercises with redoubled fervor, pushing himself way beyond his limits to keep his mind mercifully numb as physical exhaustion takes over. If she knows what he's doing, she never lets on; she keeps monitoring his progress, celebrates every small victory with him, and pesters doctors and therapists with the unrelenting, unapologetic energy that is so her it makes his heart ache. The day he manages to stand on his own feet (never mind that it's only for a few seconds, and that it takes Genny and a nurse to hold him upright) for the first time, she brings him a slice of apple pie from the Royal Diner, and Booth wants to needle her about trying a bite so they can have their old discussion about cooked fruit, but he doesn't dare to because he's afraid she might remember what Sweets once said about pie and seduction. So he just thanks her and basks in her beaming smile when he manages to finish the whole slice (he can eat on his own without a problem by now, but he doesn't have much of an appetite these days), but he doesn't let himself dwell on the way she makes him feel when she's smiling at him like that.
He knows he'll come home to Bones baking pie in their kitchen tonight, and it will have to be enough to get him through the rest of the day.
+
+ + +
+
"You sure you can't stay?"
Booth is aware how needy that question sounds, but he can't help it; he's been nervous all day, but now that it's almost time, the knot in his stomach is beginning to make him feel sick.
"Booth, I told you –"
"Yeah, yeah, I know." She has given him a list of reasons – it still tires him out when he has to focus on too many people at once, Rebecca might not want to have her around, and most importantly, she doesn't want to intrude on his time with his son. He hates the last one most of all, because he still refuses to accept that there could be a part of his life in which she has no place, but he knows there's no persuading Bones once she has made up her mind.
Booth glances at the clock again; it's ten minutes to three. Parker is going to be here any moment, and he still doesn't know how he feels about it.
On the one hand, he can't wait – it seems like it's been forever since he has last seen his son, and phone calls just aren't enough when it's your child you're separated from. On the other hand, he's terrified of upsetting or frightening Parker; he has never called him without Bones supervising the conversation so he wouldn't get anything wrong, and he's well aware that Parker is probably wondering why it took his father weeks until he was ready to see him.
He's still not sure if he's ready now, but at least he isn't quite the wreck of a man any more he was when he first woke up from the coma. Booth casts a quick look around the hospital room and is mostly satisfied with what he sees – the most embarrassing pieces of medical equipment, from the catheter bag to the heart monitor, are gone; he's wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt instead of a hospital gown, and the central IV line in his shoulder is safely hidden under his clothes. He can't do anything about the fact that his arms and legs are still much too thin because of the atrophied muscles, but at least they're mostly obeying him again even if he still feels weaker than a week-old kitten. He can only hope it will be enough not to shock Parker completely, but he's terrified of the thought that he will have to talk to Parker without Bones. What if he slips up and makes Parker think he has gone crazy? The boy has been through enough, and the thought that he might make things worse causes the nervous knot in his stomach to tighten further.
"Almost time."
"Yes." She places her hand on his arm and gives him a careful smile. "It's going to be fine, Booth."
"Right." Booth takes a deep breath and tries to pull himself together. "Can you help me get up?"
She hesitates for a split second, but then she nods, and Booth is relieved that she doesn't make him explain why he doesn't want Parker to see him lying in a hospital bed if he can help it. Usually Genny or one of the nurses help him get out of bed, but Bones has done it often enough by now to support him expertly when he carefully puts his feet on the floor and pushes himself upright. He still can't walk more than a few steps at a time, but the chair next to the bed is within reach, and Booth tries not to lean on her too heavily as she helps him sit down. He knows he should be grateful that he's gotten this far already, but it's moments like this one that make it painfully obvious that the longer part of the journey is still ahead of him.
Bones eyes him critically. "Why are you so nervous? I thought it would make you happy to see Parker."
"It does, Bones, it's just – I mean, I have no idea how he's dealing, and how I'm supposed to behave around him. This is the longest I've been away from him since Afghanistan, and I just don't know…" He falters when he sees the change in her expression. "What?"
"When did you go to Afghanistan? I thought your last deployment was before Parker was born."
Booth stares at her; there it is again, the feeling of the ground underneath his feet turning to quicksand until he has no idea where it's safe to stand. "I don't know, it – it can't have been that long ago, when you went away to Maluku and…"
Bones' face turns ashen. "You remember Maluku?"
He doesn't answer; what is there for him to say? Bones rallies quickly, though; she squats down so she's no longer looming over him and takes his hands in hers. "Booth, I was asked to head an international research project in Maluku a few weeks after you got sick. I turned down the offer, but I helped with the project coordination, and I sometimes talked about it when I visited you at the hospital. I – I had no way of knowing that you actually heard me."
Booth shakes his head. It makes no sense, he remembers Afghanistan – the heat, the dusty brown landscape; the two guys they lost during the first week, Corporal Jenkins who got shot through the heart four days before the end of his tour.. no, wait, that had been in Iraq, hadn't it? He tries to focus, but the blurry images bleed into each other until he can't tell them apart any longer.
Stop it, this isn't getting you anywhere.
Booth takes a deep breath and tries to think of something else. Bones is still staring at him, eyes wide with worry and uncertainty; he has come to hate that look on her face.
"You talked to me?" It's the first thing to say that comes to his mind, and her relieved expression tells him it was a smart choice.
"As much as I could; Miss Shaw told me there was a chance you would recognize me, or that you would at least be aware that you hadn't been left alone." There's a small hitch in her voice, but it's gone when she continues. "I made sure that the nurse on duty talked to you as well. Nurse Burley covered most of the day shifts, and she usually told you about whatever she'd heard on the news that day – I'm sure the war in Afghanistan came up in those conversations, so maybe that's what made you think you'd been there?"
He shakes his head again; some of the memories are getting clearer now, and they feel real – he remembers a rescue operation, an Afghani woman clutching her child to her, and then a phone call from Caroline that told him he had to come home.
Except you can't just go home halfway through your tour of duty, can you? But why is he only realizing that now?
He's still reeling from that thought when the door opens.
For a split second, everyone freezes. Rebecca, still in the door, has her arm around Parker's shoulders; Parker is standing stock-still and stares at his father with an expression that looks strangely out of place on a child's face. He seems smaller and so much younger than the boy in Booth's memory – still a true child instead of the almost-adolescent he remembers, and Booth can only stare back at him, his mind completely blank and a dull ache spreading in his chest.
Then Parker yells "Dad!" and wriggles out of Rebecca's grasp when she tries to hold him back; a second later his arms are around Booth's neck.
Out of the corner of his eye, Booth sees Bones leave the room with a polite nod to Rebecca; Rebecca is smiling, and Parker is making incoherent noises into Booth's shoulder and hangs on so tightly that Booth's back is screaming in protest. He doesn't care, though; all that matters is the boy in his arms, who now gives him a beaming smile and starts bombarding him with rapid-fire questions that barely leave Booth time to catch his breath.
Booth nods and smiles and keeps his answers as short as possible. Their phone calls have taught him to let Parker do most of the talking, and the boy would be impossible to shut up right now anyway; he's talking a mile a minute, about school and friends and practice and everything else that comes to his mind.
At long last, Parker calms down a little; he lets go of Booth's neck, but shakes his head when Rebecca pulls up two chairs and tells him to sit down. Instead, he stays by Booth's side and holds on to his hand as if he were afraid Booth might disappear any moment, and Booth has to take deep, measured breaths to keep the lump in his throat from choking him.
"Dad?" For the first time, Parker hesitates before asking a question. "Do you know how long you'll still have to stay here?"
Booth wishes he had an answer to that. "It's too early to tell, buddy. I'm much better already, but it will still be a while until I can leave. But you've been so patient until now, you can hang on for a bit longer, can't you?"
"Yeah, sure." In spite of his words, Parker doesn't seem convinced. "But you're going to be okay, aren't you? I mean really okay, like you were before?"
Booth hears Rebecca inhaling sharply, but he doesn't look at her; his focus is entirely on Parker. "Yes, Parker, I'll be okay. It will take time, but everything is going to be all right."
Parker still looks dubious. "Promise?"
"I promise." Booth doesn't allow himself to ponder that this might be a promise he can't keep; he knows the doctors are giving him only a fifty-fifty chance of a full recovery, but right now he can believe that he's going to make it happen, that he'll overcome any odds to make sure that Parker gets his father back.
The boy nods solemnly, and Booth gets a little choked up again at the way his doubtful expression changes into one of complete and utter trust. He doesn't care how difficult it will be, there's no way he's going to fail his son.
"Okay. Can I get a soda?"
The effortless change of topic makes Booth laugh, even though it strikes him again just how much of a child this boy still is. "Yeah, sure; there's a vending machine right around the corner…"
Parker looks at him expectantly, and Booth realizes with a sinking feeling that he expects him to come with him. It's not that Booth can't walk at all – with some help, he can make it to the bathroom and back to his bed by now, but he has never been in the hallway when he wasn't being moved in a hospital bed or, lately, a wheelchair.
Rebecca has watched them silently so far, but now she catches on quickly and tries to intervene. "Let's go get one for you, Parker."
"Can't you come along, Dad?" There's an edge in Parker's voice that tells Booth he knows very well there's a bigger issue here; maybe Booth's assurances weren't quite enough after all.
"Parker." Rebecca sounds gentle, but there's a hint of a warning in her tone. "We've talked about this, remember?"
Booth feels his stomach clench again; the thought that Rebecca considered it necessary to give Parker instructions for meeting his father doesn't sit well with him at all.
"No, Becca, it's okay." He pushes himself to his feet before he can reconsider; there are a hundred ways this can go terribly wrong, but he needs to prove to Parker that he told him the truth. "Can you maybe…"
Rebecca doesn't seem happy, but she gets what he means, and she quickly steps up to him so he can put an arm around her shoulders to support himself. She wraps her own arm around his waist and holds on tightly, and it strikes him that he hasn't been this close to her in what feels like an eternity.
Then Parker is by his other side and takes Booth's free hand, and the realization that Parker is trying to help makes his eyes sting for a moment.
Booth carefully sets one foot in front of the other; he tries not to lean on Rebecca too heavily, but he has never walked this far before, and he's out of breath and sweating profusely by the time they reach the vending machine. Parker gets his soda, and Booth is grateful that they don't run into a nurse or doctor on their way back because there would be hell to pay if they caught him in the hallway.
He's shaking from exhaustion when they're finally back in the room, and Booth doesn't protest when Rebecca leads him straight to the bed because he feels half a second away from collapsing. Still, the fact that he didn't disappoint Parker makes him forget the burning in his muscles, and even Rebecca smiles when she whispers "You're still an idiot, you know that, right?" into his ear.
Booth turns his head to look at her; he still has his arm around her shoulders, and he's close enough to see that her eyes are shining with unshed tears. She holds his gaze for a moment; then she smiles again and tells him softly, "I'm glad you're back, Seeley."
He's suddenly incredibly grateful that all his good memories of her are real, that she too remembers what they had together even though it's long past. On an impulse, he pulls her closer; she seems startled for a moment, but then her arms come up to hug him back. Parker was still holding on to Booth's hand, but now he sidles up to them until he's firmly in the middle of their embrace, and Booth realizes that this must be the first time the boy has ever seen any kind of physical affection between his parents. They probably make a strange tableau, but Booth is forcibly reminded that this, too, is his family, no matter how dysfunctional it may be.
Then Rebecca helps him get into bed, and Booth sinks back into the pillows with a profound sense of relief because he really couldn't have stayed upright for much longer. As much as he wants Parker to stay, he knows his exhaustion will get the better of him pretty soon.
"Buddy, I'm afraid it's nap time for me now…"
"But it's the middle of the afternoon!" Parker sounds downright horrified, and Booth remembers how difficult it used to be to make him go to bed when he was younger.
"Yeah, I know, but I still need a lot of sleep to get better."
Parker accepts that, but there seems to be something else on his mind. "Are you dreaming a lot?"
Booth is wide awake again at once. "Why do you ask?"
"Bones said you dreamed a lot while you were in the coma."
Booth draws in a sharp breath; so Bones considered it necessary to prepare Parker too, and even though he can't fault her for it, he really wishes she had told him first. "Yeah, I did."
"Do you remember if you dreamed of me?" The question is innocent enough, but Booth feels his insides turning to ice at the memory that is suddenly at the forefront of his mind.
I remember you sending me back to war.
Christ. He can still hear Parker telling him that he needed to go back to the Army to save lives, and he remembers the feeling of a noose tightening around his neck when the boy calmly refuted every reason Booth had come up with why he would not, could not go back.
How did that not alert him to the fact that something was wrong? How could he ever believe…
Booth frantically searches his mind for a happier memory of Parker, but he's horrified to realize that almost nothing comes up; his thoughts wander back to Bones and their baby as soon as he allows them to return to what still feels more real than this hospital to him, but Parker is nowhere in those memories. How can he remember everything so clearly and not remember his son?
Parker is still looking at him expectantly, and Booth forcibly pulls himself together because the boy must never, ever know of this. "I… I don't really remember my dreams, Parker." He has no idea how he manages it, but somehow the lie comes out sounding completely sincere. "You know how it is when you wake up and don't remember what you were dreaming about?"
Parker nods solemnly, and Booth feels a sharp sting of shame at the realization that his son believes him. Rebecca seems anxious to leave, and Booth reminds himself that he needs to keep it together until they're both safely out of the door. He returns Parker's good-bye hug and promises him he'll see him again soon, but he feels strangely numb inside, and for the first time the knowledge that he'll be able to go back to sleep in a few minutes fills him with a vague sense of dread.
+
+ + +
+
Booth knows he should listen to what Dr. Bryar is telling him, but he finds it hard to concentrate because he still can't reconcile his memories of the cheerful, flirty woman he used to date with the businesslike, no-nonsense neurologist in front of him. He hopes Bones is paying attention to the medical facts Dr. Bryar is spouting so she can translate them for him later; he, however, has trouble focusing on anything the woman is saying until a word grabs his attention.
"Home? I can go home?"
"I see no reason to keep you here, Mr. Booth. You're able to manage everyday tasks without assistance by now, and while it's absolutely necessary that you continue with your therapeutic regimen, you can do so as an outpatient. Patients at your stage of recovery tend to improve faster in familiar surroundings, and your latest test results were very encouraging, so we'll be sending you home in a couple of days."
He's going home. Booth is still trying to wrap his mind around that sudden turn of events when Dr. Bryar adds with a glance at her ever-present clipboard, "It says here that you live alone?"
The heady, excited feeling that was building in his chest collapses and ties itself into the familiar knot of resigned misery. Of course he won't be going home – because there's no way back to the home he remembers, to the house filled with love and laughter and hope for the future. The word had him fooled for a moment, but now that the merciless reality catches up with him, he can't muster any enthusiasm for the idea of returning to an empty apartment that holds no meaning for him any more.
He turns his head to the side, where Bones is sitting in her usual spot, and her smile is so hopeful that he forces himself to smile back for her sake.
"Yeah, I do, but –"
"It won't be a problem." Bones sounds calm and collected, but Booth knows her well enough to hear the underlying mix of eagerness and anxiety. "I'll be happy to help in any way I can, and I can check on you daily and run all those errands for you that you can't manage yourself yet."
Booth has no idea what to say to that; touched as he is by her willingness to help, it's also a cruel reminder of how much help he still needs, and probably will keep needing for God knows how long.
Dr. Bryar seems satisfied with the answer, though. "That should be sufficient. We'll draw up a therapy schedule for you; Miss Shaw can work out the details with your other therapists and make the necessary appointments. I assume she'll keep working with you?"
Booth has no idea why she's asking him that question, but Bones answers it for him. "Miss Shaw has already agreed to continue with their daily therapy sessions after Booth's release from the hospital."
"I need to come back here every day? Then why are you releasing me in the first place?" Booth figures they probably think that he'll prefer sleeping in his own bed, but he honestly doesn't care where he spends his nights – if he doesn't get to go to bed and wake up with her, it doesn't make any difference to him.
"Of course not, Miss Shaw will be coming to your apartment." It's once again Bones who answers, and Booth remembers belatedly how Genny told him that she doesn't actually work for the hospital. He has been preoccupied with too many other things until now to consider these matters, but he suddenly finds himself wondering if his health insurance will cover the services of a freelancing therapist.
The thought triggers a deeply disquieting chain reaction of unwelcome realizations. He has been worrying about Bones and Parker, but when it comes to himself, he has been entirely focused on the life he lost. He has never wasted a thought on the life he left behind in this reality – a life that went on without him during the months he spent at the hospital. Now he'll be forced to go back; no matter how much he wishes he could leave it all behind and return to where he belongs, he knows he has to accept that it's the only kind of life he's going to get, and that he'll have to start living it again, which means he'll have to deal with a ton of practical problems he didn't even consider until now.
Bones seems to notice that there's something on his mind, but of course she has no way of knowing what he's thinking. "Don't worry about your apartment, Booth; I went there at least once a week to make sure everything is in order."
"I must be way behind on the rent by now." He can't even tell how long it's been since he has last set foot into the place – it feels like it's been forever since he and Bones packed up his stuff to move it to the 'Mighty Hut', but she was already hugely pregnant then, so it can't have been…
Stop. Booth forcibly reins in his thoughts before they can stray any further down that path. However, he's still not certain about the amount of time that has passed; he knows how long his coma lasted, but much of the weeks – months? – afterwards is a blur of disjointed images with no real chronology to them. He's been to the hospital garden and knows it's fall outside, and Bones will tell him today's date if he asks her, but that doesn't change the fact that the passing of time seems to stretch and contract like a rubber band around him.
"Don't worry about it." Something in her tone brings him back to the present; she sounds so casual that he can only conclude she's trying to slip something by him, and it's not hard to guess what that might be.
"You paid my bills?" He doesn't know why he feels so mortified by the idea after everything she has witnessed during the last few months, but he can still feel an angry blush rising in his cheeks.
"Would you have preferred to be evicted from your apartment for not paying them?" She doesn't even sound defensive – just presenting him with the hard, cold facts, and even though it makes him feel like an ungrateful ass, it doesn't ease the sting of humiliation.
"I'll pay you back."
"I told you not to worry about it." A stern edge has slipped into her tone. "I'm your partner, Booth, and you were the one who taught me that partners are supposed to look out for each other. There are more important things for you to focus on than your bills."
She's right, of course, but now that they've opened this can of worms, Booth finds himself unable to let it go – because now that he thinks about it, he's forced to realize that paying her back might not even be an option for him in the foreseeable future.
Booth tries to remember the amount of sick days he has accumulated over the years, but even if he factors in his unused leave, the number he ends up with is way too low. He has never been faced with this problem before because all his earlier long-time hospital stays were the result of work-related injuries, and it's only now that he realizes the situation is very different this time. Damn, damn, damn…
"Doctor – can you give me an estimate when I'll be able to go back to work?"
Dr. Bryar hesitates for a moment, which already tells him what she thinks of the question. "It's too early to tell. Your progress during the last few weeks, combined with your test results, makes me optimistic about your chances of a full recovery, but it's going to take at least a few more months until you're fit to work again, and it will probably have to be a desk job for a while." She exchanges a quick glance with Bones that isn't lost on Booth. "I'm aware of the kind of job you and Dr. Brennan used to do, but I'm afraid that field work is out of the question for you for at least another year."
Booth takes a deep breath and squeezes Bones' fingers that have closed around his. He knows this isn't really bad news – on the contrary, it's the first time the doctor is speaking of his return to field work as an actual possibility, but still, a year…
Once more, Booth does his best to stop a line of thought before it goes too far. As much as he hates the idea of being stuck behind a desk for months, he knows that getting well enough to go back to work at all will have to take priority right now. "A few more months as in – three? Four?"
"I work with MRIs and PET scans, not with crystal balls, Mr. Booth." Dr. Bryar is beginning to sound impatient, but then she relents. "Is this a financial issue? Don't you feds have short time disability coverage?"
Booth shakes his head. "Only if I'm injured in the line of duty. There's permanent disability retirement, but…" He can't bring himself to finish the sentence.
"You will go back to being an FBI agent, Booth." Bones sounds absolutely certain, and Booth wishes he could share her optimism because right now, things are looking pretty bleak from where he stands. "I've called Assistant Director Hacker several times to keep him informed about your condition, and he assured me that he'll give you your job back as soon as your health allows it. That's what you need to focus on now; we'll be able to work out a solution for everything else."
Hacker. Booth closes his eyes and swallows the bile that's rising in his throat. The last thing he needs is his health issues getting Bones in contact with Hacker again. It's not that he doesn't trust her, and he doubts Hacker would have the bad taste to hit on her again while Booth is stuck at the hospital –
Except –
Booth clenches his teeth when he remembers that there's no reason why Hacker should hesitate to hit on her, considering that the guy in the hospital is nothing but her partner. God, when will he finally stop walking in these traps that always leave him feeling as if he'd had the ground pulled out from under his feet? He knows who he and Bones are, and everything they are not, and yet those familiar details keep sneaking up on him and worming themselves into the bleak reality of his days like butterflies trying to slip through the colorless threads of a spider web.
The image seems eerily fitting, considering that the end result is the same for both.
It's one of those moments when the prospect of the same kind of struggle every day for the rest of his life seems so daunting that he can't bring himself to face it, that the temptation to just give up, to refuse any part in a life he doesn't want, becomes almost overwhelming. Yet she is still here, her hand in his, her faith in his willingness to keep fighting as obvious as her determination to be with him every step of the way, and he knows he can't betray her trust in him, no matter what it's costing him.
He isn't sure whether he loves or resents her for it.
+++
If she uses the word home one more time he's going to scream.
Booth sits on the sofa in his living room, which is just as lumpy and uncomfortable as he remembers it, and watches Bones putter around in his apartment with an almost frantic kind of energy. She drove him here from the hospital, carried his bag and refused to let him help her unpack his stuff, and as much as Booth hates being banished to the couch, there's no denying that the trip took a lot out of him because he feels ready to collapse where he's sitting.
This is wrong, everything is wrong –
Bones keeps up a constant level of cheerful, meaningless chatter that seems strangely out of character for her while she flits from one room to the other, never standing still long enough for him to start an actual conversation with her – not that he has any idea what they're supposed to talk about.
She disappears into the kitchen when she has finished unpacking; after a while, the aroma of mac and cheese starts drifting through the apartment.
"Do you want to eat here or in the kitchen?" Bones reappears carrying two plates; she looks so pleased with herself that he can't bring himself to admit that the mere thought of food makes his stomach clench.
"Here's fine."
It isn't lost on him how much distance she keeps between them when she sits down beside him. Bones seems to have run out of topics of conversation, and the sudden silence makes Booth's skin crawl.
He picks at his food and hopes she won't notice that he isn't actually eating, but at least it gives him something to talk about. "There's no way you made that right now."
"No, I made it in the morning and brought it over when I came to stock up your fridge. It's not as good when it's re-heated, but –"
"It tastes great." Booth forces himself to take a bite and smiles at her. "Thanks, Bones, that – that was really nice of you."
"I assumed that you would like something you consider 'real' food after the hospital diet. It's not what you should be eating on a regular basis during your recovery, but I thought that there should be an exception for your first meal back home."
Booth flinches, and tries to cover it up by taking another bite. It seems to grow bigger in his mouth the longer he tries to chew it, and he can barely force it down.
"Bones, listen – I really appreciate your help today, and that you cooked for me and everything, but I'm kinda beat."
"Of course." She's out of her seat so quickly that he has to wonder whether she has only been waiting for her cue. "Let me just clean away the dishes… and you'll call me if you need anything, yes? Miss Shaw will be here at nine o'clock tomorrow, and I'll be back around noon, but you can call me anytime, whether I'm at the lab or at home. Your meds are on your nightstand, and I put the –"
"Bones, I'll be fine." He doesn't want her to think that he isn't grateful for what she's trying to do here, but right now he can't take her fussing any more; he just wants to be alone. "I promise I'll call if there's anything, okay?"
"Okay." She reaches out like she's going to hug him good-bye, but reconsiders at the last moment and gives him an awkward pat on the arm instead. "Good night, Booth, and – I'm glad you're home again."
Booth breathes a sigh of relief when he hears the door fall shut behind her, but the ensuing silence soon feels oppressive instead of comforting. He takes a look around, finally forcing himself to pay attention to his surroundings. It's the apartment he remembers, and yet the details feel wrong – some things are out of place, some are different than he remembers them, some are missing altogether. After a while, he struggles to his feet – the dull pain in his muscles that had begun to ease during the last weeks is back with a vengeance after the unusual exertion of the trip from the hospital – and slowly makes his way to the kitchen to get some water for his meds.
He walks into the kitchen without switching on the lights and promptly hits his shin on a piece of furniture that shouldn't be there. Booth mutters a curse and reaches for the light switch – and then freezes at the sight of the stove that he had to replace ages ago because Pops set it on fire.
The sensation of utter wrongness becomes overwhelming, and Booth hastily grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and gets out of the kitchen. He just needs this day to be over – tomorrow, there'll be time to readjust and to learn to deal with the fact that he feels like he traveled back in time, but for today he has reached the limit of what he can take.
He doesn't bother to undress or to brush his teeth; he just swallows his pills, struggles out of his pants and crawls under the blankets.
+++
An hour later, he's still staring at the ceiling. He's so exhausted that he's shaking all over, but sleep won't come; he can feel the nightmares closing in on him every time he's about to drift off, and the suffocating sensation of loss and loneliness that always accompanies them is enough to keep him awake. He tries to find refuge in the safety of his memories of a happier life, but ever since Parker's first visit to the hospital he has had trouble losing himself in the easy, uncomplicated joy that those memories used to bring. The images are still there, but they seem to slip through his fingers when he tries to hold on to one of them, and more than once Booth has found that he has trouble remembering a specific moment that he's sure was perfectly clear in his mind just a short while before.
The fear that he might actually forget that other life, that he might no longer find his way back to the place he considers his real home, has become his constant companion. Booth squeezes his eyes shut and tries to focus on the last moments he remembers of that life, of him and Bones getting their home ready for the birth of their child, and he's struck by the realization that he completely forgot that time used to pass in that other place as well, that he's been trying to relive the same moments over and over when he should have been going on with his life. With a sudden rush of hope, Booth allows his thoughts to reach out further, past the events he remembers, into what the immediate future had in store for them. Bones was days away from giving birth, so they had to get the nursery ready, and he still had to dissuade her of her crazy ideas about 'natural' childbirth and find a hospital they could both agree on…
It's with the mental image of a hugely pregnant Bones waddling through the corridors of a hospital with a black light wand and a disdainful sneer on her face that he finally slips into sleep.
+++
Something isn't right.
This is his home, the place he knows like the back of his hand, and yet it isn't. The rooms have never felt so empty; his steps have never echoed in the hallways before, and even the familiar creaking of the ancient wooden stairs suddenly sounds ominous in the suffocating silence. Everything that made the house theirs is gone, love and happiness and laughter snuffed out like candles – what remains is a dead shell, the corpse that's left behind when the soul has been ripped from it.
Even the colors have disappeared; the image before his eyes is in monochrome and strangely grainy like the pictures from a cheap camera. There's something in those pictures, a dark, forbidding figure that flits in and out of his line of sight, and as much as Booth tries to focus on it, he can't get a clear look at his ghost-like enemy. He doesn't question how he knows it's an enemy – all his senses are screaming danger at him, but for some reason he finds it difficult to be alert and on his guard like he needs to be. It's hard to breathe because of the lead weight of pain and loneliness on his chest; he's paralyzed by an overwhelming sensation of loss that makes him want to disappear into the darkness he can feel creeping into his mind. Yet he knows it's not the kind of darkness that brings comfort and solace – the inky blackness is cold and menacing, and he senses his enemy watching him from behind the dark veil that separates them.
For a second, he can almost make out a face – eyes like chips of ice, all-seeing and unfeeling, and a mouth set in a cruel smile that both mocks and threatens. He tries to grab the phantom that haunts him, but his hands pass through it as if it were a wisp of smoke, and the sound of soft, contemptuous laughter is still ringing in his ears when the shrill beeping of his alarm clock startles him awake.
Booth opens his eyes and quickly closes them again when nothing he sees makes sense. This isn't his bedroom, and yet it's eerily familiar – like the half-forgotten memory of a place that once used to have meaning for him. He tries to clear his thoughts, but the strong feeling of disorientation doesn't abate as he struggles to remember how he ended up in a place that firmly belongs into the past.
The past… wait, that's it, isn't it? This used to be his bedroom, at the apartment where he lived before – what? He knows he went somewhere else, but somehow he ended up back here… and he wasn't alone either; someone was with him, someone important…
Belatedly, it dawns on Booth that he probably isn't alone in his bed, and that he'd better figure out who he's going to see once he opens his eyes. He knows he only just came back from somewhere, and the only time he was away lately was – Afghanistan?
Glad that there's finally something concrete to hold on to, Booth opens his eyes again and turns his head to check for a mass of blond hair on the pillow beside him. He has no idea how Hannah managed to sleep through the alarm, but –
The other side of the bed is empty. Booth blinks in surprise, but then memories are beginning to surface – Hannah isn't here any more, she left after… after it turned out that she wasn't who he thought she was? That sounds wrong somehow, and his head is beginning to hurt from the effort to figure out what's going on.
Bones. The realization leaves him almost giddy with relief. Of course he came here with Bones – they've stayed at her place a lot lately, but they agreed to take turns between their apartments, and Bones has always been a stickler for established rules. Booth listens for any sounds coming from the bathroom – she's probably in there, given that she needs to pee every ten minutes these days because their baby takes up all the room in her belly…
The sound of the door bell interrupts his thoughts. Wincing at the pain in his muscles (what the hell did he do last night to make him so sore?), Booth scrambles out of bed and shrugs on a robe on his way to the door. His head is still fuzzy, and the remnants of the dream – it was a dream, right? – have left him with a lingering feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach, but he does his best to ignore it as he cracks the door open.
"Good morning, Seeley!" Agent Shaw sounds much more cheerful than she usually does in his presence, and she acts as if it were completely normal for her to show up on his doorstep. Before Booth can recover from his surprise, she walks in uninvited and looks him up and down with a mix of reproach and amusement. "Looks like you decided to sleep in on your first morning at home. You didn't forget our appointment, did you? Because Dr. Brennan will have both our hides if I let you skip therapy."
Booth shakes his head in a vain attempt to clear it. What –
Appointment. Genny. Therapy.
Coma.
Bones.
He has to lean against the wall for support as realization hits him. Of course Bones isn't in the bathroom – she's at her apartment, or probably at the lab by now, and she'll be back later today to check on her partner because that's all they are, all they've ever been no matter what his brain keeps telling him.
Genny watches him with a slight frown. "Are you okay?"
"Fine." The answer is automatic; the word hasn't meant anything for a long time. "Just a little… disoriented, I guess."
"That's completely normal at this stage." She takes his arm and gently but firmly drags him towards the living room. "Come on, let's get started."
+++
By the time Genny leaves, Booth feels like he has his feet back on the ground. He knows today's date, he remembers the time he spent at the hospital, and he's aware that Bones isn't pregnant with his baby and never has been. The raw feeling that comes with that knowledge hasn't gotten any easier to endure, but he figures it's the price he has to pay for no longer being lost in his own mind.
It doesn't last, though. The moment he's alone in his apartment again, the strange sensation of wrongness is back, and it's getting stronger with every passing minute. He's getting hungry, but he can't bring himself to go near the kitchen because he isn't sure any longer what it's going to look like; he has to go and check Parker's room when he realizes that he doesn't know if he's going to find building blocks or Hockey gear there, and when he steps into the bathroom to shave, he automatically rinses out the sink afterwards because Hannah flips at the sight of beard clippings, but then he doesn't use his favorite aftershave because Bones claims the smell makes her morning sickness worse.
He eventually manages to get cleaned up and dressed, but that's as far as his strength goes, and he collapses on the couch even though he's terrified of falling asleep with last nights' dream still fresh on his mind. Yet he can already feel the exhaustion pulling him under, and he does his best to think of something, anything that will keep the nightmares at bay. Right now he doesn't care whether his happy memories are real or not – he needs them if he ever wants to sleep peacefully again, but the images in his mind are too fleeting and too chaotic to hold on to any of them.
He tries to keep his thoughts simple – to just focus on the image of Bones because everything else will fall into place somehow, but she's gone, torn away from him by the same faceless danger that has been haunting his nights. He knows he needs to find her, but she has disappeared, forced into hiding by an enemy he couldn't protect her from, and he can hear the mocking laughter in his ears as he wanders the empty hallways of their home and calls her name even though he knows the only reply he'll get is his own echo.
"Bones!"
"Booth, I'm here – calm down, everything's okay…"
He almost sobs with relief at the sound of her voice; he has no idea how it happened, but she's here, alive and whole and gloriously real, and her arms around him chase the suffocating weight of loneliness away. Booth clings to her for dear life, fearing that she'll disappear if he lets go, that he'll find himself alone again the moment she no longer is in his arms.
"Bones…"
"I'm here, but you need to wake up, you're having a nightmare. Can you hear me?"
A frantic edge has slipped into her tone, and Booth forces his eyes open and blinks owlishly in the sudden brightness. He's on his couch, with Bones beside him; she's holding on to him, but quickly lets go once she's sure he's fully awake.
"Whatever it was, Booth, it wasn't real, it was only a bad dream. Do you hear what I'm saying?" She's still so close, and Booth desperately wants her arms back around him, but this is his partner, skinny and pale and looking harried from months of worrying about him, and she needs him to pull himself together.
Booth takes a deep breath and tries to think of nothing but the here and now. "Yeah, sure, I hear you. It's – I'm okay, I just had a weird dream."
He's surprised when she accepts the explanation without further questions, but he isn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He's still deeply unsettled by his total failure to spend a few hours by himself without losing it completely, and he really doesn't want to discuss any of it right now.
"Are you hungry?" She points at a paper bag on the coffee table. "I brought your favorite soup from Mama's, and I could make us a few sandwiches."
"That would be great, thank you." Booth forces himself to smile, and the way her face lights up in return makes it seem worth the effort to put on a brave front for her sake. He isn't hungry, but he knows she'll worry if he doesn't eat, and she has been through enough already.
Besides, eating will give them something to do because the mood between them is already getting awkward again. Bones' retreat to the kitchen almost feels like flight, but she's back with the re-heated soup and a plate of sandwiches soon enough. Booth is downright glad that the complete lack of meat in any of the sandwiches gives him something to complain about, and Bones seems a little relieved too when she lectures him on the importance of healthy eating during his recovery. There's only so much even Bones can say about the benefits of rabbit food, though, and Booth knows they need another topic of conversation before the uncomfortable silence settles in again.
"Bones, I meant to ask you before – how can you spend so much time with me during the day and still manage to do your work?"
The stricken look on her face makes him realize that he sounds like he doesn't want her with him, and he quickly adds, "I mean, I'm glad that you're here, but I'm worried that you'll overdo it – you're probably working through the nights to catch up, and even you need sleep from time to time."
"Oh." She considers for a few moments before she answers. "My current workload isn't too taxing, so you concern is unnecessary. Cam doesn't mind me coming and going as I choose as long as my work gets done, and I'm actually ahead of schedule both with my limbo cases and with the current research project I'm conducting."
"Okay, but what about your FBI cases?" Booth has wanted to ask that question for a while, but he didn't have the nerve so far, and he hopes his attempt to sound casual is enough to fool her. "Who did Hacker assign to you as my replacement, anyway?"
"Agent Perotta is the temporary FBI liaison with the Jeffersonian." She pauses for another bite of sandwich and takes a long time to chew. "She's partnered with Dr. Edison, and their results are satisfactory."
Booth blinks in surprise. "With Clark? Why isn't she working with you?"
"Because I'm not working with the FBI any more." Now it's Bones who tries to sound casual, but he knows her too well to fall for it. "I told Assistant Director Hacker I wouldn't partner with anyone but you, and that I won't be working FBI cases until your return to active duty." Mistaking his stunned silence for disapproval, she adds, a tad defensive, "The decision was mine to make, Booth, and you're not going to change my mind."
Booth hastily forces down a mouthful of soup to get rid of the sudden lump in his throat. "No, it's totally up to you, Bones. I just – I can't really imagine that you're happy playing with bones in limbo all day and not catching bad guys any more."
"I do miss the work we used to do together, but I can wait to resume field work until I can work with you again." She gives him a quick look that makes his breath catch. "You and I are the center, Booth – I haven't forgotten it."
God help me. It's one of those moments when he has no idea how he'll make it through the next five minutes without telling her how much he loves her – he has dealt with his share of them over the years, but he's so out of practice by now that he finds himself struggling to conceal from her how she makes him feel right now. Thankfully, Bones keeps talking as if she, too, felt the need to gloss over the moment.
"I still supervise Dr. Edison's work, of course, and sometimes I consult on particularly complicated cases. There was one, a while ago, where the murder victim had been encased in a giant bar of chocolate, and…" She falls silent when she notices his expression. "What?"
"I remember that one." Booth puts his half-eaten sandwich aside. "How can I remember it when Perotta worked it with Clark? I could swear the two of us solved this case, Bones – it was the one where the vic's final burp ended up trapped in the chocolate, wasn't it?"
"Yes, it was." Bones has gone very pale at his words, but she rallies quickly. "Before the – before you woke up, I used to bring the case files I was working on to the hospital when I went to see you, and I often told you about details that I assumed you would find interesting or amusing. Obviously, you heard me and integrated the information into your…"
She doesn't finish the sentence, visibly uncertain which word to choose. Booth barely listens anyway; his mind is racing. His memories of the chocolate case are suddenly crystal clear, and the revelation that they aren't real is deeply disturbing. How many of the cases he remembers working with her were nothing but stories borrowed from other people's lives?
"That – makes sense, I suppose." He barely manages to keep his voice steady, and even though he has shied away from such topics until now, he suddenly can't help the need to dig deeper. "You haven't by any chance been to a body farm lately, have you?"
He can't read the look she gives him. "No, of course not – flesh isn't my field of expertise. Cam and Hodgins visited a body farm for a case a few months ago, though, and Dr. Hodgins was very excited that he got to witness the explosion of a decomposing body caused by a build-up of gases."
He doesn't need to say anything; his expression clearly does it for him.
"You remember that case too? I'm sure I mentioned it to you, Hodgins talked about little else for days."
"Yeah, I remember it." Booth struggles to bite back the sudden wave of nausea. "I can imagine that Hodgins loved it."
Bones smiles, but then frowns. "He insisted that telling the story would be a great way to pick up 'his kind of girl'. I'm not certain how the mention of an exploding body would help him choose a suitable mate, but…"
Booth doesn't hear the rest of the sentence. Hodgins is talking about girls – because he and Angela broke up, and there's no Hodgins-Montenegro baby just like there is no Booth-Brennan one. He knows this, but he can't reconcile the knowledge with his memories of a beaming, hugely pregnant Angela, of a grinning bug guy presenting them with his newborn son right before –
Bones' hand on his stops that train of thought before it can go any further. "Booth, are you okay? You look like you're about to be sick."
"It's not that." He wasn't planning on telling her about any of this, but now that he has started talking, he finds that he can't stop. "I feel like I'm losing my mind, Bones – everything is completely wrong, and nothing I remember makes sense. You talk about Hodgins trying to pick up girls, and my brain tells me that he's a husband and father who has no business even thinking of that. I don't even recognize my own apartment any more… I'm afraid of walking into a room because I don't know what it's going to look like, I checked the toys in Parker's room to see if they were for a toddler or a pre-teen, and when I woke up today I didn't even know where I was, or who would be sleeping next to me."
He hesitates for a moment, but he has said too much already, and he just doesn't have the energy to keep up any pretenses. "I keep expecting to see Hannah working on her laptop in the living room, or you doing your baby yoga thing on the bedroom floor. It was better when Genny was here earlier, but everything started to go south again when I was alone. I – I don't know how to deal with this, Bones, I really don't know."
As reluctant as he was before to confide in her, the way she looks at him tells him he was right to admit what's going on. She looks neither shocked nor worried, on the contrary – he has seen this expression a thousand times, whenever she was faced with a problem nobody else could figure out. This is Dr. Temperance Brennan, world-renowned scientist, at her most determined to get answers and not to let up until she has them. He has always admired that fiery, single-minded resolve, but he has never realized how much comfort it brings to those who need her to find answers for them.
"I see." She sounds clinical, but right now that's exactly what he wants to hear from her – his gut isn't going to get him through this, but he can always count on her brain. "Is that what your nightmare was about?"
The question takes him by surprise. "Not… not really, I – it's a dream I've been having for a while, and I don't really know what's going on. There's something, or probably someone, and I know he's dangerous, and he's everywhere, but I can never get near him. He wants to destroy everything that's dear to me, and there's nothing I can do about it. It's different each time, but it always feels the same – like everyone I love has been taken away from me, and I'm left behind, all alone and with no idea if I'll ever get them back…"
He falls silent because he isn't sure he can keep it together if he keeps talking, but she doesn't press him for more information. Her hand around his tightens, and for a while they sit in silence; when she finally speaks, her voice is quiet.
"I know what that feels like."
Booth's eyes go wide as he realizes that she of all people can understand him because she lived through this exact scenario, because what's just a nightmare for him became brutal reality for her when she was hardly more than a child. He wants to feel bad for stirring up her most painful memories, but he can't help being selfishly grateful that she can relate, that she won't judge him for being terrified of having to go through that experience again even if it's only inside his own brain.
He tries to find the words to tell her just that without saying too much, but Bones doesn't give him a chance to speak. "If your apartment aggravates your current memory issues, the logical solution would be to spend some time at a more neutral location until you feel secure enough to return, and your nightmare indicates that living alone is detrimental to your recovery right now. I have a guest room, and you're welcome to stay there as long as you need to."
When his only reaction is a disbelieving stare, her clinical façade slips a bit. She hesitates, and there's a hint of uncertainty in her voice when she asks, "Or… is that too difficult for you?"
Stars twinkling over their heads, soft music in his ears as he held her in his arms, determined to let her have that memory no matter how much heartache it caused him…
Booth shakes his head and tries to banish the image. He knows what she means by her question, but he's sure that everything it encompasses will be easier to deal with than the suffocating silence of his empty apartment.
"No, that – I think that would help a lot, Bones. Are you sure –"
She doesn't even let him finish. "Then let's go pack your bags."