might as well pray, 'cause I'm on my knees anyway (Bones, 1/1)
Summary: A continuation of the finale.
Rating: T
A/N: My first Bones fic, and it's finale!fic, because I am a lemming. I hope that I haven't inadvertently copied anyone and that this fic, like Booth, is made of very good stuff.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Brennan stared at the still form of the man in front of her. It felt like she’d been in the hospital her entire life. She’d stayed for the four days it had taken Booth to wake from the anesthesia. She’d stayed as the doctors and nurses appeared, poking and prodding and asking questions, so many questions that he couldn’t answer. She’d slipped out only to relay the diagnosis to the others, in clinical terms to her coworkers and softly and patiently to Parker.
(“Your dad’s not sick any more, but he’s having trouble remembering things. The doctors aren’t sure when all his memories will come back.” Or if, but she couldn’t say that-not to the boy in front of her, or herself.)
Booth had fallen asleep again by the time she returned and resumed her vigil. A nurse checked his vitals once more before leaving. Rebecca took Parker home. Sweets, Hodgins, Angela, and Cam slowly trickled away, until it was just her in the silent room. Everyone left, and she stayed.
Story of her life.
Standing abruptly, she turned and stalked from the room, never slowing until she reached the women’s restroom down the hall. The door slammed against the wall but she barely heard it as she leaned against the sink, gripping it so tightly her knuckles matched the cool porcelain beneath her fingers. Head down, she breathed in the sterile air and held it for a moment before exhaling, willing her pulse to slow.
Epps, Kenton, Gormogon, the Gravedigger-throughout them all, she had not stumbled. There had been anger, fear, and even terror, yes, but underneath it all had been a calm, a steely sense of conviction. The world could be falling to pieces around her but she would focus on the case, on the mystery or the bones, use logic and reason to find the killer, save Booth or Hodgins or herself. She would do something.
But here…here she was incompetent, ineffectual. For all her degrees, she wasn’t a medical doctor. (“Oh, by the way, you aren’t a real medical doctor either.”) For all her knowledge, she wouldn’t have been able to diagnose Booth’s illness, or perform the surgery, or anything that would have been vaguely useful or helpful. She was stuck, stuck sitting there, watching him, doing…nothing.
(“Spinning your wheels, twiddling your thumbs,” Booth’s voice helpfully supplied in her head, and her eyes burned.)
She raised her head and studied her reflection in the mirror, taking in the dark shadows under her eyes, the hollows of her cheeks, the paleness of her skin.
Who are you?
“I’m Dr. Temperance Brennan,” she told her reflection.
(“I know who you are.”)
Softer. “I’m Bones.”
But if he didn’t know her anymore, was she? Really?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
She slid back into the seat by his bed, pulling it closer as she sat down. The stillness and silence soon became oppressive, overwhelming, and she shifted uncomfortably before slowly, hesitantly, raising her hand to brush across his forehead. She kept the touch soft, to prevent from waking him, but her sensitive fingers could still feel the bones beneath the skin, and she mouthed the names as she trailed down his face. Frontal bone, temporal bone, zygomatic, maxilla, mandible.
(“No, Booth has a larger mandible and a more prominent zygomatic than Fisher, as well as a more pronounced ratio between the width of his clavicles and his ilium.”)
She could piece together his skeleton, but she couldn’t fill the holes in his memories.
She’d be of more use to him if he was dead.
Her hand made its way across his shoulder and down his arm, taking his hand in hers. There was soft pressure against her fingers, and she looked up to see brown eyes staring back at her.
“Hey,” he said, and his voice was stronger but still hoarse from disuse.
“Hey,” she echoed, and poured some water and helped him drink. His head fell back against the pillow once he finished.
“How long was I asleep this time?”
“Just a few hours.”
He stared at her for a moment, and she didn’t realize how well she could read him until she couldn’t.
“You stayed here all that time? And the four days before?”
“Of course,” she replied, and then continued without thinking. “The center must hold.”
He frowned, brow creasing in exhaustion and confusion. “I don’t know what that means.”
The laugh clawed its way out of her throat, harsh and sharp. She forced it down before it could become hysterical.
“You did,” she said.
“You will.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Rating: T
A/N: My first Bones fic, and it's finale!fic, because I am a lemming. I hope that I haven't inadvertently copied anyone and that this fic, like Booth, is made of very good stuff.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Brennan stared at the still form of the man in front of her. It felt like she’d been in the hospital her entire life. She’d stayed for the four days it had taken Booth to wake from the anesthesia. She’d stayed as the doctors and nurses appeared, poking and prodding and asking questions, so many questions that he couldn’t answer. She’d slipped out only to relay the diagnosis to the others, in clinical terms to her coworkers and softly and patiently to Parker.
(“Your dad’s not sick any more, but he’s having trouble remembering things. The doctors aren’t sure when all his memories will come back.” Or if, but she couldn’t say that-not to the boy in front of her, or herself.)
Booth had fallen asleep again by the time she returned and resumed her vigil. A nurse checked his vitals once more before leaving. Rebecca took Parker home. Sweets, Hodgins, Angela, and Cam slowly trickled away, until it was just her in the silent room. Everyone left, and she stayed.
Story of her life.
Standing abruptly, she turned and stalked from the room, never slowing until she reached the women’s restroom down the hall. The door slammed against the wall but she barely heard it as she leaned against the sink, gripping it so tightly her knuckles matched the cool porcelain beneath her fingers. Head down, she breathed in the sterile air and held it for a moment before exhaling, willing her pulse to slow.
Epps, Kenton, Gormogon, the Gravedigger-throughout them all, she had not stumbled. There had been anger, fear, and even terror, yes, but underneath it all had been a calm, a steely sense of conviction. The world could be falling to pieces around her but she would focus on the case, on the mystery or the bones, use logic and reason to find the killer, save Booth or Hodgins or herself. She would do something.
But here…here she was incompetent, ineffectual. For all her degrees, she wasn’t a medical doctor. (“Oh, by the way, you aren’t a real medical doctor either.”) For all her knowledge, she wouldn’t have been able to diagnose Booth’s illness, or perform the surgery, or anything that would have been vaguely useful or helpful. She was stuck, stuck sitting there, watching him, doing…nothing.
(“Spinning your wheels, twiddling your thumbs,” Booth’s voice helpfully supplied in her head, and her eyes burned.)
She raised her head and studied her reflection in the mirror, taking in the dark shadows under her eyes, the hollows of her cheeks, the paleness of her skin.
Who are you?
“I’m Dr. Temperance Brennan,” she told her reflection.
(“I know who you are.”)
Softer. “I’m Bones.”
But if he didn’t know her anymore, was she? Really?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
She slid back into the seat by his bed, pulling it closer as she sat down. The stillness and silence soon became oppressive, overwhelming, and she shifted uncomfortably before slowly, hesitantly, raising her hand to brush across his forehead. She kept the touch soft, to prevent from waking him, but her sensitive fingers could still feel the bones beneath the skin, and she mouthed the names as she trailed down his face. Frontal bone, temporal bone, zygomatic, maxilla, mandible.
(“No, Booth has a larger mandible and a more prominent zygomatic than Fisher, as well as a more pronounced ratio between the width of his clavicles and his ilium.”)
She could piece together his skeleton, but she couldn’t fill the holes in his memories.
She’d be of more use to him if he was dead.
Her hand made its way across his shoulder and down his arm, taking his hand in hers. There was soft pressure against her fingers, and she looked up to see brown eyes staring back at her.
“Hey,” he said, and his voice was stronger but still hoarse from disuse.
“Hey,” she echoed, and poured some water and helped him drink. His head fell back against the pillow once he finished.
“How long was I asleep this time?”
“Just a few hours.”
He stared at her for a moment, and she didn’t realize how well she could read him until she couldn’t.
“You stayed here all that time? And the four days before?”
“Of course,” she replied, and then continued without thinking. “The center must hold.”
He frowned, brow creasing in exhaustion and confusion. “I don’t know what that means.”
The laugh clawed its way out of her throat, harsh and sharp. She forced it down before it could become hysterical.
“You did,” she said.
“You will.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~