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Chapter One - Accidents Happen
It was another late night at the Jeffersonian for Tempe. Another night of quiet identification, alone in the enormous lab. Glancing at her watch, she figured she could go home, take a shower, and catch a few hours of sleep before coming back in the next day. Locking up her things for the night, or what remained of it, she grabbed her keys and left. The night air was crisp, clean and cool. She closed her eyes briefly in the nearly empty parking lot, enjoying the fresh air on her skin.
A sharp squealing sound caught her attention, and she whirled around to be blinded by the harsh glare of headlights. It was the work of a moment, and she stood no chance against the heavy vehicle. Her mind was already anticipating the damage, noting the speed and size of the car faster than it could tell her body to react.
She didn’t have time to scream, although the likelihood that she would have screamed had she the time was slim. Then everything went black and her brain ceased it’s incessant analysis.
“You were in an accident, sweetie,” Angela said, seating herself gingerly on the edge of the bed.
“Yes, I can see that,” Tempe replied dryly, “Can I go home yet?”
“Look, Bones,” Booth spoke up, “It’s not that easy. You were very seriously injured.”
Huffing indignantly, she pulled the IV out of her arm carefully, “So it’s okay for you to break out of the hospital, but it’s not okay for me?”
“Bones, you were hit by a car.”
“And you were blown up by my fridge,” she retorted.
“I had a good excuse,” he argued, “I had to go and save you!”
Sighing, she asked politely, “Can I please, please leave?” Receiving no answer from the people that surrounded her, she pushed herself up with her arms, and tried to swing her legs out from under the tray attached to the bed to leave. She didn’t budge.
It wasn’t until then that she noticed the empty feeling below her waist that she had initially attributed to medication or lack of movement. She tried rotating her foot, wiggling her toes, bending her knees: nothing. Panic rose in a wave, stifling the air in her throat that threatened to escape in a scream. Her hands were shaking, her gaze locked on the unmoving limbs beneath the blanket. Pulling the sheets away from her, she uncovered her bruised legs, willing them to move, twitch, anything.
“Temperance.”
She looked to the man that sat beside her, her eyes radiating the fear and panic that was pounding at her heart. “What happened to me?” she asked in a harsh whisper, “What’s wrong with me?”
She was very calm, he noticed, as they explained the situation. She listened attentively, however frozen her expression, as the doctor explained that her spinal cord had been damaged from impact, leaving her paralyzed from the waist down. The look in her eyes when she was informed of the odds of recovery sent a sharp slice of pain shooting down his spine. He had the oddest urge to reach out to her, to hold her hand, anything that might offer her a modicum of comfort. He resisted, not knowing what her reaction would be in her current state; hell, the chances of her reacting favourably before the accident were slim. He saw the way her jaw clenched, firmly set and unmoving, and he knew she was determined to recover, to regain her ability to walk, regardless of whatever the doctor before her said. He thought she looked at him more than she looked at the doctor when she declared she would recover, but maybe he was imagining things.
He saw all of this in her, and he hoped with every bit of his person that she was right.
They met trouble as soon as they reached Booth’s car. “You are not lifting me into that thing,” Tempe announced flatly.
Trying to be sensitive to her situation, Booth tried to be forceful without sounding interfering, “Well how else do you propose we get you into the car?” He failed.
“I can lift myself in,” she asserted, although the doubtful look on her face when she realized how high the car was from the ground betrayed her.
Sighing, he replied tiredly, “No, you can’t. Now put your arm around my neck.” He leaned down, gingerly sliding his arms under her legs and around her back. She gripped his neck with her arms, already frustrated by the fact that she couldn’t even get into a car without assistance. He gently deposited her on the seat, ensuring she was stable before collapsing the chair and loading it in the boot. Angela climbed into the back, and they were off.
Booth snorted, “As much as you may think so, Bones, there is no way I’m leaving you here alone.”
She glared, managing to manoeuvre her chair to face them. “You’re not staying here.”
“Look, Bones, you’re a logical person. FBI headquarters is as close to your apartment as it is to mine. You can’t get to work without someone to help you, and no offence Angela, out of the two of us, I’m the only one strong enough to help. So logic would suggest that yes, I am staying here.”
She sighed in temporary acquiescence, accepting his help for the time being. As much as she appreciated his generous offer, she was determined to be able to take care of herself, depending on no one. She sat, statue-like, as Angela kissed her cheek goodbye, staring at the stubborn man in front of her who seemed so determined to care for her.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“This,” she gestured around her. Why do you insist on staying here?”
He knelt to be eye-level with her, and she struggled against the intense desire to look away. She hated that he had to lower himself to speak to her, that she had to look up to everyone around her. “I care about you, Bones,” he said earnestly, “It might not always seem like it, but I do. I’m going to do everything I can to make it easier for you while you recover. And you will.”
She felt her lower lip jut out just a little, giving in as much as her nature allowed her to, “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
He laughed, “No. You don’t have to like it.” She frowned at his teasing tone, trying to ignore the strange emotion that mixed with mirth in his eyes.
Her sarcastic voice wafted out, “I’m trying to bathe, Booth. You know, that daily cleansing ritual the majority of the population practices?”
Containing his exasperation, he called back, “Do you need any help?”
“Not from you,” was her retort.
“Bones, it cannot possibly be safe for you to try to get in and out of the bath without hurting yourself.”
He was met with silence, and he assumed she had shut the water off. He heard a strange shuffling noise followed by the click of the lock. Slowly opening the door, he was met with an odd scene. Wheelchair discarded in the corner, Tempe was sitting up on the floor, legs arranged oddly in front of her. She was flushed, probably from being fully dressed in the steamy room as well as the effort of trying to bathe herself. The frustration on her face was unmistakable, and he felt a pang of sympathy for the usually independent woman. It was so difficult for her to accept the idea that she couldn’t do everything by herself anymore.
Sighing, he sat beside her on the bathroom floor. “How do you want to do this?”
She bit her lip before answering reluctantly, “I need you to help wash my hair. I can give myself a sponge bath once I get my clothes off.”
“Okay,” he said slowly, spying a glass by the sink, “Just co-operate with me, all right?”
She nodded as she began to unbutton her shirt. As he busied himself gathering shampoo and the glass he had seen. By the time he turned back to her, she was leaning against the tub clad in jeans and a bra. She looked up at him expectantly, and he swallowed hard. Why hadn’t he known of the firm abdomen that hid behind the layers of her clothing? How hadn’t he noticed the curves of the woman that were now so appealing displayed before him?
“Booth?”
His name pulled him from his reverie, the intelligent eyes of the waiting Tempe searching his face intently. “Yeah,” he responded dumbly, “Just tilt your head back.” He knelt beside her, letting one arm slide around her waist for support, surprised that she didn’t protest. With his free hand, he filled the glass, slowly pouring it’s contents over her hair. A few glassfuls later, her hair was suitably wet and he noticed that she was gripping his arm with one hand, whether for support or comfort, he didn’t know. Carefully pouring a small amount of shampoo into her hair, he rubbed the sweet-smelling liquid into her scalp, working up lather. It was strange, he thought, how natural it felt to have his hand in her hair. As far as he could remember, he’d never even touched her hair before; the feeling made no sense.
He met her eyes as he rinsed her hair out, not surprised when she didn’t look away. All too soon, his task was completed, and he reached for a towel to absorb the excess water from her hair. He seated her between his legs, letting her lean back against him as he dried her hair. They sat in silence, closer than they’d ever been to each other, both exploring the new yet comfortable situation.
When her hair was dry enough to satisfy her, he carried her to her room, laying her on her bed and pulling the sheets over her. “I’ll ask Angela to come over tomorrow and help you bathe properly,” he said.
She smiled faintly, “Thank you.”
He smiled back, “You’re welcome,” gesturing out the door, “I’ll be on your couch. Yell if you need anything.” She nodded, and he left, shutting the door behind him, leaving her alone with her thoughts.
She lay there in the darkness, and for the first time, she was alone, with nothing to distract her from the reality of her situation. She was paralyzed, and the thought chilled her to the core of her soul. The floodgates had opened, and there was a sea of emotion waiting to be released. Safe in her solitude, she let herself cry for the first time, her tears pouring out her heartbreak and despair.
What was she supposed to do? she wondered. What could she do? Certainly, her job would be affected. She could see the fieldwork she was quickly coming to enjoy disappear into the distance. Would she even be tall enough to see over her own examination tables? She remembered the short flight of steps that led to the main platform of her lab, a flight of steps she could no longer ascend on her own. Was this what it came to then? Would she need someone to take care of her for the rest of her life? Be a burden on those who cared about her? Was she…useless?
The words of a hardly remembered doctor came back, citing her chances of recovery. While not exactly good, there was always hope, he had reminded her. This was what she clutched, the bright spark of hope that suspended her in the well of despair.
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