Stalemate: The Sleeping Queen

Written by Labsquint

Edited by FauxMaven

A/N: For the October NJC. This piece is based upon the song Eden by Hooverphonic which can be found on the Sunflower Lily Productions web site at LiveJournal. When I first heard this song, the first thing that caught me was the French horn duet at the beginning. To me it sounded like a military funeral band. The horns that Brennan hears in this story are literally the horns in the song. The song is set in 4/4 time and the first 8 bars are the horns that Brennan hears. Also, the song refers to a bad dream. Both themes are used in this piece.

This one shot is a missing scene from a previous NJC entry, Stalemate. If you haven’t read Stalemate, a lot of this won’t make any sense, so I would highly recommend reading it first. This is a missing scene from King’s Gambit Accepted, occurring between the set time points of 5:05am and 8:37am. Keep in mind where Brennan is mentally at this point – she’s exhausted and stressed and the guilt that she feels over Booth’s condition is weighing very heavily on her. All of this contributes to what happens in this story.

And staying with the chess themed titles of Stalemate, this chapter is called The Sleeping Queen. A sleeping piece is a piece that does not give check until it is ready to move. In this case, the Sleeping Queen is literally Brennan.

We were also asked to pick out a favourite image from the video. For myself, the image that I liked the best is the image of the male and female hand clasped together over the ‘Paix’ or peace rock. FauxMaven’s favourite image is the dressmakers form with the angel wings.

Disclaimer: Bones and all the characters therein are owned by FOX, Hart Hanson and Kathy Reichs.

Brennan walked through the dark woods. She was following a winding path, but she wasn’t sure of her destination or why she was there. She looked around but all that could be seen in the dimly filtered moonlight were trees and bushes. She walked up to a tall, darkly barked oak tree and saw a pale section of bare wood peeking through the bark. She ran the fingers of her left hand over the wood. Someone had cut away the bark to reveal the pale wood underneath, almost as if marking a trail.

Suddenly, she realized that she held a black multiplex knife clasped loosely in her right hand. Raising it to eye level, she stared at it, as if unsure as to why it was in her possession. This was Booth’s knife, wasn’t it? But where was Booth?

She looked around for him, unsure as to whether he was with her or if she was alone. And then she could hear it; she could hear his voice calling her name through the trees.

As if a cold wave washed over her, she suddenly remembered what had happened. She had made the mark in the tree. She was supposed to be getting help for Booth, who she had left in the glade under the tree, slowly bleeding to death. Where were the paramedics? Where was the tactical team that she had requested? Where was the help she had promised him?

Brennan started to run through the woods, following the path that she had previously marked out, a combination of broken branches and marked trees. She ran as fast as she could, but she never seemed to be making any progress. Hadn’t she just passed that tree? And that one?

Her labored, heavy breathing sounded loud in her eyes, her lungs burned and a stitch was building with fiery intensity in her side. Trees and branches rushed past her at a frightening speed, whipping her mercilessly. She tried to push them away, tried to shield her face, but they unerringly struck her again and again, as if they were punishing her. She kept running, but didn’t seem to make any progress. Where was Booth? Why couldn’t she find him? He could be dying right now because she couldn’t find him.

Suddenly she broke through the underbrush and trees into a clearing. She instantly recognized it as the clearing where she had left Booth, bleeding and bandaged, while she went for help. She frantically looked around the clearing but it was deserted. Had he gotten up and gone for help himself? She ran over to where she had left him and gazed down in horror at the huge, spreading puddle of blood on the forest floor. She stepped back from it in horror, but the leading edge of the blood spread further towards her, covering the toes of her boots. She staggered back several paces, but it followed her further, covering her feet, seeping under the soles of her boots and starting to soak up the legs of her jeans.

In horror, Brennan turned and ran from the clearing trying to get free of Booth’s blood, leaving a trail of his blood in her wake, a trail that didn’t lessen no matter how far she ran. Stopping in a ghostly ray of moonlight, she looked down at her clothes. The spreading blood puddle had traveled almost up to her knees and her shirt and thighs were still covered with Booth’s blood from their journey as she tried to help him through the forest. She looked down at her hands, realizing that the knife was gone, but her hands were dripping with his blood. She wiped them off on her jeans, but fresh blood welled up, from where she did not know.

Suddenly, in the oppressive quiet of the forest, she realized that she could hear music. She gave up the effort of trying to clean her hands and stood stock still, listening. She realized that she could hear horns, as if in a brass band, several of them playing together in harmony, repeating the phrase of a rising and falling melody. Her brows drew together in confusion. What was a brass band doing in the middle of the forest?

Slowly, she started to walk in the direction of the music. Gradually, the slow, mournfully repetitive melody got louder. Her heart was in her throat as she walked. Why couldn’t she find Booth? Where was he?

She walked out of the forest abruptly into daylight. The sunlight blinded her and she shrank back slightly, shielding her eyes with suddenly blood free hands from the sun. As her eyes acclimated she realized that a funeral was taking place before her. She could see the back of the crowd gathered around the coffin and while she could not see the band, she could still hear the horns.

She slowly moved forward, skirting the edge of the crowd, trying to peer into the mass of people. And suddenly, en mass, the crowd parted, making a way for her to move through them to the front. A sudden feeling of dread swamped her, her heart starting to race. Whose funeral was this?

She moved slowly through the parted crowd and came to the front of the group.

“You’re finally here. We thought you weren’t going to bother to come.”

Brennan’s head snapped around to see Angela standing beside her. As she looked down the row of people, she realized all her coworkers were there, all dressed in their darkest, funereal best.

“Angela—“

Angela cut her off. “After what happened, we didn’t think you’d dare to show your face.” Her expression was disapproving.

“After what happened?” Brennan voice sounded small and a tremor shook it.

“After you killed him. You probably shouldn’t be here. He wouldn’t want you here after what you did. After what you did to him.”

Fear clogged Brennan’s throat, making it difficult for her to breathe. “I killed who? Angela, what are you talking about?”

“After you killed Booth.” Zach spoke this time, his voice flat but accusatory at the same time.

Brennan head jerked in the direction of the casket. An American flag was draped gracefully over its length. “That’s Booth?” Her voice rose in pitch and she involuntarily took one step towards the elegant coffin.

“Of course it is.” Hodgins spoke this time. “You forced him to keep going.”

Goodman stepped forward. “You wouldn’t take no for an answer. And then you took your time going for help. He bled to death while you dawdled.”

Her face stark white, her blue eyes huge, she stared at Hodgins; at all of them. “No! I didn’t do that. I didn’t kill him. We thought we were being followed by a murderer. We had to keep moving.”

“You killed him,” Cam sneered. “And then came to his funeral dressed like that. You kill him and then you can’t even show him the respect to come dressed properly for his funeral.”

Brennan looked down at her blood stained clothes, feeling small and lost and an overwhelming fear. “No,” she whispered. “I don’t believe it. It can’t be.”

“Then go look. Go look at what you’ve done to him.” Angela pointed at the casket. Then Zach, Goodman, Cam and Hodgins all pointed at the casket. And still the horns played. Getting louder and louder.

She turned towards the casket and suddenly the flag was gone and it was folded and lying in the arms of the military chaplain. He approached the group and Brennan found herself holding out her hands for it, wanting something, anything of Booth. Something to keep, something to hold onto when all she had was her grief and her guilt.

The chaplain looked at her coldly, holding the flag just out of reach. “This isn’t for you. He wouldn’t want you to have it. You don’t deserve to have it.” He turned his back on her, ignoring her gasp of shock at his statement. As she watched, he walked to Goodman, smiled at him and saying a quiet word, laid the flag in arms. Still reeling in pain and despair, Brennan looked at Goodman, who simply stared unblinkingly at her, a look of accusation on his face.

A volley of gunshots suddenly sounded and with a small scream, Brennan whirled to look behind her. Seven soldiers in dress uniform were crisply setting their rifle butts down on the ground, before snapping them up again, aiming over the coffin and letting go another volley. Brennan’s body jerked helplessly with the sound, as if feeling the bullets rip through her own flesh as the single bullet had ripped through Booth’s. Tears were streaming down her cheeks as they fired off a third round over the coffin.

She turned back to Angela, to find her still pointing relentlessly at the coffin. On legs that felt like lead, Brennan dragged herself to the casket. She looked back to her friends. Now they were the only ones there. Where had the crowd gone? They all pointed again to the casket and she reluctantly turned back to it. The cold of terror seeped into her. She didn’t want to do this. She didn’t know if she could stand to see what lay inside that coffin.

She stood in front of the large cherry wood coffin with its ornate handles and trim. Grasping the lid of the coffin, she heaved upwards found herself staring down at Booth’s body. With an effort, she kept her legs from buckling beneath her. “Please, no…” she moaned. She couldn’t believe it was him. He was dressed in his best suit, with an uncharacteristically staid black tie. He wouldn’t want a tie like that, she thought dully. He’d want a bright, flashy tie that celebrated his life.

He looked like he was sleeping. Heart thumping madly she reached out and touched her ice cold hand to his even colder cheek, jerking back suddenly when she felt that all of his natural warmth was gone. She held onto the side of his coffin to keep herself from collapsing, her knuckles white with the effort it took to hold on. No, this couldn’t be real. He couldn’t be dead.

She looked back in dazed confusion at Angela. “I didn’t do this.”

“You did do this. You killed him.” Angela tone was harsh.

“You’re responsible,” stated Zach.

“He’d still be alive if it wasn’t for you,” accused Cam.

“He’d still be with us if you hadn’t killed him.” Hodgins turned his face away as if he could not even stand to look at her.

“You orphaned his son. When being a family man meant everything to him. You left his son without a father.” Goodman nearly spit the words at her.

Brennan couldn’t breath. She was trying to inhale, but her lungs were frozen. Maybe if she suffocated, this unbelievable agony would be over. She’d be with Booth then, instead of trying to live with the awful desolation that she was experiencing now. “No, I’m not responsible, I didn’t do this. I would never do this.”

She looked back at Booth and reeled back from the coffin in shock. The corporeal Booth that she had just seen was gone. What was in the coffin wasn’t Booth anymore. The corpse still wore the same suit and tie, but the flesh had melted partially away, revealing pale patches of the bone beneath while maggots covered the face and scurried into the destroyed eye sockets.

And still the music swelled louder and louder.

Brennan fell to her knees in front of the coffin, no longer having the will to support herself, a scream of desolation, guilt and despair ripping from her throat. She clamped her hands over her ears to try to block out the rising tide of music that threatened to drown her, trying to curl tightly into a ball, rocking back and forth, trying frantically to comfort herself. Booth was gone and she was all alone. Not even her friends were there with her. She was utterly, desperately alone. And she’d caused all of it herself.

Her eyes were clenched shut but she could still see the vision of Booth’s moldering corpse in front of her. Over the swelling music she could hear Angela’s words in her head. “You killed him. You killed Booth.” Over and over. And the music grew louder.

And she screamed and screamed and screamed.

Fingers entwined in her hair and Brennan abruptly jerked upright to find herself not in front of the coffin, but in a chair next to Booth’s hospital bed. She had fallen asleep with her head on his bed and it was his fingers she felt in her hair as he weakly tried to wake her from her nightmare. She jerked backwards, surging to her feet, knocking the hard plastic chair over onto its back on the floor with a loud clatter.

Her face sheet white, she pressed both hands against her mouth to stifle the scream that threatened to escape. Her breath hitching unevenly and tears shining in her eyes, she stood back and stared at Booth. He looked pale and shocked but held his hand out to her. “Temperance. What is it? What’s wrong?” His voice was weak, but a note of concern wove through it clearly.

A nurse dashed in the door and stopped abruptly, taking in the scene. Agent Booth lay in the bed, looking concerned and distressed while his partner stood back from the bed, in front of a toppled chair, looking shell-shocked and scared. “Agent Booth? Dr. Brennan?”

Brennan swiveled slowly and stared at the nurse with a shattered expression.

“Dr. Brennan, are you alright?”

“She had a nightmare,” Booth explained. “Can you give us a minute?”

“You’re sure you’re alright, Agent Booth?”

He nodded weakly, and the nurse, with one last look at Brennan, reluctantly left.

“Bones.” She just looked at him blankly. “Bones, come here.”

She stepped towards the bed, slowly, reluctantly, as if not trusting her eyes that he was real.

He patted the side of the bed and she sat on the edge of it gingerly. He instantly took her ice cold hand in his, wincing slightly as she suddenly gripped tight, her blunt nails biting into his skin. “What happened?”

She tried to focus on his face. His fully fleshed, albeit pale, face. “You were dead.”

“You were having a nightmare. You were screaming.”

“You were dead,” she repeated.

“Temperance, look at me. I’m not dead. You got me the help I needed. I’m here. Not in the best shape, but here. You took care of me. You saved my life.”

She blinked at him several times and he could see her starting to snap out of her daze. “I dreamed that I couldn’t find you. I could find your blood, but not you. But then I was at your funeral and you were in the coffin and you were so cold—“ Her breath hitched pitifully and she had to stop, and take a deep breath. “And then…then…” She couldn’t put it into words.

His fingers clasped hers tightly, his gaze holding hers. “Then what? Tell me what happened, Bones; you’ll feel better if you tell me about it. It won’t be real anymore.”

“And then I looked back and you were a corpse. A decaying corpse, covered in maggots.”

Booth winced slightly at the words.

“And they all said it was my fault.”

That distracted his attention away for the corpse image. “Who said it was your fault?”

“Angela and Zach and Hodgins and Goodman and Cam. They all said it was my fault. I pushed you too hard and I killed you.”

“Bones, no. It was just a dream and you’re exhausted. And worried. And that translated into a nightmare.”

At that statement she suddenly focused on him. “And I’ve upset you.”

“No, you haven’t upset me. I’m concerned about you, but I’m not upset.”

She stood abruptly, letting go of his hand.

“No, don’t go.”

She let out a deep breath, tried to get her heart rate to slow. “I’m not going.” She bent down and righted the chair, pulling it back up to the bed, seating herself in it again before grasping his hand again. “I’m sorry, Booth. You’re weak and in a medically unstable condition and I disturbed you.”

“I’m not sorry. We’re partners, Bones. If you’re having a tough time, I want you to share it with me. It’s what we do.” But his eyelids started to droop in exhaustion. Brennan glanced at his monitors, nervous that she had upset him to the extent that it was affecting him physically, but was satisfied with what she saw there.

She reached over with her free hand, smoothed the lines of worry from his forehead. “Go back to sleep, Booth.”

“You too. No more nightmares. I’m here to stay, Bones. I’ll get better. I just need a little time.” He closed his eyes, let the fatigue drag him back down into the blackness.

Brennan watched him for a few moments, watched his steady breathing. Then she lay her head back down onto his bed and closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of his hand clasped in hers and listening to the comforting beep of the heart monitor as it echoed his heart’s steady beat. That was sweeter music to her than any horns. It meant that he was alive and he was still with her.

There would be no more nightmares for either of them that night.