So this is probably the longest songfic I've ever written, but it's a great song. Sort of angsty, but not really...I don't know. Why don't you read it and tell me? It's Made of Scars by Stone Sour
Booth hissed and jerked away from the searing pain in his back, muttering a string of curses under his breath.
"Booth, stop moving." Brennan chided quietly, glad he couldn't see her wincing from her spot behind him. She gently held his shoulder with one hand and dug into his back again with the tweezers, hating herself for every grunt of pain that escaped him.
This one came from looking
This one opened twice
These two seem as smooth as silk, flush against my eyes
"Easier said than done Bones." He snapped, gritting his teeth as she pulled another shard of glass from his flesh.
She pursed her lips in concentration as she dropped it into the plastic bowl beside her.
Just as she began to reach out again, Booth stood suddenly and with great effort not to move the muscles on his back at all, he crossed the room.
"Booth, what are you…" She stopped as he pulled a metal flask from the pocket of his duffel and tipped his head back, sucking down the bitter whiskey as if it were water on a hot day.
She bit her lips and watched him in the dark shadows of the room, the only light came from a murky yellow bulb on the table beside them and it case eerie shadows on the walls. She knew the alcohol was the closest thing they were going to get to a painkiller and from the looks of his back, he was going to need every drop.
This one needed stitches and
This one came from rings
This one isn't even there, but I feel it more because you don't care
Booth let out a small sigh and closed his eyes as the pain rocketed up his spine and spread to the rest of his body. His hands trembled and he felt dizzy as he bent over and snatched a wooden motel chair off the floor.
"Booth!" Her voice was lost in the loud crash as Booth launched the rickety chair against the wall, splintering it to pieces.
She tore her eyes off the broken wood and looked at him, shivers running across her skin at the cold look on his face. His brown eyes were frighteningly empty and blank, his mouth set in a determined, indecipherable line. It was a look she had never seen before and hoped with all she was, that she would never see again.
Booth snatched one of the cylindrical wooden rods off the floor and gripped it in his sweaty palm, bracing himself for the pain as he headed back over to the dingy bed where Brennan sat, stunned.
He could feel the defenses his years of training had taught him were in full swing, not allowing him to feel pain, or at the very least, not allowing anyone else to tell he was in pain.
He knew it was different this time, she wouldn't take pleasure in his pain, it was okay to let it show. But he didn't seem capable.
She was trying to help him, she knew how much it hurt. But for some reason he couldn't get his body to respond to the pain the way a normal person would. And he couldn't allow his mind to open up to the memories this musty motel room brought him.
Silently, he sat on the bed again, facing away from her. He placed the wood in his mouth and clenched his fists, giving her a nod to begin again.
This one had it coming
This one found a vein
This one was an accident, but never gave me pain
Blood was running down his back in thick streams, and she could see the sweat glistening across his muscles, no doubt mixing with his new wounds and making the pain, this torturous pain, even more agonizing.
It was when he bowed his head and began to tremble that she finally decided to speak again.
"You should let me take you to the hospital." She muttered, attempting to hide the concern in her voice and doing her best to clean each spot as a piece of razor sharp glass was pulled from it.
Brennan was capable of performing first aid, but this bordered on surgery and she knew from experience that even the slightest move of his body caused the muscles and nerves to be cut deeper with the glass still embedded in his flesh. A grating, searing, nearly constant pain that would have had most out cold by now. She was amazed he was still sitting upright.
This one was my fathers and
This one you can't see
This one had me scared to death,
But I guess I should be glad I'm not dead
"You know I can't do that." He replied, edgily, still upset the their main suspect had gotten away with barely a scratch and he a convenience store window embedded in his back.
Brennan glanced over at the wooden dowel on the floor beside them. He'd bitten it in half about two and a half minutes ago, his teeth now grinding against each other in pain.
"These could get infected." She continued, dabbing a spot of peroxide over a recently vacated area. "And you should be under anesthesia for this."
"I've been through worse." He said, suddenly sounding tired.
Her eyes roamed over his back. Riddled with tiny wounds and slices of gaping skin and muscle. Some were mere centimeters in diameter, others over two inches long. But as she gently wiped away the blood trails running parallel to his spine, she could see other marks, pieces of flesh that had been grafted, stitched or scabbed together. Patches of discolored skin that told the story of a part of his life she knew nothing about.
"Yes, I can see that."
Yeah, Cut right into me
Yeah, I am made of scars
Yes, I am made of scars
Booth took as deep a breath as he could stand and attempted to fight his way through the haze of unconsciousness ticking his brain to focus on what she'd said.
"Oh." He closed his eyes, momentarily forgetting his pain as he realized what she was inevitably seeing. Not just the fresh wounds, but those that had been there a while. Scars that had had time to harden and heal on the outside but only created resentment, hate and an excuse for a new addiction on the inside.
God, Don't you believe it?
Unsure of what to say after that, he merely sat quietly and tried to think of something else. Parker's face, Brennan's laugh, the Steelers winning the Super Bowl.
But none of it helped and he inevitably ended up back in that abandoned road house somewhere outside the seventh circle of Hell. His hands and feet were bound, he hadnothing to do but wait for the next strike to come and hope it would be the last.
This one was the first one
This one had a vice
This one here I like to rub on dark and stormy nights
"I'm sorry Booth." Her soft, so definitively feminine voice brought him out to the unpleasant, rather inconvenient memories just long enough to form a response.
"For what Bones, you didn't do anything." Not entirely true, but he hated when she felt guilty.
She shook her head, forgetting he couldn't see her.
"If I hadn't gotten out of the car, you wouldn't have had to grab me and shield me from the bullets, which shattered the glass." She paused, her next words causing her stomach to turn. "You could have died. You actually got off lucky."
Booth almost smiled, then he felt the cool metal pressing against his shoulder blade and he bit back a groan instead.
"Yeah, well, I don't' think I would call it that. Besides if I hadn't demanded you come out here and help with the case, none of this would have happened…Roxy." He responded, a bit winded from holding his breath and dragging out her Undercover name just enough to be noticeable.
"Maybe, maybe not. From what I hear the Mob tends to be rather persistent." She smiled wryly as she dropped a particularly stubborn piece into the bowl. She waited for his reply, but none came so she pursed her lips and concentrated once more.
Three hours later she carefully pulled the last piece of glass from his body and gave a huge heave of relief, the worst was over.
"Okay, I think I've got all of it, can you move a little, just to make sure?"
Booth shook his head slowly, it had been hanging low for the past hour or so, he didn't even seem to have enough energy to lift it.
Brennan frowned for a moment and then began wiping away the last of the drying blood on his back with a warm washcloth. As she pulled away the towel he'd been sitting on she realized how much blood he'd lost. Without another second's hesitation she put away the tools and snatched the bandages off the counter. As quickly and effectively as she could, she wrapped his midsection with the white bandage and tipped him back toward her, checking the dilation of his pupils.
"Booth, can you hear me?" She asked, louder than necessary. He winced and waved her away, attempting to lie down on his side on the bed.
"Booth," She said again, kneeling beside him, "You have to stay awake. I don't want you to go into shock. You've lost an unacceptable amount of blood."
Booth only nodded and let his eyes drift shut.
Yeah, Cut right into me
Yeah, Cause I am made of scars
Yes, I am made of scars
Brennan sat beside him half an hour later dabbing his forehead with a cool washcloth. It was all she knew to do. She couldn't take him to the hospital, he was right that it would blow their cover and she couldn't have been more irritated about that. The doctor the FBI was sending wouldn't reach their remote location until first light tomorrow, and that fact couldn't have worried her more.
Booth's forehead creased with a frown and he opened his eyes, he was on his other side now, facing her as cold sweats made him shiver every few seconds.
She held his gaze, trying to tell if he was fully coherent or not.
Deciding he was, she put down the cloth and laid down beside him, much closer than was necessary as she reached for his hand, needing the physical contact after the day they'd had. A day when it felt like she was trying to beat away panic and fear far too often concerning him, she wasn't used to being the one doing the worrying.
"I'm sorry that happened to you Booth."
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if exhausted by the mere thought of speech.
"We went over this Bones, it wasn't your fault." He muttered, his hand gently breaching the small gap that lay between them and lacing with hers. To his surprise, and delight, she didn't pull away, instead, she squeezed his fingers reassuringly.
She smiled sympathetically, though he'd yet to open his eyes.
"That's not what I mean Booth." She glanced down, but he was facing her and she couldn't see his back. "You have a scar."
He opened his eyes slowly, for the first time they weren't hazy with alcohol and pain. He studied her for a moment before responding.
"I have lots of scars." He said simply, wondering if she would catch the loaded meaning of that statement. And if he wanted her to.
Brennan merely nodded, but pursed her lips. She lifted the hand not entwined with his and reached across him to touch a long patch of toughened, unusually smooth skin on his left side.
"I know you do." She said quietly, her fingers tracing the scar delicately and sending shoots of electricity up his spine. "But this one, it's too close to the spleen. It probably ruptured. That would have been…excruciating, and I'm sorry."
She waited quietly as his eyes roamed her face, a concentration in them she recognized, one he often wore when studying her and searching for a response. She felt his grip on her hand tighten and quickly squeezed it in return, unwilling to let go of the intense, yet fragile connection they'd made.
With a minuscule nod, he gently lifted their entangled hands and brushed his lips across her knuckles. Her stomach flipped with butterflies and she cursed herself for the blush creeping up into her cheeks, but was surprised that the urge to run was not there. Instead, in it's place, was the urge to curl up in his arms. She resisted this urge as well though, and merely matched his warm smile.
She could see tears standing in his eyes where he was trying hard to mask a pain not healed with scars and made herself promise not to cry.
Then he turned serious, licking his dry lips and closing his eyes to another wave of throbbing pain.
"I'll tell you about it someday Bones." He whispered hoarsely, the silence of the room barely disturbed.
Her face was set in concern as small beads of sweat formed again on his forhead and she slowly reached behind herself for the washcloth.
Yeah, Cut right into me
Yeah, I am made of scars
Yes, I am made of scars
"Booth you don't have to." She said quietly, dabbing his forehead, unaware of the tenderness in her touch.
"I know. But," He said roughly, attempting to adjust his weight on the bed but keeping a firm hold on her hand, "but I want to. You're the only person I would ever consider telling."
That's what I'm made of
Brennan felt a surge of pride and her own eyes turned shiny in the dark moonlight filtering in through the blinds.
Snuggling a little closer, fearlessly crossing the line between 'friends' and 'something more' into relationship limbo, she rested her forehead against his and smiled.
"I'll be here then."
So what did you think?