Summary: OMG! OMG! Booth shot? OMGOMGOMG! - was basically my reaction.

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the show. I just really, really like them.

She hadn't had so much fun in years. Her face had gotten hot as she stood before the microphone and saw the faces before her, watching expectantly. But it had only taken a last look at Booth's hopeful, encouraging smile, and something inside her broke open and she grabbed the microphone and let all her inhibitions go. This was just plain fun.

As Pam walked in, she saw but didn't really observe. Crazy woman. She had genuine problems.

She vaguely heard the word Seeley, and irritation crossed her mind briefly. Excuse me. I'm ridding myself of a deep-seated fear, Pam. Go away and be creepy somewhere else.

There was movement, and Booth was standing, and then a gun, and then while her ears rang and the world cracked, he fell to the ground with red blossoming from his chest.

She had never felt adrenaline like that before. The pistol was a warm, hard extension of her hand, almost a second skin as she whirled and put a bullet in the bitch's neck. She registered blood and stopped caring. That woman didn't matter. She was a horrible person and could die for all Brennan cared, because she was trying to take away the one thing that Brennan simply couldn't imagine losing.

His eyes stared through her, and she shook. This wasn't happening. All the noise around her was a dull, steady blur that buzzed through her skull and teeth and she wanted it to stop. He was looking through her. His eyes seemed hollow, not warm. She pushed desperately at the hole in his chest, trying to stop the bleeding. Blood coated her hands, warm and slick and fluid, and it couldn't be real. He was right there - right there - why didn't he look at her?

Booth! Come on, Booth. Come on. You're going to be all right. Just stay with me.

He didn't speak, just looked up with that expression she was so afraid of - fear - looking up with eyes that didn't know quite what to do, as he leaked all over her hands and wrists, and the breath caught in her throat. He was drifting. His eyes were growing cloudy. Oh God. No, please, no.

Don't leave me, Booth. Not like this.

She could barely get words out, not really registering what crossed her lips as she pulled him close and clutched him to her heart, as if she could keep him there by sheer force. She wanted magic, or miracles, or anything in the whole irrational world that would take the warm weight in her arms and keep him pressed tight there forever. His labored breathing rattled against her chest and the universe was so very brittle right now. No! Booth, you have to stay with me. Come on. Please.

The horrible thought crossed her mind - a world without Booth?

If someone simply double-clicked on him and clicked 'delete.' Lonely nights. No take-out. No evenings at the diner. No one to tease her until she wanted to hit him. No one she could argue with. No one to hug her when she needed to cry.

If that was to be her life, she didn't want it.

She clutched him tighter, molding herself against him until she could swear they were one being and she could breath for him, support him, heal him by will. Save him. As he had saved her, so many times.

She lowered him to the floor, trying to meet his gaze, and began to shudder, her voice cracking as words roared through her deafening, crackling mind, and maybe a few of them made it to her lips. She didn't know. She wasn't paying attention to that. Booth, please. You have to fight this. You're going to be OK. Booth, please. Please don't leave me. I need you. I can't live without you. Stay with me. Look at me, Booth. Please. Her eyes burned. His closed. She couldn't breathe. Oh God, no, please. No. She didn't even know what she was thinking, let alone saying.

If it ended this way - without a chance to say goodbye -

She pressed hard against his chest, the solidness of his ribcage some small comfort. But so small. Look at me. Open your eyes. You have to live.

More words crashed through her shaking mind, meaningless and hollow. Words didn't matter. Because if she had to perform this autopsy, she wouldn't want to live any more. Because she had blinked and the world had shattered into a million billion trillion razor-shards that were choking. And his eyes were still closed.

He had to live.

Had to.