The little puff of air, the dirt that spit out of the ground in all directions, saved his life. The whole time she was gone he had to constantly remind himself that punching things is not a substitute for breathing. In fact, the only thing that reminded him to breathe at all was the desperate hope that tainted all of Angela's actions. It was the kind of hope that drove people mad and he had to save her even if he couldn't save himself.
But the air puffed and the dirt flew and he didn't know how he got there, but suddenly he was on the ground and there was dirt flying everywhere and if he didn't see a hand soon he thought the world might stop. But there was a hand and it was moving and he knew it was hers and he pulled with everything he was worth and the hand gripped back, scratching at his hand and he though nothing felt so good in his whole life.
Hodgins was in Angela's arms and part of him felt infinitely better, could let that go. But he had no time for watching because then she was in his arms, curling into him and breathing great gasps of air that ripped at his insides and Cam knew and she waved goodbye and smiled as she went to direct the retrieval of the crime scene.
She didn't let go of him and he hoped to god that she never noticed she was doing it or she'd stop immediately. She stayed curled into him until the EMTs pried her out of his arms, afraid she required more medical treatment. But she was okay, just sore and tired and scared. Hodgins and Angela were already on their way to the hospital and Cam was pushing them away and telling them not to come back for a week. He knew she didn't have the authority to tell him that but if Brennan would let him, he would never let her leave the apartment again. He'd stay with her forever. He didn't have energy left to let that scare him. She didn't let go of his hand. The EMTs tried really hard not to roll their eyes as they negotiated around the circumstances. When they gave her the go ahead to go home, she looked at him and for a fraction of a second he saw terror in her eyes. Then it was gone, but he led her to his car and drove her home and locked her door behind him when she went to take a shower.
The water turned on and he sat down as close as he could to the door to wait without feeling creepy. 45 minutes later the water was still running.
"Everything alright, Bones?" he asked. He received no answer. "If you don't respond I'm coming in…" There was still nothing. He opened the door slowly. Inside the bathroom, she was standing in her underwear and long t shirt trying to scrape all the dirt off her clothes into evidence bags.
"I wanted you to think I was showering. It's a huge waste but I needed to work and you wouldn't have let me." He just looked at her. As she turned to grab another bag he saw a blood stain on the neck of her shirt under her pony-tail. He stepped forward. "Bones." He said firmly, taking her arm. She stiffened. He pulled her toward him, bringing his fingers to skim along the line of her neck.
"There could be evidence. I had to pull some of the skin off for Cam." She said, pulling out of his grasp. He let her organize her bags, finishing whatever she had been in the middle of when he walked in as he moved past her to change the temperature of the water coming from the shower head. At least she hadn't used up all of the hot water. When the temperature satisfied him, he turned back to her, pulling the bags out of her hand as she protested. When she figured out his plan, quickly of course, because she was a genius, she started protesting.
"I'm not done, Booth! I might be missing something! Booth! Stop it!" He picked her up. She was in no condition to fight him, but she tried her damnedest and he knew it would bruise later but her evidence bags, her systematic cataloging was breaking his heart. He walked her straight into the shower in his arms trying not to listen as her protests faded into sobs.
Under any other circumstances, it would be wildly inappropriate for him to set her on the floor of the tub and slide her t shirt over her head, to let her lean against him, his white dress shirt becoming transparent as it was soaked through. But there was no other choice and he used the comfort of his hands moving over her skin to smooth away dirt with vanilla scented soap and to massage the dirt from her hair. By the time he got to conditioner, she was recovered enough to be embarrassed but she also wouldn't let him leave.
Later after she had found him some clothes to wear (his, that he had left there who knows how long ago, they smelled like her now) and had bundled herself into comfortable sweats, she let him order Chinese food, and while they waited he bandaged her neck. There was no need for her to ask for him to work the kinks out of her shoulders in the process. He could feel them.
That night she finally she started talking. She curled up in bed and he lay down next to her because she would ask him to leave, but she'd never ask him to stay. She rambled on about a note she had written that was probably still in the car, that someone would probably give to him and that it said something out of character and he shouldn't hold it against –
He kissed her. Hard. As she rambled he felt relief and amazement and gratitude at the sound of her voice that it rose out of him and he kissed her. She kissed him back. And they were suddenly both very much alive.