So I've been missing for the longest time and I've had tons of plot bunnies running round my head. I'm totally busy with real life and I'm thinking it's crazy to start a story but I finally decided that in the midst of this very dismal season 6, because of a certain person whose name begins with H…. I'd write something to make myself and hopefully you guys happy.
Because I simply love soldier Booth and because I simply refuse to think the man can come home unscathed, I decided to embark on this particular story, my take on season 6. There'll be some angst, some fluff and most of all, lots of BB.
It was a recurring nightmare. It had to be. Because how could one live his dying moments over and over again?
It always began the same, they would all be sitting in the humvee, joking, laughing at some dirty joke about Private Daniels' girlfriend, and then the world would explode around them. There was the same flash of light, then a split second later, a deafening bang. The world would then spin, always the same way, then the deafening ringing in his ears.
Even though he had seen this probably a hundred times over, it always shocked him. He would always look down at the place his legs were supposed to be, only to find that they were no longer attached to his body. Instead in their place, two bloodied stumps, his abdomen split open. The same thought would always hit him. Isn't getting blown up supposed to feel a lot more painful then this?
He would always turn his head to the right and see the lifeless body of Private Strickland, eyes opening and staring at the blue sky. He would then turn his head to the left to see Corporal Garcia, screaming in agony, his right arm blown off his body.
"Help Sarge! Get help!"
He could always see Corporal Garcia mouth the words but never hear them, the ringing in his ears never abating.
He would open his mouth to scream for a medic but the words would get stuck in his throat. And he'd lie there, watching as the life drained out of his fallen comrade in the form of a growing pool of crimson that seeped into the dessert sand.
He was trapped, helpless to do anything except wait for certain death.
Logically, chewing on her fingernails, and jiggling her legs would not make the taxi cab go any faster, but she still did it anyway. If anything her time doing the exact same things on the flight back from Maluku to DC, should have told her that. But she couldn't help it. She was nervous, sick with worry beyond belief. It had been an anxiety-filled two days and now she was finally minutes from where she wanted so desperately to be.
The phone call from Caroline had come minutes after she and Daisy had fought off a group of guerillas. The news had paled in comparison to what she had just endured. The news was delivered quickly and efficiently, but it made her feel as if a knife had been stuck into her chest, and for a moment she forgot how to breathe.
Come home quickly. Booth had been critically injured in Afghanistan and was being flown home to receive better medical care.
Those words had made Brennan want to be instantaneously transported to Booth's side, and she was on the first flight back to DC. It had been seven months since she has been home and Brennan hadn't even been back to her apartment, but headed straight for the hospital from Dulles.
When she reached the floor of the Intensive Care Unit, she quickly found Cam who enveloped her in a hug.
"How is he?" Brennan asked, her heart thudding wildly in her chest, waiting for Cam to respond.
"He only got in last night. It took the doctors a few hours to stabilize him. He's stable now but still in critical condition."
"Is he um.. do the doctors think?" Brennan was afraid to vocalize the words but Cam seemed to understand what she was asking.
"He's young, in good shape, but the flight back took a lot out of him, but yes they think he'll pull through."
Brennan nodded, biting back the tears that stung her eyes. Had he tried to be a hero?
"Details are kind of sketchy, he's the only one who survived. They were on the way back to camp from a routine training mission, it looks like they were ambushed by insurgents. He hung on for an hour before help arrived."
He had always been a fighter, it wasn't a surprise he had fought to stay alive.
"Can I?" Brennan gestured to Booth's room.
"He's only allowed one visitor at a time. Rebecca decided it would be best if Parker didn't see his father this way, not yet anyway. Caroline came by earlier. Jared would also be coming by."
"Thank you Cam for staying with him."
"He would do the same for me."
"Yes he would."
"I'd stay with him now."
"Yes, yes of course you would." Cam placed a comforting hand on Brennan's arm. "You just need to be…" Cam choked on her words. "You need to be prepared, he's in a medically-induced coma, his injuries are extensive."
Brennan took a breath, then opened the door to Booth's room, pulling her trolley bag behind her.
The man lying on the hospital bed was nothing like the Booth she remembered. Her eyes studied him from head to toe. He looked leaner, his time in Afghanistan making him drop a few pounds, but his musculature was more defined.
He was intubated, indicating that he wasn't breathing on his own. A nasogastric tube, the main way of providing nutrition to him for now, had been taped to the side of his face The ventilator beside him pumped air into his lungs, making a whooshing sound in time with the rise and fall of his chest. His bare chest was swathed in bandages, the chest tube emerging from his side telling her he had pneumothorax, a collapsed lung. Both his arms were covered in scrapes and bruises and had numerous IVs running in and out of them. His left leg was bandaged from ankle to thigh.
Brennan picked up his chart, her brain cataloguing his injuries, mentally calculating the odds of survival from each injury. The MRI of his brain had showed a concussion, nothing more sinister. Given his history of brain injury, she was thankful it hadn't been more severe. Cam has been right, his injuries were extensive, especially to his leg, but he stood a good chance of survival. And that was all that mattered.
Brennan looked at his face, days gone without shaving had caused him to grow a beard. Her heart ached, and if anything her time in Maluku had made her regret her decision to turn him down that night after their meeting with Sweets to correct the errors in his book. She had thought about him constantly and had even allowed herself to indulge in fantasizing about what it would be like if she had said yes instead of no. He had said he had to move on. Had he?
Brennan pushed the thought aside. That survived this, that was all that mattered.
She ran a shaky hand down his face, then caressed his brow gently with her fingers. She couldn't help the tear that escaped her eye that fell on his face.
She used her thumb to brush it away and breathed out an anguished, "Oh Booth."
She remembered what it was like to wait for him to wake up from his brain surgery. This time was a little different, because of the extent of his injuries, the doctors had induced a coma to allow his body to heal. But the fact that his life was still in the balance was unsettling to her to say the least.
Brennan shrugged off her coat, then pulled up the hard plastic chair to sit beside him. She clasped her hand firmly around his. She leaned in to speak softly into his ear.
"It's ok Booth. You're home now. I'm home. Just get better. I'll be waiting for you to wake up."
Next up, Brennan learns more about Booth's injuries and makes an important decision about her relationship with Booth. Booth also receives an unexpected visitor.
Reviews as always much appreciated.