Guilt and Letting Go--fanstory contest--main character death Author: redrider6612

[g]A/N: I know what you're thinking. First, you're thinking, 'where has red BEEN lately?' and second, 'what would possess red to write a story with main character death?' Well, I've been writing some original stuff and posting it at fanstory (cool site, you should check it out) and I've been getting a lot of great feedback. So, yeah, they have these contest with cash prizes and one in particular, called "Fanfic Contest" caught my eye and I said 'hey! I can do that!' At first I was daunted by the subject matter, but musie started rubbing her grubbies together and voila! So here it is, have the hankies ready and brace yourselves. I'd say 'enjoy', but if you're like me...uh, not bloody likely. Hugs![/g]

Pulling up to a stoplight, Booth glanced over at his partner. “Any chance you might stay in the car this time?” He had to ask, even though he already knew the answer; he wouldn’t be Special Agent Seeley Booth if he didn’t try.

She rolled her eyes at him. “I’m not even going to dignify that with a reply. You’re just going to have to suppress those alpha male tendencies and accept the fact that you need me to come along.” He gave her a dubious look. “You do! How many times have I saved your life?”

He sighed and looked straight ahead. She was right, damn her. “Well, at least promise me you’re gonna stay back, okay? Do you know how much paperwork I’d have to do if you got shot?”

She smirked, satisfied that she had won that argument. “Whatever you say. I’ll watch your back.”

Ever since seven months ago when they had completely blown past the line he had tried to keep between them, Booth had been trying to get her to stay in the lab. His fear that their romance might somehow jeopardize one or both of them was never far from his mind. She had never quite understood how deep that fear went, and they had argued about it repeatedly. It was only her sheer stubbornness that had kept her in the field. Booth began every day hoping his fears were unfounded.

The suspect lived in a nice, middle class neighborhood, not the kind of place you’d expect a killer who had dumped a body wrapped in garbage bags to reside, but over the years they had learned generalizations were pointless. They pulled up to the curb in front of the house and Booth checked his weapon one more time. He gave her a look and opened his mouth to warn her again, but shut it with a snap when she cocked a brow at him. Saying a quick prayer, he opened his door and stepped out, closing it as quietly as possible behind him.

Heading up the front walk, he sensed her right behind him. She had pulled her own weapon and held it down like he had taught her. A couple deep breaths steadied him as adrenaline started pumping through his veins.

Standing at the front door, he motioned her to stand to his left next to the door jamb as he knocked. The curtains at the window behind her twitched, but nobody answered the door.

“Mark Walker, FBI,” he called. “We just want to ask you a few questions.”

Silence. Brennan was fairly vibrating with excitement and Booth frowned at her. “Chill, will ya?” he whispered, and she nodded slightly.

The minutes ticked by, wearing at his patience and hers. Finally, when it became obvious nobody was going to answer the door, he stepped back and gave it a mighty kick, sending it crashing in. Gun held straight out in front of him, Booth stepped in, sweeping right and left. The living room was empty, as was the kitchen. He continued on in, moving cautiously toward the hall, Brennan close behind him.

Suddenly shots rang out from the living room behind them. Brennan uttered a groan and crumpled to the floor as Booth dropped to a crouch and spun on the balls of his feet. The assailant fired another wild shot from behind the sofa and Booth dove to his right, taking cover around the corner. He glanced at his partner and his heart stuttered at the sight of her lying in a pool of blood, but there was no time to help her. He needed to take down the bastard first.

Dropping down further, he slowly peeked his head around the corner. He could barely see a shadowy form behind the sofa. He briefly considered shooting the man right through the furniture, but he wasn’t sure his Glock had the firepower to penetrate. Dropping to his belly, he crawled as quickly as possible, circling a recliner and an end table.

Stopping behind an armchair, he peeked around, satisfied that he could see enough of the shooter to get a shot at him. Pulling out his gun, he fired, taking the guy out with a shot to the head.

Booth stood up and dashed over to his partner, bending down to feel for a pulse that was barely there. He pulled out his cell as he moved quickly through the rest of the house, checking each room for more potential attackers.

“This is Agent Booth, I need an ambulance at 5462 Elm, officer down.” The lie came easily as concern for his partner pulsed through him. She might not technically be an agent, but dammit, she was his partner. They always responded as quickly as possible to a call for an ambulance, but he hoped saying she was an agent might add just a bit more urgency to their response. At this point every minute could be the difference between life and death.

He went back to her and knelt at her side. So much blood. The bullet had struck from behind, hitting the left side of her head. He leaned down close to her.

“Bones? Can you hear me?” he asked. She didn’t move. “Bones!” he said louder, insistently. Still no response. He touched her neck at the carotid artery. Still beating, but barely. Her breathing was shallow and Booth pushed down a wave of panic. Where was the damned ambulance?

At the ER he fought to stay by her side, but when one of the nurses pointed out that he was in the way, which might put her life in danger, he went out to pace the hallway. By then Angela, Hodgins and Zack had arrived. It wasn’t long before the duty nurse asked them to move their vigil to the waiting room, assuring them that someone would inform them of Dr. Brennan’s condition as soon as they knew something.

Angela sidled up to him. “She’s gonna be fine, Booth,” she murmured as confidently as she could.

“I shoulda made her stay in the car,” he said hoarsely, staring blindly at the wall clock.

She folded her arms. “Yeah, like that could happen,” she said caustically.

“I coulda handcuffed her to the car.”

“Yeah, and then you woulda had to deal with a royally pissed off Brennan.”

“Better pissed off than dead,” he replied grimly.

Rolling her eyes, she sighed. “Look, I totally get that you’re determined to shoulder all the blame for what happened, but I know her. She raises the bar on stubborn and no way would you have won that battle. She is as much as fault as you are.”

His lips firmed and a muscle jumped in his cheek, but he didn’t reply. Angela sighed and turned away. Talk about stubborn! He could definitely give Brennan a run for her money.

Everyone came to attention when the ER doctor appeared in the doorway. The look on his face said he didn’t have good news. “Are you here for Dr. Brennan?”

Booth answered for them all. “Yeah. What’s her condition?”

“The bullet is lodged deep in the left frontal lobe.”

“So, when are you taking it out?” Booth asked with a crack in his voice.

The doctor paused, eyes bouncing from one person to the next, searching for the one who might take the news the best. His gaze settled on Angela. “It’s too deep. We can’t operate without risking irreparable brain damage.”

Stunned silence followed his announcement. Everyone shifted uncomfortably, then Booth finally spoke.

“Is she conscious? Can we see her?”

“She’s in a coma.” Angela gasped, Zack closed his eyes and turned away, and Hodgins went over and put his arm around his fiancé. The doctor went on. “A coma isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It’s the body’s way of healing. Time will tell if Dr. Brennan will pull through this.”

“How long?” Booth asked grimly.

“How long what?” the doctor asked.

“How long will she be in a coma?”

“I’m sorry, that is impossible to predict,” he said, clearly wishing he had something more positive to say. He glanced around at them all again. “I’m sorry, but I need to see about getting her a private room. I will have a nurse come get you when she’s settled.”

They were allowed to see her in pairs, so Booth and Zack went in together. Zack stood awkwardly at the foot of the bed, feeling like an intruder as Booth went to her side and picked up her limp hand. Her head was swathed in bandages and she had a breathing apparatus taped to her mouth. The whoosh of the machine kept time with the beeps of the monitors.

Booth bent and kissed her forehead, tears clogging his throat. He heard Zack shift from one foot to the other, but chose to ignore him. He swallowed hard.

“Hey, Bones. It’s me, Booth.” He stroked his thumb over her knuckles, watching her face for some reaction.

“Studies have shown that most comatose patients can’t hear—“ Booth shot a glare at Zack and he subsided. Relative silence reigned for a full minute, then Booth spoke softly.

“Doc says you’re gonna be fine,” he murmured. Zack shifted and Booth glared at him again. “You just need to sleep, give your body time to heal. You’ll be up and about, giving me hell in no time.” The last couple words were lost as the lump in his throat rose and tears welled up in his eyes. He raised her hand to kiss it tenderly and the tears spilled over.

Zack didn’t know what to do. He’d never seen Agent Booth cry before. He knew he was expected to make some sort of comforting gesture, but he didn’t want to do the wrong thing. Should he put his hand on his arm? Or his shoulder? Should he try to talk to him? Maybe he should go get Angela. As Booth’s tears continued to wet the blanket that covered Dr. Brennan, Zack slipped out the door.

Three months passed and Booth’s life settled into a routine. After work he would grab a bite on his way to the hospital where he would spend the remainder of the evening at her bedside. He read out loud or watched T.V., watching carefully for some sign she was at all aware of him. At times he talked to her, about the squints, the case he was currently working, or his son Parker’s latest antics. He even had one sided arguments with her; he knew her so well, he could pretty much carry on her side of the conversation.

The weekends he didn’t have Parker he stayed later. That’s where Angela found him on a Saturday night, ten weeks after the incident. He had laid his head on the edge of the bed, and clutching her hand, he had fallen asleep. She almost turned and left without saying anything, but he had become a light sleeper. He sat up and squinted at her blearily.

“Hey, Angela,” he rasped, scrubbing a hand down his face and looking around. “Time ‘zit?”

“Nearly eleven. You gonna sleep here?”

Sucking in a deep breath, he shook his head. “Nah, just dozed off. I probably oughta get going.” His gaze was irresistibly drawn to Brennan’s pale face. The bandages were gone and her hair was growing back, so she looked almost normal.

“How’s she doing?” Angela asked softly.

“Good,” he said. “Her eyelids moved earlier. I’m sure it’s just a matter of time.”

Angela picked up a chair and put it down next to his. “No, it isn’t, Booth.” Her voice was gentle, but it had an edge of steel.

He straightened and gave her a shocked look. “The doctor says—“

“I just talked to the doctor. They did a scan today. There is no brain activity.” Tears threatened to close off her throat, so she swallowed hard and blinked back the moisture in her eyes. He didn’t need someone to cry with right now.

“No way,” he said, looking back at the figure on the bed and clutching her hand harder. “She’s a genius. No way.”

Angela sighed. “She made a living will.”

His head snapped around and his red-rimmed eyes locked with hers. “What?”

She nodded. “Years ago, before she met you. She designated me as her medical attorney-in-fact.”

Tears filled his eyes and he looked away. “Do we have to do this here, now?” he asked raggedly.

“This is the only place I knew I could find you.” He kept his face turned away, but she could see the tears running down his cheek and her heart ached for him. “She wouldn’t want to live like this. You know that.”

Wiping at his cheeks with both hands, he blinked hard several times and cleared his throat. The tears were gone when he looked at her again. “So that’s it? You want me to just give up on her?”

Now it was her turn to fight tears. “You know I love her; we were closer than sisters. But think about it, Booth. Remember how active she was? Do you really think she would want to go on like this?”

His eyes searched hers for some remnant of hope. She met them head on, unwavering in the face of his grief. Finally he closed his eyes, slumping in his chair, and Angela knew she had won, though she got no enjoyment from it. Reaching for his hand, she took it in both of hers and squeezed. And then they both cried.

They gathered around her bed that Sunday. Booth stood at her right holding her hand. Angela was across from him, holding her other hand.

Booth leaned down and kissed Brennan on the lips. "I'm gonna miss you, every day," he whispered. "I love you."

Everyone took turns saying goodbye, until finally the time had come. Angela and Booth shared a long look, then Booth nodded. With a trembling hand, she reached for the switches. She hesitated and Booth thought she was going to change her mind. The word ‘Stop!’ tried to crawl past the lump in his throat, but he swallowed it as tears filled his eyes. Then it was done.

It took several minutes for the monitors to flat line. Everyone’s eyes were riveted to the wavy lines, clinging to the hope that a miracle might happen. But God wasn’t giving any out that day, and soon she was gone.

@@@

[g]So, please tell me what you thought. Did I waste an afternoon writing this? Do you think I stand a chance in the contest?[/g]

Waste of time? Don't think so. I could feel the angst the agony Booth and Angela were feeling. Wonderful. Not that Brennan died but that you wrote it so well.


snoopgirl

Red that was brilliant. Alot of people dont like character death fics but i like the angst and vulnerability we see in the characters. I liked also that halfway through reading I sensed you may have changed your mind on killing her...sending her into a coma and giving not only booth but also us some hope that she may survive, that really kept me on the edge of my seat that she may make it. Does it have to be a one shot for the contest only i would love to see how the squints and more importantly booth cope in the aftermath of her death. Fantastic writing red, loved it x x magicstar

omg 'm crying my eyes out
It was so very good but so sad....
*sobs*

karlia

Ok, whatever you don't listen to this with 'my heart will go on' in the background, it made me weep...

temperance rose

thank you, everyone, for the words of encouragement...unfortunately, the story didn't win (you wouldn't believe how bad the story that won was...sheesh!) but oh, well, now I can honestly say I've written a Bones fanfic with a main character death...but NO MORE! too sad....and sad also that I got so upset writing it, like i was killing off my best friend

redrider

who were the judges?....
Red , i will take your word for it about the other story. But i loved yours but sad to hear you wont be doing anymore character death fics. I am all for angst and smut lol....i love your writing and will look forward to future fics x x


magicstar

well, the writers on fanstory were the judges, but get this....most of them don't even know what fanfic is! the story that won was an I Love Lucy story in which they killed off Lucy! and it was terrible!

Sorry, anyway, I'm better now...and no, there won't be any more character death fics for me, sorry...they just are too devastating...but thanks for the compliment, magic

redrider

all compliments are well desrved red, and i will still be looking forward to reading..you write, i read lol

and they are not proper judges by the sounds of it...and killing off lucy?...thats not the real problem in my opinion...someone actually taking the time to write a fanfic story about that show, wierd!!!! the show was funny in its day, very lighthearted and has never had any real depth to write good fanfic based on it surely? the judges are idiots red and i am hoping you are not taking any of their ridiculous judgements personally or as a true reflection of your writing!!!!

magicstar

holy shit red.........that was superb and brilliant........i loved it........well as much as we could love it........with the death and all............you are just getting better and better........i loved it...............

I have a strange feeling I'm going to regret posting this tomorrow. I am not a writer, I am however, a rambler, so this is my rambles. I needed a bit of catharsis after Wannabe as I cried while watching Aliens in a Spaceship, so call this my catharsis.

Bones belongs to Fox (I think?) and Hart Hanson, not to me. The title is from Macbeth, Act 1, Scene III, Line 38.

It wouldn’t come off. That was the sole, rational thought that reverberated through Brennan’s mind. The blood of her partner, of Booth, was on her hands and it wouldn’t come off. The water was running pink now, the same shade as her hands, already rubbed raw from scrubbing. It wasn’t the blood, although a physical reminder of what had happened, that was haunting her, but the memories.

And they were terrifying. She had been dancing. She had always enjoyed singing, especially in her childhood. Her home had had music, with her parents around and her mother, especially, encouraged her to sing if she wanted to sing. She was enjoying singing for Booth, she liked seeing the happiness on his face as he twisted and turned in his chair, his charm smile firmly fixed as he danced and clapped. Even know, even after, Brennan couldn’t remember what happened. One moment, she was a teenager again, bopping on stage, she was having fun, just like girls should. Then she was trying to hold her partners chest together as his blood leaked onto her hands. There was a body behind her.

Brennan couldn’t remember killing Pam. She remembered the sound of the shot; she remembered thinking how loud it seemed, even over all the background screaming. She even remembered the heat of the gun and how it felt in her palm. But she didn’t remember the bullet ripping through another persons flesh, or the sound of her body hitting the floor. She didn’t remember Booth grabbing her hand, but she held onto it anyway as she pleaded with him to stay with her. She didn’t remember Angela trying to untangle their hands as the medics took him away, or the ride to the hospital. She remembered the blood on her hands and how it dried.

It was the things that she couldn’t remember that scared her. She couldn’t remember killing a woman, a mentally ill woman. She shot her. And she didn’t remember it. The guilt began to worm its way into her mind, pushing out the concern and fear of the last few hours. Logically, she knew she had reacted on instinct. An instinct caused by necessity, caused by years of firearms training, she hit what she aimed at. It was caused by adrenaline, a hormone secretion brought on by fear. It could all be explained by science, but it didn’t change the fact that she had killed someone.

And now her partner, her person, lay in a hospital bed with a hole in his chest, a woman lay in a morgue, a Y incision on her chest and Brennan was here, in a bathroom and the blood still wouldn’t come off.

Awesome Claire! You should keep writing, dear. Loved reading your take on this... and I didn't think it was rambly at all!

space

yay Claire... why do you say you can't write girl? That was spectacular. Crazy... I don't want to hear you tell me you're no good at writing ever again. Thanks for sharing... and like space says... not rambly...

just good.

pheobsfan