Almost Forever

Chapter 45

Booth had Brennan flat on the ground, his body protectively shielding hers, before the last jagged pieces of the glass dome fell. He felt her flinch, heard one tiny gasp, and his blood turned to ice.

"No no no no no no no no no." He wasn't even aware that the word was a chant he spoke out loud. He shifted his weight and sensed more than heard the tinkle of glass fragments sliding off his back, as his eyes raced over the still form of the woman he loved.

Too still?

No. No.

"Bones. BONES. Talk to me! Are you okay? BONES!" No injury that he could see, no blood immediately visible, and a pulse throbbed in the hollow of her neck. But her eyes were closed . . . and then her hand raised and fluttered at her waist.

Panic colder than anything he'd felt before set in. Booth grabbed the front of the blue lab coat and ripped it open, sending loose buttons flying among the other debris. He ignored everything except Brennan. His hands spread out across her body, over her clothing, in a frantic version of a more intimate caress, as he searched for what he prayed he wouldn't find.

"I'm fine. I'm not injured. Booth, I'm not injured. Booth."

Her quiet voice finally got through. One look into the clear blue eyes and relief flooded his senses. Booth dropped his forehead to her chest and whispered a prayer of thanks as the strong, steady thud of her heart reassured him with every beat.

"Am I dead?"

The small voice pulled Booth and Brennan's attention to the young man curled up beside them. Booth's keen gaze scanned the lanky form, then he patted the knee that stuck out by his hand.

"No, kid . . . Vincent." A note of apology for the sharp rebuke only a few moments before softened the gruff tone. "You'll live to fight another day."

"How nice to hear. I wasn't ready to go." The feeble attempt at a smile faltered and slid away, leaving him pale and drawn beneath the shaggy dark hair. "I . . . I think I need to visit the loo."

"No one is going anywhere yet."

It had been a scant minute since the shot, and chaos reigned around them. Booth pulled his weapon from the holster beneath his arm and clicked the safety off, then looked around the macabre setting. Long silver tables stood in neat rows on the platform, each one holding bones laid out anatomically, or the grisly remains of a corpse left too long in an unmarked grave or desecrated by predators. And underneath each table, Brennan's interns, survivors of the shooting, huddled in groups of two or three, protected by a barrier made from the dead.

Booth raised his voice to be heard over the screams and distraught crying. "NOBODY MOVE! EVERYBODY STAY WHERE YOU ARE AND KEEP YOUR HEAD DOWN! IS ANYBODY HURT? ANYBODY CUT BY THE GLASS?" He was sure he'd heard only one shot, but pieces of the dome glittered from every surface. He caught a glimpse of curly hair in the far corner. "Hodgins! Angela! Are you okay?"

"We're okay," came Angela's tear-stained reply. Hodgins immediately argued.

"She's not okay! She needs to get to the hospital and get checked out!'

"I'll get an ambulance here as soon as I can. Anybody else?"

There were tears and muffled sobs but no one else called out. Faint in the distance but growing louder by the second, sirens wailed.

"Booth." Brennan got his attention by holding up a chunk of glass for him to see. "The dome was designed to shatter in a way that avoids creating sharp edges. It could still cause injury, however, or puncture the skin, especially falling from such a great distance. Was this Broadsky?"

The abrupt change of subject coupled with her preternatural calm and the odd, brittle sparkle in the over-bright eyes worried Booth. Action, he decided, was what she needed.

"Only one other man could have made that shot. Yes. The note was a trap. He wanted to lure me here." He kept his greatest fear to himself, but even left unsaid, he knew Brennan would get there, too, sooner or later. It didn't matter. At the moment, it was his other thought, the germ of an idea rapidly becoming solid determination, that he was careful to hide, at least for the moment. He wasn't ready for the argument he knew it would cause. "We need an interior room, away from this dome, with no windows. Where can we go?"

"Bone storage," she said immediately. "Limbo. It's in the middle of the lab, away from all of the windows."

"Good girl. Okay folks, listen up," he called out, raising his voice again. "Here's what you're going to do. You're going to keep low, you're going to get off this platform and you're going to run to Limbo. Got it? If you can roll off the sides here without hurting yourself on the glass, do that. If you can't, just stay low. Remember that. Stay. Low. Keep your heads down. And run. Don't worry, I'll cover you."

Brennan immediately tugged at his arm again. "What if Broadsky is still out there?"

"He's not. Trust me, he took off before the glass stopped falling." It's what he would have done, although Booth left that thought only in his head. "I want you in Limbo, too, understand? Don't fight me on this," he growled, when a familiar mutinous look settled across her face. "I can't leave this room until you're all safe."

"You'll be right behind me?"

"Stepping on your heels," he promised. He didn't breathe easy until she finally nodded. Beside her, Vincent raised his hand like a child in primary school.

"Pardon me, Agent Booth. I've had . . . I'm not sure I can . . ."

The whiff of ammonia told the story his embarrassed stammering couldn't. "Don't worry about your pants, son. You won't be the only one. Now both of you, when I say go, you go. Understand? Everybody ready out there? GO! GO! GO!"

With that, he stood up, gun pointed to the sky, turning in place as he studied the rooftops of the surrounding buildings through the remains of the dome. The handgun would have done little good against a sniper of Broadsky's skill aiming for him again, but thankfully, it seemed as if Booth's supposition was correct. The sniper had already fled. Still he didn't fully relax until he raced into Limbo behind Brennan.

"I need a phone," he barked, holding out one hand. His own was somewhere out among the wreckage. Wendell, standing closest to him, slapped his into the open palm.

Booth walked a few feet away, and while the group around him comforted each other as best they could, he called into his own office to order road closures, building searches and the complete shut-down of the National Mall grounds.

He'd let the FBI deal with the local cops, he decided. Just now, he had other problems to manage.

He turned around, returned the phone to Wendell and, steeling himself for the battle he knew would come, faced Brennan.

"Call your dad."