Please excuse the lengthy author's note, but I need to give credit where credit is due.

I began this story about 4 years ago with another author: Alphagirl447. Both of us were curious about why Dick Vorstenbach was in Booth's coma dream, and that question was never answered, so we decided to fix that loose thread.

We worked together up until chapter 8, and then she stopped writing for a reason unknown to me, so this story was left incomplete.

In cleaning out some old google drive files, I found it again, and decided it was still an interesting story. I have tried contacting Alphagirl many times in order to ask her permission to continue the story, but with no success.

I have reworked the chapters we started together so they more closely resemble my writing style, but some of the plot elements were originally hers.

The later chapters of this story are entirely my own, and as we go through the story you may notice a slight change in style.

There will be some angst and some sadness in this story, but things will work out in the end.

Laura.

Startled, Booth awoke suddenly with an unsettled feeling, as if he'd had a bad dream he couldn't quite remember. The vague sense of anxiety lingered as he stared at the darkened bedroom ceiling for a few minutes. Something wasn't right, but he didn't know what, exactly. Probably just my imagination...

He glanced at the clock on his bedside table. 5:15 AM...too early to get up, but maybe not too early for some love and attention from his beautiful wife. He rolled over to put his arm around her, only to find himself alone in his bed...and the sheets next to him were cool under his touch.

Maybe she's in the bathroom… There was no response to his knock at the bathroom door, so he cautiously peeked in and to his surprise found it empty. He grabbed his robe, tying it quickly as he walked out to the kitchen of their apartment, but she wasn't there either. Where could she be?

It seemed odd to find himself alone at that hour...she was normally home by slightly disconcerted, he decided that she'd just stayed later at the club for some reason. She usually counted the till and got the deposit ready so it could go to the bank first thing in the morning.

That must be it...Friday nights are busy...but why didn't she call or text me to let me know she'd be late? That's not like her…she knows I'd be worried…

Growing alarmed, he fired off a quick text to Wendell before hurriedly pulling on some jeans and a sweatshirt. As he picked up his jacket, he willed himself to be calm.

She must've fallen asleep over her computer…she's been working too hard, that's all...she's getting the cash ready for the bank...

As he got to the club, Booth's heart was racing. Wendell's text indicated that he'd left at three AM with the idea that Bren was leaving right behind him.

But she didn't do that, did she? Where the hell is she?

The back door to the club was still locked. Maybe that's a good sign... Fumbling with the keys, Booth's hand shook as he tried to unlock the door. Please, God...she's just asleep…she fell asleep over the books...

It was now 6 AM, and the sunlight was just starting to peek above the horizon. The club was dark except for the eerie glow coming from his wife's office. The small lamp on the table next to the sofa was still lit, casting a weak light across the room, but the computer's monitor was dark. Bren's chair was turned so she was facing the keyboard, and she was leaning back in her chair. Booth let out a sigh of relief. She just fell asleep...probably just planned on closing her eyes for a few minutes...taking a break… Booth flipped on the overhead light switch, and walked quietly toward her, not wanting to startle her. "Bren? Bren, honey, it's time to go home…" Getting no response, he slowly turned the chair to face him and gasped in horror as her lifeless blue eyes stared back at him. Her throat had been cut...there was blood everywhere...on the chair...down the front of her white cotton blouse...

"NO! No, this can't be happening! I was supposed to protect you. Bren...Dear God, Bren... No, this can't be happening!" Weeping bitterly, he fell to his knees, clutching her cold hands against his chest. "I'll kill him. I swear to God, Dick Vorstenbach is a dead man. I don't care what happens to me after that. I can't live without you, Bren..." He wept bitterly as he lay his head in her lap. "Bren...God, Bren...I'm so sorry. I should never have left you here alone...I'm so sorry…" He sobbed loudly, gasping for air as he wailed. "I'm so sorry...God...Bren...you can't be dead…I'm so sorry.."

"Booth? Booth, wake up!" Brennan tried to restrain a hysterically thrashing Booth as she rang for the nurse, but without success. "Booth...please...wake up!"

He was vaguely aware of someone trying to hold his arms, and he pushed against them to break free. He struggled violently, trying to get away...wanting that horrible picture out of his mind, he was hellbent on running away when he heard something...the faint sounds seemed to be coming from far away. There were voices calling to him...he thought he recognized one of them...it was a woman...

"Booth, you're dreaming. Look at me, Booth...look...I'm right here…wake up, Booth...please, wake up...come on, Booth..."

Dr. Lance Sweets quickly pushed his way through the door of Booth's hospital room and stood gaping as Brennan tried to wake Booth. "What happened? He was sleeping so peacefully...that's why I went to grab a cup of coffee…"

"See for yourself!" Frustrated with Sweets' stupid question, Brennan shouted at him. "He's having another nightmare, Sweets! Booth, wake up! You're dreaming! Look at me, Booth. I'm fine...see?"

She reached down to touch Booth's face as his eyes slowly fluttered open. "I'm right here...nothing's happened to me, see?" She smiled as he tried to reach up to stroke her cheek. "I'm fine…"

His eyelids were blinking rapidly and everything was a blur, but he finally realized who she was...his beautiful wife. She touched his face as she spoke to him gently, murmuring softly as she tried to soothe him. "Everything's normal, Booth. Nothing has happened to me…"

"Bren...you're okay…you're alive..." After caressing her cheek, Booth leaned back against his pillow and closed his eyes, trying to catch his breath as his heart raced in his chest. He shook his head, trying once again to rid himself of the terror that had filled his mind. "Thank God, you're okay, Bren.", he sighed. "It was so real. I was back in my coma dream. You hadn't come home from work, so I went to the club, and I found you….dead…my wife had been murdered." He shifted in his bed as he opened his eyes, hoping to find that Brennan was still standing by his bed. "God, Babe...if Vorstenbach ever hurt you, I don't know what I'd do." Obviously still shaken, Booth glared at Sweets. "What are you staring at? Don't you have anything better to do than to bother people who are recuperating in the hospital?" Grabbing Brennan's hand, he held it tightly. "Bren, would you please stay with me for a few minutes? I just gotta be sure you're okay…"

"Of course, Booth." Ignoring his use of the incorrect nickname, she turned toward the door, trying to smile at the nurse who'd come in to check on the patient. "Agent Booth has had another terrible nightmare, and he's been perspiring profusely. Could you please have someone bring him a new hospital gown? And please inform his physician of this event. The nightmares may be due to his bad reaction to the anesthetic. Dr. Jursik asked me to note anything unusual that occurs…"

The nurse checked Booth's vital signs and made a note on her tablet to call Dr. Jursik. "I'll have someone come change the sheets as well."

"Thank you." Brennan nodded at the nurse and then turned her focus back to Booth. "It seems your nightmare was quite vivid, and therefore very disturbing, but, as you can see, it wasn't real, even though I'm sure it felt quite real while you were experiencing it…"

Sweets interrupted suddenly as a thought occurred to him. "I'm interested in the name you brought up, Agent Booth. Who is Vorstenbach? I don't remember hearing that name anywhere before now…"

Booth let out a sigh as he glanced up at Brennan again. "How the hell should I know, Sweets? I was dreaming, right? I remember that in my coma dream he was the gangster that died, okay? The bastard had threatened my wife, Bren…" He cringed slightly as he realized his mistake. "I mean, Bones...but he was murdered by Jared in the story she told me. I have no idea why I should come up with a name like that for a guy in my nightmares. I mean, it's not exactly a run of the mill name…"

Shrugging, Brennan turned to Sweets. "When I read my novel to Booth while he was in the coma, I don't remember giving the murder victim a name like that...in fact, I don't believe I gave that character a name at all. I'm not sure why Booth's using that unusual name for him…it must be something he came up with on his own...from his own imagination."

Reaching in his pocket as his phone rang, Sweets held up a finger as he answered and stepped away from them. "Yes...I understand. Yes...thirty minutes? Yes, that's fine." Pocketing his phone, he shrugged. "I can't stay...I've been called in to consult on a case. I'll be back later to see how you're doing, Booth."

"Yeah, great. Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out…" Leaning back in his bed once again, Booth patted Brennan's hand. "I'm so glad you're okay, Bones...I don't know how I'd survive if something happened to you…"

She smiled tenderly as she gently stroked his cheek. "I feel the same way about you, Booth…but we're both going to be fine. I feel sure you'll be discharged in just a few days, and your nightmares will fade away." Trying to change the subject, she pointed at a menu. "Would you like me to order you some pudding?"

"Nah, I don't think I can eat anything right now. My stomach is still churning. God, Bones...it seemed so real…"

Brennan pulled up a chair and sat next to Booth's bed, gently holding his hand as he recounted the dream once again. "I'm sure your nightmares will ease up soon…," she told him in an unconvincing tone. "You've had bad dreams before, like those from your time in military service, and you've told me that eventually they become less severe over time…"

"I hope that's true, because these dreams are terrible...worse than anything I've ever had." He looked up into her beautiful blue eyes, trying to shake off his deep seated fear and an overwhelming sense of dread. "I just wish I knew what it was all about. It's like my brain is desperately trying to tell me something I need to know, but I can't figure out what it is…"

"I'm sure we'll resolve the problem shortly." Patting his hand, Brennan changed the subject. "Parker has been asking about you. Rebecca has told him that perhaps he can come visit soon."

"Yeah...maybe in a few days. I'm not sure I want him to see me like this...so confused and addled, you know?" Sighing softly, Booth ran his fingers over the damp sheet. "Man...these nightmares are almost worse than the tumor. My hallucinations never scared me like this, you know? I'm almost afraid to close my eyes...I'm afraid I might see something awful in my dreams again."

"Nonsense, Booth." Brennan rolled her eyes at his hyperbole. "You'll be back to 100 percent in no time, and your nightmares will soon be a thing of the past." Glancing at her phone, she slowly rose from the chair. "I need to go back to the lab for an hour or two, but I'll return and have dinner with you this evening."

"Okay." He hesitated slightly as he let go of her hand. "Um...will you send me a text to let me know you've made it there in good shape?"

"You don't have your phone…" Seeing his embarrassed grimace, Brennan tilted her head to one side. "I'll call the nurse's station and see if they'll deliver a message for me. Will that suffice?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Bones."

"No problem. I'll talk to you later."

He sighed heavily as he watched her leave. God, that smile of hers was amazing. It just made him love her more, and loving her more just made him want to protect her more, but he had to admit the truth to himself...at that moment he couldn't really protect anybody.

As he lay back against the pillow, a tear spilled down his cheek. Why would she want a broken down guy like me? Hell, I'm falling apart. Half the time I can't even remember my own goddamn name. Dr. Jursik says I've just gotta give it some time, but I'm not a patient guy, right? How much time do I need? And Bones can't stop everything that's going on in her life to take care of me, right? My nightmares have gotten so bad that I've almost been afraid to go to sleep, but the good news right now is that it was only a dream. Bones was right here, standing next to my bed. She was fine…

He chewed on his lip, trying to keep his nervousness at bay, but without much luck. He knew it was silly, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen to her. He needed to talk to Sweets soon and arrange for some protection for her...but he was so tired. Maybe he could just close his eyes for a few minutes…

As he drifted off to sleep, his thoughts turned to his partner.

Jesus, I'm so tired...I'm so confused. I just want things to be better soon. I want to be the man I need to be...to protect Bones...from Dick Vorstenbach.

ooooooooo

A few hours later, after returning from the lab, Brennan stood in the hospital hallway, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes trained at the young man in front of her. Sweets flicked his gaze between her and the bed inside the room, keeping watch on a sleeping Booth.

"I'm telling you the truth, Sweets. I deleted the book. You can't read it. It's gone. That's all there is to it."

He shook his head in disbelief. "Dr. Brennan, can't Angela simply retrieve it off your drive? If I could read about what Booth experienced during his coma, I could be of significantly more help to him. I need details in a linear fashion, not mere snatches of his foggy memories, if I'm going to reconstruct the coma dream. Then I could approach his care in a more logical manner..."

She glared at the young man defiantly. "I never saved it. Since there were no extended breaks between writing periods, I simply let it sit open on my laptop, typing as the mood struck me, and then, because I was dissatisfied with it, I simply erased it. There's nothing for Angela to retrieve. It's gone...that's all there is to it."

Sweets ran a hand through his matted hair, the evidence of his distress. It appeared as if he hadn't showered in three days. Glancing down, Brennan suddenly realized she didn't look much better. Her wrinkled clothes, stringy hair, and growling stomach betrayed just how little attention had paid to herself since Booth's surgery.

"He had a brain tumor." Sweets stared at the seemingly fragile man in the hospital bed. His friend had always been so strong...so vigorous...and now he looked so frail. "...a brain tumor…"

"A cerebellar pilocytic astrocytoma.," she muttered, obviously annoyed at his penchant for stating the obvious. "Yes, I know…"

Sweets gave her a glare as he continued. "The procedure was successful, but unfortunately he had a bad reaction to the anesthesia and was in a coma for four days. You read him a book you were writing, in which you owned a nightclub and were in lo-"

Rolling her eyes, she curtly interrupted him. "I know that, too, Sweets. Why are you telling me this again? What could possibly be the point of such redundancy? I was there, and I remember the details! If you are trying to anger me, you have achieved your goal."

His face contorted slightly, an expression she'd often seen when he felt he had reached a rather exciting psychological conclusion. 'Exciting' by his standards usually meant useless as a logical construct, so she ignored him and pressed for her answer. "Why do you insist on repeating the sequence of events constantly? It doesn't change anything. Booth is still suffering severe nightmares."

Sweets gave her a little smile, but the meaning behind it was lost on her. She hardened her expression and crossed her arms a little tighter over her chest as if to contain her emotions. "What?"

"It helps me work through what's going on so I can decide how best to help Booth. Running through what has happened just refreshes the case in my mind while I try to create a treatment plan."

But do you have to do that out loud? The rather small distance between them began to feel suffocating. Brennan turned and positioned herself in the chair next to the doorway of Booth's room, making sure she could see him before turning back Sweets. "Please explain."

"Although he's out of his coma, he's still having nightmares about the life he was living in that alternate 'reality', if you will. He has dreamed that you've been murdered, or occasionally, that you're being arrested for murder. At one point he was crying because you'd lost something important to him. What was that one about?"

Her back stiffened and her free hand rested slightly on her abdomen. "I-I don't know."

Sweets stood directly in front of her, but she pointedly refused to look at him. "Yes, you do, Dr. Brennan. I know the story you read to him was extremely personal...perhaps even intimate...but I need to know what you wrote. In order to help Booth, I need to know what he went through, and what he's so confused about. He doesn't remember it clearly...but given your eidetic memory, I'm sure you do."

Her eyes closed as she took a deep breath. Deep down, she knew Sweets was right. Booth needed help that she couldn't provide on her own. She didn't believe psychology could solve her partner's problems, but she also couldn't deny that Booth's condition was certainly more than a physical reaction to anesthesia. She had to trust Sweets to do what was best for Booth.

The young man seemed to care for Booth a great deal, but a shred of doubt still remained, lurking in the shadows of her mind. Was he experimenting on them again? Did he just want to hear about her private writings so he could analyze them further and draw his own useless conclusions about their partnership? Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be another option. He was correct. He had to know the whole truth.

She shuddered slightly and grudgingly turned to face the psychologist. "Everything?"

He raised an eyebrow as he opened a notepad and clicked open a pen. Pulling up a chair, he nodded. "Anything you can tell me."

Her heart was beating erratically, and her face flushed with embarrassment. Digging her nails into her palms to steady her nerves, she quietly told him the story as she'd written it.

As she neared the end, Sweets slowly stopped writing. The words grew harder and harder for her to enunciate, and her last statement was hardly above a whisper.

"I-I ended it by telling Booth that I was...that I was pregnant. In the story he was ecstatic...he talked about how much he wanted a little baby boy..."

Letting out a frustrated sigh, the psychologist ran a hand down his face. "You were pregnant in the story. That's really quite interesting actually…" His words faded away as she savagely glared at him. Clearing his throat, he continued. "Perhaps that was a poor choice of words. Anyway, given his strong feelings about having a family, that's going to be a challenge for him to get over. Such an elaborate comatose experience is bound to have lingering effects...possibly for quite a long period of time."

Leaping up from the chair, she stood directly over him, anger evident in her voice. "The doctors said I should talk to him, so I did...I just told him a story. Are you saying his situation is my fault?"

Sweets shook his head as he spoke quietly. "No, Dr. Brennan. I don't think this is your fault at all...but I'm fairly sure you feel that way."

Suddenly ashamed, she turned away and stared at Booth. The bed began to creak as he tossed and turned from side to side.

"So what exactly is your treatment plan for him?," she asked. "Just some talk therapy until he can distinguish reality from dreams? Medication to calm his anxiety?"

Footsteps tapped across the floor behind her as Sweets absentmindedly paced the hallway. "I don't know if 'just therapy' will help him, Dr. Brennan. I think he needs further separation from the dream life. It's almost like he needs to go cold turkey."

"What do you mean?"

The pacing stopped and Brennan grew tense, expecting a personal question...perhaps one she didn't want to answer.

The psychologist studiously avoided eye contact with her. "Didn't you get an invitation to go on a dig in Costa Rica for six weeks?"

She shrugged and turned away from him. "Yes, but I haven't decided yet if I'm going to participate. I'm waiting to see progress in Booth's condition."

The silence was daunting as Sweets alternated his gaze between Brennan and Booth. Finally, he closed his notepad and put his pen in his pocket. "I think you should go."

She shook her head resolutely. "Well, I wanted to go, but Booth doesn't appear to be getting much better. He's still having nightmares and can't quite distinguish reality from his dreams. He may need my assistance in order to fully recover."

The psychologist rambled on, saying it would be easier for Booth to recover if she wasn't around, but she wasn't listening, lost in her own thoughts instead.

Could I actually leave Booth here without knowing he was going to be alright? The doctors have explained that he's fine physically, and nothing should retard his mental rehabilitation. Besides, watching him confuse the dream world with real life is quite a challenge for me. It's getting increasingly difficult to compartmentalize and to ignore the emotions that come up. He often thinks we're married, and that I'm pregnant. He usually snaps out of it quickly, but I didn't know how much more of that sort of stress I can take. I'm confused...not by him, but by myself. My reaction to his confusion, the emotions I feel when he calls me Bren...I don't understand them. If my leaving would benefit him, and benefit me as well, I should go, shouldn't I?

She snapped out of her reverie when Booth cried out again.

"Bren!"

He started flailing back and forth, but she ran into the room, grabbing his arms and holding them together as best she could against his strength.

"Sweets! Get help!"

He rushed over and pressed the nurse call button, then helped her restrain a wildly thrashing Booth.

Brennan shook her partner roughly, hoping to rouse him. "Booth, wake up! It's just a dream, Booth...wake up….come on, Booth snap out of it…you're only dreaming…Booth!"

His eyes fluttered open and she cradled his face with her hand. "I'm fine, Booth. Look...I'm right here. I'm fine."

He pressed his cheek into her hand and wrapped his hands around her wrists. "God, Bren...oh my God. You're okay..thank God, you're okay."

He held onto Brennan's hand and leaned back into the pillows. "I was back in my coma dream. You hadn't come home from work, so I went to the club, and I found you….dead…my wife had been murdered." He shuddered violently and tightened the grip on her hand. "Make it stop...every time I go to sleep, it's the same thing, over and over again. I know I've got to protect you, Bren...but I can't"

"I'm not Bren, remember?," she gently corrected him. "It's me, Bones, Booth. I'm Bones."

"Oh...right." His face twisted in confusion, but the look passed quickly. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I can't keep that straight. You're Bones. Bren..." He shook his head sadly. "Bren doesn't really exist." Booth gripped Brennan's hand even tighter. "Bones, would you please stay with me for a few minutes? I just have to be sure you're okay…"

A curious warmth spread through her body, but she chose to ignore the anxiety, smiling sweetly at him. "Of course, Booth. We're going to have dinner together, right?" Seeing him nod, she smiled. "It seems your nightmare was quite vivid and therefore disturbing, but it wasn't real. I'm sure it felt that way, though…"

Sweets moved to the other side of the bed and clicked open his pen. "Was Dick Vorstenbach in your dream again?"

Booth let out a sigh as he glanced up at the psychologist in irritation. "How the hell should I know, Sweets? I was dreaming. Jesus...I'm going crazy...every fucking time I try to sleep, it's the same fucking thing...horrible nightmares...I'm don't know how much more I can take, Bren..."

She winced slightly at the continued use of the incorrect nickname, hoping that Booth hadn't seen her consternation. "I don't see why the gangster's name is important, Sweets…"

"Just curious." Wearing a fake smile, Sweets shrugged slightly. "I need to go. I'll be back later to see how you're doing, Booth."

"Yeah, great. Don't bother showing up unless you bring pudding…"

"Right." Sweets turned towards the door and passed Brennan on the way out, whispering into her ear. "We'll talk later."

She nodded ever so slightly as Booth patted her hand. "I'm so glad you're okay, Bones...I don't know how I'd survive if something happened to you…"

"I know...you've told me that many times." She tried to smile as he continued to babble about his most recent nightmare. It was that kind of comment that confused her, putting her on edge. She hadn't understood her feelings for Booth before the surgery, and now his confusion between reality and the book she'd shared with him while he'd been in the coma were making her even more uneasy.

She knew she felt many things for him...very strong feelings, actually...but she didn't know if they were the kinds of emotions that Booth felt for others, much less for her. It wasn't love, because, after all, love was just a series of chemical messages in the brain, signifying sexual attraction. Of course, Booth felt very strongly about romantic love; he believed in it with all his heart.

So was what she felt for him...what she could offer...was it enough for a man like Booth? Was it the kind of love he so ardently believed in?

Because she was unsure of not only her feelings, but his, she couldn't figure out how to respond to his obvious confusion over their status. He thought he was sexually attracted to her...that he 'loved' her, but did he really? Or was he merely responding to the damaged synaptic pathways in his brain?

Nothing was certain as far as she could tell, so finally she pretended to smile as she comforted him. "I feel the same way, Booth. It would be difficult for me to deal with your absence from my life, should it occur."

Those words weren't hard for her to say. It was the truth. She didn't know how she would be able to continue her life without him. Somewhere along the way, she had allowed her own happiness to become contingent upon him, and it scared her terribly. She'd always been independent, and she found it awkward, being uncertain if he truly felt the same way towards her, or if he was just confused because of his brain surgery.

No, the words weren't hard. The constant battle with her own thoughts, the pain of seeing him long for her when it wasn't really her he was longing for...that was the hard thing...it was too difficult for her logical mind to process.

Maybe Sweets was correct. Maybe Booth would benefit from her leaving him alone for an extended period of time...and maybe she would as well.

Interested in more? If you have time to review, I'd appreciate it.