A/N: A couple of things before you start reading…

1. My muse has been awfully quiet lately, so I went back to Bonesology and started using the second list of words from the summer challenge as inspiration. I am not following the 300 words chapter limit on this one, so plan on some longer and some shorter chapters. As with the first list, this will be multi-chapter.

2. I'm sure what I'm writing about is probably not medically possible. But I'm not a doctor and this is FanFiction. In case that sort of thing bothers you, you should probably stop here.

3. No one dies except the bad guys, I promise. I don't own Bones.

Why, Booth wondered, did the worst always seem to happen in the middle of the night? Brennan turned him down in front of the Hoover, at night. Hannah turned down his marriage proposal, that one was probably for the best, at night. It was the time of nightmares and ghosts and demons. A time he should have been safely in his home, dreaming of better times.

Instead, he nervously paced the carpeted floor, having giving up on sitting. Brennan's colleagues watched him wearily from the chairs. Angela had tried to get him to sit down, but had given up when a glare had been his only response. It was nervous energy keeping most of them going now.

They'd all been in that room for hours, waiting and praying to whatever deity they believed in, that she would be okay. That the doctor and Cam would walk out together with relieved smiles on their faces, and tell him that she wasn't going to die.

That he hadn't gotten her killed.

Desperate to hide from the truth, he tried not to think about the last twelve hours, about the gun battle that had resulted in her injuries. This time, he hadn't been fast enough to step in front of the bullets. He'd only had time to shoot back. Booth had taken a life in order to save one.

He clenched his hands into fists, recalling the feel of them pressing against her chest. Was that the desperation she'd felt, trying to save his life on the floor of that club? That heart stopping fear that when she lost consciousness, he'd never see those blue eyes again.

Bones would tell him it wasn't his fault. Why would they ever think their suspect would step out of the house with a loaded gun? Hell, he hadn't even been considered a suspect at that point. It was just an interview. Something they'd done a thousand times together.

What had they been talking about as he pulled up to the curb? Booth tried to remember, in case it was the last time he heard her voice. Had they argued? Was she angry? Had Bones stormed from the vehicle, not giving him time to get in front of her?

Yes, this was definitely his fault.

Booth looked at the clock again, to see only five minutes had passed since the last time he'd glanced up. How much longer was this going to take?

Two gunshot wounds to the chest. She shouldn't still be alive. Was it shear will that was keeping her on this side of the curtain? He refused to believe she wouldn't be okay, in case his faith was keeping her here.

Bones would tell him that was ridiculous. Booth didn't care.

"Booth," Hodgins said softly, interrupting the train of thoughts. Whirling, Booth realized Cam had stepped into the room while his back was turned. He tried to read her like a suspect; to find out the truth before the words left her lips.

He couldn't do it.

"She's alive," Cam said, but her voice didn't sound relieved. It was weary and filled with stress.

"But," Booth said, knowing there was more.

Cam tilted her head toward the floor. "She lost a lot of blood," she said. Picking her head back up, Cam tried to blink back the tears. "There was a lack of oxygen."

"English," Booth demanded.

Her cap twisted in her hands, Cam nodded. "The next twenty-four hours are critical," she explained, looking at all of them and none of them at the same time. "If she survives the next twenty-four hours, she has a good chance."

The signs were there. Booth could see them and swallowed heavily before confirming what he saw. "You don't expect her to survive, do you?"

Angela gasped, but Booth couldn't turn away from the woman in front of him. "Dr. Brennan is strong," Cam answered, clearly avoiding the question. "She has a better chance than most."

The woman danced from one foot to the other. Should she tell them how many times and for how long Brennan's heart had stopped? Should Cam answer Booth's question with the honesty he deserved and tell him what he suspected was true. Cam didn't expect her to survive the night.

"Cam," Angela whispered. "Is Booth right?"

Knowing Brennan would want nothing less than the truth if the roles were reversed, Cam felt her head begin to nod slowly. "But I didn't expect her to come out of surgery alive," she added. "So the fact that she's made it this far is a huge accomplishment."

For several moments, the only sound in the room was Angela's quiet weeping. Until she took a deep breath and turned to Booth. "It's not your fault."

He was surprised by her declaration. "Of course, it is," he argued, making an effort to hide his own emotions. His voice was flat and empty, resigned to trying to find a way to live his life without her.

"It isn't," the artist argued. Unlike him, her voice was confident in that truth. "And Brennan isn't going to die. I simply won't allow it to happen."

Next to her, Hodgins snorted. Knowing Angela as he did, she probably could keep Brennan alive just by wishing for it. All of them would.

Booth grabbed on to the woman's confidence like a lifeline. "I know she won't," he said, even though he didn't believe it. Belatedly, he wondered at what point he'd fallen to his knees.