AN: The reasons for the delay in posting this include (but are not limited to): an anthropology test, a communications presentation, a paper on climate change, a geography test, a sociology test, and an environmental science test.
- - - - -
Booth would be a liar if he proclaimed to have never wondered what his partner looked like beneath her clothes. Over the course of their partnership it had been the cause of many cold showers and the occasional sleepless night. Sometimes he drove himself to insanity trying not to touch her when they were together. In his opinion, she had one of the best bodies he had ever seen. And then everything changed.
As hard as he tried, he could not banish the sight of her bare stomach from his mind. How could she not realize that she was wasting away? Did she not see it, or did she not care? He remembered uncomfortably how thin her frame had felt when he had moved in for a hug. He could feel the vertebrae in her back, and he had felt as if he could crush her with one arm.
That night had started a long and serious phone web that included himself, Angela, Sweets, Cam, and Hodgins. Each and every one of them had noticed something slightly off about the anthropologist. After some long and serious discussions, they had a plan.
- - - - -
Brennan rose before the sun, and made her way into her bathroom, heading directly to the scales. She had lost weight from the same time last week, but she wanted to lose 5 more pounds. It seemed to her that perfection was always 5 pounds away. She dressed herself in layers and went into the kitchen, where she poured herself a glass of juice. She had recently put herself on a juice cleanse that would last for a week and a half. Consuming nothing but juice at each meal would allow her digestive system a break and would allow the cells of her body to purge whatever nastiness had accumulated there.
True to the adage, March had come in like a lion. The DC area was covered in a slushy, icy mixture. She cranked the heater in her car to its highest setting. Once inside the Jeffersonian, she could feel the cold creeping in. She shivered and put an extra sweater on beneath her blue lab coat. It seemed she had just begun examining the latest set of skeletal remains when Booth appeared at her side.
"What do we have here, Bones?" he asked.
"It is the postcranial remains of a white male, aged 20-25. Based on the antique bullet lodged in the anterior face of the vertebra, it would appear that this is a case for the archaeology department."
"Great. That's one less murderer to catch. I need your report for the Williamson case. Do you have it?" She looked at him.
"I need to finish the full inventory on these remains. The report you're looking for is in the basket on my desk; you can get it yourself." She turned back to the skeleton on the table.
"Bones, I don't want to go through your stuff. Do you think you could just take a minute and get it? Then I can get out of your hair." He flashed her a smile, and she glared at him before snapping off her latex gloves and descending from the platform.
She was aware of him following her into her office. When she noticed the extra people crowded into chairs inside her office she turned to leave, only to find her partner blocking the door. Scanning the familiar faces in her office, she didn't like what she saw. Sadness. Pity. Fear.
"Doctor Brennan, why don't you have a seat," Sweets said, indicating her office chair. She looked from Sweets to Booth and reluctantly sat. "Why do you think we're all here?"
"I don't have any idea. Would you care to explain?" From the corner of her eye, she saw Booth shaking his head.
"We're all here today because we're concerned about you," Sweets said.
"I still don't understand," she insisted. "Why are you all so concerned?"
"The way you've been eating lately," he began.
"That's what this is about?" she exploded.
"Yes. That is exactly what this is about. We've noticed that you've been eating less, and looking a lot thinner. You look unhealthy."
"Guys," she said, scanning each face, "there is nothing wrong with me. I've just lost a little bit of weight. I cut a lot of unnecessary food from my diet. It's natural to lose some weight after that."
"Right," Cam said. "If you didn't look like a skeleton, we wouldn't be concerned with your weight loss. But you look emaciated."
"I do not look emaciated, and my eating habits are fine. In fact, the way I eat really shouldn't concern you at all."
"But it does, Sweetie," Angela answered.
"If you don't mind me asking," Cam ventured, "what are you planning on having for lunch today?"
"I do mind you asking," she replied defensively.
"Bones," Booth said from his position at the door, "just answer the question."
"Grape juice," she answered. The silence in the room was palpable. "I'm on a juice cleanse," she explained. "I'm cleaning out my system and getting rid of the toxins."
"When was the last time you ate solid food," Hodgins couldn't help asking. She looked slightly taken aback.
"Thursday," she mumbled.
"Sweetie, it's Wednesday. When were you planning on eating solid food again?" Angela asked.
"Maybe on Monday," she said quietly.
"Do you understand why we are all so concerned now, Doctor Brennan?" Sweets probed, gently.
"No. I'm healthy, and this is none of your business," she restated.
"Bones," Booth said, walking over to her, "if you're healthy, why don't you go to your doctor and get some blood work done? Provide us with evidence. If you're healthy, then we'll all stop worrying about you." She heard him perfectly, but her image of him was blurry. All of a sudden, her energy was gone. She wanted to leave. She really wanted to go back to bed. Booth was no longer guarding the door. If she could make it home, then they wouldn't bother her. They wouldn't follow her home. That would be harassment.
Booth was concerned when he noticed her eyes all glazed over. She was looking at him, but not really seeing him.
She didn't want anyone to worry over her. She tried to say something in her own defense, but the words died on her lips.
He was about to say something else when she made a move to get out of her chair before slumping back into it, her eyes closed.
"Bones," he said while shaking her gently. She was completely limp and unresponsive. "Bones!" By this point, Angela was on the phone, calling for paramedics.
- - - - -
She woke slowly, noticing the sun coming in softly through slits in the blinds. Shit! She was going to be late for work. Then she made the observation that she was not in her own bed. Making an attempt to sit up, she realized she couldn't. Her arms were restrained, each wrist bound to an edge of a hospital bed. Tugging slightly, she could not free her arms from the restraints. Looking around, she made more observations. Several lines snaked from her arms and up to IV bags. A series of slow and steady beeps came from a machine to the left of her bed. She was the only occupant of the room.
She wondered lazily why she was in a hospital bed. For minutes thoughts drifted lazily through her head. What time was it?
Seeley Booth came through the door to her room carrying a can of soda. He made it all the way to her bedside chair before realizing she was awake. He hastily put the soda on the table to his left before leaning in.
"Hey," he said in a voice suitable for a hospital. "You're awake."
"Mm," she said, unable to sit and meet his eyes. "What time is it?"
"It's almost seven."
"Why am I restrained?"
"Well," he took a deep breath, "you've been unconscious since this morning. They hooked you up to these IVs, and you've managed to remove them twice without even waking up. You really need what's in those bags, so they restrained you so you couldn't tear them out again."
"I don't even remember what happened." She paused "Why am I here?"
"Do you remember what happened in your office this morning?" Her face tightened, so he knew she remembered. "Right. Well, you went unconscious on us, Bones. Your pulse and blood pressure were very low. I think they said your blood pressure was something like 42 over 19, and your pulse was 38."
"I must have overdone it with the juice cleanse. Maybe my body wasn't ready for it." He hesitated for a moment.
"I don't think that's all it is, Bones." He looked at the floor. "You're not healthy, yet you can't see it. Everyone around you can see how you've changed. You're not yourself anymore."
The conversation was the same as in her office that morning. No matter how hard she tried, she wouldn't be able to get out of it.
"I'm sorry you feel like that, Booth, but I haven't changed. I'm the same Bones as always. I'm healthy. I'm fine." It was hard to have a conversation with him and not be able to see his eyes.
"Bones," he started slowly, "you're not healthy. There are test results that prove it. It's indisputable evidence. You're in a hospital, Bones. Healthy people do not pass out. Healthy people do not have blood pressures as low as yours." He let the statement hang in the air. "I don't know how to make you see it."
"I'm just making myself better."
He didn't know what to say. He didn't want to even look at her. Lying in the hospital bed covered only by a thin gown and hospital-issued sheeting, she looked thinner and more fragile than ever. How could she not see what she was doing to herself? She was the smartest person he knew. He felt a deep emotional ache in his heart. What he really wanted to do was get angry at her, but he couldn't do that. He wanted to shout at her until she finally saw what was happening. Instead, he sat in silence next to her bed until he heard her breathing take on the deep rhythmic pattern of sleep. The he silently left the room in search of someone he could talk to.
- - - - -
The next time she woke, it was morning. Her left arm was unrestrained, and a nurse was changing the IV bag.
"Oh. You're awake," she said. "I'm Sarah, your nurse. Let me know if you need anything." Brennan wondered for a second if her nurse had ever been a waitress, but let the thought pass.
"When can I leave? I need to get back to work." The young nurse grimaced.
"I'll get your doctor," she said as she departed the room. Sometime later, a man wearing a white coat walked into her room.
"Hello, Temperance," he said with a smile. He was a man of about fifty years with a caterpillar-like mustache sitting on his top lip. "I'm Doctor Shepherd. The nurse said you have some questions for me?"
"I only have one question: when can I leave?" The doctor clucked his tongue.
"Here's the thing Temperance," he began, "you do not appear healthy. You are drastically undernourished and underweight. Based on your medical facts, I'd like to have you complete a psychiatric evaluation before you can be discharged. If you're feeling up to it, I can have a psychiatrist in here in about an hour, after you eat your breakfast." She nodded and he left the room.
Shortly after the doctor left, Sarah came in with a tray bearing breakfast foods. Everything looked disgusting, and she spent half an hour pushing the food around the plate before the nurse took it away with a sad expression.
She spent the following hours with a psychologist in her mid thirties. The woman, Dr. Avery, asked numerous questions about her childhood, adolescence, her work, her friends, and everything in between. Brennan gave short, noncommittal answers. From her experience with Sweets, she knew that psychologists and psychiatrists believed they could take a single sentence and deduce a lifetime's worth of pain. After her session with Dr. Avery, it was recommended to her that she should seek treatment for an eating disorder.
Her nerves jumped at the mention of an eating disorder. That was wrong. Doctor Avery was wrong. Booth was wrong. Sweets was wrong. They were all wrong. She did not have an eating problem. So she did the only thing she thought was sensible: she signed herself out of the hospital against the doctors' orders and went home on shaky feet.
AN: Reviews, please? They mean a lot to me. Expect the next installment after my paper is in and I have studied some more.