The Nights We Stay Awake (TemperancexReader)

37. "She promised me"

Temperance pov

The afternoon sun filters weakly through the blinds, casting a muted, greyish glow over the clinical space. I sit in the same place beside her as i had two days ago, my chair a hard, unyielding slab that feels like a physical manifestation of my anxiety. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor is both a comfort and a torment, marking time in the midst of uncertainty.

The door creaks open, and Booth, Angela, and Parker enter. Booth's face is lined with fatigue, his eyes shadowed from the strain of recent days. Angela's expression is a blend of concern and exhaustion. Parker follows, his arm in a cast, his face a mixture of hope and trepidation. He holds his wrist gingerly, but his steps are determined as he moves closer to Y/n's bed. Looking at her like she's his hero. But i suppose she is now.

Booth and Angela stand close behind me, their presence a small source of comfort in this sea of anxiety. Booth nods at me, his gaze both lymphatic and weary. "Bones, i brought Parker to see Y/n. He's been asking about her every day since..." He can't even finish his sentence as it brings back memories for us both.

I lift my eyes from Y/n's still form to acknowledge Booth. The effort to maintain a composed demeanour feels herculean, but i manage a nod. "Thanks, i know it would mean a lot to her to have him here."

Angela moves to the side of the room, her eyes quietly observing Y/n with a look of sadness. She keeps a respectful distance, allowing Parker to approach Y/n's bedside. Parker's small frame looks even more fragile under the weight of his broken wrist, but his expression is resolute.

Carefully, Parker takes Y/n's hand in his, his touch gentle and filled with a profound sense of responsibility. Despite the discomfort in his wrist, he handles Y/n's hand with the utmost care, his fingers trembling slightly.

"You promised me," Parker whispers, his voice a soft, trembling murmur. "You said we'd both get out of this. You can't break a promise."

The words hang in the air, a poignant plea that resonates deeply within me. My heart aches as i watch Parker's hopeful gaze fixed on Y/n. His plea, though small, seems to carry the weight of all our fears and hopes. The room feels suspended in time, every breath and movement amplified by the tension that fills the space.

Just then, Y/n's fingers twitch. Her chest rises and falls with a shallow breath, and my heart leaps out of my chest. A sudden flicker of hope ignites within me, but it's quickly overhauled by a surge of panic. The heart monitor's beeping begins to accelerate, its rhythm becoming erratic and chaotic. My pulse quickens as the beeping grows louder, a harsh reminder of how fragile Y/n's condition remains.

The door swings open, and a team of doctors rushes in. their movements are swift and precise, their faces a blend of focus and concern. I'm gently but firmly pushed to the side, unable to intervene as they surround Y/n's bed. Their voices blend into a background hum of medical jargon.

"Her vitals are dropping, pulse is erratic," one doctor says, his tone urgent. "Prepare for possible cardiac intervention if needed."

Booth and Angela stands close to me, their faces a mask of shared concern and horror. Angela's hand finds Booths arm, griping it tightly as they both watch the commotion unfold. Parker clutches to the edge of Y/n's bed, his eyes wide and filled with fear. I see the strain in his young face, the helplessness of watching someone he cares about being fought over by medical professionals.

The doctors work efficiently, their hands moving with practised precision. I hear snippets of their instructions, "Clear her airway," "Check her vitals," and "Monitor her oxygen levels." The sense of urgency is palpable, and my heart feels like ti's racing along with the beeping of the monitor.

Minutes stretch into what feels like an eternity. The beeping gradually stabilises, and the room's atmosphere begins to shift from frantic to cautiously optimistic. The doctors step back, their faces showing signs of surprise but fatigue. One of them turns to us, her expression a mix of exhaustion and hope.

"She's stabilised for now," the doctor says, her voice softer but still professional. "We'll continue to monitor her closely. I just want you to know that she reacted like that to the ventilator, it seems like she's starting to wake up. And her vitals are growing steadier."

A collective breath of relief escapes the room. Booth, Angela, and Parker visibly relax, their shoulders sagging with the release of tension. Parker's gaze remains fixed on Y/n, a glimmer of hope breaking through his worried expression.

"Thank you," i manage to say, my voice a whisper of gratitude. "Thank you for everything."

The doctor nods, offering a small, reassuring smile. "We're here to help. We'll keep a close watch on her and provide updates as needed."

As the medical team leaves, i return to Y/n's side, resuming my seat by her bed. I take her hand gently, my fingers brushing agastin hers with a tenderness that belies my inner turmoil. Her fingers feel warmer now, the finests sign of life returning.

Parker stands nearby, his gaze fixed on Y/n. His small, broken wrist is a stark reminder of the recent events, but his focus is unwavering. "She's really tough, isn't she?" he asks quietly.

I nod, my own emotions raw and close to the surface. "She is. She's the strongest person i know."

The room settles into a fragile calm. The earlier chaos has given way to a tentative peace, and i cling to the hope that this stability will be a sign of progress. The journey ahead is daunting, but in this moment, with Y/n's breathing steady and her pulse strong, there's a glimmer of hope that we can all hold onto.

As i sit beside Y/n, holding her hand and watching over her, i'm reminded of the promises made and the strength required to see them through. The road to recovery will be long, but with every breath Y/n takes, i feel a small measure of reassurance. Even as that guilt presses down on my chest, the guilt that says it's all my fault.