In Search of a Hero

Chapter 8: Dinners and Matchmakers

For a fraction of an instant, the world stood still. Then pandemonium broke out.

Cries of panic and worry filled the air as the impromptu baseball game was forgotten in the mad dash to reach Booth. Brennan left Hank shuffling behind her and arrived just as someone rolled Booth's unresponsive form onto his back.

"Let her through," Hank wheezed as he caught up. "Let her through, she's a doctor."

"I'm not a medical . . ." Brennan bit off the automatic response as the circle around Booth widened to admit her. Despite her lack of a qualified medical degree, she was confident that she had more knowledge of human anatomy than anyone else there. Heedless of the dust and dirt grinding into her skirt, she knelt down.

Her first impression was one of size and brawny masculinity. Impossibly broad shoulders framed a strong, sinew-wrapped torso, and the flex of muscles she'd noticed in his arms was even more obvious in close proximity. Swallowing past a suddenly dry throat, she glanced down the length of the strong male body laid out in front of her.

"Is he dead? He's dead, isn't he? I killed him! I killed Seeley! They're gonna send me to the chair!"

Hank draped an arm around the weeping young batter's shoulder and hugged him close. "Nobody's getting the chair, son," he growled, finally getting his breath back. "If the Nazis can't get Shrimp, then a little thing like a baseball won't either. If anything, you might want to check that ball and see if his head put a dent in it."

"Captain Booth isn't dead," Brennan confirmed. She laid two fingers over the pulse beating under the warm skin of Booth's neck, raised both eyelids to look at his pupils, then lifted his head and ran her hand over the back of his skull. "There's no blood, and his pupils react to light. There's a fairly large contusion on his occipital bone but no fracture that I can feel. He should go to the hospital," she added, looking up at Hank, "but I think it's just a concussion."

The crowd of men and boys shifted uneasily as they repeated Brennan's words to each other. "What's a concussion?" one asked suspiciously.

"It's a minor injury to the brain." When they reacted with alarm, Brennan tried to explain. "The impact of the baseball striking his head probably created a kind of whiplash that pushed his brain against his skull, resulting in a momentary loss of consciousness."

Meant to be reassuring, her words had the opposite effect. Shock and fear swept through the group. "His brain is hurt? Is he going to be able to walk again?"

In other circumstances, Brennan might have laughed. Now, however, she just scanned their anxious faces with a frown. "Yes," she said slowly. "He'll walk again. He may need a few days' rest but if there is no lasting injury he should be fine."

Thankfully, Booth chose that moment to stir. A moan escaped, rumbling beneath Brennan's hand where it rested on his chest. She leaned in, peering closely at his face as he grimaced in pain.

"Captain Booth? Can you hear me? Captain Booth?"

Booth's eyes twitched, then blinked open one by one. His bleary gaze fixed on Brennan, hovering above him and framed by a halo of sunshine. He smiled.

"Well hello, beautiful." Before Brennan had a chance to react, he cupped one hand around the back of her head and brought her lips down to meet his in a searing kiss.

Shock held her immobile for a brief moment before she responded instinctively to the firm touch of his mouth on hers, and the heat radiating from the strong body stretched out beside her. When his tongue traced the seam of her lips, they parted for him with a husky murmur. Her fingers dug into the solid wall of his chest as his tongue swept into her mouth, sending flames skittering through her veins and flooding her senses with the taste of velvet and spice.