Who: Booth and Martha What: waking up in the infirmary. When: after Eliot takes him back to the complex Where: said infirmary. Warnings: tba, none likely
Since Eliot helped him to one of the stations and he first laid down several hours ago, Seeley hadn't moved an inch. Once he was allowed to sleep after being in the free and clear of concussion danger, he fell asleep deeply and didn't wake to sound, movement, light, cleaning, nothing. He came in bloody and miserable. It was obvious some of the blood wasn't his own, he was still alive and breathing when Eliot got him down the stairs, but that didn't mean much. He had slashes across his chest, deep ones. Everything hurt and ached. Walking the short distance from Eliot's truck down to where the doctors were stationed was the most difficult thing he'd done in a while. Every step burned like fire. Every breath stung. Finally in the early morning hours Booth began to stir. After sleeping like the dead his eyes finally began to flicker and open.
He instantly tried to sit up, but it hurt too much. His hand touched his chest and he took in a sharp breath of pure discomfort. His eyes traveled the small in complex clinic and his brows furrowed as he attempted to adjust to the light. "Where am I?" He was slowly becoming more alert, more aware of his surroundings and he looked around for familiar faces. He was groggy and tired, but his reaction timing was returning, and he wanted his gun. First things first he wanted to feel safe. He felt or it, but it wasn't near by. Eliot must have taken it. there was no way he could have held onto it the way he had been at the time. He took in a deep breath and cringed.
His clothes were torn and still stained with demon guts and blood, but his skin was cleaned at least. He could see his own hands and not the blood of some demon. "That was my favorite shirt."