It Had To Be You

Co-created by Labsquint and FauxMaven
Written by Labsquint
Edited by FauxMaven

A/N: Fauxmaven and Gib and I had some interesting conversations following the airing of episode 100, 'The Parts in the Sum of the Whole'. First of all, our reaction to what we saw in the episode was a little different from some viewers and it was very negatively oriented towards Brennan. This, in turn, became a discussion on the (as Gib so succinctly put it) 'Brennan pity party' that we so often see in canon, and, more than that, in fanfic. Booth always goes along with it and takes care of her in every way that he can, but what if he was the wronged party this time, and what if he finally aired some of his views about that issue to her? It wouldn't make for smooth sailing, that's for sure. So we decided to take a different fork in the road on this ep tag than most people were taking and play devil's advocate for a little while. This piece is the result.

The title of this piece is 'It Had To Be You'. 'It Had To Be You' was a song written and published in 1924 by Isham Jones and Gus Khan. It's a very well known song and has appeared in such movies as Casablana and Annie Hall, and has been performed by jazz greats such as Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong, Harry Connick Jr. and Michael Bublé. In this story, the title refers to what most Bones viewers have recognized from the beginning ― for Brennan and Booth, there is no one else but each other.

Thanks to FauxMaven for going above and beyond on this one. The original version of this story was 3,000 words shorter than the final version and she had to painstakingly pull those extra scenes out of me until we had the complete and coherent story that we have now. Besides skilfully brandishing her whip and chair for the temperamental artiste writer, she also did a marathon 2 a.m. edit last night to get this piece into shape and came up with the title to boot. You're pretty tired today, FM, and likely mainlining caffeine, but both I and the readers very much appreciate all your efforts! And this time, that's really saying something…

Rating: Strong T

Disclaimer: Bones and all the characters therein are owned by FOX, Hart Hanson and Kathy Reichs.

---

Thursday; 8:54 p.m.
Washington, D.C; J. Edgar Hoover Building

Fear flooded Brennan, washing over her like an ice-cold wave. "No. NO!" She pushed him away, her hands braced against the solid wall of his chest.

But Booth wouldn't let her go, his hands at her waist, clutching the fabric of her coat as panic surged through him. He had to get through to her. "Why? WHY?"

She could still taste the desperation and the pent-up longing behind his kiss. She'd lost herself in him for a split second. For that moment in time, she'd almost been able to believe, almost been able to convince herself that he was right. But then it all came crashing back — all the men she had tried to love; and all of them had left her.

They went because there wasn't enough in her to hold them. Once they came to know her, to really know her, they understood just how empty she was; then they left.

She couldn't risk that with this man. The loss of Booth from her life might end her. He wanted to show her 'happily-ever-after', but she couldn't let that image form in her mind. Because if she did, she'd be mourning the loss of what could have been as well as the loss of the man. And she wasn't sure she'd be able to survive that.

"You… you thought you were protecting me but you're the one who needs protecting."

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Protecting from what?" FBI Supervisory Special Agent Booth didn't need protection. He was the one who did the protecting.

"From me." She swallowed roughly, pulling in a breath that felt like shards of ice flooding her lungs. "I don't have your kind of open heart." The sob building in her chest nearly broke free as her voice cracked brokenly on the final words.

Booth felt desperation starting to rise. He was losing her; she was starting to slip through his fingers like mist and he couldn't hold on. "Just give it a chance, that's all I'm asking." He knew he was close to begging but he had to risk everything. He was the gambler and this was a 'no limit' game.

All or nothing.

"You said it yourself — the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different outcome." Her words came too fast now, each nearly flowing over the next in a rush to break free. But who was she trying to convince?

"Well, then let's go for a different outcome here. Just hear me out, alright?" His tone was calm, but the panic behind it was starting to leach through. "You know when you talk to older couples who have been in love for thirty or forty or fifty years. It's always the guy who said 'I knew'." He locked gazes with her, desperately trying to convince her. "I knew, right from the beginning."

She shook her head, trying to convince him in terms that only she might understand."Your evidence is anecdotal."

"I'm that guy." His hands locked around her upper arms, holding tight, as if the force of his touch could convince her of what he felt so strongly. "Bones, I'm that guy. I know."

She averted her eyes, drawing in a ragged breath, her head jerking with small tremors. "I…" She forced herself to look up, to meet his eyes. His look of shattered desperation cut her deeply, but she forced herself to go on; she owed him that much. "I am not a gambler. I'm a scientist." Unconsciously, her tone became strident. How could she convince him that she couldn't take the risk because she already knew the result? When he left all that would remain of her was a brittle shell. "I can't change. I don't know how." Tears were in her throat, in her voice. A single crystal drop finally broke free and carved a silver trail down her cheek. "I don't know how."

The defeat in her voice nearly distracted him from his own pain. He automatically started to lift his hand to wipe the tear from her cheek. Then he realized that he didn't have the right to touch her anymore.

She didn't want him. He'd taken the gamble, he'd bet everything and he'd lost.

His hands fell away from her to hang limply at his sides. Struggling to keep his face blank and not disgrace himself further, Booth started to turn away.

"Please, don't look so sad."

Don't look so sad? Didn't she realize that she'd just ripped his heart right out of his chest? "All right." He gave a heavy sigh as he stepped back to lean against the concrete half-wall. He needed space away from her; space to gather himself so that he could draw a breath that wasn't full of fire. Space where his heart could learn how to beat again, because he was sure it must have stopped. "You're right." He gave a careless shrug, trying for nonchalance. "You're right." There was heartbreak in his tone, and surrender to a foe he could not beat.

Brennan leaned back against the wall beside him, careful not to let her arm brush against him. She felt cold right down to her bones. She wanted him to put his arm around her and warm her body with his own; but her refusal meant that was no longer a possibility. She tried to read his expression, but his bowed head blocked her view. Desperation made her voice her deepest fear. "Can we still work together?"

The plaintive tone in her voice made him look up. She was so very pale, her eyes ice blue in the dim light. Eyes flooded with both tears and absolute terror of what his answer might be.

No. It was what he wanted to say, what he needed to say. But he saw the pain in her eyes, and the fear that once again she'd be alone. And he realized that he loved her too much to take everything away from her. He could manage the pain of seeing her daily and loving her quietly from afar, knowing that he couldn't have her; but he couldn't be simply one more person to leave her.

He would do it because she needed him to. Because that's what love was.

She shifted restlessly, her eyes imploring him for the only answer she could survive.

"Yeah." The single word was coated with defeat. He couldn't look at her, focusing instead on the miserable, cloudy sky. It seemed appropriate — the clouds and the darkness mirrored the blackness of his mood.

"Thank you."

He pulled in a shaken breath. "But I've got to move on." He watched her standing beside him with her eyes downcast. "I've got to find someone who's going to love me in thirty years. Or forty or fifty." Because you can't. Or won't. The words were unspoken, but they both heard them.

She saw him wipe away the single tear that shimmered on his lashes, and that small gesture hurt more than his words. She'd done this. The pain of knowing that she caused him such misery was nearly crippling. He would stay in her life, but it would never be the same for either of them. "I know."

This was the end. She would stand back and watch as he moved on with his life, while she remained mired in place. Letting him go would be her greatest act of love, but he would never know it.

She sniffed audibly, suddenly pushing off from the wall. She needed to go home and find a place where she could curl up and lick her wounds, alone. Because that was how it had to be from now on. They would both be safer that way.

She took two steps, the sharp click of her heels against the wet concrete seeming overly loud in the oppressive silence. She'd done enough damage, crushed enough dreams; she would allow him his dignity.

Booth looked up in surprise as she started to walk away. He could see what she was doing — she'd made her choice and she was leaving now. She would no longer feel welcome, and she wanted to be the one to leave; then she wasn't the one left behind.

He caught up to her, seeing surprise in her eyes as they walked across the mall.

She bumped shoulders with him in a weak attempt at their former camaraderie. And then, because she simply couldn't help it, she wound her arm through his and dropped her head against his shoulder as they walked. "I'm sorry…" Her broken words whispered against the collar of his trench coat. "I'm so sorry."

For just a moment Booth let his head drop and rested his cheek on the crown of her head. He couldn't speak, but he let himself feel close to her one last time.

The Capitol Building and the Washington Monument glowed bright white in the distance against the darkness. Booth kept his eyes fixed on familiar landmarks, struggling for control when they blurred through his tears.

He led her down the last flight of steps down to Pennsylvania Avenue where he took his hand out of his pocket, letting her arm drop. Stepping out into traffic, he raised his arm, silently flagging a cab. When it pulled up to the curb, he wordlessly opened the door for her.

She looked at him questioningly, her eyes still damp, her gaze darting from the open cab door to his carefully blank expression. "Are you… are you coming too?"

"No."

"Booth, I—"

He held up a hand and her words died unspoken. "Bones, we've said it all. It's time for you to go home." They both heard the words he didn't say — I need you to go.

Stricken, she looked at him for a moment before wordlessly climbing into the cab. He closed the door and then stepped back onto the curb.

Brennan turned around to look at him as the cab pulled away. Booth stood on the curb, his hands jammed in the pocket of his trench coat. But for the first time in her memory, he looked small. Her vision blurred and his image disappeared into a smear of light and darkness and tears.

Booth stood silently watching the cab until it rounded the corner onto 10th Street.

"Goodbye, Bones."

Gordon Wyatt's words suddenly sounded in his head.

May I counsel patience in this front. Hope and patience.

Booth gave a small rough laugh of derision. Sweets had convinced him that the time for patience was over, so he'd thrown the dice. The hope that Gordon Gordon has counseled now lay in shattered ruins at his feet.

It was over.

He turned and looked back towards the Hoover building, but he couldn't bear to go inside. Hunching his shoulders against the gathering chill, Booth set off down the street with no particular destination in mind.

When it started to rain, the water from the sky washed away the dampness on his cheeks, and gave him the privacy he needed to start grieving.

---

Thursday, four weeks later; 7:36 p.m.
Washington, D.C; J. Edgar Hoover Building

Booth leaned back in his desk chair, staring at the pile of paperwork on his desk.

In the old days, he and Brennan would have tackled this pile together, holed up at the Jeffersonian with the papers spread out across the table and them sitting side-by-side on her couch, companionably chatting while they signed and initialed.

They still worked cases together, but Booth hadn't counted on how difficult it would be to be so near Brennan while keeping his distance. The first week was awkward, but they both tried hard to make things as normal as possible. No mention was made of that night outside the Hoover.

But Booth purposely minimized their time together. The sound of her voice and the scent of her perfume were like physical blows, leaving him bleeding in the aftermath. So while Brennan would have happily helped with the paperwork, Booth simply didn't ask for assistance. He chose instead to stay late and do the job by himself in the silence of his office.

His urge to gamble had never been stronger.

Booth understood that it was his brain's reaction to the stress and loneliness in his life, but he fought it desperately. He called his sponsor when the urge became strong. He talked to Father Mike, his parish priest, when the need to feel dice or cards or a pool cue in his hand started to overwhelm him. He avoided Sweets like the plague because he knew the young man would be able to see right through him. He knew he was miserable and he didn't need anyone else pointing out the obvious to him.

Slowly, Booth made it through one day at a time, because right now that was all he could manage. One day at a time, but it was no way to live.

He dropped his pen on the blotter and rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. Giving a small sigh, he thought about the step he was going to take tomorrow night.

After months of Charlie's hints and nagging about a 'friend of the family who was perfect for him', Booth had finally given in and let him arrange a date with one of the forensic accountants at the Department of Justice. It had been a month now since Brennan had made it clear that they didn't have a romantic future together; if Booth was going to move on, he needed to actually start walking.

The heart chooses what it chooses, doesn't it? We don't really have any say in the matter.

"Get out of my head, Gordon Gordon," he growled to the empty room. He remembered his response to that statement — 'She doesn't love me'. And he'd been right. Wyatt had been so sure that Brennan would come around; but either she didn't love him or she was too scared to take the leap with him. Either way it didn't matter because they weren't together. Wouldn't be together.

What if he never got over her?

That was the sticking point wasn't it? He told her he was going to be moving on. The only problem was that he wasn't sure that he was actually ready to go.

You've got to try. There's no future with Bones; it's time to make a future with someone else. You're not getting any younger.

He picked up his pen again and pulled over the next stack of documents.

---

Friday; 3:05 p.m.
Washington, D.C; Jeffersonian Institution

Brennan sat in her office, retyping the same line of text into the draft of a new journal article. Over and over ― delete, reword, and delete again ― before finally giving up and closing the lid of her laptop in disgust. Leaning back in her chair, she stared at the ceiling over her head, fighting the tears that threatened to well up. So often now, she found herself on the verge of tears for no reason.

It wasn't working.

She knew Booth was trying, but it was as if the joy had gone out of him. He put on a cheerful face, bouncing into her office in the morning, or jovially bellowing her name from the platform — Bones! We've got a case. Chop! Chop! — but he wasn't fooling her. His spirit was gone.

He never touched her now. He kept his hands in his pockets more often than not, as if to remind himself that she was off limits. He was still courteous and never failed to hold the door open for her, but his hand never rode at the small of her back. There were no more guy hugs. It was as if he thought that when he touched her his restraint might fail.

But the loneliness was the worst of all.

He was perfectly friendly and businesslike at work and they acted just as they always had. But it was the between moments where she felt the loss of him most keenly. There were no more shared lunches at the diner — he grazed at the break room vending machine; she didn't eat at all. There were no more take out dinners at his place or hers while they slogged through piles of paperwork; she never saw paperwork anymore, so she could only assume he now chose to do that chore alone. There were no impromptu drop-ins at her apartment. No social phone calls.

Brennan had never realized before how much time they spent in each other's company and what a grounding force Booth had been in her life. She was again living as she had lived before he entered her life, except that now she realized that it was an empty existence.

The loss of Booth, even though he was still her partner, was a gaping wound.

So she worked.

She spent extra hours in the lab, identifying remains in limbo. She volunteered to teach extra courses for colleagues. She wrote frequently in her spare time, but she threw away more material than she kept. The light had gone out of Kathy and Andy, just as it had gone out of Booth.

Her most telling moment happened the night before.

She had called one of her previous sexual partners. She hadn't engaged in sexual intercourse for months — or was it years? — and after weeks of stress and loneliness she thought that a sweaty sexual encounter was exactly the release that she needed. It had been wonderful to feel a man's hands on her body again; but to her dismay and embarrassment, she found that arousal eluded her. In a last desperate attempt, she had closed her eyes, fantasizing that it was Booth who was moving inside her. But it was the wrong voice that whispered in her ear and the wrong body under her hands. Finally she had faked an orgasm to hide her embarrassment at the lack of response to a partner who used to leave her feeling more than satisfied.

The experience left her feeling emptier and lonelier than before. And it was only after he left that she realized that she'd subconsciously chosen a man with dark eyes and dark hair for the encounter.

Coward. You could have had him. You could have had it all. Booth offered it to you and you turned him down.

Slapping her hands down on her desk, she abruptly stood. She didn't want to think about this anymore. Maybe Hodgins had the data pertaining to—

"Dr. Brennan?"

She looked up to see Sweets standing in her doorway. "Dr. Sweets." What was he doing here? She hadn't seen him since… since that night.

"Can I come in?"

"Actually I was just going to go see Dr. Hodgins about the evidence in the—"

Sweets smoothly cut her off. "I really think we should talk. I won't take much of your time."

She narrowed her eyes at him. They had avoided any counseling sessions since that night four weeks ago, claiming caseload and busy court schedules. Is that why he had sought her out? Instead of moving to sit with him on the couch, she purposefully sat back down at her desk, keeping it between them.

Sweets took a seat opposite her, sitting back in the chair and steepling his fingertips against his lips as he stared at her in silence for a moment. "You and Booth have been avoiding me," he stated flatly.

"Not at all," she contradicted. "We've had to cancel some appointments because of our court schedule and several new cases that we've taken on in the last few weeks, but we'll reschedule when we're free."

"No, you're avoiding me. You, maybe not so much, but Booth, absolutely. He's not returning my phone calls. He's always busy or just picking up the phone when I stop by his office. And he saw me coming down the hallway yesterday and made a detour so fast that he almost walked into the women's restroom." He dropped his hands and abruptly leaned forward. "I can't talk to him, so I thought I'd talk to you instead. What happened that night after you left my office?"

She was good at covering her emotions, but one for brief moment he saw fear in her eyes. Then it was gone.

"Nothing happened that night. You're putting too much credence in your own skills. Booth and I explained the situation to you and then we both went home."

"No discussion afterwards over dinner?"

Her flat gaze held his. "We didn't go to dinner; and what would there be to discuss?"

He shook his head. "That's not answering the question and you know it."

"That's the only answer you're going to get."

Sweets blew out a long breath, rife with frustration. Then he stood. "I don't believe for a second that nothing happened that night. You may be coping just fine but Agent Booth is not managing quite so well." He saw her eyes snap wide at that. Gotcha.

"Why would you say that?"

"Take a good look at him next time you see him. He looks like he's not sleeping and I know for a fact that he's working way more overtime than he ever has before. He also looks like he could use a decent meal. At this point I think he's surviving on coffee and Cheetos from the break room vending machine." He walked to the office door, only to turn and level his gaze at the woman behind the desk. Brennan had gone pale and concern for her partner was clear on her face. "But you tell me that there's nothing wrong, so I'll have to take your word for it. Too bad that the evidence doesn't support your claims." He started turn away. "I want you two in my office next week for a session; I don't care what your schedules look like. Make time or I'll put you both on report." Without a backwards glance, he strode from her office.

Brennan sat back in her chair, her eyes still fixed on the now empty doorway. You may be coping just fine but Agent Booth is not managing quite so well.

Is it working for you, Brennan? The loneliness, the isolation? Is this what you wanted? Is this better? Booth's suffering too… Does that make you feel better?

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to shut off the rush of her own thoughts.

No one else has ever shown you that he loved you as Booth did. He was willing to take the ultimate gamble because he thought you were worth it and you turned him down.

You made a mistake that night. Do you have the courage to say that to him? To tell him that fear held you back, made you run? Fear of rejection, fear of losing him. Well, you've lost him anyway because you never took that chance.

Coward.

She bent her head, burying her face in her hands, the wetness on her cheeks a surprise to her. She couldn't go on this way. Living minute to minute, just trying to survive. She was punishing both of them.

You can fix this.

Her head came up. She didn't know if she had the courage to fix this.

Only you can fix this. He won't come back to you; you hurt him too badly. If you want him, you have to fight for him. Are you brave enough to do that? To admit that you were wrong and that you want him? To admit that you need him to teach you how to love him for thirty or forty or fifty years?

She took a deep breath and pushed back from her desk to stand on trembling legs.

She could do it. She could meet him half way.

---

Friday; 8:47 p.m.
Arlington; Booth's apartment

Standing outside his door, Brennan took a deep breath.

He gambled, Brennan. He took a chance and put it all out there for you and you broke his heart. If you think there might be any chance, you have to be the one to bridge the gap now.

She straightened up, squaring her shoulders and knocked sharply on the door three times. Then she stood in the quiet hallway with her heart in her throat.

The door suddenly opened in front of her and there he was. "Bones! What's wrong?" There was surprise in his tone and in his eyes, concern for his partner dropping by so late in the evening.

Nerves propelled her through the door, walking past him into the foyer, turning around to speak without greeting. "I can't do this anymore, Booth. We are working together but it's just not the same. We never see each other and I'm not sure we could even describe what we have anymore as friendship. And I miss you and…" She forced herself to stop rambling and to breathe. "I'm not doing this right."

In frustration and embarrassment, her gaze fell to the floor in front of her.

And everything stopped.

On the floor at her feet, just inside the door, was a pair of women shoes, one narrow-heeled black pump tipped over sideways to lie beside its mate.

Her heart froze in her chest as his words flood back to her. I've got to move on. I've got to find someone who'll love me.

Brennan's head snapped up, her horrified eyes taking in every detail she'd been in too big a rush to see.

Booth, dressed in soft, faded blue jeans, his shirt unbuttoned and the shirttails hanging loose, and his hair slightly mussed. Open takeout containers were spread across the coffee table, with two pairs of chopsticks visible sticking out of the cartons. Two wineglasses on the table, both empty. The soft sound of a saxophone coming from the stereo system. The gorgeous redhead on his couch, her hair in disarray over her shoulders and her blouse unbuttoned. Her red lipstick was slightly smeared.

Brennan gasped as shock was quickly followed by a heated rush of humiliation.

I've got to move on. I've got to find someone who'll love me.

Booth had moved on and here was all the proof that she needed. He had a woman in his apartment and she'd interrupted a moment of intimacy.

She was too late. She'd waited too long and now she was too late.

Brennan whirled, giving Booth only a glimpse of pale cheeks and glassy eyes as she pushed past him. "I'm sorry, I'm interrupting. You're busy…" It was all she could manage as she fled out the door and down the hallway, ignore his shout behind her to stop. She flew down the stairs and burst through the firedoor into the chill night air.

She stumbled off the front step and for a moment stood motionless on the sidewalk, her chest heaving and her heart pounding. Her hand came up to cover her mouth to hold in the strangled sob threatening to escape.

It's like you two missed your moment, and then you punished each other.

And continued to punish each other.

She couldn't stay here. Once again she'd lost and this time she had no one to blame but herself. In the past, it had been easy to lay the blame on others — Sully left because he needed to see the world. Graham Hastings had clearly been insane after murdering his brother. Michael Stires couldn't handle her rise to fame because it might have cast him into shadow. But this time there was no one else to blame. Booth had laid himself bare to her and she turned him down; and by the time she realized that she'd made a mistake, it was too late.

She'd lost everything.

Brennan hurried down the street towards her car. She dug into her pocket for her keys, fumbling them in her haste, only to drop them to the ground below. To her horror she heard them hit something metal and then a second later, the sound of a splash from beneath the street. She quickly looked down to see a metal sewer grate under her feet.

Frustrated, angry tears filled her eyes and she had to struggle not to sob. She reached into her pocket for her cell phone. Not there. Her head snapped up and she stared through her car window seeing her phone sitting on the passenger seat, feeling herself start to crumble. She was miles from home with no car, no way of calling for a cab, no money to take the Metro… She dashed away an errant tear and turned towards Washington. She could always walk back since she had no other choice—

"Damn it, Bones. Stop!" A rough hand grasped her upper arm, spinning her around. She automatically pushed back with both hands, her hands landing on his naked chest inside the open shirt.

"Let me go!" She pushed again, hearing the sound of his sudden exhalation as his lungs compressed.

But he wouldn't let go; he grasped both of her arms and tried to look into her face. Humiliated, she bowed her head, staring at her hands still resting on his chest. She realized that Sweets was right — she could feel his ribs, could see them so clearly under the cover of his skin―

"Bones, look at me." His voice was sharp and she shook her head in stubborn refusal. She heard his sigh of frustration before he spoke again, trying to moderate his tone. "Temperance, please. You came here to see me tonight, but you didn't even stay long enough to say why."

"You were busy. Look, Booth, I've interrupted your evening and you've got someone waiting for you." She hated the tears that clogged her throat and the way her voice shook. Hadn't she been humiliated enough tonight? She would not allow herself to break down in front of him. "You should go up and I'm going to go home and I'll see you for the next case."

"Not a damned chance." He gave her a small shake of frustration. "What did you come to say?"

She simply shook her head and looked away.

He dropped his hands and took a step backwards from her. "Look, you and I need to talk, but this isn't the place and I've got a guest. Why don't I meet you for lunch tomorrow at the diner and we'll talk?"

"I need to call a cab." The words were low, embarrassed.

"What?"

Her head snapped up and he saw the angry, humiliated tears in her eyes. "I dropped my keys down the grate—" She watched his eyes drop to the grate at their feet. "—so I need to call a cab to take me home. My phone's in the car."

"I haven't got my cell on me." Booth glanced down at himself and self-consciously started to button his shirt. "I just grabbed some shoes before running out here. Come back and I'll call you a cab."

Her eyes went wide. "Back to your apartment? But you've got—"

"My date's there, yes. The evening's already interrupted; making one phone call to be sure you get home safely is no big deal." He saw her jaw clench in reluctance, so he carefully took her arm and pulled her along the sidewalk. "Come on."

They walked back up to his apartment in silence, Booth pushing open his front door and letting Brennan precede him inside. They came face-to-face with Booth's date just inside the door. Her hair was neatly twisted back in a knot, her blouse was properly buttoned and she was sliding her feet into her shoes.

"I'm going to go, Seeley. Thank you for a lovely evening."

Booth stepped away from Brennan. "Are you sure? We just came up to call a cab. Bones dropped her keys down a grate and—"

The redhead shook her head. "No, I'm going to go. You have some things to work out here." She reached up on tiptoe, pressing a kiss to Booth's jaw. "Goodnight."

Averting her eyes, Brennan stepped into the kitchen to call the cab, but couldn't help hearing Booth's low murmur of goodbye to his guest. Then she heard the door close with a quiet click. "The cab will be here in about ten minutes." Brennan couldn't quite meet his eyes. "I'm sorry that I interrupted your date. I won't do it again."

"Why did you come?" he asked bluntly.

Brennan's gaze shifted away from him. "It doesn't matter." It doesn't matter anymore.

"You know, Bones, does it ever occur to you that this is why your relationships don't work out?"

She looked up in surprise, shocked to hear the anger in his voice. "My… my relationships?"

Booth found that he needed to step away from her. Now that she was standing in his apartment, he was surprised that the only emotion he felt was anger. He was angry with Brennan for the pain she caused and because she wouldn't give them a chance. He was angry with himself for giving up so easily that night.

"Your lack of communication. You came roaring over here tonight because you had to talk to me. But it didn't quite go the way that you wanted. I wasn't here alone; I was with someone else. So now, even though Kristen's gone, you won't talk to me. And I get to be one more notch on your bedpost of people who've left you, don't I?" Some part of him knew that the anger that he was feeling was unreasonable and simply an emotional reaction to the embarrassment of the evening; but he was so tired that he just couldn't stop.

"You can be pretty quick to play the abandonment card sometimes, Bones. You use it as a shield to stand behind when you don't want to take responsibility for the messy parts of relationships. You're comfortable being inflexible and having your men walk to the beat of your drum. And if they don't fall into line and march to your tune, they either have to leave or you drive them away. And then you carve another notch on your bedpost." He glanced over at Brennan, only to see that she'd gone sheet white and was staring at him unblinkingly. "That's part of being an adult in an adult relationship, Bones. Give and take. It can't always be 'my way or the highway'. There has to be room to compromise."

With effort, Brennan held her ground, brutally tamping down on the need to bolt out the door with her hands over her ears so she couldn't hear his hurtful words. She simply stared at him in shock, wishing that she'd never come. It had been such a mistake to come here.

"I understand that you had a crappy time after your parents left you. The foster system is rough, no doubt about it. But I want you to think about something, Bones. Other people have crappy childhoods. And some of us got hit with it when we were much younger than you were, and much less capable of dealing with it. But we learned how to deal with it and didn't let it rule our lives and our actions. I'm not saying that it's not hard, but you don't always have to use the past as an excuse for when you screw up. Yes, you're human, and yes, you make mistakes; everybody does. But part of being an adult is 'fessing up' to those mistakes. Saying 'Yes, I screwed up and I'm sorry'. It's not easy, but that's what adults do instead of hiding behind excuses or running away. Because sometimes excuses just don't cut it."

Brennan silently turned away and walked to the front door, pulling it open. She stopped in the open doorway, her eyes fixed on the opposite wall. "Thank you for letting me use your phone," she said quietly. Then she was gone, the door closing behind her with a quiet click.

"Damn it." Booth ran his hands through his hair in frustration. He hadn't meant to say those things, but when his temper boiled over he hadn't been able to stop. Usually he was very careful with what he said to Brennan, but this time he simply spoke his mind.

He gaze traveled over the take out containers on his coffee table and he thought about his train wreck of an evening with a shake of his head. His date hadn't gone how he planned it, and he'd torn a strip off his partner.

The evening couldn't have been worse.

---

Saturday, 11:02 a.m.
Arlington; Booth's apartment

Booth was standing in his kitchen, wearing only a low-slung pair of pajama bottoms and pouring his third cup of coffee for the morning when the kitchen phone rang. He set down the carafe and walked over to the old, Bakelite wall phone to pick up the handset. "Booth."

"Hi." It was Brennan's voice, full of uncertainty. "It's me."

Booth felt guilt wash over him. He'd meant what he'd said to her the night before, but he was uneasy about how he had gone after her so brutally. "Hey."

There was a long pause while the phone line hummed between them. Then they both spoke at once.

"Look, Bones—"

"Booth, I—"

They both stopped abruptly and the line hummed again for a moment.

Finally Booth spoke. "Go ahead, Bones. You called me."

"Yes, I did." Now that she had called, she found herself unreasonably nervous. Come on, Brennan. Show some backbone. "What are you doing this afternoon?"

"Nothing," he said slowly. "Why?"

"My publisher gave me tickets to the Capitals game this afternoon and I want to know if you'd like to go with me?"

Booth's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "With you?"

"Yes."

"This is a switch, Bones. Usually if you have tickets you just give them to me."

Brennan was silent for a minute. Was he asking her to give them to him so that he could take Kristen?

"Bones?"

"Yes?"

"You called about tickets? You're asking me to go with you?"

Brennan took a deep breath, bracing for his negative response. "Yes."

"I'd love to go to the game with you."

"You would?" She couldn't keep the surprise out of her voice.

"Sure, why not? I'll have to come and get you though; your car's still here."

She'd forgotten about that. "Oh, of course."

"Then afterwards I'll bring you back here so you can get it. You've got a spare set of keys, right?"

"Yes."

"Then it's a date."

For a moment, there was silence at his choice of words before Brennan broke it. "Can you pick me up at two? The game starts at four"

"Sure. I'll see you then. Thanks, Bones."

"You're welcome."

Booth hung up the phone and then stood for a moment in silence.

She'd invited him out. Was this her way of extending an olive branch?

He felt hope fill him for the first time in weeks.

---

Saturday, 8:15 p.m.
Arlington; Booth's apartment

They burst through the door of his apartment, laughing.

"That was really great, Bones. I had a great time. Thanks for taking me."

She smiled back at him. "It was fun. I didn't think that I'd enjoy the game but it was actually quite entertaining. Thank you for coming with me."

"My pleasure." He shrugged out of his jacket, hanging it on the coat tree by his door. "Can I get you something before you go? Beer? Coffee?"

"Coffee would be nice."

He indicated the living room. "Go ahead and have a seat. I'll put the coffee on and be out in a minute."

"Actually, I'd like to come with you if that's okay." She met his eyes. "I'd like to talk to you."

Uh oh, here it comes, he thought. It took a while but she's got something to say about last night's tirade. Well, you got to state your case; I guess it's only fair that she get to make her argument.

"Sure," he said simply.

Brennan followed him into the kitchen, taking a seat at his kitchen table while Booth moved around the kitchen. She watched him measure coffee into a new filter. "I wanted to talk to you about what you said last night."

Here it comes. "Yes?"

"I thought about it a lot last night and I wanted you to know that you're right."

"I'm… what?"

The look on his face was almost comical, but the sudden nervousness that washed over her kept her from smiling. "You're right. You were pretty harsh last night, but when I forced myself to really examine your argument in detail, I found that I could not fault your logic."

Booth sat down across from her at the table. "Maybe I was right, Bones, but I think I could have delivered the message differently. I'm sorry for that."

"No," she snapped. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Apologize to spare my feelings. I deserved every word you said to me last night. Sometimes you're too kind to me." He opened his mouth to speak and she held up a hand, halting his words. "I came over last night because I wanted to talk to you."

He simply waited while she paused, his eyes fixed on her face.

She stared at him and there was something in the calm depth of his gaze that reassured her. You have to meet him half way. She took a deep breath for courage. "I can't do this anymore. I'm only half a person since you pulled away." She stopped abruptly and held up a hand. "No, that's wrong. I pushed you away first, you only pulled back in response. You talk to me but only about case-related issues. You come by the lab, but only when a case requires it." She paused, pulling in a shaky breath. "You don't touch me."

He heard the unspoken words and the longing in her voice. She'd been alone for so long and he'd bridged that gap. He was the one to hold her when she cried, to reassure her with a hand on her shoulder, or to reach across the table to touch her hand. When he'd stopped touching her, there had been no one to take his place. Infants who were rarely touched fail to thrive; human beings simply needed to be touched. He never thought that his attempt to separate himself from her in self-defense might hurt her so much.

He touched her then, taking both of her hands in his, feeling her fingers clutch his tightly. "What are you saying, Bones?"

For a moment, she dropped her head forward so that he couldn't see her eyes. "I miss you. I miss us. And when I walked in here last night and found you with another woman, it affected me much more than I would have anticipated."

"I told you that I was going to have to move on," he reminded her gently. "You didn't want me."

"I was such a fool," she murmured.

He let go of one of her hands to tip her face up to him. "Kristen was a very nice girl, but I had one very significant problem with her." When her eyes finally met hers, he saw the beginnings of hope in them. "She wasn't you. I really tried to get into her—"

"I could see that," Brennan muttered.

"That's not what I mean and you know it; although it was certainly on her mind." He gave a self-deprecating chuckle. "You don't need to feel bad; it wasn't going that well anyway. My… uh, Rump-springer got called because of rain."

She looked at him sharply. "That's Rumspringa. Why would weather have anything to do with a Rumspringa? And you're not Amish, Booth."

Booth shook his head at her and quelled the urge to roll his eyes. "Too literal, Bones. What I meant was that she was getting into it. Way into it. She would have had me undressed in about five more minutes if you hadn't interrupted us." He met her eyes. "Which might have been extremely embarrassing for me, if you get my drift."

She looked confused for a moment, then understanding dawned. "Embarrassing for you because you were not sufficiently stimulated sexually to produce the required erection."

He winced. "God, Bones, do you have to do that? Just let me say that there is nothing wrong with my equipment. It had everything to do with my partner."

"I know that feeling," she muttered.

He looked at her curiously, but continued, thinking that it was probably better that he didn't know. "I couldn't do it because she wasn't you." To her surprise, he laid his hand over the skin bared by the neckline of her blouse. "How can I move on when my heart is here?" He let his hand drop, his fingers skimming over her skin.

She felt the shiver his touch caused all the way down to her toes.

"But it might have had a little to do with my losing my temper last night," he said grudgingly.

"Ah… you were embarrassed about your performance."

"And there you go again. Let's put it this way, Bones. No man likes an occasion where he doesn't… uh… rise to the occasion." He cleared his throat. "Enough. Let's get this back on track. We've beaten around the bush and around each other long enough. Straight out with it, Temperance. What do you want?"

Suddenly nervous again, she stood and paced a few steps to the end of his small kitchen and back again. She came back to stand behind her chair to look out the kitchen window. The California shutters were open to the darkness beyond and she found her eyes fixed on the streetlights below.

"I want to give this a shot." She turned his own words back on him.

"You mean us?" Her own words back to her in response.

She nodded, but then dropped her eyes, unsure. "I don't know how to do this, Booth. You want someone who will love you in thirty years; I've never managed a relationship that's lasted more than a few months. I'm scared that if we try this, I'll lose you forever. But I can't live like the last four weeks. Living day to day without you isn't living at all; it's barely existing. I'd rather try to live day to day with you." She forced herself to raise her head, to meet his eyes. "But as I said before, I don't know how to change."

"I think I can help you with that." He pushed back his chair to circle the table and stand in front of her. "Day to day can add up to thirty years, Bones. One day at a time." He'd become an expert at one day at a time. He cupped her cheek, raised her face up to his, his breath ghosting across her lips. "Are you sure about this? Because if you say 'yes', I'm not letting you go. I'll never let you go, Temperance."

Her eyes searched the familiar planes and angles of his face. A face that she could see herself looking at across the breakfast table for the next thirty years. "Yes," she whispered.

She saw the relief and the joy in his eyes at her answer and felt all the jagged places in her soul settle into place. She could do this. Together, they could do this.

Her pulled her close against him, and, just before dropping his mouth over hers, whispered, "Welcome home."

---

Sunday, 7:06 a.m.
Arlington; Booth's apartment

With a quiet sigh Brennan woke, confusion setting in at the unfamiliar surroundings. Where was she? But the moment her muscles tensed, the arms around her tightened, pulling her closer against the solid body behind her. That's where she was — she was home.

Her breath caught as she felt the heat and hardness of him behind her and she instinctively arched her pelvis, pressing her hips back against him as memory flooded back — his hands on her body in the dark, his low murmur in her ear, the strength of his muscles under her hands as she rode him, and the gentleness behind that strength as he pushed her over the edge again and again until exhaustion finally claimed them both.

A deep, sleepy chuckle came from behind her. "Didn't get enough last night?" But even as he said it, his hand slid over her belly to cup her breast, his thumb stroking over the nipple.

She reached behind to find the warm skin of his naked hip, then slid her hand down further to cup his ass, pulling him even tighter against her. "I'm making up for lost time," she said on a husky laugh.

"Well, I wouldn't want to keep you waiting," he murmured. Dropping his hand from her breast, he slid it under her shoulder, abruptly turning her onto her back as he rolled over her and easily slid home in one smooth motion.

She gave a shocked gasp of pleasure even as she arched up in reaction to meet him; her knees coming up clasp his hips, cradling him against her. Opening dazed eyes, she found his face above hers, his dark eyes locked on hers. She reached up, cupping his cheek with one hand, searching his face. "Do you love me?"

He went still, the playfulness fading from his eyes, leaving only naked emotion reflected in their depth. "Do you want me to prove it to you?"

In response, she simply pulled his mouth down to hers.

They would prove it to each other. Now and for the next thirty, or forty, or fifty years.

Nothing happens unless first a dream…

---

So... the novel is now in it's final stages of revision and then we're going to start querying agents for representation. FauxMaven and I have been spending some time discussing where we wanted to go now while we're shopping the novel. Not writing anything is a non-starter, so after some discussion, we've decided that we're going to aim high and we're looking at starting into the sequel to 'Firestorm: Gehenna' as soon as the novel revisions are done. We had a great time writing 'Firestorm' with Gib, and the three of us had decided on a topic for the sequel even as we were writing the story. So Gib is now officially back on board as our technical consultant for our new fic and we'll be looking at getting organized on it in the next few weeks. As always, a story of this scope takes considerable planning, but we hope to be back with it for you as soon as possible and we'll continue through the summer with it while Bones is on hiatus.

See you soon...