As mentioned in Chapter 1... I realised that I'd placed Booth's apartment three floors higher than it actually is, and because I'm a bit OCD when it comes to things like this... here's the revision. :P

Chapter 4—In the Hallway

The only reason I was knocking on Booth's door was because I didn't have my key.

The only reason I didn't have my key was because Booth had left a drunken message on my answering machine the night before, and I wanted to rid myself of anything that directly reminded me of him. At least until Monday.

The only reason I was standing outside Booth's apartment was blackmail. And the only reason I was being blackmailed was because Angela had decided that Booth and I were "meant to be", and that "there was no way in hell" she was going to let us screw this up.

Suffice to say, knocking on Booth's door was the last thing I wanted to be doing just then. Preferably, I'd like to be on a flight to Panama (I knew an archeologist who'd invited me on a dig there), but really, anywhere would be preferable to there.

But Angela had told me in no uncertain terms that if I didn't at least try to talk to Booth, she was going to tell him about our whole conversation, including the fact that I'd practically experienced a mental breakdown, and that it was all because I was fairly certain I'd crushed—no, broken—his heart. And Angela can make almost anyone, including Booth, believe anything. It's actually slightly frightening.

I knew Booth was in his apartment. I'd heard him groan rather loudly not two minutes ago. So why the hell was he not answering the door?

I knocked harder—though, granted, by now it wasn't so much "knocking" as "trying to break down the door". I was going to, too, if a young woman—I presumed it must have been a neighbor—entered the hallway, singing and sorting through her mail.

"You say goodbye, and I say hello. Hello, hello! I don't know why you say goodbye, I say hello. Hello, hello… If you're looking for Booth, you should probably come back later."

"Excuse me?" Was Booth not in his apartment? Had I only imagined the groan?

The young woman—she couldn't have been older than twenty-six or twenty-seven—looked up from her mail. "He's probably dead to the world right now," she said in an explanatory tone. "He was pretty long gone last night."

"Dead?" My voice squeaked—actually squeaked—but I didn't care. Was Booth okay? He was fine when he dropped me off at my apartment last night. At least, I thought he'd been fine.

Oh, my God. What happened?

"Yeah, I don't think I've seen anyone as drunk as he was. From what I heard him tell the elevator doors, I think he tried to proposition a skeleton. That or he asked his goldfish out on a date. Either way, it ended badly."

Booth propositioned a skeleton? What? "Excuse me? A skeleton?" Is she on drugs?

I'd have to ask Booth about that. As soon as he answered the damn door, that is.

The woman shrugged again, her brown eyes clear and frank. "I guess. I mean, I dunno what else he would've been asking out. The only thing I know called Bones is his pet goldfish."

"Bones?" I couldn't believe it. Booth had named his goldfish after me?

His neighbor nodded, fishing a key out of her pocket. "Bones," she affirmed. "He seemed pretty damn crushed over it, too, which is why I think he had a bit too much to drink. Usually, Booth's a very happy drunk." She unlocked the door directly across from Booth's. "I don't think you're gonna get much outta him today," she said, opening the door. "He's probably passed out on his couch again. I'd just call him later, if I were you."

I nodded vaguely, still trying to comprehend what the woman had told me. Booth had gotten drunk last night—really drunk. (I already knew that—his message last night was proof enough.) He was so drunk that, apparently, he talked to the elevator doors, telling them that I, Bones, had turned him down. His neighbor, hearing this, thought that he'd just been drunk enough to proposition his goldfish. Why? His goldfish was named Bones.

I couldn't talk to Booth. Angela would most likely kill me, but I simply couldn't. The man had named his pet fish after me! His neighbor, who had no idea what happened last night, thought he was "pretty damn crushed" over it!

The door across the hall closed, and his neighbor continued singing. "I don't know why you say goodbye, I say hello. Hello, hello! I don't know why you say goodbye, I say hello."

I looked at Booth's door and made my decision. I'd talk to him on Monday. Angela would just have to live with my choice.

A minute later, I'd run down three flights of stairs and was scrambling into my car. "Well?" Angela prompted. "What happened?"

I couldn't look at her. "He named his goldfish Bones."

To read about the Monday after the infamous 100th episode, go to my profile page and click on The Monday After, in which logic takes a hike, everything hits the fan, and Garth Brooks, it turns out, is a dirty liar. :) Thanks for reading, and don't be a stranger- I love reviews! ;)