Not Mine.

"Steve Jackson, what the hell are you wearing?" Booth asked, something about the godawful uniform bothering him, besides the obvious. It was another one of those off feelings he continued to get, but mixed with something else... close to anger that he couldn't quite explain.

After speaking with the man, Booth headed next door to speak with his partner, where things certainly took a turn. He was already plenty ticked, with the fact they still hadn't caught the murder, he just took a huge fall for his brother, his brother alone was enough to get him riled up, Cam, her... everything. Then there was this new bit of confusion, pissed him off even more.

Booth spoke of the criminal in the next room but he knew he wasn't referring to him, not even to himself despite how it looked on the outside. Like he was voicing his annoyance with someone else, someone he couldn't remember, who had been in a similar situation for completely different reasons for the most part, which again he somehow knew but didn't know why.

"...who can't do any better..." Booth said this, a flash of blonde hair crossed his mind out of nowhere, a feeling of anger, sadness and pain hitting him in the chest. He didn't know who she was, where he knew her from, why he was thinking of her... nothing... but he saw her. It was like he had been standing from a distance, checking in on her... watching as she punished herself for something... but he knew in a way that's what she had been doing, and he had witnessed it.

He was angry for it, too. He had been and he was now.

And it was not helping.