Hi everybody.

I'm just a French fan of Bones who made stupid bet with a friend.

So, I'm here today to show you a little OS.

I had not planned to make a fic on this final season, but it came like that, two days after watching the 4x26. 40 minutes were enough. It is just my vision of things.

This fic is a gift. Not from me to you, but from to me. Of course I write my fics in French. She liked this. She translated it. I shall never thank enough her for all her help and her encouragements. Thanks Su.

So, now... Good reading.

Disclaimer: Bones does not belong to me.

Tchitchou

oOoOo

NO ONE

I dreamed. Yes, that's it. I dreamed.

The vacant stare, lost, empty. That? That's not him.

My Booth still sleeps. The man that awoke, I don't know him.

And he doesn't know me.

He doesn't remember me.

The one person who knew me better than anyone, better than myself, does not recognise me.

I am no longer. Because I never truly, fully, was before if not through him, through his eyes.

I could not answer him, this man, this stranger, his question like a violent slap to my face.

"Who are you?"

Who am I?

I am Joy Keenan. A girl that lived a few short years surrounded by a loving family, in a garden full childish toys, a girl who loved her swing and the cinnamon scent of the snickerdoodles her father brought her, her mother's sweet, sweet songs.

I am Dr Temperance Brennan. Little more than a child abandoned by her parents first and by her brother next. Placed with numerous foster families, hurt, martyred. Good student. Saved from the system by her grand-father. Brilliant student. Doctor of Anthropology. Successful writer. Pillar of the Jeffersonian Institution.

I am Bones. Your partner.

The one that you grudgingly accepted to take into the field, your responsibility, to solve cases.

The one that makes bones talk- for you, for the victims.

The one that found her mother dead, her bother an outlaw and her father, a killer on the run.

The one you offer your shoulder to cry on, to whom you open your arms to comfort.

The one whose back you place your hand on.

The one to whom you gave Jasper and Brainy Smurf, little figurines as little gestures of closeness. To whom you give your time and your patience and your understanding. To whom you have given the desire to continue, to go further, to share, to understand, to walk towards others, to open up.

The one who always denied being inspired by you for her novels and who nevertheless makes it happily.

The one that you half heartedly moan about stealing your noodles.

The one that was mad at you for just letting Zach go to Iraq. The one that is still mad at herself for not having understood him. For not have seen it happening. For not stopping him in time.

The one that hurt you, underestimated you, wounded you by believing those who pretended to better than you. The one that should have known better.

The one who rejects psychology because it can explain too many things. Explain what lies between us.

The one who rolls her eyes to the sky when Angela hints, yet again, at more than one partnership between us.

The one that does whatever you want when you smile.

The one that loves your son that resembles you so.

The one that lied to herself, for four years, about you, about herself, about your relationship.

The one that wants to carry your baby.

I step back. I don't even speak. It hurts to breathe. Your eyes scrutinize me and don't get a reply.

I've done it.

Without truly wanting it, but I've done it.

At the expense of time, my heart opened up. It opened to you.

And your question of today made the door bang. But it won't close now. No.

It took so long for it to open. But it's now an open door to a heart fragmented into a million little pieces.

I told myself so. That was why I didn't want to do it.

I knew I was going to be hurt, one day or another. I just did not know this day would come so soon.

I stand up. I walk away, distance grows between us. I look for something to lean to because I feel that I'm going to fall. My head spins, my eyes loose focus. Tears overwhelm me. Where do I go from here? You are my home, my shelter. And you don't know me.

Who am I ?

Without you, there is no Bones. Nothing but a memory. The memory of a woman that was almost, for a few brief moments, happy with you.

You have waited for me for four years. I have waited four days. And this is what's left of us.

Who am I ?

No one.

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Thanks for reading. Please tell me what you think. Honestly.