Alright a little late on this one I know, but honestly I had forgotten I even had it, I did plan on making this a longer story but I didn't see it going any farther than where it is now, if you like it enough and have an way for me to lengthen it please let me know. Otherwise I hope that you all enjoy it, sorry its a bit angsty, but it was fitting.

IF it was mine, would I be here?

Well yes most likely I would....but that's not the point...because it's not...sadly.....on-ward-ho!!!

"My Father drank."

The statement tumbled out of his mouth. Shame traced its edges, and hurt filled its words. Seeley Booth defiantly had a large closet of skeletons. When Temperance Brennan heard the words, she was unexpectedly proud that he had confided in her. However, when it came to these situations they were long past a comforting hand on the knee or a guy-hug, and she was at a loss as to how to handle it.

It was a quiet ride home. The rest of the party had been more somber than she would have liked and ended soon after her and Booth came back inside. When they got to her apartment, she asked him to come up and have a beer with her. A ghost of a smile passed his lips as he nodded. She watched him as he sat next to her on the couch: the beer was untouched. There was a glazed look in his eyes. She took one look at his morose face, though, and knew it was time to share a part of her past with him.

"I got shot." The words had left Dr. Brennan before she could decide what she really wanted to share with him.

"Gee, thanks for reminding me there Bones."

"Not by you."

"You say that, Bones, but either way you look at it, it was my fault you got shot."

"When I was in Cuba, Booth. I was…" She paused, trying to think of a good way to word it so that it would not cause Booth too much alarm. "…kidnapped." She looked at him, his full attention on her now: brown eyes glued to her face, worry marring his brow.

"They wanted me to stop identifying bodies. They thought that a gun would scare me enough. When it didn't th-" A small sob escaped her lips. She had not realized she was crying until Booth softly brushed his thumb across her cheek, his hand coming away wet. She began again, after a shaky breath.

"When it didn't work they took me. I don't remember much other than my head being covered and waking up in a room bleeding. It was three days; they would just come in and look at me: guns in hand, sometimes machetes, sometimes nothing. They would just look at me. That was the most terrifying part.

"Then at one point they grabbed me and covered my head, and I woke up in a hospital in Cuba dehydrated, with broken ribs, and shot." She looked at Booth. Who had moved close enough that she could feel his breath. He did not say anything; he reached around her and easily pulled her onto his lap and cradled her as she cried. It was unexpected. She had not expected that it would end like this. She did not want it to end with her crying all over him, yet there she was sobbing in his arms and she had never felt better.

"Hey, Bones, its okay. I've got you." He made a hushing noise, and rubbed her back.

They stayed like that late into the night and into the early morning. Long after Dr. Brennan had stopped crying, long after he had stopped whispering into her ear, they stayed holding onto each other. They were, after all, the center, and they would hold, even if it meant each other.