Fear and Guilt
He was ignoring his cell phone, wouldn't answer his home phone and he didn't seem to be home. Cullen told her he'd asked for the week off, which she found puzzling. He hadn't said anything about taking a vacation. She pulled into a parking space at his apartment building and sat for a long moment debating the wisdom of pushing herself on him. If he needed someone to talk to, he would have called, wouldn't he? Something had drawn her here, a strong feeling that something was wrong. Booth would have called it a gut feeling. She just knew somehow that he needed her.
She stood in front of his door, holding the spare key in her hand. Booth had given it to her months ago, just as she had given him a key to her place, in case of emergency. She thought this situation qualified, but she had to give him the chance to let her in of his own volition. She knocked and waited, listening for any sounds from within. Nothing. She rang the doorbell and waited, but again there was no response. A vision of him lying hurt and unable to call for help popped into her head and the decision was made. He shouldn't have given her the key if he didn't want her to use it. She'd deal with the consequences if it turned out she had worried needlessly.
The apartment was dark except for the light over the sink in the kitchen. Closing the door behind her, she stepped forward. Suddenly someone grabbed her from behind and she acted instinctively, jabbing her attacker in the stomach with her elbow and spinning, flipping him to the floor. A thud and a curse broke the silence and she stood there in a defensive stance, trying to control her breathing as adrenaline screamed through her veins. Reaching behind her, she felt along the wall, keeping her eye on the dark form on the floor. Flipping the wall switch, she sighed with relief as she saw who her attacker was.
"Booth? Why did you attack me? And why were the lights off?" she croaked. Her heartbeat was beginning to return to normal as he slowly got up, rubbing his midsection.
"Jeez, Bones! What did you expect, sneaking into my apartment at this hour? I thought you were a burglar." He winced with pain. "Did you have to hit me so hard?" he complained.
"Why didn't you answer the door?" she demanded, angry now that it seemed she had worried needlessly. Suddenly she noticed the state of his usually neat apartment. There were dirty clothes and takeout wrappers everywhere, a picture on the wall was crooked, and the cushions on the couch were in disarray. She took a closer look at him. He hadn't shaved in days and from the smell of him hadn't showered in almost as long. He was wearing a faded Grateful Dead shirt that had several large holes in it and a pair of sweats that should have been thrown out a long time ago. Brennan frowned. Something was definitely amiss here.
Booth went over and locked the door, then padded over to the couch and sat down with a groan. Brennan followed him, but remained standing, waiting for him to answer her question. He picked up a beer and took a swig, holding it up in query. She shook her head and waited. He scrubbed a hand down his face wearily.
"I didn't want to see anyone," he said in a rusty voice. He laid his head against the back of the couch and watched her through slitted eyes. "Especially you," he said so softly she wasn't sure she heard him right. She folded her arms and continued to stare. He sighed, realizing she wasn't going to leave without an explanation. "Sit down, Bones," he ordered.
Clearing a newspaper and an empty pizza box from the chair, she sat on the edge and assumed a listening pose, eyes fastened on him. He spent a long moment trying to put his thoughts into some kind of order. He was impressed by her patience until he realized she was vibrating with fury and it was only the fact that she was struggling to contain it that she hadn't let him have it yet. He decided he'd better explain himself before she completely lost it.
"The other day I got a call from my old C.O. from my Ranger days. He told me a buddy of mine, Tommy Watkins, had…killed himself." His voice cracked on the last two words. "See, Tommy never shoulda been sent over there. He—couldn't handle it, the things we had to do, it—was hard on him." Tears clogged his throat and he had to swallow hard before he could go on. "On our last mission together, he snapped—went berserk. It took four of us to bring him down and he kept screaming 'we gotta kill them, kill them all'…God, I still wake up sometimes hearing those screams." Booth closed his eyes and rubbed at them as though trying to wipe the memories away. "They gave him a medical discharge and he's been in and out of mental hospitals ever since. I visited him sometimes, just to let him know he wasn't alone, that somebody cared. There were times they had him so doped up, he didn't know me." He looked away as a pair of tears spilled over. "I really thought he was doing okay," he whispered huskily.
Brennan moved to sit beside him on the couch, touching his arm in sympathy. "I'm sorry about your friend," she said softly. "But what have you been doing for the last couple days?"
Booth chuckled humorlessly, dashing the tears away. "Torturing myself. Maybe if I'd visited him more…he stopped taking his meds, you know. He hated the side affects and he was always messing with the dosages, trying to find a way to make them work."
Brennan squeezed his forearm. "Hey, it wasn't your fault. You couldn't be there all the time," she murmured reassuringly.
Booth didn't answer, staring at the wall as his mind went round and round, trying to think of a way he could have prevented his friend's death. He felt her hand slip into his and looked up to find her watching him worriedly.
"Don't worry, Bones, I'll be okay. It just—knocked me for a loop. I needed some time alone to try and deal with it." He sat up suddenly, his fingers still laced with hers. "You used the key I gave you?" he asked with a ghost of a smile.
"Yeah, you know, you said it was for emergencies and I was afraid—" she broke off, feeling a little silly now that it turned out her fears were unfounded.
"Hey," he said, waiting for her eyes to come back to him. "Thanks for caring," he said with a soft smile. She smiled too and there was an awkward pause. "Look, I'm gonna go take a shower. You're welcome to—stay, if you want. But only if you want to, I'm really fine." He looked around as though he hadn't really noticed before what a mess the place was. "Then again, maybe you oughta leave."
Brennan looked around too. "It's okay, I understand." She looked at him again. "I'd love to stay if you're in the mood for company."
He stood up and stretched, stopping suddenly as the muscles of his abdomen protested. "Great defensive move, Bones," he said wryly, shaking his head as he headed for the shower.
Brennan spent the next fifteen minutes putting the room to rights. By the time Booth appeared in the doorway, hair wet, freshly shaved and dressed in an old FBI T-shirt and navy sweats, the trash had been tossed, the couch cushions straightened and the laundry was in a pile in a corner of the kitchen.
A corner of his mouth kicked up. "You're hired," he quipped, but sobered at her look. "Kidding," he said, holding up his hands. "You didn't have to do that, Bones."
Brennan shrugged, feeling uncomfortable all of a sudden. He looked really good, too good for her own peace of mind. "I couldn't just sit here with all that—I should go," she said abruptly, picking up her purse and starting for the door. He followed, puzzled by her behavior.
"You don't have to go," he protested as she turned to face him at the door. She looked up at him with an unreadable expression on her face and he wished he knew what she was thinking.
She was thinking how much she wanted to kiss him. There was something about seeing him vulnerable and hurting that had been very appealing. She had to go before she did something she might regret. "No, but I should—" she began, looking away and firming her lips. "I'm sorry I hurt you," she said, finally looking him in the eye again.
He shrugged. "I'll live," he said, trying to make light of it. "So, I'll see you at the lab Monday?" he asked, wishing she would stay but unwilling to ask her to.
She nodded and opened her mouth to say something more, then shut it as she thought better of it. She put her hand on the doorknob and stood there for a long moment with her head bent. Booth waited as she struggled with whatever was bothering her. He could tell the moment she settled it. Her back straightened and she squared her shoulders.
"Well, bye then," she said over her shoulder with a small smile. And then she was gone, leaving him with the impression that he had missed something important. He watched her walk to her car, then shrugged and closed the door. Whatever it was, she would tell him in time. After all, they were friends and partners.