Brennan always had hated the foster system; the way people had treated the hopeless, helpless children, which were vulnerable, and broken. Brennan had personal experience with it- from 15 to 18 she had been to 17 different homes, each seemingly worse then the other, and 68 different families, either they abused her physically, mentally, or they pitied her. They never loved her. Just a new set of sad or evil eyes staring back at her, reminding her that her family was gone.

And the younger Brennan blamed herself- some part of her still did- for them leaving. Even now, when her father and brother called her once a week to catch up, and say 'I love you'. She didn't believe in love. She knew it was the reason she was splitting inside.

However Brennan knew that in her case, it wasn't entirely the systems fault. They weren't the best, but they cared, more then the families Brennan was set to at least. It was more a matter of funding. The reason Brennan hated the foster sytem was because they didn't help her- but she knows that it's her own fault they didn't. They couldn't. Not after they found out what she was doing.

No one knew- Not Booth, not Angela, not Max, not Russ. No one.

Maybe this secret was the reason she couldn't connect, she couldn't open her self up fully to anyone. Maybe this secret, this dirty little shameful secret was the reason she couldn't let go of the past- couldn't be friendly, or 'normal'. Maybe this was the reason she was alone.

But Brennan couldn't tell anyone- not if her life depended on it. Not Booth. Not Angela.

It was too deep- revealing. And she had told Booth to move on. If he knew the reason she rejected him was this he'd never let go. He'd never be truly happy.

Hannah made him happy, which was what Brennan wanted for him. Happiness; the white-picket-fence, the dog, the baby. The Family.

Why not tell Angela? She was happy, with a baby coming along, married; she had lived past her expectations. Brennan couldn't break her best friend's heart. Wouldn't let her see the suffering.

Brennan had decided that she could open up to herself- so that she wouldn't bother anyone else. She had to admit to herself what she was doing.

It was completely illogical, and weak- but she had to say it, think it. Know what she was doing. She needed limitations, rules. A procedure. She needed a reason to stop- a way to stop herself.

Or she would go too far.

Temperance Brennan thought of herself as a strong person- a person who wasn't fazed by the bones, the core, of someone, dead, on a steel table, to be examined. But she was lying to herself. She was weak- she felt. Too much- she loved too much.

Against logic, she still loved, cared. Why? She was weak. Plain and simple; it was a fact.

No. She wasn't 'human'. Humans were created by survival of the fittest.

She had survived- but she was weak. Proving she wasn't human.

Booth and Angela had agreed on numerous occasions that Brennan was out of this world- an alien- a mutation, a mishap, and a screw up.

Brennan was good at compartmentalizing, but that wasn't strong. Brennan was good at acting the strong, independent, capable, vain, and arrogant, scientist.

But it was all a façade.

She hid behind her education, and title, but she was a coward, an overrated liar.

She let Booth believe that she didn't love him, because she was a scientist, knowing that it would break him.

She was a coward.

Brennan pulled her hand backwards, so that her veins were facing up, so that they were bulging, and swiftly sliced her skin enough to tear the skin, but not enough to scar. She was always careful not to leave a permanent mark.

If Brennan was anything but a coward, then she was careful.

Brennan applied pressure to her blue vein and watched the red substance slip down her wrist, to her elbow, and gasped.

It had been two decades since the crimson had stained her arm.