He looked into the eyes that were usually so bright and alluring and the lack of light terrified him. He knew that he was her go-to guy, her best friend, her 'partner', the love of her life, the only one she trusted so implicitly. But this was something totally different. He couldn't hold her and make the hurt go away. He couldn't kiss away the sadness in those eyes. He couldn't bring Angela back.
Angela Montenegro had saved her. She had grown so used to being alone that when someone actually began to care about where she was every second of every day, she pushed it away. She worked so hard to keep from loving someone like a sister because the only family she ever knew abandoned her. But Angela had been so persistent. Her patience for her hesitancy was endless and eventually she began to appreciate Angela's company and even crave the girl talks. She had gotten to the point where she couldn't imagine life without the woman who had carried her through so many hard times. And now she had to.
He cradled her softly as her shallow, hitched breathing slowed into something semi-even. He exhaled in relief as her eyes closed and the tears that had been almost non-stop for the past four days dried on her pink cheeks. He brushed the sweaty, stray strands of hair away from her face and couldn't help but think that even in her darkest moments, she was so incredibly beautiful. Her face was like a child's, innocent and vulnerable. He couldn't bring himself to move an inch, so he lay his head back on the black leather couch and drifted off into unconsciousness.
It was almost too surreal at first. The shriek didn't even register at first. Could that horrible noise really be coming from her own throat? She watched as the red Mustang with the only-letters liscence plate slammed into her best friend, her sister. Angela's body flew across the hood of the car and landed in a jumbled heap. Her body was in a position that would be practically impossible without the breaking of many bones. Her head was bent crooked and the ghost of a smile over a shared joke with her best friend still etched on her face.
She didn't speak for weeks. Not a single word passed between her lips. No amount of begging from him would persuade her. She was determined that if Angela would never speak again, neither would she. "Bones," he started on a bleak day about two weeks after she was gone, "she wouldn't want you to live like this. She'd want you to be there for Christine, for me, for all of those lost souls that you save every day. She'd want you to go after the drunk man who caused this. She'd want you to save her like she saved you." Her head snapped up at the last comment and his heart dropped as he realized his mistake. He braced himself for an angry ranting, but what he actually got was much worse. Her clear blue eyes clouded and filled with those tears that never seemed to really go away. She let out a whimper, the first sound of pain she'd allowed herself thus far. His heart ached for her. He gently put his hand on her face and whispered soothing nonsense into her ear until she leaned against him. Her suffering was silent, the cries of someone who had kept it all bottled in too long. It was hours before her eyes ran dry and the remnants of her sorrow lay in puddles on his shoulders.
The first words that escaped those precious pink lips of hers were, "Maybe she's just hiding." His jaw dropped and before he spun around to face her, he took a moment to compose his features. "Bones…" he said, closing his eyes as his heart broke at the sound of her voice. "Booth, please. Help me…" She whispered softly, almost to herself. She wore an old ratty t-shirt of his with some obscure faded baseball team name on the front and her favorite plaid pajama bottoms. It seemed as though the world slowed down and he could analyze every little movement she made. Her arms hung useless at her sides, her body looked like it was caving and curling in on itself. But her eyes were the worst part. They were sunken and completely hollow. They were full of some impenetrable sadness that he couldn't bear to look at another second. He dropped the glass he was holding and practically sprinted over to her. "Oh, Temperance, please. I'll do anything. Tell me what to do." He pleaded with her basically lifeless form. Her lower lip quivered with the effort of holding back the tears but for the first time in almost a month, she held her head up high and looked him squarely in the eyes. "Just hold me," she said, her voice cracking on the last syllable. He picked her up in his strong, reassuring arms and what little composure she had managed before shattered. Her cries were different this time. Instead of that silent shaking of the shoulders, they were an inch away from screaming. Tears fell from his eyes as he rocked her back and forth, trying to squeeze the hurt out of her and knowing he couldn't killed him. He just held her and held her and held her, not willing to do anything less than she asked. After her sobbing quieted, he whispered hesitantly, "Bones?" She didn't look up at him, instead burying her face deeper into his chest and whispered back, almost unintelligible, "I just needed to get it out."
After that, she resumed that cold, analytical exterior that she was reminiscent of her first years at the Jeffersonian, before meeting him. That scared him almost as much as the emotional breaking. She never smiled. That broke his own heart almost as much as watching her make a brave attempt at a watery smile. Her eyes were more dead than before, if that was even possible. It was like she had just given up. She gave one last huge leap of faith when she had that breakdown, but now she was determined not to let anything get into her heart. And he was just as determined to stay in it.
