A/N: After being inactive for several years (due to lack of good scenes to inspire me lol), I'm back with this new story. Of course, if you haven't seen last night episode, you might not want to read this. You have been warned! Hope you enjoy it!

Why?

The question echoed through his head as he rummaged through the cupboards of his kitchen, in search of nothing in particular but finding a way of soothing the anger racing through his veins. A year! A year he'd waited for her. He had longed for her, ached for her, tried to hide his feelings from her... All that, only to be turned down once he had gathered enough courage to tell her he wanted to be with her. And now, she dared to tell him she had made a mistake, that she didn't want to have any regrets.

When he'd figured out what his partner had been babbling about in the car, his heart had momentarily stopped. It had been soon followed by a tidal wave of anger that had washed over him, his heart debating with his brain on what he should be telling her. His head had won the battle and succeeded in forming words of rejection. This had not been the way he had expected that kind of conversation to go, but he had too. He loved Hannah. He really did. Nothing would change that, not even the fact that the woman he had loved most in the world had professed her own feelings to him. He had moved on, and that was final.

He had dropped her off at the Jeffersonian at her request. When she hid in her lab, he knew it meant she needed to rationalize her situation. Without even glancing back, he had driven away, blood pulsing in his temples.

The scene kept repeating itself over and over again in his mind until he felt almost dizzy. The words played in loop, as though someone had put the conversation on "repeat". Wanting to drown out the voices in his head, he had turned up the radio and had sped through the streets of Washington, DC, wanting nothing more than to be in the comfort of his home.

He had walked in his apartment to find Hannah reading on the couch. He had barely glanced at her as he walked by, and not even looked in her direction as she had spoken to him. Walking towards the kitchen, his anger still not wanting to subside, he'd sensed more than heard her following him.

"Are you okay?" his girlfriend had asked, tentatively.

"Of course I'm fine," he had snapped back, a bit too agressively. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Bones only changed her mind about wanting to be with me, he added in his mind. Instead, he fought the urge to divulge the content of his conversation with his partner. It wasn't the time, nor the person to talk to about this.

He had turned around to face her and, by the look of surprise on Hannah's face, he knew his eyes must have been flashing with anger. He had apologized, telling her that he'd had a bad day at work and that he only needed to be alone for a little while.

Walking up to him, Hannah had kissed him softly before telling him she'd be out for a walk and to call when he was ready to have her come home.

As the door closed, down the hallway, Booth had collapsed on a kitchen chair. He knew he had overreacted. After all, he wasn't mad at her. Hannah hadn't done anything. She didn't even know about his past feelings (because they were in the past) for the beautiful scientist he worked with. She knew nothing of that past he had voluntarily hidden. It wasn't important, anyway. The case had been supposed to be closed.

The cellphone in his pocket had suddenly felt heavy. Maybe he should call her and tell her to come back...

Pulling it out of his pocket, he had flipped the phone open. His finger had hovered over the Call button. He just hadn't been able to press it. With a frustrated sigh, he had chucked the phone across the table and got to his feet.

Now, because of Bones, he couldn't even call his own girlfriend. He had begun pacing once more. Walking from the living room where he had flipped through the channels never really stopping on any of them, he had then gone to his bedroom to change into something a bit more comfortable. His movements had been jerky and stiff. Whatever that anger was, it didn't want to go away. Even now, as he went from cupboard to cupboard, an hour later, it was still there as intense as before.

"Why did she have to tell me all of that?" Booth asked the silent apartment. "I didn't need this."

He knew he had hurt her. But his anger had prevented him from consoling her like he should have done. What else could he have told her, anyway? His words had been almost cold, detached, as though he didn't care about the woman sitting right beside him. Even as she cried, deeply hurt, he hadn't been able to bring himself to care as much as he should have. He couldn't understand. He had never been heartless; not with her, nor anybody else. So, why tonight?

Everything was messed up. He had moved on. He was happy. He... needed to shoot something. Grabbing his coat, Booth walked out of his apartment into the pouring rain. For a split second, Temperance's soaked features flashed in his mind. She had been distressed, wanting desperately for him to believe what she was saying. They would probably never know what had truly happened to that doctor. At that moment, nothing else had mattered but getting her home, safe and sound. For a split second, the urge to go check on her became overwhelming. It disappeared as quickly as it had come.

He drove slower. The rain made it hard for him to see. The cars ahead were blurry. The wipers, working as fast as they could, could not push all the water aside. He slowed down a bit more, the pace of the traffic slowly increasing his anger. Couldn't people drive any faster? After all, it was only water!

When he finally made it down to the FBI shooting range, his anger was in full rage. Why had she told him she had made a mistake? What had she been hoping? That he'd be happy and drop everything down to be with her? Was she that clueless? Did she really think he'd dump Hannah to go back to her? Did she really think he had lied about moving on?

First shot. The bullet missed its target.

He had moved on. She had forced him to. What was he supposed to do? Wait around in hopes that she would change her mind? He had gave himself completely to her and she had rejected him for reasons he still didn't quite understand. Something about him needing protection from her. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Second shot. This time, it hit the abdomen. He reloaded and aimed again.

He knew her. He knew who she really was. It had nothing to do with the rational, distant, and cold person she portrayed herself to be. He knew she had feelings. He'd seen them: fear, pain, sadness, hope... He had walked by her side all these years, helping her through those tough, emotional times. His coma had only awaken feelings he had forced himself to not feel after their fight, after their first case together. He had known that all along, despite all the brain scans, the psychics, and the tarot cards.

Third shot. Still not hitting target.

She just didn't get anything. He would have dropped everything for her. He had dropped everything for her. Whenever she had needed him, he had been there. Events of the past six years flashed before his eyes.

Bullet to the head. Forget the memories.

Maybe if she hadn't been so rational all those years, maybe they would be together right now. They would be happy and in love. He'd be thinking of the future, instead of being angry about the present. He'd be holding her and kissing her, instead of making her cry.

Fifth shot. Through the heart.

Lowering his gun, he secured it before setting it down. He panted softly as the anger finally subsided. The bullet had hit its target. Just like his facts had done a few hours ago.

For a brief moment that took him by surprise, he found himself hoping the words hadn't settled in her heart quite yet. Didn't she say it would take three days?