"Why is this so important to you Booth?" I asked. I tried to sound calm, but I was starting to get a bit annoyed. Why couldn't he understand that the idea of a forensic podiatrist was… preposterous? That it undermined everything that I did—my whole life's work? Why should I have to apologize for using my intellect and publicly stating my opinion? Do we not live in America, the land of the free?
"Because I know the kind of person that you are, and I think you should let other people in on the secret too," he said softly. He said it like he cared—like he'd always cared—and there was an arrogant note in his voice, like he thought he knew my inner self better than I did.
I turned and looked out the window. His comment made me so angry that I couldn't even look at him. Who was he to talk about the kind of person that I really am? He sure didn't like her when she came through—on the few occasions that I'd allowed her to show. So why should I listen to him?
"Because that's worked so very well in the past," I muttered under my breath. The trees were flying by out my window, but I wasn't looking at them. How could he even think that I would ever, ever open myself up again? And to just some random man who practices a science that absolutely… galls me? I'd known that we were drifting apart the last few months, but I hadn't realized that he'd completely forgotten everything he used to know about me.
Everyone I'd ever let in—everyone who'd ever seen the real me—had taken off running in the opposite direction. My mother and father… Russ… Booth…. I wouldn't take the same course a fourth time and expect to end up with a different result.
But, underneath my logic, I knew that I wouldn't open myself up again because I knew that I wouldn't be able to handle yet another rejection—from anyone, but especially from Booth. It was annoying to realize that I had changed enough to realize the psychological changes and accept them as real. So much good that did me!
"What was that?" he asked after a long pause. Though he tried to sound causal, I could tell by his tone that he had, in fact, heard me perfectly well. With my anger simmering to a metaphorical boil, I saw no reason to hide it from him. After all, wasn't he the one who was telling me to open my emotions to the world? His hypocrisy caused my 'blood to boil in anger'—as Booth would say—but I turned and looked him in the eye.
"I am not an insane person, Booth," I said in my coldest, most detached voice—the one I usually used when relating the injuries of the murder victim. "The definition of insanity is perpetually doing the same thing, and yet still expect a different result. I am not insane, therefore, I will not repeat the same course of action more times than I already have and expect a different result." Then I turned away from him, looking back out my window. I couldn't bear to look at him; it was too painful.
"What does you not being insane have anything to do with showing people who you really are?" he asked as he pulled the car to a stop at the suspect's residence. I sighed. It wasn't right of me to get so angry at him; it wasn't right of me to expect anything from him anymore. We were no longer us—I had no claim. I was just being selfish, I knew that, but I was still angry.
"Because no one likes her," I said evenly. I would no longer give my anger a voice—though I wished I could—because I had no right to it. It was hard though. With great restraint, I was able to keep the anger simmering below the surface, but I wasn't sure how long I could keep it there. "Why should I continue to be a person that no one likes? How is that at all rational?"
That's it, I told myself. Keep it rational; keep it logical.
"What are you talking about Bones?" he responded immediately. "I've seen who you really are, and I think you're great!" He tried to smile his charm smile at me, but I looked away, refusing to let him affect me.
"No you don't Booth," I said. Although I kept telling myself that I wasn't owed anything, I knew deep down that I owed him everything—including an explanation. He opened his mouth to argue with me, but I didn't let him speak. "You don't like the scientist who refutes professions and practices that she believes to be unnecessary; you don't like the woman who does not eat meat and who does not like pie because cooked fruit is a waste of the fruit's nutritional values; you don't like the awkward, anti social who doesn't know pop culture references, who takes idioms seriously, and who doesn't understand sarcasm; you don't like little girl who can't face rejection because she's had too much of it. Those are all facts, Booth. You don't like those things, but they are what make up the real me." I felt the car stop and paused for a breath, but again, I continued before he could break in. "When I told you that I wasn't good enough for you, you believed me; when I told you that I couldn't change, you agreed and said that you'd just move on then; when I told you how much I love you and how much I regret trying to protect you and that stupid little girl who's afraid of rejection, you ran the other way. Since everything has already happened, I see no reason for us to discuss this further. We have a case to solve." With that, I opened my door and got out. I was Dr. Temperance Brennan, and I was at the home of a potential suspect. I would be nothing if not professional.
"There appears to be no one home," I said to Booth, completely professional. "Do we have the proper paperwork to enter this facility?"
There was no answer, so I turned to look at him. He was standing behind me with his terrible puppy dog expression on his face. This brought my simmering anger back to a boil.
"Bones," he said slowly with a frustrated sigh. "What the hell do you think you're saying? How could you think that I don't like you?" He sighed again. "You know that's not true, it's just you being too weak to face reality."
I couldn't believe my ears (Metaphorically of course. I knew logically that my hearing was just fine and that nothing had happened to change that.)
"Weak?" I asked. I was unable to fully comprehend what he was saying. Is he really calling me weak?
"Yes, weak," he retorted. "The impervious Dr. Brennan can't deal with something, so she either runs away from it or overly logicates it." He smirked, seeming proud of himself—as if he'd just given me an insight into my soul that I should've seen all along—and that was the last straw on the restraint that held back my anger.
"I. Am. Not. Weak." I said, pronouncing each word carefully. "I am an intelligent, successful woman who has overcome many adversities to get to this point. I have a career—forensic anthropology of the body as a whole unit—that is my life. I have traveled to lands that you cannot even pronounce and have lived off nothing for months—even years. I have led the scientific world ever since I entered it." I leveled my eyes at him. "So, I may be socially inept, emotionally ignorant, and my heart may be impenetrable, but I am not weak."
"And for all that Temperance," he said pointedly, "what will you have left when you can't be a scientist anymore? When you die?"
And just like that, my world was gone. His words cut into me like a knife. His eyes widened as he realized what he had said.
"Bones—" he reached out to me, but I shied away from him, unable to process what's just happened.
"No," I whispered backing up as fast as I can until I hit a brick wall. My head slapped against the brick and I winced in pain. My vision blurred, but I tried to recover quickly, not wanting to prove him right. Then I yelled louder, "No! Stay away from me!" And I turned to flee in the other direction, the only thing on my mind being to get as far away from him as possible, but he caught my arm. I turned to face him, but everything was spinning.
"Bones," he started. I slapped his face and jerked my arm from his grasp. He stood there for a moment in shock. I used this time to collect my thoughts.
"Booth," I said quietly my voice sounding a little funny, "I am going to take a walk and call someone else for a ride home. Do not follow me, just get in the car and go home." With that, I turned on my heel and left. I didn't hear footsteps behind me. I began to run, but everything seemed to be spinning so it was more like stumbling.
The world around me was still spinning, but I didn't care. I wasn't watching where I was going, I just ran. When I finally stopped, I leaned against a tree and broke down into sobs. I hated myself for crying—hated myself for proving Booth right—but I couldn't help it.
For the last seven years, Booth had been my world. I don't know when it happened—I never consciously decided to make him the center of my life—it just happened. Now, he no longer cared about me; he was no longer the man I relied on—the man who was my center. I took a deep breath to calm myself and try to make everything stand still.
When I was finally calm enough that I thought I could call without breaking down, I took out my cell phone and stumbled up to the road to get signal to call Angela. She answered on the third ring.
"Hey Sweetie!" she greeted me. "Did you speak to your latest suspect already? That sure was fast."
At the sound of her voice, I lost it again. I let loose a sob. "Ange," was all I managed to get out.
"Brennan? Oh my!" she sounded panicked. "What's wrong? What happened?"
"Ange," I said managing to calm myself. "C-could you p-p-please co-come and g-g-get me?" I related my location to her as best I could. "Booth…" I tried to explain, but I couldn't.
"Is he okay?" she asked immediately.
"He—he's f-fine," I half-heartedly reassured her. "But he…h-he," I trailed off as I broke into tears again.
"It's okay Sweetie," Angela said. "I'll be there in a few minutes okay?"
I sighed in relief. We weren't more than ten minutes out of Washington D.C., so Ange would be here quickly.
I tried to say "Okay" and express my gratitude in response, but nothing would come out. I opened my mouth, but my larynx refused to work. All that came out was a strangled moan. The spinning was back, but it was worse now. I knew I was on the verge of unconsciousness.
"Bren?" Angela's worried voice came from the other side of the line. I tried to moan again—make any noise really—so that she would know that I was alive. "Bren, I'm coming. We'll be there as soon as we can! Oh—"
Suddenly, there was nothing but blackness.