Sighing, he picked up his now-still phone and flipped it open. 6 missed calls from BONES, 6 new voice messages. He hit the EXIT key, and threw the phone into the chair across the room. He couldn't listen to the messages for the same reason he couldn't answer the phone. He had hit rock bottom, and the one person who he'd typically call was the one person he couldn't talk to. In a fit of self-induced rage, he launched the nearly-empty bottle across the room and watched with envy as it cracked and shattered. He was the bottle, in that instant... the only difference, he knew, was that the pieces of brown glass would be easily swept away and forgotten, and he would never be taken care of so simply, so quick and effortless. He would be broken forever.
EARLIER...
"Sully, I'm not going to help you get my partner into bed..." He glared at his friend, his mind in overdrive, his heart pounding angrily within his ribcage, his blood boiling.
"Why, it's not like you want her!" Sully exclaimed, propping his feet up onto the desk in front of him, his ankles crossed. Booth felt his lips twitch, and instantly knew that his cover was blown. Sully's eyes widened, "You do, don't you? You have the hots for Tempe!"
Booth shook his head, quickly trying to backtrack. "No, come on..." he made a face, raised an eyebrow and tossed his friend an easy smile. "She's just my partner, Sully, that's it."
"But you don't want to just be her partner, you want her. Are you..." He dropped his feet and propped his elbows on the desk instead, leaning in close and lowering his voice conspiratorily, "Are you in love with her?"
"Don't be stupid, man..." He emphatically shook his head, but Sully saw through him.
"If you don't love her, then say it. Say that you don't right now."
"I don't..."
"No, the whole thing. Say 'I don't love her', word for word." Booth lowered his eyes, and Sully stood, exiting the office. He had his answer...
When Booth realized he was gone, he whipped out his cell and called him. "Sullivan."
"Sully, where the hell are you going, man?"
There was a sigh, and Booth held his breath, "I'm going to the Jeffersonian..."
"What for?"
"Booth, she deserves to know. She deserves to make an informed decision..."
"Don't do this!"
"You didn't leave me a choice, Booth!"
The audible click shocked him back to reality. He jumped from his seat and ran for the stairs, leaping down them in record time and chasing after his friend, his competition.
He threw the car in park and ran through the sliding glass doors, beelining for Bones' office. He slowed when he saw Sully standing in front of her, his hands buried in his pockets. She was laughing at him, and he had a glimmer of hope--she didn't believe him! Their friendship was spared, and she wouldn't see Sully--it was a win-win situation for him. He sighed, and took a few tentative steps, trying to hear their conversation. The look on his friends face was one of pure determination, and he kept going, kept explaining. Something he said clicked for Tempe, her face changed, her shoulders slumped... and that's when he saw it. A tear, streaking down her face. Sully reached to wipe it away, but Booth couldn't watch. He spun on his heel, his fists clenched. He heard Angela calling after him, but he couldn't face her. He couldn't face any of them. He threw up one hand, a parting gesture, making his exit before he broke down.
"Booth!" He heard Bones yell for him, her voice altered by her emotions, and he sprinted for the door. He hopped into his SUV, called Cullen and told him he wouldn't be returning to work due to illness (he'd called it food poisoning, and the emotion squeezed in his throat made it believable), and then he stopped at a store and bought two six-packs, heading home to drown his sorrows. That was when the first call came, it was from Angela, and he didn't answer. Her voice mail revealed that she was stuck between happiness at being right, at knowing what they both refused to acknowledge, and confusion. He deleted the message and continued the drive. The next call was Sully--he, too, left a message, but he couldn't listen and just deleted it. He pulled into his usual parking spot, grabbed his beers, and entered his apartment. It was empty, quiet... lonely. Usually, he thought it was rather calming... but after his day, it was just another sad reminder. He placed the beer in the fridge and headed for the shower, stripping off his clothes and standing under the burning stream, trying to wash away the sadness that overwhelmed him. How had he let Sully get that out of him? He'd been so good at playing it off with the squints, especially Angela, but even more than that, he'd expertly hidden his emotions from Tempe. Now... now it was all over. His brave facade was gone, and now, he had the silence. Sighing, he turned off the water and wrapped his towel around his waist, heading for his bedroom. His phone rang loudly from the other room, but he ignored it yet again. He slipped on an old, comfortable pair of black sweatpants and a well-worn white undershirt. He rubbed the towel through his hair vigorously before throwing it into the hamper.
He slipped into a pair of fuzzy, fun socks Parker had picked out for him and headed back to the kitchen, taking out two beers and gulping them down quickly. The phone rang yet again, and he didn't bother to look. All other options had been worn out, and that left one person to be calling him, and he wasn't ready for that. He didn't know if he ever would be. He placed the empty bottles to the side and grabbed two more, repeating the task until one of the six packs had been completely drained of every drop of liquor. He burped loudly, his head beginning to gain some lightness, and grabbed one beer from the remaining pack. He slipped into the corner of his sofa, his phone on the table before him, and he clicked on the television. He flipped throught the channels absent mindedly, finally settling on some sports recap channel. He gulped the beer as the phone began again--this making three calls in 45 minutes. He swallowed the last drop of beer and stood, his head swimming from the sudden elevation and the booze. He walked unsteadily to the fridge, pulled out two beers, and swallowed one quickly, taking the other to the couch to watch football. That, of course, was a lie. He wasn't watching the television. He was too caught up in the self-pity game he was so good at playing when things didn't go his way.
As he finished the fourth beer, the phone rang for the fifth time. He had just settled back into the couch, his feet propped, his fifth beer working it's way to empty, when the phone shook again. He had enough. He couldn't do it. He launched the bottle and threw the phone into the corner. He desperately wanted that final beer, hoping it would knock him out, finish him off. As he stood to retrieve the broom, there was a knock on the door. He ignored it, knowing without having to look who was behind the slab of wood. He grabbed the hand broom and dust pan and crouched, holding onto the wall to keep his poor balance so he didn't fall face-first into the shards of glass. He heard the keys jingle outside and knew she was letting herself in. He thought about abandoning his task and rushing for the door, pulling the chain into place to prevent her access... but he knew all he'd end up doing was hurting her physically, and he thought perhaps he'd caused her enough pain for the day.
She entered slowly, the only light was the glow of the television. She saw him kneeling, and flipped on a light. "Turn that off..." He muttered, his eyes studying the floor as his hands held a loose grip on the handles.
She glanced at the wall, small shards stuck in place by the drying beer, a small round splatter dripping to the floor. She saw the empty bottles in the kitchen, lining the counter, and counted them. "Have you really had ten beers, Booth?" She whispered, her voice shaking.
His hands stopped moving, and he released his grip, standing and looking at her. Her face was paler than usual, her eyes rimmed in red and her cheeks tear-stained. He sighed, "Eleven" he slurred, picking up the dustpan and throwing what little glass had been swept up away.
"You've had eleven beers in a two hour period!!" her voice was scared and confused, "Why would you drink so much?"
He shook his head and looked at her. "Do you really need to ask? I was there, in the Jeffersun... the lab... when Sully told you what he knew. I saw you cry, Bones. So don't pretend you don't know why I'm drinking."
"So you're getting beligerently drunk because of me?"
"No!" He stepped around her and sank into his couch yet again, flipping off the television. "No... I'm drinking 'cause of me."
"What did you do?"
"Ruined it."
She sat at the opposite end of the couch, turned facing him, even though he was staring at the wall in front of him. "What did you ruin, Booth?"
He sighed again, shaking his head. "Everything. I ruined our friendship. I ruined our partnership. I ruined Sully's chance with you..."
"Who said Sully had a chance with me in the first place?"
"I'm drunk, not stupid..."
She gaped at him, her jaw slack, and he knew he hadn't said that right. "And what's that supposed to mean? Do you think I'm some kind of slut?"
"No, Bones, that... that wasn't what I said. Not what I meant... Listen... He asked you out, you accepted." He stabbed his finger in her direction, his eyes drifting close in a drunken stupor, "He wanted my help to win you over. I said..."
"I know what you said..." She whispered, staring at her hands.
"That what he told you?" She nodded, "That what made you cry?"
"No." She looked at him, her eyes filled with tears, "No, Booth, what made me cry was hearing that you loved me from someone other than you."
He stared at her, "Angela tells you all the time!"
"That's different. From her, it's conjecture. From Sully... it was fact. Straight from the camel's back..."
"Horse's mouth..." He muttered, smiling.
"Whatever. Booth, you should have told me."
"I couldn't tell you, Bones, are you kidding me? After all my speeches, all my 'There are some people you can't sleep with' and my 'There's a line that we can't cross', It would've been..." He paused, trying to think of the right word.
She offered, "Hypocritical?"
He pointed, grinning, "That's it! It would've been... whatever, for me to come to you and tell you, hey, after all you've been through since we've met, and all the bullshit I've fed you... I'm in love with you. Wanna give it a go?" A noise caught in his throat, "No. You deserve better."
"Better than you?"
"Sully's better than me. Give him a chance. He's a good guy..."
She scooted closer to him, "You're a good guy, Booth."
"Naw, not like Sully. He's definetly better. He told you how I felt to give you the choice, between him or me. You should pick him."
She placed her hand on his cheek, forcing him to look at her, "I don't want to choose him. I want you, Booth..."
"Why?"
She shrugged, kissing him on the cheek, "You should answer your phone more often. Or return calls... maybe even listen to you voice mails..." She stood and headed for the door, hesitating after she pulled it open. "You know, you're going to have a killer hangover in the morning. You should take some aspirin before bed, and put some water, aspirin, and a trashcan next to your bed. You're going to need it..."
"Will I see you tomorrow?"
She smiled at him, "It's up to you." She closed the door, and he sighed, relaxing into the back of the couch.
He awoke to the sun, streaming in from the windows, his head throbbing painfully. He had stumbled into the bathroom sometime in the night, and was now curled on his side, wrapped around the toilet. He had literally spent the night hugging his toilet. His insides quivered, empty and aching from the violent loss throughout the night. He stood on shaking legs and brushed his teeth, erasing the taste of stale beer and vomit. He stepped carefully into the living room, finding his cell phone on the chair he'd left it in the previous night, and quickly realizing that the encouter with Bones had been nothing more than a drunken illusion. Flipping open his phone, he saw 3 missed calls from BONES, 2 missed calls from ANGELA, 3 missed calls from CULLEN, 14 NEW VOICE MESSAGES. He sighed heavily, pressing the phone to his ear as he listened. The first one was from Bones, as were the next five, all saying the same thing, "We need to talk, Booth...", and nothing more. Hadn't she said the previous night that she'd told him something in the voice mails? There were only six from her from the night before, and all were the same. Sighing he kept listening. The next call was from Cullen, at 6 in the morning, saying that if you were sick, you were still expected to send notice of your absence. The following two calls from him contained the same message, the volume increasing with each one.
Angela's voice mail was cryptic: "Booth... You've got to call, okay? It's important. I'd rather you hear it from me..."
His heart sank, but there were three missed calls from Brennan, so he knew she wasn't in danger. In fact, the next three messages were from her: "Where are you, Booth? I'm worried... Call me.", "Booth, seriously, this isn't funny. I don't know what you think you're doing, but I don't play games...", and the final one, "Please be okay," in which she was sobbing. His heart dropped, and he listened to the last message, another from Angela. "Booth... She needs you. Suck up your pride and get in here, okay?"
He listened to the mechanical voice as it quoted the time as 8:47 am, and looked at his watch. 9:12. He deleted all the messages and called Cullen back, telling him his phone had been left in the other room, and he had spent the night vomiting. No, he wasn't going to make it in that day either, and yes, he knew that meant overtime later. He sighed, dialing Angela's number first. "Angela Montenegro..."
"It's me." His voice was thick and raspy... he sounded like death, even to himself.
"Oh, my God! You sound like shit. What happened to you? Why haven't you answered your phone? Where in the hell have you been? Do you have any idea..."
"Whoa, calm down. My head is pounding and I cannot take manic screams right now, okay? What happened to me is I ruined my life last night, and I decided to drown my sorrows in eleven beers. I haven't answered my phone, because I was busy sticking my face in the toilet. I have been, as I just said, in my apartment, locked in my bathroom. Answer all you questions?"
"Except one--why the hell aren't you here?"
"I'm taking a sick day, Ange."
"No, I mean for Bren!"
His eyes widened, "What happened? Is she okay?"
"What do you think? She was all happy and excited to go on this date with this Sullivan character, and then he shows up and tells her she has to chose between him and you. She laughs at him--haha, very funny, what the hell are you talking about. Then, he tells her, get this--that you're in love with her. So she kicks him out, tells him she doesn't see liars, and she doesn't want to hear from him, and how can he call himself your friend!? Then she's sees you, leaving, and she calls out to you to try and tell you what he'd said, and you just run away. So that gets her to thinking... maybe, just maybe, Sullivan wasn't lying."
"Of course he wasn't... Sully can do a lot of things, but lying ain't one of them."
"I know that, and you know that, but she... didn't. Until you left. And she kept trying to call you, and trying to call you. She just wanted to hear you say it was going to be okay. She finally knew that you loved her, and she was coming to grips with it slowly, and she didn't need to hear you say it or try to deny it... she knew. She just wanted you to tell her that you'd still be there, that no matter what you were still her friend." Angela took a deep breath, "And you couldn't be bothered. So... how do you think she's doing?"
"Oh, Fuck..."
"Yeah, fuck is right..." Angela muttered, hanging up. Booth stood and went to his room, throwing on a tee and slipping into some jeans and a pair of sneakers. His head was still throbbing, his insides still churning, his heart still breaking... but he had to find a way to fix it. Like he always did...
AN: What do you think... one-shot, or continue??