A/N: I found this in some files and thought you might enjoy it. I've borrowed some of the scenes for other stories, so some of it might sound familiar to you. But in case some of you wanted something new to read this weekend, I thought you might be willing to overlook it. The finished product is about 7 chapters.

I always thought Brennan forgave Booth a little too easily for faking his death, so this time, he doesn't get off so easily.

As usual, I don't own Bones.

Booth rushed into her office, his jaw still aching from the vicious punch she'd delivered at his funeral. It hadn't made sense at the time, but he understood now. The list of people that were supposed to be notified hadn't been followed. For two weeks, Bones thought he was dead.

It terrified him to think of what she thought of him now. It hadn't been his fault, not really, but he couldn't stop the stab of guilt that assaulted him each time he considered what had happened. She would see it as a breaking of a trust; he didn't trust her enough to call himself and let her know.

To her, that would almost be worse than his death.

She was sitting at her desk, looking at photos on her computer and making notes. He assumed that it was something they had worked on together, but a closer glance told him the bones were old, much older than Booth would be concerned with.

But those old bones were meaningless today. They had a new case with a body to look at and witnesses to interview. He hoped that by starting right away, they would be able to put this horrible incident behind them.

Looking up, Brennan watched him walk in, still not quite able to believe that he was standing in front of her. She'd spent two weeks blaming herself for his death. Two weeks crying more tears than a human body should be able to produce.

It was hard to describe, even to herself, what his death had done to her. Brennan wished she could just eliminate those two weeks from her memory. There were times she wished she could erase Booth from her memory as well.

Letting someone that close to her was dangerous, just as she'd always assumed it would be.

Booth was no different from the rest. They all left without giving her feelings a thought. She was done with emotions, with people, with all of it. The bones of the deceased expected nothing. They didn't hurt you, they never left you.

They certainly never lied to you.

Booth's death forced her to face feelings she hadn't been ready to acknowledge. She'd missed his voice, his casual touches, the way he explained people's actions and emotions in a way that made sense to her. Without Booth, the world was a confusing place she couldn't deal with on her own.

For two weeks, he'd left her adrift, with no safe place to go to. Now, he was back, expecting everything to be the same.

But she wasn't the same. She'd come to accept him as part of her life, then lost him. And that made her angry and scared. Of those two, anger was the safest emotion right then.

So she took a deep breath and reinforced the walls she'd rebuilt over the last two weeks. He wouldn't break them down again.

"Booth," she greeted coolly. "Is there something I can help you with?"

The tone of her voice brought him up short. He hadn't heard it sound like that since that first day in the airport, after they hadn't spoken for almost a year.

"We have a case, Bones!" He slapped his hands together enthusiastically. He was thankful at that moment she couldn't always read emotions well because his excitement sounded very fake. "We have to get going before they touch your remains. You know how you hate that."

She set down her pen carefully, taking the time to consider her words. "I don't have a case, Booth."

"A murder," he said. He pointed over his shoulder. "We need to get going."

She shook her head. "Then you have a case. I don't have a case."

"If I have a case, you have a case. Partners, remember? It hasn't been that long, Bones."

Her eyes darkened and turned cold. Anyone else would have stepped back at the look, but he held his ground. "We aren't partners any longer, Booth."

He adjusted his tie. "Of course we are."

She didn't sigh, didn't show any visible reaction to his declaration. She was remote, distant. "The day you…died," she began. Her voice hesitated before the last word, but she swallowed and continued, "I requested that my partnership with FBI be terminated. That request was granted."

"But I'm alive, Bones. You were supposed to be told that I was alive."

"And I wasn't. But it doesn't matter now. I have no intention of reestablishing that partnership. With you or anyone else." She picked up the pen and returned her attention to the computer, effectively dismissing him.

Booth watched her, debating whether to let the temper firing just beneath the surface explode. Was she serious? Yes, mistakes had been made, but to walk away from a partnership, their partnership, because of it?

He wasn't going to let it happen.

He watched her, waiting for her to look up and announce that she was kidding. That in the last two minutes she had reconsidered and was writing a letter to reestablish the partnership.

When she didn't do anything but continue to write neat little notes on her pad, he let his temper snap. He grabbed the pen from her hand and threw it, out the door and across the lab. Hodgins glanced up, took one look at Booth, and immediately turned back to whatever project he was working on.

The only person who didn't react was Brennan. She picked up a second pen from the desk and went back to taking notes.

A second crash had more than just Hodgins looking up. Cam appeared in the door, only to back away as Booth slammed it in her face.

"Do I have your attention now, Bones?" Booth growled. "Are we actually going to talk about this?"

Brennan looked at the floor next to her desk. "Was it really necessary to throw all of my stuff on the floor, Booth? Cam will be upset if you've messed up my notes on the project I'm doing for her." Her voice was calm.

But her heart was pounding. Booth rarely let his anger show, indicating just how deep his emotions were running. But she was angry, too, and had no intention of forgiving him right then.

"I don't give a shit what Cam is upset about." He kicked at the debris for emphasis. "What I care about is this crazy decision you made."

Brennan leaned back in her chair. "There is nothing crazy about it. The partnership was established between you and I as a mutual relationship between two entities. When one entity died, the partnership came to its logical conclusion."

"But one entity isn't, but I'm not dead," he snapped.

"Neither am I, Booth. One entity died, the other was left to suffer." She blinked hard, the first outward sign of emotion Booth had seen since he entered the office. The almost tears had him taking a mental step back. "This entity chooses to not ever go through that again. Therefore, the partnership is terminated."

Booth gaped at her. "So you'll do what? Stay in this office all day? Looking at bones that are older than time?"

"No bones are older than time. And studying bones is what I did before I started working with you. It's what I'll do again after you leave. I was good at it, Booth. If the Jeffersonian doesn't see that, there are many other institutions that do. Now, go back to the FBI."

She squeezed her hands together tightly on top of the desk. The surprise and hurt in Booth's eyes was almost enough to make her rethink her decision.

Almost.

He noted the knuckles of her clasped hands turning white and wondered if she would squeeze hard enough to break bones. "I'm not leaving, Bones."

"My name is Temperance Brennan," she said, getting to her feet. "We no longer work together. I expect you to address me professionally. Of course, now that we no longer work together, I imagine we won't see each other that much."

Would that be less painful than thinking he was dead, she wondered? Or would it hurt just as much, knowing he was within reach but still out of touch. She shook the tightness from her fingers and tried to not imagine the feel of his warm, alive skin beneath her fingertips.

It was obvious to him that she was angry. Angrier than he thought was possible while he sat in that safe house waiting for time to pass. He'd worried about the rest of them, but not about her. She was supposed to know.

He'd had nightmares while he was gone. Nightmares of her getting hurt without him to protect her. He woke up in a cold sweat more nights than not, praying to God that she was okay. None of his nightmares ever had her walking away in anger.

Her ignorance of the subterfuge had never been part of the nightmares either. She was supposed to be told. It was that fact he kept coming back to. He'd find the truth of what happened. He wanted to know, even if she didn't.

And whatever cracks he'd managed to make in those walls of hers were gone. Now, she'd not only reinforced them, but built them higher, stronger.

Brennan was walking past him toward the door, when he reached out and grabbed her arm. She looked down at his hand. "Let go of me, Booth," she ordered quietly.

"No," he said. "Not until you listen to what I have to say."

She pulled her arm away so violently, he was forced to let go to avoid hurting her. "No, you listen to me. We don't work together anymore. Find a new partner."

"Why won't you look at me, Bones?" Booth asked. His voice was soft suddenly, all his anger gone. What he felt was regret and fear. The punch she'd landed to his jaw hurt less than what she was doing to him now.

She lifted her eyes to his. There was nothing there. No fear, no anger, no pain, nothing. It was buried behind the mask she was wearing. The one she wore for everyone else to force them to keep their distance.

She'd never worn it for him until today.

Knowing she needed time, he forced himself to take a step back. "I won't find another partner, Bones. I work with no one but you."

She motioned with her hand toward the door. "Then go work alone, Booth. I'm sure you'll adjust. Just give it a couple of weeks."