This pretty much just flew out - it doesn't really have a plot or anything. There's bound to be some mistakes in there, too, but cut me some slack?

Rating: T
Pairing: Booth/Brennan (mostly friendship)
Summary: When she is feeling vulnerable, there is only one person who can help her, no matter how much she hates it.
Words: 1,884
Disclaimer: If it was mine, I wouldn't need to write all these things because it WOULD HAVE HAPPENED IN THE SHOW. So there you go.

Enjoy!


It was not enough.

The realization hit her as she was lying in the hot water of her bath tub, trying desperately to erase the images from her mind. She did not really want to feel this way, nor have all these scenarios played out every time she closed her eyes. All she wanted was some good, quiet, long sleep, with no interruptions and no images.

But maybe she was doomed to see their faces every time she closed her eyes. Maybe, on a cosmic level, somebody was punishing her. She had never believed in karma but she liked the idea, and somebody definitely seemed to have it in for her now.

The culmination of events she had not foreseen had led her to this conclusion. The week had not started out too bad; her new neighbours had seemed intent on making as much sound as possible, but all in all, it had not been that bad.

But then she had come to the Jeffersonian, and she had found out about the case already waiting there for them; and from that point on, things had just gone downhill.

Which was why she was in the bath now, resisting the urge to shut her eyes tightly to somehow erase the images, the thoughts, and have nothing but blankness on her mind.

But a bath was not enough. Even though the sloshing of the water was relaxing, the soft music was beautiful, and the smell of the flower shampoo was very appealing, it did not help her relax. In fact, she was even more stressed because she was trying so hard.

Maybe that was the problem: maybe she was trying too hard. Maybe she should let go of the incessant nagging… just let go…

She sighed, frustrated. Nothing worked. She couldn't stop the stories from popping into her head, she couldn't stop her eyes from forming tears, and she could not stop the single sob that escaped her.

Why was she crying? She could not explain. After all, nothing had happened that she could not handle; the events had the usual intensity, the only thing that had changed was the frequency.

And yet, here she was. Somehow, she recognized she needed to get out of the bath before it turned stone cold; she put on a robe and moved over to her bedroom on autopilot, suddenly feeling so very drained, so tired she could not think straight anymore. Her mind formed unclear connections, like a puzzle she could not solve.

Carrie's eyes…The photo of the first victim, neatly pinned on a board in Johnson's home… His handwriting, depicting exactly what he had done to each and every one of the bodies… Booth's face as he realized what he'd been missing… The pain she had seen in the eyes of the last girl, the only one who had survived.

She knew what pain was. She knew what it was like to have your entire family suddenly missing, gone from your life. Losing someone was one of the worst things to happen to everyone. And each and every one of these girls had had an experience like that; if not them, their family members could certainly identify with them.

Without really realizing it, she had laid down on her bed and was halfway through dialling a number on her cell before realizing what she was doing.

Booth's number. Why had her mind automatically made that leap? Did Miserable Brennan equal Booth To Cheer Her Up?

Her feminist side protested weakly, but she knew that it was true. That side of her had been suppressed ever since a man with twinkly brown eyes and a son with blonde curls had come into her life.

The sad truth was, she had been neglecting her independence in order to pursue a more complete friendship with Booth. She enjoyed the moments they spent together, but she did not want to be so dependent on another person. That was never a good thing; something she had learnt early on in her life. A lifetime of independence was the thing she was going for.

And yet here she was, her mind telling her to call Booth and let him cheer her up; to let him lull her into a peaceful sleep, not interrupted by disbanded images of broken children.

She was becoming weak. She recognized the need to have a friend; but she had never applied it to herself. She had never seen herself as someone who called someone else when she felt miserable; she had never done so with Angela (though, in all fairness, Angela usually noticed herself), so what was so different with Booth?

She was shaken out of her thoughts when she suddenly heard a voice.

"Bones? Are you there?"

The voice was coming out of her phone. It seemed she had dialled the number after all, and now Booth was waiting for a reply.

"Yes, hi, Booth," she said a little breathlessly into her phone. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to call you."

"That's alright," he replied, though he sounded a little sleepy. She looked at her clock discreetly; it was past midnight. No wonder he sounded sleepy. "Why did you call?"

"I'm – I don't know." To her horror, another sob slipped in. She could not control it; she did not have the dominance over her emotions like she usually had. She could not even fully tell why she was feeling so bad; all she knew was that Booth would be able to help her.

"Are you crying?" His voice, filled with concern, made the tears swim in her eyes. "What's wrong?"

She did not reply right away. "I'm sorry, Booth. I didn't mean to wake you up," she said finally, if a little out of breath. "I'll hang up now. See you Monday, Booth." She hung up before she could hear his reply, threw the phone further away from her and flopped back onto her bed, frustrated.

What was wrong with her for acting this way? The emotions inside of her seemed to be so much more present than normal, and she just could not control herself. It made her angry at herself, which was not a feeling she enjoyed.

She spent the next minutes on her bed, staring blankly ahead of her. Occasionally a tear slipped down her face, but she made no attempts to wipe them away. Maybe she needed to cry. Maybe that was it; maybe, for some bizarre reason, she unconsciously recognized some kind of pain inside her which she herself could not identify.

Then someone knocked on her door, and for the second time that night, she was shaken out of her thoughts.

Though she didn't want to get up, she knew she had to; it could be something important.

But when she opened the door, all she saw was Booth, who was looking at her with concern. When she had fully opened the door and had stepped aside to let him in without a word, he took a step forward and brought his hand to her cheek softly.

"What's wrong?"

All she could feel was his hand on her skin, all she could see were his eyes. She could not think straight anymore; so instead, she ducked away and closed the door behind him.

They stood there opposite each other, neither one sure what to say.

"Bones…" Booth finally opened his mouth. "Please tell me, what's wrong?" He was looking at her again with that look in his eyes; that look she could not name, but she had seen it so much more often lately.

"Nothing," she began defensively. "Just – I don't know."

He furrowed his brow. "You don't know why you're upset?"

She shook her head. "I'm not upset."

He smiled ruefully. "Stop denying, Bones, there's nothing wrong with being down every once in a while."

That seemed to do it. She looked down at the floor. "I'm never down every once in a while," she mumbled to the carpet underneath her toes. "It's not me."

"Hey." He kept silent until she looked back up at him. "It's okay." When she met his eyes again, he nodded at the couch.

"Come on, let's sit down. Do you want to drink?"

Somewhere in the back of her mind the thought struck her that it was ridiculous that he was asking her for a drink in her own house. But she just nodded and took the moment he was away to compartmentalize quickly; she took a few calming breaths and stared determinedly at the coffee table in front of her.

When he returned, she felt a faint fluttering in the pit of her stomach. Trying to ignore it, she smiled gratefully at him when he handed her the pine apple juice.

"You know, Bones, after the Gravedigger got you and Hodgins I didn't sleep for days." His voice was casual, but the admission was not. She turned to look at him her eyes wide.

"What?"

"It's okay to be upset about cases," he went on. "Even if you don't exactly know why."

At that moment, she decided she just did not care anymore; if he was willing, she would let him comfort her. He was here, after all, wasn't he?

"I keep seeing their faces," she said, frustrated. "Like I am watching a broken film."

"Broken record," he corrected her automatically, but she hardly even heard.

"And it bugs me, because it won't help them at all. They don't benefit from me thinking about them, no one does." She was silent for a moment, seemingly lost in thought.

"It bugs me that I cannot even process things on my own anymore. I'm starting to lose my independence and I vowed I never would; but here I am, and you are here and all I want-" She cut herself off abruptly. For a long time, there was nothing but silence.

"What? What do you want?" Booth asked, his voice a bit hoarse. She didn't reply. When he finally dared to look at her, he saw the tears slipping down her cheeks in rapid succession.

"Bones." Without thinking, he launched forward and hugged her hard to his chest, not caring about the tears that were soaking his shirt. She cried silently, and that scared Booth more than anything else.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, the thought registered that she was enjoying this. Being in such a close proximity to her partner should surely raise some suspicion; but she felt content and safe in his arms. Gradually, her tears subsided until she was just silent against his chest. He must have known that she was better now, but he didn't let go. He continued holding her until she felt her eyelids grow heavy, until she had to fight to not fall asleep.

"Sleep, Bones," he whispered in her ear. A shiver went through her body at the feeling of his warm breath against her ear, but she was too far gone to think about it. The last thing she thought was that she hadn't seen the faces now.

I need a Booth in my life!