This is yet another songfic. Sorry about this, I seem to be getting slightly addicted to them. This one is based (as you may have guessed from the title) on 'Bleeding Love' by Leona Lewis. I really didn't want to like this song...but I ended up in love with it. Go figure.

Ok, just to forewarn you, this is quite long. Really, quite long. Like, bring extra food and water supplies in case you don't make it kinda long. I'm just warning you.

Bones is not mine. If it were, Brennan wouldn't have to sit around thinking about Booth, she would actually be with him.

With a sigh Brennan reached the final word of the recently published article that was sending ripples across the scientific community. It was an interesting theory, and well researched, but, give her strength, it was so mind-numbingly boring. The guy had no idea how to hold his audience's attention.

"Typical squint," she muttered to herself. The heavy glass, half-full of heady mauve coloured liquid, was mere inches from her mouth before she realised what she'd said. Shaking her head slightly in bewilderment, she drained the lot, refusing to think of her unusual insult. Three years ago she would have never criticised someone for reporting facts objectively and in minute detail. But then, there were a lot of things she wouldn't have done three years ago.

She replaced the glass on the coffee table with a sigh, eyes widening slightly when she misjudged the distance and nearly sent it toppling over the edge. She ran her fingers wearily over her tired face. Not for the first time, she glanced to the empty seat on the couch beside her. A wistful smile barely raised her lips as she thought about the man she wished was sitting next to her. The one who didn't make her feel quite so alone.

Closed off from love

Grunting in annoyance, she flung her legs out over the length of the couch, effectively flattening the spectre of her partner. She punched the cushions aggressively as she lay her head down. She didn't need him. She didn't need anybody. People were devious, breaking down barriers, building up hope, then the ones who made the greatest connection always left. None of them were worth it.

I didn't need the pain

She wriggled onto her back, draping her arms heavily across her stomach. None of her romantic partners had had any real potential. Most of them flitted in and out of her life as quickly as they had arrived, simply fulfilling biological needs. That was all. She didn't want anything more. Pete and Sully had been two of the few who had looked as though they could go the distance. A sneer marred her features as she thought of them. Both had promised they wouldn't leave her. And where were they now?

Once or twice was enough

She had tried with them. Sure, she wasn't perfect, occasionally said the wrong thing, didn't know how to react to certain situations, but she'd made an effort. She had been willing to move in with Pete. Had seriously considered abandoning her career, everything she had worked so hard for, if only for a year, to sail around on a cruise ship with Sully. And people really thought she didn't give love a chance?

And it was all in vain

Of course, she had been hurt. Outwardly she had brushed over it, had buried herself in her work. Told people that, when one doesn't believe in love, it's impossible to get wounded by it. But, whenever you offer part of yourself to another, even if it's only a small insignificant detail, and they appear to reject it…well, needless to say, it stings. But, as the saying goes, time heals all wounds.

Time starts to pass

She had learned her lesson, though. Never again would she open herself up to a potential partner. It was futile, dangerous, and, ultimately, torture. She was more than acquainted with…loneliness sounded far too weak and self-pitying…being alone. It gave her independence, self-reliance. She didn't need anyone. Didn't want anyone. Unfortunately, she was beginning to see that this particular outlook might be a problem.

Before you know it you're frozen

This was one of the reasons why she disliked psychology so much. How could looking back on past painful experiences solve anything? It seemed so counter-productive. The only useful practice would be to focus on the future, on what could be changed. If reminiscing over the past was truly called for, surely examining and calling to mind memories that made one happy were a far better use of someone's time.

But something happened

Thankfully, she had numerous happy memories to draw upon. Vague, shimmering moments spent with her family as a child. She couldn't quite recall what the events surrounding these recollections were…she just knew she felt love. Moments at work: be it the sense of satisfaction at a job completed or the banter and chat of everyday discourse with the 'squints'. However, the majority, and the strongest, of her best, even joyous, memories were of times spent with her partner. It didn't have to be a particularly significant occasion nor an intimate conversation…just being with him, being around him made her feel better. Almost from the moment she'd met him, thinking back over past incidents with him made her glow from the inside out.

For the very first time with you

He had the power to soothe her fears, to talk her down when she was angry. While he often didn't argue issues from the same standpoint, he was more than capable of having rapid-fire, intense discussions with her on almost every subject under the sun. And, when these conversations were done, the two would look at one another, wide-eyed and flushed, and know they had something special, even if they couldn't appreciate it fully nor put it into words. His voice could focus her, his eyes could assure her and, only in his arms, could she be bathed in a foundation-shaking heat that poured from her scalp right down to her trembling knees.

My heart melts into the ground

He was a friend. A true friend in the purest and most loyal meaning of the word. Anthropologically speaking, she knew humans needed mates. That is the one thing we truly need from others. Having evolved and progressed as far as we have, there is still hard evidence that humans possess apocrine glands, used in primates to emit pheromones for attracting mates. And, on a more basic and far less scientific level, many humans have fallen prey, and fallen hard and fast, to their biological urges with people they never intended to consummate any kind of a relationship with. This in itself is evidence enough that our predisposition to mate is so necessary, it overrides our fundamental belief system. The human race doesn't need friends…but acquiring them was a lovely habit we have fallen into. For years, Angela had been there for her, her girl friend, her best friend, perhaps, her one real friend. And she had been happy with that. Because she'd known nothing different. Suddenly, Booth appeared in her life. And, very quickly, it seemed, he was her friend. A true friend and a good friend. A friend she could rely on and trust, whatever happened.

Found something true

It seemed to shock people, set tongues wagging about her in a way she had never known that she could spend so much time with this friend, this man, and not indulge in any sexual activity, even of the most innocent variety. Every time she and Booth were together professionally, she felt watched. Her steps were dogged, her outfit scrutinized, her body language closely monitored for telltale, hidden signs of attraction. It prickled her skin and made her blood boil. Had it been anyone else, she would have terminated the partnership long ago. But, it was Booth. And that meant it was worth it.

And everyone's looking round

And at first she didn't realise that it was happening. The subtle changes in her behaviour and outlook. Her slow understanding of a few, rather limited, pop culture references. The almost indiscernible shift in her objectives: finding and bringing the wrongdoers of this world to justice somehow took precedence over observing and determining circumstances and facts. Who would have thought that the analytical, unintelligible, anti-social Dr. Temperance Brennan could be transformed into an impassioned, energetic, enthusiastic half of one of the most successful partnerships the F.B.I. had ever seen? And it was all thanks to one man who seemed to go out of his way to push every button she had. It was unthinkable, unimaginable: ludicrous.

Thinking I'm going crazy

Brennan growled softly, turning to face the back of the furniture. The wine sloshed uncomfortably in her empty stomach. She fought down the feelings of guilt. Booth would kill her if he knew she hadn't had dinner. Well, what he didn't know… She shifted, flopping and shaking, trying to get comfortable. Unfortunately, she had herself all riled up. Just thinking about the insinuations people made about her and Booth, the judgements and comments, all done with a knowing, laughing smile as though this was all some big joke. Her shoulder throbbed as she threw herself over on her side once more. What did they know anyway? And who were they to inquire? All that mattered was she and Booth.

But I don't care what they say

Suddenly, the cushion was on the floor and she was kicking it and screaming like a woman possessed. She wasn't sure where the rage came from. A surge of adrenaline pumped through her system, increasing the ferocity of her attack. Finally, she collapsed back, exhausted. Her throat felt cut, her lungs depleted. A dull pain throbbed up her leg from the force she'd exerted. She sat there, gasping, for a number of minutes. She wasn't sure whether to laugh at her strange behaviour or cry. But why would she cry? What did she possibly have to cry about? A little voice whispered the answer in her ear and, with a muffled yelp, she threw her head back, fingers kneading her temples in an attempt to drown the echoes of truth rebounding around her skull.

I'm in love with you

She couldn't be. She didn't believe in love. It was just chemicals, dopamine, that blasted need to procreate. There was no such thing as love. She couldn't love. You can't partake in an emotional state that doesn't exist. She…startled, she realised she was crying. Well, not crying exactly, there were no tears, but her body was heaving and retching, the room around her blurring as pain clouded her vision. She shut her eyes, forehead creasing in confusion. What was wrong with her? It couldn't be the wine. Alcohol never affected her emotions. She never drank enough to let it. She was always in control, always rational. So why did the idea of Booth leaving or of somebody trying to split them up tear her apart?

They try to pull me away

But what did they really think they would be taking her away from? A distraction? He wasn't bad looking, certainly… His smiling face suddenly swam into view on her closed lids, a delicious fantasy, just for her. Her stomach somersaulted in spite of herself. He was far more than 'not bad looking'. She groaned and tried to focus. If not a distraction, then what? An annoyance? A deterrent? So much sexual tension she felt her head might explode?

But they don't know the truth

She sighed, shoulders slumping. No, nobody was keeping her from him. All of the teasing and subtle comments were simply friendly, amused social discourse. It was only a trifle pastime that observers could shake their heads collectively at and marvel that the two repeatedly went out of their way to deny an attraction that was so blatantly apparent. She bit her lip. At least, it was apparent for her. If anybody was preventing her from being with Booth, from trying for something more with him, it was Brennan herself. And she was only just beginning to realise how much this was damaging her.

My heart's crippled by the vein

It was her doing, her own restrictions…but he had been the one to come up with the line. She nodded satisfactorily, as though winning an argument with herself. A smug smile even crossed her face momentarily. Then common sense came crashing through and her head dropped in defeat once more. He had come up with the line to protect her. To protect himself. They had just come through that nightmare with Epps…how could he not be terrified? People always make rash decisions, place extremely prohibitive restrictions on themselves, in times of crisis. While she tried to argue with herself that she was only hypothesising, that she couldn't possibly know what he really thought, part of her knew it was true. The only person actively keeping them apart was herself.

That I keep on closing

And, damn him if he wasn't wheedling his way into her life and her heart, line or no line. Her days were filled with him, her dreams consumed by him. He was slowly and effectively chipping away at the wall she had so carefully constructed all those years ago, ripping her apart and leaving her bare, naked: defenceless.

You cut me open and I

Her throat began to ache, begging for release from her emotions through sobbing, gasping, screaming…anything. Her body couldn't continue to endure the pain of her emotional state and endure it silently. This form and extent of hurt needed release, needed a voice. Because slowly, but ever so effectively, it was damaging her deep within. And it was paining her more than she ever could have realised was possible.

Keep bleeding

She dropped her head, body tensing as she fought her despair. She had to stay in control, remain emotionally detached. What was her problem? People shouldn't affect her this way. It wasn't rational. It definitely wasn't logical. She rested her elbows on her trembling knees and propped her head up in her hands. The warm salty river she felt running down her cheeks didn't exactly come as a surprise.

Keep, keep bleeding love

Her eyes stung, her world swam. She heard ragged, desperate gasping noises escaping her throat, reverberating around the empty apartment and emphasising the depth of her sorrow. The blood was pounding in her ears, the steady swishing irritating her as she fought to gain control of herself. It seemed so surreal that something as natural and necessary as the pulsing of her heart should annoy her when she was having what could only be classed as a very unnatural reaction to thoughts about her partner. But the crushing weight pressing down on her shoulders, the dull pressure at her chest left her in no doubt that this reaction was real, was actually happening. If only she could discern why.

I keep bleeding

Pitiful, heartbreaking cries reached her ears and her stomach swirled with embarrassment to think she sounded so weak, so needy. She tried to stop, to firmly and calmly pull herself together but the floodgates had been wrenched apart, the lock on her eternally suppressed emotions opened for all the world to see and the key thrown off into the nothingness pressing down on her from all sides.

I keep, keep bleeding love

She could no longer see the table in front of her, nor the taunting wine glass. The hands reaching up to cover her eyes, as though this would help, were nothing more than a peachy blur that vaguely resembled some part of human anatomy. Her throat felt as though it was closing, her powerful and unbidden sobbing rendering her completely helpless.

Keep bleeding

She felt sore, bruised, cut. But she couldn't tell where felt injured. Every part of her seemed to ache, to thrum with sadness and despair, her keening whimpers and nonsensical gasping whispers a rising crescendo to the emotion and pain bubbling up from deep within her.

Keep, keep bleeding love

What on earth was happening? This couldn't all be the effect of one person. There must be something else. She was probably stressed. Or sleep deprived. Or a million other, various potentially confounding factors that she hadn't considered in her current fragile state. But then his face swam before her eyes and her very lungs seemed to cave in.

You cut me open

Brennan rose off the couch, stumbling slightly as her knees gave way. Breathing heavily she moved across the room, infuriated with herself that she seemed so shaken by her little…episode. She moved toward the window. She needed some clarity. Needed some cold air slapping against her face. Needed to breathe. Why couldn't she breathe? Her head and heart were full of thoughts of her partner and all of the comments people had made about them that she had so desperately and determinedly ignored.

Trying hard not to hear

She squeaked slightly as she pushed the window open, the freezing night air rushing in to meet her. Closing her eyes, she tried to surrender herself to the bitter onslaught, hoping the frigid wind would numb her senses and drown out the shouting voices in her mind. But, if anything, the memories increased in volume, flooring her with their certainty:

"You two would make such a cute couple,"

"You obviously care for each other very much,"

"He would do anything for you,"

"He loves you, you know,"

But they talk so loud

The last one left her gasping, her eyes shooting open as panic bubbled through her system. He didn't love her. He couldn't love her. More importantly, she couldn't love him. That would be…irrational. Illogical. She just…it wasn't possible. Wasn't probable? It would be most inconvenient…life-altering… She shook her head angrily, her swirling and conflicting thoughts confusing and disconcerting her.

Their piercing sounds fill my ears

If she didn't believe in love…didn't believe in it in the way that other people did, then surely she couldn't partake in the emotional process as they could. But, it was true, she had been willing to give previous romantic relationships a chance. Was it simply a chance to work, though, or a chance at love? If…if it was the latter, then that meant that some part of her, on a deeply subconscious level, was willing and ready to believe in the idea that two people could… She shook her head again.

Try to fill me with doubt

Damn insinuations. Her mind was addled, her thought process sporadic at best. Love was chemicals. That was the height of it. No emotions or attachment involved. The people who believed that were far too idealistic and romantic for their own good. And yet…and yet, the idea was nice. Comforting, even. Safe. She knew that when people tried to convince her of love's existence, as its own unique entity, it was not done to irritate her. It was done purely out of kindness.

Yet I know that the goal

They wanted… They wanted for her not to miss out. Wasn't that what Angela had said? Maybe there was some truth in that. Maybe she should stop putting restrictions on herself and her emotions and just allow herself to feel, body and soul completely, what life and…love had to offer. Otherwise, well, there was a chance she could end up alone. Alone and filled with regret over what might have been.

Is to keep me from falling

She closed the window and drifted across her apartment, her movements smooth and graceful though her mind was preoccupied. Ultimately, everything was meant to come down to love. Yes, occupation and prosperity and everything associated with the two were desirable…but love was meant to be the greatest gift anyone could ask for. Writers, philosophers, ordinary people, even scientists, when discussing topics that diverged from their area of study, had commented and enthused over the power and force of love. What should one want at the end of one's life? To call themselves loved and to say that they loved in return.

But nothing's greater

And while she could actually relate on some level to this idea, knowing the feelings and affection she had for friends and family, it was love on a more specific level that she grappled with. To be "in love". To find the love of one's life, someone that completes you, makes you stronger and better than you ever could be alone…that…that she found difficult to comprehend. But, somehow, when she met Booth's gaze or when he took her into his arms and the very air around her seemed to shift, both racing past her and yet standing still at the same time, the concept didn't seem so unbelievable.

Than the rush that comes with your embrace

She knew about the absence of love. When her parents left and then Russ subsequently moved on, she felt broken. Incomplete. And she ached deep inside of her, in some unknown part of anatomy that she couldn't quite identify; no matter how many diagrams she consulted. There was no way to deal with the pain. It crippled her. At times, rendered her speechless. Frequently moved her to tears. Finally, she decided that the only way to deal with it was to bury it. Bury it deep and construct an impenetrable barrier around herself so that nobody else could ever get close enough to cause her that level of anguish again.

And in this world of loneliness

Over time, new rules had been made. Acquaintances became friends, some friends became lovers. And these people were allowed to see parts of herself and of her past, but only what she chose to reveal. If somebody pushed too hard or dug too deep, they were cast off. The essential idea remained, though. Nobody was ever to become that close, to reach that all-knowing, always-present level of intimacy again. Because, as had already been proven, they were the ones who would leave. The ones who would hurt her most. Then, there was Booth. She lay on her bed, turning on her side as she considered the idea of him. An unbidden smile shimmered at the corner of her mouth. As much as she tried to deny and ignore it, he occupied a part of her that was dearer and more meaningful to her than anybody else she knew. And, at night, when the bustle of people and the pressures of work were no longer there to hold off her raging despair, she only had to close her eyes and think of him to feel calm, safe and whole.

I see your face

With him she felt…how did she feel? Complete sounded far too naively romantic. Perfected sounded nauseatingly dramatic. She just felt…like herself. Like herself but…better. Stronger, more capable, more resilient…more…so many good qualities were heightened. And yet, unwanted qualities seemed to be triggered as well. She felt herself behaving more rashly, becoming more emotive… Was this love? Was this highly unusual state of being and thinking the utopia all around her never seemed to shut up about?

Yet everyone around me

They looked at her strangely sometimes. When she agreed unquestionably with something that Booth said. When the two looked gazes and shared a quiet smile over a private joke or memory. When he took her in his arms and she allowed him to hold her, when she gave herself over to him, for longer than perhaps was necessary. Was this an outsider's confusion of a relationship they knew next to nothing about…or was it a somewhat incredulous accepting of the…extent of their partnership? She didn't know, didn't want to dwell on it and, sometimes, she felt she deserved their barely-veiled smirking looks.

Thinks that I'm going crazy, maybe, maybe

Ultimately, though, she knew it couldn't continue like this. She couldn't continue to ignore people's words and glances, couldn't ignore Booth's never-ending soul-searching examinations…couldn't ignore whatever it was her body was trying to tell her. It was too much. Too confusing, too exhausting and it was reducing her to a state of existence she had never wanted to call her own. Constantly suspicious, nervous, frustrated…no, it had to end.

And it's draining all of me

This was a private suffering, a penance to be taken in order to uphold her reputation. She didn't want for anyone to read into moments exchanged between she and Booth and find meaning and subtext there that she'd never intended…or, perhaps, she didn't want them to find it before she had worked up the courage to face it herself. So, she wore a mask and brushed off all allusions to a deeper emotional attachment. While many of the looks remained sceptical, even if they did outwardly agree with her version of events, she doubted any of them knew how fiercely she battled with thoughts and feelings that directly contradicted the account of their relationship that she daily projected.

Oh they find it hard to believe

This dual emotional response, one public, one private, was taking its toll. Sometimes her more intimate responses would leak out into the public forum and she'd find herself staring at Booth for unknown lengths of time and completely miss any conversation that was exchanged. She chastised herself severely for these kind of lapses and became even more paranoid about the representation of herself on public view. Surely these mistakes on her part would only add fuel to the fire. As a result of this, she tried to think about him less and less when she was alone, so as not to strengthen her attachment. But this, too, was not without its problems and it left her feeling miserable and, for some inexplicable reason, abandoned. So, no matter where she was or what she was doing, she felt broken, foolish and afraid.

I'll be wearing these scars

She knew that these feelings could only get worse. Her attempts to suppress them made her dejected. When she embraced them, she was terrified that her attachment shone through. And, no matter what she did, people noticed. They noticed when she acted sullen and withdrawn and they certainly noticed when she, if only for a moment, acted enamoured by her partner's presence. Soon there would be little she could do to stop it. Her feelings, whether good or bad, would be exposed for all, even Booth, to observe, scrutinise and comment upon.

For everyone to see

She rolled over again on the bed. Her eyes caught the photo propped up on her bedside table. She had never framed it, knowing that that would appear significant and would give the image more prominence. Instead, it simply rested against her jewellery box, unadorned and fairly unnoticeable. Except by her. It faced the bed so it was the last thing she saw before turning off the light to sleep. It was the last thing she saw before her rules and restrictions were banished by the freedom and possibility of dreams. His smiling face looking intensely into the frozen image of herself standing in front of him. And every night it relaxed her and comforted her and warmed her from deep within. Surely, a feeling that good, a feeling that strong, could never truly be bad. No matter what people might say, surely that level of happiness should be embraced. Smiling to herself, she leaned over to click off the little lamp. Her eyes lingered on his face for several moments before she extinguished the rosy glow. If, as she believed, everyone was going to find out anyway, maybe the best thing for her to do would be to speed up the process. Embrace her emotions and her happiness, come what may.

I don't care what they say
I'm in love with you