Title: The Definition of Insanity

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Bones belongs to 20th Century Fox, Hart Hanson, Stephen Nathan, and the producers, writers, and actors of the show. I make no profit in writing this story.

Summary: After the fallout of Booth's confession and Brennan's refusal, how can the partners return back to where they were before?

Spoilers: After the 100th episode, but before the S5 finale.

Author's Notes: Oh please come back! I promise I won't bite! I kinda needed to get this off my chest since I'm stuck in a rut with Learning Curves as of the moment. I promise I'll try and have at least a chapter up before I leave for Christmas break, but in the meantime, here's something to whet your appetite. I'm planning this one as a three-parter, so the last chapter should be up by tomorrow or the day after.

Again, this is un-beta'ed, so all mistakes are my own. :)

I wish I wasn't so fragile

'Cos I know that I'm not easy to handle

- "Fall Apart Today", Schuyler Fisk

They were seated at the table they had already claimed - at least in theory - for over four years. The case they were working on was at a standstill, and Booth had insisted that Brennan take a break and have an early dinner with him. Now they were simply polishing off the last of their meals, talking about the idea of reincarnation. "Nietzsche would call it the concept of eternal recurrence - that the universe and everything in it has happened before and will happen again, and will continue to happen - thereby rendering your idea of a one true love as something that does not exist," said Brennan decisively.

He swiped a fry from the rapidly dwindling pile on the plate between them. "Nope. We're only given one life to live, Bones. This is all we've got."

"But if you think about it Booth, human history is just a series of patterns. Kingdoms and governments rise and fall. Revolutions happen, we win or we lose, and the narrative is still picked up by the survivors." She dipped her fry in the tomato ketchup and chewed thoughtfully. "Not to mention the theory that history is only written by the victor."

He waggled his finger at her. "Face it Bones: the only reason you hold on to that idea is because you're scared of regretting something, that you've made a mistake."

Her face softened. "I never said I was infallible, Booth. I'm only human."

He gave her a grin, humming under his breath. His lips were slightly shiny from the salt on the fries, his tie unknotted and his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. "I know, Bones. I was just pulling your leg."

Brennan made a face at him. "Einstein said something similar to Nietzsche, you know. He said that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, expecting different results. If he and Nietzsche are correct, then it begs the question of why we do the things we do, when we know we've done them before and nothing has changed."

Booth shrugged, muscles rippling underneath the thin fabric of his white dress shirt. "Because we still find enjoyment in them. I mean, if you think about it, we always share fries in the diner. How come you never get your own plate?"

"Because - " she said, gleefully stealing the last french fry under his nose - "I enjoy them."

"Precisely. Why do you still keep on doing your cases in Limbo?"

"Don't call it Limbo!"

"Fine, Bone Storage. Why do you still insist on working the cases of these dead soldiers and whatnot when you know perfectly well you'll never finish them? Because you believe that these people deserve a name, and a face, and they deserve to be interred with honor and respect. You can repeat all the philosophical mumbo jumbo you know to me in order to justify your work, but you know, deep down inside, you, Temperance Brennan, do the work you do because you are the best in your field and most importantly, you enjoy it."

They held each others' gaze over an empty plate of fries. Outside, the sky was rapidly darkening, streaks of pink and purple branching out against clouds and rooftops. Evening traffic hummed in the distance - husbands and wives returning home from work, university students rushing to and from classes, men and women preparing for a dinner, a date, a movie to watch curled up on the couch with a bowl of popcorn. And yet their universe was narrowed to this diner, this booth, this chair and that, and the sticky-salty taste of fried potatoes still clinging to their lips and tongues like the memory of that first kiss, long ago, that first big bang.

Brennan was the one who broke off first, turning her eyes to the concentric circles of moisture dotting the plasticine surface of the diner table. Her water glass had condensed, beads of water clinging stubbornly to the glass surface. Her fingers idly traced the circles on the table, trying to maintain a semblance of control. It was happening more often now - these odd discussions that seemed to circle back to that night at the Hoover. I don't have your kind of open heart, she'd said, trying to keep her voice from cracking, her heart from breaking. The heart is a muscle, it can't break. But she remembered feeling as though pincers had reached into her chest cavity, taking the fragile metaphorical heart from inside her body and applying sufficient pressure to crack it into a million little pieces.

"Bones?" Booth's voice was laced with infinite gentleness. "Are you okay?"

She looked up. There was nothing but patience in his dark brown eyes. Patience. Understanding. And if she was feeling a bit emotional (and she was), she could almost see a glimmer of love in his gaze. She took a deep breath. "I'm fine, Booth."

He leaned back against his chair, his hands behind his head. "Great. I thought you were having some kind of attack there for awhile."

She rolled her eyes at his glibness. "You'd know perfectly well if I was in some kind of medical emergency, Booth. You're my medical proxy, after all."

There - his dark brown eyes widened, his jaw went slack, and he pulled himself up from the casual pose he had appropriated only mere seconds before. "I am?"

"Yes." She kept her voice level, calm, as though she was discussing kerf marks on a bone. "After all, we are both in dangerous careers, especially when we're in the field, so I figured that, as my partner, you should have access to my medical files. My father and Russ are both in North Carolina, which means that it would take considerable time for them to get to the city; on the other hand, you only live a few blocks away from me, and therefore have a better chance of reaching me if a medical emergency arises."

"Well, I'm glad you trust me with something as important as your health, Bones."

"I'd trust you with anything, Booth."

There was a shadow of bitterness in his voice as he said, "But not with your heart."

She knew they would circle back to this. The past few weeks had been nothing but awkward overtures, like a particularly unsatisfying one-night stand. There was a part of her that wanted to run away again, to distance herself from this emotional mess, to remove that part of her that was inexplicably drawn to Booth like a moth to a flame. She ran the tip of her tongue over her suddenly-dry lips.

"Never mind, Bones." Like a mask slipping into place, Booth gave her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Forget I said anything."

She cocked her head to one side, trying to gauge the best way to repair this - to repair them. This was more than just trying to put together what was torn asunder; more than just the inability to live a purposeless life or to take on responsibility for someone else's decisions. This was... a chasm, unfolding, the distance between them growing larger and larger until she could barely see his shadow on the other side. But she was unsure as to how to proceed. Most of her social cues were taken from Booth. Except that now, he was holding himself back. You're on your own, Temperance.

"I... " She hesitated, hoping that she was saying the right things. "I think we need to talk, Booth."

He shook his head. "Not right now, Bones. Not right now."

A/N: Did that whet your appetite? Onwards to Part 2! Reviews are welcome, and are much appreciated (and will probably encourage me to write quicker.)