He walked into her office and found Bones sitting on her couch, eyes closed. He didn't make a sound. Their partnership had been strained lately, no matter what he told himself. Hannah didn't help matters. He took a step toward her in the office, then decided against waking her; opting instead to give the papers to Angela to give to her. But then, a single tear ran down her cheek. Booth started.

Is she crying? he wondered. She couldn't be; his Bones didn't cry. Then he noticed a notebook lying closed on her lap. With the skill of a sniper, he crossed the room and picked it up. Sitting in her desk chair, he began to read.

Booth believes in love. I certainly do not. Love is just chemicals in the brain caused by physical attraction. How can such an intelligent man believe in such an irrational thing? If he has been relying on his 'gut' for all of his beliefs, then his reasoning must be flawed.

That was all that was on the page. Flipping to the middle, he recognized a date as the day that he had found Bones buried alive,

I wrote him a letter. It was completely irrational, entirely selfish of me. But I didn't want to die without him knowing. Now that I realize how selfish it was, I'm burning it. He deserves the perfect life; a wife, a dog, a white picket fence…he deserves that. And no matter what I may want, no matter what I feel (though certainly not love as that does not exist), he deserves that.

Booth was astounded. He turned to the next page and read,

Booth thinks he loves me. He thinks that I should take the risk. Risk everything that we have together; everything that I have with him. And that's all that I have. Nothing else really matters without him. And with every selfish bone in my body (that was a metaphor) I wanted to risk it…even if for just one night…no matter the cost to myself. But it would cost him too much. I am not good enough for him. He deserves his white picket fence. He deserves happiness.

From a week before she left Maluku,

Love is real. I cannot believe it! (That was a joke) I cannot wait to tell Booth. He was right, love is real. Being away from him, hearing myself through his perspective (another impossibility in reality, but I was imagining) I realized that though I'd never be good enough for him, I would try to be until the day he decided he didn't want me. I cannot wait to finally tell him; I believe in love, and I love him.

Turning to the last page with her writing, the one that bore today's date, he read

I have concluded that I was wrong. Love is no more than chemicals designed to destroy the metaphorical soul of a human. 'Love', such as Booth tried to teach me about, is a myth. He said that love was unconditional and accepts people as they are, but he couldn't love me through my skepticism. He said that love was patient, but he has Hannah. He said that he loved me, then he left me. All this evidence has led me to the conclusion that love does not exist as anything more than chemicals in the brain.

Booth felt as if his heart was being ripped out. So many truths hit him at the same time.

Bones loved him. She'd said so in her writing.

She had been willing to open her mind to the idea that his version of love existed. All the proof he needed of that was in the fact that she had started the journal.

She believed she wasn't good enough for him. She thought she couldn't make him happy.

He was a completely moronic idiotic fool of an existence. He couldn't even call himself a man. He had known how hard it was for her to let anyone in; he knew how her defenses worked. Hadn't he spent years trying to weasel his way around them? He was the reason she no longer believed in love. Because he was the only one she'd trusted her heart to and he had left her.

Booth looked over at his partner, still in her office at 6 p.m. with no obvious intent to go home. Before, he would have stopped by to make sure she wasn't working herself to death, and then he would take her out to dinner. Where had that Booth gone?

Tears continued to fall down her face while she slept and tears formed in his eyes too.

How could you? he asked himself. It was more of an accusation. How could you?

Looking down at the notebook in his hands, then up at his partner's face, he felt smaller than he had ever felt before. He loved her. He still loved her. He was in love with her. Sure, he loved Hannah, she was so much like Bones, it was hard not to. But he wasn't in love with her; and she wasn't in love with him, either.

How could you? he repeated again. But more importantly, what are you going to do about it?