(After 'The Bullet in the Brain')

This story was requested by a Guest Reviewer. "Hannah Stories" is no longer being updated as it reached 182 chapters. I will continue to write Hannah stories as I think of them, but they will be stand alone stories.

I really don't own Bones.

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He awoke with a jerk, the image of Heather Taffet's head disintegrating playing over and over in his mind. His breath ragged, he sat up and clutched his knees leaning his forehead against them and tried to catch his breath.

His sudden movements waking her, she rolled over and looked at her boyfriend, wondering how many nights they would have to go through this. "Are you alright? Would you like me to get you a drink of water?"

His heart beating hard against his chest, Booth shook his head and continued to try to calm down. "It was just a dream." He had been fine since he came back from Afghanistan, sure the occasional bad dream, but that came with the territory and he was used to them, but this . . . this was different. Every night for the last two weeks he'd dreamed of Heather Taffet's head exploding into a fine mist of bone shards and blood and he didn't know why. He'd hated her, he was glad she was dead and yet that image wouldn't leave him alone. "Go back to sleep. I'm going to go watch a little TV."

Hannah watched Booth leave the room and worried about his mental health. He was a soldier who had seen a lot of death throughout his career and it wasn't unusual for him to have bad dreams, but not every night. Laying on the bed she stared at the ceiling and worried that he was suffering from PTSD. She wanted to help her lover, but she didn't know how. Should she insist he talk to someone? Did she have the right to push him to do that? Her relationship with Booth wasn't that serious was it? Did that matter? Shouldn't she make sure he got some help if he needed it?

Rolling out of bed, Hannah walked into the living room and stood just outside the bedroom door. "Maybe you should talk to your friend Dr. Sweets about the dreams."

The television on, Booth had selected ESPN and was trying to watch the highlights of hockey, but he wasn't sure if he really cared what was being said by the announcer. "Sweets . . . he has his own problems. He was standing next to Taffet when she lost her head and it . . . it affected him. I think it scared the shit out of him and he acted weird for a while. Caroline talked to him and he seems to be better, but talking about The Gravedigger to him could just throw him back into that funk he was in . . . I have to do this on my own."

A feeling of sadness washed over her and Hannah felt sorry for her boyfriend. "Couldn't you go to the VA? Maybe they have someone you can talk to there."

"I know you're trying to help Hannah, but the VA is not the place you think it is." Booth sighed and placed the remote on the couch next to him. "Too many veterans with too many problems and not enough doctors to help them. Some people in our government only care about our soldiers when they're in a war zone. As soon as our service people are back in the country, they seem to think their obligations to our soldiers ends . . . I'll have to deal with this on my own. It's just bad dreams Hannah don't worry about it. Just go back to bed. You have that early flight you have to take in the morning."

"Should I go?" Hannah was torn. She had a job to do, but she wasn't sure that Booth should be left alone. "I can call in sick."

Booth was starting to lose his patience, but he didn't want to take it out on Hannah. He knew she meant well, but she had no idea what was happening to him and she couldn't help him. "Please go back to bed Hannah. I'm fine."

Since Booth was pushing her away, she didn't feel like it was her right to push back. He wanted her to leave him alone and she would do that. "Alright, I'll call you in the afternoon."

"Fine." A feeling of guilt replaced his impatience and with that, he turned to face his girlfriend. "Hannah, I can handle this. The bad dreams, they aren't new. None of this is new. I can deal with it. Just go do your job and don't worry about me. I'm as fine as I can be."

Accepting his words, Hannah finally withdrew from the room leaving Booth alone.

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It felt like an itch. It always felt like an itch. He wanted to gamble. He loved gambling and he wanted to give in to the need to feel chips in his hand, dice in his hands, cards, pool cues, all of it. As the days passed, the itch kept getting worse and he wasn't sure if he could control it. The GA meetings weren't helping because he knew that he wasn't taking them seriously. He wanted to, but the itch was so unbearable and he wanted to give in.

He walked into the pool room and stared at the green felt covered tables taking up a large portion of the room. It had been years since he'd been there and it was obviously under new management. The walls had been painted a light cream color, some bright neon signs graced the walls advertising select beers and the floors had been changed from creaking oak boards to dark tile. Booth felt the place was aimed at a younger crowd and there did seem to be more of them than there used to be, but he didn't really care about that. He was there to play a few games of pool that's all. He was hoping that if he played some pool, it might stop the itch. He didn't plan to gamble, he just wanted to play some pool and quiet that urgent need to give in to that awful itch.

Pool was his game. It had always been his game and he thought he could use his skills to satisfy a need that wanted to control him. He had every intention of controlling it himself. He could do it. He had to do it.

Standing at a pool table, he set up for a game and started to play. Carefully, he took his time and hit each ball sinking shot after shot. A few of the shots required trick shots, but he found that he hadn't forgot how to finesse them. He had been good in the past and he was still good. The cue felt right in his hand, the clicking of the balls was a pleasant sound and the balls dropping into the pockets was satisfying.

He began to draw a small crowd, but Booth was so caught up in playing he didn't really notice. His eyes were on the balls and the cue and he didn't care about what was going on around him. After a few more games, a young man of about twenty five, stepped closer to the table and tried to get Booth's attention. "How about playing me? Twenty bucks to the winner."

Slowly straightening, Booth moved the cue so that the butt of the pool stick was now resting on the floor next to his foot. "No." Booth shook his head, rested the cue diagonally on the table and set up the balls on the table for another game.

The stranger didn't want to be turned down and tried to talk Booth into playing. "Afraid you'll lose old man?"

The balls now ready, Booth picked up his cue and leaned over the table. "No, I'm afraid I'll win." Breaking the balls, Booth moved from ball to ball until the table was clear. Surprised to see the man was still standing near the table, Booth placed the cue down on the table and confronted the man. "You got a problem?"

Slowly shaking his head, the stranger smiled. "Not me, but I think you do if you're so afraid to play me."

His eyes boring into the younger man, Booth suddenly turned, grabbed his suit jacket that he had left hanging on the back of a chair near him and left the pool hall. Once outside, he noticed his hands were shaking and he knew he had made a mistake. The itch was worse than ever and he was certain that he was about to lose control. Standing on the dark sidewalk, he tried to calm his breathing, to calm his hands and found he wasn't able to do it. Filled with dread, he hurried over to his SUV, started the truck and entered the street without checking for oncoming traffic. Luckily the street was deserted and his inattention didn't hurt him or anyone else.

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Standing in his bathroom, Booth threw up. The thought of how close he had come to gambling was making him sick and he couldn't get over just how stupid he had been going to the pool hall.

The sound of vomiting made Hannah wince and made her feel nauseous. Her boyfriend had come home late and he had hurried past her on the way to the bathroom. Once she heard the sounds of sickness, she became concerned and stood just outside the bathroom, trying not to become sick herself. "What's wrong, Seeley? Do you need to go to Urgent Care?"

Once his stomach was empty, Booth flushed the toilet, closed the lid and sat down on the toilet. Staring at the tub, he waited to see if his stomach was done betraying him. He heard Hannah asking questions, but he wasn't sure how to answer them. Finally satisfied that he had nothing left to be sick with, Booth stood up, washed his hands and face and left the room. "No, it's just a stomach thing." He passed her and moved to the kitchen where he retrieved a bottle of water from the fridge, opened it and drank most of the water. He knew that Hannah had followed him into the room, but he didn't really know what to say to her. "I've been feeling bad for a few days. It'll go away."

"Is this because of your dreams?" Hannah was certain of it. Her boyfriend was barely eating and tonight he hadn't come home until ten. No explanation, no call. She thought he was falling apart and she was worried that he couldn't see it. "Seeley you need help."

"You don't think I don't know that?" Booth tried not to yell out in his frustration, but it was so hard. "You don't think I don't know I'm in trouble? I want to gamble. I need to gamble. I need someone to help me, I know that . . . I need Bones." Swiftly moving past Hannah, he charged down the hallway, threw open the door, slammed it closed behind him and practically ran to the stairwell in his haste to get to his partner.

Stunned at the sudden departure of her boyfriend and the words he had spoken before he left, Hannah moved over to the couch in the living room and made a call. "Temperance, I think Seeley is on the way over to your apartment. He says he needs to gamble and he needs help. He said he needs you."

It's Brodsky. The man was a former Ranger and a friend of Booth. He's been upset ever since Brodsky shot Heather Taffet and tried to blow him up.

A little confused, Hannah tried to remember what little she knew about the Brodsky case. "What do you mean he tried to blow up Booth?"

Booth went after Brodsky alone and Brodsky blew up a trailer as they ran through some woods on land that Brodsky owns . . . well, Booth owns. Booth dislocated his shoulder and sprained his ankle. Didn't he tell you that when you got back this week?

"No, I heard that someone named Brodsky killed the Gravedigger, but Seeley didn't mention that he was hurt . . . Seeley has been having nightmares every night since she was murdered . . . I think this is PTSD."

Perhaps . . . perhaps not. I'm home and I will await Booth's arrival. Don't worry Hannah. I know what to do.

Her friend's words were like a bucket of cold water thrown in her face. Her boyfriend had been hurt and he didn't bother to tell her about it. Brennan knew about it and she knew about his gambling problem too. Temperance knew how to fix Booth and was willing to do it. Hannah realized that her boyfriend didn't want her help. He didn't want anyone's help, just what help his partner could give.

The call ended, Hannah sat staring at the coffee table and wondered if it was time to move on. After all, she was a nomad and this was the longest relationship she had ever been in. Her boyfriend was damaged and she couldn't fix him. She was worried that no one could.

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Interesting?