A/N: I promise it ends well. But it will take us four or five chapters to get there. As usual, I do not own Bones.

Happy Holidays everyone!

Booth opened his eyes to a scene that was familiar, but unexpected. He was back in his old apartment, the one he'd lived in before he and Bones were a couple. He rubbed his hand over his eyes, confused by what he was seeing. How did he end up back here? Had there been an accident at the other house? And how was this exact apartment still available?

Rolling over to his side, he reached for Bones, only to find her side of the bed empty. He ran his hand over the spot to find that it was cool, indicating she had left the bed some time ago. She wasn't in the bedroom with him, as far as he could tell.

Sitting up, he shoved his feet into a pair of slippers he was sure he'd thrown out years ago. The holes in the bottoms were gone and they didn't have the stain on the top where he'd spilled coffee on them. He'd been kissing Bones and hadn't been paying attention to the cup he was carrying. Something that was pretty easy to do when he kissed the woman he loved.

He was tempted to call out, but instinct told him to remain quiet. Booth wasn't sure what was going on, but until he was, he didn't want to call any attention to himself.

Noises of pots and pans banging together came from the kitchen, and Booth looked back toward the nightstand where his gun sat. He desperately wanted to grab it, but assumed that if he'd been kidnapped, he probably wasn't being held captive in his old apartment. And besides, what deranged kidnapper would know about his slippers and provide them to him?

Dreams weren't usually this vivid. He'd had nightmares before that felt real, but they still had that ethereal quality to them. This dream had weight, substance that no dream had ever had before.

It felt real, was real as far as he could tell. Bones would tell him he was crazy, that dreams were never real, no matter what they felt like. But this was like stepping into an alternate reality, rather than just a dream.

Someone was humming Christmas music in the kitchen. Even with the door closed, he could hear them. And it wasn't Bones. Bones had a lovely singing voice that she shared with very few people. Booth considered himself lucky that he got to hear her sing frequently to their children, and sometimes in the shower when she thought no one was listening. This…woman, whoever she was, didn't have Bones' voice, and Booth's pulse went up another notch.

What could possibly be going on here? When he went to bed last night, he lay next to Bones, staring at the Christmas tree in the living room through the glass wall. They'd left the lights on because it was the eve of Christmas Eve, and Booth's excitement for the big day almost matched that of his children. Now, on Christmas Eve morning, he was in his old apartment, Bones nowhere to be found.

And his children. Where were they?

Had he had too much to drink? He didn't remember overindulging, but Hodgins and Angela had been over to join them last night. Had Hodgins spiked the drinks with some crazy concoction he'd invented in the lab? It wouldn't be the first time he'd served them some crazy liquor without telling them. However, most of the time, Hodgins came clean rather quickly and none of it had ever been potent enough to cause this kind of reaction.

Because it had to be a reaction, right? None of this was real. It couldn't be. He was married to Bones and had two kids, Christine and Hank. They still worked their respective jobs and Aubrey had been his partner since the death of Sweets, an event that still made him catch his breath. None of what he was experiencing right at that moment should even be possible.

A feeling of dread was fighting its way to the surface and Booth could't stomp it back down. What the hell was going on here?

Slow, quiet steps brought him to the closed bedroom door. He twisted the knob, pulling it open. When it had cleared the frame, he put his eye to the crack and peered into the living room.

The couch was visible. The one Bones had slept on the night her intern was killed. The night she'd joined him in his bed and they'd begun a new chapter in their lives. A chapter that had led to marriage and children and Christmas trees in their living room.

But now, there was no tree. No sign that it was almost Christmas. How could he let Christmas approach and not get a tree? No sign that Bones or the children were in the apartment, or had ever been in the apartment. But there was definitely someone else there and they were definitely in the kitchen.

This time, he didn't fight the urge to go back for his gun. Holding it loosely at his side, he opened the door wider and cautiously entered the living room. Now, he could clearly see the woman standing at the counter.

He rubbed a hand across his chest, recognition making it ache. She had no right being in his apartment. No right to any part of his life anymore.

Before he could say a word, she turned, greeting him with a chagrined smile. She didn't look guilty. In fact, she looked at him as if she was right where she belonged.

Which scared the hell out of him.

"Good morning, Seeley," she said. "I tried to make you breakfast, but you can see it isn't going so well." His familiar intruder waved her hand to indicate the mess of pans and debris strewn about the counter.

Booth didn't raise the gun, but he didn't set it down, either. Obviously, at some point, this woman had experienced a mental breakdown. He didn't want to be too far away from his weapon until he knew exactly how dangerous she was.

"Hannah," he said, his voice betraying nothing. "What are you doing here?"