Welcome back, my friends!

Your responses to this story continue to be overwhelming and I am humbled by your kindness. I hope this chapter meets your approval.

Disclaimer: Still don't own anything, dammit. But it isn't for not trying. Lol.

Angela and Cam sat wide-eyed and listened as Jack told them about his awkward conversation with Booth. Rushing to her feet, Angela pushed her way through the small gathering of interns that was hovering outside Cam's office, trying to find out what had happened to put Jack into such a frenzied state. The artist rushed to the stairwell that would take her down to Limbo, and from the moment the door slid open, she could hear it echoing into the hall. The gut-wrenching sobs from her best friend were bouncing and reverberating around the confined, hard-surfaced space. Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, Angela saw Brennan sitting on the floor, her knees tucked up under her chin as she tried to hug herself in consolation.

"Sweetie... Oh my God, Bren," she hurried to her friend's side and carefully lowered her pregnant body to the floor as quickly as possible, mumbling under her breath about killing Booth in a variety of painful ways. Once she was safely at ground-zero, she wrapped her arm around Brennan's shoulders, pulling her close. "Shhh..." She rocked gently. "What happened, Bren? What did he do?" Angela didn't know if she should be out hunting down Booth to castrate him out of loyalty for her best friend or simply consoling the scientist and helping her to understand what happened.

Brennan mumbled something unintelligible and continued crying, her heart-breaking whimpers filling the room.

After several moments, Angela gave up trying to translate what her friend had said, so she dipped her head lower, still keeping Brennan wrapped against her. "I'm sorry, honey, I couldn't understand what you said." Brennan's emotions seemed to be settling down, so she nudged her a little. "Can you tell me what he did?"

Brennan lifted her head from Angela's shoulder and turned her red-rimmed, puffy eyes up to the ceiling as she tried to breathe. "It..." She swallowed another choking sob. "It wasn't him, Ange... It was me."

"I don't understand, sweetie. Tell me what happened."

With a resolute nod, Brennan took a shuddering breath and told Angela about her conversation with Booth, and about how she, not he, was the one who suggested that they shouldn't work together. She still hadn't revealed to anyone, not even to Angela, how she'd been feeling since returning from Maluku, and she wasn't yet brave enough to admit to all the quiet nights at home crying herself to sleep. It was on the tip of her tongue to confess everything to her best friend, but somehow it felt wrong to say it to Angela while refusing to tell Booth. She knew that if anyone needed to know her true feelings, it was Booth.

Angela listened to Brennan's carefully guarded synopsis without judgement and without comment, encouraging the anthropologist to continue whenever she seemed to stall. It was obvious to the artist that her emotionally stunted bestie was in love with her partner, but she couldn't push her into admitting it; she feared that kind of pressure could backfire and leave an even bigger hole in their little world than the gaping one currently threatening to swallow the entire team. Sending a quick text upstairs to Cam, Angela demanded that she call Booth and get his ass back over to the lab. Now.

A reply was instantaneous, but it wasn't the answer Angela was hoping for.

Already tried calling and texting him. Hasn't called back yet.

Angela could feel her friend's pain and anguish, and she silently vowed to do what she could to drag the Special Agent back down to Limbo and lock the two of them in there until they ironed out their issues. The wheels turned in her bright, free-thinking mind, and she started to shift uncomfortably. "Sweetie," Brennan was leaning heavily against her side. "Do you think we can move this conversation upstairs? To your office...you know, where there's furniture to sit on?"

Suddenly realizing that her pregnant friend was down on the hard floor with her, Brennan darted upright, a shocked look on her face. "Oh, Ange!" Her attention momentarily diverted from her own sad reality, she instantly felt remorseful. "I'm so sorry." She pushed up to her feet and bent over to help her friend up. "Here, let me help you," she tucked her hands under Angela's arms and tugged, pulling the bulk of Ange's weight so she could just focus on balancing.

"Thanks," Angela rubbed her belly. "It's hard to get up and down like I used to do..."

Regretting that she was the reason Angela felt compelled to sit on the floor in the first place, Brennan wiped her wet cheeks dry. "I'm sorry Angela, I didn't even think about it when you sat down... You shouldn't have done that..."

"It's ok, honey. I don't mind." She smiled reassuringly and tucked her arm into Brennan's, tugging her towards the stairs.

"Wait, Angela, I need to put everything away." She pulled back towards her work station. "In fact... I feel better." Now she was feeling embarrassed that someone had witnessed her breakdown. "Sometimes I just need to cry. I think it's hormonal... You know..." She was lying, and she knew it, but she didn't want to talk about it anymore. The independent woman wanted to process the whole debacle on her own, she wanted to analyze and determine the best course of action. And she wanted to do it without interference.

"Brennan," Angela's voice was flat, her tone unforgiving. "You're going to come upstairs and we are going to talk. You know, converse? That's where you say something, and then I say something, and then we repeat that process... A lot... For a long time." She cocked an eyebrow at her stubborn friend, knowing she was now fighting an uphill battle.

"I don't have anything else to say, Ange. I've talked a lot today... I said a lot of things..." She looked down at her hands, wanting to just being alone and now wishing she'd held her emotions inside until that evening, when she could go home and deal with them more privately. But, she reminded herself silently, I didn't really have a choice over the matter... It just happened...

"Honey, that's not gonna work on me." Angela tilted her head to the side patiently. "Let Wendell come down here and pack up for you. He and Jack are just babysitting the younger interns, anyway."

Brennan eyed her work station and then swiveled her gaze to the table that still held the remainder of her lunch, quickly forgotten when Booth left. She glanced at her watch, it had been just over an hour since Booth left, and she realized that was the reason she felt so exhausted... She had been sitting on the hard floor crying and pouring out to Angela since. Looking back at her friend, she nodded.

"Ok. Would you please ask Wendell to come down and pack up for me? I think I am going to go home..." She started to remove her lab coat and walked towards the stairs, accepting Angela's arm in hers once again.

As they moved through the lab, Brennan didn't look around, she didn't notice the sea of eyes that followed her movements as everything came to a screeching halt throughout the expansive space.

"Wendell," Angela called quietly and waved him over, letting go of Brennan and watching her friend continue towards her office, as if on a very, very slow autopilot. When the young man joined her, she gave him a sad smile. "Would you go down into Limbo and pack up the case that Brennan was working, save her work on the computer if she didn't already, and clean up a little bit, please?" When she received concerned agreement from her friend, she explained. "I'm going to take her home."

"Sure, Angela. I hope that everything is ok..." He shook his head sadly. "Jack told me what Booth said... I can't imagine it's as bad as it might have first seemed..."

Angela pursed her lips and watched Brennan moving around in her office, locking drawers and packing her messenger bag. "It's pretty bad, Wendell..." Her tired eyes turned back to him and blinked slowly. "I don't know if we can fix it..."

With a depressed sigh, the intern nodded and watched as his former girlfriend, now simply a dear friend, walked away. He pulled out his phone as he turned towards Limbo and contemplated whether or not he should try to call Booth. With a frustrated huff, he decided that his hockey teammate was less likely to talk to him than to anyone, so he pocketed his cell once again.

"Angela," Brennan watched her oldest friend walk in the direction of her now-darkened office. "I know you mean well, and I appreciate it more than you will ever know, but I really want to be alone." She could see the rebuttal cross the artist's features and she held a hand up. "Seriously. I just want to go lay down, have a cup of tea and maybe take a bath later. I just want to be alone."

Angela had expected that very argument, and she understood Brennan's need to process things in her own time. Reluctantly, she stepped aside, but placed her hand on Brennan's arm to turn her back around. "You have to promise me that if you feel like crying again, or need to talk...even if it's about the friggin' weather...you'll call me."

Not wanting to make a promise that would most definitely be broken when she sat in her apartment later with tears falling down her cheeks, Brennan took a deep breath. "Angela. I just need some time. And space."

"I get that, Sweetie, really I do. But I hate the idea of you sitting alone, trying to deal with all these emotions. I want to help."

"You already have helped." Brennan pasted on a fake smile and pulled her friend in for a hug - a move she was certain her pregnant friend would appreciate. "Thank you," she whispered. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Allowing the scientist to pull away, Angela watched as Brennan made her way to the exit slowly. By trying to avoid drawing attention to herself, she actually made herself the only focal point in the lab by taking such deliberate and steady steps. Every pair of eyes within viewing distance was glued to her snail-paced movements. A collective and overwhelming feeling of despair settled like a blanket across all those present.

B/B/B/B

"Hey, Booth. Come on in," Cullen waved his Head of Crimes into the office when Booth popped his head through the door, asking for a quick meeting. His smile quickly faded when Booth moved mechanically into his office. "Did you, uh, talk to Dr. Brennan?"

"Yes, sir, that's why I'm here." Booth's face was an emotionless mask, carefully hiding the torrent of emotions flooding his body. "I have some paperwork for you."

"Ahh," Cullen incorrectly assumed that Brennan had reluctantly signed the pre-registration forms for the conference, but gave Booth hell about it, resulting his the solemn demeanor. Extending his hand, the Deputy Director accepted the manila folder Booth was handing to him. "Ok, I'll go ahead and have Charlie make the reservations-" His sentence faded as he glanced down at the form in his hand. Giving it a second scan, his eyes darted up in concern and he met Booth's hardened gaze. "What the hell is this?"

"Dr. Brennan doesn't want to be partnered with me any longer." His poker face firmly set, he pulled on all his past experiences to keep calm. "I told her I would have the forms couriered over to her at the Jeffersonian."

Cullen shook his head. "Listen, Booth, if she's that opposed to attending the conference, then screw it. I'll just tell the rest of the Suits that she couldn't make it... I'll make something up. This extreme measure is not necessary."

"That isn't the case, sir." Booth inhaled sharply, wanting to get the hell out of the office, out of the building, out of the whole damn District. "The topic of the conference didn't even make it into the conversation."

"Booth..."

"You'll see there is also a request for vacation in the folder," he interrupted his boss. "I haven't taken any since I came back from Afghanistan." His tone was all business and it was crystal clear that he didn't want to discuss any more than absolutely necessary. "If I did my calculations correct, I've earned seventeen days so far this year." He sat back in his chair. "I'd like to request a week off to start, with the option to extend up to my full amount. Effective immediately."

"I think I deserve an explanation, Booth." Cullen squared his shoulders, feeling anger just below the surface. "You can't just come in here and spring this on me without reason."

"Yeah," Booth cleared his throat. "I left that part blank, for her to fill in. She's the one who made the decision." Booth set his jaw firmly, pinning his boss with a hard stare. "Maybe after you get it back, you can fill me in on the reason…"

Cullen looked down again, his eyes focusing on the scrawled signature of his top agent. "I don't really know what to say, Booth…"

"Not much to say, sir. Other than to wish me a good vacation." Booth hadn't received the approval yet, but either way, he was taking the week off, and perhaps even longer. "I left instructions with Charlie on all my open cold cases. He'll have to work with the staff at the Jeffersonian to recall the evidence in their possession, unless they agree to continue working them." He slid forward in his seat. "So, about my vacation request…"

B/B/B/B

As Brennan approached her car in the parking garage, a shiny black SUV was pulling into the guest spot that Booth usually used. She felt her heart jump a little at the idea that he had come back for her, to see her or to talk…perhaps to talk her out of her poor judgement call. When she turned towards the vehicle, however, the excitement in her chest deflated as Charlie stepped out of the truck.

"Dr. Brennan!" He waved his hand at her. "I have a package for you. Director Cullen ordered me to get it straight over to you…" He was jogging across the short distance between them. "I'm glad I caught you before you left." He handed her a package and an Acknowledgement of Receipt signature slip. The Junior Agent tried not to stare at Brennan's red, blotchy cheeks and swollen eyes. He didn't know exactly what he was delivering, but he knew his boss left a stack of shit on his desk covered with yellow sticky-notes and locked his office door shortly before Charlie was summoned by Cullen and given the confidential envelope to hand-deliver. "He said to tell you there is no rush. Whatever is in there should be reviewed and considered carefully, and completed in full before returning it. If you don't want to run it over to us, give me a call and I'll come pick it up. That instruction is directly from Cullen."

Slipping the envelope into her messenger bag, Brennan nodded silently and turned back towards her own parking space. "Thank you, Agent Burns." Her response was small and timid, nearly swallowed by the cavernous white-noise of the garage.

"You're welcome, Doc." Charlie watched as she slipped into her little sports-car and started the engine. Before she backed out of her space, he saw her wipe the back of her hand across her cheek, and he felt his heart break for the woman that had always been a rock in the face of danger. He still didn't know what the hell was going on, but whatever it was needed to get better… He felt like his world was tilting to the left...and he didn't like it.

B/B/B/B

Booth practically ransacked his room, pulling out only the bare minimum of what he would need and hastily shoving the items into a duffle bag. He changed the outgoing voice mail message on his phone, ignoring and deleting the repeated pleas from Cam to call her back, then he promptly turned the power off, tossing it into the bag as well. Once his apartment was locked up tight, he stalked down the hallway to the stairs, opting to burn a little energy rather than wait for the elevator. The faster he could get the hell out of DC, effectively taking him away from her, the better.

He merged onto the expressway just before rush hour, which suited him fine, he would beat the traffic. Setting the cruise control at seventy miles per hour, he cranked up the volume on his radio, letting classic rock fill the air in attempts to drown out the visions and thoughts of his partner and her woeful, tear-filled eyes that watched him accept her logic to their fate as partners and friends, and them walk away from her.

And the further away he got, the worse he felt about his own fate. But that, too, was shoved down deep as a guitar wailed and a strong bass beat drove him further North.

B/B/B/B

Brennan sat in her living room feeling uncommonly lost. She held the manila envelope on her lap, still unopened, and she stared at it until she lost focus and she was simply staring at a yellow blotch of color against her dark blue work slacks. She lost all sense of time, and it wasn't until the envelope slipped from her fingers and the metal clasp clicked on the hardwood floor that she came back to awareness. Glancing up at the clock, she was shocked to see that it was nearly eight o'clock. While lost deep in thought, the scientist realized the grave error she had made, and felt panic rising in her body.

She needed to talk to Booth. She needed to talk to him NOW.

Picking up her cell from the coffee table, she pressed Speed Dial One and waited. The lump in her throat tripled in size when she heard the clipped greeting.

You've reached Special Agent Seeley Booth of the FBI. If this is an emergency, please hang up and call 9-1-1. If you are calling with information that pertains to an open investigation, please contact your local FBI office for further instructions. This voicemail will be unmonitored for an undetermined amount of time, please do not leave specific requests or time sensitive details on this message. Thank you.

Brennan pulled her phone from her ear and stared at it accusingly, as if it was the reason she couldn't speak to her partner. Putting it back to her ear, she left a message. "Booth. It's me. Please call me."

Disconnecting, she then dialed his house number and listened while it rang four, five, six times. His answer machine was set to pick up on the third ring, and by the tenth ring, the scientist knew Booth had unplugged his phone. Running to her bedroom, she quickly changed clothes, throwing on a long sleeve t-shirt, jeans and sneakers. When she went back out into her living room, she thrust the envelope into her messenger bag again and headed out the door, trying to get through to his cell phone again, with no better luck than the first time.

She huffed in frustration when she saw that his truck wasn't parked in his typical space outside the apartment building. That didn't stop her, however, from taking two stairs at a time up to his floor and pounding on his door.

"Booth! It's me, open up!" She banged until her hand stung. Mrs. Holmes from down the hall poked her head out of her apartment wondering what was happening.

"Oh," she smiled when she saw who was making all the noise. "You missed him, Dr. Brennan." She stepped out into the hall, eager to help the woman who she admired greatly. "He left already. Seemed to be in a hurry," the elderly woman gave a conspiratory grin. "I figured you two were heading into an undercover deal... He had his bag with him."

The feeling of dread washed over Brennan's body. "He left..."

"Were you supposed to meet him, dear?"

"What time did he leave, Mrs. Holmes? Do you recall?"

"It was a couple hours ago, maybe a little more." She looked on as Brennan started digging through the bag strapped across her body. Seeing the desperation on Brennan's pale features, the older woman felt her heart go out. "You aren't going undercover, are you." It was more of a statement than a question, and an answer was unnecessary.

Pulling a key ring from the depths of her bag, she just glanced quietly up at the friendly neighbor. "Thank you for the information, Mrs. Holmes." She inserted the key into Booth's door and fought with the knob, wiggling it until the sticky deadbolt finally slid open. "If you'll excuse me..." She didn't wait for a reply, she simply pushed into the apartment and slammed the door closed, leaning back against it and inhaling deeply.

Instantly she was surrounded by Booth... His scent, his masculinity, his personal possessions. She suddenly couldn't imagine working with someone who didn't smell like Booth. There was comfort and security in the way his unique pheromones mixed with his cologne, and Brennan knew she needed that reassurance. She needed to be around him, and now she was terrified that she had driven him away permanently.

Shoving off the door, she walked down the short entry hall and entered his living room, looking aimlessly for anything that might indicate where he had gone in such a rush. Not finding anything, she ventured down the hallway and entered his bedroom silently. To say she was surprised at the disheveled state of the room would be a gross understatement. She had been in Booth's room before and she knew he kept a neat and tidy space. But what she saw before her was disturbing. Drawers were not closed, the closet door remained ajar and partially folded clothes that likely didn't fit into his bag were left behind, carelessly tossed on the bed.

Knowing she would find nothing telltale, she turned and walked back towards the front of the apartment. She went to his hidden wall safe and opened it up, taking inventory of what remained. Most importantly, his passport was still there, so he wasn't going out of the country. His weapon, extra magazine, badge and wallet were gone, which was no surprise. With a sudden epiphany, she slammed the safe closed and ran to the kitchen. Rushing over to the brightly colored vintage Frigidaire, she yanked open the freezer and stared at the empty space where the Tupperware container should have been stowed.

"Shit!" She shoved the door closed with a grunt and pounded her fist against the cool metal. "Dammit, Booth!" She yelled into the empty apartment and pulled her phone out. Logging into her partner's online bank account, she noted the recent charges, which told her the direction he was obviously traveling, and she knew she was right to be concerned. "Don't do it," she grumbled uselessly and she logged off and hurried back down the entry hall.

Making sure she locked the door securely, she trotted down the stairwell and into the night, hoping that she wouldn't be too late. With a failed last ditch effort to reach Booth by phone, Brennan sped through the darkened streets, aiming for the freeway that would take her north. The whole time, she was reprimanding herself for not thinking before speaking earlier when he had come to her at the lab... Perhaps if she had just kept her mouth shut, she would be sitting at Founding Fathers having a drink with Booth instead of racing off on her own in a feeble, and a very-likely-to-fail attempt to find him and save him from himself.

Postscript A/N

I hope this was an ok chapter for you all. Please let me know!

I must ask, if you wish to engage me in a conversation regarding the story, my views or opinions, please sign in when you leave a review. If you don't sign in, I can't respond through the review system.

And in response to one particular review that seemed to question my opinion on how their relationship failed and who was to blame, yes, I *do* lay *most* of the blame on Booth and his poorly timed judgement to push Brennan when he should have recognized that she would push back. While Brennan certainly was not blameless in the whole mess, she held true to her personality and panicked when faced with the possibility of a change in their relationship. I know that not everyone has the same opinion, and since we don't know what happened 'off the air' or on their 'free time', this is just one possible take of how things may have unfolded. since I couldn't respond on the review system, I thought I should have the chance to explain and defend the reason I write the things I do.

Thanks for listening

peace & love, my friends,

~ jazzy