AN: Hi, people!
Thanks a lot to MacGyversGirl and Mickey Boggs for proof reading, I really needed it. Though I did some editing after that (I just can't control myself) so it's very possible you'll find some mistakes. Sorry!
I hope you like it. :)

Disclaimer: Really? Really? Is it really necessary to say I do not own Bones? I don't. And no profit is being made. I still have my day job.

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Booth took his place on the couch, new fresh hot coffee in hand because he suspected he would prefer to be awake, alert and in control. He heard the toilet being flushed, running water, then shutting, and finally the bathroom door rattling open. He saw her walk a bit more composed.

"Do you have any heavier buzz?" She was using his word, he noticed.

"Heavier than Vodka?" He smiled.

Arms crossed, she leaned her shoulder on the wall "No, than beer."

His eyes were suspicious. "I have Whiskey... "

"Where?"

"Top shelf, above the fridge, glass under the sink." He ignored why, but she was not herself tonight. When that happened, it was better just to stand by until he could be helpful.

He saw her walking, moving around the kitchen in that efficient way of hers, getting glass, ice and bottle. He saw her glance at the brown bag as she passed by it. That gesture, not intended for him to see, was somehow unsettling to Booth.

"You're not offering me a drink?" He asked.

"You're on Vicodin, you shouldn't... oh." Realization hit her, he was teasing. Silently, she fixed her drink. Usually she would have taken it neat, no, she wouldn't have had it at all, but it seemed that the clicking of ice against glass was fitted of her current state.

Sitting next to Booth, she arched her back, arms up in the air, left a sight out and stretched her arms to the sides. He heard a few of her articulations pop. Then she rested against the back of the couch in a quick movement, closing her eyes and sighing loudly.

"Now, are you ready to tell me why you're getting wasted?" Booth asked when she finally moved to sip from her glass.

She pursed her lips, tilted her head, sipped again. "I don't know."

"Come on, Bones..." Their eyes met for a moment. "I just want to help," Booth said in that intimate voice that was almost a whisper.

"Help with what?"

Did she really need to ask? "Whatever is upsetting you." He held his mug to his lips and blew on it.

"I am not upset."

"You're trying very hard to knock the sense out of your brain, if you're not upset..." His eyebrows rose, a small smile on his face.

"Fine, I am upset... I was upset earlier... I don't know if I am now... I am very confused," her voice had fallen an octave on that last sentence, and her expression and words reflected confusion perfectly.

"What about?" He drank his coffee.

She pondered before speaking, "I am confused about a lot of things... For instance, I am confused about..." She shook her head, looking for the right thing to say, "myself... and... other things," she added unsure of what other things were.

"Confused about yourself?" Booth's eyes were wide open. She was one of the most confident people he knew.

"Am I selfish? Am I not? If not, why would I be perceived as selfish by other people?" She was making that face she made, her other people's views are probably more accurate than mine face.

"What are you talking about? You're not selfish! That's crazy, who'd say that?" He was looking at her as if she had grown Dali's mustache.

"I don't know," She shrugged, her eyes fixed on her drink.

Booth was overprotective on many levels. "Did Perrota say something to you?"

"What? Why..." But then again, the window. "So you saw us walking together..."

Caught, he admitted, "I couldn't run after you, now, could I?"

She wondered if his use of you was meant as plural or singular. "Rhetorical question," she muttered. Back on track, she replied, "She said some things, but I sort of asked her..." She took another sip, a longer one.

"Did she say you were selfish?" he asked in disbelief. He did not know Perrota very well, but telling Bones she was selfish moved her down several rungs on his ladder.

"Well, no... But I don't want to talk about it. Can we not talk?" It wasn't harsh, but it was rather firm.

"Sure." Booth felt frustrated, as he did every time Bones closed up. However this time there was something else, some sense of annoyance for which he could not find a exact reason. But the coffee was good, Bones was there, in his book, that wasn't so bad.

She stared at her glass. The melted ice drew little shimmery lines in the whisky. Questions ran through her brain. Had he called Perrota too, asked her up as well? Had she said no? Would it have been better if she had said no? Was it some girly technique of which she was unaware? Was Perrota going to pursue Booth still? Why did that idea bother her? Was Perrota right about her? And why was Perrota there to begin with? Had Booth invited her, asked her to bring food? He had to. Why would he answer it's open if he hadn't? Had she asked Perrota that? She had finished her drink during the cogitation. An ice cube fell into her mouth and she chewed it. Her head was dulled, the numbness was taking over her body, and her eyes were heavy. She sighed, closing her eyes.

He'd watched her during the entire process. "Maybe you should switch to water."

She could smell alcohol on herself. But maybe she should drink some more... "I don't know."

"Have you even had dinner? Have you eaten anything all day?"

"I had breakfast... and I ate a salad," It took her some time to recall.

"So you're basically drinking on an empty stomach; you're gonna get sick." Booth sounded a little mad.

"It wasn't my intention," she defended herself. "I didn't want a drink, but it seemed to be the proper bonding ritual at the moment."

"So you did go drinking with Agent Perrota." He said.

"Why are you so interested in what I did with Perrota?" She turned her head as she spoke; the laziness gave away the extent of her inebriation. Still, her eyes pierced through his.

"Because, one minute you're here, she gets here, you bail out, she bails out, you walk away together, and next time I see you, you have a vodka bottle in your purse! Now tell me that's not weird! You don't even like Perrota!"

"Do you?" It came out in her usual low voice, even when it was a blast.

He squinted at her, a suspicious little smile crept on his face "What? Why do you care?"

"I don't." Another blast, Perrota was right about alcohol bringing out whatever you were holding back, she managed to cover. "It's just that she does like you."

She loathed the smug grin that took him over. "I figured that much... did you two talk about me?"

"No." Omission of the truth is not a lie and, technically, they had talked about Brennan.

"What did you talk about?" Booth was very interested.

"None of your business!" She frowned at him, a annoyed at his curiosity.

"Ok, ok, ok... you don't have to tell me," hee hee hee, he was still proud these two had shared drinks over the topic of one Seeley Booth.

"Of course I don't!" yet another blast, this time with a snort.

"Hey, I think it's good you're bonding," he added after a silence she used to pour another whisky.

"You do like her." It came out just as soon as she drew the conclusion that the only reason he could have to want them bonding was that he planned to have Perrota around. He did not reply, didn't even look at her, just drank his coffee. Her honesty pushed through... and, if she truly wasn't selfish, there was no reason not to tell him "She really likes you. She'd have slept with you tonight. She'd probably still do it if you ask her out." The burning buzz didn't sting as much as those words.

"Yeah... she would." She was unable to distinguish daydreaming on people's voices, but she was certain there was something more than the mere stating of a fact on his.

"You knew she was coming... why didn't you tell me? I would have left earlier." So she was right, he had invited Perrota, but she just had to stay, tell him about the case, see his x-rays, assume he would need food, assumed she would have to bring it. His lack of response didn't really help. She took a big gulp. "You should have told me."

A switch had been flicked in Booth's head "Why?" to say that retort was dry would be like saying the Sahara is a bit arid.

Still, he wasn't denying it. "Because... we're partners." That worked in any situation. She delivered with the little rising of the shoulders and the eyes fixed on the floor.

His face gave away nothing, but he wasn't happy with this conversation. "You know, Bones, just because we're partners doesn't mean we need to know everything about each other's lives." Booth said in a deep strong tone.

Why was he almost yelling? "That's not fair," she replied after a short silence. Her voice just a notch lower than her usual low tone. "You're the one who said one needs to give to get. I withhold no information from you, about anything in my life, because you said partners share!" Brennan leaned forward, left the glass on the floor next to her left foot, and rested her elbows on her knees. However, she wasn't hurt, just puzzled, as if that was one of the things that scared her about human interaction. She sighed loudly before closing her lips needle thin. She shouldn't have drank that much, she was starting to regret it. Now she had unveiled sorrows to drown and she had already been pulled to the bottom of the ocean.

"Now don't get all offended," it sounded... harsh? She looked at him in shock; he was staring at her, the muscles of his face tightened. He had meant it that way.

"You have never been so... rude to me before." Rude could not be the appropriate word, but Brennan failed to find a more accurate one.

"Maybe you didn't deserve it before," he replied with the trained stillness of a sniper.

Her mouth was agape, her eyes a bit narrowed, and she backed up a bit, still sitting. She should have never come up; she should have taken a cab. It was still a good idea, to get up and leave, but alcohol "Whah...if you wanted to be alone with Agent Perrota all you had to do was tell me to leave; I would have left. I was worried about you and your back. If I had known she was coming to take care of you I would have gone away."

"Who's the alpha male now?" Booth rose his brows as he said it.

It could have been read as a dare, but Brennan took it as the plain, mean insult he had intended. "What?" was her first reaction, then the logical one followed a bit louder than it should "First of all, I am not a male, second, how is allowing you to pursue sexual satisfaction alpha male behaviour? Third, how dare you to go anthropological on me. I don't know what got into you, Booth," unless, of course, it was she had ruined his chance of spending the night with Perrota, which she wisely kept unsaid "...but you seem to be taking it out on me, and I don't appreciate that." By now, not only the volume but the speed of the discussion had increased.

"Nothing got into me, Bones," Booth said that shaking his palms in front of him as if mocking her use of colloquial terms. Actually, something had. Along the conversation he had grown increasingly exasperated. "I just don't get you, you know? What's your problem? What do you care if I invited Perrota or not? Why would I tell you if I did? Just because you like to parade your dates doesn't mean everyone does. Some of us like to keep our private life private."

She frowned. "This has nothing to do with dates, this is friendship!" she said using her right index finger to stress the words.

"This has nothing to do with friendship. This is about you getting drunk, coming up and doing and saying stupid things." Stupid things she should have not done, that got him as tangled into this mess as she was.

"What?.... How is this about me? If anything, it's you, putting nothing into this friendship and expecting me to tell you everything. Guess what? I'm done sharing; from now on you'll get nothing out of me. You can flash your twinkling eyes and your charming smile to whomever you want, see if they give you a massage, get you a stupid chair..."

"Hey, they got me home made chilli, and would have gotten me laid," he cut her.

Time froze. Or speeded up. Bones brain sparked her reaction without intellectual thought. She punched him. One strong right fist into his arm.

"What are you, 8 years old?" he shouted "Aren't you the logical empiricist? Can't you handle a discussion, brain lady?" Now that was meant to hurt. That was a low blow.

Booth had told her many times and in different ways that her intelligence was a trap, that the very same thing she praised so much kept her from forming emotional connections. But he had never, never used it to hurt her. "You are being an asshole." She said it in a normal tone, cold as ice, sharp as a scalpel.

"I may be, but at least I'm talking," Booth said in a defying tone.

What the hell was that? Wasn't he just complaining about her saying too much and asking too much? "What do you want from me, Booth? Do you want me to talk, do you want me not to talk??? Make up your mind, will you." She didn't want to be here, she wished she had never met Booth, or that she just had stuck with her first impression of him, the narrow-minded agent on whom she wouldn't waste a minute of her life. She grabbed her bag, and strode firmly towards the door.

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I hope you enjoyed it. :)
There's more written, but this can die here or keep on going. I'll leave it up to you -because I already know how it ends, obviously-
Seriously, I can take rejection very well. If you don't believe me, ask my drawing teacher, she reject my work every week... I do hate her, though, so maybe I don't take it too well :)

STTB