AN: I know it's taken me a while to get this out but I blame six months of the muse taking a vacation and when she returned she had many ideas for many other things. But finally I got to write the 'D' for this series. In this case, 'D' is for 'Drink'.

Summary: Booth has been sitting at the bar at the Founding Father's slowly drinking himself into a stupor, anything to numb the pain of another rejection. Of course he won't be drinking alone for long. Set at the end of the S6 episode, 'The Daredevil in the Mold'.


Drink

The bar at the Founding Fathers was blurry, the lights streaking strangely in that way they do when you've either been crying or are very tired.

Booth figured it was probably because he was so bone tired; or drunk.

He blinked slowly at this thought. Was he drunk? Blearily, he looked at the bar counter in front of him. For several seconds however, he couldn't tell how many glasses were actually in front of him; every time he tried to fix his gaze on one to begin counting it seemed the glass would multiple. Just by his looking at it.

Strange, he thought to himself but then maybe it wasn't. Maybe the glasses really were multiplying. Booth shook his head or tried to, the movement seemed to make things spin around him, the light streaking worse than ever; along with a sharp pain jolting through his head and so he desisted.

Drunk, he decided. Must be drunk.

Which wasn't surprising if he thought about it, after all he had lost track of how much time he'd spent sitting on the end of the bar downing shot after shot of scotch.

Trying to drown his pain.

The anger, which for a time seemed to have been numbed by the alcohol, rose.

God, why am I such a fool? Why do I always fuck things up so badly? And why doesn't any woman want me? What is wrong with me? Or maybe it's them. Yeah, it's probably them. They all think they're better than me.

Scowling, he downed the shot in his hand, and then asked for another. Booth figured if he could drink just a bit more, he could stop thinking or feeling anything for the time being.

But as the bartender poured the shot, he felt a presence enter the bar. A presence he knew like he knew the back of his hand.

Bones.

Her light footsteps came towards the bar and then she was slipping onto the bar stool beside his. A beat passed before she spoke.

"You drunk?" she asked him bluntly.

Booth almost laughed, but instead he answered her bitterly, "Rel-relatively. Relatively, I'm … meaning I'm drunker than usual." The words were hard to get out, probably because of the alcohol. "But no, I am not a drunk," he added a second later, for what reason he wasn't really sure, only that he needed to make it clear that just because he was drowning his broken heart in alcohol it didn't make him a drunk. He was not his father. No.

Brennan seemed to nod at this, agreeing that he wasn't a drunk. Booth didn't know. Or care.

Another beat of silence passed between them, Brennan not sure what to say next, the utter brokenness in Booth's voice causing her heart to hurt for him, metaphorically of course. Feeling out her depth she said the first thing that came to her.

"You sound … something," she said, wishing that she had the words to express how deeply she hated to see him hurting so much.

Booth didn't answer her, only looked down at his hands, at the glass still in his grasp, before lifting his eyes to the ceiling, trying to stave off tears. Why did it have to hurt so much?

"Hannah called me," she stated quietly. "She thought you could use some company. She, um, told me what happened."

And just like that he was close to tears again. Smacking the bar in frustration, while trying to keep himself from falling apart right there, Booth snorted derisively. "Just …," he paused, the tears close, but with sheer force of will he kept them at bay and smacked the bar with his palm again. "I really … I don't wanna talk about that, alright? Okay? I'm just … I'm over it. I'm over it, I'm done. Okay?"

Brennan watched, again feeling as though she were inadequate to the task of helping her friend. Once more she asked the first question that came to her.

"So, what happens next?"

What happens next? Was she kidding him right now? She was actually asking what came next.

"What happens next?" he asked out loud, his disbelief at her asking such a question clear. He didn't know what would come next, just that it seemed as though every woman he'd fallen in love with hadn't wanted him, all of them rejecting him for one reason or another.

First Rebecca, then Bones, and now Hannah. What was wrong with him?

"I mean you like evidence. All right, Bones?" Booth blurted suddenly. His words were slightly slurred but still strong as he continued to talk. "Well, here's the evidence. The evidence is that there's something wrong here. Now, I - I fell in love with a woman. I had a kid. She doesn't want to marry me. And - the next woman, she's..." he broke off, emotion clogging his throat.

"Me," Brennan provided quietly, feeling the same hurt she'd been feeling since that night outside the Hoover.

"Yeah. And now," he stopped again, unable to voice the fresh bleeding wound that was Hannah. Instead he swallowed his shot and spoke again, "I mean, what is it with women who don't want what I'm offering here?" The question came out like the broken, ragged thing it was.

"Booth ..." Brennan started, not really sure what she was going to say or how to say it. However, before she could form a thought never mind speak it, Booth began to speak again.

"No. Just, you know what - drink. Drink. I'm just really- I'm just mad," Booth bit out, the anger rising once more and coloring his words, making them sharp at the edges. Each meant to slice and draw blood. "I'm just really mad at all of you. I'm just mad, okay?" Another pause as he drank a little more scotch and then he continued.

"So you want to know how this is going to work. Okay, this is how this is going to work. Me and you are partners that's what we do. We're partners. And I love that. I think that's great. And we're good people that catch bad people, right? And - and we argue. We go back-and-forth. We're partners and sometimes after we solve a case, we come here and celebrate. That's what we do, we celebrate. So as far as I can see, that's what happens next. Are you okay with that?" Booth paused, exhaling slowly before taking another gulp of his drink and continuing before Brennan could respond.

"Great cause you know if you are, you stay here and you have a drink with me, all right? Maybe we have a little small talk, a little chit chat. If not, well, you can leave, there's the door. And tomorrow, uh, I'll find you another FBI guy," he finished bitterly. Raising his glass once more, Booth took another swallow of scotch and signaled for another.

Brennan blinked, not used to being on the receiving end of such anger from him since their early days. Swallowing, she said hesitantly, "Those are my only choices?"

Booth turned and looked at her for a moment, wondering blearily which choice she was going to take. Squinting at her, one eye closed, he nodded. "Yeah. Those are your only choices," he replied quietly, the anger suddenly drained out of him. Replaced with something else that he didn't care to examine right now.

Booth wanted to believe that she'd stay, that she'd be the friend he knows she is. But another part of him was certain that she'd just leave. After all, she didn't want him any more than any of the others did.

So he was surprised when she raised her brows at him and said, "Then I guess I'll have a drink." Raising her hand, she signaled the bartender for a drink. Booth wasn't sure what she ordered as he was too busy staring in wonder.

She stayed, he thought amazed. And as he watched her take the shot of whatever it was she ordered, before asking for another one, Booth felt a little of that anger that had been burning hot in his belly cool a little.

He wasn't alone. At least right now.

She stayed.

He continued to watch her as she downed shot after shot. And maybe it was the alcohol but he found himself voicing his thought out loud. "You stayed," he said, his voice betraying his wonder and amazement.

Brennan turned to look at him as if he were a very slow child, "Of course I did, Booth. You yourself told me I had only two choices. Either I stayed and had a drink with you or you'd get me a new partner in the morning. We both know I will never work with anyone but you, so of course that means I'd stay. Besides, Booth. I want too. I... I find that I don't like the idea of you being here by yourself, miserable."

Whatever Booth thought her response was going to be, he hadn't expected that. He felt again, the hot knot of anger in his belly loosen ever so slightly.

Lifting his glass to his lips he downed it before giving Bones a grateful smile. Maybe things will be okay, he thought. Just maybe.


So what did you think? Please, leave me your thoughts in that lovely little box below. After all, reviews feed the Muse!