A/N: I found wireless! Haha. Not sure how frequent I'll be able to come here, but at least this is a pretty good size chapter to tide you over.

Your reviews are awesome. I'm glad everyone is bearing with the angst…and that you aren't finding Brennan too OOC. I know she technically is…canon Bren would never go here. But what I'm exploring is the idea that this loss is the one that finally breaks her. We don't know what would have happened if she had to continue to believe Booth was gone, longer than she was able to hold herself together and compartmentalize away. So hopefully you guys are getting that. The chapter title song is by the Fray, and really really sums up Bren's state of mind in all this. Give it a listen.

Also, one more thing: it is probably becoming clear I love Brennan and Angela's friendship, and there's a good element of that in this story to go along with the B/B love and angst, particularly in this chapter, so I hope you enjoy that as much as I enjoyed exploring it a little.

Chapter Four

Little House

She doesn't look, she doesn't see
Opens up for nobody
Figures out, she figures out
Narrow line, she can't decide
Everything short of suicide
Never hurts, nearly works

Something is scratching
Its way out
Something you want
To forget about

~The Fray

It was late that evening when they finally got back to the cabin. Brennan had stitches in her shoulder, a concussion, and was loaded up with painkillers. Amazingly, her back was only badly bruised and sore.

"Not exactly the relaxing vacation I had in mind," Angela stated apologetically as they entered the house.

"It's not your fault, Ange. I was being careless," Brennan assured her.

"Well, look, we are right there with you tonight. You don't get to sleep, we won't sleep, either."

Brennan's eyes darted from Angela to Hodgins. They both looked exhausted.

"You don't need to do that, Ange." Cutting her off before she could protest, Brennan continued, "Really. You're both tired, you've been climbing all day. I'm going to get a little work done on the new book."

Angela still looked doubtful.

"Look, let me make dinner tonight," Brennan said. "You guys can shower, and I'll start cooking. We can hang in together-"

"Out, Dr. B." Hodgins said, biting back a smile.

"Hang out, then. We can hang out tonight, but you two shouldn't stay up all night just because I have a concussion."

Angela gave her a half-smile. "Okay."

"You sure you don't mind cooking, Dr. B? The kitchen's fully stocked and everything, but I definitely don't mind calling in some takeout."

Brennan shook her head. "It's the least I can do, after you guys had to sit in the ER for three hours. "

"We didn't mind, Sweetie."

"Still."

Hodgins rubbed his hands together. "Then I won't turn down a chance to try your famous cuisine. Booth used to rave about your macaroni…." Angela threw him a death glare, and Hodgins instantly flushed. "Sorry."

Awkward silence hung for a few seconds, then Brennan, swallowing painfully, said in a tone of forced normalcy, "Actually, macaroni and cheese sounds great."

~(B*B)~

She was regretting the food decision pretty quickly.

The smell of the macaroni was filling the kitchen as she chopped vegetables for a salad, and Brennan was thinking about the first time she cooked the dish for Booth.

She'd been so nervous, even as she told herself it was just a casual dinner for her partner. She had really wanted him to like the food, and when he'd grinned and complimented her, her sense of accomplishment had been greater than when they'd solved their last case.

Just like that, Brennan's vision blurred, her chest aching.

She didn't understand this; thanks to a myriad of painkillers she'd gotten at the hospital, her head and back were barely even a dull ache at the moment.

But that pain in her chest, in her throat? It was as raw as it had been two and a half weeks ago.

Brennan understood the biology, the science of physical pain. She knew about nerves and stimulants and all of that. That was easy; it made perfect sense.

The rest of it, though, she couldn't even begin to understand.

She finished the last slice of the tomatoes and stood, the knife shaking in her hand. And maybe what happened next was an accident; maybe it was just a pain she could make sense of. It all became hazy, because all of a sudden there was blood, flowing down from a horizontal cut on Brennan's wrist and covering her left palm, and as she stared down at her hand, the kitchen dissolved, her lungs shrank, the room spinning.

Booth was on the floor, and her hand, the one that wasn't clutching his, was pressed against his chest. Blood was seeping through, too much blood. She couldn't stop it, nothing she did could stop it…

She wanted to see him, before they took him to surgery, but she'd been stuck at the karaoke bar, stammering through the policemen's questions. Now, she stood in the hallway at the hospital, staring at the elevator where Cam said they'd taken him, just moments before she got there. She looked down at her hands, stained red with his blood.

Brennan's stomach clenched, her throat constricting as she stared, horrified, at the blood covering her hand. She couldn't get enough air, couldn't focus her vision.

"Brennan?"

Angela stepped behind her, took one look at the scene in front of her and let out a strangled scream.

Angela's face came into focus for a nanosecond, and then Brennan fainted.

One week before her sixteenth birthday, Temperance Brennan moved into her fourth foster home.

All the others had been extremely short lived. The first had been crowded, with two biological kids and four other foster kids. The parents hadn't been particularly involved, but they weren't mean or ignorant or anything like that, either. But Temperance had been adverse to the entire situation, and had complained to her social worker several times until she was moved; it was as though she thought they might run out of foster homes and she'd be allowed to return to her own home, empty as it was.

The people in the second foster home were extremely kind, with two other kids they had adopted out of the system, both younger than Temperance. But after two months, they mentioned that they were thinking about adopting her.

They thought she would be thrilled, but the idea filled her with a sense of dread. Her parents would be back for her. And she had to be ready.

So Temperance had done the only thing she could think of; she'd taken their car without permission or a license, and deliberately crashed it, just down the street against a tree. So they had called her social worker and requested that she be placed somewhere else..

The third family, who had no children of their own and no other foster kids living there, were disappointed with her from the beginning. They also requested an alternate placement for her as soon as they could, citing personality clashes as the reason. But the foster mother had assured Temperance, while patting her arm and handing her garbage bags to pack, that it wasn't anything to do with her…they had merely expected someone younger.

And so she'd ended up in a new town, a new school, and living with the Hurwitz's, Tom and Monica. There was one other foster kid when she got there, a ten year old boy named Jordan. He was removed two weeks after Temperance moved in, having complained to his social worker enough to be listened to.

After her history, however…her social worker wasn't inclined to listen to her multiple requests for yet another removal.

The Hurwitz's had rules. No more than five minutes in the shower. No more than three minutes in the bathroom at other times. No music or television after six. Complete your (many) chores before dinner, except for dish washing. No shoes on in the house. No feet on the furniture.

Don't lock your bedroom door.

That one was the worst. It meant Tom could enter at any time he wanted. It meant if he ever felt the need for a punching bag or, worse, sex, he could come in and do whatever he wanted.

And the abuse, both physical and sexual, wasn't even considered a punishment. They were just normal, frequent occurrences. If a rule was broken, they were much more creative. No food for the next day or two. No leaving a certain room for a day. Giving up one of your precious few possessions, for good. Standing inside a closet for hours. No sleeping in your bed for the night.

It got to the point where Temperance was afraid to go home.

At the same time, though, something good happened. For the first time since probably fifth grade, she had a real best friend.

Angela Montenegro decided to be friends with her. Brennan was given very little choice in the matter, not that she ever wanted to protest.

Angela hadn't been at the school very long herself, and she intimidated most of the other kids. Even at sixteen she had perfected her bohemian artist look, differentiating herself from the others. Temperance, too, was different, but not in a way that was considered good by high school standards.

The thing was, Angela was fascinated by her. She was obviously brilliant, but outside of science class, she rarely said a word. After a week of observing her, Angela approached her at her locker after school, introduced herself, nicknamed Temperance 'Bren' and announced that they were going to be friends.

Brennan told her from the beginning she was a foster kid. It was already a rumor around school, one that had been interesting for about half a second before a break up took precedence. It took a month, though, before Brennan admitted the truth about what went on at her foster home.

She had made Angela, after a lot of protesting, promise not to tell. She wanted to finish the school year, she said. Her social worker had already ignored her early requests to be moved. She had a thousand excuses, but Angela had a feeling she was just afraid.

It was two months after that, when Brennan didn't show up at school on Monday, that Angela knew something was very wrong. She called Brennan's house and spoke to her foster mother, Monica, who said she was sick.

Angela knew she was lying; Brennan came to school through strep throat and stomach viruses. Nothing could make her stay at the house more than was strictly necessary.

So Angela called the police, told her everything she knew, and they had gone to the house to find Brennan, unconscious in the trunk of a car, bruises all over, dried blood caked on one side of her face. They'd arrested Tom and Monica, and Brennan had been loaded into an ambulance.

Angela was beside her bed in the hospital early the next morning when Brennan woke up.

A few days later, Brennan was released, and had to move to a different foster home, an hour away from Angela.

The two continued to write letters through high school, and once she got a car, Angela managed to visit a handful of times, as Brennan worked her way through several other foster homes. She told Angela about how she was learning martial arts, and how she was taking college courses at some local community colleges to get ahead.

Then, the second semester of their senior year, a phone call came to Brennan's ninth and final foster home.

"Hey, Sweetie, it's me. Guess what? I got in! And I know you did, too, so here's what I'm thinking…"

And so they roomed together at Northwestern, something they had joked about back in their sophomore year.

One night, in the second semester of their freshmen year of college, Angela was on her way from a friend's to meet Brennan at the library, where she practically lived, for some late night help on a science paper due the next day; Angela was late. She was walking down a path, surrounded by trees, when a guy who was standing under a telephone poll, smoking a cigarette, shot her a smile and a wolf whistle and called her over.

She hadn't even gotten a word out before he was shoving her into the bushes, covering her body with his, flashing a knife and ordering her to be quiet.

As she took in the primal lust in his eyes, the tight grip on knife, the weight of his knees on her stomach, Angela was almost positive she was going to die.

He shoved his hand under her skirt, his fingers tearing at her underwear. Tears streaked from the corner of her eyes, sliding down her temple. She screamed twice, thrashing under the stranger until he touched the knife to the skin on her arm and sliced, a flesh wound, but enough to make her cry out, then immediately quiet.

He changed his area of attack, hand snaking up her shirt, shoving her bra out of his way and squeezing her breast hard. Angela's eyes darted to his other hand, but he was careful to never relinquish a grip on the knife.

Angela squeezed her eyes shut, her heart pounding in her ears, and she prayed silently, something she rarely did. Suddenly, the weight was completely off her, and Angela froze, unwilling to let herself believe it.

When she had the courage to open her eyes, she saw nothing but trees and the dark sky.

There was a scuffling to her right, and Angela rolled over to see Brennan, crouched over Angela's attacker, his arm twisted behind her back, kneeling on the back of his legs.

"Disgusting bastard," Brennan hissed. The knife was now several feet away, in the grass. "Ange, you need to find a phone, call campus police."

Nodding, her heart still lodged in her throat, Angela ran until she found one of the emergency phones that were stationed at random around campus.

She didn't say another word until the campus police arrived and relieved Brennan of her position. They took Brennan's statement as enough, and were taking the guy away when Brennan wrapped an arm around Angela and led her toward their dorm.

Instantly, the numbness faded and Angela dissolved into tears against Brennan's shoulder. Brennan led her to a bench, where they sat together for several minutes, Angela crying quietly.

Finally, she managed to say, "Thank you."

"Don't. You don't need to."

Angela drew a trembling breath. "You saved me."

"You saved me, too. Twice."

Angela drew back, looking at her in confusion. "Twice?"

In a rare display of tenderness, Brennan brushed back a piece of hair that was sticking to Angela's damp cheek. "Yes. Twice. Once because you cared enough to wonder where I was. And before that…because I honestly don't know what I might have done, all those months with the Hurwitz's…if it hadn't been for you." Brennan smiled, just a little. "I'm glad I got to return the favor."

~(B*B)~

Angela and Hodgins were sitting in a hospital waiting room, for the second time that day. Angela held several crumpled tissues in her fists; tears kept pooling her eyes and trickling down her cheeks. Hodgins, sipping a cup of coffee just to have something to do, had his arm around her.

Breaking a ten minute long silence, Hodgins turned to Angela. "She'll be okay."

"That's not the point, is it?," Angela choked out.

"Baby, you don't know what happened. And I told you, the passing out had nothing to do with blood loss. She barely ate anything at lunch-"

"Like always."

"-and she was on all the pain medication. Add the concussion and exhaustion…it was just a bad coincidence."

"She had the knife, Jack," Angela whispered, her expression haunted.

"She was making a salad…It could've been an accident. She didn't do any real damage…she'll just need a few stitches."

"And she didn't buckle her helmet earlier."

His head snapped up at this. "You noticed that?"

"Concussion, Hodgins. It's hard not to notice." Her voice caught, but Angela continued anyway, "And she updated her will…"

"Stop," Hodgins said, firm but gentle at the same time. "Brennan isn't like that."

Angela shook her head. "Bren isn't like a lot of things she's been lately. She's different. Everything's different. And it's not like I can even blame her." She swiped at her eyes again. "She lost him, Jack. She loved him and they never got their chance because he died for her. And it broke her. She's just…she's not going to be alright."

He squeezed her shoulder, not sure that there was anything he could say.

A few moments later, a doctor approached her, the same one they had spoken to earlier. "Temperance is awake, and she's doing fine. We stitched the cut on her hand, but there was no significant blood loss. Most likely, she fainted as a result of taking such strong pain medication on an empty stomach. We gave her an IV, to get something in her system, but she'll be able to be discharged in another hour or so."

"Thank you," Hodgins said, placing a steadying hand on Angela's back as they both stood. "Can we see her?"

"Sure, you can go on in."

Hodgins rubbed her back. "You gonna be okay?"

Angela nodded, biting her lip. Lacing her fingers with Jack's, they walked together into Brenan's tiny 'room', blocked only by a curtain.

As soon as Brennan looked up and met her eyes, Angela burst into tears.

"Ange…" Brennan started, her voice low.

"No," Angela sobbed. "No, don't talk to me. Not now, I, I can't…"

"Angie." Hodgins made a move to hug her, but she shook him off.

"Don't. This isn't about me, it's about her…" She turned back to her best friend, who looked startlingly young, and Angela remembered the first time she'd been in a hospital room with Brennan. The memory suddenly made her feel very, very tired. "My God, Bren, I have spent half my damn life worrying about you, you don't have to add to it."

Jack saw something flash across Brennan's feature, too brief for him to determine what, exactly, it was. Hurt? Guilt? Gratitude?

After it passed, Brennan said, blunt as ever, "I wasn't trying to kill myself, Angela. If that's what you're thinking."

Still crying hard, Angela protested, "You still had the knife in your other hand. I saw. And you didn't strap your helmet earlier today."

Suddenly, Brennan sounded like her old self; logical to a fault. "Ange, if I'd wanted to kill myself, I would have succeeded. The coratid artery would be much quicker. But if I insisted on doing the wrist, a vertical cut would be more efficient."

Angela was somewhat thrown by this analysis, and Hodgins put in, "It's true, Angie. She would know."

Her sobs finally subsiding, Angela asked, "So what was it, then?"

Brennan's eyes flitted away. "An accident."

Angela sat down on the edge of the tiny cot-like bed. "You don't have accidents like that. Or like earlier, on the mountain."

Brennan swallowed hard; her fingers picked at a loose thread on the sheet beneath her. "It was just…it was something that made sense, Ange. It hurt and…I understood why." Brennan grimaced. She sounded like a fool.

A fresh wave of tears welled in Angela's dark eyes. Hodgins gestured at her that he would wait outside, give them some privacy, and then Angela asked her, "So you don't want to die?" Brennan was quiet for long enough for Angela to fill sick with fear. "Bren?"

"I…I don't know." Angela made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan, but Brennan pressed on, "Is it wanting to die if I wish she'd killed me instead of Booth? Or that I hadn't shot her, so she could finish the job?" Brennan paused, sucking in a rattling breath, then added a newer thought, "Or even think that I'm fairly certain I can't do this for much longer?"

~(B*B)~

When they got back to the cabin yet again, Angela announced firmly that she was staying up all night with Brennan, whether she liked it or not.

As soon as they got to the house, Jack retreated to the basement, leaving the women alone. The shared history of the two friends, the history even Hodgins barely knew anything about, was hanging heavily between them, had been ever since Angela's comment on having worried about Brennan half her life.

Brennan moved away from Angela, going to the kitchen and grabbing a bottle of water like nothing significant was happening, like there weren't drops of blood on the white tile, or a pot of half cooked pasta forgotten on the stove.

The air was thick, not with tension, but just pure emotion, something too heavy to be put into words just yet. They let the silence settle, avoiding each other's gaze for about ten minutes, when Brennan finally looked at her best friend and nodded her head awkwardly in the direction of the back door, an invitation.

Nodding, Angela got to her feet and silently followed her outside, where they walked, barefoot, down the sloped grassy backyard until they got to the more sandy area and the pier. Brennan settled herself on the edge, feet touching the water, and Angela sat down next to her.

They were quiet for a moment, then Brennan prompted, tentative and nervous, "You said…at the hospital…you said you wanted to talk more." A pause. Angela didn't pick up the cue, so Brennan reminded her, "You said this isn't over." She stared out at the water, at the distorted reflection of the moon and stars on the surface, waiting for her friend to take the hint and begin.

After another beat of silence, Brennan swiveled sideways, and was a little taken aback by the shimmers of tears, slowly and steadily working their way down Angela's cheeks. The back of her hand was pressed the her mouth, to muffle sobs that hadn't begun yet.

"Ange…" Brennan said the word in the same voice people had used with her ever since It Happened; low and turning down at the end.

Somehow, this seemed to break Angela's control; she began to cry openly, her body shuddering with sobs. Just like that, they reverted to their old roles, the ones where Angela was the one with her emotions just below the surface.

Brushing off her own feelings of awkwardness, Brennan wrapped her arms around Angela, who immediately leaned into the hug, pressing her face against Brennan's shoulder as she continued to cry uncontrollably.

Brennan wasn't sure exactly how to handle this; comfort had never been her strong suit. She automatically asked herself what Booth would do in this situation.

Going off this question, she extracted one of her hands and began to stroke Angela's hair in what she hoped was a soothing manner. "It's alright," she murmured. "It's gonna be okay."

After a few more moments of this, Angela drew back. "You are scaring the hell out of me, you know that? I don't want to lose you, Brennan, okay? I can't."

Tears filled Brennan's eyes, but for once she was able to force them not to fall. It would have been so easy to tell Angela what she needed to hear, to say You won't, don't worry, I'm not going anywhere, but something wouldn't let her say the words.

"I'm sorry," slipped out instead.

"Don't apologize, Sweetie. Just…just pl-please tell me what to do. There has to be something, and I'm really trying, but I'm not used to seeing you like this-"

"I'm not used to being like this," Brennan interrupted, a catch in her voice.

"I know. I do know that. But…do you remember Darren Howe?"

Brennan's eyes flashed, then hardened. "Of course."

"Do you remember what you said to me? After?"

Brennan hesitated, "I'm sure I said a lot of things."

"I mean right after." Brennan kept her face blank, forcing Angela to clarify. "I thanked you for saving me. And you said I saved you, and you were glad to return the favor."

Brennan pressed her lips together, staring at the water again. "I remember."

"Well, it's my turn. I want to save you from this, but…it's not something so simple as calling the cops or attacking someone trying to hurt you. So I really wish you could tell me what you need me to do. Even though I know that no matter how good of a friend I am, it's not going to make you miss Booth any less."

A rogue tear managed to drip from Brennan's eyelash, betraying her as it streaked down her cheek. She didn't know what to say; there really wasn't anything Angela, or anyone else, could do; as long as Booth was dead, this was her reality, and there was no reversing that one.

Still, she hated that she was hurting her best friend.

After a long pause, Brennan broke the silence. "You didn't get that exactly right, you know."

Angela sniffled. "What?"

"What I said to you. I said you saved me twice. And the first time wasn't anything simple and concrete. It was just…you. Being my friend and reminding me someone cared when no one else did." Between them on the dock, Brennan covered Angela's hand with her own briefly. "I don't know what I did to deserve a friend like you, Ange. I mean it. You've been amazing."

Angela swiped at her eyes. "Thanks."

They are quiet for awhile, then Brennan said quietly, "You and Booth are the only two people who have done that."

"Done what?"

"Saved me. He was like you, too..he did it in different ways. The obvious stuff, with Kenton and the Gravedigger." She paused, letting the unspoken part, the unmentioned Pam Nunan and the fatal gunshot, hang between them. "But apart from all that. He just…it's hard to explain."

"He opened you up. He took you out of the lab, into the world, and he showed you that it was okay to participate, to enjoy life. He gave you a reason to smile, to laugh, to be passionate about something other than bones, even if it was just a stupid argument with him over pie. And he did something I'd barely been able to begin doing…he started to crack through those walls you've built around yourself – metaphorical walls, Sweetie- and he forced himself in. You let him really, honestly get to know you, and you trusted him with that. And he made you start to believe in things like faith and love."

"Love…." Brennan said the word slowly, like she was trying out the sound of it. "You said that before. I never even said it was true."

"Sweetie, the fact that you didn't fly into an outrage and deny it says it all. Although it probably wouldn't kill you to say it out loud yourself."

For a solid minute, the only sound was the chirping of crickets and whatever other bugs or animals made noise near lakes. Then, Brennan whispered, so quiet it was barely a breath, "I love him." She had very nearly said 'loved', but realized that was erroneous. Booth was gone, not her, and definitely not whatever it was she felt. "I need to make that stop."

Switching back to being the comforting one, Angela squeezed her shoulder. "You don't really have any control over that."

Brennan nodded; she was definitely learning that the hard way.

They sat together in silence for awhile, looking at the stars and out over the water. Brennan caught Angela glancing at her several times, the naked fear on her face making a guilty knot form in Brennan's stomach.

She stood up suddenly, pulling Angela with to her feet along with her. Then, Brennan made herself smile, a real smile. In one fluid motion she pulled off her shirt, tossed it aside as she had the previous night, and dove into the water.

She didn't waste time in resurfacing this time, her head popping out the water as she faced Angela.

"That can't be good for your back. And aren't you supposed to keep your stitches dry?"

Whoops. That hadn't even occurred to Brennan. "They're heavily bandaged, and my back is fine. Now are you coming or not?"

Hesitating briefly, Angela followed suit and was soon submerged underwater. She surfaced, gasping, seconds later. "You didn't mention it was so cold!"

"I think it feels good. It's invigorating."Brennan ducked under again, this time repeating what she'd done the other night, staying underwater, at the bottom of the lake, as long as she possibly could before emerging and allowing herself the deep, cleansing breaths.

When she had caught her breath, she noticed Angela, treading water a few feet away, staring at her, wide-eyed, her face pale in the moonlight. "What?"

"Don't do that again." Angela said fiercely.

"Do wha-…oh." She got it, belatedly. Apparently she'd done too good of a job at staying under as long as possible. "I'm sorry."

Angela didn't reply, and for a moment they both hovered, treading water quietly, any bit of frivolity Brennan had been struggling to manufacture effectively gone.

Angela wasn't looking at Brennan when she broke the silence. "Jack said we should probably head home in the morning."

Brennan didn't point out that it was two days earlier than planned. "Yeah, probably." She paused, but Angela didn't elaborate on the reason. Both of them knew. "Don't tell Cam or anyone about-"

"I won't," she said instantly.

"I'm sorry about all this, Ange. I know you planned this trip for me, and-"

"Yeah, well. It's not your fault you got hurt climbing-"

"Technically, rappelling."

"-rappelling then. Of course, it was your fault you didn't strap your helmet even when I told you to. It's maybe even your fault you let go of the rope when you cut your shoulder."

"Angela…"

Her tone frustrated now, Angela cut Brennan off. "No, I'm serious, Brennan. Is this what things are going to be like now? Waiting while you tempt fate so that you can maybe, possibly die?!" Brennan opened her mouth, but Angela didn't give her a chance to finish. "I know you aren't going to stab your coratid artery or put a gun in your mouth or swallow a bottle of pills. What I don't know is that you aren't going to start driving too fast without a seatbelt on, or start walking through a bad neighborhood without your giant gun, or, or, I don't know, stand outside in the middle of an electrical storm. Are you just going to keep putting yourself in danger until fate takes care of it?"

Brennan stared at her, unable to come up with a response. Until Angela spelled it out, she hadn't really understood why she made the choice not to strap her helmet, or why she had been so reckless out on the mountain yesterday. Because it was true.

She would not commit suicide. She wanted to be remembered for the work she'd done in her field, not for succumbing to some romantic, idiotic notion like some tragic character in a gothic novel.

But when you put yourself in dangerous situations, you had to actively try to live. You had to make an effort.

And that wasn't something she was particularly interested in anymore.

Instead of telling Angela that she was right, and that yes, maybe that was what life would be like, Brennan just said, "There is no such thing as fate."

For a brief second, Angela looked like she wanted to hit her, so much so that Brennan actually swam backwards a few inches. Then, closing her eyes with defeat, Angela said, "And apparently, there's no such thing as you giving a direct answer to a question."

Without another word, Angela turned, swimming back toward the pier, where she pulled herself up. Brennan expected her to head back to the house, but instead, she pulled her shirt back on and sat down on the dock.

"Ange, you really don't have to stay awake all night with me. You've gotta be exhausted."

"I'll sleep in the car in the morning," Angela replied in a clipped tone. "Wouldn't want you swimming circles in the middle of the lake to make exhaustion set in."

Brennan didn't answer, but after a moment began to swim toward the pier. Moments later, she dropped next to Angela, who didn't look at her.

"I'm just really, really tired, Ange."

"Well you don't have a choice about sleeping."

Brennan glanced at her. "That's not what I meant."

Shoulders slumping, Angela sighed. "Yeah, I know." She turned to Brennan, her features softening. "You know, if he knew about today, at the mountain…Booth would've been so pissed at you."

Brennan turned, angry that Angela would use that on her, and was surprised to find her friend smiling softly.

Continuing, Angela said, "I mean, he didn't even let you drive."

"Or have a gun," Brennan added.

"Exactly. Rappelling down a mountain without a strapped helmet? Booth would've gone crazy."

"Rappelling down a mountain at all." She began to smile, just a little. "Overprotective alpha male."

"He really was."

"And extremely hypocritical, too."

"Oh my God, totally," Angela rolled her eyes. "He was a Sniper. That's dangerous. Plus, we're talking about the guy who stood next to bodies with bombs on them, who broke out of the hospital to go running after a serial killer, who…"

"Who jumped up in front of a bullet?"

"Yeah." Angela's smile dropped, and she fell silent for a moment, mentally berating herself for even bringing Booth up. "It isn't always going to be this hard."

Brennan was quiet for a moment, then agreed, "I know." But she was beginning to wonder if, finally, she had truly reached a breaking point, and discovered a loss she couldn't come back from.

Sooooo….yeah. It's dark. A bit OOC, I know, but there's also a sort of morbid rationality to it that fits Brennan, at least a Brennan that's beginning to unravel. If this kind of stuff isn't really your thing, I totally get it, but I hope you keep reading. There is (metaphorical) light at the end of the (metaphorical) tunnel.