DRINKING BUDDIES

CHAPTER 6: The Judge Rules

Author's Note: Finally ready to post! Hope you like where this is going…

On the day of the sentencing hearing, Booth showed up early at Brennan's front door. He had only seen her a few times since last week when he'd turned her into the police. First, he'd spent a couple days in Staunton recovering remains with Wendell. The intern was very good, one of the best the Jeffersonian had employed since Zack, but he wasn't Bones. As soon as he'd returned to D.C., Booth had gone to Brennan's home and cajoled her into coming to work.

Even though she'd been reluctant to come in, as soon as she saw the remains she went into the "zone". Booth was thrilled to see her back in her element. Within two days she, Angela and Wendell had been able to identify and give him cause of death on all three victims, all women in their twenties, and pinpoint exactly what murder weapon the killer had used. But there were no clues on the whereabouts of Bauman. He was still out there, and unless they could catch him it was certain that he would find more victims. Booth was determined to get him.

Then yesterday, she hadn't even answered his calls, instead letting them go into her voicemail. He wasn't sure what state of mind Brennan would be in when he got to her apartment.

"Good morning, Booth," she greeted him when she finally opened the door. "I'm not quite ready to leave yet."

"Well, I'm early," he said with a grin he hoped would put her more at ease. "Got coffee?"

"Sure; help yourself." Brennan retreated to the bathroom for a few minutes. When she came out she was carrying her toothbrush case and a small pink cosmetics case. She put them down on the coffee table and unzipped the pink bag, checking through the contents. When she seemed satisfied that she had everything she might need, she zipped it up again.

Booth brought his black coffee back out to the living room and sat down on the couch next to an overnight bag that was packed full. Holding the steaming cup between his hands, he pointed at the bag and the items on the coffee table.

"What's this?"

"Caroline said there's a good chance I'll be put in a short-term treatment program or psychiatric facility. She's going to use my uh, so-called unstable emotional state, to keep me out of jail."

"With your clean record, the Judge will most likely put you on probation, "Booth said encouragingly.

"Don't minimize what I did. I should be prepared for all possible outcomes."

She had wandered to the bar, where she picked up a clean shot glass and turned it back and forth in her hand. Booth walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. With his face snuggling against her soft hair, he looked over her shoulder. The glass bar shelves were bare, save for clean stemware and glasses.

"You've stopped drinking," he said, although it was a statement and a question at the same time.

"I'm trying, but it's been difficult," she whispered, turning her face so their cheeks touched. "It's been a tough week. I had no idea I was drinking that much, until I stopped."

"Headaches, the shakes, feeling like crap…?"

She nodded. "For a genius, I've sure been acting stupid," she admitted, leaning back against his sturdy frame. "Booth? If I don't come back here right away… if I go to jail… could you keep an eye on my house and pick up my mail?"

"I can do that. Except I highly doubt they'll throw you in jail."

"Booth, what do you really think the judge will decide? What are my chances?"

"Actually, there is a slight chance you'll do jail time. On the books second degree assault is seven years. But the most likely outcome is the judge will use his discretion; he has a lot of options to choose from."

"Such as?"

"He may substitute rehab, for whatever length of time he determines, along with parole and maybe community service. With Caroline intervening on your behalf, with your own record being clean, with all that you've done for the FBI, I don't think there's much chance you'll get put in jail. But they'll ask Sweets for his professional opinion on your emotional state. If he believes you are experiencing a mental health crisis, well, you could be looking at some time in Georgetown."

She shuddered. "I can't do that," she murmured. Booth turned her around to face him, pulled her close and hugged her thoroughly.

"I know, Bones," he agreed, holding her securely, unable for the moment to let her go. "If there's anything I can do to keep that from happening, I'll do it."

"We might be late if we don't leave soon," she reminded him.

"I know." But he still didn't let go. Gaining confidence when he didn't release her right away, Brennan's hands ran up his back and she returned his embrace with a surprising amount of strength.

"Booth. I know I've hurt you. I didn't mean to. I'm so sorry. When you left me in the ER, I was afraid you'd given up on me."

"Apology accepted." He released her then and leaned back, their hands still resting on the other's waist. "You know, later that night, it occurred to me that I'm as much of an alcoholic as my father, and there I was getting angry at you like I was the better person."

"But you're not. You've never drunk much, Booth," she protested.

"Not alcohol. I've never let myself drink a lot because I didn't want to become like my father. So instead, I gambled myself into huge debt. I was addicted to gambling just as much as he was addicted to alcohol. But for some stupid reason, I thought gambling was better than drinking. I realized the other night, after I got angry with you at the hospital, that I was no better than him. Maybe worse; I'd just walked out on the most important person in my life."

"Me?"

"Yes, you," Booth affirmed with a grin. "I shouldn't have walked away. I'm not giving up on you, got it? From now on, we're in this together, no matter what. Deal?"

"Deal. Thanks, Booth. I really needed to hear you say that. And you're wrong about your father. From everything I've learned about how he treated you and your brother, you are a much better man than he was."

"Thanks, Bones. I guess I needed to hear that, too. Look; it's time to go," Booth said, glancing at the clock above the stove.

"Okay. But wait," Brennan said.

"What?"

Serious blue eyes met his. She reached up and held his face between her hands. Her thumbs caressed his temples while she stared at him adoringly. It was as if she was memorizing his face. Booth let her take her time even though he was pretty sure he knew what she was doing and welcomed it wholeheartedly. Slowly she closed the distance between them until he felt her warm lips barely touching his. She stopped right there, hovering, her soft breath tickling his mouth, waiting for his reaction. Even now, she was still unsure of him and of his feelings for her, he realized with a jolt. He made a mental note to correct that misconception as soon and as completely as possible. Forcing himself to stand still, he allowed her to decide what to do next, for he knew she had precious little control over much of anything in her life right now. But even more, he wanted to see where she was willing to take this; how much of her feelings she was willing to reveal to him. She needed to take a chance, to come out of her self-imposed shell, to step beyond her belief that there was no such thing as love, and he wasn't going to push her at all. This was her call.

He forgot all his noble convictions as soon as she sealed her lips to his. It was the best kiss he'd ever experienced. Opening his mouth to hers, they explored one another with an intensity that threatened to blow his mind. The last time he'd kissed her, under the mistletoe with Caroline Julien pushing them into it, he'd been taken by surprise at how much it had affected him. But this kiss went way beyond that. It just confirmed what he had known all along: they were meant for each other.

Easing off by degrees, he had to hold himself back when she pulled away. Her eyes shone with love and tears.

"Well," Booth said when he could speak, "I guess that changed a few things."

"I love you, Booth," she whispered.

"You love me? And this would be the kind of love that is just a collection of hormones and brain chemicals firing?"

She chuckled. "This is me telling you I love you. From my heart."

"And that would be the organ in your chest filled with blood that—"

"No, my other heart," she said. "The symbolic one."

"Well, in that case, I love you too, Bones. With all my heart."

"I love that you call me Bones," she said, her fingers playing with his collar.

"You used to hate it."

"Yes; well, that was a long time ago, and now it's your nickname for me, and I love it."

"I'm glad," Booth said, smiling warmly and marveling at the change in her demeanor. Her face reflected strength and self-confidence; a lot like the old Bones he hadn't seen for a while. It thrilled him to realize he had helped her find that again. She took a deep breath.

"I'm ready to go see the judge now."

"Yeah. We gotta go."

Booth picked up her bag. Ever the protector, he gave her a warning look when she started to protest that she could carry it herself. They found their way to Booth's car in the parking garage and he drove her downtown.

The meeting with the judge took less than an hour. Caroline Julien and Lance Sweets met them there and, with the Judge, walked Brennan through the legal process. She was waiting in the hall now, huddled on an uncomfortable wood bench next to the water fountain, waiting for Booth and Caroline to come out of the Judge's Chambers with his sentencing ruling. That's when she would find out the consequences she would be required to face for the events of that awful night at George's. A bailiff stood about ten feet away keeping a stern gaze fixed on her as if he feared she was going to make a break for it if he turned his back on her for a second.

Brennan uncrossed her legs and adjusted her position again, though the new position wasn't any better than the last, just different. Just when she thought she couldn't stand the suspense for one more minute, the door in front of her cracked open and Sweets slipped out. He seemed to be making an effort not to make any noise; she concluded that negotiations behind the closed door were still ongoing.

"How are you doing, Dr. Brennan?" Sweets greeted her. He leaned against the wall between her bench and the water fountain.

"I'm not sure. I came out here because I needed to be by myself. Except I'm not actually by myself," she said, nodding in the direction of the bailiff's imposing presence.

"Actually, you should come back in now. The judge wants to talk to you."

Brennan swallowed a lump in her throat and followed Sweets in through the door and across the dimly lit room where she could see Booth, Caroline Julian, and a sour-faced middle-aged man still deep in discussion. The conversation stalled out when she approached. Booth came up to her immediately.

"Why did you leave?" He whispered. Although the judge had allowed her to go outside when she'd asked for a break to use the restroom, it was highly irregular behavior for an accused felon to walk out during her sentencing hearing. But Brennan had never behaved like the rest of the world anyway. Booth was worried though; what if the judge saw it as further evidence of emotional instability?

"Welcome back, Dr. Brennan. Your colleagues and I have been discussing your case, and I've come to a decision. That is, if you'd like to hear it." The judge raised an eyebrow; her absence for the last fifteen minutes had not gone unnoticed. Booth closed his eyes and quelled the wave of anxiety in his stomach.

"Yes, of course, Judge. Sorry about that," she added, waving at the doors behind her. "I didn't feel very well."

"That's understandable, considering what you're going through," the judge admitted gently. Now Caroline raised a quizzical eyebrow and looked at Booth. They both knew this judge didn't do "gentle" well. Hope that he would be lenient with her began to bloom inside Booth.

"Your actions at George's Bar and Grill are considered assault in the second degree which is a felony. However, based on your good record, your considerable contributions to law enforcement, and your lack of intent to do harm to Ms. Montenegro, I am putting you on parole for a period of one year and requiring that you attend a program designed for rehabilitation from alcohol addiction three times a week. Your parole officer will need proof of attendance in the form of your instructor's signature at your weekly parole meetings. You are also required to perform 60 hours of community service. Violation of these conditions will result in you being committed to the care of Dr. Lance Sweets at the Georgetown Mental Health Facility for a period no less than three months full-time and nine months as an out-patient during which you will meet weekly with your psychiatrist. This hearing is adjourned."

Cracking his gavel on the desk, the judge rose and shook hands with Caroline, Sweets, and Booth. He paused when he got to Bones.

"You have some very loyal and loving friends, Dr. Brennan. You should consider yourself blessed. Don't betray their faith in you."

When the judge had left the court room, Brennan dared to smile. Booth grinned and slapped a hand on his knee.

"Bones, this is great! Now you can come to the Jeffersonian this afternoon and we can work on this Staunton Killer case some more. So, hey! What do you say?"

"What is a "program designed for rehabilitation from alcohol addiction"?" She asked instead.

"There are several, the most well-known of which is AA, or Alcoholics Anonymous," Sweets said.

"Where do they meet?"

"Lots of places. I can take you to the one I used to attend," Booth offered. Bones, Sweets and Caroline Julien all looked at him, surprised.

"What do you mean; you used to attend one of these rehabilitation programs?" Bones asked.

"AA isn't just for alcoholics. They deal with any and all addictions. Like gambling. I should really go back anyway; I only went twice because Pops made me go. It's possible I may still have a thing or two to learn, so I'll go with you for a few meetings, if you like."

"Okay. I would like that."

Booth smiled at her but inside his anxiety went through the roof. The last place he wanted to go was to a touchy-feely meeting where he'd have to reveal his personal issues to a roomful of strangers.

To be continued…