A little long, only because I wanted to set the stage with the discussion... You know, the one that gave me heartfail? *wince* All dialogue belongs to Bones and its writers and is strictly used for context. Lyrics belong to Foreigner, of course. Disclaim, disclaim!

Title: Some Kind Of Sign
Tag To: The Doctor In The Photo
Prompt: "What if 'Hot Blooded' had've come on the radio when Brennan was talking to Booth in the car in The Doctor in the Photo?"
Rating: T


"Let me take you home. Come on!"

She followed him to his car, keeping herself just a step behind his pace. She understood now. She understood what the universe was trying to tell her. I have to take risks. I have to open myself up or I'll die alone, with regrets. Her biggest regret had been staring her in the face for months, every smile of a certain blonde striking her as she imagined a knee would feel to the kidney.

He held open her door and for once, she didn't chastise him for it. She simply smiled and slid into her seat, shaking her hair lightly. The streetlights accented the falling droplets of water and these, too, seemed meaningful. Beautiful. Like love could be. Like life could be, if she stopped locking her emotions away as if they were the criminals she and Booth pursued.

"Maybe you just need a couple days off."

His words startled her, and she glanced over at Booth. She'd worried him enough that he'd followed her tonight. She hated when he worried.

"I'm alright now. Except I…" She paused, mulling her words carefully. "I made a mistake."

"No, I told you my opinion. I mean, you got it right."

I got it all wrong. Last year, I was wrong. But I'm learning.

"Not everything. She died with regrets."

Booth gave her a strange look – fleeting, yet discernible. Did he know what she needed to tell him? Could he read her like he read everyone else?

"Come on, Bones. Everybody has regrets," he said.

"I heard her, you know?" The moment she'd said it, she knew how crazy it sounded. She moved on. "Micah says that all we get are these dim, static-y messages from the universe."

"Who is this Micah guy?" Jealousy? She found this confusing.

"The night watchman. But he attends a lot of lectures. Anyway, the point is…"

She paused as she recalled that night clearly: the warmth of his lips on hers; the way her heart fluttered; the desire to invite him home colliding with the sudden dread that if she did, he'd leave her the next morning, or the next week, claiming their partnership ruined. She understood now that she loved him so fiercely, she'd dared not risk hurting him with a clumsy error in a romantic commitment. It was foolish. I had nothing to lose that night, and everything to gain.

"She never gave him a chance," she finished at last.

"Micah."

Maybe she was learning to read people. Booth seemed anxious, as if he were purposely dancing around her impending confession. She didn't know how to interpret that. She knew only that the greatest respect she could show Lauren Eames would be to not repeat her mistakes.

"No, the helicopter pilot," she clarified. "He offered himself to her, but she never gave him a chance. That was her regret." Summoning all of her courage, she blurted out, "I got the signal, Booth. I don't want to have any regrets."

She immediately knew that she'd made a mistake. Again. How utterly foolish! His pain was evident as she waited for the rejection she knew was coming.

"You know, I'm with someone, Bones. And Hannah – she's not a consolation prize. I love her."

Inside, she felt something give way. She couldn't articulate what it was, aside from a barrier. A metaphorical wall of some kind came crashing down and she began to weep, to mourn her loss. Because Booth's love was a tremendous thing to lose. And when he spoke again, he was firm, yet caring. Loving even as he destroyed her hope. It was so very Booth-y.

"The last thing I want to do is hurt you, but those are the facts."

Get it together. You can do this. She willed her crying to cease, promising herself a respite when she returned home. Pain was private. Don't let them see you cry. All of the foster kids whispered it as a mantra. It was self-preservation: the weak were always culled from the herd. Children were no different than cattle in the system.

"I understand. I missed my chance." She laughed unwittingly, recalling Micah's recounting of the vision experiment. "My whole world turned upside down. I can adjust."

"I did."

"Yes, you did."

"Do you want me to call someone to be with you?" he asked.

Of course he'd ask. In the past, he would offer to be there, but now… He could never be there again. Not like before. Not in this messy triangle she'd created.

"No, I'm fine. Alone." This sounded angry to her, bitter even, so she quickly added, "Thanks"

And she was fine alone. She'd been fine for years. She could compartmentalize this and be professional and move on, just as he had. He deserved happiness, however he'd found it. As for her own… Well, she'd simply have to find her joy in work and friendship. There was nothing wrong with that.

The car had grown terribly claustrophobic, the two of them sitting in silence. There was a good fifteen minute drive ahead, and the loss of their once easy conversation left Brennan's stomach turning. Without asking, she turned on the radio and leaned her head on the window beside her. The station was on commercial, but Booth didn't flip the channel as he usually did. His hands remained tightly on the wheel, his knuckles gleaming white in the darkness.

I shouldn't have said anything yet. I should have carefully calculated a time and place, prepared a speech that respected Hannah's place in his life. Hopefully, he would accept an apology later on. For now, she had to remain strong. And in hindsight, she knew she could have maintained that stoic mask if the worst thing that could have possibly occurred hadn't gone ahead and happened.

Hot Blooded. Their song. On the radio.

A kaleidoscope of memories played out: her apartment, years ago, singing and joking; an explosion; that silly rock camp… She wanted to destroy the radio. She wanted to go to the station and punch the DJ in the jaw, as irrational as it would be to blame him. And yet, she couldn't make the move to simply change the station. It was their song. Booth called it their song. Was this another signal, literally borne via static?

"Well, I'm hot blooded! Check it and see…"

"Son of a bitch," Booth muttered beneath his breath.

She couldn't do this. She couldn't stay here and risk him taking their song back. It was all she had left.

"Pull over," she demanded.

"What?"

"Pull over!" she pleaded, her fingers fumbling with the lock on the door.

"Bones, I'm not leaving you in the middle of nowhere!"

And the radio played on: "You don't have to read my mind to know what I have in mind…"

"Goddamn it, Booth! Pull over or I'll jump from this damn car!"

Her hand gripped the release and a part of her wanted to laugh, because wasn't this what Lauren had done? Dangling out of helicopters to feel something more than agony?

"Bones, please—"

"I mean it!"

"Let me lay it on the line…"

Her hand pushed the door open, Booth hitting the brakes with a violent jerk in response. Without another word, she jumped out onto the street and began to run. From him. From the music. From her traitorous heart that had taken control of her brain.

"Bones!"

She heard a door open and slam and cursed him for pursuing her. Why couldn't he let her just go? She was a grown woman, perfectly capable of hailing a cab and getting herself home. Why did he have to do this?

"Stop!"

"Go home, Booth!" she yelled, her fists pumping at her sides. Just leave me. You're good at it.

He was closing in, and she was furious. She should have eaten better today. She wouldn't be this dizzy. When his hand gripped her arm, she hissed angrily. His very touch hurt. She didn't want it. Not now.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked, furious. "You can't run around on this street at this time of night."

"I can do whatever the hell I want. I'm an adult, Booth." She stuck her chin out, defiant. "Get back in your car and go home. Hannah's waiting."

"Don't you do that!" he snapped. "Don't you hold that against me. I told you I would have to move on."

"What, a whole two minutes later? Some great, lasting love!" The venom rose within her and she was powerless to censor it. "I told you that I didn't have your heart. I don't make these decisions easily! You of all people know that."

She yanked her arm free and began walking briskly, Booth matching her step for step. A part of her wanted to hit him. A part of her wanted to kiss him, to catch him as off guard and unprepared as she'd been that night outside the Hoover.

"This isn't easy for me," he said. "Hurting you is the last thing I ever wanted."

"We don't always get what we want in life, do we?"

She never did. Not when it came to people, to human bonds. It was why she'd closed herself off in the first place.

He seized her by the arm once more, pulling her to a stop beneath a streetlight. Illuminated, she could clearly see the tears in his eyes. She winced at the sight. How had this night gone so very wrong? How had they gone so wrong?

A car approached, music blaring from its open windows. She couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry.

"You've got to give me a sign. Come on girl, some kind of sign…"

"When did you change your mind?" Booth whispered.

"It doesn't matter now—"

"It matters to me, Bones. Please…"

She sighed, unable to look him in the eye. "In Maluku. I came home, thinking… Something slow. Very slow. But…"

"Hannah."

"Hannah," she echoed. "And I decided that it didn't matter, that I was fine. But I wasn't fine. I'm not fine, Booth."

They remained motionless, their bodies scant inches apart. His hand remained on her wrist, his flesh scalding hers. She wanted him. She couldn't have him. She would adjust.

"Let me go," she said gently.

"Bones, I—"

"I'm not the woman you've chosen. Let me go. Please."

He released her slowly and she immediately approached the curb, flagging a taxi down the street. He waited quietly for the vehicle to come to a stop, waited for her to slip inside.

"Text me when you get home," he said.

"No."

She turned away from him, instructing the driver and sinking into the musty seat.


She'd only just managed to drift to sleep when the knocking began. At first, she thought it was the pipes acting up again, which concerned her as she'd never mastered plumbing under Booth's flawed tutelage and there would be a lot of paperwork in the morning. Her squinting eye glanced at the alarm clock as the knocking grew louder. 4:47. Who would knock at this time of—

Booth would.

She angrily threw off her covers, stomping to the door in her tank top and drawstring pants. The door was pounded again, three sharp taps, followed by a familiar voice.

"Bones, open up!"

Leaving the chain in place, she opened the door with a glare. "What the hell are you doing?"

"You didn't text."

"I said I wouldn't." Her voice softened slightly as she took in his rumpled clothing and red eyes.

"I didn't think you meant it! You always text me… " His voice trailed off as he echoed her thoughts. "Used to. When we were… "

She nodded sadly. Before Hannah.

"Go home, Booth. I'm fine. I just need sleep."

She moved to shut the door and jumped as his hand shot into the gap.

"Please… I need to come in."

It was unfair of him to take advantage this way. He knew she would do anything for him if he asked in earnest, and the man before her was desperate and sad. With a reluctant nod she removed the chain and allowed him inside.

"Um, Bones?"

She sighed. The living room was… broken. Like her. She hadn't been expecting company, so she'd left the smashed dishes and chair precisely where they'd fallen in her homecoming fury.

"It's fine. Why did you feel the need to barge over here at nearly five in the morning?"

"It followed me all day," he began. "In the diner, when I grabbed lunch. In the gas station, when I went in to grab a coffee. And then you… The radio…"

"I don't understand."

"Our song. It's been everywhere. I went home and turned on the TV, put on Adult Swim. It's the freaking Aqua Teen Hunger Force, talking about Foreigner. I flip the channel and there's a commercial for some compilation of 80s songs and what's playing? Foreigner."

Our song. He called it our song. She shook her head sadly, edging backwards as if distance would somehow shield her from his words.

"Booth—"

"Maybe I'm the one getting the signals tonight," he whispered. "I mean, I took them that way."

He reached towards her, fingertips trailing along her jaw, and she fought back a sob. This was so cruel. He wasn't hers. Why was he doing this?

"I can't do this." She reached for his hand, dropping it to his side. "You can't just walk in here and say things and do that, not after tonight. Not after what you've said—"

"I told Hannah it's over."

Her stomach lurched. "What?"

Booth nodded, edging closer. "You can't ignore that many signs."

"It's a song—"

"I was waiting around all night, watching over you," he interjected. "My priority is you. It's always you. I love Hannah, but it's not… us."

She swiped angrily at the tears brimming in her eyes, struggling to make sense of him. Was he saying they hadn't missed their chance? Did he still love her?

"Bones, say something," he pleaded.

"What should I say?" At his confused look, she added, "I'm not being facetious or cold. I really don't know what to do. I don't know how these things work!"

"Did you still want… a chance?" It was a tentative question, but sincere.

"And if I said no? Would you go back to Hannah?"

"Not a chance of that."

He meant it. That was enough for her heart to silence her brain. Without a word, she took his hand and led him down the hall to her bedroom.

"Bones?"

"I'm so tired," she confessed. "I need sleep. You need sleep."

He relaxed, stripping off his coat and shoes inside the door before joining her in the bed. He pulled her to him, her head coming to rest on his chest. She could hear his heart pounding, hear the acceleration as she drew closer. It was soothing to know that he was affected by her.

"Booth?"

"Hmm?"

"What happens in the morning?"

She felt his lips press to her head, felt him sigh against her. "We wake up and be us."

"Us?"

"You and me. Partners. Evolving."

"Evolution is a very slow process," she remarked, yawning.

"A little faster than evolution then, but not too fast. Okay?"

"Okay."

Her last waking thought, as she closed her eyes: Everything's right side up.