A/N- Ok, so I cheated and worked some song lyrics into the story. I don't own them, and brownie points for whoever can guess which songs I used (everything from Broadway to rap/rock to country (hint-hint)). If nobody gets it right I'll post the answers next chapter…which may not happen until next week. I'm going to be too busy reading Harry Potter!
Disclaimer- Funnily enough, they're not mine. Is anybody laughing?
Pretty Please?- Reviews? I'm down on digital bended knee here people.
Story Summary- Creased and worn, tired and faded, these are the fragments that remain.
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"Brennan, sweetie, wait!" Angela cried, almost flying in her desperation to reach her best friend. Just as she rounded the corner of the platform, she turned to face Booth. He was standing still, in shock, and touching one hand to his stinging face.
"I hope you're happy now," she spat at him angrily.
The harsh words directed at him seemed to bring him back to the present.
"Angela! Angela, damn it, hold on a second!" he shouted at her, running to catch up with her. "I should be the one to go after her."
"Right, because you're so good at that," she snapped, but then her face and voice softened. "I just can't let her hurt anymore. She's broken, Booth, and I'm not sure you're the right person to fix her."
Her words went straight to his heart, which was aching more by every passing second.
"Please, Angela," he begged. "I have to be the one to fix her."
She thought for a moment before nodding slowly.
"God help me Booth, if she comes out of this badly and you take off, you will not like the results," she informed him, the thinly-veiled threat doing nothing to lighten the mood.
"Thanks, Ange."
He took off past her, following the path Brennan had taken in her escape. Her office was dark and he determined after a quick sweep, empty.
The only other logical place for her to go in this direction was the garden outside. He remembered their lengthy talks talking place out there in the beginnings of their partnership, especially after her return from Guatemala.
Booth exhaled a heavy breath as he watched her figure trolling the flowers, under the assumed safeness of the evening.
She was walking, very steadily, in the direction opposite the Jeffersonian. She was walking away.
"Bones!" he yelled, hoping that she would hear him, notice him or hell, even hit again him. He just wanted a response from her.
He thought she wavered in her steps, but it might have been just his imagination.
"Bones! I'm sorry!" he yelled again, now only about fifteen feet away from her.
He was startled when she turned back to him, tears flowing down her face and a notebook in her hand.
"It's too late to apologize, Agent Booth," she whispered. Her voice was scratchy from crying and she felt another wave of tears coming on.
He winced at the sound of his formal title.
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Brennan turned and started to walk again, unsteady on her own two feet. She clutched the notebook like it was her lifeline.
Maybe it was.
She veered off the path down the center of the gardens and made her way to a grassy area. She didn't trust her legs to last much longer.
She was sobbing, almost hysterically, for the first time since the night after he had left.
She sank down to the ground gracefully, gasping for breath and control of the situation once more.
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"Bones!"
Booth had been following her slowly, approaching her with caution. He watched in horror as she crumbled to the ground and listened as her cries echoed in the otherwise silent garden.
Immediately, he sprinted towards the quivering body that was Temperance Brennan, broken and alone, yelling her nickname frantically.
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Brennan jerked away from his touch as Booth reached to help her stand.
"Leave me alone," she whimpered, each word punctuated by a shaky breath or sob.
"Bones, please," he pleaded, but she shook her head instantly.
"Don't call me that!" she cried.
She took deep, calming breaths to work herself down from the weeping wreck she had been. She emptied her mind of thought and emotion and felt the familiar coldness settle in her heart after a few minutes. Gently, she dried her eyes and willed away the redness.
Once she was back to the cold persona she had adopted when Booth had left, she turned and looked at him with a cold expression.
"For five months, I've let you control my life completely." She gestured to the notebook, almost forgotten on the ground. "And before that, I made the mistake of trusting you. I can't let it happen again. I'm getting on with my life, and it has to start with my goodbye."
She paused, then made a split-second decision to press the notebook into his hands.
"Goodbye, Agent Booth."