i would just like to say that the reason that i'm able to update so much is due to the fact that i'm on vacation -- a vacation that ends tomorrow. and i've been home more than i would have been because my friends and i canceled the trip we'd planned due to lousy weather, so boo. :( anyway, i'm avoiding studying and this has been an excellent way to do that. :) so thanks.

i hope this chapter gives a little more of the Bones we're used to -- after this chapter, i'm switching back to her POV -- it will go back and forth between the two fairly evenly, i hope. i was kind of trying to show that i think temperance can be vulnerable in situations outside of her family, but that when she's pushed and needs to be strong, she doesn't disappoint. i'm just trying to lay some base work, here. and reviews are always appreciated. sometimes it's hard to get out of my own head and see how it's reading to others, so every bit helps. this story belongs to you guys as much as it does to me. :) xoxo mia

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Chapter eight.

Snapping his phone shut in frustration, Seeley swings his car through the intersection, roaring across town. Dr. Wyatt's voice has just informed him through his office voicemail that he's out of town and unavailable until the end of the month.

Frustrated, he tosses his phone onto the passenger seat, letting out a slow breath. His fingers drumming on the steering wheel, he considers his options. He's always been a private guy – the idea of spilling his guts to Gordon and Sweets in the last year has been an irritation inflicted by the bureau, and even through he knows Dr. Wyatt had helped him through his issues with Epps, talking to a therapist still isn't his idea of a good time.

But he's out of his element here. He feels almost as if he's overflowing at the moment, brimming with something that needs to be let out, and he realizes there's no one in his personal life that he feels he can talk about this with – no one he wants to disappoint, no one he wants to know the truth.

Which leaves him very few options.

His partner is at his home, in his bed, and the panic that rises up in his chest at that very thought leaves him desperate and willing to consider alternatives he would normally immediately dismiss. Ever since the shooting he's been having nightmares like the one he had early this morning, and it's getting worse. The night before it had been Parker in the warehouse; the night before that, his mother. Anyone who's ever mattered to him seems doomed to make an appearance.

Maybe he deserves this, he thinks angrily as he races through downtown. Maybe this is what he gets for letting an innocent man die – his family is probably having dreams that are far worse. But he can't deal with both this and Bones at the same time – and he's sure as hell not telling any therapist about his partner and their knew definition of the word.

He finally reaches his new destination, swinging into the parking lot and jerking the SUV to a halt. Inside the building, he impatiently punches the button for the elevator, his other hand falling to his hip, his fingers digging into his waist.

After brushing past a surprised secretary who had promised no one else was in the room, he bursts into an office and Sweets looks up from his paperwork in surprise, his eyes wide.

"Agent Booth!"

The doctor stands quickly, smoothing his tie; his body language screaming to Seeley just how nervous the kid is in his presence. Good, he thinks. Don't want the twerp thinking this is going to be a regular occurrence and get comfortable.

"I need to talk to you," he blurts out, both hands falling to his hips as he looks the young psychiatrist directly in the eye.

"Yeah, okay, yeah," Sweets says quickly, dropping back down into his chair. "But I don't have you and Dr. Brennan in until tomorrow – do you need to reschedule?"

"Dr. Brennan's not here," he points out, gesturing to the empty space next to him, his nerves already grating. This was a terrible idea.

Sweets pauses, glancing at him. "I can see that, Agent Booth."

Sighing, Seeley drops into a chair next to him. "This is personal," he mutters.

Surprised, Sweets picks up a pen, flipping open an appointment book. "You want to make an appointment for an individual session?"

"No, I want to talk to you now." He sighs, rubbing his forehead, realizing how rude that sounded. "I mean, if you have a few minutes."

Flipping his leather-bound book closed, Sweets leans back in his chair. "Yeah, I have a few minutes." He pauses, crossing his arms across his chest. "What's going on, Agent Booth?"

Taking a deep breath, he taps his fingers on the edge of the chair, shifting his weight for a moment as he tries to decide what to say. Now that he's here, he finds he's at a loss.

A few silent minutes tick by and Sweets finally leans forward, propping his elbows on his desk. "Is this about what happened last week in the warehouse?"

Startled, Seeley glances up at him, his eyes narrowing. "How do you know about that?" he asks, his voice low.

"As your therapist, the bureau found it necessary for me to have –"

"You are not my therapist," he snaps back. "I see you with my partner once a week to talk about our professional relationship and how that impacts our job." Cursing under his breath, he tries to stifle the anger he's feeling towards his supervisor at the moment.

Sweets is quiet, clearly waiting for him to speak first, and he sighs again. "They shouldn't have told you about that."

"Why is that?"

He glances up at the kid again, frowning. "Because it's personal."

"Is it?" The psychiatrist leans back in his chair again, tilting his head and making him feel under the microscope. "I was under the impression it was a casualty that resulted while you were working for the bureau and that the FBI's official stance is that the death was accidental and that your job is in no way in question."

Seeley clenches his jaw, his hand drifting to his temple to massage the ache that's appeared. "Of course they say that," he mutters.

"So you're saying that's not the case? That it is personal?"

"You ever killed anyone, Sweets?" he snaps.

"No, I haven't."

"Then don't tell me it's not personal."

The therapist sighs. "I didn't say it wasn't, Agent Booth. I asked you if it was."

He rubs his face wearily, the lack of sleep catching up with him. "Of course it's fucking personal," he mutters. "The man was innocent and caught in the crossfire and it was a bullet from my gun that killed him. Now his kids have no father, his wife is widowed. That seems pretty personal to me."

"So you feel guilty?"

He rolls his eyes heavenward, pushing out an irritated breath. "Of course I fucking feel guilty. The man's dead because of me."

"But the man you caught – he'd killed others, correct?"

"So?" he asks, his eyes narrowing.

"So you apprehended a murderer in the process. And while this man's death is certainly –"

"No, NO," Seeley snaps, leaning forward and slamming his hand on the desk in front of him, his eyes blazing, causing the kid to jump. "That's exactly the same bullshit mentality that the used in the military and that's garbage! The end doesn't always justify the means, damnit! A life is a life – one's not more important than another!"

Sweets looks slightly freaked out by his outburst, and Seeley slowly eases back into his chair, his eyes still on the kid behind his desk. "I spent years as a sniper picking people off from some damn list they gave me, justifying it to myself that these people deserved to die, that they would take more lives if I didn't."

"And you don't believe that?"

He sighs, fiddling with his cell phone in his pocket. "No, that's true. They would have inflicted a lot of damage if they were still alive."

Sweets pauses. "What are you saying?"

He shifts again in his chair, irritated by all the questions. "I'm saying I still killed people. I hid in the shadows and I shot people unaware and took them from their families and children and I told myself that as long as I kept the bigger picture in mind, I could do it."

The psychiatrist nods. "And you feel that is similar to your current situation?"

"I'm saying a life is a life. I'm saying that regardless of what people have done, being the one who makes that decision, who allows them to die isn't something we should just…explain away." He rubs his jaw, dropping his eyes. "I hate taking a life. I always hated it, that moment before I pulled the trigger. It didn't matter what I knew about the person, either, in that last few seconds. I knew that I was playing God, making a decision that wasn't necessarily mine to make."

Sweets is solemn, his hands crossed in front of him. "And you felt that happened in the warehouse?"

"No," he mutters, frustrated. "No, no. That was – that was unplanned," he says stiffly. "That man wasn't supposed to die, but he did anyway, and it was because of me, because I couldn't focus, because…"

"You believe your lack of focus is what caused this man's death?"

Grunting, Seeley sits up straighter in his chair. "Is this your job? To just ask me questions and repeat back what I've told you?" he asks accusingly.

Sweets, for the first time since he's entered the office, looks unperturbed, relaxed. "My job, Agent Booth, is to be an active listener. To be a person you can express what you're feeling to without worry of judgment or consequence. And yes, to ask questions, to dig a little deeper into what it is that's bringing about your apparent anxiety."

Scowling, he crosses his arms across his chest defensively. "Anxiety?"

"You seem clearly anxious to me. You are unable to sit still and unless you're speaking to me in a threatening tone, you're avoiding eye contact."

Clenching his jaw, Seeley slowly raises his eyes to meet the therapist's. "Okay?"

Sweets nods, repeating his last question. "You believe this man's death resulted due to your lack of focus?"

"I don't believe, Sweets, I know."

"And why is that?"

He pauses, swallowing thickly. "Because when the hostage turned to look at me, I saw someone else, okay? For a minute I saw someone else and it distracted me."

He doesn't get the reaction he was hoping for. He'd expected to see a flash of something, a sign that the psychiatrist thought less of him, that he doubted his abilities and thought him weak.

Instead, Sweets remains calm, his features relaxed, and he simply nods. "A person you were unable to save previously?"

"No," he says quietly. "A person I did save. But a person that I was almost too late to save."

Sweets nods again, his voice calm. "A person who means something to you?"

"A person who means everything to me," he blurts out without warning, without thinking.

The look in the kid's eyes tells him he knows immediately whom it is he's referring to. "Your partner."

Seeley closes his eyes for a moment. "Yes," he says quietly.

"Have you told her?"

His eyes snap open, incredulous. "You want me to tell her that because I got distracted and pictured her in that moment I got a man killed? You want me to burden her with that??" He sits up straight, his shoulders squared. "Not gonna happen."

"You don't trust her with that information?"

"Trust?? It's not about trust. It's about whether or not I'm willing to put that on her shoulders! Which, by the way, I am not."

"You're very protective of Dr. Brennan, aren't you?"

He narrows his eyes. "She's my partner."

"Yes, but you seem unwilling to think that she could be some sort of support for you, that she might be able to do the same thing in return."

"I don't need protecting," he snaps.

"But you might need someone to talk to –"

"That's why I'm here, Sweets. It's certainly not just because I enjoy a chat every now and again."

Seemingly unaffected by his insults, Sweets lets out a sigh. "Agent Booth, I've been observing you and Dr. Brennan for several months now. And it's obvious to any observer how close the two of you are, how symbiotic your partnership is. But, if I may, I would like to mention that you seem overly protective of your partner."

He grits his teeth at the therapist's words. "She's had a lot of people disappoint her, starting back to when she was a kid," he mutters. "I won't be one of them."

"And you think by withholding how you're feeling about something this important from her you're accomplishing that?"

He puffs out his cheeks, irritated. "This isn't her burden to...it's not her problem," he repeats.

"Agent Booth, I understand your reservations, and that you worry about her feeling guilt over the situation as well. But she's your partner – partnerships exist for a reason."

"Look, she looks at the bones, I chase the bad guy, alright?" he snaps. "That's why we're partners."

"So what she is to you is a woman you work with, a woman who helps you with your job."

"She's my best friend," he shoots back. "So no, she's not just someone I work with. But this was my mistake. This is my problem!" he insists.

"So why did you come to speak with me, if you feel you can handle this all on your own?"

He closes his eyes again, counting to three, praying for patience. But when he opens his eyes, he sees only concern in the kid's eyes.

"Because I'm having nightmares," he admits. "And last time I had an… issue with one of my cases, I talked to Dr. Wyatt about it and I was able to… get back to work."

"And your partner –"

"I'm not dragging her into this!" he shouts. "God, do you not understand? I'm not going to put this on her!"

"Agent Booth, with all due respect," Sweets says quietly. "Dr. Brennan is a grown woman, not a little girl anymore. And she deals with a lot of the same pressures and fears that you do in your partnership. Whether or not you feel you can share this particular piece of information with her is up to you, but I feel that your desire to protect her might actually be detrimental to your relationship."

"You know nothing of our relationship," he spits out.

Sweets suddenly fixes his eyes on Seeley's, and he sees that isn't true. The man can see through his outburst and his bluster, and part of him has known that since the first session he had with Bones. But it irks him, this idea that someone can see what he so desperately tries to hide, and he feels his temper rising.

"Where is your partner at the moment?" Sweets asks him calmly.

In my bed, he thinks. "I have no idea, Sweets, I don't keep a collar on her."

The therapist sighs, reaching for his appointment book. "I have an appointment that is arriving in a few minutes, Agent Booth. If you are unwilling to discuss these issues in our group session tomorrow , then I suggest we –-"

He leaps to his feet. "We are not discussing this tomorrow, you understand me? In fact, we're not discussing anything tomorrow – reschedule us."

Sweets raises his eyebrows. "Reschedule the session with you and Dr. Brennan?"

"That's what I said."

"Your sessions are required by the bureau until I say otherwise, Agent Booth. And you –"

"Look, I'll come talk to you again, alright? But we're not bringing this up with Bones."

Flipping pages in his calendar, Sweets nods. "That's fine. But your session with Dr. Brennan does not have to –"

"We have a case," he says quickly. "Tomorrow won't work well, anyway. I'm not canceling, I'm asking you to reschedule," he says firmly, trying to hide the panic he feels at sitting in this office with Bones next to him. One look, and Sweets will know the whole story -- he's convinced of it.

Sighing in defeat, Sweets sets down his pen. "Alright. As long as you promise to see me later in the week and bring Dr. Brennan again with you on Monday."

"Fine," he agrees quickly, not caring whether or not he'll actually keep his promise. Heading towards the door, he says, "I'll call to schedule times."

"Agent Booth."

He turns slowly, his hand already on the door handle. "What?"

"Your partner cares for you deeply, that much is evident. The definition of a partnership is one that describes mutual cooperation and responsibility. It shouldn't be something you feel you need to carry on your own." He pauses. "Let her be there for you."

Tightening his jaw, Seeley turns, pulling the door closed behind him.

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Her car is still in the lot when he returns to his apartment, and he tenses. He'd assumed she'd be gone by now, showered and off to the Jeffersonian to start her work on the remains. A glance at he clock on his dashboard says it is already almost ten a.m. – that she's here shocks him.

Slipping his key into his front door, he takes a deep breath and pushes it open. Dropping his keys on the table, he head immediately swiveling in the direction of his bedroom. Shrugging off his suit coat, he tosses it on a chair, heading in that direction.

"Booth."

He freezes, turning slowly, and he finds her tucked up on his couch, her hair damp from a shower, wearing another one of his large sweatshirts and a pair of his socks.

"Hi," he croaks.

She sets the folder she's holding next to her bag, and he realizes she's been working. Standing up, her eyes meet his, concerned. "Where did you go?"

He pauses, not wanting to lie to her. "I had to meet with someone at the bureau," he murmurs. "Regarding the… incident last week."

She nods, walking towards him, and he unconsciously takes a step back from her. The sweatshirt she's wearing only comes mid thigh, and her legs are long and bare, distracting him immediately.

"I was worried about you," she says quietly.

His tongue snakes out to moisten his lower lip quickly. "You were? Why?"

She raises an eyebrow, pausing in her way over to him. "Are you joking?"

He shakes his head, turning and heading towards the kitchen, feeling the need to escape. "No. You shouldn't have worried, I'm fine."

He's surprised when her fingers wrap tightly around his upper arm, and her strength catches him off guard as well as she spins him around, pushing him into the door of the refrigerator. "Fine? You aren't fine. Things are not fine."

He doesn't speak, and her eyes flash, a look he's become quite familiar with over the years – she's pissed.

Shaking her head, keeping him pinned against the appliance, she sighs. "You're fine," she mutters. "We… we had sex, Booth. Numerous times, in fact. And, actually, that's only the half of it, right? Because it started last week when I found you upset over what happened –"

"Would you stop bringing that up?" he shouts, trying to push her off.

"No!" she snaps back. "No, I will not, because --"

"It doesn't concern you, Bones!"

"It does," she insists. "I'm your partner –"

"It wasn't your case," he says coldly. "You weren't here, you weren't a part of it. It was my mistake, my suspect, got it? Not yours. You were in Peru, remember?"

"That doesn't matter," she argues, shaking her head. "We're still supposed to –"

"What, share our feelings?" he snarks. "Oh, you just love to do that, don't you? Sure, let's share feelings."

She pushes him back into the refrigerator again. "I don't know what it is that made you decide that you don't have to be honest with me anymore –"

"I haven't lied to you!" he shouts back at her. "I haven't –"

"You're lying to me right now!" she says incredulously. "To my face! Things are not fine, Seeley. Not even close."

Now there are tears in her eyes, and his chest clutches, his breathing heavy from the argument. "Bones."

She lets go of him suddenly, turning around, presenting him with her back and he starts to shake. "I'm not stupid, Booth. I may be lousy at reading people, but I'm not lousy at reading you. And I know when you're keeping something from me." She sighs, her voice shrinking. "You never used to do that."

He swallows. "I just want to forget about it, alright? And you keep wanting to talk about it."

She spins around again, her eyes blazing, her hair curling around her face. "You had a nightmare last night, one that woke you up shouting and crying." She considers this for a moment. "Is that common for you?"

He drops his eyes, chewing on the inside of his cheek. How does he tell her? How does he explain that even before what happened in the warehouse, he's haunted be the people he's killed, by the thoughts of their families.

"Don't lie to me," she whispers fiercely.

He raises his eyes to hers, his own shimmering. "Yes," he says simply.

She lets out a shuddering breath, stepping towards him, but when she reaches out a hand towards his face, he snaps his own up, his fingers curling around his wrist. "Don't."

She freezes. "Don't what?"

"Don't… look at me like that," he says slowly, his eyes narrowing.

"How am I looking at you?" she whispers.

"Like… like you're sorry for me," he spits out.

She squares her shoulders at his tone. "I am sorry for you. That's not the same as pity, Booth."

He's silent, his heart pounding, and she suddenly looks angry again, and yanks her wrist free from him, taking a step back.

"I want to know," she says, her voice shaking with fury, "why it's okay for you to demand that I lean on you, share with you, but I can't expect the same."

He looks away from her, closing his eyes.

"I've shared with you over and over about my family and my past – I've come to you when I was hurting and I was honest with you," she charges. "And now, all I want is a little honesty and you won't give me any."

"It's not the same," he snaps.

"No, it's not," she shoots back. "It's not, because it's you, not me. But clearly you don't trust me enough to tell me what it is that's eating you up inside –"

"It's not about trust!" he roars suddenly, and she jumps. "Okay, Temperance! That's not what it is!"

She crosses her arms across her chest, as if she's protecting herself from him, and his heart aches at the gesture.

"Yes, it is," she says quietly. "I know you! Even though you're the one who reads people, who understands and believes in psychology, I still know you. And whatever it is that's bothering you, you won't trust me with it." She steps closer. "You'll take me to bed, but you won't even talk to me."

"That shouldn't have happened," he says quietly.

She steps back again from him as if she's been slapped, and he swallows. "What?" she whispers.

"We shouldn't have crossed that line," he says tensely. "That's my fault, too."

"Too? What do you mean, too?" she exclaims. "What else is your fault?"

"We went too far!" he tells her, this time being the one to step towards her. "We weren't supposed to touch each other, to be this to one another!"

"And what are we?"

He freezes at her words, his heart skipping beneath his breastbone. "Partners," he chokes out.

Her eyes mist, and she crosses hugs herself more tightly. "You're such a liar."

They just stand there, their eyes locked, unspeaking, and he wants so badly to hold her, to pull her into his arms and tell her that he loves her, that he wants only to protect her, to never hurt her again. But he doesn't. Because he worries that she doesn't feel the same way; that she doesn't love him enough to see who he really is.

He finally takes a step towards her and her phone shrills from the living room. Wiping a tear that suddenly escapes and slips down her cheek, she turns from him. "That's probably the lab, wondering where we are," she mutters. "I need to go change and go in."

He nods, his hands falling to his hips.

She turns to him again, her jaw set, and he sees her determination, and it stops him in his tracks. "This isn't done," she says quietly.

He watches her disappear into the living room, hears the muffled sound of her answer and he lets out a shaking breath, reaching for the countertop. No, it certainly wasn't done.