Booth stayed in Brennan's bed for a good remainder of the day. He felt too depressed to get up. Infrequently he heard the door open and close as Brennan checked on him. His heart cringed every time he heard her. She didn't deserve his anger or pain. She didn't deserve any of it. He tried hard to keep it away from her. To shut her out. But now, thanks to those agents, it felt like a scab had been ripped off his heart. Now they knew about her.
Every day he held on convincing himself that the next day would be better. He waited day in and day out to feel better. That relief just wasn't coming. If anything, his condition worsened. What good was he to anyone? Since he'd been out of the hospital he hadn't even been to see his son. What kind of father did that make him? A terrible one. Really, what kind of father could he be in this state of mind? No matter what happened he doubted he'd ever be the man he was.
In the military he recalled coming home from war and hearing many of his buddies suffering from PTSD, or post traumatic stress syndrome. Booth was sure he now too had been inflicted with the same disorder. The war had affected him in its own way. He'd gambled away his issues. Back then he thought himself as being too strong as to let something so emotional get to him. Which was another reason now why he struggled. He'd fought in a war. He'd taken lives, and seen his friends killed before him. If he could handle all that, why couldn't he handle this?
You're a pathetic excuse for a human being. Look at you. A complete waste.
He jumped at the sound of her voice in his head. Great. Now he was hearing her, as well.
You're killing her just as much as you're killing yourself.
He tugged a pillow over his ears.
You should just end it all. You'll feel better. She cackled. You'll find your peace.
Booth pushed him up off her bed. No. He had to distract himself. This isn't you. Although he was having a hard time telling himself that now. Things had gone too far. He was nearly in tears from despair.
From the bedroom he stalked into the living room. It wasn't so much where he went, but more the movement that he was after. Purposefully he ignored Brennan. He stood straight in front of his window and looked out into the parking lot. He tried to focus on something. Anything.
Booth managed to get his eyes open. He was being pulled across gravel. His shirt had ridden up, leaving stones and broken bits of glass to scratch up his back. Just before he was heaved up into the air he saw a red fender of a small model sports car.
Booth gasped at the memory. A red car. She'd kidnapped him in a red car. His breathing hitched as he frantically searched the parking lot for red cars. She was out there. She was watching him. Was that car… could it be…?
There was only so much he could take. When her face appeared to him again he had to turn himself away. His heart beat begun to race in his chest. He found himself breathing faster and faster. The walls were closing in on him. She was closing in on him. He was dying.
"Booth?" Brennan got up off the couch. Her partner's face was turning red. He shuddered his breaths. Back and forth his eyes darted as though he were searching for something. The last time he'd acted this way had been because of the withdrawal; because she hadn't gotten him his pills in time. This time she knew he'd been properly medicated. So what on earth was going on?
He backed away from her with an unidentifiable expression. His hand furiously rubbed at his chest.
"You're having a panic attack." She realized. If she'd thought the last one had been bad, this one made that one seem like nothing. Carefully she closed the space between them. "You need to relax." Last time he'd calmed when she'd gotten him to lay down. Somehow she needed to get him there again; get him to somewhere that he felt he was safe.
Booth wasn't willing to follow her at first. He reared away from her. Though Brennan seemed to know, Booth didn't understand what was happening to him. He hadn't wanted her knowing how far gone he was. However, on her second attempt to reach him, he gave in. He trusted her.
She laid him back down on his back in bed. Then she sat down next to him, just to be with him. Delicately she took a hold of his hand. She kept an eye on him as the attack took its toll on his battered body.
Look at what you're doing to her. Booth panted. We both know she'd be better off without you. They all would be. I should have killed you when I had the chance.
Oh, God. His eyes squeezed shut. He just couldn't breathe. Off somewhere he could feel Brennan with him. Why hadn't she taken him to the hospital? Why was he hearing "her" voice? What was happening to him?
His breathing grew ragged. Brennan was murmuring in his ear but he couldn't make out any words. There was a pressure on his hand. Where was it coming from? Time felt like it was slowing down. His body stiffened. And then, suddenly, he was gone.
Brennan was horrified with cold fear to realize Booth was having a seizure. Luckily, it didn't last long. But he came out of it completely dazed. Her heart broke when he looked at her vacantly through slit eyes. It was as if someone had wiped his mind clean. He remembered nothing. Not even himself. Soon he floated off into a fitful sleep as the after shocks of the seizure wore off, and the exhaustion set in.
A seizure was common during the withdrawal process, so Booth's doctors had said. But that knowledge wasn't comforting. It just made her continue to question if she was doing the right thing. Am I helping him at all? Maybe he'd be better off with more qualified care takers. But in her heart she couldn't make herself believe that. He could barely tolerate having her around him. Being forced around complete strangers in the hospital had a lethal potential. In the most dire of circumstances he'd been able to nearly kill himself. If he'd managed that then the hospital wouldn't be likely to be able to stop him until it was too late.
She crossed to the other side and laid down besides him, as close as she could get without touching him. When he woke she'd most likely have to retreat from the bed. Maybe even the room. But for now she sought the comfort of just being near him.
It was much later when Booth's eyes opened again. The natural light in the room had faded as early evening had set in. He fumbled around on Brennan's nightstand in trying to find a switch on her lamp. Soft light flooded the room when he did.
He couldn't remember why he was in Brennan's bed, or how he'd gotten there. In trying to remember his mind offered him pieces of the puzzle. FBI agents had been there to interrogate him. He'd been distraught. But what had happened after that?
He rolled onto his side to find himself face to face with Brennan. She'd fallen into a slumber. He laid his head back down on the pillow close to hers. Since they both were still and alone he used the time to study her. Really see her. The days were immensely affecting her. To him she appeared worn out. Frail. Dark circles of worry framed her eyes. Unconsciously he stroked a strand of hair away from her face. She didn't stir.
What was he doing to her? Brennan thought she was taking care of him, but he felt more like a sponge on her. A drain. She deserved better than what he was able to give back. Which was nothing. Every day was proving to be worse than the last. Down into a hole he was dragging her down with him. There was no saving him. It was time for that to change.
Something brought Brennan back to consciousness. She opened her eyes to find herself alone. Her heart sunk down inches in her chest. Great. She'd made him ill at ease. Inwardly she groaned as she pulled herself out of bed. She didn't feel the slightest bit rested. But that didn't matter. Booth was her primary concern.
He sat on the couch in the living room with his head bowed. Between his hands he rotated a pill bottle back and forth. His eyes were red. His shoulders shook. Over all he gave off a general air of defeat. Something bad was about to happen.
"Booth?" Cautiously she approached him. "What are you doing?"
His voice was soft and rough. "It doesn't matter anymore, Bones."
"Yes, it does." Another step. "It does to me." She didn't hear any noise coming from the bottle. Oh no. Had he taken them all?
"I've decided to leave," he nodded to the door where a packed bag sat. "I don't want to burden you anymore."
He was leaving so she wouldn't be there when he carried out whatever terrible thing he had planned. She couldn't let him go. "Burden me? What are you talking about?"
"I don't want you having to deal with this."
Too late. "I want to be here."
Booth sprung up onto his feet. His expression turned hateful. "No. You need to get away from me."
"Booth." She went to him.
"You can't fix me, all right? You can't take away what she did!"
"I can-"
"The things she did." The shameful truth poured from his mouth before he could stop it. "I burned my own throat, Bones! It was me!"
She gaped. He'd done it…?
"I drank drain cleaner or bleach or something because I wanted to die! Because I gave up!" Tears fell down his cheeks. "Because I want to die."
Brennan embraced him. It was the only thing she could think of to do. Surprisingly, he didn't fight her like she thought he would. He let her hold him, shaking like a leaf. Back down onto the couch she sat with him. She thought about telling him yet again that this was the influence of the withdrawal. But right now, that seemed to mean nothing to him. Right now he was aching with pain. "If you give up, she'll win." She murmured quietly.
"I don't care."
"Yes, you do. Or else you wouldn't have escaped. You'd still be trapped."
That caught his attention.
"I know," she continued. "You feel hopeless. I know it hurts." Tears formed in her own eyes. His pain was her pain. "But you can't give up. Give it a little more time. Give me a little more time."
"Bones, she… I can't…"
"Yes you can."
"I can't stay," he insisted again. "You don't deserve this, Bones."
"Neither do you." She laid a hand over his. "And you don't deserve to have to go through this alone."
He stood. "I have to… I have to leave." His words were getting weaker.
"No, Booth. You have to talk. It's the only way you're going to get through this." She grasped his palm firmly with her fingers.
The amount of emotion and trauma had reached its boiling point. Booth sat back down next to her. His eyes looked straight back into hers. With a deep, painful breath, he began to speak.