"Missing?" Brennan repeated. The familiar word was suddenly foreign to her. It tasted funny in her mouth. "Booth" and "missing" simply did not go together. Not before. Not now. Not ever. Certainly not in his permanent state of confusion. Where would he go? Did he even remember his way around the city?

"Yes. He had a difficult time in therapy today so I left to give him some time to himself-"

"Why would you do that?" She shrieked at her. "Difficult time? What happened?"

"I was able to restore some of his memory by giving him visual aids."

"What sort of visual aids?" Brennan's heart was beating faster and faster. Only now it was just as much from fear as it was from anger. What could she have possibly shown him that would have sent him into hiding? What could have caused him to runaway?

"I was able to obtain pictures from the police of the accident scene."

Brennan gasped. "So you triggered his memory and then left him to suffer on his own without discussing it?"

"He lapsed into a-"

She was no longer interested in the details. As far as she was concerned Dr. Rogers was wasting her valuable time; time that needed to be spent looking for Booth. The doctor was still explaining herself when Brennan turned away. She half jogged back the way she'd came moments before. A part of her was still in a state of disbelief. Why had no one stopped him? Didn't the hospital have some sort of security? Then again he wouldn't have appeared as anyone special to them. He would have been no different than anyone else wandering around the hospital alone.

In the parking lot she awkwardly climbed back into her car. She paused a moment to think. "Where would he go?" She whispered out loud. "Where would he be? What would he do?" Sniffing around their old haunts would be worthless. He obviously never had had complete amnesia but the crash had tainted his pleasant memories of those places. An idea occurred to her that displeased her. But with her mind grasping at straws she was so desperate that she pushed aside her personal feelings. Phone in hand she dialed Sweets right away. "Booth's missing," she said by way of greeting. "He left the hospital on his own. His therapist showed him some pictures from the accident, then she left him alone. I don't know where he'd go. I don't know what to do." The emotion was thick in her voice.

"Wow," was all Sweets was able to utter at first. When his brain absorbed the information he was able to continue. "He was shown pictures of the accident? Okay. That likely trigged a stress response state. Do you know any details?"

"No." Frustrated tears stung her eyes. "Where would he go, Sweets? I have to find him." Her heart wouldn't stop its frantic pounding until she did. She doubted their daughter would stop her feverish kicking, either.

"It's hard to predict the behavior of amnesia, especially when its brought on by a TBI."

"Give me your best guess then!" She shouted her demand.

Rationally speaking, emotions may have been impossible to see or feel over the distance of a phone line, but she was positive she could feel Sweets' fear. "Um. Try the bridge where he had the accident."

"The bridge?" She repeated warily.

"It's my best guess. He'll want to return to the scene. Try to see if he can't jog up some more memories. Now that he has partial recall he'll try to seek the rest of the story."

His theory didn't make all that much sense to her. But it was all she had to go on. She barely thanked him before hanging up. From the hospital she wound through traffic towards the bridge. Her anxiety increased with every mile. What would be awaiting her? Had Booth indeed gone there to seek his answers? What if he hadn't? What would she do if she couldn't find him? And honestly, at the other end of the spectrum, what would she do if he was there? What if he shut her out before she could properly explain herself? Simple words likely wouldn't be able to express the amount of her sorrow. But she had to try.

To her surprise Sweets was correct. Booth was standing on the side of the road. His back was to the cars speeding by him. He was leaning against the guard rail studying the water rushing below him. Brennan pulled off onto the shoulder. She waited until there was a break in traffic before climbing out of her car. "Booth!" She called as she approached him.

He didn't give any indication that he'd heard her. The closer she drew she could see the physical effects that had taken hold of him. His shoulder blades pierced the back of his shirt as they were pushed back while he leaned forward on the railing on his elbows. Sporadically he shook with repressed fear. His eyes were speaking volumes for what his brain couldn't allow him to say; wouldn't give him the favor of clear thought processing.

"Booth?" She tried again, softer as she came to a stop besides him. He didn't look at her. He backed up enough to grip the rail with tightened fists. Against it he pushed. His head lowered as his eyes scrunched tight. Tentatively she laid a hand on his back. "Booth, please."

His voice was frighteningly low. "You said… you didn't… need me." Finally, he looked at her with such hate that she gasped and took a step back. "Don't… need you… either."

"That's not true. I did need you. I do need you. I was scared. Booth, please." She didn't like the way he continuously stared down into the river, as though it held final answers for him. Could provide some sort of resolution. She was well aware patients with TBI's often developed suicidal behavior. "Come home. Lets talk about it."

"Can't talk." He reminded her. "Cause… this!" He punched the railing with his hand that wasn't wearing a cast. "Don't want to. Tired." He winced with tears.

"Then lets just go home and rest. Please." Her words were falling on deaf ears. He was hardly acknowledging her. "I said those things because I was afraid. I was afraid of my feelings for you, of this life we've created together. It wasn't right to take my emotions out on you. I don't know why I said any of it. I should have just talked to you. I need you. I can't imagine my life without you. Your accident only solidified my belief. I will spend the rest of my life proving how much you mean to me; how much I love you. If you just give me a chance." She gripped the hard muscle in his upper arm. "Booth, please."

He still wouldn't look at her. But he obliged in allowing her to lead him back to her car. Down in the seat he settled before closing his eyes. While shutting the door she saw him grimace again. For what reason? Emotional pain or physical? The sick pit of dread brought bile to the back of her throat. She knew this day was to come. Over time she'd had glimpses of it. But there had been no way to prepare for the intensity. She had no idea if Booth would be able to forgive her. There was no way to foresee how he was feeling or what he was thinking. Therefore she was uncertain as to what comfort she could offer him, or if he'd even want it.

He was silent during the drive home. Back inside their apartment he left her for the bathroom. She could hear the rattling of a pill bottle, following by the hiss of water running from a faucet. More oxycodone. She exhaled. For lack of a better idea she started for the kitchen to make dinner. Emotions running high or not they still needed to eat. Life had to move forward even if it felt like it'd stalled.

Booth gingerly laid himself down on the couch. He closed his eyes, and not before too long had lapsed into the type of deep sleep that occurred after a fierce mental storm. Brennan was unable to wake him to eat. "How many did you take?" She asked him worriedly.

The rest of the evening she lingered alone. After dinner she retired to the bedroom where she tried to read. Her thoughts were occupied with Booth. She should have had a plan in place for when this issue rose to the surface. But how could she have prepared? Booth was unpredictable, through no fault of his own. She wasn't sure her earlier words had reached him. She worried too, over what seemed to be a developing dependence on his pain medication. There was not much she would be able to do for that short of taking him to see Sweets. The problems between them she could attempt to resolve. Drug addiction was out of her control.

Before she turned in for the night she tried for a second time to wake him. Carefully she lowered her body down onto the edge of the couch besides him. "Booth," she brushed a hand affectionately across his chest. "Come to bed."

He didn't wake. Harder she rubbed him. Gradually his eyes rolled open. He squinted at her as though he was unfamiliar with the beauty sitting besides him. She felt her heart seize up. "Booth? Come lay in bed with me."

He made it very clear he wasn't interested. His head lolled to one side. Within seconds he again breathed the slow rhythm of sleep. She sighed. Fine. She wouldn't push anymore tonight. Tenderly she kissed his lips, figuring she might as well take advantage of the opportunity now. In the near future she doubted there'd be much affection between them. "I'll make you understand somehow." Her promise was a whisper.

In the overnight hours her sleep was light. No noise went unnoticed. Sometime around one in the morning she heard him serve himself another dose of pain medication. Tightly she shut her eyes. Until she could figure out the situation she should have hidden the bottle. There was no reason why she couldn't ration them out. In the morning she'd contact either Sweets or his hospital therapist. Little she knew about oxycodone. Was it possible for him to overdose? The thought jerked her straight up into a sitting position. No. This had to stop. Now.

Another noise had her throwing the sheets back. Her gait was fast as she flew into the living room. Booth was no longer on the couch. She turned on a light to find him standing by the front door. He'd frozen. Her heart passed straight up into her throat. "Booth? It's almost one in the morning. Where are you going?"

He didn't turn around. "Leaving," he muttered vaguely. "I'm leaving."