Chapter 21: Broken Hearts, Broken Homes

Okay - so originally the story was only supposed to be the second half...but what kind of man would Booth be then without noticing Cam? Then I was all like - oh that's enough...next thing I know it's 10 pages. Single spaced. el oh el. Oh, and M for use of strong language near the end; sorry for tender ears/eyes. Enjoy and feast you gluttons. Also...thanking the host for this magnificent buffet is as easy as clicking a button. Literally.

Brennan was now sleeping soundly against Booth's shoulder; he was awake, as was Cam who was finally taking a turn driving. No one sat shotgun; Angela and Hodgins were slumbering peacefully snuggled against each other for warmth in the row of seats ahead of Booth. Cam didn't speak; she couldn't see him over the dull glow of headlights glaring in her mirror as they sped down the highway at 5 in the morning; they had stopped briefly at several gas stations and even a restaurant in which the five stopped and Sweets and Daisy joined them for dinner. It had been pleasant and entertaining as hell, but Booth had been watching one of his oldest friends; something was eating Cam up, and he wanted to know. Yet as much as he yearned to ask her, he also knew she enjoyed her tough cop appearance and would loathe him if he confronted her in front of the others. He wouldn't put it past her to castrate him...even if she only took one, nice enough to leave him functional. But he couldn't speak to her since they had basically been locked in a car together since 11 pm the day before, and it had been 18 hours of non-stop Squint Squad. Booth was happy but also exhausted. He just wanted to take Brennan to bed, lay down and sleep for a year until he was well and truly awake. And then maybe spend the next year waking up next to her and living in bed with her for the next year after that.

He leaned his head up against the window next to his ear, and sweating slightly under Brennan's dead weight, gently levered her face until it was laying on the seat beside him and she was laying down, stretched comfortably out. He quickly checked the stitches on her face to make sure they wouldn't be rubbed. Cam had, in Santa Monica, already removed those from her forehead. Now Cam started and Booth froze, unsure if she was about to speak, but she seemed to take his movement for that of a sleeper. He did not speak and neither did she. She just sighed loudly, irritably. Booth frowned; her knuckles shone whitely against the steering wheel. He hadn't realized she was this upset. Or this furious.

If he knew Camille, her tears were hard wired straight into her frustration matrix; the more stressful a situation became, the cooler and more level headed she got. That's what made her a great cop; the more she failed personally, the more emotional, angry and snappy she got towards the rest of the world. In many respects, she was just like a man with her emotions. Typical for her not to say a word until she was completely alone with everyone else "asleep." Booth idly wondered how Sweets was faring, or if it was Daisy's turn to drive. He knew that the next day, Daisy and Sweets would be acquiring new drivers with Angela and Hodgins taking a shift in their car. Interestingly enough, Cam had not volunteered, which was unlike her in Booth's opinion. He had figured it as Cam and Daisy being trapped in a car for hours on end was past her tolerance level. Instead, now he was wondering if it could possibly be worse than how she looked right now and realized it was more likely Sweets, as a trained psychologist, whom she was avoiding. As the car treads hummed and the windows quickly flashed by the lights on the road, filling the car with racing pools of silvery light and dark, darting shadows, he realized her face was clenched, jaw set, and tears glittering.

Cam never cried. Although Booth had been mostly watching Brennan at his fake funeral, he had also been startled to realize that Angela was the only one who had wept for him.

The shuddery but irked breath she drew finally made him speak.

"Cam," his voice was soft, low and he saw her wide, startled eyes flash to his as she suddenly stamped the brake, breaking their speed by a good 20 miles per hour.

"Seeley!" she gasped and quickly slapped a hand to her cheeks, removing all traces from her flawless latte skin. She ignored him for a moment and took the nearest exit. Booth knew her. He unbuckled his seatbelt in preparation. When she ground the van to a halt in a parking lot, he – with as little noise as possible given his stiff legged, back stabbing pain- opened the van door and climbed into the front seat, first making sure Brennan was comfortable.

Cam irritably motioned towards his seatbelt before thrashing her way out of her own and quickly running into the mini mart with a sleepy looking cashier. She came out with two steaming cups of coffee. Neither looking at him nor speaking, Cam gently turned the van back onto the highway into the glimmering grey of dawn.

"How's the night shift been?" he asked quietly, after several minutes of tense silence and Cam's jaw clenching as he knew his so often did.

She shrugged, completely blasé, and gave him a tight-lipped smile that was as signature to her as his little boy's grin was to him. "It's been quiet. Uneventful. Lot's of time to…" she trailed off and hid her smile behind her coffee. Booth knew it was both to forcibly stop her from speaking and to try to disguise how false that smile looked on her face.

"Time to think?" finished Booth softly. She nodded.

"Yep. Lots of time to think." They said nothing further as they drove along, and Booth felt his stomach tighten as it always did when he knew something was wrong and it was slowly creeping out, taking its own sweet time.

"You thinking about Michelle?" he guessed, staring hard at the road. He treated Cam as he would treat Hodgins; guys shared their friendships side by side, and girls shared them face to face. Cam wasn't any better with her own emotion than Brennan, simply better at other peoples.

"Nope," she said with a tight shake of her head. Her hand drifted towards the radio, and Booth recognized the signature deflect as a token way of saying how much she didn't want to talk about it. If he remembered from Sweets' sessions correctly, that was known as "hitting resistance" psychologically speaking. He glanced over at her but her brown eyes were focused on the mirror, and on the reflection of the sleeping forms of Angela and Hodgins. Her hand fell limply away, not wanting to wake them. Irritated, she threw Booth a glance that clearly belied she regretted that he was awake.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asked sardonically, and her voice came out a little testier than she liked. Booth ignored the tone and continued staring at the scenery ahead.

"Where are we?" he asked instead, noncommittally.

"Almost to El Paso," Cam nodded at a passing flash of a green highway sign.

"Almost?" asked Booth with a raised eyebrow.

"About an hour away," she clarified. "Angela says she's going to drive once we reach Amarillo; we'll stop for breakfast there and maybe instead I'll drive Sweets' car with Hodgins and Angela, and those two can come take a turn here.

"That's not reasonable," he frowned. "They only have 2 shifters, and you guys have three people driving. Plus Brennan," his voice warmed imperceptibly, "keeps begging me to drive."

"I know," smiled Cam tightly, "I can hear her."

"What I'm saying is that you shouldn't drive two shifts in a row," shrugged Booth reasonably. "And in that case, it doesn't matter what car you ride in, you should get some sleep." His eyes narrowed and he began his descent as a hawk diving on prey. "Why do you want to drive two shifts? Or switch cars?"

"I don't," she protested, rankled. "I was simply suggesting-"

"Is it me and Brennan that bother you?" queried Booth shrewdly. Her eyes flew to his face, round and huge and he blinked, confused, sure he had hit the nail on the head and that she was jealous. It seemed to be a swing and a miss on his part, and his heavy handed hammer came squarely down on his own thumb with immediate regret of his accusation.

"No!" she exclaimed, "Not at all, Seeley how could you even think that?" Booth shook his head as if to clear his ears of water. He then remembered it was Cam he first went to with questions about his feelings for Brennan; she had given him invaluable advice, and he had respected it.

"So it's not us?" he clarified, and she shook her head vehemently.

"No, it's not you-" she hesitated as if she were going to say something, but stopped.

"But it is something," pressed Booth, "in this car."

"No." Defensive now.

"It's not Angela or Hodgins."

"No."

"It's not any of us?" She was silent before she repeated her newfound phrase.

"No." But this no was shakier.

"It is us then."

"Not like that," she amended and Booth stalked that down, chasing the rabbit that Cam became in the face of heart to heart chats.

"Your bothered by us as a group?" But Booth's epiphany came with her boring her burning glare into the asphalt in the early morning light. "Us as couples?"

Her quick, hard head shake, although it said no, quickly affirmed yes. Booth sat quietly.

"And Daisy and Sweets," he realized out loud.

"Oh, I know," laughed Cam, but he could hear the presence of frustration overwhelming her, eating her inside, and with that her hard wired tears.

"You're surrounded by people…" he said, but didn't want to finish. She finished for him around her cup of coffee. Booth sipped at his, but upon offering his cup to her, she snatched it from his grasp and quickly used it too, to shield her face.

"In love," she finished for him. He stared at the road, at a loss.

"Oh."

"Yep."

"That sucks."

"Yep."

"Awkward?"

"Oh yeah."

"Does it bother you we're together?"

"Nope."

"But it bothers you that you're alone?" She didn't answer this time, and Booth quickly glanced over. She was shaking and he rushed to take the rattling cup from her grasp.

"I'm an exceptional catch," she said instead.

"You are." Fervent.

"But I'm alone."

"You have Michelle."

"But not Andrew."

"You have your sister."

"She's getting married."

"Felicia?"

"Yep."

"Nuh uh."

"Yep."

"How-" Booth ran his fingers through his hair in shock. "No way."

"Yep. Found a hell of a guy to put up with her."

"Everyone is growing up," Booth laughed feeling his throat close.

"Even Jared," she smiled. Booth scowled in return.

"Even Jared….and Felicia." They both scowled at the road instead.

"And Russ," added Cam a moment later, eyebrows raising in surprise.

"Sweets."

"Good thing Angela and Hodgins are only children," nodded Cam.

"Angela and Hodgins," reiterated Booth, and her face soured.

"Everyone around us," she said disgustedly. He didn't augment her statement and her eyes slid closed for a brief millisecond as she realized what she had said. "You were drugged," she amended.

"I would though," he admitted.

"I know."

"I know you do."

"You okay?"

"I would, you know. If she would have me."

"One day." Booth nodded glumly, but brightened as he saw a bright future glimmering.

"One day." Silence.

"I don't really want to ride with Sweets," Cam confessed. Booth burst out laughing and couldn't moderate his voice before Hodgins groaned awake. The two in the front looked guiltily back. He glanced at his shoulder; Angela's real face was slumbering against his tattooed face of her, only a scrap of sleeve separating them. His face broke into a sleepy smile as he glanced up.

"How far?" he grated out.

"Half an hour," soothed Cam and Hodgins lay his head back to doze comfortably. Booth nodded at her. This time her hand decisively punched the radio with the volume turned low.

There wasn't any talking after that.

25 hours later and Brennan was finally taking her shift at driving. It was approaching nine in the morning and they were trolling their way through the beautiful countryside of West Virginia. She enjoyed the rolling hills, and knowing she was only six hours from Maryland. Watching the countryside wave breezily by, she listened to the idle chatter of Daisy and Sweets behind them. Booth was riding shotgun, a scowl on his face that Cam, Angela and Hodgins had abandoned them to a little ride in hell with the newly engaged.

Brennan was mostly peeved with Daisy's constant begging of the opinion of her idol in a conversation Brennan studiously did not listen to, but was dragged into every five minutes.

She glanced over at Booth as she turned from the countryside, and took the exit. She would be forced to drive on a regular road in order to cross the several miles to the next adjacent highway that would take them straight to DC. The houses were sweet here, and little, but Booth was exhausted and his Vicadin was wearing off again; he had slept soundly through the night, but since their driving shift had changed around 7:30 in the morning, he had been unable to fall back asleep and instead leaned against the window, dreaming of getting the gun from the trunk and mercifully putting the two lovebirds into the heaven they dreamed of. Then of course, his thought became regret tinged for thinking so viciously, which dragged him into the dark spiral he had come to ignore; that of warfare.

The things he had done were cruel and without exception, against ethics. But war was a selfish time, and he wasn't sure how selfish it was to want to stay alive more than anything else. He ground his teeth; regardless of his opinion of war and of politics, his comrades were out there in combat busting their asses and "finding themselves" a hell of a lot sooner than most young men and women. Booth flounced in his seat, trying to squash away what he had done…what he had been through.

He knew Brennan wanted to talk, but damn if he was going to say anything else incriminating in front of Sweets. He was 90% sure that whatever Sweets was writing in his little "journal" was about their behavior. He wasn't going to give him fuel for the fire until he was sure where Sweets stood.

He wasn't sure he wasn't still imagining things until the van had slid several houses past.

"Stop!" he screamed suddenly and Brennan slammed the brake on, screeching to a stop in a most irrational manner. Booth was scrabbling at the door handle before he knew his fingers were moving; disregarding his pain, he almost fell from the car, darting past the shocked faces of the car behind them, Angela driving, and Hodgins and Cam's stunned, open mouths staring out at him. He raced up a green lawn and pushed open the door to a rundown little house with a literal white picket fence.

Brennan was running after him, knee stiff, before either Sweets or Daisy could gather themselves enough to unbuckle and dart out the van's sliding door. The other occupants likewise tore out of the second car to follow Booth's seemingly mental insanity.

"Booth," called Cam desperately, as he was yards ahead of them, "You can't just open-" but it was too late. Booth had turned the knob to the front of the house and slipped inside. The other five of them, not including Brennan, stopped uneasily on the grass.

"What is he doing?" muttered Angela and Sweets' usually untroubled face was puckered.

Brennan, unheeding of their momentary aimless milling, walked directly through the front door after him. She caught the last movement of him downing a Vicadin dry as he suddenly dropped to kneel in the middle of a big, empty room that looked to have once been a family room. She hardly noticed as she moved cautiously closer to what he was fervently kneeling before and staring at as the other five filtered in.

Angela, Hodgins, Cam, Sweets and Daisy all stopped in the doorway to the den to look around them. The interior of the little whitewashed vine covered cottage had thick but cheap looking rafters criss-crossing the ceiling, actually ensconcing the room and making it feel smaller. There were two average sized windows; one had a heat crack over the old fashioned but unused radiator. There was an old dresser table in a far corner nailed haphazardly together of antiqued wood; it looked cheap, as if picked up at a furniture store or a garage sale. The previous occupant had obviously left it behind. The walls were a dull non-color; a beige, tan, grey or white.

The dust lay thickly over everything. Over the walls, the crown molding, the old dresser. Over the photograph frames that had toppled over on the flat surface of the table, over the little brick fireplace without a grating. It coated the windows grimily until the outside world swam in fog and glinted off the milk white spider webs where generations had lived untouched and unharmed.

"Agent Booth," began Sweets awkwardly, but stopped when he saw Brennan's face when she glimpsed what he was kneeling, shoulders slumped, in front of. He had the look of a man kneeling at a grave.

"Booth," she whispered and clutched his arm, sinking down beside him. The other five shuffled forward, but Daisy hung back with Angela and Hodgins as Cam and Sweets, after an unspoken conversation, moved forward in synchronization.

"What is this place?" Cam's voice was low, as if she tread on hallowed ground, her footsteps and high heeled boots leaving funny marks on the dusty wooden floorboards. It had been a modestly nice house…once upon a time.

"This was my mother's house," said Booth quietly, and looked up at her. Cam felt her heart clench in agony.

"Booth," she said in a pained whisper; Brennan said nothing. Sweets' eyes almost crossed with his frown of vexation.

"That's wicked stressful," he nodded. "This house? I thought you grew up in Philadelphia."

"I did." Booth's voice was empty, hollow. Brennan had heard that hollowness, but Sweets never had. He backed away a step in confusion, unsure of how to treat a man whose genuine warmth and grandiose heart were his most memorable character traits. Now they lay as dusty and littered as the cracked picture frame between his knees.

Cam touched his shoulder, expecting him to flinch. His cold, tense muscles were almost worse.

"His mother," she offered Sweets quietly, "moved away-"

"She left Camille," he said in the same dead tone and nudged the picture beneath him. A woman, her arms around a six or seven year old boy and holding an infant was in the picture, smiling behind broken glass, as if it had fell or been kicked there.

"Is that you?" asked Sweets in both awe and understanding; Parker's face beamed at them.

"That's me," Booth nodded dully, "and Jared."

"Where's your mother now?" a timid voice called from across the room. Daisy came forward gently, her big but misguided heart melting.

"She's dead," echoed both Cam and Brennan as they spoke simultaneously. The two women shared a look over Booth's head, almost identical to the one as they had shared ten days before in the hospital. Brennan idly wondered if Cam would be allowed to keep her job; they had been in California for an entire week, and on the road trip for three. Brennan wasn't sure how kindly the Jeffersonian would look on all of them picking up their lives, leaving their job as a team, and just waltzing back in. She knew they would take her back at the very least; she was the best of the best.

All of them backed away, Sweets drawing Brennan by the arm, knowing that in this case, Booth needed to be alone with the memories.

"What should we do?" breathed Angela under her breath. "He doesn't look like he's moving." Cam nodded.

"I'll talk to him." With Angela now taking hold of Brennan's arm, the peanut gallery watched as Cam made her way to Booth and dropped into a crouch with a pointed glare at them all. Hodgins quickly ushered the rest of them outside, where they sat on the grass.

"Booth." Cam only spoke a word. He didn't look at her. She continued on regardless. "Booth I know what this is like." He shook his head once, violently.

Numb.

"Okay, I lied," sighed Cam, she scooted around to face him, her signature smile on her face. "Do you remember when you woke up a couple of days ago? After kidney surgery?"

A curt nod.

"Do you know what me and Brennan were talking about?" Eyes widened imperceptibly. "That's right," she laughed a little. "I was telling her about when we were together." Eyes turned to her own black ones, and her ebony ones were shining. "I love you," she confessed quietly, and suddenly harsher, more finite pain flashed across his face, shuddering through his body. She nodded, letting him feel something for once.

"I'm not in love with you," she clarified, and he relaxed so much, she wasn't sure he would remain kneeling. "I never fell in love with you Seeley." Her dark eyes were serious and overbright. "But I love you. I don't know anyone else like you and sometimes I wonder if that's a horrible reflection on my part that…that I'm not good enough for you. That I'm not really good enough for anyone."

"Camille," he grated and his voice sounded rusty from overuse.

"I'm serious Booth," she said, and a single tear fell. She brushed it away before he could raise a finger and make her cry more. "I'm just saying…regardless of what happened to you and all that psychology Sweets is so in love with…" Her dark eyes softened. "I was a cop. 70% of abused children don't become abusive adults. People who were abandoned don't always turn out broken." She shrugged. "Or if they do…there's people like me who aren't even whole enough to love them." Booth's knuckles tightened.

"Get up," she begged, but he shook his head.

"I can't," he said in defeat. "I just…let me rest." She stood, unnerved and backed slowly away.

"You know if I leave someone else will-"

"Come in and try…I know. I love you too…but I agree. We were never in love." With a quick, tight lipped smile, Cam fled, her boots clicking solidly against the floor.

Coming outside into the sunlight, they immediately besieged her. She threw up her hands and shrugged, trying to hide her overfull eyes.

"Go Sweets," she gestured. "Someone go. He wouldn't listen."

Reluctantly, and exchanging glances Sweets stood and slouched inside; his sunlit gaze having to adjust to the musty room, and a dejected man kneeling.

"Age- Booth…" Sweets didn't kneel. He paced.

Silence reigned as Sperrys hit the floor over and over.

"I don't know what to say," he finally confessed, throwing a glance as he crossed his arms. "You don't want to hear any psychoanalysis I'm guessing." Booth glowered. "Right," said Sweets, nodding. "But as a friend…I got nothing man. Seriously except…" Sweets trailed off, and for the first time Booth looked at him full on.

"Except?" he dragged out unwillingly in his harsh voice. Sweets stopped pacing and instead stared out a cracked window, arms tightly folded.

"Except my parents died. Within weeks of each other." He cast a glance back.

"I know Dr. Wyatt told you. You don't have to pretend."

"He was looking out for you."

"I know." Sweets took a breath. "But before that…my mom left too. Ran…the skin hanging off her arms." Sweets laughed shakily, as if laughing would make it go away. Booth stared hard; his mahogany eyes feasting on the soul of a young man, old at just 25 years young.

"I mean, I was six years old…and all I can remember about my real birth mom – other than what I found out as an adult that she worked as a psychic…" his voice was sardonic, a tone Booth had never heard from their little imprinted duckling. "All I can remember is the skin hanging off her arms like sleeves. How sicko is that right?" He answered his own question. "Totally sick."

He was quiet. "But my real mom…Mrs. Sweets, I mean…died of," he cleared his throat, "of cancer. Breast cancer. My dad died of liver failure…right after. Weeks. I didn't find him…thank God." He stopped, face tight, emotions running a mile a minute across them like storm clouds racing across the sun.

"So I get it... both the abandonment…and the death." Without any leave taking, Sweets turned on his heel and simply walked from the house, unsure of why he felt like crying. Once he got outside, he took Daisy's hand and towed her away from the group.

Hodgins stood awkwardly.

"I guess that's my cue," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. He sauntered in the house. Seeing Booth, his heart picked up double time.

He simply stared at him.

"What the fuck man?" Hodgins suddenly yelled; unsure of why his anger was burning so hotly but had suddenly caught fire. It was as if his normal reservoir of oil, holding onto his anger, had suddenly had a match dropped into it. Hodgins looked as surprised as Booth, whose eyes flew to Hodgins' angry and wild gesticulations.

"I mean, what is this shit? You get it on with Dr. Brennan; you go to fucking Hawaii – you get shot like a fucking hero, you laugh through recovery and now you're going to just give the fuck up because you are fucking lonely about something that happened a million years ago! I mean, what the fuck. You have it all together. You always have it all together. And you think my life is so perfect? That I'm retarded because I have all these gobs of money just laying around? That I have loving parents? I came from a great background? Well fuck you!" Hodgins jumped up in the air angrily.

"Fuck you! I mean, come on man! Don't you realize what you have? You have Brennan as your partner. As your best friend. You have us. You have Cam. You have a son. A good looking son and a great job. Your career is skyrocketing. So you're not rich well whoop de fucking doo. Money can't buy happiness because I stare at happiness every fucking day as she walks through my door. And then she leaves, her perfume behind her and I know it's the one I got her. Six grand it cost. And it's because I loved her." Hodgins voice and anger broke simultaneously.

"Love her. I'm going to be in love with Angela until I die. And I can't do anything about it. And your kneeling in the middle of a deserted childhood home when you've got everything going for you." Hodgins voice dropped and he punched his fist into the air with a grunt before his shoulders sagged and he too, looked out the window.

"And if you can't make it…Man, I sure as hell can't." He was silent so long, Booth finally had to look at him, breaking the guy code of friendships being side to side. Hodgins was leaning, eyes closed, against a wall. He looked as tired as Booth felt. He finally cracked a cerulean eye and glared at Booth suspiciously.

"So are you going to get up?" Booth shrugged noncommittally.

"I'll have to eventually."

"But not right now."

"Mmm…no probably not."

"So that great speech was for nothing?" Booth made a wincing face.

"Eeeh…" Hodgins laughed cynically.

"Great." He strode for the door.

"Hodgins." Hodgins turned around, his face bitter.

"You forgot to mention Zack."

"And Zack."

"You also forgot Wendell."

"And Wendell." He turned to go, more defeated than when he arrived.

"Hodgins?"

"Yeah man?"

"You forgot to mention you're pretty kick ass."

"Seriously?"

"Well…you're not me…" Hodgins laughed.

Passing Angela, Hodgins ignored her and went to lean against the van, squinting in the sunlight, his muscles shaking for a fight...for anything to let loose his frustration and his everyday agony he carried with him.

Angela glanced at Hodgins before she furiously scrambled to her feet besides Brennan.

"This is ridiculous," she fumed. She stormed into see Booth.

"Hi," she greeted him, standing in front of him, glaring down, and chastising him with one finger.

"I don't want to cry," she ticked it off on her first finger, "Or scream," a second finger tick, "or tell you my life story. I don't want to talk about your mom. Or talk about your pain. Or ask you about war. I just want to remind you," she seethed viciously, but her tone was doing Booth some good, "that you have a beautiful, broken hearted woman out there, who's anxiously awaiting for you to stand up again. For you to not leave her." Angela suddenly threaded her fingers into the collar of his shirt and yanked his face towards hers, their breath mingling.

"You better not leave her," she hissed, "Or Hodgins won't be the only one running from my dad." Booth blinked and Angela was suddenly gone as if she had never stood before him and threatened him. He could hear her ranting on the grass outside. It was silent - finally silent - as he stared at the broken picture frame.

Outside the 5 coalesced and watched apprehensively as Brennan walked serenely through the front door. They shuffled past her and watched as she bent at the waist. It took her less than ten whispered words in Booth's ear before he was gazing at her with blind devotion and love. She took his hand and guided him to his feet; he came up as easily as a breath of air on a mountaintop. He followed her out of the house as if in a dream and back to the car. The peanut gallery watched, stunned, as they left the front door open.

And the picture still on the ground.