A/N - This one's for Emily. You asked for it - several times - and I'm sorry that it's taken me so long to get it here. Thanks for helping bring me out of my little funk.

A follow-up to The Hurt in the Fight...

Coming Home

He gets off of the plane and makes his way to baggage claim. Flipping his phone open, he looks at her text one more time.

Nothing feels right when I'm not with you. I'm sorry. I love you. Please come home.

With a small smile, he slips the phone back into the pocket of his well-worn blue jeans and collects his military-style duffel from the luggage carousel. Things have been far from feeling right for the last week.

That's the funny thing about relationships. When you see a person day in and day out, you get used to it. You crave it. You feel a loss when you aren't together. When you don't see that person. Talk to them.

He had always missed her when they were apart but for things had only gotten worse since they finally started dating. They were spending less and less time apart. The only nights they didn't spend together were the nights he had Parker. He was finding it harder and harder to sleep without her next to him. That's what started this whole mess.

He starts the SUV and drives to her condo on auto-pilot. Looking at his watch and up at her darkened bedroom window he curses silently and debates waiting until morning to talk to her. Deciding it best to put them both out of their mutual misery, he makes his way to the door. and uses his key to get in.

He sees the broken glass on the floor along with a high heeled shoe and immediately goes on alert. Pulling his gun, he closes the door silently behind himself and surveils the situation: take-out container sitting haphazardly on the edge of the coffee table by a half empty glass of wine, paper strewn all over, throw from the back of the sofa hanging off the arm and trailing over the floor and a trail of clothes leading toward the bedroom.

He slinks down the hallway and pushes the door open. Shaking his head, he stares at the anthropologist laying tangled in the bed linens. Her bare leg stretches out over the blanket, the light from the parking lot dancing over her calf and thigh right up to where it disappeared beneath...

So, that was where it went. His lips curl upwards as he holsters his gun and admires the woman wearing nothing more than his old t-shirt. "Oh, Bones," he says softly with a shake of his head.

Turning, he makes his way back to the living room and makes quick work of straightening up. Take-out in the trash, glass in the sink, blanket in it's proper place, paperwork stacked neatly on the table. He grabs the broom and cleans up the broken mirror before picking up the stray shoe and clothing.

Back in the bedroom, he deposits the items he picked up along the way into a chair in the corner. He stealthily slips his gun into the drawer and silently strips off his clothing.

"Booth?" she whispers groggily in the darkness.

He slips beneath the covers and curls around her. "Yeah, Baby?"

"I'm sorry," it comes out in almost a sob as she rolls to face him.

He brushes his lips over her temple and breathes her in as he pulls her close. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pushed," he answers as he feels her eyelashes fluttering against his bare chest along with fresh tears.

"You were right though," she says. "I think we should."

He's taken aback. He didn't expect this. He feels his heart skip a beat. "Really?" he asks quietly.

She snuggles closer to him and his hand slides beneath the edge of the shirt to rest in his spot on her back. "Mmm hmm," she replies sleepily. "I hate waking up alone..."

A/N - I debated putting a flashback of the fight in Booth's side of this but took it out at the last minute. Let me know if that's something you'd like to see.

Until next time...which hopefully won't be far away.