A/N: I'm glad everyone is pleased with Brennan. Our favorite hero is still having some issues unfortunately…
After making sure she got to bed that night, Booth's attention was continuously drawn to that damn piece of paper still crumpled in the corner.
Sure, she'd said the memories didn't matter, but for Booth they did. And his curiosity was getting the best of him. Wanting to know exactly what she was remembering was going to drive him crazy.
So he waited. And waited. Booth waited until he was sure Brennan was asleep before he dragged himself from the couch and grabbed that paper.
Holding it for several minutes, he tried to talk himself out of what he was about to do. It was an invasion of privacy, looking at this list. If she had really wanted him to know all she was remembering, Brennan would have asked him the questions.
She wanted to protect him; that part was apparent. So he shouldn't be doing something Bones clearly didn't want him to do.
All logical arguments that made perfect sense. None of which were good enough to talk him out of it.
The crinkled paper sounded so loud in the quiet apartment, Booth was sure it would wake her. But that was only his guilty conscience talking.
He smoothed it with shaking hands, before using the flashlight from his phone to illuminate it.
Question one and two were the ones he'd answered. Next to the words exploding refrigerator, she'd written a star. Apparently, she'd assumed this question would lead to a funny story and not to the other things they'd discussed.
Next to the number three was a single word: Christmas. It was so general, Booth had no idea what she was referring to. The Christmas he kissed her under the mistletoe so she could spend time with her family seemed the most logical. He wondered if what she remembered counted as happy or sad?
A small smile appeared on his face as he thought about the fantasies that kiss had generated. He was pretty sure he still had an unopened pack of that gum she'd been chewing someplace around the apartment.
Four was a question. Why am I sitting next to your hospital bed?
Which time? Booth wondered. The time the refrigerator exploded, and Bones spent the evening with him rather than going out on her date?
Or the time Booth had amnesia after his surgery and had been unsure of his own reality when he'd finally opened his eyes?
Either seemed like logical situations, both altering the course of their relationship. It seemed everything they did together was defined by some sort of tragedy.
Shaking his head, Booth chased his own memories away. This wasn't about him, it was about making sure Bones reclaimed everything she had lost.
But was he making it about him? It seemed more and more like it was about keeping his own heart safe, rather than giving Bones what she needed.
Without looking at another thing, he crumpled the paper back into its original shape and clutched it in his fist. Rising from the couch, he went to the kitchen, retrieving a box of matches.
Booth was pleased to see his hands were steady as he held the lit match to the paper, waiting until the last second to toss it into the sink. As the flames died, Booth turned on the water and washed the ashes down the drain.
He sensed her behind him a split second before she lay a hand on his shoulder. Slowly, he turned, meeting her eyes. Guilt was ridiculous, but he still felt like a kid caught doing something he knew he shouldn't have.
She looked into the sink and back at him. "Did you read it?" she asked.
"Only to number four," he confessed.
"Why?" she asked, surprised at the hurt she felt. "Is it because you don't trust me?"
"No," he said. "It's because I don't trust myself."
Pushing past her, to avoid whatever it was he saw in her eyes, he moved back toward the couch. He wasn't surprised when she was able to keep up with him. She was definitely healing.
Slumping into the corner, he was amused when she stopped in front of him, her arms crossed across her chest.
"I know I don't remember our history, at least very little of it," she said. "But I can sit and listen if you need to talk, about the shooting or anything else. I can be there for you, Booth, if that's what you need right now."
When one hand was extended her way, Brennan took it without hesitation. Using the leverage, he pulled her toward him, until she was forced to sit in his lap or fall.
"I had no right to read it. I have no right to hold you like this now," he whispered into her hair. "I'm sorry."
Leaning into him, she tucked her head under his chin. "It's okay," she whispered. She meant both parts. There wasn't anything on that paper he didn't know anyway. And having Booth hold her was the best thing she'd felt in weeks.
"No," he disagreed, "it's probably not." But it wasn't enough for him to let her go.
His arms came around her, pulling her a little tighter against him. He was silent for so long, Brennan thought he probably wasn't going to say anything. Which was fine, too. She'd be there was he was ready.
"I'm supposed to be helping you through this, not the other way around," he complained.
"Partners," she reminded him, "friends. Maybe something more. I'm here if you need me, Booth."
"I'm afraid I'll screw this up again. That I won't have the right answers to all your questions. I thought maybe I could get a head start by reading your paper."
"I informed you it didn't matter, Booth. I meant it."
His sigh ruffled the hair at the top of her head. "What was the last question on the paper? The one I'm assuming was there because you weren't sure you should ask it."
Brennan could hear his heart pounding in his chest. She knew how desperately he wanted an answer, but she licked her lips and pressed them together, refusing to give it.
"It doesn't matter," she said slowly, enunciating each word. "You need to trust me and yourself enough to listen to what I'm telling you."
He listened and he heard, but Booth still was't sure. It seemed too much to hope for, that she wouldn't pack her bags and run as soon as she was able. "Fine, Bones, it doesn't matter," he agreed.
But it was clear to both of them, that for him, it did.