Brennan woke late the next day, feeling like her entire body had been trampled on. Her chest was sore from both her healing wounds and the number of times she'd cried in the last twenty-four hours.

Telling Booth about both her memories and her feelings was a problem that seemed even more overwhelming in the light of day. How did one start a conversation like that? And which was more important to share first?

Would he believe she loved him if he didn't know her memories were back?

But if Brennan told him she remembered everything, would he still believe she loved him?

It was a dilemma she didn't often face and had no idea how to deal with.

The suitcase no longer sat in the middle of the floor, but the package did, when she came out of the bedroom. Booth was sitting in front of the tv, watching what looked like sports highlights.

"Morning, Bones," he greeted. "There's coffee in the kitchen."

Brennan came to a dead stop just outside the door and simply stared at him. They'd had a fight, she'd cried, and Booth started the day like nothing had happened. "After everything that's gone on in the last twenty-four hours, that's how you start the day?"

He froze with a cup of coffee halfway to his lips. "How would you like me start, Bones? Sorry I acted like an idiot and why did you start crying again after I came in last night? My gut tells me it was more than you just being mad at me."

"You and your gut," she said. "Did it tell you anything else?" Without waiting for his response, she headed for the coffee. A little caffeine would help kick her brain into gear.

The comment had him raising his eyebrows. They hadn't talked about his instincts since the shooting. Another one of those random memories slipping through apparently. "Forget it, Bones," he grumbled, "we'll talk about it later."

"You can't say that to your partner, Booth. You taught me that."

Because her back was to him as she poured herself a cup of coffee, she didn't see the surprised look cross his face at her words. Narrowing his eyes, Booth slowly sipped his coffee, the investigator in him coming to life.

It wasn't that she'd said them; comments like that had a habit of slipping out, despite her loss of memory. But two of them in less than a minute? Then there was how she'd said them. Like she knew exactly what they meant, no confusion, no question.

Had something else happened during the night?

If she remembered him, them, everything, why wasn't she saying anything?

But Booth knew exactly why she wasn't speaking. He packed her suitcase. Didn't have enough faith in himself, in her, to assume she'd stay. Bones wasn't saying anything to protect her own heart.

He knew quite a bit about that.

Booth considered how he wanted to handle this. Wait for her to come to him or just ask her straight out? Tell her how he felt and hope Bones admitted to feeling the same way?

"What's wrong now?" she asked, forcing him to refocus on her. She was leaning with her back against the counter, a cup of coffee in her hand.

You're what's wrong, he wanted to say. You tie me up in knots trying to figure out what's going on in that pretty head of yours.

When he didn't answer, she looked around the room. "Where's the suitcase?"

Brennan knew she was avoiding the issues. So was he. They'd gotten very good at that over the years.

He gestured vaguely with the cup. "The other room." One more sip of coffee and he decided to end the game. This had gone on far too long.

"Are you going to tell me?" he finally blurted. "I think something happened in that room last night, before I came in. Something you didn't want to talk about last night and are still trying to avoid this morning."

Her eyes widened slightly. She'd never been able to hide anything from this man. Brennan's brilliant mind considered all the answers she could give him in seconds, before settling on one. "I was trying to figure out how. We both know I'm not good at social interactions."

Setting the cup on the coffee table, Booth stood. "Normally, you just blurt out the truth. Why stop today?"

"I wasn't sure what to start with."

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Booth took a deep breath to calm his suddenly racing heart. The implication there was that she had more than one thing to share. "Let's start with an easy question." At least he hoped it was easy. "Do you remember me?"

Brennan tilted her head to the side. "Of course I remember you. We were together yesterday. My short term memory is fine."

"Bones," he said, his tone a warning. "Now is not the time to pretend you don't understand me. Or to take me literally when you know exactly what I'm referring to."

The nod was abrupt. "Then, yes, I remember you. It. All of it. What gave it away?"

He put his hand on the back of the couch for support and waved off the question. Six years they'd been together, and Bones still questioned his instincts. Now wasn't the time to restart that argument. "Everything?"

She shook her head. "Not the shooting, or the morning of. I remember going to bed the night before and waking up in the hospital. I don't believe those memories will ever return."

At least, that's what she hoped. She didn't need anymore nightmares.

His head dropped toward his chest as he thanked God.

Picking it back up, he took one step toward her. One. It was all his weak knees could manage at that moment. "The night outside the Hoover, Hannah, conversations in the rain?"

The memories he'd been terrified of.

Nodding solemnly, she watched him. "I believe that conversation took place in your vehicle and not in the rain," she corrected. "Even though it was raining that evening." Brennan took another sip of coffee. "I just said I remembered, didn't I?"

"Yes," he agreed, "you did." When she didn't offer anymore, Booth wondered what else she was hiding.

"Should I drag the suitcase back out?" he asked, figuring that was coming. If she remembered him, them, she would also remember they weren't a couple. Had only been circling that idea before she was shot. Bones probably wasn't ready to take the step of actually moving in together.

Her cup hit the counter hard enough to break, spilling coffee and sharp pieces of ceramic there and on the floor. "I thought I was the one who had difficulty with social interactions and social cues. Did something happen those three days I was unconscious to make you lose that ability?"

Turning away, she grabbed paper towels to clean up the mess. If he brought up that suitcase one more time, she was hitting him with it before she left.

"Bones, listen -" Booth tried to say.

When she whirled, there was a broken piece of the cup in her hand. "And if you try to apologize, I'm throwing this at you."

Turning away, she grabbed more towels. "I remember the conversation that you'd only be partners with me. I know, despite that conversation, that you are still..," she paused, not sure how to define it. Finally, she shrugged.

"Sometime in the past weeks since I was shot, we've crossed some sort of metaphorical line we've both been avoiding. At least I have. I'm still not sure about you."