Author's Note: The good news is, you know how it's going to end. The bad news is, we're not there yet. Before we can get there, Booth and Brennan have to take some risks and make some adjustments.

~Q~

~The Push in the Partnership~

~Q~

O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle:
If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him
That is renown'd for faith? Be fickle, fortune;
For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long,
But send him back.

Romeo and Juliet, Act III, Scene 5, Lines 59-63

~Q~

Sometimes she wondered if she had developed an obsessive compulsive disorder where her partner was concerned. Brennan tracked every detail of Booth's lapses and recovery, noting with increasing dismay all the ways large and little that he'd changed. He led with a different foot, drank from a different hand, held his phone to a different ear. He laughed at a clown. These were the little things.

The larger things (unable to fix plumbing and cars, forgetting how to spot lies in a suspect) worried her greatly. Of course the biggest lapse of all, forgetting her, no one even realized had happened. Going to Sweets felt almost like a betrayal but she couldn't contain her worry any longer.

"He's not getting any better," she blurted out. Standing uncomfortably behind the chair where normally she would be seated beside Booth, Brennan curled her fingers over the nubbly upholstered backrest and willed psychology to be of use for once.

Sweets matched her concern with a solemn expression that she read as caution. "He's improved in both memory and coordination a great deal in the last two months."

"He doesn't know what he likes, he can't tell if people are lying. He's changed dominance in his hand and foot!"

"That's been documented in people who have suffered amnesia as a result of brain trauma, as well as changing preferences. This is normal, Doctor Brennan."

She knew it, intellectually. Having conducted her own frantic research over the last weeks, Brennan knew amnesia could pervade many areas of a person's life and completely alter their personalities as well as their preferences. There were subtle changes she was sensing that infused her with despair: Booth was impatient now, and more likely to lose his temper over small frustrations. An urge to shed lachrymal fluid involuntarily squeezed her nose like pinching fingers. She blinked, resisting the emotional reflex but she couldn't help saying, "He's not the same."

To his credit, Sweets tried to reassure her without psychology. "In all the ways that matter, he is the same man."

She whispered it, what she felt. "No, he's not." It wasn't just that he didn't remember her, there was something different, something missing.

"Okay, well, I admit he's not as confident as he used to be," Sweets finally conceded. "But that's to be expected."

Was that all it was? Brennan nodded, trying to satisfy herself with the fact that Booth was definitely lacking the almost cocky assurance that had floated him through each day. Deep in her own untapped reservoir of emotional instincts, however, she sensed it was more than confidence that was lost. It was a fundamental belief that had vanished.

~Q~

"You know, I don't think I can handle her scoping me out like I'm a piece of meat. Why don't you two tag team her?" Booth suggested. "I'll just wait out here."

"Booth?" Brennan turned to him in confusion as her partner slumped into a seat outside the bullpen, clearly intending to not even observe the interrogation.

"I'm quite certain young Doctor Sweets here can manage on his own," Wyatt demurred. "Doctor Brennan and I shall observe the proceedings together, if that's acceptable?"

A significant glance between the elder and the younger psychologist went unnoticed by Booth, but not by Brennan. She glanced uneasily at Booth again as she felt his affectionate gaze roving over her. She had begun to sense that Booth thought he was in love with her and yet he seemed to have no foundation for it. He believed the feeling was new and transplanted rather than old and slow growing, a young and delicate hothouse-grown flower rather than a wild and strong old growth tree that had suffered damage at its core but still stood stately and strong. She could climb into a tree and rest in its branches, but a hothouse flower is easily crushed underfoot. So she couldn't encourage him, no matter how desperately her heart yearned to just give in again.

There was also the question of disaster, which always followed in the footsteps of them getting too close. (Literally, 'bad star' was what disaster meant, a bad portent or omen that spelled destruction and doom for those who didn't heed the warning.) That last two times she'd tried an intimate relationship with him, Booth had nearly died shortly afterwards. The pattern was clear, the warning was evident, and she wouldn't take the risk of tempting fate a third time. Brennan tore her gaze away from Booth, nodding agreement at the sudden change in plans as Wyatt gestured her into the observation room.

The fact that former Dr. Gordon Wyatt (currently Chef G Wyatt) had asked Brennan to accompany him into the observation booth while Sweets questioned Gidget alone, was not lost on her. Disdaining psychology did not mean she was immune to its application or the ways in which one of its (former) practitioners might seize an opportunity right under an oblivious patient's nose. Booth had begged off on yet another interview, which he'd been doing frequently since the day he'd missed a lie.

The sick feeling that never seemed to go away must have shown on her face when Booth claimed he wanted to avoid Gidget's predatory persona. Brennan knew Booth's confidence had taken a hit, knew he was worried that he'd lost too much of himself after the coma. (She worried too, but tried at every opportunity to bolster him up, to reassure, because it was literally painful to her when he questioned himself. It made her ache.)

So when Gordon turned away from Gidget's outrageous proposal to Sweets that they should 'make out' because people watching turned her on, Brennan sensed a question was coming. Always smoother than Sweets could ever dream of being, Wyatt began with an acerbic observation. "This … this persona that she's projecting, this 'little person cougar,' she's either masking emotional pain or overcompensating for guilt."

Puzzled by that beginning, Brennan suggested doubtfully, "Maybe you should tell Sweets." Notably, however, she had refrained from her usual forward frontal assault on the psychological arts.

"Oh, believe me," Wyatt chuckled, "if a chef could figure it out then a prodigy like Sweets would have got there long before." The vote of confidence might help further smooth the way for Brennan to accept Sweets's help with Booth, but more importantly, Wyatt now knew Brennan was worried enough to delve into psychology if it would help her partner. That spoke volumes, really.

The fact that she'd been going to Sweets all along with her worries, spoke volumes more.

Turning down the sound, Wyatt asked almost casually, "Tell me. What's your theory on why Agent Booth can no longer shoot straight."

It's a physical skill, employing the pyramidal tracts of the cerebellum and hand-eye coordination, as well as the visual cortex in the occipital lobe of the cerebrum. None of those areas had been damaged during the surgery, and if he could hit a moving target at 2000 meters before, she saw no reason why he couldn't hit a stationary target in the quiet confines of Quantico's shooting range. The skill was already there and if he would continue to hone it over and over, it would help him reinforce the already existing neural pathways. He would improve, which in turn would increase his confidence and in a feedback loop, Brennan expected the boost in self esteem would help him improve even further.

Briskly, she asserted, "he should practice more," because Wyatt surely knew as much about it as she did.

This was fascinating, Wyatt mused. Brennan did not doubt Booth's ability to properly aim his weapon, only his confidence, which she thought could best be helped with additional experience. Yes, fascinating in what such a simple statement revealed.

Wyatt ventured further, testing his own hypothesis. "But perhaps, in conjunction with his using the wrong foot to climb stairs and his wrong hand to drink coffee, he's closing the wrong eye when he aims." As suspected, dismay and guilt flooded her features as she realized Sweets had shared her confidences with him, but the explanation he'd proffered she quickly dismissed.

"Real marksmen keep their eyes open when they shoot."

Fascinating…. Wyatt mused on that kind of intimacy, the way Brennan knew her partner's physical movements and the exact nature of his skills so well. The keen observational habits of a physical scientist coupled with devotion—of course she would notice and catalog even the most minute changes in his abilities. He shrugged off his lapse with a slight chuckle. "Oh. Well, that's what I get for using Quigley Down Under as a reference."

Her brow furrowed in confusion (what was quigley, and what was it down underneath?) but forgetting that, Brennan settled back into worry and guilt. "So, Sweets told you about the hands and the feet?"

For a moment, she was tempted to tell Wyatt everything, the urge nearly strangling her and the only thing that finally forced it back down was worry that their partnership would be ruined. They might be separated again, and Booth didn't remember anyway. Nothing good would come of such a confession but a weight lifted metaphorically. The moment passed, and Wyatt was speaking again.

"Hm, we're consulting," he admitted. Brennan glanced away, utterly distressed at the entire situation: both at discussing Booth behind his back, and at having unwittingly dragged two psychologists into what amounted to private business. Booth would hate this. Quickly, he assured her, "Patient confidentiality is being maintained, and I won't tell Booth that you've been ratting him out to the FBI behind his back."

The accusation struck a sharp blow behind her scapulae. She winced and stumbled mentally, metaphorically, over the implications. Even though his statement required a response, Brennan found it curiously difficult to express herself at this. 'Ratting out' means reporting someone's behavior to an authority for the purposes of getting that someone into trouble. Or, saving them from trouble they couldn't foresee.

"Ratting out is an accurate phrase, but somehow it doesn't … seem true." Because she was not trying to get Booth into trouble, she was just worried and looking for help. That felt … right. It felt like the right thing to do, even if Booth probably wouldn't want her to do it. He would call it ratting out. She sighed in misery.

Smiling his approval, Wyatt remarked, "You've come quite a long distance since we last met, if you can now see a distinction between accuracy and the truth."

"I'm trying to help Booth. I can be objective about his brain and he can't."

Nodding, he agreed. "Sometimes you have to help people, against their wishes." He understood precisely what she was doing, precisely why. What she said a moment later only confirmed it.

Softly, she confessed, "I can't think of anything I wouldn't do to help him."

Wyatt wondered, idly, if she had any idea of the depth of emotion those simple words had revealed.

Noting his raised brow, the intense interest he'd taken in that last deep insight, Brennan recoiled and slammed the door into her heart closed. She nodded towards the interview still in progress. "Can we listen, please?"

But this insight into her led Wyatt to a more profound truth when he spoke with Booth that very evening. Booth had come again, lamenting his lost memories and skills, and Wyatt seized on the explanation that might place a solution into his hands. "Temperance Brennan. You're in love with her, you're building a world around her."

If Booth believed he was merely lovesick, that could give him just enough of a sense of control over his situation to pull himself ahead.

That's when Booth revealed the true loss, the fear that drove Temperance Brennan to what she perceived as a desperate measure. "She doesn't love me. I would know if she loved me."

That was it, Wyatt understood, the terror she tried to work through alone because she did love Booth, and knew that somewhere along the line he'd forgotten what he knew about her. Booth, though he loved her, could no longer read his partner. And Brennan, though she loved him, knew Booth didn't know her heart any longer and had misapplied his own confidence where she was concerned. It was truly a disaster.

Gently, he advised, "May I counsel patience on this front? Hope, and patience."

(This was why he'd beggared off on psychology—the consequences of an error were vastly more upsetting when human emotions were involved, whereas no one was ever much bothered by a botched soufflé.) Brennan entering into the kitchen at this point saved him from further responsibility, though Wyatt sensed trouble on the wind even as he offered them a starting course that rather suspiciously resembled "sperm on corn smut."

~Q~

Booth had begun ranting about the insanity of marrying someone after only knowing them a month the moment she joined him in his SUV. "Jared met some girl in India and he's running off to get married."

"Where are we going," Brennan checked in before his rant could gather too much steam. She could see that he was wound up, ready to spin his wheels for the duration of their trip and she wanted to know how much time she'd have to work at soothing him.

"Northern Virginia, not too far. Only a month, Bones!"

Busying herself with the 911 notes, Brennan glanced at him cautiously. "I don't understand what you want me to say."

"I want you to agree with me that it's crazy!"

She frowned. "Why? Assuming your brother is not suffering from a disorder in brain chemistry or abnormal physiology, how is the decision to get married a symptom of improper brain functioning?"

"It just is!"

An awkward shift while Brennan pondered his anger. If Booth truly thought Jared was insane he should be worried, not angry, so clearly this was a matter of disapproval rather than medical concern. "It sounds to me like Jared is making a decision on the course of his life that you don't agree with."

"Damn straight he is! One month is not long enough to really know someone, all right? You have to really know each other in order to work out your differences."

"You and I have always managed to work out our differences even though we started out not knowing each other." Every relationship begins from a stance of not knowing the other person, but negotiating disagreements is a simple skill that requires only respect, patience, and a willingness to compromise. Brennan shook her head, trying to follow his logic and finding gaps that puzzled her.

"That's different," he sputtered.

"How is it different? Partners in work or marriage must resolve conflicts in order to maintain a healthy and productive relationship. The key would seem to be mutual respect and a desire to communicate, not an arbitrary length of history together."

"People getting married should know each other," he insisted.

"Arranged marriages in China and India last a lifetime, despite the fact that the bride and groom usually do not meet until the wedding ceremony or just before."

"Yeah, there's no love there."

Softly, she suggested, "Perhaps love comes in time, once they've experienced life together."

Booth clenched his jaw, refuting her romantic ideals with the facts of his brother's romance. "He claims he already loves her."

"Well, that's good, right?"

"He says he just knew, as soon as he saw her. Like magic." Booth rolled his eyes. "You can't love someone that fast."

A whirling vertigo spun her around and made the car seem to sway too much. Brennan remembered him teasing her years ago. "Eyes meet across a crowded room, that Old Black Magic gets you in its spell...?" Primly, she'd refuted it even while knowing it was partially true. She'd felt that mystical tug the moment his eyes twinkled at her and he'd asked about fate. And now, the way he dismissed it was disorienting, rather like the world turning upside down.

"I thought you believed in the old black magic," she reminded him. "I thought you said people could meet 'the One' and they would just know it when it happened."

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. "That's just lust."

"Oh." His words crushed her. It actually felt like a boulder falling on her chest, painfully squeezing her until she could barely breathe. It squeezed tears out of her eyes that she blinked away.

"You don't make a lifetime commitment based on having the hots for someone." The reinterpretation of their first meeting crushed her, even though he had no idea what he was doing to her. Gone was the patient sniper who sensed his fate and committed himself to waiting five years for her. In his place was the impatient man beside her who didn't believe in love at all unless it met the criteria of his old fashioned ideals.

"Maybe people shouldn't make lifetime commitments anyway," Brennan finally acknowledged. She knew she sounded melancholy and resigned as she reminded herself that Booth was different and the part of him that she'd entrusted her heart to had vanished. She would never get that part of him back. "People change. Sometimes they change a lot."

"Exactly. He's making a mistake."

~Q~

He told her about it just as she was leaving her office, causing Brennan's pace to slow while his maintained a steady rate and they collided at the narrow door frame. To say she was surprised would not be saying enough. "You ran a background check on Jared's girlfriend?"

"Well yeah. You do things like that for people you care about."

Puzzled, she asked cautiously, "Do you do that when I go out with someone?"

It would be proof that he cared and after what he'd said in the car about love at first sight being only lust she needed some reassurance. She needed him to affirm his affection (even if it was only friendly affection) but he deflected, which more or less indicated he didn't care enough to answer. She was uncertain of what they were to each other, or at least what he thought they were. It was getting so confusing that Brennan simply existed in the moment, living day to day until the second shoe dropped (metaphorically speaking).

"Look Bones, you're the one who always says not to jump to conclusions."

"But in matters of the heart—"

He cut her off, cut out the heart with a remarkably smug rebuttal. "Ah. The heart is just a muscle. See? I'm learning from you."

Using her own logic against her. She should be impressed, but this was not Booth. Not Boothy. Where was his almost dreamy romanticism? Where was his faith? Though he was ostensibly behaving rationally, Brennan was acutely aware of the loss of his own Boothy logic and in that context, Booth had tumbled into a sort of rational insanity that was disorienting.

"Anyways, this whole background check came up hinky."

There was that word again, slang upon slang. Brennan gratefully accepted the distraction if it would keep her from dwelling on how deeply uneasy she was starting to feel. "Hinky how?"

He whispered, "Four years ago, this woman was an escort. Jared's going to be crushed."

Baffled once again, Brennan could not follow his logic. "Why? I'm sure she possesses sophisticated sexual skills and if she's reformed…."

"She's just reformed? She's a reformed escort."

They were speaking different languages again, looking at the same evidence through different prisms. Where Brennan saw an attractive and satisfying sexual partner, Booth saw something else entirely. Something like infidelity or 'damaged goods,' both of which were archaic notions regarding female sexual purity. More of those old fashioned ideals, and no room for redemption or second chances.

"Well, maybe Jared already knows," she suggested. Given he was a recovering alcoholic and Padme a reformed escort, potentially that gave them a common link. Brennan still didn't see the problem.

"No, he doesn't know," Booth refuted confidently.

"Well, how do you know?"

"Because if he knew, he wouldn't be talking about getting married."

Now who was the one jumping to conclusions…? Brennan turned and walked away, so disturbed she was feeling physically ill.

~Q~

"When your gut speaks to you, do you think it could be caused by an increase in stomach acid due to anxiety?"

"Huh?"

"I … feel some anxiety."

"About what?"

"About your sudden abandonment of a belief system. Really, it's making my stomach upset."

Completely confused, he reacted as if she were on the verge of regurgitating the contents of her digestive tract rather than the stated source of her physical symptoms. "You know what? You are really … um … crack a window there, Bones. Just get some air."

She sighed, putting her head in her hand as she leaned wearily against the cool glass. She really was nauseated, shaking almost, the mixing of metaphorical and physical upset having become too much to handle. Yet a fear of actual vomiting was not why she'd mentioned this. What Brennan needed was relief from the anxiety and that could only happen if Booth came back to himself.

"You told me that my father's criminal past didn't matter, that the love between us was real and that was all that mattered. Because I believed you, my father and I have a relationship today."

More confusion, and an almost lost look in his eyes. As if he didn't remember. "Okay. I'm … glad I could help out."

"I'm anxious because I can't see any meaningful difference between my father and your brother's girlfriend." Her father had robbed banks, gone fugitive, and murdered two men. Padme had only been guilty of pleasuring men for pay, which in the grand scheme of things seemed far less morally offensive. So, what was the difference? "Can you explain that to me? It's a question of logic, so I'm just going to be quiet now while you work your way through it."

She waited with her head tilted back against the seat, breathing slowly through her nose to quell the nausea but the lump in her throat and threatened tears couldn't be helped. This was damage control, a calculated effort that would get Booth to back off of Padme's past and let Jared take the chance if he wanted to. If Booth's original hypothesis about love was correct, Jared and Padme would overcome their obstacles. And if they could, it might sustain Brennan's waning hope that she and Booth could as well.

"Are you okay, Bones?"

Weakly, not sure why it mattered when she certainly didn't, Brennan asked, "Booth? Do you still believe in fate?"

~Q~

Doctor Lance Sweets had listened to their story unfold with a sinking swirl that comes of sensing fate had gone horribly awry.

A snippet from over a year ago had uncoiled in his mind the moment Brennan informed him that the Cleo Eller case wasn't their first case together. Hodgins had said it. "Their first case. I don't know what went down but she hit him and refused to speak to him for a year."

Barely masking his desperation (did his thesis hold?) and his curiosity (what the hell had happened to make Hodgins compare her rage in the graveyard to an earlier moment that separated them for a year?), Sweets demanded the story from them. And they told it, their narratives weaving naturally in and out of the story in the same way they used to conduct interrogations together or evaded his own efforts to provide them with guidance in the partners therapy sessions. They were seamless, two parts of a whole, and listening to them recount this history was like listening to an elderly couple.

The way that they spoke of their own feelings and impressions:

"She was so beautiful."
"I found his bone structure to be pleasingly masculine and proportionate."
"Admit it. You thought I was hot."
"Angela thought you were cute."
"Really?"
"But cute is juvenile. I think you are a very well developed adult male."
"Well developed. What, like a photograph?"

Brennan recalled Booth asking her if she believed in fate, which made him look at her in a rather loving way. "I still do," he affirmed. Brennan was more guarded but under the statement of fact, Sweets heard despair. "I still don't."

Their story unfolded as all good stories do, drawing him in. Sweets marveled at the mounting attraction, admiration and tension between them, leaning forward almost eagerly when Brennan laughed and admitted, "I propositioned him for sex."

"What?!"

"He'd just fired me after plying me with a rather copious amount of alcohol."

"How did that make you feel," Sweets inquired. He watched her carefully.

Brennan's eyes shadowed just a little. "I questioned his intentions."

"So, it was a test?" Sweets again, knowing her better now, knowing she would have been trying to unravel Booth's behavior before making any decisions. Not that Brennan didn't participate in one night stands, but that she would want to be sure that's really what it was before initiating a physical relationship.

Booth rolled his eyes. "It wasn't a test. She wanted me. Bones doesn't hold back when she wants something."

Spearing him with a pointed glare, she retorted, "Who fell all over himself trying to get a cab? You wanted me just as much." Lust, what she'd feared then and Booth had confirmed it only a few weeks ago when he said love at first sight didn't exist.

Sweets quickly redirected them, sensing they were getting close to either upholding his thesis or destroying the entire foundation of it. "Did he pass the test, Doctor Brennan?"

Booth's eyes narrowed dangerously but he held still and turned to look at her.

Softly, she revealed what she'd heard, what it meant to her. "He told me he had a gambling problem but he was working on it."

So, not a one night stand. People do not divulge weaknesses and flaws to someone they never intend to see again. Shifting his focus between the two partners, Sweets saw Booth's eyes gentle at the reminder and Brennan's cast downward, as if in doubt.

"I asked him why he told me that, and he said—"

"I think this is going somewhere," Booth concluded quietly.

Their eyes met now, a question seeming to pass between them. Brennan drew a fortifying breath and finished, "He said he thought he was going to kiss me, so I kissed him."

Whoa! Sweets nearly fell out of his seat. "You kissed?!"

Back then? And she had initiated it.

"There was tongue contact," she affirmed, as if anticipating his next question. (He'd asked for that detail before, when they'd confessed to their blackmailed mistletoe kiss.)

"How long did this affair last," he sputtered.

Another shared glance conveying unspoken history. "Should we tell him?" she asked her partner.

Together they told him the rest, that she'd laughed and danced away, stealing the cab. He watched her leave, standing alone in the drenching summer rain. And the next day when he hired her back (without an explanation) was when the arguing began.

"You got me drunk to fire me and then have sex with me."

"You decided not to have sex with me. … So, you're regretting that decision?"

Listening to them carefully, he heard the echos of that long ago misunderstanding still bouncing through the story. When they tried to end the story of their first case with a confession (and later conviction) Sweets roared his protest. Because there was more to it, Hodgins had said so.

"No, no. What happened between you two?"

Reluctantly, Brennan confessed. "We started fighting."

The fight was ostensibly over evidence but it quickly turned scathing and personal. And, it turned physical.

"Let go of me!"

"I will if you would just—Ow!"

"You are a bully! You use your badge and your gun to intimidate people!"

"Oh yeah, well you use your brain to make other people feel stupid."

"You are a stupid man. I hate you!"

"You hit him?" Silence fell over the room for a second as Sweets saw the last curtain pulled away. She had hit him, lashed out like a wounded child. "Striking Agent Booth indicated the depth of your feelings for him. It was a very passionate act." If Brennan thought Booth had lied to her, manipulated her, it was the same betrayal and rage that had fueled her reaction when she learned he wasn't really dead.

He'd thought it was a revelation that night they'd invited him to dinner, when Sweets had realized Booth loved her and was waiting, and Brennan loved him but had doubts. He'd thought they'd slowly grown to love each other over their long years of partnership, but this turned everything on its head. In finally getting the whole story, Sweets could see what it all meant. She's been in love with him right from the beginning, and he doesn't realize it. All he has to do is speak up! So he pushed.

"You are totally messed up! I always said that you could never kiss because if you did, then the dam would break. Did the dam break?"

Brennan looked thoroughly confused.

Booth leaned towards her to whisper, "He still thinks we slept together."

"We're not in love with each other," Brennan insisted. Because that was the reality she had to maintain. That was the reality he'd awakened to and until he remembered otherwise, that was the only truth that existed.

Exasperated, Sweets tried to call their bluff. "One of you has to end this stalemate." Pointedly, he looked to Booth, the one he thought was holding back. "It's gotta be you, because you're the gambler."

~Q~

Author's Excitedly Apologetic Warning: My family is hosting an exchange student (from France!) over the next month, which is very exciting. :D However, it also means I'm not going to have as much time for writing because I'll be busy playing hostess/tour guide. I will try to keep the every Friday schedule but sometimes may end up being a few days late with updates.

Author's Appreciation: Thank you to everyone who is reading, marking this as a watch or favorite, and especially to those who review. I probably don't thank you enough, but I do appreciate everyone who goes the extra step. It means a lot to me. :)