AN: It's been... a bad few weeks. I apologize. We had a family member rushed to the hospital, which led to a near week of erratic schedules and worry, followed by being slammed with a stomach bug and now, I've also been gifted with the mister's "paralyze you in sickness while you beg for Tamiflu" virus. Yuck!

Luckily, this was half-done, so I managed to cobble it together for you. I'm not sure if The Bard will go up this week, but I'll try! Hopefully, this bit of angst holds you over.

Tag To: The Sin In The Sisterhood

Disclaimer: I own neither Bones nor the lyrics to George Michael's signature sax-laced song "Careless Whisper". Dialogue is used for context; no infringement intended.

Careless Whisper (George Michael)

"Should you call Hannah and ask her to join us? She enjoys drinking alcohol very much."

Typical Bones: selfless to the point of self-harm. Although the dust seemed settled now, Booth knew that his partner's version of "adjusting" was something that often took years. Prime example: forgiving her brother for abandoning her to foster care.

"Nah, she's working late, you know?"

It was truthful, but her plans weren't locked in stone. She was digging through research in preparation for a new story idea – something about someone's senate seat that Booth was only half-concerned with. Besides, lately he'd been feeling guilty about the times Hannah had crashed their post-case drinks. If he truly meant what he'd said to her last year – that what was theirs was theirs alone – then their traditions needed to remain as they were.

And yet, you didn't bother to think of that when you blabbed to Hannah about Bones' feelings for you, did you?

And now, he really needed a drink. "Hey, hey! Could I get the usual here?" he called out to the server.

"Coming up!"

Returning his attention to his partner, he said, "So, this case proves that, um, two's company."

"You were right," Brennan demurred with a smile, making him chuckle. "The Samuel Wives only appeared to be happy with their arrangement."

"Right. The one guy who was happy ended up dead."

"Do you think Ed Samuel loved all of his wives equally?"

"No, mm-mm. He loved the first one the most," he replied quickly.

"How do you know?" Bones asked.

"The schedule."

"But each week, each wife was assigned two nights apiece, and he spent Sunday nights alone," she countered.

That was the intended schedule, but the reality, Booth knew, was anything but fair. "Well, he was supposed to spend Sunday alone..."

Her eyes widened as she caught on. "He didn't?"

"He went back to the first one."

"He did?"

"Every Sunday, that's what they said."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, it means Bones, that you know, you could love a lot of people in this world, but there's only one person you love the most."

Scientist Bones was fully engaged now. "Well, how do you know which person you love the most when you're confused by chemical messages traveling throughout your limbic system?"

"You just do."

The intensity of her gaze caught him off-guard and his eyes drifted towards Camille, who seemed much more at ease with her doctor than she had lately. Maybe they could make a go of it after all. His friend deserved happiness, but it seemed she often shut it down or sabotaged it quickly.

And you? Do you deserve happiness?

He glanced over at his partner, his stomach rolling with anxiety. This case had been nagging at him for more reasons than his belief in monogamy. Staring at her slightly flushed cheeks and the elegance of her jaw line, something clicked.

There's only one person you love the most and you know damn well it's not Hannah.

His eyes averted guiltily as Bones turned to him and twisted the knife in his heart just a little deeper. "What if you let that person get away?"

"That person's not going anywhere," he replied – a revelation as much as a response.

When he searched her features for an answer of his own, he found himself drifting into the ether of that old world. The one before he'd taken Sweets up on his gamble. The one before he'd stepped back into the world of combat and watched his cosmic balance sheet swing horribly out of balance.

Reaching for her wine, Bones said, "We are a good team, all of us."

"The best," he agreed as their glasses clinked, taking a thoughtful sip.

It was peaceful here, in his land of denial. Safe inside this bubble of booze and buddy banter, he could forget for a minute or two how much their lives had shifted in the last year. Things could be as they were.

Before you screwed them up, that is.

Booth sighed, downing his drink and signaling the server for a second round. His entire body ached with exhaustion, sleep an impossible ghost he chased into the dawn for a scant reprieve and a slender elbow jabbing at him until he silenced the alarm clock. His mind whirred to life in the darkness, replaying scenes from the past like an emotional torture porn.

Every reel of film contained Temperance Brennan.

"Cam's leaving."

Booth glanced up, noting the cozy couple departing without having a meal. Knowing Cam as well as he did, she'd opted for the impatient grab-takeout-and-go-home-sexfest tonight. For a woman who claimed to crave a guy sweeping her off her feet, she had a way of undermining romance.

"You think they'll stay together?" Bones asked him.

Booth shrugged. "Too hard to tell. If they can't prioritize each other, it'll never work. Couples should drop everything for each other."

"They have demanding careers, Booth."

"Yeah, but there has to be balance. And besides, I'm thinking more of the big situations – needing support from someone who knows you well."

"I understand what you mean."

Her words were heavy with sadness and Booth winced, suddenly falling prey to a memory of a helicopter and the security of his partner's embrace. They needed a topic change desperately, but he couldn't seem to find words that didn't lead back to her, to them, whatever they were or would be. Luckily, his partner moved in to save him from his wallowing.

"Mr. Nigel-Murray contacted me today with an intriguing premise for the publication I've been asked to submit. I'm very excited! I've invited him to collaborate on it as part of his dissertation."

"Really?" He couldn't recall offhand the last time she'd willingly and enthusiastically worked with an intern – perhaps Zack? "What's it about?"

She smiled as the server not only brought a refill for Booth, but another glass of red wine. "It's a surprise, but I will tell you, as partners, that it involves dinosaurs. Parker would love it, I think. Would he be able to attend the presentation of our findings?"

"I'll mention it to Rebecca now. You know Bones, you keep turning my kid into a Squint and I won't have a damn clue what he's saying anymore," he teased.

"You understand me perfectly."

Booth hesitated. "Mostly."

He'd once believed himself to be the authority on his partner, the one person who got her, but that damn night at the Hoover had changed everything. What he'd believed was no longer solid, his emotions running wild. And when she'd announced the project in the Island of Misfit Bones, he'd taken that to mean she was done with their partnership – and him. He'd ruined it, strained their bond to a tenuous thread that could not bear its weight.

Knowing now that he'd completely missed her cues, blowing a chance at happiness with her, he wondered what else he'd gotten wrong over the years. How many times had he unwittingly hurt her? How many signs had he missed?

"I'll be right back," she said, gesturing in the direction of the washrooms. "Order me another?"

Booth nodded, startled to realize she'd knocked back another glass while he sat in some pathetic silence. He was lousy company tonight and he chastised himself for it.

She's carried on. Why can't you?

The what ifs of the matter were haunting his every moment. Watching her walk away, he wondered if they would be here now if they were a they, or would they be in bed, reclaiming beauty in their world of death and anger? Would he have ever contemplated Afghanistan if she'd admitted her love sooner?

It hit him then, the proverbial ton of bricks: she had told him, in front of the Hoover. It was in her own way, her own language, but it was there between the lines. With fresh eyes, he also understood now that he had never spelled it out for her. He'd never uttered such a simple word, and perhaps it would have made a world of difference.

So many choices, so many courses changed by the slightest forks in the road.

You're with Hannah now, he told himself harshly. None of it matters, because you've made your choice and you're here now. Hannah is intelligent, funny and kind and she isn't a stand-in for Bones. She's a woman all her own, and you love her.

"I love her," he whispered aloud, as if to stress his mental lecture.

But you love Bones the most.

Booth shook his head free of the cyclical thoughts, polishing off his drink before ordering a double for him and another glass of wine for his partner. She'd been gone for several minutes now and his instincts engaged. Had it been too long? Was there a line-up? Was she okay?

It's busy, he told himself, unclenching his fists. There's definitely a line-up. His drink disappeared in a frustrated swig upon arrival and his eyes scanned the crowd. Still no sign of her. I should look for her. He rose to his feet but froze, catching sight of her at last. What he saw stole his breath with a shot to his stomach.

She's been crying.

Oh, she'd cleaned up as best she could, employing all of her usual tricks that he'd borne witness to so many times before. But the tell-tale ring around her eyes gave her away.

You made her cry.

Endlessly hurting her, or so it seemed. She flashed a brave half-smile, but Booth knew now what he had to do. He had to let her go, once and for. He couldn't keep doing this dance of loving her silently while steadfastly remaining with his girlfriend, whom he also loved. It wasn't fair to either woman. His cruelty – even if it was unintentional – sickened him. Booth had been raised better than this.

"I'm sorry I took so long," she apologized as she neared their table. "I had to take a call from Russ."

"Is everything okay?" he asked softly.

"Oh, yes. He wants to visit sometime soon and was asking about my schedule. I advised him that with Broadsky loose, I preferred they stay at a distance."

A lie, but a damn good one. Maybe he could still read her, after all.

A familiar melody filled the room and several tables hooted in recognition as their server knowingly brought him another round without prompting. Booth knew this song, not for lack of avoidance. It was impossible to avoid mega-hits forever.

*
"Time can never mend
The careless whispers of a good friend
To the heart and mind
Ignorance is kind
There's no comfort in the truth
Pain is all you'll find..."

"I know this song," she added, pointing to a nearby speaker.

Suddenly, the song playing made perfect sense, like some sort of wicked sign. It was time to make a choice.

"Dance with me," he whispered.

She startled at the suggestion. "What? Here?"

"Why not?" His hand reached for hers, squeezing it lightly. "C'mon Bones, it's just a dance."

"Booth, I would feel rather foolish," she protested.

"Please, Bones?" He was begging her now and only half-ashamed.

*
"I feel so unsure
As i take your hand
And lead you to the dance floor
As the music dies
Something in your eyes
Calls to mind a silver screen
And all its sad goodbyes..."

With a slight nod, she allowed him to pull her closer and they began to sway. It took him back to another time, another dance to another overplayed Top 40 hit with a heavy heart that simply could not shake loose its adoration for his partner. To his relief, he spotted others dancing in various corners of the bar. Plausible denial, he told himself. No big deal, just a dance. That was all she'd ever have to know.

And yet, as her arms wrapped tighter around his neck, Booth had the sickening feeling that she knew damn well what this gesture meant to him, to them, and she was hanging on for all she was worth. A soft murmur in his ear sent him into a tailspin. It could have been like this, he rebuked himself. It could have been just like this, always.

*
"Tonight, the music seems so loud
I wish that we could lose this crowd
Maybe it's better this way
We'd hurt each other with the things we want to say
We could have been so good together
We could have lived this dance forever
But now who's gonna dance with me?"

He fought against the agonizing guilt swelling within him, fought to keep his expression neutral. His fingers slid to her hips, tightening their grip, but Bones never complained. Booth was grateful for her generous heart and simultaneously infuriated by it. If she knew his intentions – and he knew that she sensed them, knowing him as well as she did – she ought to be pushing back against him, pounding his chest and calling him out for the barbaric and cruel bastard he was.

Why don't you hate me, Bones? How could you confess your love to me after months of being shoved aside?

*
"And I'm never gonna dance again
guilty feet have got no rhythm
though it's easy to pretend
I know you're not a fool
Should've known better than to cheat a friend
and waste the chance that I've been given
so I'm never gonna dance again
the way I danced with you..."

Booth wished she hated him, wished she couldn't stand working with him. It would make this... separation easier. He wished a lot of things, it seemed, and the powers above had no interest in making them come true. Live with what you've got, Booth, God seemed to be saying. Make the most of the chances you've been given. Play the hand you've been dealt. It's better this way.

"Booth?"

"Hmm?"

"The song ended..."

He shook his head slightly, pulling back just enough to register his partner's pained expression. "Sorry. Guess I got a little lost in thought." He leaned in and kissed her cheek lightly. "Thanks, Bones."

"Anything for you, Booth," she replied quietly, retreating for their table and her waiting glass of red wine.

She knows.

Booth had barely settled back into his own seat and reached for his drink when she asked the question he'd hoped she'd never voice: "Why?"

"Why, Bones?"

"The dance. Why?"

He couldn't speak the truth, not aloud. Not to her beautiful face and murky grey eyes laden with sadness. "I suppose..." He swallowed hard, choosing his words with care. "I guess a dance for a dance. That sounds wrong, I'm sorry – "

"Don't be," she replied quickly. "But a wise man once said, roughly, 'An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind'."

Booth watched helplessly as she drained her glass and threw down several twenties from her purse. "It's getting late and I'm exhausted. I'll see you soon, Booth."

"Bones?" It was more of a hoarse gasp than a question.

He trailed her to the doors of Founding Fathers, where she suddenly spun and slammed her right palm against his chest. His heart shuddered as he ground to a halt, as if the organ were physically rocked by the force of her hand. A single tear slid down her right cheek and she fired her kill-shot.

"There is no more with me, no most. I can only love one person."

And with that, she was gone, and Booth slumped against the wall, watching her disappear into a conveniently waiting cab. His stomach rolled with the consequences of his careless and selfish actions.

Well, asshole, you got your wish: it's definitely over.

The worst part of the whole stupid disaster? Now that it was... it was the last thing Booth wanted.

This was an intriguing one to play with... The wondering of why Booth suddenly, on a seeming whim, proposes to Hannah in The Daredevil In The Mold. What the hell is he thinking? Does he mean it? Does he do it on purpose to get Hannah to leave him? While I think that, in part, he was trying to flail and find a way out, or perhaps "get a sign" about whether he was meant to be with Hannah, I also think he felt he didn't have Brennan as an option anymore after Doctor In The Photo.

And yes, down the line, we will examine Daredevil's "stay and drink" scene.

For a bit of fun, if you've never heard Gossip's cover of "Careless Whisper", YouTube it and consider it Brennan's "song" for this chapter.

See you next Sunday, I hope! In the meantime, I would greatly appreciate reviews and thoughts... Please assure me my brain's still writing in coherent English?

OH! Also, I'm curious: would anyone be interested in a version of this story posted in chronological order? The chapters often reference each other and while I do try and pair them accordingly, it might be fun to see things in order. Let me know!