BONES

Dad and I arrive too late. I see Booth tied into a chair that's laying on its side and run through the hanger to him, my Dad following on my heels. I drop to my knees and even as I feel for a pulse, I am cataloging his injuries, oblivious to the pool of blood I'm kneeling in. He'd clearly been tortured and I surmise it was open fracture on his head that was the cause of death. No-no-no-no. Not Booth.

"Booth! No, Booth. Wake up. Come on!" I scream at him as though mere words could wake him… or the way I was shaking. I look up at my Dad, desperate for him to say I'm wrong, that Booth isn't dead.

"I'm so sorry, honey…"

I'm on the stage singing. Booth suddenly jumps up and a gunshot sounds. I don't understand what's happening at first, then watch as he tumbles to his knees, hitting a table on the way down, then lays prone. Pure instinct made me drop the mike and go to him. It was only then I spotted the obese woman raising her weapon again. I don't hesitate. I grab Booth's gun and end her life with one shot then return all my attention to him.

"Booth. I'm right here. Come on!"

We're in the lab. Booth's cellphone rings. He glances at the caller ID and answers.

"Jake? Calling to turn yourself in?"

The sound of the shattering glass is deafening. I dive behind the examination table and Booth tackles Mr. Nigel-Murray to the ground. We wait, anxiously. I call to Booth.

"You, okay?" It's Mister Nigel-Murray who answers.

"I believe so, thanks to Agent Booth," he calls back. I look around the end of the table to see if there is any threat and…

I watch with horror as blood starts to gather on the floor. I scurry to them and with a hard yank, pull Booth off Mr. Nigel-Murray. He lands on his back, his white shirt already drenched in his blood. Frantically, I search for where it's coming from and give no thought to shoving my finger into the hole in his chest and putting on as much pressure as I can.

"Boooooooooth!" I scream.

I lunge awake before the last note of his name leaves my lip and collide with his hard body. He immediately wraps his arms tightly around me.

"Easy, Bones. I've got you."

I grab at Booth's back and try to pull him closer. I'm terrified, so much so that the medulla in my adrenal glands has secreted a copious amount of adrenaline into my system. My heart is racing, my body is trembling and I'm hyperventilating. I try to focus on Booth's arms around me, the press of his cheek against mine and the sound of his voice. I hear him saying something to me, but I can only register sounds. I'm not fully awake, a part of my mind ensnared by the dream…

I still have my finger plugged into the hole in Booth's chest.

Don't make me leave…

And I'm still watching the pool of his blood continue to expand until the life leaves his eyes. I clutch him tighter, try to stifle another sob and fail.

"It's okay, Bones. I'm here," he murmurs near my ear. "It was just a dream. I'm here." Keeping an arm tightly around my waist, he strokes my back. I find the gesture… comforting… but I shudder again. It didn't feel like a dream. It never feels like a dream. Yet, it's his logic that restores my rationale. He's here and he's safe, at least for tonight. I take a deep breath and relax into him, borrowing from his strength for a pair of seconds as I exhale a staccato breath. "I'm right here," Booth repeats again, "It was just a dream." Taking a deep breath, I relax my hold on him and nod my head.

"Yes," I agree. "Just a dream." I pull out of his embrace and concentrate on steadying my breathing. Just a dream. Just a dream.

"Your squintern?" he speculates. I turn to look at him, then slowly nod.

"Yes, Vincent." A white lie, I remind myself. Booth has taught me those are okay.

"I would like you to reveal an instance in which you have lied."

"Oh, sheesh! Not this again."

"You think you're protecting me but by avoiding the truth, you inevitably cause greater harm."

"No. No. I… I wouldn't do that. I wouldn't do that to you."

"Lying to spare my feelings?"

"Maybe it's to spare my own feelings."

I don't know whose feelings I'm trying to protect: His or mine.

And I don't wish to figure it out tonight. So, when Booth lays down and holds out an arm for me, I accept the invitation without hesitation, nuzzling my head beneath his shoulder. The feel of the smooth skin of his chest beneath my hand offers more comfort that his words. I can feel him, smell him… hear his heart beating beneath my ear. He wraps his arm around me, much as he did last night and rests his cheek on the top of my head.

"I was thinking…"

"About?"

"Well, we won't be far from Rehoboth tomorrow. We could get a room, have dinner at that little place on the Boardwalk—" The nightmare is forgotten for the moment and I rise up crossing my arms on his chest and resting my chin against them.

"We could go on some rides…" I add. I can't lie, the idea is very appealing.

"No funhouse," he insists adamantly.

"Clowns," we say in unison then laugh.

"Clowns aren't fun," I comment trying to look as serious as possible. It didn't work. I'm simply too… happy.

"Nothing fun about a clown," he agrees, as he eases me to my back then settles himself over me, holding his weight on his arms. I lay my hands on his upper arms, lightly caressing them. His head dips down and he begins raining soft kisses down the side of my neck. "We could rent a room and make love all night…" It's something I hadn't even considered.

"I've never gone away for a weekend with a man," I share. He stills for a long moment and I'm not sure why. "Booth?" He lifts his head and I see something pass over his face, so fleeting that I can't make out its meaning. A look of excitement takes its place.

"The Gravitron. We've got to go on the Gravitron. And bumper cars! I love bumper cars!"

"My Dad and Mom took us to an amusement park once. We were racing to see who could get around the course twice. I was nearly at the finish line when Dad hit my car. He won."

"Max won." He gives his head a shake.

"I'm sure I'll do much better now," I assure. "I'm a very good driver, after all." I tilt my head as a thought comes to mind. "Better than you, actually." For some odd reason, that draws a laugh from him.

"Mmmm-hmmm, we'll see," he tells me, leaning in to kiss me, then nuzzles my neck. "Right now, I have a different kind of driving on my mind." His words are accompanied by a thrusting of his hips, grinding his already erect penis against my vulvar mound, giving me clear understanding to what he refers. I laugh.

"I see what you did there. Driving and driving," I elongate the latter, proudly. "In an engine, the purpose of a piston is to—" I don't have a chance to finish when Booth covers my mouth with his.

It's after dawn when I wake. I blink my eyes several times at the light coming through the sheers over my bedroom window then glance at the clock. Booth and I had agreed to be on the road by seven-thirty, leaving a little over an hour before we have to leave. Still, I want some time with my thoughts in the early morning silence.

Carefully, with one of his arms still draped over my hip, I turn over to face him. He stirs, slightly, then settles back in. His beard has come in as the hours have passed from dusk-to-dawn and I'm fairly certain I have some whisker-burn on my neck which he lathes with attention, quickly having discovered I'm a pile of mud in his hands when he does so. It's not been such with previous lovers, just Booth, which truthfully left me perplexed at first, but it hadn't taken long to figure out why: The moistened skin, cooled by his warmth breath, his smell surrounding me, the look in his eyes as he moves from one side to the other and his contented hums in my ears. My senses were awash with him.

Of course, it could just be because I've never been in love before.

Before I give in to temptation, I quietly slide out from under the tousled sheet that does little to cover either of us then pick up my robe and slip it on. I begin my mourning routine by rote: Vacate my bladder, wash my hands, turn on the shower to hot, brush my teeth, take my birth control pill then shower, as visions of coming home last night play through my head.

I'd been aggressive, predatory even. The second the elevator doors had closed, I'd pressed Booth to the elevator wall and had kissed him lustily. His reaction had been – I laugh with satisfaction – quite enthusiastic. By the time we stumbled from the elevator both of our shirts were hanging open, as was his belt. We'd barely made it through the door before we were both stripped bare and with my back pressed against the door, legs wrapped around his waist and arms around his neck, Booth had entered me with a groan.

We'd never made it to that shower, I smile as the steamy water sluices over me.

"…I lost my chance."

Remembering that night still has the power to draw tears to my eyes and it does so now.

I hadn't turned Booth down because I hadn't wanted what he was offering, but because I did. I know that's difficult to understand and, in many ways, I'm still trying to come to terms with it myself. Yet, it's the truth.

From the time we are children, we are surrounded by fairy tales, especially little girls: A kiss from the Prince wakes Sleeping Beauty; Fairy Godmothers wave a wand and a girl goes from scullery maid to princess; and, let us not forget, the knight in shining armor galloping in on his white horse to save the maiden fair. Each of these stories ends in the same way: "And they lived happily ever after." My dad, too, was guilty of reading – and weaving- those fanciful tales, although, more often than not, when the story was done, he'd remind me to never allow someone else to control my fate.

At fifteen years old, I'd learned a valuable lesson: There was no such thing as happily ever after. If there had been, then my family would have stayed together and I wouldn't have found myself abandoned, terrified and thrust into a foster system that held cruelties far beyond the wicked witches in those books. For nearly three years, I had no control over my life. I would be told to pack my bags and I would. I'd be told I was being moved to a new school and I was. I'd be told to climb into the trunk of a car and I did.

Control over my 'fate'? No, I didn't have that. What I did have control over was my mind, which in turn meant my future. Logic and rationale became my constant companions, empirical proof and scientific fact my friends. Science tells us that nothing lasts forever, sex is a biological imperative, monogamy is an unnatural human state and that love is an illusion created by chemical messengers flooding your brain.

Happily ever after? Science – facts – say that is an impossibility. As I'd once told Booth:

"…entropy is a natural force that pulls everything apart at a subatomic level. Everything changes."

Booth had disagreed, insisting that would never happen to us. Then, last April, time had shown we, like everything else, were not exempt from change.

Everything had changed with only seven words:

"I believe in giving this a chance…"

Seven words

He'd been so hurt, so sad. He'd pled…

He'd pled.

Booth…

…whose pride would never allow him to plead with anyone, had pled with me to give us a chance. I'd tried my best to make him understand why that was an impossibility…

"You thought you were protecting me but you're the one who needs protecting."

"Protecting from what?"

"From me! I… I don't have your kind of open heart.

…but he didn't understand. Still, when he'd agreed we could remain partners I'd taken that as confirmation all would remain as it had been and we'd go on as though that conversation had never occurred.

It's not often that I'm wrong, but I'd been wrong. Very, very wrong.

I hadn't gone to the Maluku Islands because I was running away… or because I was so invested in the project. I'd gone because every day I stayed became more painful than the last.

For both of us.

We couldn't turn back time and forget Booth had offered me his heart. We couldn't just be partners any longer. He tried to pretend all was fine, but it was always there between us: His sadness, his hurt, his confusion... not to mention my own. Our disregard for each other's personal space disappeared and the physical distance he tried to keep between us became more and more pronounced. He couldn't even hug me to comfort me any longer without holding himself stiff and when we danced, he tried to leave distance for 'the Holy Ghost' between us. My attempts to get him to date and have sex fell flat, although my pretense there was more between Andrew and I than there was had been convincing.

It hadn't been long before it had all become too much to bear and not just for me, although Booth would never admit as much. The idea of walking away, of putting time and distance between us, would be akin to abandoning me in his mind…

Which is something he would never do.

So, I did it for both of us…

Or so I told myself.

Turning off the faucets, I step out of the shower. After quick pat down, I wrap the towel turban-style around my head and shrug back into my robe.

Then, there he is, standing in front of my, reaching for me and drawing me near…