Breaking point, a bones fanfic

Summary: "Sometimes it hurts so badly that you can't imagine you could possibly still be alive." Everyone has a breaking point and, one dark night in November, Dr. Temperance Brennan finds hers. REPOST

Rating: T to M

Pairings: Booth/Brennan, Angela/Hodgins (just mentions, mostly friendship)

Genre: Angst

A/N: This entire story was based around the sentence 'sometimes it hurts so badly that you can't imagine you could possibly still be alive', a thought that crossed my mind whilst watching a memorial for the 9/11 attacks, and seeing someone I presume was a mother of one of the victims just crumple, and fall to the ground. She was silent, just kind of numb, but she was screaming and no one but me could hear her.

As I know that I would never get through a story based on the attacks, and the fact that it was done so tastefully and beautifully by Wolfmyjic in her story 'Tribute honor remember' (please read it, it's a remarkable story), I decided instead to write the story, still based on this sentence, around another heartbreaking topic – the brutal, unsolved murder of a young child, and the ripples that spread out from the event. The sentences in italic form something of a poem. It's been placed in full at the base. Written whilst listening to the theme from The Piano, a beautiful piece of music that I would recommend to anyone.

A/N2 (For repost): Hey guys! Wow, the response to this story has been absolutely overwhelming. Now, the thing with getting almost 25 reviews is that now I feel really self conscious about several small mistakes that the first version had and I've had to edit it and beta it to make them disappear. If you've read this before, it's not a changed story, but several facts needed to be adjusted in order to fit in with the series that I'm planning to examine the fall out of Tempe's breakdown. And in response to the questions about the poem, it's one of mine. Thank you all for your support on this story!

Definition: Breaking point

the point at which a person, object, structure, etc., collapses under stress

the point at which a situation or condition becomes critical

Breaking Point

Sometimes it hurts so badly that you can't imagine you could possibly still be alive.

Temperance Brennan sighed, leaning back into her chair as she stared at the official looking document before her. Leaning her head back to physically stop the tears that threatened, her fingers massaged her temples roughly, trying to rid herself of the images that had plagued her throughout the entire investigation. Images of the child, just three years old, beaten beyond recognition, her bones so badly broken and shattered that it had taken Zach almost two weeks to piece her back together, as though in some sick mockery of a jigsaw.

Zach, with eyes that were suddenly cold, and a voice that spoke only the hard facts in a monotonous drawl.

Zach, whose resignation now sat on her desk, awaiting her signature of approval.

Surely it can't be physically possible to survive it.

Looking out of her office, blue eyes fell onto Angela, who was standing with Jack in a gentle, caring embrace. The anthropologist cocked her head to the side, watching as Jack turned his face into her hair and whispered words that were enough to evoke something that, under better circumstances, may have been considered a small smile from his new girlfriend.

It was one of the hardest cases they had ever dealt with for the artist, as the skull was so badly shattered that not even Zach, with his painstaking work, could fit it back together well enough for her to create a likeness of the girl. But she had sought, and found, some semblance of peace in the arms of her companion and workmate, and hadn't been around to speak to her long time friend in almost a week.

Not since the investigation was abandoned, to be filed under 'unsolved' in the recesses of some dark, official looking building.

Not even at the small, informal burial, the tiny casket lowering into the ground with no one but Angela, Hodgins, Zach, Temperance and Booth to farewell her, and the plain headstone reading simply:

Jane Doe - aged three.

'You're in the arms of the Angels – may you find some comfort there.'

That just wouldn't be fair.

Watching the pair as they walked, hand-in-hand up the stairs to their newest case, a mummified Inca warrior, she suddenly knew that fighting the tears wasn't working as well as she had hoped. Leaning forward, she blinked and two tears fell silently onto the carpet, not daring to touch her skin.

Jane Doe. How many women had she given that name to over the years? Countless. How many girls? Too many. It seemed like such a brutal name, somehow, and Tempe had found herself, in the darkness of the lab, when it was late at night, talking to the girl in nicknames.

"Hey, Janie," she'd say, pulling pieces of the shattered ulna towards her. "We're going to put you back together now, OK, baby girl?"

At least once, she knew Zack overheard her, for he had shifted too early and drawn her attention as she had turned to go get something from her office. His look of slight disbelief mingled with something that looked suspiciously like heartbreak had broken down her walls and for almost a full minute the pair had stared at each other, their eyes conveying just how badly they hurt – saying what words never could. Then the night guard had opened the door and started his nightly rounds, and Temperance had blinked, and in that moment, Zach had fled down the stairs.

Life was unfair, but death even more so.

Surely, your heart has to give out, has to give up, has to stop.

She knew, deep down, that what she had been doing since the case had ended wasn't healthy. She knew when she'd wake in the early morning on the couch in her office with a hangover, and pour herself a nip of whiskey to take the edge off. She knew when she got a phone call from her next door neighbour, checking up on her because: "I just hadn't seen you in a couple of weeks, dear. Are you selling up?" She knew when she'd hesitated before saying "no."

And she knew when she'd had to walk away from a crime scene with a young girl nearby, clinging to her mother's leg, to come back to her office and curl up under her desk, her breathing harsh and erratic as her heart beat entirely too fast.

And you beg for that numbness – that blessed, empty numbness – to come and take it all away.

Biting her lip harshly, she steadfastly ignored the way that it drew blood and opened the bottom draw of her desk. The bottle of whiskey sat there, innocent and welcoming and she pulled it up, revelling in the weight of the cold glass against her palm as she slowly, almost reverently unscrewed the bottle top and took a deep draught. The all too familiar burn worked its way down her throat and she welcomed the pain, even as she measured a generous amount into her coffee and replaced the bottle. Nursing the cup closer to her, she sighed almost angrily.

Logically, she knew that the alcohol didn't actually help anything – didn't actually make the pain go away, just numbed it. But damn if it didn't make the few hours of sleep she managed to get every night more bearable.

All the while cursing just how bloody human you are.

In many ways, she wished she'd never met them. Booth and Angela in particular, but Zach and Hodgins, too. They made her feel. They made her human, and she hated that. She longed to go back to the days when she could work on a skeleton and think only of the science, the anthropological facts, not the families that would never know what happened to their brother, or sister, or mother, or father, or aunt, or uncle, or grandparent… son or daughter, if she couldn't do her job. And that hurt, and she hated it.

So you sit and you wait and you tell yourself that if you can just make it through today, tomorrow will be better.

There were moments, fleeting and unattainable, when she was able to imagine breathing again without wanting to scream. But they came and went, slipping through her fingers as she grasped desperately for them, to hold onto them.

Far more frequent were the moments when she'd let herself imagine how very easy it would be to have it be over - One bullet, one too many pills, one step too many, and the pain would just cease to exist. Then, with an eerie, aching numbness, she would pull herself to her feet and go back to work, feeling somehow stronger.

Tomorrow, you can smile again.

Because she tells herself that she can fix it. She tells herself that tomorrow, she'll wake up and she'll be able to put it behind her, and put herself back together again, like she's been able to so many times before. In the darkest recesses of night, just before she falls asleep, she imagines that when she wakes again, she'll be able to get up and hug Angela without trembling, or teach Zach – the old Zach, not the new cold version – something new about Forensic Anthropology, or argue with Hodgins over something trivial.

In the darkest recesses of night, she imagines that she'll be able to smile at Booth without wanting to collapse in exhaustion. And even as she thinks it, she knows it's all a lie.

And damned if the lies don't hurt just as much as the truth.

Hardly thinking, she drained what was left in her cup, the coffee burning her throat as it slid down the wrong passage. Fighting her bodies reflex coughing fit, she squeezed her eyes shut and leant forward, knowing she was risking asphyxiation if she didn't get the liquid out of her windpipe. Finally, as her vision started to blur, her body overrode her minds wishes and she started coughing violently, her body arching involuntarily as the coughs wracked her tiny frame. Pulling her wastebasket closer, she threw up what little she had eaten that day, being namely the half a sandwich that Booth had handed her on the way out to a crime scene, his eyes steadfastly avoiding hers as she meekly ate.

And so you scream, as loudly as you can

The thing that she found the strangest of everything that had happened since Janie had come into their lives was how much she missed him. She knew that she was one who was pushing him away, but it hurt that he hadn't fought her more on it. It hurt more than she had ever thought it would. Biting down hard on her lip, she stared at the picture of the 'squint squad' that she had in the frame on her desk and, with a sigh, reached out for it and took off the backing, letting the photo that was hidden behind it fall onto her desk. Picking it up, she allowed herself a few brief moments of remembrance as she looked at the photo.

Angela had taken it one night at Wong Foo's before… just - before, without either of their knowledge and, without thinking, she smiled sadly, tracing a finger lightly down the edge. Booth was grinning broadly, a barely touched beer held lightly within his hands and his eyes trained on her as she had thrown back her head and laughed with abandon at a story about Parkers latest antics that he had just told. Angela had quickly grabbed up Zach's new phone, as the others had remained in a shock induced daze at hearing her laugh so heartily, and snapped it before anyone could think.

But the thing of it is, if they're not listening for it,

Suddenly, two tears fell onto the picture and she uttered a surprised:

"Oh," quickly wiping them off before they could damage the shot and replacing the photo into the frame, hidden once more behind the much more innocent photo. She knew that she really ought to throw it out: it was hardly fair to keep it, especially as she had a sneaking suspicion that Booth would be the only one composed enough to clean out her office once she was gone. Blinking, she leant back in her chair in shock.

'Gone where?' she wondered vaguely, looking over her desk for some kind of clue. Finally, they fell on an official looking document and she picked it up, squinting into the darkness to read the words, and, horrified, she threw it back down, staring at it like it was something foreign. When had she gotten that done? How could she not remember getting that done? That's something you remember getting done, right?

Even those closest to you can't hear you.

'So that's where I'm going, huh?' she thought calmly. 'I wonder if I've done everything I need to.' Sighing, she ran her finger over the top page, her head cocked to the side as she fought to remember what she had done over the last few days. Finally, she gave up, hoping that she had had the presence of mind to get her affairs in order. Dimly, she realised how disturbing her current train of thought was, and she tried to force her mind to other things – happier things – before realising with a jolt that there were no happier things anymore. There was just Janie, and how badly she had failed her.

If they're not listening, you can be standing right in front of them - screaming… begging…

Suddenly, she gasped, and the tears that had flowed steadily turned to harsh, wracking sobs in a moment. God! How could it hurt so badly? How could they expect her to keep going when the damn weight in her chest stopped her from even breathing properly? She wondered as she drew her knees up to her chest, resting her throbbing head against her denim clad knees as she sobbed. Why couldn't they hear her? She was so sure she was screaming, so how could they not hear her? For some minutes, she let herself cry, before wiping her eyes and sighing tiredly.

She was so sure she was screaming…

And your silence will overwhelm them.

"So tired," she whispered aloud, training her eyes on the photo of her friends again. "I'm so tired. You have to understand, that this is the only way. This is the only option that I have, so logically, you have to forgive me. You have to," she said, furrowing her brow as she fought to convince herself of the truth of her words. Of course they'd forgive her. They were her friends, they had to forgive her. Sighing, she pulled her knees closer and tried to get up the energy to move.

So then you're standing there, surrounded and so damn alone,

"Bren?" Temperance's head shot up quickly as Angela spoke, forcing a smile onto her face despite the darkness of the room. "Sweetie, why are you sitting in the dark? I'll just…"

"No!" Tempe snapped sharply as her friend reached for the light, knowing that the shadows in her office were the only thing keeping her tears a secret. Angela pulled her hand back as though struck, her eyes wide and almost fearful. "Sorry. I'm sorry, Ange, it's just I have a headache and the light makes it worse."

"We're going out for a drink at Wong Foo's. Want to come with?" the artist asked, an almost pleading tone to her voice. Unbidden, images of Angela the night that the case had been abandoned, pale and shaking as she pleaded with the Agent in charge of the case to give them just one more week to identify her came to the front of Temperance's mind. Images of Jack wrapping her in a firm embrace as the man had walked out, leaving behind a devastated team, as she screamed and sobbed at the injustice of it all. Images of Zach standing there, watching impassively, as Jack rubbed the back of her neck as she threw up. "Bren?" Ange asked again, hesitant, and Temperance smiled grimly.

"No, I don't think that would be a good idea tonight."

Crying "Help me, I'm broken. Will you fix me?"

"Bren, are you sure?" Angela asked, eying her friend in concern, and Temperance forced a smile.

"Yeah, I'm sure. You go spend some time with Jack, OK? Have a drink on me," she requested evenly, hoping the darkness of her office would provide some cover for her bloodshot eyes and tear streaked face. Angela nodded slowly, turning as though to leave, before stopping, her hand on the door.

"Love you, Bren," she said quietly, her face turned away, and Temperance's heart broke a little more.

"Love you too, Ange," she replied, silently thanking her brother over and over for teaching her how to make it sound like she was completely fine, even when she'd been sobbing her heart out just minutes before. "Have fun."

"I'll try, sweetie. Get some sleep, hey?" the artist asked softly, before pulling the door shut after her. Quietly and calmly, Tempe walked over to the door and watched as Jack held a hand out to Angela, who still looked vaguely disturbed, and called over his shoulder. A moment later, Zach walked down the stairs, his youthful face showing shadows that had not been there a month before, to join them. As they left her line of sight, the anthropologist pressed her lips against her fingers and blew a kiss to them.

Twenty metres away, Angela shivered violently as a cold breeze swept past them. Trying to ignore the strange wind, Jack frowned and pulled her closer, rubbing his hands up and down her arms.

"You ok?" he asked in concern, noting that Zach was frowning in confusion and rubbing the back of his neck.

"Yeah, fine," she replied, leaning further into him, as the men exchanged a glance over her head. A moment later, Zach shrugged, and they continued on outside.

"I don't know what to do!"

In her office, Temperance very calmly walked to her desk and picked up a pen, signing her young assistants request for an early termination of his contract, before folding it and addressing it to Goodman. The envelope was placed tenderly on top of a large pile of papers, the top one of which read in neat handwriting 'Untitled Manuscript by Dr Temperance Brennan,' along with a scribbled note that gave her editor full creative license over the book. A post-it was taped to the page, reading 'Dedicated to every Jane Doe and every Jane Doe's family'.

Blinking heavily, she straightened various piles of notes and case files, all of which were neatly labelled with instructions on who to send them to, as well as a small pile of envelopes with the words 'For Angela', 'For Zach', 'For Hodgins', 'For Russ' and 'For Booth' scrawled in her untidy handwriting. Still laying where she had thrown it in her haste earlier, lay an official looking document that read: 'Last Will and Testament of Dr. Temperance Brennan'.

Sighing once more, the woman opened her desk and pulled out the half-empty whiskey bottle and walked out of her office, placing the key on the table beside the door, and heading for the elevator.

"Can you even hear me?"

The wind whipped around her as she walked out onto the roof of the Jeffersonian Museum, her hair flying around her face as she walked to the edge, staring out over the city of Washington, D.C. For the first time in a long time, Temperance allowed herself to see the city in all its beauty, and she was awed by just how stunning her home town was at night. Quietly reflecting on her life in the city, she unscrewed the cap of the whiskey, threw back her hair and said in a steady voice:

"Here's to you, Janie." Her face remained impassive as she lifted the bottle up into the darkness of the November night, before taking another deep draught. Some fifty metres below, a young man watched with rising horror as the scene played out before him, and quickly pulled out his mobile, fumbling with the buttons.

"911, what's your emergency?" a calm, feminine voice asked in his ear and he stammered slightly, before recovering.

"Listen, there's a lady on the roof of the Jeffersonian Museum. I think she's going to jump."

And they smile, and they wonder at the silence.

Temperance tilted her head to the side, sighing lightly as the wind bit into her skin, and listening intently as the city itself seemed to breathe a sigh of relief that another day was over. It was remarkable, how quiet the city could be at night. It was remarkable how, during the day, thousands of people bustled through the streets, scurrying, uncaring, through their lives, and she wondered at how they could live like that. Wondered how she had lived like that.

Wondered at how it had taken one nameless little girl to open her eyes.

Then one day, you're standing there screaming

She didn't know how long she'd been standing there, staring out into the nightscape of Washington, D.C., when she heard the sirens. Sighing, she wondered where they were going, who was hurt, who was dying… who was dead. She wished the noise was stop, so she could go back to thinking, but they instead came closer, louder and she angrily shook her head. Dimly, she could hear shouts below and suddenly, the sirens stopped. Bringing the bottle back up to her lips, she hesitated slightly, before letting the liquid slide into her mouth, swallowing and telling herself that the tears that sprang suddenly to her eyes were because of the resulting burn and not the fact that she could suddenly see, with startling clarity, the hologram of Janie's murder.

The way that the killing blow had rained down on her only after what appeared to be hours, if not days of torture.

The way that Angela had calmly bent over and delicately thrown up in the trashcan as they watched the unknown attacker bring the wrench down on her head.

And someone hears.

"Bones?" a familiar voice inquired and she closed her eyes, feeling the wind sweep her tears away almost before they had touched her skin. "Bones, what are you doing up here?" Shrugging, she took another drink from the whiskey bottle.

"Bones? Bones. Temperance! Look at me, please," Booth said, his voice finally touched by fear, and she turned to face him. For a few moments, they stood there in silence, staring quietly into one another's eyes before the FBI agent moved forward gingerly.

"Don't," she whispered sharply, instinctively stepping back, her foot coming dangerously close to the edge of the roof. Seeley's eyes widened and she could tell it was taking all he had not to run to her and pull her away from the edge.

"OK!" Booth agreed quickly, his voice high and panicked. "OK, Bones, I won't come any closer. But do you mind if we talk a while?" Shrugging, she turned back to face the city.

"Guess not," she replied quietly.

"Good. That's good, Bones," Booth said with an encouraging smile. "You… you want to tell me what you're doing up here?" he waited patiently as she silently resumed her vigil. For several, heart stopping moments, she stood on the edge and revelled in the feeling of how easy it would be to take just one more step, and have it be over.

"Temperance, please." The whispered, terrified words from her partner brought her crashing back to earth.

"I'm tired," she replied, finally.

"Tired?" Booth questioned, his voice shaking. "Haven't you been sleeping?"

"Not… not since Janie," she answered, still facing the dwindling lights of the city.

"I didn't know you were broken, and I'm sorry."

"I mean," she elaborated, pausing to take another drink, "I've slept. Obviously. The human body is incapable of functioning after a certain period without sleep. But I haven't… slept. Rested. I've just… wait. Why are you here again?" she asked, in a moment of clarity.

"Bones," he said quietly, his eyes soft as they watched her. "Honey, you've been up here for about an hour. Someone called 911, and one of the officers recognised you and called me."

"911? Why would they do that?" she asked, confused.

"Because you're standing on the edge of a tall building, drinking?" Booth offered, dimly hearing a familiar scream from the street below and flinching. Angela had found out.

"Oh, right," she mumbled, taking another swig of the whiskey. "So what was I saying?"

"You haven't slept since Janie," Booth said shakily.

"Right. And now Zach's leaving. Did I tell you that? Yeah, I found his… his resignation on my desk this evening. He didn't even tell me, just left it there for me to sign. And Angela'll leave. She was only staying for me, because she was my friend, and now she has Hodgins and she doesn't need me. Hodgins will stay though. He's my trusty, reliable slime guy." She nodded decisively. "He'll stay."

"I'm here," Booth said quietly. "Don't I count?" Temperance cocked her head to the side, surveying the horizon. It really was so pretty at night. Finally, she nodded, fumbling with the bottle and leaning forward to catch it. "Temperance!" he yelled, terrified, as she fought to regain her balance. Ignoring her earlier warning, he raced towards her, only to be stopped as she stood straight and held out a hand to stop him.

"I'm fine," she said, holding up the bottle as though in explanation. "I almost dropped my whiskey, though."

"Oh," he said, reverting to sarcasm in his fear. "That would have sucked."

"I don't know what that means," Temperance said hollowly and Booth chuckled.

"Of course you don't. That's one of the things I love about you, Bones," he admitted, still pale.

"What?"

"That you can know the name of every bone in every animal ever born, and not know what the expression 'that would have sucked' means," he explained, from where he stood less than ten feet from her.

"No. You said 'that's one of the things I love about you'. What does that mean?" she asked, inadvertently swaying closer to the edge. Booth looked pained, and held out a hand as though he could reach her from where he stood.

"Bones, can you step back? Just a little," he begged, and she looked at him, surprised at the depth of emotion in his voice.

"Do you think I'm going to jump?" she asked, point blank, startling him.

"Yes," he replied in a whisper. She stared at him, her eyes disconcertingly clear for a few moments before they clouded once more.

"You said 'that's one of the things I love about you'," she repeated, taking a tiny step back.

"I don't know how to fix you, but I'll try."

"I did," he agreed, thankful for the small amount of breathing space the step back afforded them. "There are a lot of things I love about you, Bones. You know that." Slowly, she shook her head, looking almost childish as she shakily lifted the almost empty bottle to her lips. "You don't know that?" he asked quietly.

"No," she admitted, swallowing the drink.

"There are, Bones. So many things, so many things that I love about you. The way you smile, the way you think, the way you write, the way you can beat up any guy you want, the way you look when you're working, or not working, or basically any time. The way you give people the justice they deserve," he said shakily. Immediately, Temperance shook her head vehemently, almost throwing herself off balance.

"No," she disagreed.

"No, what?" he asked, almost begging her to stop shaking her head as she inched closer to the edge.

"I don't give them justice. I didn't give her justice," she hissed angrily, emptying the rest of the bottle and glaring at it, before throwing it to the side, ignoring the way the sound of the shattering glass echoed into the night.

"Janie? You're angry because you couldn't identify her?" he asked, and the withering look that she sent at him almost had him running for cover. Almost.

"Yes, Booth. I'm angry. I'm angry that I couldn't identify her. I'm angry that, somewhere out there, her family is still wondering where their little girl is, and what happened to her. I'm angry that Zach has shadows, and I'm angry that Angela doesn't need me anymore, and I'm angry that no one is listening to me!" the last words were screamed into the night and Booth bit his lip as tears started flowing down both faces.

"I'm listening," he promised, his voice quivering.

"I can hear you."

"Are you?" she asked, her voice catching. "Because I don't think you are. I think that you think you are, sure, but you're not, not really."

"I am, Bones. I always have been, but you were so quiet, and I couldn't hear you. But I can hear you now, and I'm listening, I promise! I'll keep listening, always, just please God, step away from the edge, Bones! You're killing me!" his voice rose in pitch as he neared hysteria and she looked at him, and finally saw him.

With her mouth slightly agape, she looked around in shock, from her terrified partner, to the shattered bottle, to her feet. Gasping at how close to the edge she really was, she stumbled back, her mind clearing enough to realise what she was doing. She tripped and suddenly, his arms were around her, and, together, they sank to the ground.

"Oh God, what did I do?" she asked in shock, clinging to him as he held her almost painfully tight against his chest.

"I'm sorry, Bones, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Booth whispered into her shoulder, his tears dropping onto her skin as he cried for everything he'd nearly lost. "I'll listen, I promise, just don't leave me." Still clinging to him, Temperance buried her head into his shoulder, her chest heaving as she sobbed, whispering brokenly:

"I didn't mean it, I don't… I'm sorry! God, I'm so sorry! Forgive me," she whispered pleadingly, her fingers tightening painfully around his arms as she cried.

"Of course I forgive you, Tempe, of course I forgive you," he replied, and, running his fingers through her hair, he kissed the crown of her head fervently.

Several metres away, unnoticed by the pair, the door to the roof opened and a small team of police officers came through, prepared for the worst. Taking in the scene before them, they let out a collective sigh of relief and waited patiently for the pair to calm down.

Finally, several minutes later, with the shock, cold and alcohol catching her up, Temperance whispered:

"I think I want to go home now, Booth. Will you take me home?" Nodding, he got to his feet, never relinquishing his grasp on her, before swinging her up into his arms.

"Agent Booth, do you need a hand?" one of the officers asked and Booth shook his head as Temperance burrowed further into his embrace.

"Just make sure there's an EMT down there to check her out, please," he requested shakily, as another pressed the 'down' button on the elevator, which opened with a small, cheery 'ding'. Stepping in, Booth watched as the innocent looking rooftop slid out of sight, and he silently swore that he would never go there again. Quietly, the woman in his arms sighed and leant her head on his chest.

"I can hear your heart," she murmured, before slipping into an exhausted sleep.

And more often that not, you find that's enough.

A/N: I know, very angsty, but I figured that everybody has a breaking point and I just wanted to explore the consequences of Bones reaching hers. I'm thinking of doing a second chapter at some point, just to have a go at putting her back together. Hope you enjoyed, anyway! MWA! Much love, CJ

Sometimes

Sometimes, it hurts so badly that you can't imagine you could possibly still be alive.