Chapter One - Admission:

He had laid it out; had given her an ultimatum. Stay or leave. He had said that she could have a drink with him, or she could walk out that door, and he'd find her a new FBI guy tomorrow. He was drunk, but she didn't want to take that chance, so she had a drink. She nursed one more while he gulped back three. She swirled the melting ice around in her glass while he did a shot. When she didn't sling back the shot the bartender had placed in front of her, he took it for himself and swallowed it in one. When the bartender announced last call, she watched him order three shots to finish the night, and she took a sip of the water she'd ordered while he was in the restroom. "We're closing up." The bartender told them at 3AM, and she ushered him toward the door, watching him stumble and grabbing his arm to keep him upright. He leaned heavily on her as she hailed a cab. She grunted trying to shove him into the back seat and nodded when the driver told her that if the big drunk hurled in his taxi, there'd be a $60 cleaning charge added to their tab. She thought that was pretty reasonable for a detailing job.

"I'm not gonna hurl." Booth muttered belligerently, snarling at the driver, and at Bones for nodding her ascent to the driver. "And I'm not a drunk." He muttered more quietly.

"He's not going to regurgitate." she said firmly, attempting to convince herself and the driver of that fact, and to show Booth that she had faith in him. "He's not a drunk." She added for good measure.

As the cab slowed to a stop outside of Booth's apartment building, Brennan handed the man a wad of bills to cover the fare, including the cleaning charge for the contents of Booth's stomach that now covered the back of the man's passenger seat. She muttered her apologies as she hauled him out of the cab and slung his arm over her shoulder to distribute his weight more evenly.

"Just leave." He grumbled as she leaned him up against the metal grate walls of the elevator and pressed the button for his floor. She chose to ignore his statement, tilting her head back and closing her eyes for a moment, listening to the elevator groan as it ascended the shaft.

Brennan pushed off the wall and supported his weight as they disembarked the elevator and stumbled down the hall toward his apartment. "You could help a little." she muttered under her breath, but he'd heard her and halted in his stumbling steps to glare at her.

"Who the hell asked you?" He snarled, and she flinched at the tone. It was one she'd heard before, though never directed at her. He usually reserved that level of disgust and rage for child killers or rapists in the interrogation room. "I told you… to go." He slurred out at her. "So go."

She decided not to answer him, slinging his arm back over her shoulders and dragging him down the hall, jerking his entire body weight against her every time he stumbled over his own damn feet. Using her own key to his apartment, she unlocked the door and helped him inside. He aimed his body toward the fridge, mumbling about grabbing a beer, but she steered him toward his bedroom, shoving him at the bed and relieving herself of his weight on her shoulders.

"Bones, at least buy me dinner first." he slurred with a laugh as she lifted his legs onto the bed and pulled off his shoes. "That tickles." he laughed as she wrapped her arms around his middle, sitting him up to remove his vomit soaked shirt.

"What are you doing?" she demanded when he stood up, swaying slightly.

"Puked on my pants too." he said with a sloppy smirk, yanking his belt open and fumbling with the button at the top of his fly before ceremoniously shoving his jeans down his legs and standing there in plaid boxer shorts with the jeans pooled around his ankles.

"Please, lay down on your side. I don't want you to vomit in your sleep and aspirate it into your lungs. It's a horrible way to die." she told him, shoving his shoulder to get him back onto the bed. He fell easily and kicked his legs around until his feet were liberated.

"I need to call Hannah." she muttered, patting his legs as if he still had pockets. When he leaned toward the edge of the bed, Brennan shoved his shoulder again, and shook his jeans in search of the phone. "Bones!" he growled angrily at her as she tossed the jeans toward the hamper and put the phone on the dresser.

"That's not a good idea right now." she spoke sternly. "Get some rest, Booth." she instructed him, putting his phone on the dresser across the room.

"Bones…" he whispered, sort of, conspiratorially. "Bones…" he said again in the same mock whisper tone. When she looked over at him from where she stood by his dresser, he was doing something with his head. Nodding it sideways and winking.

"What, Booth?" she asked him in frustration, not understanding what his drunken charades were supposed to mean.

"Come to bed." he whispered, nodding at the pillow beside him and clumsily patting the bed. She shook her head incredulously at him. "I'm already half naked, if you get half naked too, we'll be whole naked. It's basic math." He rationalized, his words slurring as he rolled onto his side. "I know how much you nerdy girls like math."

"Goodnight, Booth." She muttered, turning to walk out of his room.

"A swing and a miss from Seeley Booth. Rejected again. Shot the fuck DOWN." He hollered as she flicked off his living room lights and headed for his front door. She could still hear his booming voice as she locked his door and stood in the hallway for a few minutes, hoping none of his neighbours would call the police on him for being too noisy.

Booth groaned as the light from the sun glaring in at him burned across his eyelids. He clumsily smacked at the surface of his nightstand in search of his phone, but was ultimately forced to open one eye when his hand continued to remain empty. Realizing it was not on the table next to him, he rolled onto his back, his head pounding and his stomach churning.

"Fuck." He cursed, glaring at the alarm clock on Hannah's nightstand. Judging by the blinding light streaming through the cracks in his curtains, he figured it was safe to assume it was 11:55 AM and not PM, and judging by how completely shitty he was feeling, it was safe to assume he was hungover.

Hauling himself out of bed, he shuffled to the bathroom, tripping over his jeans next to the hamper on his way. Closing his eyes against the harsh light streaming through the frosted glass above his toilet, he tugged his boxers down just barely enough and stood blindly over the toilet bowl, allowing his sleep and booze fogged brain to be hypnotized by the sound of the steady stream hitting the water below.

Snapping the waistband of his boxers back up, he shuffled to the sink and leaned heavily on the counter for a long moment, fighting a wave of nausea before turning the cold water on and splashing his face. He let it run down his cheeks and neck, not bothering to grab a towel, and letting it cool and wake him simultaneously. Resting his forearm against the counter and reaching under the stream of the tap with his other hand, he scooped the water into his mouth, rinsing and spitting a few times to clear the taste of puke from his tongue. He stood, achingly slow, just enough to eye the toothbrush holder in search of his and scoffed as he saw it sitting there alone in the stupid little cup where Hannah's had been next to it just yesterday. He angrily opened the medicine cabinet behind the bathroom mirror, glad he didn't have to look at his own grubby face anymore, as he snatched a bottle of chewable antacids and popped a handful in his mouth. The breakfast of champions.

To add insult to injury, as he made his way back into the bedroom, he noticed the closet door was slid open and the side where her clothes had been hanging held only empty hangers now, swaying slightly from the breeze of his body moving past the void. His phone vibrating loudly against his dresser caught his eye, and he begrudgingly stumbled across the room to retrieve it.

New Message from 'Bones' displayed on his screen, and he groaned as the previous night's hazy events came back in pieces. He clicked the message icon to open it and squinted at his screen.

'Please confirm that you did not choke on your own vomit and die last night. - Brennan.'

How was he supposed to respond to that? He glared at the phone for a long moment, noticing the missed call icons in the top of the screen and wondering if she'd tried calling first. He hit reply and sent off a thumbs up emoji, having zero inclination to strike up a conversation. Her response was almost immediate, and was an identical thumbs up emoji of her own. If he was honest with himself, he was glad she didn't try to strike up a conversation, and he was twice as glad he'd missed her earlier phone calls. He really wasn't in the mood for a Bones lecture.

Throwing himself down on the couch, he glared at his phone and scrolled through the text messages from last night. One from Bones at 10PM asking where he was, one from Hannah at 9:45PM telling him she'd called Temperance… he was pretty sure Bones had mentioned that last night when she found him at the bar. A third message from Rebecca was confirming he'd be able to split the cost of the new hockey equipment Parker would need. A trifecta of messages from the women who didn't think he was good enough for them — fucking fantastic. He fired off a quick confirmation text to Rebecca and then scrolled back over Hannah's name, pressing the call button before he even realized what he was doing

"Seeley?" She answered after two rings and she sounded as upset as he was.

"Hey." He replied back quietly, not sure exactly what he wanted to say or hear for that matter. "I, uh, are you ok?" He asked because it felt like the right thing to do.

"I'd be lying if I said yes." She admitted softly, sniffling into the phone. He sighed heavily, realizing she was crying. He wanted to be angry with her, fight with her, maybe even yell a little, but instead he was feeling like complete shit for making her cry.

"Come home." He whispered, his voice pleading, not realizing he'd said it until it was out of his mouth.

"That's not a good idea." She told him. "I think we both know that."

"We can make this work. Relationships are about compromise— give and take. We just hit a bump, you know?" He rationalized to her.

She exhaled loudly on the other end of the line and paused for a moment, like she was considering it. "You want to get married, Seeley. You want a wife and 2.5 kids and picket fences and tree houses, and I— I don't. I would resent that life and you would not be satisfied spending your days like a nomad."

"We're too different." He agreed.

"Yeah, we just— we just want different things from this life, and there's nothing wrong with either of those things; they just don't go together."

"I know." He admitted. "We were great for a while though. We had… a lot of fun." He said with a sardonic laugh and she agreed.

"Please tell Parker goodbye for me." She requested before they ended the call.

Booth entered the diner, cringing at the sound of the little bell above the door as he opened and closed it behind him. He shook his head, not at all surprised when he spotted Bones sitting at the counter, nursing a cup of coffee and a plate of fries.

"Morning." He mumbled, taking the stool next to her.

"Good morning, Booth." She replied gently, almost cautiously.

"I feel like crap." He muttered, leaning his elbows on the counter as he awaited the waitress to come around and take his order.

"Deservedly so." Bones replied quietly, sliding her own coffee across the counter toward him as if she could read his desperate mind.

"How 'bout you? Hungover?" He asked, taking a long swallow of her coffee and sliding it back to her.

"I switched to water very early. I predicted you were far too inebriated to notice." She informed him, and he breathed out a chuckle.

Clearing his throat, he looked down at the counter, buffing a non-existent scuff on the surface away with his jacket sleeve. "It's over… Hannah and me— we're really done."

"I'm sorry, Booth."

"Yeah. Me too."