A/N: So it's Bones Friday and I finally finished this freaking chapter. Took me forever, but I love this story so it was worth it! Alrighty, I meant to mention a few things earlier but they sort of slipped my mind until now. :)
I wanted to apologize to everyone that Booth and Brennan are somewhat OOC; I just took it as liberty since this is fan fiction and not the show and it fits the story don't ya think! Hopefully this chapter will explain why they are the way they are. ;)
If my writing style confuses anyone, please ask questions and I'll answer them in the review section or a reply. This way I learn to write better and you all remain entertained! Thanks!
I decided that Booth has Daddy issues because I seemed to get that vibe whenever he talked about his father or even Brennan's on the show.
Enjoy!
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The intensity in the car was sickening; red-hot electricity flowing from her entire being in strong jolts, only to fumble and fade as they tickled Booth's taught skin. He could not connect—detached and numb against her desire.
The past three weeks had been hell. An uphill battle, they had fought their side of the unfair struggle bravely, only to slip and crumble against his inner demon's strength and persistence. Booth knew he was careening on the edge, an unfathomable fate skirted only by Brennan's slipping, weak hold.
Booth stole a quick glance at Brennan as he sank lower into the warmness of the passenger seat. He swore he saw here deep breaths turn to steam as they whistled past her teeth. She was thinking. Forehead crinkled, dark pupils dilating, Booth watched perplexed as she mumbled anthropological jargon, his terse name mixed in every once an awhile. He figured she was trying to make sense of his problem, trying to give it a name, definition, anything that might relate it to her views. She needed—wanted—to understand, but this was a psychological phenomenon, not something that could be solved in her lab of plastic and she, of course, hates psychology.
"What?" Booth jumped in his seat, scared out of his mind as her sharp voice rung through his thoughts. Wiping his forehead, he peered at Brennan, her blue eyes clouded, lips pinched tightly.
"Hey…" passion curtailed by a hint of desperation hung on his monosyllabic attempt at easing the tension—to connect. A small, real smile flashed across her face, outlined by the plump flesh of her painted lips.
"Hey." Focus gathering behind her eyes brought her attention forward once more. Booth licked his own lips in a rapid succession, eyes glued on the deep red that seemed to beckon him with a sort of mocking torture. He hadn't tasted her since their fiasco with the prison system; hadn't felt her pearly skin beneath his warm body or her hot, passionate breath whispering in his ear.
It had all been too much for a woman still trying to understand the world she lived in. She was still trying to understand what it meant to be loved. Overwhelming and unbearable, she pulled away. Got scared. She needed time to think and he would wait patiently for her, for the time when she could give her entire self to the one man who could wait; because he loved her, only her and would wait for rest of eternity if it meant a single moment wrapped in her devoted arms.
Unfortunately, the demons in his head would not wait. The restraint on their impulsive mergence—ripped his heart, his soul—allowing the emotional numbness that festered alongside his punishment to feast on his weakened state.
With numb emotions came enraged mood swings. His first couple ease-back-into-the-agency cases were dropped due to his abnormal violent outbursts and escalading screaming matches with his partner. Booth was handed an undetermined leave of absence to deal with his "personal" issues along with a stern warning from his superiors to "get his goddamn act together." Booth smirked as a vivid picture eased into his thoughts of his Boss's face when he told them they could all go to hell, that way he would at least have some company when he got there.
Neither were the reason for the deepening rift between them and yet, both were guilty of pushing their relationship closer towards the rocky ledge. They had found themselves an arms length away from discovering the true meaning behind goodbye is forever. Their only glimmer of hope was the feverish assurances that what had transpired between them was special and neither regretted their actions.
Booth took one more sidelong glance at Brennan, swallowed a deep breath and took his first tiny backward step toward salvation. "Why do you get to drive?" A nuance of snobbery and playful mocking glided across his brisk question.
"Did you forget what happened the last time you were driving?" She said it so matter-of-fact that it made Booth's skin crawl with uneasiness. He couldn't tell if she was hinting at his accident, delusions or both. He settled quickly on the latter. Her face wasn't giving him any leeway, but he noticed the tone of her voice alter a few decibels into her often used comfort zone of being teasingly cynical.
"Look Bones, I'm sorry I wrecked your car, but I don't think you should take your anger out on the company's van. Heck, all even let you use me as your personal punching bag, just don't scratch the…" Brennan screeched the large van around the corner, and Booth cringed wildly as the tires scrapped across the concrete divider. "Oh, you so did that on purpose!" Booth glared viciously, mouth dropped in a stupor.
Brennan cocked her head towards him, blues eyes wide, an angled smile slapped across her glowing face. "You'd like that wouldn't you?"
Booth sat up straight with a sudden zing of energy. He had just received his olive branch and was ready to stretch his cringingly dusty and underused bickering muscles; the one thing he had yearned nonstop for while he was away.
"Right there! That is why I don't let you drive!" A slender finger was aimed at Brennan's smug face.
"Wha…well it's not like you know where were going anyway." She replied abashed.
"Mapquest, Bones."
"Don't even bring that unfortunate, dreadful website into this conversation. Last time you made me look up directions for some way off case in the middle of some swamp infest," Brennan stared at Booth's dancing eyes to drive her hatred home. "Wrong directions! They certainly sent us on a quest, right through a heap of decaying sludge, probably thought they were being clever with there satirical idiom."
Booth hadn't laughed this hard since the day he had returned, his stomach was doing painfully joyful flips at the memory of Brennan's twisted face as she opened her passenger door and stepped into glop of carcass-colored mud.
"Come on Bones! Live a little!"
"Yeah because you haven't lived until your waist deep in fecal matter."
Booth calmed his laugh and smiled widely, his fingers brushing against Brennan's shoulder, the rush of electricity heating the car. "Hey think of the all the good things that came out of that trip. Us; sitting mud-soaked on the roof of the van waiting for our lost rescue. You; giggling uncontrollably at the "absurdity of our predicament". Me; watching the woman I love lose her facade and enjoy life. I debated about kissing you right than and there."
Brennan grew silent, lifting her curious eyes toward Booth's sullen, nostalgic face. "Why didn't you?"
Booth huffed out a laugh, deciding to tell her the obvious rather than the real reason. "Not exactly the most romantic setting for a first kiss Bones."
"Oh." There was another reason but she didn't want to push him. He always told her she liked to nag, might as well start with fixing that. "My Dad sent me a letter from jail. He wants me to visit before his last trial; he says there's more to say."
Booth choked on his breath as he suddenly remembered what he had done to her father before he had been sent away. "Wow Bones, that was random. Are you going to go?"
"I don't know. I'm not sure about much right now."
"Look Bones, your father is ready to spend the rest of his life trying to mend the broken ties between you two. I think it's time to take a step towards forgiveness unless you want to lose him again."
"Booth, I don't think it's that cut and dry."
"At least your father is willing to try." Booth clamped his mouth shut. Brennan noticed a bit more emphasis on the "your", but decided against her itch to nag.
"He's a murderer Booth; how am I supposed to just forgive someone who kills people—innocent or not!" The words flew from her mouth before her brain could register the hurtful connotations. Booth face was frozen, his jaw locked, breath like ice against the window.
Brennan stammered wildly as she felt their connection fading weakly away, caught on the stinging tidal wave of her runaway thoughts. "Booth, I'm so…"
"The world isn't black and white Bones." His voice was forceful, monotone, but had the slush of painful vulnerability. Two steps forward, one step back. The push and pull of human failure created a swallowing vacuum that many lost in the harrowing consequences could not escape.
The grumbling van rolled past the electric blue sign of D.C's Georgetown University Hospital.
"Were here."
"Where's here." The car jerked into an open parking space in front of the tan building. The pair stepped out of the black car and gathered on the sidewalk. Brennan felt Booth's cold hand waver precariously over her lower back, than disappear into his suit pocket. Their spark was gone—her fault—and now it was up to her to shield him from the enticing numbness. Sighing deeply, Brennan wrapped her arm around Booth and steered him through the large, glass doors. "Welcome to the Mood and Anxiety Disorders program!" Brennan halted in front of a wooden door and turned toward Booth.
"What?"
Still clinging to Booth's waist, Brennan smoothed her hand across the side of Booth's head, his hair prickling against her fingers. "You asked for my help Booth. The past three weeks I've been contemplating how my anthropological studies and my lab could possibly fix your problem. Nothing. My plastic tubes can't help you." Brennan licked her lips, her idea bubbling rapidly out of her mouth. "So, I went to the library, looked up psychology and read. For hours I sat there pouring over those books—Freud, Watson, Skinner's box—and it finally clicked. Human life is more than bone and skin, more than science and intelligence. It's also about risks and mistakes, emotions and love. You need more and I'm ready to be more. I'm ready to help you and I'll be by your side every step of the way." Pulling his head down, wandering feelings flowing from her eyes and enveloping his face, her lips lightly caressed his own, but she felt nothing in return. He was empty. She pulled back and opened the door for him to go in. "I'll wait for you."
Booth's head thrummed quizzically at her last words as he neared the office door on the other side of the room. Brennan lighted herself on the coal-grey couch and flipped open a magazine, her eyes clouded in a mist of loss.
Knocking soundly on the door, Booth instantly recognized the stiff smell of cologne as the door burst open. A short doctor and his elderly patient chattering their goodbyes filled the doorway. Booth stared at the man flabbergasted.
"You!"
"You. I knew you were crazy the minute I saw you. You still owe me my "big payoff" so I'll tack it on to the bill if you don't mind."
Booth waved his hand outward. "Yeah, sure, jeez, I don't mind at all."
"Ohh, a sarcastic one."
"Hah!" Booth followed the red-haired man into his office, winking at Brennan as the door shut. Behind the foggy glass, Brennan watched the silhouettes of the only two men capable of putting everyone's lives back in order.
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Booth sat uneasily in the hard leather chair across from the young, friendly-looking doctor who wore a black pinstriped dress shirt and pants.
"How about we start over. My name is Doctor Hugh Bristol, but you may call me Hugh. I'm here to find out what is causing your mood swings, violent outbursts and such."
"Well. I'm Booth," Ears pricking at a nearing tick, Booth's eyes roamed the small office for the disturbance. "I'm not exactly sure why I'm here, it was Bones's idea and…" Chewing on his lip, Booth fidgeted against the squeaking leather, wiping the droplets of sweat from his forehead. "Look Hugh, I need you turn off what ever is making that ticking, those vibrations."
Nodding his head, Dr. Bristol walked over to his mahogany desk and flipped off the clock, the green, ticking numbers vanishing.
"Thanks."
"So ticking and vibrations bother you?" He flipped out his small notebook and jotted down a few notes. Booth stared at his feet and massaged his cold hands, a whir of a bomb flowing past his ear.
"They're a constant reminder." He didn't want to talk about that day. He didn't want to live the nightmare for the umpteenth time.
"Of what may I ask?"
"That I died." Hugh felt the wave of shame riding Booth's bleak acceptance hit him in the chest. Scrunching his eyes, he looked at the weary, downtrodden man with an air of perplexity.
"But Booth you survived! You returned home a hero." Tears in his eyes, Booth looked up.
"My body and thoughts may have returned, but Booth sure as hell didn't." Noticing he had the doctor's full attention, Booth decided to give up any resistance and let his memories speak. "I was dead when they found me under those palm fronds, a death grip on my buddy Jeremy. Three times. I was resurrected three times between Rubishia and the Mental Institute. My body—barely identifiable— was set upon by all those top of the line doctors. I would wake up in between surgeries, screaming bloody murder at the agony. Not from the pain, but from the inescapable clutches of the muddled nightmares terrorizing my mind." Stopping to rub his face, the scrape of his stubble echoing through the small office, Booth stared meekly at Hugh, who beckoned him to continue.
"I was in that hellhole for almost two years until Ben came and helped me recover. I don't know what's worst—being strapped to a bed, sleeping through a tirade of horror or waking up to a life of death. Honestly Hugh, I don't know who "Booth" is anymore."
Finding himself transfixed on every word, Hugh felt the empathy within him weave itself around the rarity of this military man's plight. "Have you talked to your partner about this?"
"What? No, I wouldn't want…we would just end up bickering about it." Hugh took note of this answer.
"Booth, do you and Brennan argue a lot?" Booth sat up, he couldn't understand what this question was for, but followed any way.
"We don't argue, we bicker; for fun."
"For Fun?"
"Yeah, it gives us a thrill during the boring part of our job. It keeps us both on our toes, ready for anything and I think we both crave it."
"I see, but I'm sure it veers into heated territory at times."
"Of course it does. Were both hotheaded." Booth laughed heartily at this recognition. "Take the car ride over for example. She brings up her father which she knows is a hot topic for us. Why? So she can get a jab in about how she still sees murder as an unforgivable act." Booth sighed deeply, wiping the mist out of his eyes then situated his visage on his untied shoelace.
"Your father and your guilt; the two biggest problems affecting you it seems. Both happened to be brought up by the woman you love."
The words hitting a little to close to home, Booth shot up and stared intrepidly at the complacent doctor. "I never said that."
"No, but your actions certainly did." Hugh stood up as well, walked over to the window where the sunlight hit the floor in colored shafts. His ruffled, red hair blazed in the warm light as he peeked out across the busy street, a plucky, knowing glint in his eyes. "I was a medical doctor in the army for three years. Served in Iraq. To kill without a second thought. I always found it ironic that the two things I learned from the military was how to save or take a life. I'm proud of my service, always will, but I didn't sign up for myself. I did it to prove to my father that I was everything he said I wasn't. My father died from cancer before my return home, never got a chance to show him what I had become." Hugh turned to look at Booth, whose face was drained of all color. "The military seems to be your cancer Booth, it's eating you alive. I need to know what made you join."
A straggled cough escaped Booth's mouth as he slid back into the leather couch, now sticky to his touch. "My father…"
"Okay. I think I'll leave it at that for now."
"No. I've spent my entire life attempting to prove to him that I'm not worthless! I've been living in the shadow of my overachieving, trustworthy, good-little-catholic brother. My service, my career, my religion, my life has all been molded into what that man desires, but I'm still a failure in his eyes. I made one huge, careless mistake during my teenage years and have been wallowing in regret and remorse ever since. Kicked me to the curb is what he did, so with no where else to go I enlisted. The military filled the gaping hole left by my father. I did it to show him that I'm not afraid of anything, that I'm not afraid of him." Booth had begun a torrential pace across the office, the carpet starting to wear where his shoes scuffed agitatedly. Hugh had taken a seat in the corner, out of view, allowing Booth to speak his mind.
"What are you afraid of?"
Booth peered through the foggy glass at Brennan's silhouette, the one person he needed most to understand. "Everything. I'm afraid of my life becoming one gigantic failure, afraid of myself and the guilt I carry, I'm afraid that Bones will never forgive me, afraid that I'll lose her, that I'll hurt her, physically and emotionally. A real Catch-22, with or without her, either way I will still mange to hurt her. It's inevitable." His eyes welling with tears, chest rising with humiliating anger, Booth scrapped his back slowly down the wall until he hit the floor. Dr. Bristol walked gently over to Booth—his pen and paper forgotten—and kneeled silently next to him.
"Booth, why on earth would you say something like that? You would never hurt her intentionally."
"I all ready have. The minute I stepped off that boat and onto D.C. soil, the anger and emotional numbness from years ago returned. Those little demons in my head sending me back onto the fields of Rubishia, all the hallucinations and violent outbursts—those aren't me."
A sudden realization hit Hugh like a bullet. "You're telling me that this has happened to you before!"
Booth muffled a curse at his slip. "It was never this bad before! It was mainly anger with some minor nightmares, but I could keep it under control .After awhile I somehow suppressed it until it reared its head the night before I left."
"Why didn't you tell the agency about this or the military? Why didn't you get help!?" Booth tugged on Hugh's tie to calm him down, his eyes radiating menace at the doctor's outburst.
"Hugh, listen. The second I resigned from the military I was still young and needed a job bad. I tell the agency or the military I might have PTSD, well, I might as well go apply at Burger King because there goes all chances at having a job with any substance. Nobody wants to pay for an employee's medical bills. Besides, I've seen what happens when a soldier announces he has PTSD; He gets reamed by all his buddies that he's weak, a failure. I will not put myself or anyone around me through that. Never."
Hugh ran his hand through his thick hair, shaking his head. "Jeez Booth, you've really put me between a rock and a hard place."
Booth bumped the man's shoulder. "My specialty." He watched the doctor earnestly, the cogs behind the man's green eyes working overtime.
"Alright." The short, Irish doctor leaped up and waded through the papers on his cluttered desk. Puffing his chest with glee as he finally found his lost prescription pad, Hugh sat cross legged next to Booth, his back flat against the painted wall. "This is what I think we can do. You're suffering from an extreme case of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, with, undoubtedly, a case of Hysteria due to your stay at the mental institute. I also believe the baggage your carrying about needing forgiveness and your father is amping up the stress causing your nightmares to seem real and more frequent."
"That's quite a lot on one plate."
"Definitely, but it is possible for anyone to overcome life's hardships, they just need to want it bad enough."
"I want it and will do anything if it means I get to be Booth again." He replied, wringing his hands profusely.
"That's what I was hoping. Now listen carefully. I've been reading a medical journal about a pill designed to help those suffering from extreme cases of PTSD. It's still in the experimental stage, the most of the side affects are still unknown, but some scientists say that it has worked exceptionally well on the lab rats that were tested. The pill is still under a heated debate because many believe it is unethical."
"Why?"
"It is said to erase the memories, not suppress them. To mess with the human mind is like playing devil's advocate against God's creation. That is many protesters view anyway. Six other PTSD suffers across the globe have been asked to test the new pill, still labeled XXX3. Two men have attempted suicide; one woman got better, but was sent to a mental hospital after a sudden regression while the other three have reportedly been healed of their affliction."
Booth let the words seep in, rolling each meaning around, weighing the pros and cons of each choice, the riskiest gamble ever played. "A coin toss, the stakes being your life."
"Basically. I only brought this to your attention Booth because of the rarity of your case and your strong opposition towards dealing with these issues through the normal extensive therapy, where you would have to leave your job and inform the military. This is a huge risk, a life-altering choice, one that could possibly mean death. It's a decision that should be discussed with those close to you. I don't want you to make a wrong choice and than suffer the consequences for years to come."
Closing his eyes slowly, Booth could feel the heat in the back of his head, the swirling darkness of his punishment. Life was a thing of the past to him now; he just wanted the young man he'd lost years ago in the struggle against failure to return so he could have a future--One he could spend with the love of his life.
"I'll do it."
"Booth I don't think…"
"She doesn't need to know. I'd rather her be happy-in-love, aloof and discovering the world around her than downtrodden and hindered by my problem or its consequences. If I hadn't come back she would have still been living a life full of freewill and discoveries. If I ruin her chances at acheiving that life I could never live with myself. This is my cross to bear not hers." Getting up out of his helpless position and putting on a reassuring smile, Booth helped Dr. Bristol up and shook his hand, taking the written prescription as well.
"Thank You Hugh."
The empathetic doctor looked at Booth with disappointed commiseration. "Whether you want to admit it or not Booth, everyone needs help—even you. I implore you to talk to her, let her in. It's the only real way to defeat your demons. Something snapped the day you left and now it's time to put yourself back together, one piece at a time."
The broken glass in his apartment, lying bloody on his bathroom floor, faintly appeared in his mind, unraveling till it overtook his senses. Shaking the apprehensive feeling out of his body as he turned away, Booth gave his thankful goodbyes and walked over to Brennan, a flush of nervousness on her face. Placing his lingering hand on her lower back, Booth propelled them out of the building, a glowing smile hiding his deepening worries.
A/N: I promised myself I wouldn't beg for reviews. Unfortunately, I suck at self-control and have found my self not above begging. Please, please, push that little square and type something. I know it's kind of dull and small, but it says "Go", that means one is meant to conform and follow the button! So go on, go push the little "Go" button and go type something. Go on, go push it, you know you want to tell me how annoying I am, go on…"