I know what you guys are thinking: 'SHOCK, HORROR' and 'DEAR LORD SHE UPDATED WITHIN THE MONTH.'

It's true, infact, I am nothing short of shocked myself. I walk around with this disbelieving look on my face, muttering nonsensical words about teapots. I won't say who threatened me to update (Sam, aka ElizazFaith aka thenaughtydingo) but I will say it has a small somethin' somethin' to do with monkeys that rape (very large somethin' somethin' to do with it) so I thought I better write or be traumatised for ever.

So very afraid.

Chapter Eight - Affliction, It's Unceasing

A week has passed, and nothing has changed. Or maybe everything has changed, it's so hard to tell these days. Temperance is still at the hospital and I'm still there with her.

Just when I think she's getting better and coming out of her self made sanctuary, she retreats further, and I cannot reach her. There are no smiles to fill my days, only continuous silence from the one person I need to hear speak. She lies there, day after day, not moving, not talking, not living. I confided in her doctor my concerns for Tempe, and she reassured me that Temperance's reaction was unusual, but it wasn't unheard of. I just can't figure out why it has happened to her.

And so I sit here, waiting. Sometimes when I'm talking, her eyes will flicker slightly, it's tiny, barely noticeable, and yet that's what keeps me going. I'll take what she gives, and hold onto hope. The squints have been great, especially Angela. She comes in nearly everyday, always positive, encouraging small smiles from me. I welcome the breather she allows me when she visits. I feel I'm no longer capable of holding myself together alone anymore. I can see why she and Bren are so close.

Although emotionally Temperance isn't coping, the nurses that check up on her every hour tell me she's really taking to the antibiotics. I find this hard to believe, especailly when I look at her pale, drawn face. To me there's no improvement.

There's a knock at the door and Angela walks in, breaking my train of thought. "How is she?" she asks, looking over at our sleeping Temperance on the bed next to me.

I sigh. "The same as yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that." Try as I might, I cannot stop the words that fall from my lips from sounding like they come from a deep pool of fatigue I'm drowning in.

"Hey" she starts, putting a reassuring hand on my shoulder, "Go home. Get some rest."

"No," I shake my head, "Not yet"

She sighs, frustrated. "Go home Booth. Sleep in a real bed tonight. I won't leave her."

"Angela-"

"Booth! Go! Now!" she's pulling me up by my shirt collar, making me feel like a naughty kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"I can't!" I say defiantly, shrugging her off.

She places her hands on her hips, exasperated. "And why not?"

She won't understand. "You won't understand."

Her eyes soften, "Try me"

I say it over in my head. It sounds stupid. Maybe it is stupid. Maybe I'm being stupid and irrational. "It...you know what," I say, "It doesn't matter. It's stupid."

Angela stands there, her hands still on her hips, her lips pursed. She looks like she's about to say something, but whatever she was going to say doesn't reach my ears. I'm glad she decided to drop it. Instead she simply says, "Okay."

I sit down. I'm exhausted. It's true; I haven't slept in a real bed in...

"What day is it?" I ask Angela.

"It's Sunday, Booth." She looks at me hard. "That's it, go home. I won't take no for an answer." She stands, the action suddenly making me nervous.

"But-"

"I don't care what the excuses are, Booth. You need to take a break. Get some sleep. You're no good to Brennan if you can barely keep your eyes open, better yet, know what day it is!"

She's right. I do need sleep. I need a break. I stand, my hands in front of me. "Alright, I'll go home." I finally say, somewhat resigned.

She wants to smile, but she doesn't. She's determined to get me out of there. "Good. Now go!"

I look over at Temperance one last time before I brush past Angela, who in turn gives me her most sincere smirk, as I leave the room.

The whole way home, my thoughts are of Temperance. My knuckles turn white on the steering wheel and my jaw clenches when I think of why she's in the hospital. It's my fault. I put her there. It was my assignment; she wasn't even really needed in the field that day. Admit it Seeley, you had her there for your own goddamn selfish reasons, she's sick because of you...

When I get home, I don't know what to do with myself. I wander around for a bit, finding myself in the kitchen, standing in front of the stove, the jug in my hand. I can't remember how I came to stand here though. I feel as though I'm in a daze, maybe even a dream. If it's a dream then I can wake up. Wake up and everything will be normal. I'll get up at six, have my morning shower, shave, put on a crisp new shirt, tie my tie and drive to the Jeffersonian. She will be standing there at the table, leaning over a one hundred year old skeleton, her eyes bright and alive, her skin flushed with excitement.

I'll watch her for a few moments the way I always do. She knows I'm standing there, but she ignores me for the time being, and I continue staring. She'll never know how much I love these moments.

I'm shaken out of my reverie when the jug boils, hot steam rising from within it. I put it down on the counter. I didn't even want a drink. My mind sets off on it's own again and I'm hit with a wave containing every sleepless night I've had this week, and I let the exhaustion consume me, here in my house, all alone. My mind is relaxed and a million and one thoughts overwhelm me, remind me of what's happened, and I try desperately to fathom each and every one of them.

I can't. I just can't.

I feel my legs buckle and I turn around and slide down against the cupboards. It's something behind me that's solid and I take temporary relief from its stability and strength. There's tears behind my eyes and it's all I can do to stop them falling.

Forty minutes pass, but it feels like hours. My kitchen is bathed in the early shadows that nightfall brings, dark and ominous the night promises me pain in silence. My cheeks are damp and I feel weak and foolish, embarrassed by my breakdown.

I'm just grateful no one was here to witness my downfall.

Review, my little flower pot men!