A/N: I apologize in advance for this chapter, but sometimes you just have to go where the story takes you. I promise (x1000) that the next chapter, which is also the last, is much happier than this one, if you decide to stick with me.
Thanks for reading.
Booth tapped his foot nervously, trying to determine where Hannah was taking him. It was obvious from the way she was acting around him that she thought he was crazy, but Booth didn't care. He wasn't crazy and none of this was real. No one and nothing would convince him otherwise.
He returned to the bedroom before leaving to change into one of the suits hanging in the closet. They were his size, but the socks were plain black. Where had all his crazy striped socks gone?
They were almost an hour outside of Washington when she finally turned off the interstate. Booth looked sideways at her, not sure she was actually following through on what she'd promised.
"Bones lives out here?' he asked, staring out the window. It certainly didn't seem like a place that would interest her, or him for that matter. But then again, nothing had been normal since he'd woken that morning.
Hannah didn't take her eyes from the road. "You really don't remember, do you?" she asked gently. "This isn't some act to make sure I never come home again."
The gun was no longer in his hand, but it was hooked securely at his waist. She wondered if he would use it when he learned the truth. And if he did, who he would use it on.
"When I closed my eyes last night I was home with Bones and the children. When I woke this morning, I was with you." His voice made it very clear which option he preferred.
"When you closed your eyes last night, you were laying next to me in bed," she corrected. "It was exactly where you woke up this morning."
Booth nodded, but didn't argue. There was a niggling sensation in the back of his skull that made him wonder if she was right. Had none of what he remembered about he and Bones actually happened? And if it hadn't, why couldn't be remember the last five years with Hannah?
"Seeley," Hannah began, sighing after she said his name. "I think I should tell you what happened to Temperance before we get to where we're going. I think waiting until we get there to find out is not going to go well for you."
The tone of her voice had him clenching his hands into fists in his lap. Something was very clearly wrong, not just with this situation, but Bones as well. "Are we still partners?" he asked.
"No, Seeley. You haven't been partners since six months after we married."
He turned hate filled eyes toward her. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel, but gave no other outward sign of her fear. "Why aren't we partners?"
It was clear from his look and tone of voice that he thought Hannah was the reason for that separation. And she may of been. Lord knew, most everyone who knew and loved Temperance had blamed her for what happened.
In the darkness of night, when there was nowhere to hide, Hannah found it hard not to blame herself, too.
Realizing that being in an enclosed space for this story was a bad idea, Hannah flipped on her signal and pulled over on the side of the road. She could see their destination in the distance, but Seeley apparently didn't realize it.
"There was a sniper," she said, exiting the car. She stayed on the driver's side, waling for him to exit the vehicle. He finally did, and looked at her over the roof.
"Jacob Broadsky," he said suddenly. "He killed one of Bones' interns." Apparently, there were a whole bunch of things that were the same, no matter what reality he was in.
Closing her eyes against the sudden pain of remembering, Hannah continued to speak without opening them. She couldn't watch his face when he learned the truth for the second time. "Maybe, in your reality. In this reality, you weren't at work that day. You were home, with me. The sniper hit exactly who he was aiming for."
Her eyes flew open at the sound of a fist hitting the car roof. Despite the anger, she didn't stop talking. Like a band-aid, right? Just rip it off and be done with it.
"The sniper hit Temperance in the lab. She died on the floor." Her voice was flat and emotionless. It was the only way she could tell this story without falling apart. She'd never seen anyone deal with the amount of grief Seeley had felt for his partner and survive it. He hadn't been the same man since that day.
It was the beginning of the end for the two of them. It was pretty clear at that moment he was still in love with Temperance and Hannah had been a poor replacement. She'd flown out immediately after the funeral and hadn't come back for several months. As first the months and then the years passed, her and Seeley's time together grew shorter and shorter.
"She's buried there, just up the road," Hannah finished, turning to point at the cemetery barely visible in the distance.
Booth slammed his hand again and again on the roof of the car, until a dent began to appear. "I'm sorry, Seeley," she said when he paused to take a deep breath. "I'm sorry you have to relive this."
"Where was the security? Why did I leave her alone?" he cried, agony clear in his voice. "How could I have let this happen?"
"I'll take you to her grave," Hannah offered, not answering his questions. There were no answers to give that would satisfy him. "I'll take you and leave you there because I'm not coming back this time, Seeley."
Booth didn't appear to hear her. He stared over his shoulder in the direction she'd indicated. "No," he said finally. "You can go. I'll go up there myself."
He had to see for himself. See if what she believed was true. Except he knew it was. No matter what Hannah had been, she'd never been cruel. She wouldn't tell him something like this if it wasn't true.
But why couldn't he remember? Had he really fabricated the last five years of his life? Was he suffering some sort of mental breakdown that wouldn't allow him to accept the truth? Was it because Christmas was almost here, and the strain of losing her had finally become too much?
Was Sweets still alive in this reality? If he was, maybe the shrink could explain to it him. Diagnose him with something with a fancy name. Let him go back to the life he'd lived with Bones.
Even if it was only in his imagination.
He stepped back from the car, watching as Hannah drove away. He gave a fleeting thought to whether or not she would call someone to come for him. Obviously, in her mind, he was damaged, but it wasn't enough to make her stay. Not that he wanted her to. Still, if they had loved each other enough to get married, wouldn't she want to stick around long enough to make sure he wasn't going to hurt himself?
Heavy steps carried him toward the cemetery. He both dreaded and needed to see what Hannah assured him was there. Bones' grave. A headstone with her name on it.
Which meant that his children with her never existed either. So he was going to have to mourn the woman he'd loved more than anyone else, and the children he was sure they'd had, but didn't actually exist in this reality.
The cemetery was small and isolated. Only one car passed him as he made his way toward it. Booth wondered what they thought about a lone man in a suit walking up the road. Of course, given his direction of travel, they might not have questioned it at all. Lots of people went to cemeteries dressed in all sorts of ways. They would simply assume he was there to mourn someone he'd lost.
Which is why he was there, wasn't it? But why couldn't he remember? Or wake up? Because he was still convinced this had to be some sort of alcohol fueled nightmare. Bones had tried to explain some new theory about time to him one night. Maybe he'd fallen into one of those theories he hadn't really listened to.
It was peaceful there. Some headstones were clearly old; the dates long worn away by rain and the passage of time. Booth knew she would like being with history. He wondered if she was actually buried there. She seemed like the type who would donate her body to science. But Angela would have made sure there was at least a headstone with her name on it. A place for her friends to mourn and remember.
Booth didn't have any trouble locating it. When he arrived, it was if his feet knew the destination. Suddenly, this seemed more familiar to him, his other reality with her as his wife more distant. It scared him. He would rather live in that reality, not this one. He wanted nothing to do with this time or place.
It was a plain stone with just her name and the dates. Nothing to indicate how special she was. Nothing to indicate that the world was not a good place without her. That his world had ended surely ended with her death.
In this reality, he was apparently alive, but the lack of a Christmas tree in his apartment indicated he no longer really lived. Not without her.
"Hey, baby," he said, kneeling in front of the stone. He placed a shaking hand on it, both to pretend he could touch her and to keep himself from collapsing fully. The morning dew soaked through the knees of his suit, but he paid no attention to it. He wasn't ever going to need it again, anyway.
He wasn't surprised to feel the tears on his cheek. The grief was as fresh as he imagined it would have been five years ago. No wonder he had forgotten this.
It hurt too damn much to remember.
"I imagined a whole life for us, apparently," he said, a humorless laugh following the words. "We had kids and a family and it was perfect."
That life seemed further away with each passing second. The other memories wanted to surface. The ones where she died and he'd killed Jacob in a fit of rage. The ones where Hannah left and he didn't try to win her back. The fight with Angela because he'd left Brennan alone when she needed him the most.
They were all there, right at the surface, waiting for him to acknowledge them. But he refused. Because they weren't right, they weren't real. The real memories were of laughter and marriage and children, and all the hopes and nightmares that came with that life. That was the life he wanted. Not this one.
"I'm not leaving you again," he said. Turning, he sat on the cool ground, his back against her stone. "I'm staying right here."
Sighing, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He could feel the hard stone behind him and he pushed the sensation away. Dreams didn't have form or substance. And if this wasn't a dream, if he opened his eyes and saw the same scene, well, there was a way to make that disappear, too. "I'll stay right here forever."