Author's Note: I apologize for the wait between chapters – I am a university student, and sometimes there simply aren't enough hours in the day. I hope to update more regularly in the coming weeks; my school's spring break is coming up and I intend to finish the story by that time. Thank you to all the reviewers – I'm too proud to beg for reviews, but I do appreciate the feedback.

xxxxx

He was angry. No, scratch that – he'd passed anger yesterday around 4. He was in a blinding rage, furious with the world, with Brennan, Hannah, Cam – anyone he could think of. (Okay, he amended, he wasn't angry with Parker). They'd wrapped the case of the Catholic Air Force pilot on Friday; it was Sunday evening now, and he'd spent most of the intervening time in the company a bottle of whiskey. He wasn't proud.

Oh God, he'd lost his pride a long time ago. The day he'd taken a gamble by the reflecting pool - NO! – those memories were off-limits, he decided. It was easier just to forget everything, forget hope and possibility, all that could have been in another time and place, another world - one where she had been Bren and he'd been Mr. B… that was what was really making him so angry.

The dream, initially a product of an unpublished novel and a coma, had now become a nightly occurrence. Every day, he went to work to solve murders with his partner Bones, and every night, she appeared in his dreams as Bren. Every night, he dreamed of being her husband, holding her close whenever he wanted, making love to her – and every morning he woke up devastated to discover that none of it was real. The dream tormented him – endlessly needling at his subconscious, reminding him in graphic detail of the life he could never have.

Oh God, he was pathetic, he decided. Suddenly, he felt an irresistible urge to run. To leave the apartment, to just go, somewhere where nobody knew him and nobody cared about him. Grabbing his car keys and his wallet, he headed out the door.

Xxxxxxx

"Brennan, sweetie?" Angela's concerned voice greeted her from the doorway. She completed the sentence she was wrestling with before responding.

"Yes, Ange?"

"Sweetie, you've been in here working all weekend – isn't it time you took a break?"

"Angela, you know I'm on a deadline. My publisher wanted the draft of my next book a month ago."

"I know sweetie, but you can't keep pushing yourself like this. Take a break. Grab some dinner."

"Angela…" The warning voice. Angela knew better than to argue with it. She tried a different tactic.

"You know, Bren, you won't be able to write as well if you're hungry. You've got to fuel your brain a little." It was sneaky, she knew, but if appealing to Brennan's logic was the only way to inject a little sanity into the situation, well – she was willing to try it. Brennan sighed, knowing her friend meant well. And besides, Angela was right about the necessity of sustenance when writing – her last few paragraphs had left a lot to be desired.

"Fine, Angela. I'll take a break."

"Great! Want to grab some dinner? Jack and I found this great little Chinese place not too far from here."

"Dinner sounds wonderful, Ange." Her voice tugged on Angela's heart. Brennan was tired; any idiot could see that. But there was something else, too, a feeling that the scientist was missing more than sleep.

"Come on sweetie," Angela wrapped her arm around her friend's shoulder, guiding her out of the office. She'd do her best to make Booth see sense, but failing that, she knew the best thing she could do for Brennan was to be her friend.

Xxxxx

Temperance Brennan livened up considerably when presented with the overpowering combination of green tea, fantastic dim sum, and her free-spirited friend. The two women had spent several gleeful hours rehashing some of their more risqué adventures (Angela had a bit of an edge in this department), and both were rather silly – at least, as silly as a world-renowned anthropologist ever allowed herself to be. Hodgins had shown up midway through the meal, already missing his wife. Brennan had smiled at him kindly when he'd arrived; they'd become quite close over the past few months. It was sweet how obviously and deeply the man cared for her friend, Brennan admitted, if only to herself.

"Well, I'm getting rather tired, Angela. Thank you for a lovely evening."

"Brennan, sweetie, don't go yet." She elbowed her husband hastily in the ribs.

"Yeah, Dr. B, stay and have another drink with us." Hodgins managed, despite the sharp pain in his side. He knew there'd be much worse if he didn't make an attempt at keeping the anthropologist there.

"You and Angela are newlyweds, Hodgins. I understand that there is anthropological significance to this time in your marriage, and that you wish to spend a certain amount of time alone with each other. Angela and I have already been here for several hours, and have had a lovely time, so please don't worry about me." Hodgins grinned at this statement; Angela frowned as her friend left a few bills to cover her dinner and headed towards the door.

"One second, Jack," she whispered to her husband as she slipped out of the booth, following Brennan out the door.

"Brennan, are you sure you're okay?" She asked, concern genuinely evident on her face.

"I'm fine, Angela. I just need some sleep."

"Okay." Angela knew better than to pry. Brennan would tell her what was going on when she was ready. "Well, if there's anything I can do for you, let me know."

"Actually," Brennan began, "There is one thing. I wrote several journals summarizing my findings during my dig in Maluku. I was hoping that, if you had the time, you might be able to re-create renderings of some of the artifacts that we found; I've included fairly detailed descriptions in my notes." Angela wrinkled her nose – it would be something work related.

"Sure, sweetie. Just give me the journals and I'm on it."

"They're at my apartment right now. I'll put them in your office once I get back to the lab. Tomorrow." This last bit, she added at a glare from Angela.

"Okay, Brennan. See you tomorrow." Angela watched her friend climb into her car and drive away, a great deal more worried about the scientist than she had let on. She knew Brennan needed to process feelings on her own, and at a glacially slow pace, but she also knew that the anthropologist was notoriously bad at explaining her own psychology. Usually, Booth was the one who was able to get her to talk about the thoughts racing around in her enormous brain, but something told Angela that Booth was not going to be very much help this time. Sighing distractedly, she turned and walked back into the restaurant, towards her waiting husband.

Xxxxx

Brennan's visit with Angela had shaken her more than she'd let on. She could tell that her friend was worried about her, and as carefully as she'd controlled her behavior, she knew that the evening they'd just spent together had done nothing to assuage that artist's fears. Distractedly, Brennan drove aimlessly, a testament to her mental state – directionlessness was something she usually abhorred. She'd been feeling it more and more lately.

Snapping out of her thoughts, she belatedly realized that she recognized the somewhat shady neighborhood she was currently driving through. Her breath caught in her chest as she rounded the corner to see the bar Booth had taken her to during their first case together, that fateful night that they'd "missed their moment". That was what Sweets had said, wasn't it? She questioned. She slowed to a crawl as she passed, peering in the glowing windows, and allowing herself a rare moment of remembrance. She could almost see them, Booth and her former self, sitting at the bar, a bottle of tequila half-empty between them. For a mere instant, she wondered what would have happened if she'd let him climb in the cab with her. How differently would things have turned out? She wondered, breathlessly, if she'd been able to open her heart to Booth from the very beginning. For the tiniest sliver of a lifetime, she wished with all her heart that it had happened, before stopping herself. That was the thing about a human life, she told herself, there was no control group, no way of ever knowing how anything would have turned out if any variable had been changed. It was pointless to speculate on missed opportunities in her relationship with Booth, if that was even the right thing to call them. They were choices. She'd made them. They were all in the past now.

Taking one last glance through the window, she began to drive away, when something caught her eye. At first, she though he was a figment of her imagination, but a second look confirmed her initial suspicions. It was Booth inside the bar, and he grasped a pool cue in his hand. A pile of bills lay on the table, and Brennan realized with a shock how gravely she had miscalculated.