It's 3am. The grandfather clock ticks loudly on the other side of the room. Every second feels slower, every breath feels unrehearsed. Angela offered her the pull out couch, in which she rejected. The eager need to insist her best friend stay sane and safe overwhelmed Angela, and without Brennan's permission, she pulled out the couch anyways.
Angela offered to stay with her, but she declined. She felt the need to be alone for a while, but she appreciated the generous offer. Angela has a husband and a child, and she doesn't want to be more of a burden than she feels she already has been.
The air feels heavy, pinning to her to the bed as she tosses and turns sleeplessly. She reaches for her phone and the bright light illuminates her senses. She wants to read the time, but is faced with a myriad of messages and missed calls. Booth knows where she is, logically he shouldn't be so worried. Brennan erases the messages, turns off her phone and rolls over, trying so hard to fall asleep.
Tears wash her eyes as she remembers the talk she previously had.
There has to be a reason, Brennan. Both of us know Booth is a good man, and an even better man when it comes to you. Whatever it is, it will come up eventually. But in the meantime, you can stay here whenever you want, for however long you want. You're my best friend, Temperance, and it kills me to see you like this.
She falls asleep with dried tears on her face to the comfort of second home.
7:45am approaches and the ever ear-piercing sound of a child unattended breeches her sleep. It's not an unfamiliar sound, but a sound that she'll never neglect. A wave of guilt washes over her. She left her daughter at home, and she misses her. She just left her there. Her mind holds her here, but her feet pick her up and home.
Removing the bedding from the pull-out couch, she folds everything and places it on the coffee table across the room. Before she leaves without a goodbye, Angela walks down the stairs, Michael Vincent in her left arm. She turns around as Angela gets to the end of the stairs. Angela's hand rests on her shoulder.
"I have to go home, Angela. I have to feed Christine, I have to hold her and see her and-"
"Booth can do that too, sweetie. But I understand the need to want to see your own child, of course. Go. I'll be here whenever you need me."
Brennan turns around and turns the doorknob to the front door. She turns her head to flash a thankful smile, and leaves the house without another word.
The cab arrives back at her home at 8:15am. She sees a light on in the kitchen and panics. I can't be in there long. I can't be. But I have to be there for Christine. I will not abandon my child. She sucks in a heavy breath and pulls out her keys, walking to the front door. The keys jiggle in the lock until the door opens.
Christine is in her high chair eating a small bowl of milk-less Cheerios. She smiles for the first time in hours. Booth enters the room, newspaper in hand, and stops when he sees her. She diverts her eyes immediately.
"Hodgins told me you stayed the night."
Brennan lifts her head to acknowledge Booth.
"Yes, I did. And I mostly likely will spend more nights there."
"Why can't you just talk to me about how you feel, Temperance? We have a child together, we live together, you can't avoid being here forever."
A deafening silence fills the air. She doesn't answer. She'll be back, she will never leave her child, but she will avoid everything as much as possible. She'll shove away all that she can, as long as it means her life finding a plateau.
She walks up to Christine and takes her out of her high chair, giving her a loving kiss on the temple with a smile.
"I would like to spend time with my child, if you don't mind. We're going for a walk around the neighborhood. I'll be back soon." With Christine in one arm, she walks over to the closet, where the stroller sits right behind the door. Lowering Christine into the stroller and buckling her in, she spares a glance back at Booth, who stares back sadly.
It saddens her, so she turns her head forward, avoids it, and tries to forget.