Author's Note: I hope that you are all still reading. The story is getting down to the good stuff, and so the writing is going a little slower. I want to be sure to get the B/B confrontation as right as I can, so the next couple of updates will probably take longer than they have up to now. This is my first fan fic of any kind, so I'm open to suggestions. I know that when I write I tend to be a little wordy. (I'm definitely no Hemingway or Norman Maclean, for you literary-minded types.) For some reason, I find it easier to write Booth's thoughts because I feel like I know where he's coming from. Therefore, this fic is pretty Booth-centric. Hopefully I'm getting him right, because I think he deserves our understanding. IMO, his life experience has in many ways been even more traumatic than Brennan's, but they haven't really spent much time on it in the TV show. So a few of us find it necessary to write fan fics like this one to remedy that lack. As always, reviews and suggestions are welcome.


Booth drove carefully down the rural mountain road in western Virginia. It was easy to miss the turnoff to the cabin in the dark. He had decided to take a couple of days away from everything and everybody to get back to normal. Or what passed for normal for him anyway, he thought wryly. He didn't want Parker to see him given the shape he was in, so he was glad he had called Rebecca earlier in the week and told her he had to work. He felt like he was beginning to get out of control and he didn't like the feeling. Wyatt had told him that having the recurring nightmare pop up during times of stress was normal, and that he shouldn't try to suppress the feelings and memories because that just made it worse. That was easy for him to say, extremely difficult to do.

Booth had studied enough psychology both in college and after he joined the Bureau to know that his extreme need to be in control of every situation was due in large part to that period when he had been helpless and had no control over what happened to him. The physical abuse—the torture—had been bad, but somehow that pain had been easier to forget than the painful emotions that had been engendered. He hadn't been able to sleep then either, because as soon as you slept, they dragged you out of the hole and back into the torture room to begin again . . .

"NO!" Booth didn't even realize that he had said the word out loud as he slammed on the brakes of his memories of what had happened in that room. He found that he had unconsciously slammed on the brakes on his car too. "God damn it!" he muttered under his breath, and after a quick look around felt grateful that the road was deserted. It was lucky that he was almost there because it was beginning to be difficult to keep his mind on his driving. After another few miles he heaved a sigh of relief and turned down the gravel road to the cabin.

He pulled up outside and dug the key out of his jacket pocket. His buddy Hank Luttrell owned the cabin, but he seldom used it and then usually only in the summer when his kids were out of school. But he had given Booth a key and told him to feel free to use it any time he needed it. Booth got out of the car and stretched, feeling his arm, back and leg muscles complaining due to the long car ride. He grabbed the box of supplies off of the back seat and headed inside.

It wasn't a huge cabin. There were a couple of tiny bedrooms in the back, with a small bathroom with shower, and a larger living/kitchen area in the front. It had a small generator for electricity, but Booth didn't bother to turn it on. Of course that meant he had to use the hand pump for water, and the outdoor toilet, but that was OK for the night. He'd see to the generator in the morning. He lit the kerosene lamp and the fire already laid in the pot-bellied stove. That would take the chill off of things in no time.

He opted to stay in the main room and make use of the comfortable chair and foot stool in front of the fire rather than use one of the unmade bunks. They were too short for him anyway. He squinted at his watch and it read 1:28 AM. He grabbed the bottle of scotch and a glass from the cupboard and sat down, pouring just enough to allow him to sleep. Of course the dream would wake him up again, but he figured he could get in a good two or three hours before that happened. According to what he had read on the subject, as long as he wasn't reliving the dream while he was awake, he was in pretty good shape. Once you started having "flashbacks" while you were awake, you could turn into a candidate for a padded room real fast. Booth was extremely grateful he wasn't there yet. And he wouldn't be, if he had anything to say about it. Wyatt had given him plenty of literature to read on the subject. But one pamphlet in particular had stuck out in his mind. He had read it so often he had it memorized:

The ability to do whatever it takes to survive is instinctive. We all have it,
and in traumatic enough situations, it will come out or we die. Extreme
situations which trigger this reaction again and again may cause survivors
to do things in order to survive which can be hard to look back on later.
Similarly shutting down feelings in order to do whatever it takes to survive,
or do your job and help others survive, is a reality-based survival skill.
Numbness is the answer. It is effective. It will help you live.

Unfortunately when survivors numb their fear, despair and anger, all their
feelings, even good ones, are numbed. Numbness is comfortable. Thinking
about what they have been through is so painful survivors wind up avoiding
thinking about, feeling, or doing anything that reminds them of the trauma.
For example, if they feel the trauma was their fault they may spend the rest
of their life having to be right so they won't ever be at fault again. If they
were happy when the trauma hit, they may avoid happiness forever.

Booth knew that this applied to everyone who had experienced a severe trauma in his or her life—from combat to rape to being near Ground Zero on 9/11. Knowing the psychology behind what you were feeling helped, but it didn't make it any easier to work through the events that made up the nightmare. It felt like high wire walking without a net—extremely difficult, extremely dangerous and very, very scary. He knew he would have to do it—eventually—but right now he had enough to deal with because of the situation with Bones.

He closed his eyes and immediately a picture of Bones popped into his mind, much to his chagrin. He wondered what she and Sully would do on their vacation, and then wished he hadn't. He knew what he would be doing, given half a chance. Unfortunately, that wasn't gonna happen. Bones didn't seem to think of him that way. There had been times in the past few years when he had thought she was sending out different signals, but they never led to anything, and they always seemed to end up back in the "just good friends" mode. Of course, Bones allowed him to give her "friendly" hugs during times of great emotional stress, but other than that she seemed fine without any physical contact other than small things like a hand on the arm or back. The kind of thing you did for any woman, including your grandmother.

Apparently, all the men Bones knew in the right age range were categorized in one of three groups: lovers, colleagues, or platonic friends, and he was kept firmly in one of the latter two groups. He wasn't sure when or how that had happened, because at the beginning there had been definite sexual sparks between them. God knew, he still felt them. But somewhere, somehow, he had become more useful to Bones as a friend, and any other possibilities had been ruthlessly kept at bay. Maybe it was because they had to work together. "Or maybe she's just not that into you," he thought resignedly. Unfortunately, that was way more likely.

Booth swallowed another shot of scotch, closed his eyes, and leaned back in exhaustion. Sometimes it helped him sleep to think of the recent time he'd spent with Parker. The last time he had been over to Booth's apartment, they had built a fort of popsicle sticks. Parker hadn't wanted to build the standard, boring square that his dad had envisioned. His creative design had resulted in much hilarity and fun for both of them. He was so lucky to have Parker in his life. He was the one person who loved Booth without reservation and without second thoughts. Booth never wanted to give him a reason to regret that love. He smiled again thinking about the fort, and wondered idly if Parker would become an architect, or maybe an engineer. He would be smarter than his old man, that was for sure. On that happy thought Booth slid slowly into sleep.