"It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens, but it is never gone." –Rose F. Kennedy
Candid
It was Angela's birthday party, but Brennan was the one who found herself crying; whether she wanted to or not.
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3 hours earlier…
"Here, taste this," Booth called from behind her.
She turned to find herself face to face with a wooden spoon dripping with spaghetti sauce. The guests were not set to arrive for another half an hour, but Booth was there making fresh pasta and preparing his "world-famous" sauce while she worked on the salad, fresh garlic bread, and everything else that had to be made.
The party had initially been Brennan's idea, but Booth had been the one to suggest that she hold it at her apartment, arguing that with the year that Angela had had, she might enjoy a more intimate party than one at the Founding Fathers. Brennan had countered that copious amounts of alcohol might be just what the artist wanted, but Booth had said just to trust him so she did.
"It's good," she nodded, tasting the sauce, "What is it that I'm tasting besides the basil?"
"Uh uh," Booth shook his head and withdrew the spoon, "That'd be telling."
She put her hands on her hips and glared at him, but he merely turned back to stove, his broad frame effectively blocking her view. Sighing noisily she started working on the salad again.
"You should go get ready to play host," he told her a half an hour later.
"It was your idea to host this at my apartment so perhaps you should be the one to play host," she suggested.
"I'm busy," he smirked, nodding at the stove.
The doorbell rang, curtailing any further argument and she went to answer it. One by one, the guests filed in and she did her best to play the dutiful host. Just when she felt that she would scream if she had to engage in one more inane conversation, Booth announced that dinner was ready.
As much as she had despised making small talk, she could not deny that the food was superb. Compliments were showered on Booth by everyone present and she smiled her own private thanks to him for the pot of meatless sauce he had set aside just for her. Lively conversation bubbled around the table as the meal went on, though Booth banned them from discussing anything work-related.
"Game time!" Angela announced when the last of the dishes were cleared.
Producing a board game called "Cranium" Angela proceeded to divide them into three teams while explaining the rules.
"It's basically 'Trivial Pursuit' meets 'Pictionary,' with a little bit of karaoke thrown in for good measure," she told them, "And whoever can get around the board and into the middle first wins."
The first game was close. Booth and Cam barely edged out Brennan and Angela, with Sweets and Hodgins coming in a distant third. The next game, Hodgins and Brennan teamed up for a win again Cam and Sweets, though Angela and Booth were right on their heels.
After a short break for the cheesecake that Brennan had selected for the occasion, Booth challenged them to another game.
"Me and Bones versus the rest of you squints," were his terms, "Unless, you know, you guys are scared of us."
"Fine, but I get Sweets," Angela accepted, hauling the young psychologist over to sit next to her.
Hodgins and Cam looked at each other and shrugged, then nodded at Booth.
"What if I don't agree?" Brennan asked stubbornly.
"Aw, com' on, Bones, you nearly threw a hissy fit when we weren't paired up the first time," Booth said, patting the seat beside him.
"That was you," she reminded him.
"You know you want to," he taunted.
"Perhaps," she smiled slyly, "Though it would put the others at quite a disadvantage."
He shrugged, "They'll get over it."
"You two are all ego," Angela cut in, "Bring it on!"
Brennan sat down next to her partner and nodded, accepting the challenge.
One of the more fascinating elements of the game to her was that a team's turn was only over once they failed to complete the given task. Angela and Sweets went first, and managed to complete two tasks before failing. Hogins and Cam finished two as well.
"Hope you squints didn't want another turn," Booth crowed boastfully.
A good-natured mutter went around the table, though it seemed that everyone was intrigued as to just how well the partners would perform together. They breezed easily past the first two tasks and were nearly stumped by the third, but pulled it off just before time ran out. The next several spaces that they landed on were attached to word games, which Brennan solved before Booth even had a chance to read the card.
"Okay," Angela shook her head several completed tasks later, "This one's for the win," she read off of the card, "It's a humdinger. One of you will hum the music to the song while the other one tries to guess it."
"Simple," Booth grinned widely.
"I'll hum," Brennan volunteered.
Angela glanced down at the card, then snapped her head back up, her eyes boring into Brennan's, "You don't have to do this."
Brennan snatched the card from her friend and read it. Images assaulted her mind but she shook them off.
"Start the timer," she managed to get out.
Angela looked at her again, but Brennan's steely resolve had taken over and the artist nodded understandingly and started the timer. Closing her eyes, Brennan began humming the all-too-familiar tune, ignoring the involuntary gasps as her colleagues recognized the song.
"I know this one," Booth kept repeating to himself as she continued humming.
Unable to stand the mental onslaught of images, she opened her eyes. Far from helping, it merely brought her partners face into focus and she wasn't sure how much longer her composure would last. Catching his eye she began humming louder and more forcefully, willing him to remember the song so that she could stop.
Understanding dawned in his eyes just as Angela's emotion-laden voice called, "Time." Seconds dragged into an eternity. Sweets opened his mouth to say something and Booth pegged him with a glare that left the young psychologist in no doubt that Booth would shoot him if he said anything. All eyes gravitated to Brennan.
"Sweetie-" Angela was the first to speak.
Before she could go any further, Brennan stood quickly, fleeing to the privacy of her balcony.
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The wind blew, sending a shiver through her and ending the reverie. Her tears had stopped, leaving in their wake a raw ache accompanied by deep humiliation. Turning away from the railing, she realized that she was no longer alone. Wordlessly he opened his arms to her and wordlessly she stepped into them.
Enveloping her like a soft, warm blanket he turned his body, effectively blocking her from the cool wind as well as any curious onlookers inside the apartment. In her bare feet her head reached only the center of his chest, but for once that comforted rather than bothered her.
When he finally ushered her inside, the apartment had been vacated. She separated from him almost immediately and began cleaning up from the night's activities. It felt good to engage in manual labor. To his credit he still said nothing, choosing rather to help her as they moved from one mess to the next.
She had been scrubbing at the same spot on the spaghetti sauce pan when she felt his larger hands cover hers. The pan slipped from her grasp, sinking into the depths of the soapy water and he plucked the scrubbing pad from her other hand. Gently, he dried her hands with a dishtowel.
"Stop," she ordered him, disentangling her hands from his.
"No, Bones," his voice was quiet, but firm.
"I'm fine," she spoke for her own benefit as well as Booth's.
He said nothing, but his eyes told her he wasn't buying it.
"I am," she insisted again.
Spinning out from under his intense gaze she turned again to the pan.
"No," he repeated, moving quickly to intercept her once again, "The pan'll be fine, Bones. We'll be fine."
"I hate this," she threw up her hands, "That you always see me like this! So- so-"
"Human?" he asked softly, "It's okay, Bones."
"No," she shook her head, "It is not okay, Booth! If it was okay than I would have been able to give you the clue properly. If it was okay I would not have to be held on my balcony like some helpless child! I would not have to turn to you every single time something goes wrong in my life like a weakling, but rather would have used the last year to recover from-"
"From what?" he prodded.
"From you," her head shot up and she began poking him in the chest, "You and your guy hugs, and your sympathy pats, not to mention your incessant need to insert yourself into my personal life all of the time.
"And then what do you do?" she knew she was yelling but was beyond caring, "You stick yourself in front of a bullet, pretend to die, then miraculously reappear and expect me to thank you for it! And just when I start to think that it's okay to trust you again, you start hallucinating and conversing with cartoon characters, which prove to be indicators of a brain tumor."
She stopped and things once again hung unspoken between them. The tumor, the ensuing coma, and his confusion afterward were not things of his choosing, but were factors in her behavior tonight nonetheless.
Confused by her fluctuating emotions and shaken by the night's events, she shoved past him into the living room. If he wanted to, he could follow her and pursue it; otherwise, she would just compartmentalize again and move on as they always did. The choice was up to him.
(The End- of Part 1)