"Life is not a problem to be solved, but a reality to be experienced." –Soren Kierkegaard

Realistic

Brennan sat on her couch, legs extended along its length, and alternated her gaze between the blank document on her laptop and the antique clock on her wall. An hour later the screen was still blank and she finally closed the lid and abandoned all pretense of completing any work, her mind whirring too much with thoughts of far greater import.

Padding into her kitchen she poured herself a glass of wine, then returned to the couch. Sipping it slowly she contemplated the events of the past week; satisfied that another killer had been brought to justice, yet troubled by the decisions she knew her partner would now have to face.

From the moment he had kissed her hand at the diner, she had been drawn to Booth's grandfather. His laid back demeanor set her at ease, charming her with a charisma that she was all too familiar with, and giving her a rare glimpse into one of the greater influences in her own Booth's life. It had been amusing to "gang up" with Hank on her partner and she had enjoyed the time spent with both men over grilled cheese and dominoes.

What she had not anticipated was how deeply Hank's acceptance and trust would extend; certainly never thinking that he would reveal such a dark secret to her. She sipped at the wine again to mask the involuntary shudder that coursed through her every time she let her mind dwell on Hank's words. The night after their conversation, she had suffered a nightmare in which she had attempted to rescue a Parker-sized Booth from being beaten within an inch of his life.

Her sympathies had quickly shifted as the week progressed to more current matters. She could see how incapable of caring for himself Hank was and recognized how difficult it was for both men to come to grips with.

Would Booth truly take a sabbatical in order to care for his grandfather? And if so, how long would he be able to bear the financial and emotional toll?

Not long ago she had told Gordon Wyatt that she was willing to do anything for Booth and certainly if that was the course he took, she would live up to her words. Already, she had decided to offer to spend time with Hank so that Booth would not be burnt out and so that he could spend time with Parker. She was also trying to devise a way to help Booth meet his financial obligations without offending his pride. A very small, selfish part of her wondered what would become of their partnership, but that seemed trivial in view of the larger issues at stake.

Lost in her thoughts, she jumped at soft knocking at her door and immediately went to open it, unsurprised at the person she found on the other side.

"Would you like some?" she offered her partner, lifting her glass of wine as she ushered him in from the hallway.

"Sounds good, Bones," he nodded, shedding his leather jacket and laying it haphazardly over the back of a chair.

By the time she returned to her living room, he had taken off his shoes as well and was sprawled out on her couch, his eyes half closed in sleep. She touched his forearm lightly and handed him his glass, then joined him on the couch as he sat up.

"Is Hank alright?" she asked, wondering if he was here because they had had a falling out.

"What?" his head jerked up, eyes clearing. "Oh, no. He's sleeping back at my apartment and my neighbor's keeping an ear out for him just in case."

"Good," she wasn't certain what else to say.

"Yeah," he agreed and the room slipped into silence as they nursed the wine.

"Is-Are you okay, Booth?" she broached the question keeping her tone as neutral as possible.

"Pops is going back to the home," he told her, avoiding the question.

"Is that good?"

"Yeah, I mean it's what he wants so I guess that's good," the words came out as a sigh.

"Then I'm glad," she offered a small smile.

"He misses his fishing buddy and his, uh, crocheting partner-" a smirk lit Booth's eyes as he shook his head. "Don't ask."

"I won't."

For the first time since entering her apartment he met her eyes, "He asked if you'd go with us to take him back."

"Of course I will," she smiled easily, "I like your grandfather very much."

"He likes you too, Bones," the response was quick, but sincere.

An awkward silence fell again.

"It's good, you know," Booth said finally, "him wanting to go back. I mean I would've taken care of him if he'd wanted to stay but…"

"It will be easier for both of you this way," she finished the thought.

"I would've taken care of him," he repeated.

"I know," she covered his larger hand with hers, squeezing gently. "And Hank knows too."

"Thanks, Bones," he turned his hand over underneath of hers and held onto it.

When they had both finished their wine, he decided he should head back and promised to call her when he figured out what time they were leaving for the nursing home. She walked him to the door as he donned his shoes and jacket, keeping it ajar until he was swallowed up by the elevator at the end of the hall. Turning back inside, she rinsed out the glasses, powered down the computer, and fell asleep confident that she was doing the very best for both Booths that she could.