"Sweetie," the word was simply, but it might as well have been the most probing question Angela could possibly have posed for her. It had the same effect, essentially. She froze in the position she was in over the lab table, her fingers delicately holding either end of a slender rib bone, and with great care kept her gaze focused on the white shape rather than letting them rove with a turn of her head to see the look she knew must be engraved across her best friend's features. It was one of sympathy, but of demanding interrogation at the same time. Something that only Ange could pull off. "Look at me," she said, as if she could read her mind.

Wasn't it always that way, with the two of them? At times it was nice, although sometimes it bit the end of her patience to the point where she snapped. This time, though, she only felt relieved at the... opportunity that this provided. For once, she felt more than desperate to share everything that was on her mind. She had to get it out, or she might very well explode. If she was honest, she would say, right then and there, that she had been absolutely desperate for her friend to come up to her all morning and just... ask.

And now she had, and the words were there, on the tip of her tongue, held prisoner only by the last shreds of her confidence.

She turned slowly, her eyes appraising her friend cautiously, trying to read just how strong the sympathy was in contrast to all the other emotions. But then again, did she want sympathy, or did she want anger? Because she wasn't sure whether she hated or pitied herself. She hadn't been sure of the fact all morning, or last night even, and it had driven her crazy.

The previous night had been the purest form of torture she'd ever experienced. The silence was deafening to the point where she wondered if she even had the ability to hear anymore. She recalled periodically turning her head, in a way that she hoped had been unnoticeable and discreet, to see if he was speaking and she was simply unable to discern his tone.

But he hadn't been, and so she hadn't either.

To her surprise, and partial relief, he had not retired to the couch as she had at first feared he might. They shared the bed as always. The distance between them, though, might as well have been the solid wall between her room and the rest of the apartment.

It was cold, in those sheets all alone, feeling his presence there but just out of reach, across an impossible abyss of just a few feet.

She had felt alone, and trapped.

And she had done nothing about it.

"What happened?" Angela inquired, clearly interpreting her silence in whatever ways her quick mind had jumped straight to. And whatever she was thinking now, Brennan knew that it wasn't positive. Which was good, because it meant they were one more step in the direction of one another.

"I'm not..." she managed to say, but her voice wasn't her own. She wondered vaguely if she'd even said anything at all since the awkward conversation of the after-question dinner they'd shared. Had she offered a greeting to anyone since she'd arrived that morning? Had she shared any theories with her coworkers?

The fact that she couldn't remember was certainly alarming in itself. She'd been in a half-alert state, that was something she was becoming rapidly aware of. She just wasn't sure, right then, if she wanted to come completely out of it, or stay within its warm embrace, where it was safe and isolated.

But she did want to talk, because that was the only plausible way to move forward, to overcome this latest hurdle. And she had to do that. For her, for him... for everything.

"Come on," Angela said, in the assertive way that Brennan had needed to hear, and a moment later her arm was seized and they were descending from the platform and across the small expanse that would lead them into the protective enclosure which was the artist's office. "Tell me everything," she said immediately, once they were safely within its walls with the door sealed behind them and the blinds drawn.

"Do you... do you remember when Hodgins and you... when he was trying to propose?" she asked, the hesitation making her voice do things she wasn't aware it could do. It broke and cracked, and she hated herself for it, clearing it several times as she watched Angela's reaction, and only hoping that it would come out normal upon her next attempt.

Her friend's eyebrows had shot up, and her mouth opened a crack before shutting again. "He... proposed?" she asked hesitantly.

Brennan looked away, unable to meet her eyes, and nodded numbly.

She had expected Angela to do something typical – hug her, demand an explanation for why she had said no... any variety of things. What she did instead came as a surprise, and a welcome one.

Angela simply put her arms around her, and rubbed her hands up and down her back. There was a peaceful silence in that moment that was far more soothing than anything else could have been.

"I know, Bren, I know. It's okay," she said calmly after she'd pulled away and tugged her arm gently to get her to sit beside her on the couch. "You said no, right?"

Biting her lip this time, she offered another quick jerk of her head.

Angela simply nodded back knowingly, though, and she felt herself relax further, her tense shoulders sliding back to allow her back to rest gently into the cushion behind her.

"It's so hard, isn't it?" she murmured. "Sweetie, did you want to say yes?"

"I... for a while, I did. But when he actually came out with the box I just... I'd already decided to turn him down."

"Why?"

It wasn't an accusing question, just a heartfelt one.

Her voice was much more controlled, more like it was engaging in a normal conversation between them than it had so far. "I felt like it wasn't me," she said softly, "Like I was giving something that I didn't really... have. And I just... couldn't do it."

It had made so much more sense the night before, but the way Angela was looking at her made her realize that she understood it completely, and that helped a great deal with her acceptance of it all.

"You love him, that doesn't change because you turned down marriage, Bren."

She looked up at her, eyes filled with hopefulness.

"He might be hurt, but you just have to make him understand. And I know you; I can see when you've made up your mind about something, when you're turning something over in your head. And you've got to know, right now, that you're going to spend forever with Booth."

"I know that," she admitted, truth resonating in her voice. She felt her confidence creeping back with warmth. "I can't... I don't want to imagine anything else. And that... it scares me, Ange. Because I'm a scientist, and I know that things... don't always work out. But I want them to, for once."

"Good," Ange said with a definitive nod. "That's good enough for Booth, sweetie. Just make sure he knows it, okay?"

For the first time in their short but undeniably important conversation, she felt that Ange was giving her instruction, the sort of thing that Ange just always... did.

She nodded firmly, "I will, Ange. He... I know that he needs to know it. Because I think... I've made him very confused, and upset, and I just... I feel horrible for it."

Angela offered a small smile, "You two always sort things out; that won't change either. Now go on, get out of here, go find him!"

Managing a slight chuckle at the command, she got to her feet with her friend, who put a hand on her hip and raised an eyebrow.

She felt like she should thank her, but got the feeling that now wasn't the time, that her friend wanted her to show it in another way. Hesitantly making her way to the door, she offered a smile and a nod as she exited, and the warm grin she gained in return was enough to boost her across the smooth surfaces of her laboratory and out the door.

Partway to the Hoover building she lost her nerve as she frantically tried to figure out what to say to him. How was she even going to start the conversation? At some point between the start of their weekend and the end of it, they'd lost that easy connection that she had started taking for granted.

Her cell phone's shrill ring made her jump in surprise, and when she saw that the number was from the lab she eagerly jumped at the opportunity for a distraction.

"Brennan."

"Hey, Dr. B.," Hodgins' voice greeted her warmly, "I found an interesting little critter nuzzled away at the base of the victims neck... got a much better read on a chemical composition than I was able to get from the maggots we found on the rest of the body. Shows high levels of some toxin, looks like it could be a venom of some sort, that I'm analyzing right now... might very well be our cause of death."

"Excellent work, Hodgins."

There was talking in the background, and she heard Hodgins speaking with someone that she realized a moment later was an irritated Angela.

"Get off the phone," she caught her friend hissing at her husband, and then Hodgins coughed nervously into the receiver.

"Right, just thought you should know. I'll... y'know, get back to work now."

With a click he was gone, leaving Brennan once more to her silence. She sighed and leaned her head back into the seat, closing her eyes and trying to breathe evenly. She couldn't do this, not now. Dejectedly, she pulled back onto the road from where she had stopped in a shallow ditch, and made her way to the Diner, where she drank a coffee slowly for the following hour, partially wishing that he would show up with the same idea, and they'd be able to resolve this together.

He didn't, though, and she found herself back at the lab again before she was even aware of getting in her car. She ignored Angela, knowing that she should probably explain but suddenly not feeling in the mood for talking at all. That had vanished completely as though a cloud had simply shifted and blocked out her temporary glimmer of sunlight.

She worked late, and when Angela finally demanded that she go home, she did so only reluctantly, knowing that what she would find wasn't something to look forward to.

He was already there, so when she carefully set her bag down and dropped her keys into the bowl by the door, she listened cautiously until she picked up on the sounds of the shower water running.

The hour was late enough that she might be able to get away with simply changing and climbing into bed, feigning sleep until he had joined her and drifted off. It was very possible.

Guilt gnawing at her stomach, she tiptoed around and stripped off her work clothes, pulling on a tank top and pajama pants and sliding easily under the cold sheets, trying not to look at his side of the bed.

It was more difficult than she had thought it would be, closing her eyes and keeping them that way as she heard the bathroom door open. It wasn't as if she didn't know that she should be talking to him, but that morning had been completely silent, and he could have just as easily been the one to initiate the conversation.

In a way, she felt as if his reaction to her turning him down wasn't exactly fair. Yes, he was hurt because of it, and she knew that he had a right to feel that way, but hadn't he considered how she would take the proposal? He must have realized that she would have put thought into the idea since they'd been together, and that she was doing what she thought was best. That was what she always did. And this was her choice as much as it had been his decision to ask her.

She recalled the way Angela had continuously said no to Hodgins until he said that she was enough, that he didn't need marriage to be happy with her.

For Booth to be so obviously upset about her turning him down right now felt like he was saying exactly the opposite of what Hodgins had told Angela.

That she wasn't enough. That they weren't good enough without a tangible connection formed by a piece of paper and a ceremony.

And that scared her.

So when he stepped into the room and she heard him freeze, she couldn't breathe at all. She lay still, praying that he would cross the room and just climb in, no matter how awkward things were, because that was what was normal for her. Sleeping in this bed with him right beside her.

The pause was long, and she was desperate to just open her eyes, but she could feel his gaze burning into her, and she couldn't do it. Couldn't open her eyelids and see him staring at her. Because she didn't want to know what it was that she would read in his soft brown eyes. Would it be hurt, or anger, or something else equally upsetting?

Almost worse, though, was the retreating footsteps she heard a moment later, and then the soft shutting of the apartment door. She sat bolt upright almost immediately, and gasped out as though she'd been physically injured.

"Booth," she whispered into the silence.

But he was gone, and somehow she knew that nothing she said in that moment could possibly bring him back.

For the first time since they'd moved in together, she was alone for the night.

And for the first time in months, she slept in the turmoil of nightmares and screams, terror haunting her at every corner, until she woke sobbing in the early hours of the morning, and could do nothing but lay there alone with her fears.

So, that was a bit shorter of a chapter than usual, sorry about that.

On an up note, I have another chapter already written, and the one after that is on its way. Sooo... I might be tempted to put up a new chapter early sometime this week. Of course, that depends on all of you. After all, if I don't get reviews, I'm just going to think that you don't want another chapter, aren't I? :)

Anyways, thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, and I hope everyone is still enjoying this story and it isn't getting boring or anything. It feels like I've been writing this forever. xD