Author's Note: I was on vacation for four days, so that's part of the reason this took so long. Also, I was reading a lot, since I couldn't find any time for that during the end of the school year. Anyway, thanks for all the reviews and everything! I really appreciate it. Oh, and there's spoilers for the Season 3 finale.

Disclaimer: I don't own Bones, Fox (and Hart Hanson) do, and unless there is some kind of miracle that occurs, I never will. This is just for fun.

She sat at her desk in her office, staring at the lit monitor in front of her. She had been trying to finish the latest chapter of her novel, but the words refused to come. She sighed in frustration, turning her head away from the screen. Her eyes alighted on a small framed photo, one that Angela had taken two years ago at the party she had thrown to celebrate Zack's return from Iraq. Brennan didn't want to think about Zack now, or possibly ever again, but she couldn't take her eyes off of the picture.

Angela had been very excited about everyone being back together again, and as a result had taken out her camera to take about a million pictures. She had made everyone pose in different spots in the lab (some even outside), and spent the good part of the affair snapping photos. This had been just one of the many that she had taken, and as a surprise a few weeks ago, gave Brennan this one in a frame.

It was just the two of them, her and Booth. They stood on the steps to the lab platform, his arm around her shoulders. She smiled softly as she looked down at the snapshot; she could distinctly remember Angela yelling at Hodgins to get off the platform so that there wouldn't be anyone in the background.

They looked so happy together. Zack was back, and they were back to their normal working relationship. What could be better than that? Little did they know that, in less than a year, the one they were celebrating so happily would be locked up in a psychiatric facility after he confessed to killing a man for a serial killer they called Gormagon. It didn't matter now that Gormagon was dead; that he would never kill again in his quest to complete that silver skeleton. He had left his mark in the world, and especially in their team.

She'd already lost one member of her team, and now Booth was going to Iraq. Was she really mad about him telling her his feelings now? God, she hated psychology, but there seemed to be other reasons for her to act that way swirling beneath the surface. And she knew what they were; she just didn't wish to acknowledge them. If she acknowledged them, it would make them real, and she wasn't exactly sure if she wanted that.

She reached out to set the photo back on her desk, and heard quick footsteps echo through the empty space. Turning around, she saw Angela coming towards her, arms crossed over her chest. Angela paused in the doorway of the office, her features twisting into something that could only be described as a glare, and she leaned against the doorframe in a fashion very similar to that of Booth's last night. Had it only been last night? It seemed as though days had passed since then.

"Angela, what are you doing here?" She asked, her brow furrowing.

"I was about to ask you the same thing, Brennan. Why aren't you with Booth?" Angela demanded, taking a few more steps into the lit office. "What is wrong with you?"

"I can't think of anything at the moment that's wrong with me." She replied, wracking her brain to try and pick out anything that could have made Angela so angry. "And as for the first question, it's none of your business."

"It is my business, because I'm your best friend, and I know what's good for you. Booth is good for you. So, why aren't you with him?" Angela plopped down into the chair in front of Brennan's desk, arms still folded across her chest.

"Why should I tell you if you never answered my question?" At this, Angela sighed heavily and rolled her eyes.

"Will you tell me what I want to know if I tell you what you want to know?"

"Maybe. It depends."

"Maybe? It depends? Nuh-uh, there is no way I'm telling you anything now. You'll just clam up after I tell you." For a few moments, they sat across from each other, each attempting to cause the other to break their silence. But Angela knew that she could sit here until the end of the Earth, and Brennan would still never budge. So after waiting a few more minutes (hey, there was nothing wrong with trying, right?), she broke the silence.

"Bren, it's midnight. Booth's plane takes off in thirty-six hours. Do you really want him to go off to Iraq without fixing things? I mean-"

"How did you know we had a fight?" She interjected, her voice a little louder than normal. "Did he call you and tell you to come after me?"

"Sweetie-"

"Don't 'Sweetie' me, Angela. He did, didn't he? Why didn't he just come after me himself? He's the one who told me about his feelings, so he should be the one who comes chasing after me. Not you." She stood suddenly, whirling around to grab her jacket off of the coat rack behind her chair. "And I'm not going to sit around and be interrogated by you."

"He didn't call me." Brennan paused in the doorway, her quick departure cut off by this statement. She turned around slowly, a sheepish look on her face.

"He didn't?" She repeated, questioning. When Angela nodded her head in agreement, she let her shoulders slump with exhaustion and guilt. "I just…I thought…" She let her voice trail off as Angela stood, making her way over to her.

"I know what you thought. I would probably have thought the same thing, if it had been me and Hodgins." Angela said, pulling Brennan into a hug. "Don't worry about it, all right?"

"Thanks." She said, pulling away. "I'm sorry I acted so irrationally."

"Hey, it was about a guy. It was about time you acted 'irrationally' over a guy. Not to mention, a very special guy."

"But, I yelled at you. How does that count?" She asked, her brow furrowing, this time in confusion.

"You yelled at me because of an argument you had earlier with Booth. It counts."

"I should go talk to him, shouldn't I?"

"Yeah, Bren, you should."

___________________________________________________

She let herself in, using the key he'd given her for emergencies. It was something that was very unlike her, but she didn't want to wake him up.

At least that's what she told herself as she paused in the small foyer, slipping out of her shoes and coat. Sneaking into his apartment like this, she didn't like it. But, there was that whole thing about not waking him up. Yeah, right. Though she would never admit it, it was more that she didn't want to have to face whatever anger he might throw in her direction after what she had said to him.

She made her way down the short hallway into the living room. She stopped in her tracks when she saw him, fast asleep in the armchair, a half-finished bottle of beer dangling from his grasp. Judging from the lack of bottles on the coffee table in front of him, it had to be his first. She knew there was no way he would have gotten drunk with Parker around, no matter how upsetting their argument had been to him.

The television cast a glow over him, illuminating his features. His mouth was set in a firm line, and his brow was creased, making it obvious that his sleep wasn't any more peaceful than his real life. She sighed, a sound that was barely audible, and she felt a growing tightness in her chest. She hoped that she hadn't been the one to upset his dreams; she didn't want to have caused him any more pain than she already had.

Why are we always causing each other pain? She thought to herself as she crossed the room on light feet, making sure not to bump into anything. All right, so maybe we don't cause that much pain to be had between us, she conceded as she worked the bottle out of his hand, but it seems that whenever we try to get anywhere, it always turns into an argument. It had been that way in the beginning, and seemed to be heading in that direction now. Harsh words were exchanged, both of their tempers too short to allow for any sort of rational conversation.

Sure, last night had been fine. She grabbed a blanket from the couch, and draped it over him. No sense in waking him now, when the damage had already been done to his back. Her thoughts took a brief turn when she paused to wonder why in the world they were sending him over there with his bad back. If it had been her decision, she would have sent someone younger, and more capable, over there. Though she seriously doubted there was anyone more capable than her partner.

She leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. He stirred briefly, and she froze, waiting for him to fall back into his sleep. He did, and she smiled faintly as she saw that the wrinkles on his brow had disappeared.

She turned around to find her face appear on the screen in front of her. The late night talk show was obviously running re-runs, and hers was one of them. She quickly shut it off, cringing at the small amount of the interview that she had managed to catch. Booth had certainly helped her with her interviewing skills, but they still left much to be desired. That's what being a famous author will get you, though. Your face plastered over some television screen at nearly one in the morning.

She made her way back over to him, sinking down to the floor in front of where he sat. Wrapping her arms around her legs, she leaned her head against his knee. This was in no way a comfortable position, but she wanted to be near him right now. And if this was the way she had to do it, she would. Her eyes closed, almost against her will, and she soon fell into a restful, if light, sleep.