I'm so sorry for the delay, guys. I know it's been a while. It's just that school has been hectic and I've been suffering from a horrible case of writer's block. But it's better now, hopefully.

As always, thank you so much for the reviews. I'm sorry I didn't reply to the reviews from last chapter, but I promise I'll start replying again. I know all of you are so happy about Hannah leaving :)

Disclaimer: Yes, of course I own Bones...Does anyone believe me?

The Restart in the Relationship

He doesn't think he's ever been more excited—or nervous—to come to work. He's jittery and his nerves are frayed from his bittersweet parting with Hannah this morning. He'd made her breakfast, helped her pack, and they'd sat on his couch for half an hour reminiscing about the good times. It had been painful, but he remembers it fondly now. He knows his parting with Hannah was for the best, because a woman like her deserves everything he can't give her. And now he's taking the stairs up to the Jeffersonian building three at a time, his heart thudding evenly in his chest.

What to say, what to say? He'll tell her straight off he's broken up with Hannah. He'll tell her straight off so he won't chicken out, and she'll—

She'll what? Welcome him with open arms? He'll have better luck convincing her the world is flat.

No, no, no, he'll just act casual. It'll be fine that way. Bones's the type of person you ease things into; spring a surprise on her and she'll be on a plane to Australia before he can blink. Yes, he should just act casual. Maybe he should have bought her coffee. Yeah, coffee would've been good. Maybe donuts, a bagel or two.

He sighs, hands in his pockets. He's starting to realize the truth of things: that breaking up with Hannah was the easy part. It's everything that comes after that'll be the challenge. Bones…God, he's scared of what she'll say. Terrified even. It's been almost a year since she turned him down that night after Sweets' meeting, and he wonders if anything's changed with her at all. He's not so blindly optimistic as to believe Bones has changed her mind. He's lucky if she'll even look at him the same. But maybe…if he has enough time…

"You going in?"

Surprised, he turns to find Angela standing behind him, a coffee balanced in one hand and files in the other.

She eyes his blank stare amusedly and repeats, "You going in? Or are you just going to stand out here? 'Cause it's kind of cold."

He realizes he's blocking the door and moves to the side hurriedly. "Oh, sorry. Here, let me get that." He takes her files and pulls the door open for her.

She thanks him and moves inside, Booth on her heels. He wonders if there's a right way to go about this. Should he ask Angela? She's Bones's best friend anyway, and she'd probably know how to break the news.

And yet…

And yet Angela has a hard time keeping things about him and Bones quiet. He doesn't think he's quite prepared for everyone within a ten mile radius to ask him about Hannah and what happened and why isn't she staying at least for Christmas. He doesn't think he's prepared for even Bones to know.

He stops. Thinks for a moment.

Is he ready for Bones to know?

Why shouldn't he be? Isn't this the point of breaking up with Hannah? Isn't this what he's been subconsciously waiting for all this time, ever since he returned to Washington?

And yet, is it too soon? He's freshly emerged from a ten-month long, emotionally invested relationship. Is he ready to be committed to someone else again so soon?

With a sigh, he heads for Bones' office anyway, thinking he can always figure things out on the way. He'll wing it, and if a moment comes up, he'll take it. Until then, he figures it's better silent than sorry.

There she is, sitting behind her desk reviewing some files spread across the table in front of her. She's wearing that green top that makes her eyes pop and those jeans that show off just how long her legs are. Jeez, it should be absolutely illegal to show off your curves like that.

Instinctively, he shuts those thoughts off, shaking his head. It's a moment before he realizes that he has every right to think those things about Bones without feeling guilty. He's no longer bound to Hannah in any way beyond friends, so why shouldn't he be thinking these things about his gorgeous partner?

Because that inevitably leads to you wanting to kiss her, and that never ends well, he chides himself, shaking away his more impulsive side. Plastering on a wide smile, he raps his knuckles on the doorframe and walks inside.

Bones looks up for a brief moment before dropping her eyes to her files again. "Hey, Booth."

Her voice is cool, collected, and detached. He pauses in surprise, his brow furrowing. It's been a long time since he's heard her so emotionless toward him, and his mind races back to figure out why. Was it something he said? Something he did? Something he didn't do?

Or all three, he thinks with a pang of guilt, remembering the day before. Remembering how he'd been the king of jerks toward her.

With a sigh, he pulls the chair on the opposite side of her desk around to the side of her desk and sits down heavily. "Listen, Bones, can we talk for a second?"

He waits for her to raise her eyes, but she doesn't. Instead, she continues to scan her files like she hadn't heard him at all.

"Bones?" he repeats, his eyes narrowing.

"I'm listening," she says coolly, still not looking at him.

He swallows the automatic rush of annoyance at being ignored and covers the page she's reading with his hand. "Bones. Please. It's important."

She sighs impatiently and leans back in her chair, looking up at him at last. "All right."

He swallows. "Listen, I'm sorry. For being such a jerk yesterday, I mean. It's just…I was really scared about Parker, and I couldn't believe he'd be that irresponsible after everything I'd taught him. I was taking out my anger on you, and it wasn't right. I should never have yelled at you like that."

After a long moment, her eyes soften, and she shakes her head. "It was nothing, Booth. Your anger was understandable."

"I still shouldn't have yelled at you," he insists. "Don't ever let me yell at you like that again, okay? Don't ever let me do something you don't like. Just…just slap me or something."

"I doubt that would have the desired effect," Bones replies, a wry smile spreading slowly across her face. "You'd probably get even angrier."

"Slap me hard," he says, offering her a weak grin in return. "And tell me I'm acting stupid and like a jerk, and I'll stop. I promise."

Their eyes catch for a long moment, and it's one of those looks. The ones that say everything he's not brave enough to voice out loud, things like You're gorgeous and I still love you. He likes to imagine her eyes say things too, but they're always filled with such a myriad of emotions that he has trouble separating them. He wonders if she's doing the same thing when they share these looks, if she's telling him things he hasn't been open enough to see.

"Yeah," she says at last. "I will. Next time."

He smiles in relief because her voice has warmed, and it feels more normal between them again. And suddenly, he feels like it's the perfect time to break the news, so he leans forward a bit nervously in his seat and says, "Bones, I have something to tell you."

She nods. "Is this important too, or can I listen and work at the same time?"

He debates for a moment before answering, "You can work. I'll talk." He doesn't want to look into her eyes as he tells her, afraid of what he'll see there (acceptance? denial? joy?). Instead, he focuses on his hands as she refocuses on her papers. "So last night I—"

A rapping on the door interrupts his train of thought, and they both look up. Instantly, Booth's on his feet before he's even conscious of it, automatically angling his body to shield Bones from view.

"You," he says, his voice tight. "What are you doing here?"

It's the man from the bar, the one who'd bruised Bones up and broken her wrist. The instant he sets eyes on the guy, Booth narrows his eyes, and his hackles raise. What the hell is that guy doing at the Jeffersonian?

The man—Fred Knowles, Booth remembers—raises his hands in a peace gesture and says, "Hey, man, I'm not looking for trouble here."

"Then tell me what you are looking for," Booth growls back. Behind him, Bones tries to shift in her chair to see around him, but he steps in front of her again, uneasy with Knowles getting even a glimpse of her.

"Calm down, man," Knowles says, reaching into his jacket pocket. Booth automatically tenses, his hand reaching for his gun, but the other man just withdraws an envelope.

"Terms of the sentence," Knowles explains. "Written and verbal apology."

"Oh." Moving too quickly for Booth to intercept, Bones rises and steps in front of him, moving toward Knowles. Booth lets out an exasperated huff before going to stand directly behind her, ready to shove her out of the way if need be.

Knowles sighs and rubs a hand through his hair. "So I'm sorry about breaking your wrist and giving you all those bruises. I was drunk and stupid and angry. I shouldn't have overreacted like that. You offered valid points, and I should try to be more considerate to my girlfriend. Well, ex-girlfriend now. Next time, I'll stop and work any conflicts out with words rather than fists."

"Wow," Booth says dryly. "You script that?"

Knowles even manages a sheepish grin. "Yeah. Memorized it before coming here."

He seems genuinely sorry, and when he looks closer, Booth can see the generally good man underneath. Knowles isn't such a bad character, he thinks, studying him. He cleans up pretty well, and he manages to look repentant. He even tries for a real apology rather than some BS another guy might have come up with. Maybe, minus the drink and the fact that he broke Bones' wrist, he could be a decent guy.

Bones seems to come to the same conclusion. "Thank you for the apology," she says graciously, taking the envelope. "I appreciate it, and I…I suppose I owe you an apology as well for getting into your business like that. I shouldn't have been eavesdropping, and I shouldn't have gotten involved in something that didn't regard me. I'm sorry for any injuries I might have given you as well."

He smiles ruefully. "You got a good punch; my jaw was aching for a week afterwards."

Despite himself, Booth can't help but swell a little in pride. "She's good, isn't she?"

Knowles shakes his head and looks at him. "Sorry about being a jerk at the police station. I was still drunk. Not that that's any excuse."

No, it isn't any excuse, Booth thinks, remembering long days with his father. Shaking away the thoughts, he says anyway, "It's okay. I wasn't too friendly either."

After a moment, Knowles holds out his hand to Bones. "Peace then?"

She shakes it with a smile. "Yes. Peace."

"You too, man."

Booth takes his outstretched hand and shakes it for a moment before letting go. "Don't go getting into anymore bar fights," he says.

Knowles grins. "Thanks for the advice. I kind of already figured that one out myself, though."

Booth grins back and nods. After a quick, friendly goodbye, Knowles takes his leave, disappearing around the edge of the forensic platform. Booth and Bones stand in the doorway for a moment, looking after him.

"You know," he says suddenly, "you still haven't told me what you two fought about."

She turns away back toward her office, her eyes averted. "I told you already: he was acting aggressive toward his girlfriend, and I thought he'd hit her."

Brow furrowed, he returns to his seat and frowns. "Maybe. But that's not all of it, was it? There's a bigger picture to this."

"It's a very small picture, Booth." Her tone is exasperated, but she doesn't meet his eyes, which means he's right. But about what exactly?

"Come on, Bones," he sighs. "It can't have been that bad. Just tell me what it was about, and I'll quit bugging you."

"You bug me anyway," she mutters. "It's over, Booth. It was a long time ago."

"Not that long," he argues. "There's still physical evidence. Your cast, I mean."

"Which I get off this week. Booth, just let it go. It wasn't such a big deal anyway."

Yes, it is, he thinks. It's a huge deal that he has to drive out in the middle of the night to keep his partner—his rule-abiding, careful partner—from getting arrested for a bar fight. God, it sounds ridiculous even in his head.

"Bones…"

She looks straight at him for the first time, her eyes narrowed. "Booth…"

"Yeah?"

"At this point, I would slap you, but I think that would be a bit extreme."

Oh. He gets the hint. It's too early in his patched-up relationship with Bones to even think of pushing her. One wrong move, and she'll be glaring daggers at him for the rest of the week. All right. He knows when to back off.

But it's not the end of it. Oh no, he'll drag the truth out of Bones one way or another.

Two days later, they're sitting in Sweets' office on their couch, close but not touching. He misses the days that he could lean into Bones with fear of rejection, but he decides it's too early to risk something like that again. One, because she might still be sort of mad at him for snapping at her about Parker. Two, because he doesn't think he'll be able to stop at leaning if he starts to touch her. His self control is already doubtful as it is.

Booth looks at Sweets skeptically. "Are you sure about this?"

The psychologist stares back. "If I wasn't, would I suggest it?"

"I think Booth is concerned because the last time we played this game, I decided I wanted a baby," Brennan sticks in helpfully.

Booth raises an eyebrow, as if that completely proves his point. "Yeah, that's pretty much the gist of it. Let's not risk that again."

"I think Booth means that although he doesn't mind me having a baby, he doesn't want me to come to the conclusion in the midst of something so flippant as a game," Brennan explains. Booth resists the urge to roll his eyes.

Sweets raises an eyebrow. "Are you the psychologist or am I, Doctor Brennan?"

Bones gives him a skeptical look. "Is that a serious question?"

Shaking his head, Booth chuckles. "He's just put out because it seems like you're doing his job for him, Bones."

"How?" She seems genuinely mystified.

"You're explaining what you think Agent Booth means," Sweets says patiently. "It's my job to be analyzing your words, Doctor Brennan."

Bones opens her mouth, then closes it again. After a moment of consideration, she says, "I see your point. I will refrain from doing your job for you."

"Thank you."

"Although, admittedly, I can perform your job reasonably well, which indicates that it isn't particularly hard."

Despite himself—despite his mood—Booth laughs. Bones has a way of doing that with him. "I think she just insulted your degree, Sweets."

Sweets manages a pained smile. Booth can see that he's learned long ago to roll with the punches and the unintentional verbal slurs Bones throws out. The young doctor's also learned that he'll get nowhere with arguing with her, so he just moves on with the topic. Smart kid.

"So," he says, clearing his throat, "the responsive exercise."

Leaning back on the couch and lacing his fingers behind his head, Booth sighs. "Let's humor the kid, Bones."

"I'm not a kid," Sweets says, not bothering to keep the annoyance from his voice. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't treat me like one."

"Alright, I'm willing to humor him," Brennan agrees, which makes Sweets groan and clearly wish he'd never brought the game up in the first place.

Booth glances at Bones. "I'm not starting with hungry this time."

"I have no intentions of having a baby," she assures him, which doesn't really assure him.

He thinks for a moment. "Umm…okay, tired."

"Sleep."

"Dreams."

"Sex."

He'd known. He'd just known this would get weird. "Whoa!"

"Horse."

"Uh, saddle."

"Leather."

"Costume."

"Costume?" She pauses, her brow furrowing in confusion. "I don't see the correlation."

"You're not supposed to," Sweets interjects.

Booth explains anyway. "I was just thinking of that Wonder Woman thing you have going on at Halloween." Ooh, bad train of thought. His mouth is starting to go dry at the mental image of her in tight leather. God, get a grip, Seeley.

"Oh." Bones thinks for a moment before saying, "Glasses."

He has no idea where that came from, but he'll go with it. "Squints."

"Me."

"Bones."

"Me."

"Temperance."

"Me."

He looks at her, exasperated. "You aren't making this very easy."

"All those words make me think of me," Bones reasons innocently.

"It's fine," Sweets says. "Keep going."

Rolling his eyes, Booth sighs. "Okay…scientist."

"Me." And then, at his frustrated glare, she says instead, "FBI."

Okay, she's given him something to work with. He thinks for a moment before saying, "Partners."

"Booth."

"Agent."

"Booth."

"Father."

"Booth."

"You're doing this on purpose!" Booth complains, shooting her an accusatory glare.

She gives him her innocent look, which he's learned usually means she isn't innocent. "What?"

"Repeating things," he grumbles. "You're making this hard for me on purpose." He pauses, then asks anxiously, "Are you still mad at me?"

She shakes her head quickly. "No. Of course not."

"Mad at you?" Sweets repeats, clearly interested. He leans forward in his seat. "About what? Did something happen?"

Both of them shake their heads vehemently. Despite their problems, despite everything, this is one conversation they are not having with Sweets. Too personal, too private. This is between him and Bones and him and Bones alone. They'll work it out. They already are working it out, from what he's understanding. Here, sitting in Sweets' office with the quiet banter, he feels almost normal again. Almost like the partners they used to be.

And still are, he reminds himself firmly. Like the partners we still are.

"You guys…" Sweets prompts.

"Let's keep going with the game," Booth suggests brightly, pretending he doesn't notice Sweets' sharpened gaze. "Annoying."

"Psychologists," Bones replies promptly.

Eyeing Sweets' indignant expression, Booth stifles the sniggers and says, "Sweets."

"Candy."

"Uh…Parker."

"Family."

"Husband."

"Boyfriend."

"Girlfriend."

"Hannah."

And he stops, pauses for a split second. In that moment, he sees his opening, the one he's been searching for, for almost three days now. Taking a breath, he musters his courage and blurts out before he chickens out, "Breakup."

Immediately, Bones and Sweets shoot him confused looks, and he clarifies in a rush, "Hannah and I broke up three days ago. We're over. She went back to New York to be with her family."

There—it's out. Thank God. Confessing that truth was almost as stressful as confessing to Hannah that he still loves Bones. Almost more stressful, because declaring his breakup has opened doors—doors he isn't sure Bones will take. Doors he's terrified she won't take.

Swallowing, he sneaks a look over to Bones, hoping to assess her reaction. She looks right back at him, her brow furrowed and her blue eyes muddled with confusion. Other than that, he can't read anything from her expression. Damn, is she good at hiding what she feels or what?

"What do you mean?" she asks slowly, after a long, pregnant silence.

He swallows. "What else could I mean? We broke up. It's over, for good."

"I—It's over?" Sweets stammers, leaning forward in his chair. "That quickly? What happened?"

Booth shrugs. "We realized it wasn't right for us. You were right in the end, Sweets. Our relationship started adrenaline-packed and sort of died down after a while." He tries to sound flippant about it, but he can see that Sweets guesses it wasn't so easy. Bones, however, says nothing.

He glances at her, brow furrowing. "Bones?"

She looks back at him. "Yeah?"

"What? No thoughts?" He hadn't expected her to be outright happy about it, or sad, but he'd expected at least some emotion. Not this carefully blank façade he faces, a mask he's sure is hiding something deeper. But what?

"Thoughts?" she repeats, like he's speaking another language. "I'm sorry your relationship with Hannah is over, Booth. It seemed to make you happy since you spent so much time with her. But it was your choice to end it, so I don't see why that affects me."

"Don't see why that—" Booth echoes, staring at her. God, sometimes she's so dense he wonders if a nuclear bomb would be able to punch a hole through her obliviousness. It affects you because I'm still head over heels in love with you, he thinks in exasperation. That's why. But he doesn't say it out loud. He isn't brave enough, and it's too soon. He wants to have time to gauge her feelings too, to see if anything has changed since the last year. To see if maybe she'll take that step with him this time, when he asks.

"I think," Sweets says hastily, clearly sensing Booth's frustration, "that since you two are close friends, Booth feels like this would matter to you a little more. Evoke a more emotional response, I mean." The psychologist directs a knowing look over at him, one that makes Booth a bit uneasy. One that says this friends thing is total bullcrap and you know it. Just how much does Sweets know in the end? And just how much is Sweets willing to reveal?

Whatever it is, it's a little too much for Booth's liking. Sweets on an experiment hasn't boded well before, what with Bones socking him in the face at his own funeral. Struck by the sudden horrible vision of Sweets engineering some love experiment on him and Bones, Booth stands hurriedly and mutters, "I really have a ton of paperwork to do. So I'll see you next week, Sweets?"

"No, we still have twenty—"

"I'm quite busy as well," Bones says, rising too. "Next week, regular time, Sweets."

"You don't have to remind me," Sweets grumbles. He slumps back in his chair, clearly resigned. "That's right, guys, just walk out on me whenever you feel like it."

Bones grins in surprise. "Look, Booth, he gave us permission."

"No, Doctor Brennan, that wasn't what I was trying to—"

"Yeah, you gave us permission, Sweets," Booth calls back, holding the door open for Bones. "See you later."

The door swings shut on a still-protesting Sweets, and Booth walks with Bones to the end of the hallway. On the way out of the building, Booth's hand drifts to settle in its customary spot in the small of Bones' back. He realizes with a jolt that it's actually been a long, long time since he's laid a guiding hand on her back, and by her furtive glance, she knows it too. God, he's missed touching her. Even little, innocent touches like these. He's missed her, seeing Bones without any distractions, touching her without feeling guilty.

"I'll head back to the lab," Bones says, opening her car door.

Booth, parked beside her, opens the passenger door of the SUV and offers, "Hop in. I'll give you a ride."

She eyes him skeptically. "I thought you had a ton of paperwork to do. Which, of course, is realistically impossible, but I assume you know that."

Despite himself, he chuckles, shaking his head. Some things truly never change; Bones' sometimes endearing, sometimes frustrating literality is one of those things. "Yeah, I know that. I just have to run to the Jeffersonian to pick up some files anyway, so I thought I'd drive you."

With a shrug, she shuts her car door again and climbs into the SUV. With a grin, he closes the door and crosses over to slide into the driver's seat.

It's been a while since she rode with him, Booth realizes. So long that her smell has faded from the passenger seat, so long that he's forgotten she likes to look out the window in a way that makes her eyes glow in the sunlight and her hair shine. God, how many things has he forgotten of his gorgeous partner? Things he should never forget, because they're important. Because they're Bones.

"Let's get dinner tonight," he says suddenly. "At the Royal Diner. It's been a while since we went out together."

She looks at him, clearly startled. At that widening of her eyes, that disbelieving look, guilt and dismay streak through him like fire. Has it really been so long that she's this surprised by his offer? Has he really been so bad about keeping up with her? Damn it. He'd promised himself to look after her more closely after that bar incident, and now, again, he can't remember the last time he took her out to eat, just the two of them. How many times can he screw up before something happens he can't fix?

"Please," he says, when she doesn't answer immediately. "Let's be us again, Bones. Let's have dinner."

It comes out more pleading than he intended, but it's true—he is begging. He needs this more than he knows. He needs to know they're okay, that after Hannah's departure, they can go back to how it was before they left for a year. Maybe—just maybe—if they can get back to that time, they can go forward again and try for a different outcome. Maybe if they can find that friendship again, that easy companionship, she'll take the leap with him this time if he asks her. She'll let him be that guy.

Finally, she nods, her expression unreadable. "Okay. I have some things I have to finish at the Jeffersonian, but afterwards, we can go to dinner."

He lets out a sigh he didn't even know he was holding, a sigh of relief and happiness. "Okay. Great. I'll pick you up later?"

She nods, and they ride the rest of the way to the Jeffersonian in silence.

She breathes a long sigh of relief when she makes it to her office without trembling once. Mechanically, she shuts the door, takes off her coat, and sits down behind her desk. Only when she's settled and safe from prying eyes does she finally allow herself to think.

Booth is single. Booth broke up with Hannah. Booth is doing all those things that once made her shiver and somehow still do. It's been so long since he laid a hand on her back like that, or asked her to dinner, and scientifically, she should have become accustomed to that. Any attraction she felt toward him should have faded. But it hasn't. She still has to swallow hard whenever Booth brushes his fingers along her arm, whenever he even looks at her. She still gets irrationally excited when he asks her to dinner, even if it's strictly between friends.

Damn it. What's wrong with her? She's never been irrational before. She's never met something she couldn't break down with logic and careful reasoning. But Booth…damn him…So many years with him has only confused her more. She doesn't think she's any closer to puzzling out the mystery of her partner than the day she met him. Why—why—did he have to come and make her...love him and then leave her? And then he goes and kisses her and leaves her a mess again, and has his girlfriend call her the next morning and let slip that he'd had a late night. And then, while her head's still whirling with anger and confusion, he breaks up with Hannah, and she's supposed to feel…what? What is she supposed to feel? Happy? Relieved? Sad for him? She's so drained, so tired. She just wants to stop the chaos of emotions in her. She just wants to be herself again.

Her office door swings open, and she jumps in her seat, scrambling for a neutral expression. Angela freezes in the doorway, obviously catching Brennan's hasty transition from weary to dispassionate. Brennan curses inwardly as she sees the flicker of worry flash across Angela's face. She can feel a girl talk coming on, and she doesn't know if she can take it.

"Sweetie?" Angela asks worriedly, walking in and shutting the door behind her. "Are you okay?"

Brennan nods. "Yes," she says, much more brightly than she thought she'd be capable of. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Why wouldn't you be?" Angela echoes, sitting down quickly in the chair opposite from her. "Because for a second there, you looked like you were about to cry."

"I was not about to cry." She shuffles some papers from one side of her desk to the other without meeting Angela's eyes, even though she knows it weakens her assertion. Even so, she can't bring herself to meet Angela's gaze. She knows Angela will be looking at her in that way she has, that look full of sympathy and concern, a look that Brennan doesn't think she can take without spilling it all—all her confusion and anger and hurt. So she stares fixedly at the papers on her desk and tries to ignore Angela's gaze boring into the side of her face.

"Sweetie…" Angela warns. "Don't lie to me. You know it isn't good to keep things in."

Brennan forces a smile. "I'm not keeping anything in, Angela. I'm just a little tired, that's all."

Angela looks at her with a hard stare. "Bren. I've been your friend for God knows how long, and I know when something's bothering you. Tell me."

"There's nothing wrong," Brennan tries again, opening a file. "I'm fine."

Angela's eyes narrow and she threatens, "Tell me or I'll get Booth to come down and drag the truth out of you."

Booth. She can't. She just can't face him, not yet. Before she can stop it, panic flashes across her face, and she blurts out, "Don't! Don't call Booth. I can't—"

She cuts off abruptly, eyes widening in horror as she realizes how close she'd been to slipping. Angela's eyes widen too, and she says quickly, "Oh God, sweetie, did you and Booth have a fight?"

Brennan shakes her head hurriedly and says, "It's nothing, Angela. Forget I—"

"Forget?" Angela repeats. Brennan's head snaps up at the anger in the artist's voice. Angela's eyes are snapping, and her mouth pressed in a thin line. "Bren, I'm not going to forget anything. You're my best friend, and I love you like a sister. Every time you tell me you're fine, I know you aren't. I know you just say that so people will stop trying to pry deeper, even though you need people to pry deeper. You need someone to help. You can't handle everything yourself, Bren. You can let other people help you."

"No," she answers bitingly, before she can stop herself, "you can't depend on other people, Angela. They always leave you in the end."

For a moment, they both freeze in a shocked silence. Brennan stares hard at the paper in front of her without reading it, her breath caught in her throat. She couldn't have said that aloud…she couldn't have…

"Bren," Angela says, very quietly, her voice suddenly gentle, "I'd never leave you. I never have. I thought you could trust me."

"I do. I do trust you. And you haven't left me."

It takes Angela a moment to realize the implications, and when she does, she sucks in a quiet breath. "Bren, who do you think left you?"

She's already said too much. She can't bare any more of herself, not even to her best friend. Not when she feels so fragile and emotional.

"Angela, please," she says, staring determinedly at her desk. "I can't…Please."

It's hardly an eloquent plea, or even a coherent one, but Angela knows, as she usually does. She stands silently and reaches over to touch Brennan's hand.

"Bren, you're not alone," she says firmly. "I don't know what's going on with you, but whatever it is, you don't have to go it alone. You have friends."

Brennan swallows but doesn't look up. "I know. I just…I know."

She hears Angela move toward the door and a moment later, it closes behind her with a quiet click. She takes deep breaths for a long minute, knowing that she only has a few hours before Booth comes to pick her up for dinner. Only a few hours to get herself together, to push everything she feels behind a façade of friendliness so he'll never know how much he affects her.

Booth has broken up with Hannah. Booth has started to reach out to her again. But somehow, inexplicably, she feels worse than ever.

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