Wow. Wow. You guys absolutely blew me away with the response to the last chapter. Thank you so much for your continued support; it goes a long way in giving me the motivation to write more quickly.

Oh, and is everyone as excited for tomorrow's episode as I am? GAH! I cannot wait for tomorrow to come.

Disclaimer: Bones is not mine.

The Break in Bones

"Let's talk," Booth repeats when she doesn't say anything.

She glares at her coffee table and demands, "About what?" The near-whine in her voice makes her wince.

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and sighs. "Everything, Bones. I think it's time we talked about everything."

Everything. She swallows. "And what does everything mean?" she asks carefully.

He shakes his head. "None of that oblivious crap tonight, Bones. You aren't getting away with pretending you don't know what I mean. Everything means everything. Let's start with the bar and what happened that night."

She shifts slightly in her seat and forces a pleading tone. "Booth, it's hot in here. Can I take off my jacket?"

Apparently, her attempt at escape is far too obvious. Booth snorts and rolls his eyes. "It's not that hot, Bones. And no, I'm not taking off the handcuffs so you can take off your jacket."

"It's at least seventy-five degrees in here," she tries, reaching for that logical voice that he can rarely argue against. "Excessive heat can lead to severe dehydration and heat stroke. Given time, the body loses its ability to cool itself, and body organs will begin to fail. Unconsciousness and coma—"

"All right, all right," he harrumphs. "Stop trying to scare me, will you?"

Before she can even smile in triumph, he yanks her up out of the seat, marches over to the thermostat on the wall, and lowers the temperature by ten degrees.

"You're wasting electricity," she protests.

"You can't have everything," he retorts. "You want to waste energy or risk unconsciousness and coma?"

Damn it. She hates it when he turns her own words back on her. So, with a glare at him, she stomps back to the couch and sits angrily.

"Technically, energy can never be wasted," she tells him through clenched teeth. "The Law of Conservation of Energy states that energy can be neither created nor destroyed. With that premise—"

"Stop it," he says firmly. Still standing, he glares right back at her. "Stop trying to stall, Bones. This is like ripping off a band-aid, okay, Bones? The faster we do it, the less painful it'll be."

As much as she hates to admit it, he's right. She does want to get this over with as quickly as possible, to get Booth out of her apartment as quickly as possible. So she carefully pushes back what she can of her emotions and steadies herself in preparation for his questions.

"What do you want to know?" she asks evenly, staring straight ahead at the ancient artifact from Tibet on her mantelpiece.

But he doesn't start with a question. Instead, he says, as sincere as she's ever heard him, "I'm getting the most important things out of the way first, okay? I'm sorry, Bones. I'm so, so sorry."

She says stiffly, "You've already apologized—"

"Not for the kiss," he interrupts, "though I'm plenty sorry about that too. No, I'm sorry for leaving you. I'm sorry for leaving you, Bones."

She pauses in confusion, not quite catching his meaning. "You haven't left me, Booth. You're right here. In fact, we're quite literally closer than we've ever been." With a dry look, she holds up their shackled arms as evidence.

He doesn't even crack a smile, only shakes his head and says, "I'm serious, Bones. I've left you, and you know it. When I was…when I was with Hannah, I didn't pay nearly enough attention to you as I should have. There's a difference between being friends and cutting off all contact. I did the second one without even thinking, and I'm so sorry for it. I promised you again and again that I wasn't that guy, that I wouldn't leave you, and I did. I don't know how you'll ever forgive me."

His words, so obviously heartfelt and serious, easily break through the flimsy walls she's put up, and she already feels the turmoil of emotions again. Damn it. So soon into their conversation, and she's already confused. Finally, part of her thinks. Finally, finally, he realizes what he's done. Finally, he sees. But…but it doesn't change anything, because he's right. How can she ever forgive him? How can she ever trust him again? How can she trust anyone again? She'd trusted Booth more than she'd ever trusted anyone after her parents and Russ, and he'd let her down. Unintentionally and maybe he regrets it now, but he let her down all the same. And she doesn't know if she'll ever recover from that.

Swallowing, she says calmly, "It's all right, Booth."

He looks at her, clearly shocked. "It's all right? I say sorry and it's all right?"

She shrugs as nonchalantly as she can manage. "What else did you expect from me, Booth? You ask for forgiveness, and I'll give it to you. Anyway, it isn't such a big deal."

"Isn't a big deal?" he echoes incredulously. He pulls her around suddenly and stares her straight in the eye with that dark, intuitive gaze of his. "You got into a huge brawl in public about it, Bones. You broke your wrist, and you nearly scared me to death, and it's not a big deal?"

Maybe. Maybe it's a bigger deal than she's willing to admit even to herself. But for now, she just wants Booth out of her apartment, out of her mind, so she says with a small smile, "Of course it isn't. I told you, the fight was a simple matter of Fred Knowles being aggressive toward his girlfriend. You would have done the same. Anyone would have—"

"Stop it!" Before she realizes what's happened, he's yanked her close to him, his hands tight around her arms. "Stop it, Bones! I am tired—so goddamn tired—of you pretending nothing's wrong when I know something's wrong. And I'm so tired of letting you run. No more, Bones. I'm done running, and so are you. So I swear to God, you are going to tell me the truth, all of it, or we are going to sit here like this until you do. I don't care if it takes a hundred years for you to tell me a word. We're going to sit here for all of it."

She's shocked into silence, so shocked that for a moment, all she can do is stare back into his eyes, scrambling for her thoughts. She'd never thought—she'd never even suspected—Booth would push her like this. He's confronted her, he's cornered her, he's demanded answers from her, but he has always, always backed off before. He has never snapped at her like this, like he means it.

She swallows hard and somehow manages to find her voice. "The truth."

"The truth," he repeats in a no-nonsense voice.

The truth. Where does she start? How much can she hold back without him noticing?

His eyes soften in the face of her obvious uncertainty, and he says more gently, "The bar. It was a big deal, wasn't it? Before, when I was with Hannah, I didn't spend as much time with you. You felt like I was leaving you, didn't you? And when you saw the same thing had happened to April—the girl—you identified with her. And…" He winces and manages a small, pained smile. "And you took out the anger you had for me on poor Freddie there."

"Poor Freddie?" she murmurs, hoping to turn him off that train of thought. "He broke my wrist."

"Yeah, and for that, I ought to break his nose. But that's not the point." He releases her arms and shifts back away from her, his posture slightly less threatening. He still holds her eyes though, and she wonders if he can read the truth there like he seems to be able to read other people.

The truth. Is she ready for it? To admit it aloud, to admit it to herself?

Does she have a choice?

"I…might have felt illogically left behind," she concedes. "But those feelings were an overreaction to the situation. I had become accustomed to your constant company and reacted badly to a change."

"You don't have to justify yourself to me, Bones," he says. "The point is, I made you feel that way. I broke my promise, and I'm not going to take it lightly. So I'm sorry, Bones. You just need to know that."

"Okay," she says slowly. Okay. His words, as sincere as they are, haven't done much to calm the emotions roiling in her gut. The slow, quiet anger. She has yet to decide exactly what he's done that she's angry about, but the feelings are there. The feelings are real.

"Okay," he repeats. "And I promise I'll be there for you next time. Any time."

She glances at him and can't help but say a bit coolly, "You do realize that your credibility has been compromised."

He winces. "Yeah, I know that my promises probably don't mean much to you right now. But I swear to you, if I'd….if I'd had any idea of how you'd felt, I would've fixed it right away. I would've made it right."

Right. If she'd said something, anything, he would've made it right between them? Would he have dropped Hannah if she'd asked him to? Would he have done that for her, to soothe this ache in her heart?

Hiding her skepticism, she forces a smile. "It's the thought that counts, Booth. Isn't that what they say?"

He scrutinizes her for a moment, and she holds her smile in place. He doesn't look convinced, but he says, and edge of relief and hope to his voice, "So you know that now, right? That I won't leave you? Ever, Bones. Ever."

She hears his unspoken question. So we're okay? We'll be all right?

Maybe. If she can ever manage to compartmentalize her feelings again, they'll be okay.

Aloud, she says lightly, "I understand. So if that's all…"

She makes to stand, but Booth pulls her back down next to him with a humorless chuckle. "Oh no, you're not getting off that easy, Bones. You know there's a whole lot more to talk about than just that."

"More?" She tries to sound surprised but falls a little short.

"More," he repeats. "I get that you were mad at me. You're still mad at me, and you have every reason to be. I know there's probably nothing I can ever do to make it right. To make you forget what I did."

"You could always give me a concussion," she suggests, trying to take the gravity out of his words, to keep away from the more serious feelings. "If the trauma is serious enough, I would likely have sufficient brain damage to cause amnesia." Or death. Either way, she'll forget. The thought isn't all that undesirable.

He grimaces, raising an eyebrow at her. "Oh yes, Bones, because the likelihood of me picking up a rock and braining you right now is so great." He shakes his head and sighs. "I'm serious. I know…I know it isn't going to be like it was a couple of years ago. We can't go back to that. I've been completely oblivious to everything, to you, and I've just been making it worse these past weeks. With the…" He hesitates for a second, glancing at her. "With the kiss."

He's watching her with a searching look, like he's trying to assess her reaction. Even knowing this, she can't quite control the brief flicker of fear that flashes across her face. No, he doesn't want to talk about that, does he? Because deep down, at the heart of it, what she felt when he kissed her…that's her biggest secret of all. One that she hopes he never pries deep enough to discover.

He's too perceptive, too adept at reading her. At her slightest change in expression, he shifts back in his seat, his expression confused and worried.

"You're scared of me," he says, a statement, not a question. "You're scared of me." He sounds half-incredulous, half-afraid himself.

She's…scared of him?

The thought is so foreign, because she has always thought of Booth as safety and security. He has always been the one to support her when she needs it, to give her quiet help even when she doesn't ask for it. She has never, ever considered being frightened of him.

But, when she thinks about it, he's right. She's afraid of him. So, so afraid. She's afraid because he's hurt her before, hurt her like she's never been hurt before. She's afraid of him because he has the power to draw her in, to make her feel safe, and that makes her vulnerable. That makes it hurt just that much more when he turns his back on her. And he will turn his back on her. Everyone does. Everyone leaves eventually. Booth…Booth taught her that.

She doesn't say anything because she can't. She doesn't want to lie to him, not anymore, but how can she ever open herself up to him? How can she ever open herself up to anyone?

Somehow, he knows anyway. "You're scared of me," he repeats, a lingering edge of surprise to his voice. "Why?"

Why? Because she doesn't want to be hurt anymore, that's why.

"I'm not scared of you," she mutters, looking away. There's a look in his eyes that tells her that he's not letting this go, so she stands abruptly, intending to escape to the kitchen. But the handcuffs jerk her back sharply.

"Where are you going?" Booth asks, an eyebrow raised.

"To get a drink," she answers shortly. "Am I allowed to do that?"

"I'll come with you," he says unnecessarily, standing too. They walk to the kitchen, Brennan shooting a pointed glare at the handcuffs between them. She reaches for a cup in the cabinets, and Booth doesn't bother hiding his smile when his cuffed arm holds her back.

"A little help here?" she grumbles.

"Anything for you, Bones," he answers sweetly, raising his hand so she can raise hers. She rolls her eyes and takes a cup down, shutting the cabinet.

"What, no drink for me?" he asks teasingly.

"If you want a drink, you can get it yourself," she retorts.

He frowns in mock-disapproval. "You're not a very good host, are you?"

"Well, you aren't a very good guest either," she returns, pulling him around to reach the refrigerator. She opens the door with her free hand and glances inside.

"One carton of orange juice," Booth observes, clearly unimpressed. "I'm not even going to ask what you eat."

"Sustenance," she answers vaguely. Grabbing the orange juice container, she manages to pour herself a glassful and returns the carton back to the refrigerator. Booth licks his lips half-longingly as she takes a long swallow, which sends a mean streak of satisfaction through her. Serves him right for barging into her apartment in the first place. Serves him right for handcuffing her and forcing her to talk. Serves him right for so many things.

She sets the half-full glass down on the counter and licks her lips. After a moment, she reaches for the glass again, but to her shock, Booth snatches it from her hand and lifts it to his lips.

"What are you doing?" she demands, too surprised to be angry.

"Drinking," he answers, cocking an eyebrow at her. "I haven't had a drink in hours, Bones. You don't want me passing out from dehydration, do you?"

"You wouldn't pass out—" she starts to protest, but he's already taken a huge swallow from the cup. She watches in silent surprise, then indignation as he drains the rest of the orange juice in three long swallows.

He sets the glass back down on the counter and smacks his lips loudly. "Thanks, Bones."

She scowls at him. "You force your way into my apartment, abuse your authority as a federal agent, and steal my drinks? I could have you arrested."

"But you wouldn't," he returns, an infuriating smirk upturning his lips. "For one thing, you'd never call the cops on me. For another…" His voice turns serious again. "For another, we haven't finished talking yet."

Damn. She'd been hoping to distract him.

With an irritable sigh, she turns and leans against the kitchen island. After a moment, Booth does the same, both of them looking toward the living room.

"So," he says into the silence.

"So," she echoes.

"You're mad at me."

She stares ahead evenly, resisting the urge to give him a deadpan look. "I think that's a given."

He winces. "And you're afraid of me."

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"Yes." He turns slightly to look at her, and she steadfastly refuses to meet his eyes. "You won't look at me, Bones. And when I even bring up the topic of what happened on Monday, you get this scared look in your eyes." When she opens her mouth to protest, he says firmly, "Don't tell me I don't know what I'm talking about. I read people practically as a living, Bones."

He stares at her expectantly, and she swallows hard. She can't lie, not now. Not with Booth giving her such a piercing look that she knows no amount of bluffing and pretending will make it past him.

"I'm not afraid of you," she answers truthfully.

His brow furrows. "Then…then what is it? What's scaring you, Bones?" At her silence, he takes her arm gently but firmly and turns her toward him. His gaze bores straight into her, and she can't break away.

"Tell me," he says softly, searching her eyes. "What scares you, Bones?"

The heat in his gaze loosens her tongue, and before she's even conscious of it, she's saying, "It's not you. It's what you can do. What you can do scares me."

"What I can do?" he repeats, clearly confused. "What can I do?"

What can he do? Anything. He's always been able to do anything to her.

"Hurt me," she whispers simply, tearing her eyes away from his.

At that, he releases her arms as if she's burned him, stepping back until the handcuffs hold him back.

"Hurt you?" he echoes, sounding shell-shocked. "You think…you think I'd hurt you?"

"I think you already have," she answers quietly, staring at the ground.

"By leaving?" he asks, his confusion and anxiety apparent. "By breaking my promise to you?"

She closes her eyes. "Yes." But there's so much more to it. So much more.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm sorry."

He says it like little words can fix everything, but this time, the thought doesn't count. Too many actions have washed away any intentions he might have had once.

"I'm sorry for kissing you too," he adds. "That was stupid of me. I'm sorry."

The kiss, the kiss. She manages a short, bitter laugh. "You don't get it, do you? The kiss was fine." More than fine. Amazing. Heady. Incredibly breathtaking.

He inhales slowly, deeply. "Then I was right. It was what I said, wasn't it? I'm sorry about that too. It was too soon."

Soon? It was too soon? Suddenly, she's irritated again. "Soon? It will always be too soon, Booth."

He glances over, clearly surprised at the sharp edge to her voice. "What do you mean by that?"

"Love as you define it is nothing more than a fantasy," she says bitingly. "Love is a combination of chemical reactions and physical lust as a result of an instinctual drive to procreate. It has nothing to do with feelings or emotions and everything to do with science."

"Everything to do with science?" he repeats incredulously. "Love is all about the heart!"

"What is love?" she shoots back, raising her eyes to challenge him. "Can you tell me what love is?"

His eyes narrow as he considers her question. "Love is when you can't stop thinking about someone. Love is when you care about someone so much more than you care about yourself. Love is when you'd do anything for someone without thinking twice."

"Love is irrational," she says, her voice hard.

"Irrational, yeah," he replies, the beginnings of anger tingeing his words too. "So what?"

"As a scientist, I don't believe in irrationalities. Everything is explainable, and anything without proof is mere conjecture."

"Proof?" His eyebrows shoot up. "Every day, Bones. There's proof every day, in our cases, with your dad, with Angela and Hodgins. There's almost too much proof!"

"I know what I observe," she answers coldly. "Consider the facts, Booth: you told me you loved me and that from the moment you met me, you knew it was me. You said love like that lasted thirty, forty, fifty years. Well? It's been a little over a year, Booth. Things have changed, haven't they? How about when you met Hannah? Did you know then too?"

Anger bursts to life in his eyes, and he snaps back, "I don't know if you remember, Bones, but you were the one who told me to move on. You told me you couldn't change."

And suddenly, she's furious. Furious at him, furious at his assumptions, furious at herself for even engaging in this conversation in the first place. But she can't stop anymore because he's broken every last wall that kept her silent.

"I told you to move on?" she repeats angrily. "I told you? You told me you'd move on!"

"After you told me you couldn't change!" he retorts sharply. "You said you couldn't change, and you rejected me right there, without a second thought. Five years, Bones. Five goddamn years to find the courage to tell you what I'd known all along. And you took all of five seconds to toss it right back in my face like it hadn't taken all of my courage to tell you in the first place. And I'd been so damn sure you'd give us a try."

"Just like I'd been so sure you'd come after me?" she demands, glaring at him.

"You thought I'd come after you? After what you'd said? You don't believe in love!"

"Maybe I want to!" she shouts, furious and hurt and trying to rein it all in. "Maybe I want to believe in the same thing you do, Booth!"

"But you don't!" His voice is loud and harsh, but underneath, she can hear his hurt. His own wounded heart. "You don't! And you made it clear you never would!"

"Just like you made it clear that love doesn't exist, no matter how much I'd like to believe in it," she retorts bitterly. "Your love lasted all of the time it took you to recover. The next week, if I remember correctly, with that marine biologist. And you loved Hannah a couple of weeks ago too, and then on Monday, you loved me. So tell me, Booth—tell me how I'm supposed to believe you ever loved me at all."

"What do you want from me, Bones?" he snaps back, the look in his eyes dark and angry. "What the hell do you want from me? You want me to tell you that I love you? What good is that? You don't believe it! You want me to give you proof? Well, Bones, I've been throwing my proof in your face for seven years now, and you don't believe that either. No matter what I say, no matter what I do, it won't be enough, will it? So what the hell do you want from me?"

"I want to be enough!" she shouts, pulling away from him so sharply the handcuffs cut into her wrist. "For once in my life, I want to be enough!"

He stares at her, anger still darkening his eyes. "Enough?"

"Enough for someone," she cries, all her fury and hurt swamping her at once and threatening to break her to pieces, if she isn't broken already. "Enough for anyone! I want to be enough for someone to love me! Me as I am, socially awkward, oblivious, career-engrossed. I want to be enough so that for once in my life, someone will stay!"

He looks as stricken as if she'd slapped him. Guilt shoots through her ever-so-briefly at that shocked look in his eyes. The words are out, though, and she can't stop anymore.

"I wanted to be enough for you," she continues, trying to hold onto that anger, but everything is slipping. She can feel a dreaded burning at the back of her throat as she pushes out all her hurt. "I wanted to be enough. You were so kind and caring, and you didn't want anything in return. I thought…I thought I would be enough then. I leaned on you for five years, and you never said a word. You held me up and helped me when I needed it, but you never asked for anything. And then you told me that night how you felt about me, and I got scared. I got scared, Booth. I told you I couldn't change, and afterwards, I thought you wouldn't care what I'd said. I thought you'd fight for me."

"I can't fight you, Bones," Booth says, his voice quiet. "I could never fight you. You said you couldn't change, and I accepted that."

"Why should I have to change?" she cries. "Am I not enough? Will I never be enough?" Will they always, always leave me?

And then, to her absolute horror, she's crying. Tears are running uncontrollably down her face, and she can't stop them, no matter how hard she swallows or squeezes her eyes shut. Horrified, embarrassed, ashamed, she wheels around on her heel so Booth won't see, jerking away as far as her handcuffed hand will let her. But he hears her, of course, and he stiffens in shock. She doesn't dare look at him, just glares at the wall through her tears, angry at herself for losing control like this. In front of Booth, no less.

"Bones," he says, his voice breaking. He takes her handcuffed wrist gently and pulls her toward him. Before she can protest, he wraps his warm arms around her, his breath mussing her hair. For a long moment, she stands awkwardly in his embrace, biting her lip to try to stop the tears, contemplating whether to shove him away or pull him closer.

"You're enough, Bones," he whispers fiercely. "God, you've always been enough."

You've always been enough.

His words make her choke, and the sobs start afresh, harder and worse now. She loves him, she hates him, but she needs him. Above all, she needs him because he has the ability to hold her and make it all go away. So she clings to him and cries into his shoulder like she hasn't cried since her parents left, since Russ left, since she discovered her mother. She cries for everything that has happened, for Hannah, for herself, for lost opportunities. She cries, and Booth holds her like she's the most precious thing in the world. He's so warm and open, and the circles he rubs between her shoulder blades calm her down slightly, make the terrible burning in her throat ease. He doesn't say anything because there's nothing to say.

There will never be any words enough for this.