Sorry! I know! I suck! But it's hard to find inspiration and not hate everything I write! But here I am, one chapter at a time.

Promise not to hate me?

Thaaaank youuuu.

Also, I know that it doesn't take 5 hours to get to Tybee Island from Washington, hell, it takes me 5 hours to get to Tybee and I live in Georgia.

But really, what fun is a week long, nonstop, drive full of silence?

…Exactly.

Anyways, enjoy!

And if you ever get the chance to visit Tybee, please, do! It's beautiful!

The next day I woke up with some serious pain in my neck, the sun beautifully bright against the ocean and my tired eyes. I could feel salt on my lips and my cheeks were sore from the winds harsh blows. I got up to stretch when I heard the door slide open behind me, turning my head I'm met with a beautiful sight. Booth is standing there, shirtless, holding the curtain open for me to pass through, with an amused smirk on his face.

"Sorry," I mumble as I make my way inside.

"Don't be," he slides the door shut again, but opens the blinds, letting the sun in. "The first week I moved in, I slept out there every night."

I sat down at the dining table, watching Booth make his way around the kitchen. Watching the way the muscles in his back tensed and moved as he made coffee.

I still didn't understand why he would drop his life to help me. I still don't understand how he thought he was going to help me. He was so…willing to do all of this for me. It was…confusing, at best.

"Hey, Booth?" I called, playing with the tattered strings of the comforter around my shoulders.

"Yeah?" He mumbled, turning around with two cups of steaming coffee in his hands. He set them down gracefully, and sat across from me, pulling my chair closer to his.

Prying my eyes away from the expanse of golden tan skin, I stumble through the words, "I don't…I don't get it. Why…what do you…hope to achieve with us being here? With me being here?" I slid the mug of coffee closer to me and took a sip. I let out a dry chuckle, "Even the coffee is perfect," I mumbled under my breath.

Booth tilted his head a little, and let out a chuckle of his own. He pulled my chair even closer, our legs intertwining now, his hand holding mine. He let out a sigh before smiling again, a little shy, before starting, "The first day you started working at the Jeffersonian, I knew that there was no way I would let you out of my life. You were so shy and tiny and perfect, I promised myself that I would do anything to protect you. The first day we spoke, I became a little possessive. You were so quirky and adorable and you weren't afraid to be yourself, but I could always tell there was something sad behind your eyes. You just wanted to fit in and find a place. We became friends, and I began watching you. "

He looked at me then, a warning glare laced with humor when he heard me laugh, but I said it anyways, "Stalker."

He chuckled, "Shut up, I was worried about you." He looked outside at the rising sun, "With reason, huh?" He looked over at me, his eyes holding anger and resentment, but still so open and welcoming.

"Why would you do that? Why would someone so smart and beautiful do that to themselves?" His eyes never left mine, he was looking for an answer.

I shook my head, whispering, "There's no textbook definition for what I feel, Booth. I can't tell you…because… I don't even know. It helps…that's all I can really say."

There was silence for a while, me in my thoughts and him in his. I realized it would always be this easy to talk to him, because he made it easy. He made is so there were no boundaries and there were no problems crossing the existing ones. It was a friends feeling, and that thought pulled at my stomach. To think that I would be here with no one but him, and to be so easily put into an environment to fall in love with him, and then never be able to have him, was not a pleasant thought. It's not like I think I can't get him, because I'm pretty sure he wants to be with me. With the kisses and the compliments, it would be easy to fall with him. But I could never let myself be the kind of person to just let go and fall in love. I'm not that kind of person. I can't be normal, not for myself, and not for anybody else. I was smarter than that; I studied for years about situational love. I wouldn't let myself be fooled by this beautiful place and man. It hurt, but I knew that falling in love would never happen. And even if it did, it wouldn't change a damn thing.

You could hear the waves through the open kitchen window, the smell of salt still heavy in the air. I could still taste it on my lips, it was a weird taste, but I liked it, for some reason. He looked over at me again, nodding his head. I knew this conversation was far from over, but he stood up and told me to get dressed, he had something to show me.

I made my way over to "my" room to take a shower and wash the cold sore feeling off my cheeks.

I got out of the shower and saw myself in the mirror for the first time in a long time.

I got it then why Booth freaked out. There wasn't a spot on my chest that wasn't covered with an angry red line or a porcelain white scar. My arms were worse; their markings were more angry and obvious.

I quickly walked out of the bathroom to get dressed, I didn't want to think about my scars, or how Booth knew about them. It just made me feel vulnerable and way too open. Those feelings weren't welcome anymore.

There was a large room, dethatched from the house, but still within a few steps of the back deck. He said it was a quiet space, a foyer, almost. It looked like a tiny guest house, but it was just a large expanse of space. He said it could be mine if I wanted, so I felt that I had some privacy.

There were huge windows, that reached the ceilings and touched the floors, on the opposing walls in the room, it was a replica of the house behind us. With flowy white curtains taped back and boxes pushed to the middle of the room, he pulled me into the room.

"Here," He hands me a brush and points to the paint canisters stacked against a freshly painted white wall.

I gave him a look, "Here…what?" Glancing at the brush in my hand then at the white wall.

"Paint." He says, nodding his head affirmatively.

I shook my head, "I don't understand…"

He walked away and called over his shoulder,"Nothing to understand. Just paint."

I stared at him in confusion still, "Paint…" The word sounding foreign on my tongue. I haven't painted since…freshman year in high school.

He chuckled and turned to look at me, "Paint." He nodded again,"Whatever you want."

He himself grabbed a brush and started painting a wall himself. I watched him for a while, painting the wall white first, then picking up a new brush and dipped it in blue paint.

"Stop watching me and paint." His soft voice cut through the silence and broke me out of my daze.

And I did.

I picked up the brush and dipped it in a light blue color and started to paint. I stood there, focusing on this calming color and just…painted. That's it.

No worries.

No pain.

Just soft brush strokes and the sound of waves braking the shore.

I got it.

I got why he made me paint.

It was relaxing and easy and lets you lose yourself.

He was going to change me while we were here, I understood that then.

I wasn't sure I liked it.

I didn't like it.

At all.

The sun set hours ago and I was still painting, going over every nook and cranny in the walls.

Going over coat after coat, trying to get it perfect, then I added small intricate (time consuming) designs against the corners.

I didn't want to talk, I didn't want to get better, and I didn't want to pretend to be some happy couple with Booth.

He can't just take me from home, work, my life, to fulfill some kind of broken daddy complex, when 3 days ago he could barely stand to be in my office.

How could he expect this to work?

He just wants control, like he always does. And if I wasn't so pissed I would recommend some serious therapy sessions for him…see how he likes that.

He's trying to help, I said to myself.

I groaned out loud, knowing I would stay, because even though it's romantic appeal was fading. I knew he was right. Maybe I did need some R&R, and a little reprogramming.

What could it hurt?

Granted, the changing me bit didn't settle well with me, I wasn't sure that was his complete intention…right?

God…am I bipolar, too?

I could see the sun setting through the windows, the smell of sea salt never seeming to get old.

I turned, to find some kind of light switch, the darkness was approaching, and just as my eyes found a switch, Booth walked back in to the room with dinner on a tray.

Perfect, as always.

He smiled at me and flipped on the light switch. He walked over and set the tray on a stack of boxes, "Hey, I brought some dinner." He said warmly, sitting down on the wooded floor.

"Yeah," I mumble, wiping my hands on a rag as I sat down across from him, "I see that."

We ate in silence, some amazingly perfect concoction, the whole time his eyes were on me.

"Did you notice when I left?" He asked, picking up my hand, and kissing my fingers.

"No," I said as I snatched my hand back from his, perfect, mouth. "And can you stop doing that?" I mumbled, finding the floor quite fascinating.

He laughed and moved closer, "Doing what?" He reached for my hand again, but I kept it by my side.

"Kissing me!" I huffed, and scooted back, only to be followed. I huffed again and scooted until my back hit the wall. But Booth started crawling towards me in a way that should have been illegal, and probably was in Utah.

"No!" I asserted, holding my hands up and made a shoving movement." Stay."

Booth looked at me with a mischievous look in his eyes that said he was planning on doing a lot of things and none of them include staying that far from me.

"Stayyy…" I said, as if speaking to a small child or a puppy. Booth gave a scoff of laughter and sat back down, quite a few feet away from me.

"You don't like it when I kiss you?" He whispered softly, but it sounded so loud to my ears. He didn't sound upset, just curious.

"No, it's not that…" I said, sighing.

"Then what?" He asked, scooting back and leaning against the wall across from me.

I relaxed, having him farther away from me, and brought one leg up to rest my head upon.

I played with tattered strings at the end of my sweatpants and started, "I get it, why I'm here. But just because it takes this romantic feel doesn't mean you have to live up to that romantic expectation. I know it's easy to succumb to that role and feeling. But I don't want you to feel like you have to be that kind of hero for me. It's fine being a friend to me right now, you don't have to go and buy the whole cow…" he chuckled at that, "Besides, I would feel much more comfortable if while, going through this experience with me, you would just be my friend. " I looked up at him and quickly looked away, his eyes were dark and intense. But I continued, "I don't know how to do the whole boyfriend thing. Or lover thing…or anything…really."

"I have intimacy issues…not to mention I don't like being touched very much…and I've only ever kissed a few people…and those weren't any hot occurrences to brag over, anyways…" I say, more to myself than to Booth. I could feel the tension coming from his side of the room. Looking back up at him, I noticed his narrowed eyes, and that he had moved closer.

I looked back down.

"Don't be mad, or offended. I appreciate what you're doing for me, and I see now that it could actually help me and get me to control things."

I heard a shuffling and lifted my head to see him standing by the door, looking at me.

"You're very attractive Seeley, you're the perfect male specimen and you're so amazing. I would be lucky to have you, but right now...I can't…I don't know if I ever can...actually. I think I lost that ability and feeling a long time ago. "

I looked up at him one last time, and this time he had a smile on his face. He walked over and grabbed the tray in front of me, and walked away. He called over his shoulder as he left, in a sweet, not at all pissed voice, "Go to bed kiddo, and be up by 9 tomorrow." The door giving a small thump as it closed behind him.

I sat there for a few more minutes, thinking about all the things I said to him and how true they were.

"This could work," I said to myself, smiling a genuine smile for the first time in a long time.

A weight had been lifted and I felt something that felt a little bit like hope take its place.

Because, yeah, this could actually work.

I'm going to go slow on this one, gonna' let it marinate a bit.

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