He Shouldn't Have Done That

By: Lesera128

Rated: M

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Brennan ends her partnership with Booth after she considers his confession to Hannah about her the ultimate betrayal. AU.

Chapter 4 – Four Months After

Between the last week in January, and the third week in March, I spent one night a week getting drunk. One might observe this as a bit of a setback in my attempts to heal emotionally and move on from the toll that destructive fallout that severing our partnership had had on me. However, it could also be taken from another perspective… the perspective of an experiment.

It started out because of that one night… that one night when I left the Jeffersonian. It all began as I contemplated my options and tried to think about where to go. I left my car at the lab, as I did not intend to be in any position to drive, if everything went as planned. I eventually took a cab to the Founding Fathers more out of habit than anything. But, once I got out, I realized that I didn't really want to go there tonight. I needed something untainted, with no memories, no touch of him or of the partnership. This wasn't about him tonight. This was about me, just me.

And so, instead, I settled on a smaller pub about three or four door down the street. It was an English Pub that was a 'hole in the wall' that Sully had found and frequented because it was one of the few bars in DC that apparently always televised the particular soccer matches that he loved to watch. And, it was also a place that the bartender knew me from the few times I had been there with Sully. It also happened to be a place mostly frequented by regulars, regulars who liked the fact that it was a dark, quiet, place where people came to watch the games, shoot their darts, drink their drinks, and talk among themselves, but not much else. So, in going there I knew there was a fairly good chance that on this night I would be left in peace.

I arrived at approximately 7pm. I gave the bartender, Charlie, a credit card to swipe to run a tab. And, then, I ordered a double pint of Guinness. About two hours later, I had moved on from my pints of Guinness to Black and Blues, half-Guinness, half-blueberry ale. By about 9pm, I had moved on from Black and Blues to Irish Carbombs. I wasn't in a drunken stupor yet… not at that point, but I was definitely drunk, legally and otherwise. And, I was feeling quite euphoric… that free feeling that you get when all your inhibitions have wonderfully disappeared for once in my life.

Now, this is not usually an easy state for me to achieve without the aid of mind altering drugs. I have an incredibly high tolerance for alcohol. And, that's why usually on the rare occasions I wanted to fuck myself up, shots are usually my preferred choice. Shots mean that I can get drunk enough to feel the happy obliviousness without wasting a lot of time getting there… and not overshoot that delicate point between being happily buzzed… and getting ready to be sick… or worse… pass out that sometimes comes with beer or wine or other drinks. But, for some reason, on that night I was in the mood for Guinness. And, once the Irish stout had set the mood for the evening, who was I to argue with the theme of the night?

So, as I said, by about 9pm, and a couple rounds into the Irish Carbombs… I was pleasantly drunk when my cell phone rang. When I looked down at it from where it sat in front of me on the bar, I saw a number. And, even though I had deleted that number from my cell phone the same day I deleted his, I remembered it. And, I was gleeful when I saw it. I really was. I didn't really stop to consider why that number was ringing my phone because I was so happy that the number was calling me on this night of all nights. So, whatever the reason behind it, now, after all these months… I didn't really care. What I did care about was the fact that Hannah Burley was ringing my cell phone, and I was only too pleased to finally be in the appropriate frame of mind to share some thoughts with her that I had been holding on to for quite a long time. A flame of anger swirled in my stomach, ready to leap out. I was giddy. I was ecstatic. I was delirious with anticipation as I reached down and picked up the phone, my decision made in that I *was* going to take the call.

Finally, *finally*, here was the outlet I needed. Here was a way to release the anger at him, without actually talking to him. It would finally give me peace, finally bring me closure. Only… either luckily, or unluckily, I suppose, depending on one's perspective, because of what she said first, I never got the chance... for either the angry tirade... or the closure.

"Hello?"

"Temperance?" came the timid response. And tears… she was crying. But, Brennan, too drunk to notice, probably wouldn't even have cared if she had recognized that nuance for what it was, or what it intimated.

"Yes?"

"It's… it's me."

"Who? Who is 'me'?" Brennan responded tersely.

"Hannah, Temperance. It's Hannah."

"Oh… yes… Hannah."

"I, uh—"

"Why are you calling my cell phone, Hannah, when I made it blatantly clear to your boyfriend that I never wanted to speak to either one of you ever again?" Brennan said. She was smiling. She *was* going to enjoy this.

"He's… he's not my boyfriend any more, Temperance."

"Oh," Brennan frowned, annoyed at Hannah's blatant reminder of the new change in the status of their personal relationship. "Right… I suppose the more appropriate societal label would be 'fiance'."

"No," came the quiet reply. "He's not that either."

"Then tell me what damn term you prefer so we can get on with things," Brennan retorted in exasperation.

"Uhhh, nothing, Temperance… he's not… he's not anything to me any more. We're… um… not together anymore... because, uh, he broke up with me," Hannah answered in the longest and most informative sentence she had completed since the conversation began.

Her eyebrow narrowing. "Why?"

"Because… I-I… I told him that I couldn't marry him."

"Couldn't... or wouldn't?"

A beat of silence followed.

"Does it matter?" came the reply finally.

"Yes," Brennan said. "It makes all the difference in the world."

"Fine," she replied. "Wouldn't."

Suddenly, Brennan was torn between frowning and letting out a yell of excitement. Instead she opted for more information. "When?"

"An hour or so ago… I-I… I've got to get my stuff out of his place… I left him at the Mall, but…."

"Why are you telling me all this, Hannah?"

"Because… I think… he's… he was in a very bad place, I think, when I left him, and I think he needs a friend tonight," she said quietly.

"I'm not his friend," Brennan retorted.

"Fine," Hannah amended. "Then… I think he needs *you* tonight… I just… I'm scared and worried about him, and I thought you should know. That's all."

"Fine," Brennan retorted. "You have successfully conveyed your information and accomplished your stated goal. Good-bye."

And with that, Brennan hung up the phone, put it in her pocket, and contemplated her next action.

Sipping the remnants of her Irish Carbomb, Brennan was uncertain what to do. On one hand, the spiteful, petty, selfish side was screaming with excitement and glee and happiness. Karma, well karma - it apparently did exist. It appeared, from Hannah's statements, that he was finally reaping the fruits of his foolish labors, and the result was pain. Pain, overwhelming heart-crushing pain, like Brennan had been in for months. Pain. And, the spiteful, petty, selfish side of her reveled in the fact.

Good, she thought. Now, now he knows what it feels like. Someone did to him exactly what he did to me. Betrayed his trust and broke his heart. Good. No, great! Great.

Then, the other side... the other part of her that was usually in control, the rational, sane, empathetic part that still longed for him enough that she had chosen to go out and get spectacularly drunk at news of his impending engagement, that part feel concern and worry and pain - on his behalf.

No one deserves to feel like this, she thought. You know that pain. You know it only too well. It's the pain that's been tearing you a part for months... and, knowing what that feels like, how could you gleefully wish that on *anybody*, even your worst enemy... let alone him?

And, so, for several minutes she battled with herself. And, she struggled with her feelings, her very distinct and diametrically opposed emotional responses. And, after several minutes, finally a stalemate was declared. Then, a third voice popped up. The third voice was the one that was the most innocent, the most pure, the most objective. It was this voice, *this* voice who pointed out that she was curious. And, since she was curious, here was a golden opportunity to get information that she had been craving, data, if you will, without doing harm to anyone. All she had to do was look, after all.

And, in the end, it was curiosity that won. Brennan's decision made, she asked Charlie to cash her out. In her drunken stupor… Brennan was curious to know just *how* much he had changed in the past few months. How much… or how little. Were her anger-induced assumptions and emotional accusations accurate or inaccurate? If so, by how much? And, so… she would go… see if he would be where she guessed… and see what happened from there.

If I knew him… if I ever really knew him, then I knew where I would find him, and I knew what he would be doing, and I wanted to see if I was right or not. That was important, for some reason. So, I got up… and, on feet that were a little shaky, with pupils greatly dilated, and absolutely no inhibitions holding a check on my anger or my curiosity - emotions in general, I slowly made my way out of the pub. I walked out the door, turned left, walked four doors down the sidewalk, and turned again, pulled open the door… and then, I saw him. He was just sitting there… at the edge of the bar… drinking scotch. I *know* it was scotch… with several shot glasses in front of him… and I saw that… just as I had guessed, there he was, just as I knew he would be. And, I smiled, knowing I was right. I'm not sure why that brought me pleasure if the overall goal was supposed to be letting him go. But, I knew I was right… and, then I turned to leave, having achieved my goal.

That night, I dreamed again. This time, however, the dream was not like those that had gone before it. *This* time there was less order, less coherence to the dream. It's all very hazy, all very blurred, and jumbled all together, and how the pieces fit together are unclear to me. It doesn't really make a lot of sense.

But, that night I did have a dream… and I do remember flashes….

-Hannah called me…-

-Hmmmph, well ain't that fine-fuckin'-dandy.-

-She's worried about you.-

-So she sent you.-

-She didn't send me anywhere. I came because of my own choice.-

-You act like the distinction should mean something to me? Why should it?-

-To you? I guess it shouldn't. It's not like anything I ever thought or did was ever significant to you anyway.-

-Months... you haven't said a fucking word to me in months, and that's all you have to say to me? After all the things you could say, you want to choose the one that is so full of bullshit it's not even funny?-

-I didn't really come here to talk to you.-

-Then, why did you come?-

-Curiosity.-

-Curiosity, hmmm? Curiosity? Well, that's as good a reason as any I guess. I'm kinda curious about things tonight myself. I've been trying to figure out the answer to a question since I've been here. Maybe you can help me, since you're curious too. What is it with me? I mean, I keep trying to attract these women, and you all are- I mean, I just don't get it. I don't. What's wrong with me?-

-Nothing. Maybe it's not you. Did you ever think that maybe… maybe it's how you do things. It's not what you're offering, but *how* you offer it that's the problem. On your terms… your time… never a compromise… no compromise… because you don't do compromises.-

-That's not true. I compromised for you, didn't I? I didn't walk away when you tore my heart out and asked me to say 'thank you' when you stomped all over it. I could have, I should have, but I didn't, because it was you, because of what you asked of me, because it was *you* who was asking.-

-You sound as if I should be grateful for that.-

-You should. Or, at least, flattered. It didn't happen before you... and it sure as hell won't happen after.-

-That sounds like your problem, not mine.-

-I'm just really- I'm just mad. I'm just really mad at all of you. I'm just mad, okay?-

-You? *You're* mad? Since when did you think it was your right to be mad here?-

-What do you have to be angry about? I'm the one who keeps getting rejected, okay?-

-No, no, it's not okay… you egotistical… selfish… male! You aren't the only one who gets to be angry.-

-Who are you to judge me?-

-No one. I'm no one, remember?-

-Yes, how could I forget? The almighty Temperance Brennan descended from her lofty mountain top to cavort with the rest of us mere mortals when she made her famous unilateral proclamation of self-righteous, self-indulgent, smug, silly, stupid bullshit! Six years! Six years, and you just decide. *YOU* decide that you're done, and so we're done, and breeze into my goddamn office like you're simply giving me an update on a case, when, in reality, you're blowing our partnership all to hell and informing me of said fabulous decision without so much as a single word of warning- -

-Oh, you mean like the amount of warning I got when you ran your fat, stupid, big mouth to Hannah?-

-She was my girlfriend. I loved her. We were together. It was my duty- -

-Oh, just stop, okay! There was absolutely no reason, none whatsoever why you needed to tell her... unless, *unless* it was for one of two reasons. One, if you told her because you were really thinking about the implications of my talk, because I was a threat to your relationship with her? Fine. But, you said I wasn't and so there was no threat there. That means you should have kept your mouth closed. Which, leads to the second reason why you caved and told her. You confessed because you felt guilty! You confessed because you felt guilty and didn't want to feel that way so you did it to ease your own fucking feelings in the situation, you selfish bastard!-

-You know what? That's rich coming from you. I'm not certain when you turned into this big a bitch, but when you're with someone, when you love them? It's them. Just them. Not you, your girlfriend, and your partner in some weird twisted three-way.-

-That's very amusing coming from you. St. Seeley the Honorable Martyr, who does what must be done to please and protect the woman he loves at whatever particular moment he's in, no thought, no consideration of anyone but St. Seeley's latest and greatest lay.-

-Oh, you're calling me the inconsiderate one? Really? That's funny coming from a woman who, in the span of 60 minutes simply snapped her fingers, made six years of our lives disappear in an instant, throwing them away because she was petty, stupid, and spoiled brat! You couldn't be bothered to sit down, talk, let me explain things. No. You did what you always do. You got hurt, and you wanted to punch something, so you did it by blowing up our partnership like it meant absolutely nothing. Like it was completely worthless. You, you, stupid spoiled brat.-

-You know what... six years later… you're still a bully… but, now, it's even worse… you're not only a bully and a liar, Booth!

-*YOU* were the one who walked away, Bones—not me. Three times, as a matter a fact. The night in front of the Hoover, the day in the airport, and the day in my office. So, tell me again which one of us is the one who keeps leaving?-

-I may have walked away, but you walked away and kept walking after I stopped and tried to come back. So, tell, me, who's the one who really left?-

-You told me to go!-

-And you should know by now that Temperance Brennan 101's seminal equation is Emotion+Change= Fear and Running. It's a constant, Booth. Just like Einstein's Theory of Relativity. It doesn't change. It's never changed. You should have known that. And, you should have followed, but *you* didn't. You didn't even try!-

-And neither did you. A year... a year went by, and there was nothing. NOTHING.-

-I don't even know who you are… it… none of it was real… all of it was lies… and you stupid, egotistical… shallow… hurtful… brainless… heartless… cruel… liar! -

-Don't you dare walk away from me. You do NOT get to walk away from me again.-

- Get away from me.-

- No. We aren't done here.-

- Don't tell me what to do.-

-You *are* going to stop, and you *are* going to listen to me.-

- LET. GO. OF. ME. NOW.-

- I loved you. -

-If you loved me… I hate to think what you do to people when they really piss you off, Booth. Because, you know what… your love? It sucks. It cuts and bites and hurts and makes the one you say you love bleed. You cut me and left me to bleed until there was nothing left. There is *NOTHING* left.-

-You were the one who turned me down, remember?-

-You keep saying that. Why do you keep saying that as if it is a single sentence that somehow can grant you universal absolution for every mistake that *you've* made? How about this one then? You were the one who let me walk away. I've spent *months* thinking about that, and you know what, Booth… I've come to one conclusion… when you let me walk away… when you let me do that… it proved, beyond a reasonable, shadow of a doubt… you lied… you *NEVER* loved me. You never could have loved me and let me walk away. -

-You do not get to say those things… to me… tonight.-

-And I hate fig trees… I fucking hate them. You were stupid... and so - male! Stupid, and lonely, and hurt, and desperate, and horny, and I hate you for giving in. Why did you give in? I HATE YOU.-

-I never lied when I said I loved you.-

-If you honestly have talked yourself into that over the past four months, Hannah really must have fucked what was left of your Neanderthal-sized brain straight out of your skull. -

-I'm warning you….-

-Let go of me.-

-I loved you, I still love you. Now, whatever else you want to deny… what else you want to yell at me about… blame me for… you're a fool if you doubt that… a goddamn fool.-

-I'm warning you one last time, let go of my arm.-

-Or, what, Bones…. What exactly do you think you can do to hurt me that you haven't already done? -

And, that's where it ends… the dream ends…. That's it. Nothing else. Just blackness.

The next morning when I woke up in my apartment… somehow I had made it home. I was still drunk when I woke up again… and I was immediately sick, throwing up all over myself and the bed. Still drunk, I gathered the soiled sheets and bedding and my clothing together, and tossed them haphazardly in the washer to process. And, then I managed to drag myself to the shower… somehow, someway, I did… and when I was finished, I crawled into an old t-shirt and pair of yoga pants, pulled a blanket from the linen closest, and collapsed on the bed once more.

So, that night, in actuality, is what led to my experimentation. One night each week, I endeavored to see if I could recreate the events of that first evening… with erratically confusing, but interesting results.

-TBC-