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 12 – Twelve Months After, Part I

I should have known as soon as I saw what the date was that somehow, someway, despite my best intentions, it was going to be a horrible day. And, despite my most fervent declarations, my most studious efforts to ensure that the day went in any other way but the way in which I feared it would go, it was a very, very bad day. Somewhat coincidentally, it was a Thursday. So, after the mid-afternoon mail drop shell-shocked me into a quivering puddle of regret and sadness and guilt, I probably would have gone somewhere for a drink even if it hadn't been a Thursday. I was a mess by the time he got there. It was a year later... a year to the day that horrible, horrible conversation in the SUV had happened. And, as if the universe were deciding to get it's proverbial kicks at me, it was on this day that I had received a thick package in my mailbox at the Jeffersonian. A simple set of publishing proofs, coming on this day, of all days, had sent me reeling for the bar.

By the time Booth found me at 7:30pm, I was already half way on my way to being drunk. It was the first time in almost two months... since that night we drank tequila and spent the evening talking until closing, that I had drank anything more potent than ginger ale or club soda. When he arrived at the pub, Booth saw me and found me much as I had been on that prior evening. I was sitting in front of a shot glass, a bottle of tequila, a bowl of lime wedges, and a salt shaker. Sliding into his normal stool, he arched his eyebrow at me.

"Tough day?"

Nodding, I said, "Yup." I pushed a stack of bound paper towards him by way of explanation. "Got that this afternoon."

Booth glanced at it. The name on the front of the manuscript would be enough to have told him all he needed to know about what had sent me running for the nearest bar. However, a large yellow post-it note differentiated a single place in the manuscript and gave him additional clarification... if he had needed any. Scanning the first few pages, Booth grimaced when he saw the words.

"His dissertation?"

"Yes."

Booth glanced at the page differentiated from the others by the sticky note and turned to read it. He winced again as he saw it was the book's dedication page. It read:

With all honor, respect, and deepest gratitude to my family and neighbors who made this impossible work a possibility. And, to, Dr. Temperance Brennan... without her keen insights, extensive professional knowledge, and tireless efforts to shape my understanding of forensic anthropology, I would not be the scientist that I am today. Without her personal faith, depth of heart, and never-ending support, I would not be the man I am today. I will never be able to say 'thank you' enough, Tempe... only give my sincere thanks and profess my deepest feelings to someone whose heart is truly open and so easy to love.

When he was finished reading, Booth let the pages fall back into their normal order. He sighed heavily.

I nodded at the sigh. "Yup."

"Yeah," Booth agreed. He was quiet for a moment before he said, "I take it you didn't know about the dedication?"

"Nope," I responded. "He... he submitted it... about a week, maybe two weeks before-" My voice trailed off as I was unable to complete the thought.

Booth again sighed. "Yeah."

Signalling to the bartender, Booth soon had a shot glass of his own in front of him. We didn't say much after that, but we did drink. God, we drank... and drank... and drank.

Several hours later, we sat in the cab outside my apartment building. Both of us were drunk, extremely so, but, despite the alcohol, both had remained quiet from the pub to my place. At last, the time for the decision having to be made, I grabbed the door handle and got out. Booth stared at me, and I stared back at him for several seconds. When I turned to go, obviously he had already reached his decision, because, this time when I turned to go… this time, he didn't let me walk away. This time, he got out of the cab and followed me inside.

When the cab carrying Booth and Brennan arrived at her apartment, Booth was unsure what was going to happen. His senses and ability to think rationally had disappeared, and, with the, it also seemed that his ability to make long term plans had ceased functioning, and Booth could only make a choice when actually confronted by the decision. Thus, when Brennan got out of the cab, stopped, and looked at him - stared at him really, he dealt with the issue as soon as it surfaced.

Choice: get out of the cab and follow Brennan upstairs OR stay in the cab and go home.

Booth knew what would happen if he chose the second option. He'd experienced that particular outcome on several occasions. So, curiosity demanding he go for a different outcome... he went with option #1, got out of the cab, followed her, and decided to see what would happen.

When I got out of the cab, I didn't expect him to follow. He's never done that. I've always, *always* walked away. He's always stayed. He's never followed. I don't know why he did that night, I honestly don't know. Curiosity? Boredom? A random fancy that gripped him at that moment? Like I said, I don't know why Booth did it… but he followed me. And, as I opened the door to my apartment, juggling the keys, and fumbling with the door lock, he remained standing behind me. Pushing the door open, I looked back at him over my shoulder. Booth was still there, and he raised an eyebrow to ask the unspoken question.

Can I come in?

Why would you want to?

Can I come in?

Your choice.

I shrugged, but left the door open behind me. I heard him enter and shut and lock the door behind me. Suddenly, I felt the buzz I had worked up over the course of the evening starting to wane. I went to the kitchen and pulled out another bottle of alcohol. I didn't know what it was at first. It was a tall-fifth of *something* alcoholic that was full and unopened and those qualifications were the only ones that really mattered to me. Reaching for a glass, I stumbled back to the family room and collapsed onto my couch. Booth followed at some point, sitting a distance away from me. As I said, he was intoxicated by that point, about even with me... maybe a little less. True, I had probably drank more on a numerically per drink basis than he did... but I had also been at it for several hours longer than he. I don't know how drunk Booth was, but his demeanor had changed over some point of the course of the evening. I couldn't read him very well anymore, but I could still sense that much, at least.

Shaking my head, I decided that I definitely was not drunk enough. I reached for the bottle and glanced down at the label, really by accident. I felt a scream catch in my throat as I read the label – and my thoughts flashed back – the bottle of Vodka on the kitchen counter on the day I had come home from the hospital. The same goddamn bottle that Wendall forgot to bring in the car with us because we were running late that night for Angela's party… God, why?

Booth looked at me when I cried out, jumping a bit as the yell pierced the air. He saw my eyes water and looked at the bottle.

"What is it?"

I shook my head. Pursing my lips, I pushed away the sadness. I was so fucking tired of feeling sad. Anger, indignation… those I needed to cling to… *those* feelings weren't weak. I was so tired of feeling weak, and when I didn't feel weak, being scared of feeling weak again. No, I wasn't going to do it anymore. This ended now.

My head snapping up, I snapped, "Nothing. It's… nothing."

Angrily twisting the top off the vodka bottle, I gestured in his direction as I said, "Are you done drinking or do you want one?"

Booth eyed me, but nodded. "If you're still drinking, I'll have one."

Grabbing the glass, I poured a healthy amount into the single glass I had brought from the kitchen. I then pushed it hastily in his direction. "Here."

Taking the glass, our fingers brushed for just a moment. I stared at it. He stared at it. Booth was warm. So warm.

Looking up at me, he said, "Why are you doing this?"

There it was… the question he had been wanting to ask me? Or, maybe it was just *a* question… and not the exact one I thought he would ask. But, it was a question nonetheless. My eyes leveling at his, I didn't know *exactly* to what Booth was referring… I supposed it was some vague reference to how I had been… coping. It didn't really matter, though, because the answer was the same.

"I don't know what else to do so I don't feel so fucking sad every time I think about him," I muttered. "Every time I think I've to a grip on what's happened, something happens, and I realize I don't. And, I feel so incredibly guilty about things. He deserved better than me. But, he was so happy, and I don't know why. And, I wasn't, but I tried. I tried so hard, and I still couldn't... and all that's left is guilt and disappointment. I don't expect you to understand that—"

"Oh, but I do," Booth said.

"Why?" I laughed. "How could you possibly know?"

He took the glass and began to drink it in a couple of large swallows. I took the opportunity to take a drink directly from the bottle. I made a face as the vodka went down the back of my throat. It scratched a bit on the way down, and a small part of me wondered how the tequila would mix with the vodka. At that point, though, I didn't really care.

Holding out the glass, indicating that he wanted me to refill it, Booth said a single word. "Hannah."

It was the first time he had mentioned her name in… well, in as long as I could remember. I considered it for a minute before I nodded. Then, maybe it was because he had brought it up… maybe it was the alcohol… maybe it was my desperation to not think about Wendall, I looked at him and asked, "What happened there?"

At that, Booth made a look and raised the glass to his mouth. He considered his response carefully before he said, "After you, I couldn't compromise again."

Whatever response I was expecting, it wasn't that one, particularly as it jogged loose a long ago buried part of randomness that had hung at the edge of my mind for months, and in the pain of losing Wendall, I had ignored it.

-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.—

The words. The words from my dream… that last dream before I stopped dreaming about Booth. How did he know those words?

I grimaced, and shook my head. Alcohol. I needed more alcohol. I took a long swig from the bottle, knowing if I wasn't careful that I would end up throwing up all over my living room or suffering an acute case of alcohol poisoning. At that particular moment, I didn't really care which one happened as long as I… God, it was happening again. I was out of control – when did I get this out of control? Stop… it's got to stop. I stood up, poised to run, and this time, his hand shot out. Fast, so fast.

"Don't," he said.

Looking down at him, where he was clutching my arm, I said, "Don't what?"

"Don't do it again. We aren't done here. Don't do it again," Booth said quietly.

Another flash. His hand on my arm. Again. That night. That goddamn night.

-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.-

"You didn't let go that night, did you?" I asked softly.

God, the world was spinning. When did it start spinning again? Why is it spinning?

Booth hadn't let go of my arm. He looked up at me and shook his head. The stunned look on my face seemed to surprise him. "What?" he asked.

"A dream," I said. "I thought... I thought that was... It *was* a dream."

"No," Booth shook his head. "It wasn't."

"Yes," I insisted. "It was a dream. It wasn't real. It didn't happen."

His brow furrowed in confusion, Booth shook his head. "Yes, it did. And... you knew that."

"No, I didn't," I confessed.

At this, his face became somewhat angry as Booth said, "That's not funny. Don't joke about that."

"I'm not," I said honestly. "I... I didn't know."

"How could you not?" Booth said, a wave of emotion coming into his voice. "After all that had happened... how could you not know about that night?"

I shook my head. "I thought it was a dream." I stopped for a moment, pausing to think. "I... after the... after I ended the partnership, I spent a lot of nights dreaming about you."

"You dreamed about me?" Booth asked.

Nodding slowly, I said, "Yeah." I stopped and then said, "In a lot of ways, it was the crutch that got me through this the last time."

"What did you dream?" he asked.

"Usually, it was just talking," I said. "We'd be in different places... your office, my office, the diner, on the bench in the Mall... and we'd talk."

"About what?"

"Well, to be honest," I replied, looking back at him. "I said to you in my dreams what I wasn't ready to... or didn't want to say to you-you."

"And... so, that night... you thought that was another... dream?" Booth said, with an uncertain look on his face.

"Yes, I did," I admitted. "I, ah... stopped having dreams about you after that one. I thought... it's hard to explain, but the dreams stopped after that night."

Looking at me, Booth was quiet before he said, "I thought you knew."

"Knew what?"

"It wasn't a dream. I thought you knew... for weeks... all the weeks we've been doing this thing... talking... you know? I... I thought you knew and still wanted to... I thought you wanted to anyway," his voice trailed off.

I shrugged. "It doesn't matter, really, does it? I mean, dream or not... the end result was still the same."

-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.-

"But, I suppose... I suppose I've got to admit that I-I… I was lying when I said there was nothing left that night," I said softly. "I-I… there must have been because of… well, because of what happened after."

"And now?" he asked.

Shaking my head, "And, now? Now. *Now*, there really isn't nothing left. Between the two of you, this year… it's taken everything I have, everything I am. There's nothing left. And, I'm so sick of it. I'm so tired of feeling nothing but pain and hurt and sorrow and regret every time I build myself up, distract myself from him, and then get reminded somehow like that goddamn dissertation. And, then everything I've spent all this time trying to rebuild, it just comes crashing down all over again. I'm so fucking sick of it. All of it. Just... all of it."

Booth lightened his touch, but still hadn't let go. "Sit down. Please."

I sighed, looked from his hand to his eyes, and saw the pleading there. "Fine."

I threw myself down on the couch. Both of us were quiet for a moment. At last, he drew a breath and began to speak.

"What happened between you and I, Bones… between you and I… it was different. You've got to know that… what happened with Wendall—"

"Don't!" I screeched. "Please… don't say his name."

"I'm sorry," he said. Contrite, he was genuinely contrite when he looked at me. "But, you've got to deal with this. It's killing you. Everyone sees it. You keep trying to put things back together, and you're never going to be able to do that until you've let him go. That feeling that you said you keep having about feeling like you've put things back together, and they keep falling apart whenever something reminds you of him? That's just not going to stop and go away unless you deal with the reason as to why it keeps happening. More importantly, it's not right. You've got to stop. You know he wouldn't want you to do this to yourself. And, the way to stop is to start by understanding that Wendall didn't leave you."

I sobbed again as I heard the name. "Please, please, I'm begging you," I cried. "Please, if you ever felt anything for me... If you were ever grateful for any aspect of our partnership in the slightest, if you ever were really my friend…. *please*… don't say his name."

"I have to… you've got to hear this… and let it go."

"No," I said, shaking my head. "I won't. I can't."

"Wendall didn't leave you, Bones. He died. It wasn't his choice, and I think you know that," Booth said.

My head snapped up as another vague memory came to the forefront of my mind. Pain, and darkness and the rain. The night of the accident. The blackness, at some point, had faded to a dull grey. I was still strapped into the car's passenger seat. The air bags had deployed. The windshield was cracked… shattered. The glass was scattered everywhere. I couldn't move very much, just turned my head a fraction of an inch. God, Wendall… there was blood. So much blood. But, he was conscious, moaning… moaning… and talking? I remember reaching out my hand…. in reality… just a finger touched him. He tilted his head to me at that point, I remember it… and he looked at me and smiled.

"Tempe… I... ple-please don't. Just don't make me go. I-I don't want to go. I love -it's been lovely. Being here with - with you, I love you. Please, don't make me go—"

"Oh, God, Booth. Please don't… please don't make me do this," I cried.

"You have to… you have to let it go," he said.

I had started crying again. "Wendall- he was looking at me and he was saying 'Don't make me leave.' He said that he - he loved being there. Why would he think that I'm the one making him leave? What kind of person am I? Why would I make him leave? What kind of monster would he think I was to make him do that? I wanted him to stay, Booth. I-I-I wanted him to stay… I didn't want him to leave… leave me."

I was shaking again, now, the sobs coming harder. When did I start crying?

For some reason I'll never know, Booth reached out and pulled me towards him. "No. Come here. No. No. No. No, Bones. You got that all *wrong*. You got it wrong," he said into my hair.

"No. I-I heard him. 'Don't make me leave.' That's what he said," I breathed.

"He wasn't talking to you," Booth said softly.

"I was the only one there—"

"He was talking to God. He didn't want to die," Booth said as gently as he could.

"No. No, he was talking to me. He was staring straight at me when he said it, Booth."

"No, Bones. He didn't want to go. He wasn't ready, Bones. He wanted to stay," Booth replied. "He didn't want to leave you."

"Well, if there was a God, he would have let Wendall stay here with us, with me," I pleaded.

"That's not how it works."

And, in that moment, I knew he was right. I pulled away from him, the tears still running down my face. "Can you just-?"

"Yeah," he said, pulling me back into his arms.

And, I started to cry again. For all of it. Wendall… the past year. Everything I'd lost… all of it. And, I don't think I even heard the words so much as felt them as Booth continued to hold me.

"That's why I'm here. I'm right here. I know it's hard. But, it's okay to be okay. I promise. It'll be okay. Shush—"

-TBC-