Author's Note: When I said last chapter was tough, I was wrong. This one was tougher. I wasn't sure if I was going to make this a case-fic, but the idea came to me and I ran with it, hence the length of this chapter. I know I said Brennan would be confronting Booth in this chapter, but I hope you can wait through one more. There were some things I needed to establish first. I'm interested to see what you think. Thanks, by the way, for the reviews. It was refreshing to find more than one (you know who you are, wink wink)

Disclaimer: The only thing that belongs to me is this story and any non-Bones characters. Do not reproduce under any circumstances.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking, and the thing is, I love you." Harry proclaims.

"What?"

"I love you."

"How do you expect me to respond to this?"

"That's such a you question, Brennan," Angela laughed

"I don't know what that means."

"Exactly."

"How about you love me too?"

"How about I'm leaving."

The whole situation eerily mirrored Booth's gamble in front of the Hoover. It was heart-crushing, absolutely heart-crushing. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't one of my biggest regrets, clearly hurting Booth they way he'd promised he'd never hurt me. I'm so afraid of the people I love leaving me, and I only do the same. My breath hitched, but I wasn't going to let myself cry now. If I started, so would Angela, and the emotional outpouring would be too much to handle.

"I love that you get cold when it's seventy one degrees out. I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich. I love that you get that little crinkle above your nose when you're looking at me like I'm nuts. I love that after I spend the day with you, I can still smell your perfume on my clothes. And I love that you're the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night. And it's not because I'm lonely, and it's not because it's New Year's Eve. I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."

Angela looked over at me, trying to gauge my reaction. At this point in the film, this is the mentality I've witnessed. For men and women anyway, there are only three options. It's either friends, which Harry deems impossible despite their obvious development of a friendship, lovers, a line they crossed in a moment of emotional upheaval and later regretted (I'll be discussing more on "the line" later on), or nothing, nothing at all. No in-between.

"Don't you think you're being a bit pessimistic?" Angela asked me as I relayed this information to her.

"I'm simply summarizing the message of this movie, pessimistic though it may be. To be honest, I'm surprised you and all of the rest of your guests even enjoy it. Sure it had its comedic moments and sexual tension, but I find that unless you're part of the lover demographic, the movie is a metaphorical slap in the face. An 'I told you so' if you will."

Angela rubbed her temples, trying to find the correct response. "You've completely missed the point. Completely. It's not all or nothing, hun. Sure, love and friendship aren't easy endeavors, maybe you picked up on that, but if you look at their journey, you know it was worth all of that turbulence. It's what strengthens their relationship. It's what made that friends-to-lovers transition possible. And by the time they took that next step, there was nothing to fear. They had fun. They knew each other inside and out." She yawned. "Just sleep on it, And I mean it, sleep. You don't have to have the world figured out tonight. And though it's about time you figure out your relationship with Agent Studley, that doesn't have to be done tonight either."

I nodded, yawning myself. We brought our dishes into the kitchen and went our separate ways, me occupying the guest bedroom. I closed my eyes, willing the thoughts to stop and sleep to come over me.

I slept in later than I intended, but was awoken by the ringing of my cell phone on the bedside table. I knew who was on the line and picked up without speaking.

"Wakey, wakey, Bones. We've got a case. Well, it's the same case, but that doesn't matter. We have a lead on a potential suspect. Started talking about the whole Gardner thing during their group therapy session. Didn't make any admissions, the therapist stopped them before she could say anything more. We gotta see what she knows."

"The 'whole Gardner thing?'" I asked, groggy.

"Yes Bones. Just get on home, get ready, and I'll come pick you up on my way."

I obliged, getting out of bed and put on yesterday's attire. I drove home, having just enough time to shower and dress before Booth arrived. I hadn't even begun to dry my hair and resorted to ushering Booth into my apartment with my hair wrapped in a towel.

"Mornin' Bones," he said, snickering at my towel turban. "Hey, no rush," he said as I pulled off the offending towel to reveal my wet, mussed locks. He followed me to the bathroom, standing in the doorway as I begun to run a comb through my hair. "You take care of that, and I'll debrief you. Our talker is Melinda Reid, 19 years of age, started at the home about a year before Kevin. Apparently the two were good buddies."

I stopped my grooming momentarily. "What brought Ms. Reid to the home?"

Booth shrugged. "They don't just offer that stuff up over the phone, Bones. Ever heard of HIPPO Regulations?"

"I think you mean HIPPA."

"Right, that's what I said. Anyway, can't access that without a warrant. That's why we're heading over there to interrogate the kid. And you, you can do your squint stuff. We do have a warrant to search Gardner's room following the self-harm evidence."

I nodded, turning on the blow-dryer before he could say any more.

The ride to the home was relatively quiet. I did have an agenda of items to discuss, but I figured it'd be better left unsaid until after the visit so to keep us both focused and objective.

"I can hear the wheels turning. What are you thinking, Bones?"

I rolled my eyes. "There isn't enough room in my cranial cavity for anything but my brain, Booth, but you're right, I do find myself deep in thought. I was thinking about Mr. Gardner and his friend. Whatever was going on in the days, weeks, months before his death, the two must have had enough trust in each other to confide in the other. Based on the evidence, I don't think we're going to like what she has to say…"

Booth smirked, a strange reaction to the potential for unsettling news.

"Temperance Brennan, going with her gut," he proclaimed.

"Am not!" I argued. "I am going with the evidence"

"The evidence has led you to have this gut reaction, Bones. The two aren't mutually exclusive."

"I'll bet your fried at the diner you can't tell me what mutually exclusive means."

"You can't bet with something that's mine!" he laughed. "You're the worst gambler. No to mention, I'm the degenerate. You shouldn't be encouraging me."

When we arrived at the home, we quickly switched into professional mode, another indication of our multiple personality capabilities. The head therapist, Gene Alderman, brought us to the office where Melinda was already waiting for us. Before letting us in, Dr. Alderman spoke to us in hushed tones. He told us that Melinda was manic depressive and had been having a manic episode this morning.

"Ms. Reid has agreed to take her medication, so she should be fully cooperative. I'll be in the next room if you need me to intervene."

Booth and I looked at each other, a little leery, but then proceeded inside. Booth settled into the doctor's large arm chair and I stood beside the desk. He flashed his badge. "Melinda, I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth and this here is my partner Dr. Temperance Brennan. Dr. Alderman told us that you agreed to share some information about your friend Kevin."

She nodded, her head heavy. Whatever medication she was on was causing a sedative effect, probably result of too strong a dosage for the girl's small frame.

"Kevin was my best friend," she said, void of any emotion, though we were lucky that she was lucid enough to say anything at all.

"We understand that Kevin had Dissociative Identity Disorder, multiple personalities. Did he ever discuss that with you? Did he say what that was like?"

"Kevin didn't like to talk about that," Melinda told us. "I think he was embarrassed. But if you really wanted to know how he was feeling, you waited for Seth."

Booth and I scanned over the list of patients, but there was no mention of any Seth. "Is Seth a friend of Kevin's?" Booth asked. "Maybe we should be talking to this Seth guy."

Melinda shook her head. "Seth was one of Kevin's personalities. I always imagined Seth to be what Kevin was like as a kid. He was funny, very inquisitive, and there was no filter. Whatever he thought, he said out loud. Whatever he felt, he expressed."

"Did Kev—uh, Seth ever talk to you about ending his own life? Did he indicate if he was in any danger?"

Melinda thought for a moment and it seemed to take a lot of energy out of her. "He said he hated living this way, described himself like Jekyll and Hyde. But he said it was his cross to bear; it was his punishment."

"His punishment? What did he do?"

" That was the one thing he never spoke of. It was too distressing. When I asked, he'd only get angry. But then again, Seth never stuck around for very long. He was only an indicator that Dan or Jeff was coming, and then you didn't ask questions."

I could tell Booth wanted more from her, but as her eyelids grew heavy and began to droop, I knew it was time to take a break. I closed the file he had opened in front of him and grabbed it off the desk, forcing him to have to follow me out if he wanted it back.

"What the hell, Bones?" he said once in the hallway. "I let you sit in on these interrogations, but you don't get to call the shots."

"The medication was taking effect, Booth. She wouldn't have been able to tell you anything more. Not to mention, we don't need her to fill in the blanks. I know what he did. According to the information I received upon IDing the victim, Mr. Gardner developed his DID after an arson related fire killed his family. That leaves us with two possible scenarios. A) Kevin survived the fire and felt guilty, or B) Kevin was part of the group who started the fire," I told him, proud of myself for using deductive reasoning without science.

"Sorry to rain on your parade, but it was B. I read up on the old case file. He spent two weeks in a juvenile detention facility before the disorder manifested and he was sent here. I needed to know if Melinda knew so I could see just how open he was with her. But clearly he didn't say. Or at least Seth didn't. But Dan and Jeff?"

"The other two personalities," I told him. "They weren't on the list either. There are four distinct personalities, three, plus Kevin. In addition to Seth, there were two aggressive personalities, ones more prone to anger and violence."

Booth sighed. "Well this was a waste of time. We didn't get anything we didn't already know. Why'd they have to choose today to drug her?"

"You heard the doctor, Booth. She's manic depressive. She could have been a danger to herself or others."

"At least when she was manic she had something to say; something worthy of our personal invite over here."

That's when I reminded Booth that we still had the chance to search Kevin's room.

"Kind of a mess," I noted with distaste as Booth unlocked the door and let us inside.

"What'd you expect, Bones? A teenage boy with conflicting personalities lived here."

I pulled on a pair of gloves and sifted through the boy's belongings. I went through the items systematically, starting with the laundry. A few of his shirts contained blood stains and those were placed into evidence bags for examination back at the Jeffersonian. Next, I looked under the bed. Nothing there but a pair of old tennis shoes. I was going to leave them, but Booth suggested that Hodgins check the treads for particulates and soil samples that could place him at the scene in the days prior to the alleged murder.

"Help me out, Booth. Where might a teenage boy hide a diary?"

"Boys don't keep diaries, Bones," he scoffed defensively.

"If you're claiming that dairies are gender stereotypes associated only with women, you're incorrect. It's an anthropological fact of human nature that a culture tries to document important events and catalog feelings. Besides, I'm sure keeping some sort of journal was a recommended part of his therapy."

"Do you keep a diary, Bones?" he asked with a smirk.

"Do you?" I deflected, going back to my search. I looked underneath the pillow, between the bed frame and the mattress, but came up empty. Pulling on his own pair of gloves, Booth pried open the air conditioning vent. He did so with ease, suggesting that the vent had been opened on more than one occasion. With a winning smile, he held up the marble notebook containing the innermost thoughts and feelings of Mr. Kevin Gardner.

"You did keep a diary!" I accused, pointing a finger at him.

We stopped at the diner for a bite to eat before returning to the lab. I brought the diary with me, carefully leafing through it as we waited for our food. Melinda hadn't been lying when she said that the two were best friends. Kevin wrote of her often. He wished he could be honest with her. He wished she didn't have to see the torment he went through. He wished she didn't care so much for him and that he didn't return those feelings.

"Any juicy gossip there, Bones?" Booth asked, reaching out to take a look for himself. But I closed the book, stuffing it back into my bag. "What'd he say?" His intrigued look was replaced with concern.

"Do you think it's possible for men and women to be friends?" I asked him, bracing myself for what could be one of the most difficult conversations I'd ever initiate.