(After 'The Bullet in the Brain')

A/N: Susan requested this story. I hope this is what you wanted.

I don't own Bones.

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His scream woke her up and it left her heart pounding in her chest. Moving away from him, she knew that touching him while he was in the middle of a nightmare could be dangerous. Once she was out of bed, she watched Booth thrash around the bed, gasping for air, his hands grasping for something in his sleep.

"Seeley . . . Seeley, you have to wake up." Hannah had been through this several times since she'd moved in and it seemed his dark dreams were increasing in intensity. "Seeley, you're not in Iraq or Afghanistan or . . ." She threw her hands up in frustration. Increasing the volume in her voice, Hannah shouted. "Seeley, wake up. You're home . . . everything is fine . . . you're not in danger."

Startled from his nightmare, Booth woke up, panting and drenched in sweat. "Oh God . . . I . . ." His heart racing in his chest, he stared at the ceiling and he knew he'd had another one of his special dreams. Rubbing the palms of his hands against his eyes, he tried to calm down. After a while, he slid off the bed and turned to face his lover. "I'm . . . I'm sorry."

Shrugging her shoulders, Hannah felt trapped in a situation she hadn't created. "Do you want to talk about it?" She wasn't sure what good the offer would do, since he always refused to tell her about his dreams. "You really need to talk to a psychiatrist or someone who knows about PTSD."

"No . . . no. I don't need that kind of help." Grabbing a handful of sheets, he pulled them towards him. "I'm sorry. It'll only take me a minute to change the sheets." He removed the sweat soaked sheets and the pillows from the bed and stared at the mattress for a moment, shook his head and moved over to the closet to get some clean sheets and pillowcases to remake his bed. "I . . . I'm sorry."

"Seeley, I'm certain that you need to talk to someone." Hannah knew her boyfriend needed help, but she couldn't make him get that help. "You can't keep losing sleep like this . . . I can't keep losing sleep either. Something's wrong."

Not sure how to respond, Booth moved back over to the bed and remade it. Once the clean sheets were on the bed and the pillowcases were replaced, he picked up the damp sheets and moved over to the bedroom door. "I'll sleep on the couch. You can sleep here . . . I won't bother you again tonight." He felt angry but he wasn't sure why. He'd had a nightmare every night for the last four nights and he didn't know how to stop them.

"Seeley . . . something is wrong. Surely you can see that." Hannah felt helpless and she hated that feeling. Her happy go lucky boyfriend was gone and she didn't know the man who had replaced him. She wasn't sure if she could stay much longer. "You witnessed the Gravedigger get her head blown off and you've been having nightmares every night since then . . . maybe it's triggered some bad memories. I know you have them since you had a few bad dreams before this week and you talk in your sleep sometimes . . . You need professional help . . . You need to find someone to talk to before you do . . . something." She stopped talking. The look on her lover's face told her she might have crossed a line.

"This is who I am. I'm messed up. I've been messed up since I was a kid and my stint in the Army . . . it didn't help my dreams . . . it didn't help at all, but I can assure you, bad dreams won't drive me to suicide or make me psycho." Booth held the damp sheets in his arms and hoped that Hannah could see he needed her help. If she would just listen to him and quit trying to push him away it might help, but she just kept pushing him away. She wanted him to talk to a psychiatrist and he couldn't do that. He didn't want to talk to anyone about his dreams, but if she would just offer to listen, he might settle down. He just needed her to listen to him. "If you would just . . . I don't have control over my dreams. If you would . . ."

"Seeley." Hannah felt that her lover needed professional help for his PTSD. She felt he was a victim of PTSD, but he couldn't see it. He didn't want to accept he needed help. "You need to go to the VA. You have a right to demand help. If you don't, you're going to . . ." She stopped talking. The anger was clear on his face and she felt a shiver run down her back. "Seeley . . . I love you, but I can't help you. You need more than I can give."

"Fine . . . maybe you should just move out, Hannah." Booth sighed. "I am who I am and if you can't deal with that . . . if I'm not who you bargained for then leave. Everyone leaves me eventually, so why should you be any different?"

Staring at Booth, Hannah realized that he didn't want her there. The man she met in Afghanistan was gone and a stranger had taken his place. "You need help, Seeley. Professional help and . . . I think you're right. I love you, but I'm not who you need in your life. Not really. I . . . the man I met in Afghanistan . . . where did he go, Seeley? I don't know where he went."

Not sure he could explain himself. Booth shrugged his shoulders. "You wanted a good time and I was willing to give you that, but I'm not that guy. I never was . . . I'm just a messed up guy living a messed up life. You met me when I was . . . when I was lonely and God . . . you were what I needed, you really were, but I'm not what you need, Hannah. You need someone who doesn't care if you're gone for weeks at a time. You need someone who can show you a good time when you are here and who doesn't . . . who doesn't have any baggage and I . . . I have a lot of baggage, Hannah. I have suitcases filled with bad shit and I can't just throw them away. They travel with me . . . I want to be that guy . . . a guy who lives in the present . . . a guy that can party all night for you, but I'm not him. I never really was . . . I'm tired and these dreams aren't helping . . . I can't stop them and I know they scare the shit out of you . . . I'm not stupid. I can see the look of fear on your face when I wake up . . . I think it would be safer for you if you just leave."

She wanted to stay, but her lover was right. She was afraid. She was sure he would never hurt her, but his dreams were so violent and he had no control over them. She knew for her own sake she'd have to leave. "I do love you, Seeley, but you need help and until you get that help . . . I think you're right. I'm going to leave in the morning. I should have stayed in Afghanistan . . . There really isn't anything for me here. I hate following the president around. It's boring and . . . I need to be where the action is. It's who I am. I'm a war correspondent. This thing I'm doing right now . . . it's not what I'm good at."

Slowly nodding his head, Booth knew she was making the right decision for her even if it was a bad decision for him. "Okay." Turning, he left the room carrying his sheets into the kitchen. Placing them in the washing machine. He slammed the door shut and leaned against the machine. "Why God? . . . Why can't I find happiness? Why can't I find someone to love me? I just . . . I just want someone to love me. Why is that so much to ask for? Tell me how to find love . . . to find real love . . . as if I know what that really is." Booth laughed a bitter laugh. "What a mess you are, Seeley. What a disaster you've made of things."

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When he got home that evening, he found Hannah had packed up her stuff and was gone. She had said she was going to leave, but he'd hoped she'd change her mind. Since he was alone again, he knew he'd have to deal with his dreams by himself. "Maybe I do need help . . . maybe I've let this go too far."

Sitting on his couch, Booth drank some of his Scotch and stared at the darkened television screen. He had known that Hannah would leave him eventually, but he'd hoped it wouldn't be so soon. He'd made a mistake with Hannah and he knew it. He'd tried to change who he was for her, but he'd failed miserably. "I guess I'm going to be alone for the rest of my life . . . no one wants what I'm offering and I have no idea why . . . well, the dreams don't help, I guess. Maybe I do need help."

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