A/N: I'm back from my summer holiday so I should hopefully be able to update a little quicker. Thanks for those who have stuck with me. Hope you enjoy this next chapter.

Screams.

Hoarse, painful screaming filled her ears and she whipped her head from side to side to try and find the source of the noise.

"Dr Brennan, Dr Brennan it's okay," she heard and she could feel a cool hand grasp her shoulder tightly. I was only when the cool skin contacted with her own that she realised the horrible noises were coming from her.

Looking up into the concerned eyes of Daisy Wick it took her a moment to realise that she was crouched in the corner of her bedroom, the wood of her dresser digging painfully into her side.

"Your name is Doctor Temperance Brennan, you work at the Jeffersonian Institute as a forensic anthropologist. You were on a dig in the Maluku islands where you were kidnapped but you are now home and safe in Washington," Daisy said, her voice calm and level.

"What happened?" Brennan asked sucking in a deep breath.

"You experienced a panic attack," Daisy said softly, "We believe it was triggered by the sound of a car backfiring outside."

"We?" Brennan asked, gasping when her ribs pulled as she tried to sit up.

"Sweets, Angela and myself," Daisy said, "We have been staying here for the last couple of days, remember?"

"No, I-I don't remember," Brennan said, her brow furrowing in confusion.

"You have been on some pretty strong pain killers," Daisy reasoned, "And Lance said that losing time was a symptom of PTSD."

"PTSD? I don't have PTSD," Brennan said, shaking her head as Daisy helped her stand.

"Sweetie," Angela's voice followed the smell of coffee into the bedroom, "You do but that's okay."

"It's not okay," Brennan growled, "I don't have PTSD and it is not fair of you to make such an unfounded claim."

"Unfounded," Angela said angrily, the tray she held dropping noisily to the bedside table as the artist stood with her hands on her hips, "You think they're unfounded? You think hearing your best friend screaming because a sound outside reminds her of gunfire is unfounded? You think watching your best friend cower in the corner because the sound of water dripping takes her back to a place where she was kidnapped and tortured is unfounded? You think having your best friend be so terrified of you because she doesn't recognise who you are but thinks you are one of those men who hurt her is unfounded? Sweetie I love you and I would do anything to help you but we can't do that until you accept that you have a problem."

The artist turned and stormed from the room nearly colliding with Sweets who had been standing in the hallway outside the bedroom.

"I thought I said we would broach the subject delicately," Sweets said with a raised eyebrow.

"She's getting worse," Angela argued, "Since she sent him away they've gotten worse and more frequent. She needs him here and until she realises that she has a problem and that he is part of the solution there is only so much we can do."

"You know you've always been very insightful," Sweets mused, "But you have to understand that the trauma Dr Brennan has suffered has made her question everything she knew about herself."

"What do you mean?" the artist asked as they moved towards the living room.

"Well despite the fact that she now prefers to spend time with Daisy," Sweets said with a quirk of a smile, "One of the reasons she left for the dig was that she was finding the work here with the FBI was burning her out. Going to Maluku was a return to the work she loved and yet it was doing this work where she got hurt."

"She's been hurt before doing that work," Angela argued.

"Yes, she has, but this is more than that. She went on this dig for personal as well as professional reasons. Consciously she thought she was going because it would be a great opportunity for her professional career but really she was running away from feelings she couldn't comprehend. On one hand she was scared of what she was feeling for Agent Booth so felt like separation would help her deal with this but on the other she was waiting for Booth to tell her to stay, to confess what he felt for her."

"Booth said she blamed him for what happened," Angela said softly.

"If I had to guess I would say that Dr Brennan thinks that if Booth had confessed how he felt before she left, if he'd asked her not to get on that flight than maybe none of this would ever have happened," Sweets said.

"That's not true," Angela gasped, "How can she think that?"

"She's clinging to whatever explanation she can for what happened," Sweets explained, "What happened to her was horrible and tragic and there is no rational explanation and so she has to try and find an explanation for it so that it makes sense. A rational string of events would be if Booth had asked her to stay and she had and then no one would have been killed. The real people to blame are not here so she must find someone she can funnel that blame into and unfortunately that so happens to be Agent Booth."

"If he'd asked, do you think she would have stayed?" Angela asked dropping onto the couch.

"No," Sweets shook his head sadly, "I don't."

"Then all this hurt is for nothing," Angela dropped her head into her hands.

"I think in the end things will work out," Sweets said resting his hand on her shoulder briefly."

"We need to get him back here," Angela said resolutely.

"I don't think it's going to be that easy," the psychologist replied but the artist was already determinedly dialling a number on her phone.

The Founding Fathers was known for many things. You could get probably the best plate of chicken wings in the city there, the music was always something you recognised and if you wanted a scotch at ten in the morning the bartender would serve you without judgement.

The bar looked different in the light of day. The cosy booths seemed open and the shadowed nooks where couples often retreated to in the dark of night looked simply like the corners of the room that they were. Cam's heels stuck to the sticky bar floor but that didn't stop her determined stride when she spotted her target sitting at the far corner of the bar.

Sliding onto the bar stool next to him she silently signalled the bartender to bring her a drink before resting her elbows up onto the counter. She didn't speak or turn to look at him knowing that he would speak when he was ready. Years of friendship and the off again on again relationship they had once shared had taught them a lot about one another and knowing the nuances of his personality afforded her a couple of minutes to think about exactly how she was going to tackle this.

"What are you doing here Camille?" he asked, his voice rough from disuse.

"I came to pull your stubborn head out of your ass Seeley," she replied, "And don't call me Camille."

"Don't call me Seeley," he replied without pausing.

The bartender returns with her drink then and she slides some money, enough to cover the both of their drinks to the man before taking a sip. Ten in the morning is really far too early for a scotch but the situation calls for it and she was not going to let him drink alone.

"This is my first one," he clinked his glass with hers as if reading her thoughts.

"For this morning?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes," he nods.

"While I'm glad to see you're not drinking yourself stupid the same couldn't be said for your grooming skills," she nodded towards the two day old stubble currently growing on his chin.

"Somehow shaving just doesn't seem high on my list of priorities right now," he growled.

"Clearly your list of priorities is all wrong if you're sitting here at ten in the morning drinking scotch instead of being with your partner who clearly needs you there."

"She doesn't need me," he took another sip of his drink, grimacing as the liquid burned the back of his throat.

"Please, who do you think you're kidding?" Cam replied incredulously, "I know you Seeley and you don't give up on the ones you care about."

"Did anyone ever stop to consider that it might hurt me too much to be there. That maybe I couldn't handle being there while she blamed me for every one of the horrible things that were done to her? Every one is so quick to tell me that I should be there for her, that she needs me but no one seems to think that maybe I can't deal with her hating me. Maybe I can't look at the bruises all over her body without hating myself. That her screams cut me down to the core. So don't come in here and tell me what I should be doing Camille because I already feel bad enough, I don't need you making me feel any more guilty."

"You know it isn't your fault," Cam said quietly, "None of this is your fault."

"Just leave me alone Cam," he replied, "I really don't feel like company."

"You're not even going to ask how she is?" Cam asked.

"I don't want to know," he replied but the lie was so blatant that the pathologist saw right through it.

"She's getting worse Booth," Cam said standing up from the bar stool, "Sweets and Daisy have been staying at her apartment because Daisy seems to be the only one who can bring her around from the panic attacks. She needs you there but I'm not sure you're going to be much help to anyone if you can't stop for a second and really think about your partner and what she is really trying to tell you."

He didn't watch her as she left the bar, instead he sighed and signalled the bartender to bring him another. She was right, he was stubborn and that just might be the thing that broke them forever.