Where I Stood, a bones fanfic

AN: Okay, so last night's episode blew me away.

I'm in the middle of writing a S5 story from Booth's perspective, but Brennan's reaction to his words, to what he was offering her, hit me hard, and I just wanted to put something down on paper (or, as is more accurate, on screen).

Re the song choice below, which also served as inspiration for this one-shot: I think it fits Brennan's choice perfectly? Missy Higgins (who is such a wonderful singer) could have been singing just for her.

There are some truly great writers on this site who write for Brennan in a way that I can only aspire to. I'm not competing...I wouldn't even try.

Hopefully, though, I'm not too far wide of the mark with this one-shot in terms of characterisation.

So, I hope you like it and to those of you that are following "A Dream within a Dream" don't worry, I'm busy imagining the next chapter...Booth, poor destroyed Booth...how I love thee! :)

Where I Stood – Missy Higgins

I don't know what I've done
Or if I like what I've begun
But something told me to run
And honey you know me it's all or none

There were sounds in my head
Little voices whispering
That I should go and this should end
Oh and I found myself listening

'Cos I don't know who I am, who I am without you
All I know is that I should
And I don't know if I could stand another hand upon you
All I know is that I should
'Cos she will love you more than I could
She who dares to stand where I stood

See I thought love was black and white
That it was wrong or it was right
But you ain't leaving without a fight
And I think I am just as torn inside

And I won't be far from where you are if ever you should call
You meant more to me than anyone I ever loved at all
But you taught me how to trust myself and so I say to you
This is what I have to do

She was still shaking as she closed the door to her apartment behind her. She gave up trying to undo the buttons of her white coat, her fingers simply wouldn't cooperate. Brennan didn't move beyond the entranceway. She stood stock still, breathing, breathing and wondering how it was still possible that her body was functioning despite her. Despite her belief that she would die at any moment – death was surely the only outcome to the pain she felt pounding away at her chest, at her insides. She remained rigidly upright, but, as before, had no idea how it was possible.

She listened. The clock on the wall that hung directly in front of her beat out its steady announcement and somewhere farther away she heard a dripping sound, likely from the worn faucet in the bathroom sink. The sounds of cars tracking up and down against the wet streets outside her apartment block blended and soon she was lost to the cacophony of intermittent noise. She closed her eyes against the fresh tears that stung and burned.

She was right to let him down, to let him go. There was nothing else to be done. No other option. No other way to be. Her heart wasn't generous, wasn't enough for him. He was all about heart. It made him the man he was. He didn't seek to quantify every emotion, every misspoken word and every concession of a belief system. This was all she had and she'd been slipping for a while now. She hadn't been paying attention and somehow had allowed herself to lose track, to lose focus. But science would save her, as it had done every time her world rocked and threatened to splinter. Science would not fail her; it wasn't capable of that level of surprise.

Brennan clenched her fists tight and locked out her arms until her elbows and shoulders ached from the tension. He would love someone else. He would get his fifty years. She had no doubt about that. And what would become of her? Would she continue to work cases with him and day by day watch him distance himself from her? Would she attend his wedding? Would she stay around to see him become a father for a second time, maybe more? Would she have the strength, the commitment to detachment that this would require?

She wasn't sure. All she knew was that she had to try. She couldn't stop working with him, she couldn't walk away completely. The thought of not seeing him caused a sense of panic to arise within her that both scared and fascinated her. The scientist in her couldn't fully understand it, rationalise it, but there was some part of her, some part she couldn't touch, that recognised the feeling and welcomed it. That indefinable panic needed him close and when all was said and done, it was that part of her that refused to let him go. She had forced him to continue their partnership; she could tell that he was thinking about walking away. She had been selfish. She had put her panic above his obvious pain. She couldn't love him if she was capable of so consciously hurting him. In time, he'd see that too.

She believed she could still sense his kiss on her lips and wanted to scream out loud at the thought of him kissing anyone else. She wasn't sure if she had the resolve to stay sane when the time inevitably came and he'd leave her behind and go home to another woman. A woman that would love him, cherish him. This woman that would lead him to their bedroom and slowly undress him. This woman that would give of herself and touch him as he needed to be touched. This woman who would kiss him back, love him back. This woman who could see into the future and trust in it.

His chest had felt firm, warm against her hands and only now did she allow herself to consider how he had made her feel. His smell, his touch, taste and emotion threatened to consume her right there where she stood. She raised her hand to her mouth and ran her index finger across her bottom lip – it made no rational sense but she knew, she understood, that he had branded her. Staked his claim. Ruined her. The tears fell faster and as she pulled her hand away, back to her side, it was wet. She wanted him so much. Wanted him like air, like water, like no one had ever wanted anyone before. Her need had to be unique or how else did people cope from losing such a connection, how did they recover from such an all-encompassing passion? The fact that it wasn't about sex hit her so hard that she almost took a step back, closer to the door. Her body had reacted to him in a way that wasn't purely physical. She had reacted to his touch and his words with her whole being. This made the pain worse. This made the pain sink into her flesh and melt into her bones. This made the pain permanent.

She continued to cry, her chest rose and fell erratically and for whole moments she didn't breathe. He wanted to give it a shot. He wanted to risk it all, for her, for them. He was so much braver than she ever gave him credit for. She hated that this surprised her. It was more evidence that she was undeserving. She cried until she could barely stand. She swayed and hugged herself as her body absorbed the assault.

Her only constant thought, her only attentive belief was that she didn't know who she was without him. This had happened while she was busy looking the other way. This outcome had crept up on her and attacked her while she was busy being oblivious. All she knew is that she should know. She should be able to set herself apart. If she couldn't do that, she would be lost forever.

So, she lifted her head and wiped the warm, painful tears from her face and steadied her breathing. She was able to unbutton her coat, she was able to walk whole steps to her bedroom and take off the rest of her clothes. She was able to lie down on her bed. She was able to close her eyes and bid goodbye to the night and wish for daylight. She was able to refocus, compartmentalise and get back to what she knew, what she understood. But she couldn't stop the pain. The truly shocking thing was though that she didn't want to. The pain kept him close. The pain linked her to him. The pain would make it easier when he began to commit to running in the opposite direction.

The pain would save her. The pain would keep her afloat, keep her whole and keep her breathing. Science couldn't compete with that. For the first time she knew that science would fail her. Just as she had failed him.