Status: New here, please don't hurt me. lol
Title: The House That Built Me
Rating: T/PG-13
Warnings: Flashbacks to child abuse and lots of angst
(nothing you wouldn't already see on the show)
Pairings: B&B eventually, Hodgela eventually

Summary: In the wake of Bones turning him down, Booth gets the shock of his life - his father has died. He had once believed he was numb to anything that happened to the man, but is that true? And he learns that sometimes the hardest thing to do, is face the truth. The truth being well kept secrets, and a basketfull of regrets. How will Booth cope when his world falls apart?
This story is un-betaed. If there are mistakes, they are mine.

Chapter 1

A heavy door slammed as a stream of profanities and other angry noises greeted a cold and empty apartment. Stumbling in fury, the owner of this slightly oppressive place did everything but spit on his beat up hardwood floor, while making his way to his tiny kitchen. Throwing open his refrigerator door, letting the light from the inside brighten the otherwise darkened room, the first thing he grabbed was a beer and the second his day-old take-out. When he felt more than heard that door slam as well, he continued with his colorful curses and muttered angry noises before practically throwing the take-out in his microwave. He smirked when even that door closed with a resounding "whack" – uncaring that he may be disrupting his neighbors. They could all go to hell tonight, for all he cared. For once he was concerned for strictly himself.

It wasn't until he had his beer opened and at least half of it chugged that he finally calmed down enough to reassess what had happened not one hour ago. Had he really just come – no – charged out of that office, looking for all intents and purposes a man ready to kill someone? Was that really him? Surely not. Surely this had all been a dream that in a few minutes he would wake up from and everything would be fine. When the microwave beeped its chorus, an overhanging sense of dread – the very same he had nearly perfected hiding since that morning – settled between his shoulders.

As if on auto-pilot, he went through the motions of taking out his food (still cool to the touch, not that he noticed), placing it on his small second-hand table where he left extra chopsticks from the night before laying (Bones was supposed to meet him, she canceled because "work" had to be done – did she think he was born yesterday?), lifting food to mouth (valiantly aiming it correctly, considering he was too busy looking at the hypnotic display of passing headlights on the road beneath), and finally giving up on the false pretense of being hungry and dropping his cold and slightly shaking hand back to the table. He was a lot of things at that moment, but hungry wasn't one of them.

Sighing loudly and rubbing his eyes, he tried to start processing his argument while shifting further down in his second-hand high-backed barstool he used for a table chair. With a shake of his head he realized, that no, he wasn't processing anything. He was trying to prove to himself he was right. And he was! The decision was his, and it would remain his. No one else's – just his and his alone. He didn't want to think rationally, he wanted to be angry at everyone for putting him in this place of having to decide in the first place.

*"…it is absolutely imperative that you go for your own benefit, Booth." Sweets calmly stated, legs crossed in his usual fashion, making Booth even angrier that the topic was still being discussed and that a kid was deciding what was good for him. He had no right, and with every passing second he was beginning to think Bones didn't either.

"For the benefit of what exactly, Sweets? Huh? What am I going to gain?" he nearly snarled.

"Booth calm down." Bones softly placated and placed a reassuring hand on his arm.

He turned his eyes to her. "I'm not going to calm down, Bones!"

She was about to speak when Sweets cut in, "Agent Booth, if I could please explain my opinion here…"

"No," he growled and pushed to stand up, making Bones' hand let go. "No, I don't want your opinion, Sweets. You don't have a right to one." He glanced back at Bones making sure she was hearing as well. "It is MY decision," he said with great emphasis. "NOT yours!"

"But…" He cut Bones off with, "Stay the hell away from me right now, Bones. I need some time to think alone."*

Because it wasn't a decision, it was finality. He wasn't going anywhere, end of story. And even if he was tempted, the finality still stood. He couldn't and wouldn't open that can of worms again; he was fine where he was. Didn't make millions, but he was slightly more than just comfortable. Didn't have a wife, but then again, didn't have time for one either. Didn't have a lot of vacation time, but then again, didn't need it – his work was rewarding and he loved it. His life wasn't perfect, he risked his ass every day, but it wasn't horrible either. It was fine, everything was fine.

After that last thought, the cool darkness of the apartment began to drift around; creating a heavy blanket of memories and regrets. It crawled up his long arms, scratched along his back, before clasping the base of his spine in a tight hold of misery. He shuddered, willing that feeling away. But the feeling continued to grow. It settled in his heart, and for the first time in a long time he was aware of just how alone he was. The beer and cold take-out doing nothing to assuage his wishes for a real place to call home. His apartment wasn't home. It was a small box filled with pictures of happy people that have wheedled their way past his armor that he used as shield to the truth.

The truth that he was lonely.

He stood up with his now almost finished beer, and wandered into his tiny living room, taking another long swig. Deftly stepping past his worn couch, he stopped in front of his mantle that held many of these aforementioned pictures – half smiling as he imagined what each frame held since he could catch the shine of the metals surrounding his pictures from the moonlight. In many ways he felt like a goldfish. Staring at people, wishing to be a part of their laughter, wishing to share in their joy…but stick in a bowl.

He wanted so much more than that. Hell, he knew he was worth more than that. But in the confines of his fish bowl it was so much harder than he had thought it would be at eighteen when he tasted the first servings of freedom. The plan had been simple. He would join the military, they would pay for his college, he'd get honors and awards for his outstanding commitment to his country, he would settle down with a beautiful wife and have kids of his own, he would be the perfect dad and they would love him, and he would have a great and respectable job, and…

He shakes his head. Everything, including your thirty-year plan, always looks better when your eighteen, naïve, and stupid in all the ways that count.

Now, he didn't really know what was left. He certainly never thought about what he was going to do if…well if. It just had never come into his cards. Because like he said before, it wasn't a decision. It was finality. He wouldn't go home to where he grew up (and he uses grew up loosely) just to remember all of the things he wants to forget. He just wouldn't do it. None of it mattered anymore.

Right?

As if on cue, his house phone rang and his sigh was so gloomy he swore he saw a shadow come out of his mouth. He quickly moved back into his kitchen, throwing the bottle in the stand-up trash can along the way, and picked the cordless offender up and out of its cradle. Sometimes he swore technology was created just to torture him.

"This is Booth." He answered with a well hidden growl. If this was…

"Booth?" the all too familiar female voice asked. He didn't miss the sultry undertones her voice naturally had, although it didn't soothe him like it usually would. "It's Bones. I…" she sounded hesitant, "I wasn't sure you would pick up."

He rubbed his eyes and released another sigh, that same weight around his body coming back full force. He couldn't deal with this right now. He had things he needed to think about. "Have you given me a reason to?" Sarcastic anger Booth was well aware went over her head, but he just couldn't help himself.

"I-I don't understand the question?" Of course you don't. He rolled his eyes.

"Never mind, Bones, just never mind." He huffed. "Was there something you needed? Because I said all that needed to be said in Sweets' office."

There was a pause. "I don't think you are looking at this clearly, Booth. I think you are upset and…"

He laughed bitterly while sitting back at his table. "Yeah, Bones, I am upset. Mostly at you."

He heard her sigh. "Booth, I am not betraying you just because I think Sweets is right. You have to go…"

"I don't have to go anywhere, Temperance." He growled dangerously and swallowed his apology at the horrified gasp he received. Taking a breath, he tried again. "It's not my fault the old bastard finally croaked."

"Nobody said it was, Booth." She reasoned softly, still reeling from his earlier tone of voice.

"No, you're right there. You and your buddy Sweets actually didn't say that. But that doesn't change my decision. I'm not going to his goddamned funeral, because as far I'm concerned he's been dead to me for twenty-eight years!"

He was panting, forcing his eyes to stay angry and not well up. This shouldn't matter, he was over the pain. He didn't care about what happened to that guy. He was mad at Bones for not siding with him when he needed her too. He was mad at Sweets for continuing to push when he knew Booth couldn't give anymore than he tried to already. There were so many thoughts running through his head he barely caught Bones' soft admittance. "My parents were dead to me too, you know." He closed his mouth on his next angry words, hating that she was right. "Wasn't it you that helped me find out what actually happened? Wasn't it you that helped me forgive my dad? And mother, actually. Why are you allowed to store it all away somewhere and I wasn't? Wouldn't that be considered a double standard?" He could feel the biting tone nipping at his ear and his heart.

"There's a difference here." He countered, resolve wavering. "I know what happened. He beat me unconscious for the billionth time, and took off. Never saw him again. Mom called Pops, and he took us home to Pittsburg. There isn't any grey area, Bones." She made a slight noise of protest against his words, like she was going to correct him, but then shut up. He briefly wondered what that was about, but shook his head. "I'm not looking for answers and never have been. Got 'em beaten into my skull every third night, thank you. I don't require any more explanations."

She stayed quiet which suited him just fine. He should hang up anyway. There was no way she was convincing him Sweets was right. Their situations were not the same. Her father was a bank robber on the run to protect his family. His father was an abusive, alcoholic bastard; that walked out after…after…well just after.

They didn't speak for several minutes. He finally allowed a single tear to fall and told her the truth while wiping it away. "I'm afraid of going home, Bones." He sniffled. "I don't want to remember what happened. It's too frickian painful. Home…" He trailed off, not usre where he was going with that thought. Home? Where was home?

Her own watery voice soothingly said, "It was painful for me too, Booth. You helped me, I can help you. Isn't that what partners do?"

Quietly still observing the passing traffic and thinking, he nodded before uttering, "Yeah, I guess it is."

A few more minutes passed, Booth lost to a view he was using as a distraction from memories, Bones trying to figure what to say next. Finally, "I already spoke with Andrew, Booth. You have two weeks paid leave."

He squeezed his eyes closed when she said Andrew and only nodded, waiting for her to continue, not strong enough to fight anymore or really even speak.

"I…" she was back to sounding hesitant, "I have taken two weeks as well…" his face twisted even more as well as his gut. If she had taken two weeks leave, she had to clear it with Cam, which meant everyone knew his business now. Perfect. "So we could go together." A pause. "I mean, if you want me to go. I can see how that would be taken as presumptuous of me, but I just reasoned that…well that you would do the same for me and I…" he heard a sniffle, "I am really worried about you going alone…as irrational as that may be. I'm sure you will be fine, but…"

A genuine start of a smile appeared on his face as he cut her off. "I would like you to go, Bones."

"Good," she breathed. "That's, uh, good. Well, um," he almost asked where Bones was when he realized she was actually floundering for words. He had never seen, or heard as the case may be, her so nervous. "Should we go tomorrow? Is that too soon? Oh, and then there's Jared…"

"Jared's already there." He almost spit, anger of a different kind coming back. "The police told me he was the one to identify him. The coroner said Dad got hit by a car while…while drunk." He faltered and swallowed the bile rising in his throat. "The driver has been charged with accidental vehicular manslaughter, but they don't know how well it'll hold up in court considering the state he was in."

"I see." He was grateful she didn't say 'I'm sorry.' "How did Jared know about him before you?"

He gritted his teeth. "He had Jared's number in his wallet and no other identification. They called the number to see if it would give them any leads."

*"Booth?" He answered his desk phone earlier that morning, before throwing his legs up on his desk in a bored fashion.

"Agent Booth?"A male and tense sounding voice came through the line.

"Yes, how can I help you?"He picked up his stress ball and squeezed it a couple of times, balancing the phone underneath his ear.

"My name is John Dowel from the Philadelphia Police Department, and I have some very unfortunate news for you, sir."

Momentarily stunned, he paused mid-squeeze and sat up a little straighter, "Okay, what unfortunate news?"

"Your father died three nights ago outside of a convenient store." The words were like a bucket of freezing cold water dumped on your head while in the middle of the Sahara Desert. It was a complete shock to his system. And before he could process his feelings on it, the Police Officer continued. "He was hit by a Camry at two-thirty in the morning. The coroner has told us his blood alcohol level was more than triple the legal limit. I am very sorry for your loss."

Recovering from his brief state of astounded silence, he barked, "Wait, how the hell do you know it's my dad?"

"We, umm," he stuttered, obviously afraid of his tone, "we found a number in his wallet. It turned out to be your brother Jared's and he came to identify him."

"Jared?" He breathed in disbelief. Again he was stunned. "J-Jared claimed him?" Where in the hell was all of this coming from? "H-How, I mean, Jared was only four when Dad walked out…it's impossible Jared would know what our father looks like and…and…"

"Agent Booth, if you are uncertain of it actually being your father, we can hold up processing until you arrive. We could also perform a DNA test, but they can get expensive…"

"NO!" he almost shouted. "No," he recovered. "I…I don't think I'll be coming to the station to confirm whether or not it's my dad."

"You…" John sounded confused. "You won't? But you just said that…"

"Yeah, I know, but…I just won't. Go ahead and process it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, but…"

"But what?"

"Why wasn't Jared the one to call me? Did he ask you to do this?"

"He said he didn't want there to be any bigger of a rift between the two of you. And since he refused, I have no choice but to let you know. It's my job."

"I understand. Thank you, Mr. Dowel." The phone dropped back into the cradle like an elephant would into a lake.*

"Jared." She made a noise of contemplation. "But then why didn't…"

"Why didn't he call me?" He snorted and shook his head. "I don't know."

"Maybe he was afraid of your reaction to your father passing away." She offered, and Booth heard the sound of shuffling as if she was moving around on the other end of the line.

He stood up and began walking out of the kitchen. "More like afraid of my reaction to why Dad had his number, but who's being specific?"

"I do find that fact very peculiar. I mean, he was certainly old enough to remember at least some of what went on when you both lived with him. Surely those memories would trigger at least some sense of…"

"…not-wanting-to-ever-see-him-again-under-any-circumstances-whatsoever-for-as-long-as-thou-shall-live-and-breathe? Yeah, I would think so too, but then again, this is Jared. He always has his own agenda."

He heard her bitterly laugh. "Yeah, that I am well aware of."

They bother grew quiet again. "Well, what are you going to do about the driver? Do you think it was an accident, or deliberate?" Brennan finally asked.

"I don't know why it would be deliberate unless he got himself into some serious shit to pay off a debt or something." He released a long breath. "If that's the case, then job well done." He huffed in annoyance at the pain in his head not being eased from the low buzz of the alcohol in his system. "I'm sure you can understand why I don't feel very vengeful on his behalf."

"Booth," she warned.

"Don't start, Bones." He sighed and switched on the light sitting on his end table. "If he got himself popped off for something stupid, I'm not getting involved. It's not my problem and there would have been a cold day in hell, before he would have done anything like that for me." His voice was cold with acrimony.

"Doing the right thing is more important than vendettas, Booth." She chided softly.

"The right thing is irrelevant anymore, Bones. My family history is far too screwy to go to that much trouble." He sat down on the edge of his sofa and scowled at the scuffs on his dress shoes, kicking them off with a sound of irritation.

"Fine, I'm not going to fight with you over it." She sounded touchy.

"Look, Bones," Booth sighed. "I'm not going to say I'm sorry, when I'm not. If Dad stepped into it big time – whatever, I don't care. If I'm gonna be forced into going home and saying my final goodbye's, I am going to do it my way."

There was a huff, "Someone once told me, Booth, there are two sides to every story."

He closed his eyes and gulped down the tears choking his vision. Softly he replied, "Well then in my case, I guess I'll only ever hear the one, huh?"

Bones sighed long and he could hear her calculating her next words carefully. "Booth…Seeley…" he squeezed his eyes when she said his first name, "…get some rest. We'll talk more in the morning. I'll be packed and ready for the drive by seven-thirty."

He cleared his throat, pushing back his emotions. "Yeah, that's fine. It's gonna take about three hours to get there, so let's just grab breakfast on the way, if that's alright. I'd like to just get there and get back as quickly as possible."

"That's fine. Go lay down." He heard her add as an afterthought, "Oh, and no more beer. I don't want a hangover to deal with." He rolled his eyes. "And sleep in your actual bed, Booth, not on your couch. Remember? Your back." She warned.

He chuckled for what like the first time in ages. "Yes, mom. I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Yeah, tomorrow. Goodnight."

He paused his reply, savoring the concern he heard glittering her voice. "Goodnight Temperance." And with that he hung up.

Staring at the cordless phone he let it slip from his fingers, watching as it clattered to the floor. The tears were back full force, and he decided that if just for tonight he would indulge in letting them go. His dad was dead. He didn't think he truly cared, until Bones talked to him. Or maybe he did and he was just an expert at lying to himself. Maybe both.

He grabbed a throw pillow and curled into a ball on his side on the couch. His tears fell like heavy buckets of rain water, and for the first time in too long of time, he actually wished he had a dad to make it better again. But unfortunately for this lost boy, he knew he was all alone.

Nightmares plagued his dreams that night. It was non-stop. Every time he closed his eyes he didn't see the blackness, he saw his father's cold, angry eyes glaring at him. Challenging him. Taunting him. He couldn't escape. Suddenly, instead of being the thirty-eight year old man he believed himself to be, he was five years old again and balling his eyes out because he just saw his daddy break a beer bottle over the top his mother's head.

He couldn't deal with it anymore. He hadn't had these sorts of dreams since after he enlisted. Probably because the army gave him a whole other set of scary things to dream about, but that was irrelevant. He felt himself slipping, slowly. Slipping back into the mind game his father used to play, and it terrified him. He was dead, he shouldn't be allowed to hold this influence over him anymore. He was a man. A man with a purpose.

And yet, he nearly growled at himself when unconsciously he flinched before looking in the mirror like he used to do the morning after a particularly bad go-round to survey the damage. Damn it, why was he allowing that bastard to win?

His phone rang, disturbing his increasingly dark thoughts while glowering at his reflection in the mirror. Walking around the pile of clothes he left in the floor the night before from lack of will to do anything but fall into oblivion, he made his way cell phone plugged into the charger on his nightstand. He flipped it open on auto-pilot, and didn't bother to look at the caller ID.

"Booth?" he breathed, not really even having the energy to engage something like conversation.

"Hey, Booth. It's me, listen…" the familiar, male voice started but was cut off by Booth's bark of disbelief.

"Hodgins?" he glanced at the clock. "Why the hell are you calling me at six thirty in the freaking morning?"

"Good morning to you too." Came the sardonic reply.

"Sorry." Booth calmed and sat on the edge of his bed. "And hey, it's not like you opened up with 'good morning'." He grumbled just realizing he had been duped into saying an unwarranted apology.

"Details-schmetails. Listen, I hear you and Brennan are going to the great city where the words Philly, steak, cheese, and sandwich were first used in the English language to descriptively name two pieces of bread, rib eye steak, and provolone cheese."

"Yeah, so?" Booth again grumbled while frowning at Hodgin's blatant disrespect to his home town.

There was a sigh. "Well to make a painful story short, I'm coming with you."

"The hell you are!" He protested vehemently.

"Oh, and Angela too." Jack added as an after-thought, sounding completely unconcerned to Booth's denial…maybe even slightly bored.

Booth gaped at the air and then shut his mouth.

"Yeah, not much of a choice here, my poor, pathetic, government brainwashed compadre."

"What?" He shook himself out of his stupor.

"Cam's orders. Can't get out of it. Believe me – tried. In many creative ways too." Booth bristled at himself when he felt a stab of wounded pride hearing the other man had been practically desperate to get away from him. He shook the weird thought away when he realized Hodgins had continued droning on. "…and then after the begging didn't work, I promised I wouldn't defy her orders and do an experiment after she's said no already, for at least a week. To which she replied…"

"Yeah, that's great Hodge. Fascinating how much you hate me, really. But why did she pick you? No, in fact, why is she picking anybody at all? I don't need any damn baby sitters, and certainly not one shaped like you or!"

"Because, she believes it would do you some good to have friends there with you, and since she can't go due to several board meetings coming up…" he trailed off.

"She volunteered you and Angela." Booth growled while finishing Hodgins' sentence. He crossed his arms – phone balanced on his shoulder – and stomped over to his dresser. "Great. Wonderful." He mumbled. "Why don't we just humiliate me a little bit more then?" He pulled open a drawer and began looking for a pair of socks that would match his mood.

"Hey, this isn't about humiliating you, big guy…" Booth scoffed as he pulled out a pair black socks with storm clouds and raindrops stitched into it, when Jack stopped. "Okay, maybe not about completely humiliating you." Booth grunted in agreement as if to say 'That's more like it.' "Angela wanted to come anyway. You know how she is. All cuddly teddy bears and butterflies when people she loves are hurting."

"Who says I'm hurting?" Seeley snaps dangerously.

"Jeez, dude. Calm down alright? Get a grip." Jack quiets while Booth sighs knowing (and hating) the fact that he's right. "You know, it is okay to say you are…if only a little bit."

Booth sits down on the edge of his bed and fiddles with the socks in his hands. He decides to evade that line of inquiry. "You don't have to come, Hodge. Neither does Ange, okay? Really even Bones, if it's putting you guys out. I'll be fine. Gone four days at the max."

"Dude, listen," he hears a sigh. "I may pretend to hate your guts and whatever, but the truth is I don't." A beat. "And that's kinda why I pretend to hate your guts. Without even knowing it, you're kinda like me. I…" he pauses a second, "I'm alone too, you know. No family to speak of besides distant, greedy cousins. My dad was never around, always at a frickian business meeting or other such rot…but that's beside the point. The point is I do get it." A beat. "Okay well maybe not all of it, but enough. So…don't shut Ange and me out okay? Believe it or not, we are your friends and we do care about you."

Booth closes his eyes. "I need to get dressed." He hangs up, effectively ending anymore discussion.

Okay Chappie 1 and done! Please review and tell me what you think!