A/N: Hey, sorry for the wait. I was just trying to find myself again before I attempted to write in the perspectives of other people.

Originally, this chapter was supposed to be an explosive argument. But I realized I wanted to save that for another time and another place.

So here it goes…

The warmth of the apartment complex lobby did little to quell her trembling. Sopping wet and downcast, she attempted to come to terms with the explosive decision she had just made. The neurotically clean foyer seemed to mock her, fortifying her already falling self-confidence with a show of obvious aesthetical superiority.

Who was she? She didn't even know. She wasn't this vulnerable. At least, she wasn't until he burst into her life guns a blazing with no intention of ever leaving.

But wait. He did leave. And she had no one to blame but herself and her fear.

It took a minute for her to realize she hadn't moved from her spot on the doormat of the complex. It took another few seconds for her to mentally acknowledge the two large puddles seeping into the coarse material. It took even less time for her to feel his erratic breathing behind her, gently willing her glistening hair to move across her neck; a stark contrast to the waves of anger rolling off of his body. She sighed, exasperated. He doesn't quit. Unless he counted giving up on her. But then again, she supposed she made it easy for him to.

"You've always been the rational one. That decision was completely uncalled for." She could hear his barely contained anger; his mocking tone at the word "rational" did not pass her by either. It was unfair that she was still so acutely aware of him. He must've noticed her eyes becoming unfocused because he barked out her moniker, assuming he had lost her attention. As if he didn't have it at all times. "Bones. You're going to invite me upstairs. And we're going to talk about this."

She felt heat built up once again, her current state of borderline hypothermia forgotten. The self-imposing bastard. His debonair looks and charm can only go so far when his brashness and engorged ego come out to play. She clenched her fists and willed herself not to look back. His eyes were always her downfall. She stiffly walked herself to the elevator, refusing to give him the satisfaction of her acknowledgment. Besides, she knew he would follow her anyway, regardless of her consent or not.

The ride up to her apartment was stifling at best. The jazzy elevator music might've been soothing at another moment in time, but for now it just felt sadistic. Neither spoke, knowing that once words were thrown around it would catalyze an argument not suitable for an audience.

The slide of the metallic slabs signaled their arrival on her floor. Brennan strode out of the elevator, still avoiding Booth's penetrating glare. She used the long walk down the corridor to her apartment as preparation time; she fiercely rebuilt her mental walls that Sweets and Angela keep talking about and forced her face into an expression that could only be described as cool disdain. She was frustrated that three simple words, I love her, was able to make all of her defenses come crumbling down. This thought alone infuriates her. Brennan's feeble grasp of her sanity was failing by the second. People always associated her with being a cold fish; emotionally detached. But nobody ever asked how she was able to remain so detached. She allowed herself what she liked to call "emotional reprieves." These were days when she would spend every waking hour letting free every last teardrop and mournful wail until she could look at the cause of her sadness in the eye and not feel a thing. She did this when Zach was admitted into the asylum, and when Booth died, and she would do it today. She needed the release. But first, she had to figure out how to get Booth to leave her to her own devices. The thought of allowing herself to be human strengthens her resolve to end this confrontation as soon as possible; she'd do anything to permit the emotional bomb ticking inside of her to detonate. Brennan's thawing hands don't even shake as she slipped her key into the lock and unbolted the door.

Brennan whipped her drenched trench off of her shivering frame and opened her coat closet. She attempted to hang the heavy material but it proved to be futile, so she unceremoniously threw it onto the closet floor. She was just too tired. She felt raw, skinned alive on a world stage. She wanted nothing more than to slip into a hot bath and forget everything that has transpired.

Booth seemed to have other ideas.

"That is completely un-fucking-fair Bones," He begins to pace her living room, a habit that's been proven to sharpen his thinking process and, unfortunately for Brennan, his argumentative ability.

"What isn't fair, Booth?" She knew him too well, knew how to use his own anger against him. Knew that if she was able to make him see red and only red towards her, all rational thought would leave him and she would win the dispute due to his vexation.

"Stop with the deflection."

Damn it, she thought. For all the brilliance that Temperance Brennan's been accredited for, she always seemed to forget that Booth also knew her all too well. Being detached and emotionless evidently wasn't going to get her the alone time she wanted. She went another route that was also usually unfailing: nudging at his soft side.

"Booth, I'm freezing, I'm going to catch a cold. Look at me."

And look he did, for all the wrong reasons. He was not ignorant to the cling of her transparent white blouse to her supple curves, nor the twin peaks that strained against flimsy lace. Rain has never been such an enemy to him.

He closed his wandering eyes and ran a hand across his face, feigning irritation when really it was an attempt to save his morality. She just had to be so goddamn alluring. In instances such as these, when Bones' beauty was just too impossible to ignore, Booth was always able to convince himself that it was just his dick talking. Ironically, he used Brennan's own words to comfort his lecherous thoughts towards her. It's just the natural male response to external stimuli, Booth…

He took a few seconds to muster up his decency before he let his eyes linger on her face. He struggled to move his sight away from the intensity of twin Circassian oceans boring into his, but once he prevailed he was able to notice the pallor of her skin and the violet hue of her bottom lip. His breath hitched. Had he been so self consumed that even the most noticeable of indicators passed him by? Nothing about her used to pass him by. "Awh jeez, Bones… Yeah I'm sorry, go ahead, I'll wait for you."

She released a sigh of relief. The mutual angry tension that existed a mere few moments ago between them had obviously dissipated. While unavoidable awkwardness still remained, she could never doubt his unfailing concern for her, even if love and their old friendship were absent. She knew he would concede the second she saw him suck his cheeks in and twitch his eyebrows in guilt. Booth had nothing to feel guilty about, but she was just too drained to allay his self-castigation with words. She settled for sending an infinitesimal smile his way, hoping he would get the message. He did. He was the only one who could, really.

"I'll hurry up," she promised. As much as she dreaded the conversation to come, she'd rather have it happen quickly, ripping it off like a band-aid. She smiled inwardly. She really was getting better at modern colloquialisms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~B&B~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was a miniscule second of pain when the scalding water hit frozen skin before her muscles relaxed into the consistency of noodles.

Her body was in odds with itself. It was, by physical definition, the picture of calamity. But inside, she felt like she was boiling. Her inner turmoil was raging and she felt the remnants of her past tears rising once again to the surface. She bit her knuckles firmly in an attempt to choke back the sob that was threatening to break the relative silence of her bathroom. She did feel a sense of pride at holding herself somewhat together in the minutes (had it only been minutes? Because her emotional afflictions begged to differ) that he had been in her presence.

Suddenly the water was too hot.

She adjusted the chrome knobs until the overhead spray didn't feel as though it was going to melt her and send her down the drain. She reached for her fragrant shampoo and massaged it into limp hair, reveling in the relief her slender fingers were giving to a pounding headache. She did the same with her body cleanser, kneading away the kinks of tight muscles. As she washed away the suds, she realized that she was being highly irrational.

Who was she to leave him behind? It didn't make her better than him. It didn't make the world a better place. And what was that one saying Booth was always spouting out? Absence makes the heart grow fonder? Whatever the hell that means.

And then there was also the small factor that she was utterly, unexplainably, disgustingly, dependent on him.

If the Temperance Brennan of 2005 could see her now….

She couldn't live like this. But she couldn't leave anymore. She's grown roots in Washington, DC. Roots she never wanted to establish, but Booth watered her and nurtured her until one day she woke up and realized she was in full bloom and had grown to a point of no return. Evolved.

She knew what to do.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~B&B~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Brennan was forming her mental epiphanies in the shower, Booth was also contemplating how to go about convincing his stubborn partner. For someone who was supposed to be rational, Brennan was as insanely unpredictable as they come. Flying off to remote countries whenever she felt too emotionally threatened, or walking into dangerous situation during field work as if it was a Saturday morning walk in the park…

When Brennan stepped out of her bedroom, a fog of steam following in her wake, Booth was prepared for the argument of the century. He'd decided to use the importance and impact of their careers as his main point, knowing that her vocation was near and dear to her and was a point almost impossible to argue against. But before he could open his mouth, she surprised him. Whenever he thought he was finally starting to understand her, she would throw him off. Always. She would always keep him on his toes. He wished he didn't love the idea of her always surprising him so much; he wished he didn't depend on her being a constant. Because Temperance Brennan was never one to stay. Or at least, that's what he thought.

She shifted her weight to the left, rested her side on the doorjamb for support. "You're right, I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. I do not wish to severe our partnership. We do do good don't we?" She gave him that lopsided grin reserved only for him, but even that couldn't disguise her stormy gray eyes. They were only that certain shade of electric silver when she was reining in the apocalyptic storm only she could bring along.

Booth's mouth was agape. Bones never apologized. Ever. On the rare occasions that she was wrong, she would acknowledge the validity of the statement of the other person, but would never apologize for her oversight. He really had been neglecting her lately. He saw her almost every day, and this change in her behavior had only become apparent now. And he doubted that it wasn't gradual.

"Listen I just- I need to regain my footing. Now that my world is right side up again." Booth still didn't understand this metaphor she kept reiterating. "I am not…accustomed to feeling this way. I assure you that I will continue to retain a professional and amiable countenance during our work hours, and I will never ask for more again. I understand our limitations."

For five years, Booth had always felt like they were both in sync. Attuned to each other, and their thoughts and actions. It was what made them such a good team. So it was almost comically appropriate that their timing never was.

"I do have a request of you, Booth, if we are to stay partners."

"What is it?" He held his breath.

"This entire weekend, I need you to leave me alone. No calls, no questions, no dropping by."

"What, why?"

She ignores his question. "By Monday morning, we'll be the same as we were before. We'll be friends. I just really need this weekend; an explanation as to why is not relevant. Please don't ask any more of me. " The last line was given a notch barely above a whisper, as if she had become winded at her choice of wording. She crosses her arms across her ribcage as if that was the only barrier keeping her very essence from seeping from her skin.

The very image of her standing there, more vulnerable than Booth had ever seen her before, is what gives Booth the courage to ignore his engrained FBI information-extracting training to say, "Okay."

A/N: Next up is Brennan's weekend to detox and flush Booth out of her system. Is it possible?