Brennan felt the tears fall as she turned to walk up the stairs. There was no holding back. She was upset, it was irrational, but she was. I thought this was what he wanted, she thought. "All I wanted was for you to be happy," she said out loud, not to anyone in particular because well, there was no one. She leant against the door to her and Booth's room, the tears still falling. She wanted them to stop, but she wasn't going to force them away. She bit her lip to try and silence the already silent sobs, piercing her lip doing so.

Opening the door, she entered the room and looked around at what her life had become. She wasn't alone. Booth's words were still ringing in her head, they wouldn't go away. I don't think we should do it. She let out a laugh. A sad laugh. More sobs followed and she wished for nothing else but for them to go away. She walked into the adjoining bathroom and took a look at herself in the mirror. She noticed that her lip was cut. She grabbed a soft cloth from under their sink; it was one that she usually used on Christine. Booth always told her to use regular ones, that a baby's face wouldn't always be soft and pampered and that Christine should get adjusted early. But Brennan didn't even like using the rough cloths they had on her own face, why should her daughter suffer? Stop it Temperance, she thought to herself. But why should I stop? She questioned. "Because I'm angry at him," she said out loud to no one again.

"No, I'm not angry I didn't even want this," she responded to herself. This is nonsense, why am I conversing with myself? "He's the one who believes in marriage, this is ludicrous." She looked at herself in the mirror, and stood up straighter. She shouldn't be sad, and she decided that she wouldn't be. She wiped her tears away, as they had finally ceased flowing. After removing the cloth from her warm lips, she turned on the tap and rubbed the cold water over them. She opened the cupboard above the toilet and grabbed the lip chap. She noticed it wasn't hers; it was Booth's. I never understood why he needed lip chap, she pondered, although I am grateful because it makes his lips so soft, quite feminine actually. She laughed at the thought. Again it was another uncomfortable laugh.

After rubbing the balm over her lips, she took a look, a really good look, at her face. It was red from the tears, and her eyes were red as well. She sighed and shut the light off, closing the door behind her. She sat down on their bed, oddly on Booth's side. She grabbed his pillow and brought it up to her chest. She held it so tight to her it might have 'popped open' in the language of Booth. She leaned down and shoved her face into it. She inhaled the scent and enjoyed that it reeked of his hair gel.

She wasn't keeping track of the time. It seemed pointless, really. But some time must have passed because when she looked up from the pillow Booth was standing in their doorway; staying in the hallway as if asking her permission to enter. He looked disheveled. She could tell he'd been crying. He wouldn't admit it, and she wouldn't ask. She'd never seen Booth shed a tear, she'd seen the aftermath, but never the action. He looked at her with so much sympathy Brennan could have swore her heart was in her throat. Realizing that she was still holding onto his pillow, she put it down in its rightful place. She looked back up and Booth hadn't moved from his original position. Brennan wondered how long he must have been standing there until she noticed him. She tilted her head to the left, as she always did, when something didn't make sense to her. Her brow furrowed as she questioned why Booth was still standing in place of their door.

"Booth?" She said softly.

Then she saw it; the tear. The one lone tear threatening to escape him. She stood up slowly and walked toward Booth. She stopped so that his crossed arms were millimetres away from her breasts. She looked up at him but he did not return the action.

He stared above her; it was easy to do since he was taller. But nothing was easy about the action. I can't even look at her, what kind of man am I? He thought. She was so close he felt her breath on his neck. The threatening tear escaped his eye and Booth felt so powerless. Bones would probably 'say that makes no sense', he thought.

Brennan reached up and wiped his tear away. She'd never done that before, to anyone. Booth's already uneasy breath hitched. He didn't think she would do something like that. Before he could stop himself he blurted, "Bones, don't."

"Don't what, Booth?"

"I- I don't know." He said defeatedly.

"Booth, I," she said uneasily, "I know you're upset. But you- you need to understand that, that I am- I'm not."

Booth felt like he had been shot. She wasn't; she couldn't. She can't do this. "Bones, I'm sorry. I am so sorry."

"Don't be, Booth."

"But I am!" he said louder than either thought he would.

Brennan looked at him in shock that he had just yelled at her, but then she noticed it. She could smell it. Alcohol. His breath reeked of the stench. "Booth..." she said lightly.

"I'm sorry..." he barely said above a whisper as his head surrendered to her shoulder. Brennan almost fell over at the impact. He was drunk. She realized it now. But he wasn't just drunk, not even relatively drunk; he was overly intoxicated. She shivered at the thought of how much he might have had to drink.

"Booth, you need to lay down." She said to the man she thought of as her husband just merely hours ago.

"No... m'fine" he mumbled.

"Booth you're drunk."

He looked up at Brennan, there was something in his eyes and it wasn't love. "I am not a drunk" he rebelled.

"Booth, you've had too much to drink, come on." She walked the wobbly Booth to his side of the bed. He plopped down on the bed, looking up at Brennan like he was a child. Brennan couldn't handle it; it was reminding her of Christine. It reminded her of them; together. She was still angry at Booth, she remembered. No wait, I'm not angry, she told herself. Yes you are, her mind rebelled. "Just lay down Booth." He did as asked and Brennan tore his shoes off. "Take off your pants" she instructed. She had firsthand experience of how uncomfortable it was to sleep in jeans. "Why?" he questioned.

"Just do it" she said tiredly. She didn't like Booth when he was drunk. Yes, most of the time it was a happy drunk, but he was still drunk. This drunk he was now though, it scared her. She'd never seen him like this before.

Booth fumbled foolishly with his button until Brennan lost her patience and undid them for him. "Whoa, not tonight Bones" he said. Did he really think she was trying to engage in intercourse with him? Now? After what just happened? For lack of better words, Brennan found herself saying 'yeah right' internally. She pulled the pants off him and he did everything he could to resist. An intoxicated Booth was not a cooperative Booth. She pulled his socks off next, but Booth didn't really seem to notice. Next she moved to his shirt. She realized the difficulty in taking it off while he was lying down, so she decided to tell him to sit up. After what seemed like a whine, Booth finally did so.

Brennan reached for the hem of his shirt and Booth put his hand on the small of her back, forcing her closer to him. "Booth" she said breathlessly. He just looked up at her expectantly. Brennan was scared. She knew it was irrational; Booth would never hurt her, but what if Booth slipped up just once? What if he remembered back to when his father beat him when he was drunk and he just let it out on her? She shook at the thought. She shouldn't be thinking so poorly of Booth.

She let go of his shirt and plied his hand off of her. "Booth, no." She said firmly. Booth just looked up at her with the same expectant look. Brennan shook it off, and grabbed the hem of his shirt again. He didn't put up a fight, to which she was surprised. Pulling it over his head, she inspected his body.

Booth hated when she did this. When she looked at him like he- like he was a set of remains on her slab. He noticed Brennan look down at the scar just under his pant line because for some reason his boxers weren't pulled up all the way. He leant his hand up to her head, and pushed her beautiful face to him with the pad of his thumb. She knew he hated it when she looked at his scars. But she really didn't like that one, and he'd never explained to her what happened to him. She knew the reason for every other one, but not that one.

Booth bore his tired drunken eyes into hers and Brennan returned the stare with affection. "I know you're sad, Temperance" he mumbled. "It's- it's okay to be sad."

"I'm sad too..." he just continued on. "I'm also really sorry."

"Booth, we can- we can talk about this later" she didn't know why she felt like crying, and Booth never called her Temperance. He only did when she was upset, but Brennan thought she was quite adept at hiding her pain, especially now. What did he see in her that she couldn't even see?

"M'kay" he replied emotionless.

Brennan laid him back down, and made sure he was on his side before she left him to get changed. Booth passed out before Brennan even had her shirt off. Opening the drawer which contained her pajamas, she grabbed her favourite pair; a pair that Booth that bought her no less. She sighed as she threw them on, closing the drawer. She glanced over at Booth, noticing that he was no longer conscious. She walked over to the lightswitch right beside the doorframe and stood still. She thought to herself, I don't know who to fault. Was I thinking irrationally? Was I just blinded by my love for him? Were neither of us ready? Is this all my fault? Or Pelant's? Or Booth's? She shook her head. Her eyes became damp again. She didn't want to put the blame on someone, but Booth always said people felt better when there was someone to blame. Although usually when he said that, he was talking about murderers. Brennan wasn't a murderer. She'd killed, but that didn't make her one, did it? The thoughts of a troubled mind raced through her. She still stared at the lightswitch. Instinctively, she reached to flip it down, but then thought better.

She left the light on. She realized for the first time, that she wasn't tired. She took one last look at her man; she smiled unconsciously, her man. She turned her head back so that it was facing in front of her, and walked out of their room. She knew Booth wouldn't be waking anytime soon, so she decided to get some time to herself before they- before they had to talk.

She turned into Christine's room and just looked at her child. She was beautiful, Booth said she was going to be a looker; Brennan didn't know what that meant, but judging by the look on Booth's face she knew it must have been a good thing. The tears still threatening to escape her eyes, she looked around the room and her eyes were caught right above her daughter's head. At Parker's contraption. She couldn't remember what it was called, but she knew that she and Booth loved it. Walking over to the crib she kissed her daughter's forehead. She let out an uneasy breath and she shed a tear.

Walking out of the room, she finally set on her destination. She walked slowly down the stairs, like a child, as she made sure both feet were on a stair until progressing towards the next one. Trying to ease her breaths back into the range of being normal, she finally reached the bottom. She turned to their living room and just stared blankly at where she had been sitting just hours ago. She felt a wave of emotion rush over her, but she didn't let the tears fall. No. This wasn't her fault. This wasn't Booth's fault. This was Pelant's fault. She didn't know why but it was. There. She did it. She placed the blame.

She walked over to Booth's chair. She never knew why he liked it so much, it wasn't very comfortable. And she was quite confused now as to why she was sitting in it. After what felt like collapsing into the chair, she finally let her tense muscles relax. She sat in the chair, trying not to ponder through her thoughts. Her mind was the center of her being, but sometimes, that caused her the most pain. Are we okay? Booth's words shot through her mind. She said she they were. But both of them knew they weren't. Their separation proved that. She knew she shouldn't be sad; it was foolish of her to ever agree to such an archaic relationship. They didn't need marriage, they needed love, and that was what they had wasn't it? She loved him, and he loved her back. Right? This was the first time Brennan doubted their relationship. She knew Booth wouldn't approve, hell, she didn't even approve, but her mind always went places it wasn't supposed to enter.

It was dangerous, her mind. It could be used as a tool, but it could also be used as a weapon. Right now, she wasn't sure what it being used as. It was betraying her, is what it was doing. It was allowing her to doubt things she'd been so sure of merely hours ago. I love Booth, and that's all it takes right? She questioned herself. Right know she didn't know what their relationship would be in the morning. Sure, Booth would try and make things better, but would they really ever be better? They were both upset, angry- but why was Booth angry? He was the one who turned her down, she was supposed to be angry, not him. She let those thoughts leave her mind; she'd ask Booth tomorrow when they were both sure that he was no longer 'hungover'.

Brennan let out another heavy sigh and turned her mind off. She brought her knees up to her chest and her arms encircled them. She leaned her head to the chair and closed her eyes. She wasn't tired but she knew she needed sleep. She didn't really want to see Booth right now, after all she promised herself to not be sad, so she wasn't. But she was sure as hell allowed to be angry. Before she knew it, her body entered unconsciousness and her body fell limp. She didn't dream that night. But what she didn't know, was that she wouldn't be dreaming for a lot of nights.