Haunted - Angst/Friendship - rated T - Hart

g]Okay, this chap is really not that bad. But I was definitly coaxed into posting this. Don't blame me. There's more to come.[/g]

Prologue

“When I’m chasing a suspect, I don’t need to be worrying about you and where you are and if you’re safe..” Booth nearly shouted, hands on his hips as he paced the far side of Brennan’s office.

“Then don’t! How many times do I have to tell you I can take care of myself Booth? Do you want me to tell you in Latin? Ego validus tutela meus.” Her cheeks flushed as she slammed a file down onto her desk. Obviously pretending she was busy wasn’t going to get rid of him this time.

“I know that Bones, I know better than anyone how well you can take care of yourself, but I don’t have the luxury of just leaving you to your own devices. When we’re outside this lab, you’re my partner, but you’re also my friend and my charge.” He pointed one long finger at her in a gesture meant to make a point, but only made her more defensive.

Her mouth dropped. “You’re charge?!” She couldn’t decide which of his body parts she wanted to kick most and folded her arms to prevent herself from launching one of the many heavy artifacts surrounding her desk in his general, pig-headed direction.

Outside Zach, Hodgins, Angela and Cam exchanged raised-eyebrow glances over lab equipment, taking bets on which of the partners was going to come out of this one alive.

Booth rubbed his face, growing more exasperated and frustrated by the moment. Keeping his temper in check was a lost cause at this point. It usually was when he dealt with his stubborn, arrogant, over-eager partner. “Yes, my charge. My responsibility and it’s my job to worry about whether or not you’ve tripped in these ridiculous heels or if you’re being mauled by a bear or if you’ve turned that cannon around and are firing it at things, including yourself or me. So if a suspect takes off I need you to stay behind where it’s safe and where you can apprehend them if they come back or call for backup if we need it.”

“If I were your FBI agent partner would you make me stay behind?” She jutted out her chin, defiantly challenging him to answer, since there was really no good way to answer that question, which she knew perfectly well.

“You’re not FBI, Temperance, you’re a scientist. A brilliant, amazing, one-of-a-kind forensic anthropologist, not a trained government approved agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Does that answer your question?” He saw disbelief and anger vying for dominance on her face and made a conscious effort to stop yelling. “I’m not making you do anything. I’ve known you long enough to recognize no one can make you do anything you don’t want to.” He continued, feeling a bit calmer as she sat huffily in her chair, signaling the argument was winding down. Hopefully, he was winning. “So I’m asking, for both our sakes, that you not take off down dark alleys or into thick woods after me when I’m pursing a suspect.”

She cast her eyes downward and he could almost see the wheels turning in her head. Weighing the pros and cons of the situation. He moved slowly across the office, frowning as he asked quietly, “Bones?”

“Rat bastard.” She accused softly, shaking her head.

Booth looked at the ceiling and sighed. Rubbing his hands across his face once more, he sat down in the chair across her desk and leaned forward. “Promise me, Temperance.”

After a long, pregnant pause, during which he wondered if she had decided to take a vow of silence or if she was simply refusing to answer unless he changed the question, she did finally look up. With a look in her eye that made him a bit uneasy, she straightened in her chair and muttered her reply.

“I promise.”

[g]Okay, maybe what's going to happen is my fault. Partly. Partly it's Isobella the Muse's.[/g]

Okay, glad you guys enjoyed the last chap, now prepare to strap into your seats, for you have just boarded...the angst train. From now on, each chapter is going to begin with two lines from the amazing John Mayer song 'Dreamin with a Broken Heart'. Does that tell you where this is going?

When you're dreaming with a broken heart
The waking up is the hardest part

Why, Booth wondered, as the smell of his own cologne and a mixture of smoke and beer inflamed his nostrils, was there an angry two-headed chimpanzee trying to clobber it’s way out of his brain?

Why, he questioned, as the morning sun filtered in his bedroom window and burned at his eyelids, did every muscle in his body feel as if he’d chosen to climb up the side of his apartment building spiderman-style last night, when he was nearly positive he’d taken the elevator?

Why, he inquired, as he groaned loudly and attempted to turn over in his bed of mangled sheets and wads of clothing, did it seem that his memory of the night before ended somewhere between his SUV and the front door of Wayside Bar?

And why the hell, he asked himself, as his eyes popped open and the hair on the back of his neck bristled, did he have the distinct feeling that he was not alone?

Cautious and as alert as his hungover mind would allow, he turned over onto his side. Peering over a mound of covers and a caseless pillow, he saw the other side of the bed...with a body in it. He blinked a few times and made a quick pass at rubbing his eyes, attempting to wake himself further and figure out what exactly had happened the night before.

First things first, where were his gun and badge? Not finding an answer in his memory, he took to scanning the bedroom and found the items lying carelessly on the floor near his dresser. He also saw a pair of black bra and panties, his own dress shirt and least favorite tie. A skin tight red dress that, if memory served (and lets be honest, it didn’t really) was quite the bitch when trying to unzip, his pants, his watch and one black stiletto sandal.

Next priority, was she alive? A quick glance at her ample breasts, rising and falling beneath his navy blue sheets confirmed that she was. His eyes traveled up her pale arms, across perfect porcelain shoulders and up to her head, where he was quite disappointed to find overflowing locks of dark brown hair, with purple streaks.

He closed his eyes and fell back against the bed, banging his head against the wall in the process. Biting back a cry of pain, he brought his hands up to his face and sighed. The next priority would have been to figure out why he couldn’t remember what he’d done last night, but it didn’t take a genius IQ to figure that out anyway.

Slow and sluggish, he beckoned his body from the bed and sleepily gathered his gun, badge and cell phone, preparing to lock himself in the bathroom and hope whats-her-name would wake up and leave before he got out. On a second thought, he grabbed his wallet too, along with a towel and went into the bathroom. He obviously didn’t know this girl, but she was pretty much welcome to anything else she could find in the apartment, should she feel inclined to rob him.

The headache worsened but he ignored it, stepping inside the warm shower and stretching to loosen his muscles.

It was always unexpected, and caught him off guard so that he wasn’t prepared. It knocked the wind out of him and left him breathless for a few moments, like a cutting insult from a good friend. He was halfway through his shower before it hit him this time, and it felt like a literal ton of bricks. He gasped for air and began backing up, as if he could run from the pain that was attempting to cripple him. He slammed up against the cold tile wall and slid down it as his legs failed beneath him. Salty tears mixed with the hot water as it beat against his face and chest and in the back of his mind he thought he heard the front door shut.

Leaning back, he closed his eyes, attempting to find the strength to breathe as the four most excruciating words he’d ever heard repeated themselves over and over in his mind, torturing him until he could feel madness teetering on the edge of his control.

I could lose her.

Feel free to be upset about what you just read, I promise you it's only the beginning. Still up for it?

Wow, sounds interesting!