A/N: This story has been in the works for a long, long time. Now I've finally got around to writing it! Hurray! And I'm sorry if it's too angsty for you, but trust me, it will get better. ;)

Note: The title of this fic, and the premise too, was based on Stand In the Rain – Superchick. Another major inspiration is All I Need – Within Temptation. I recommend to listen to the first one while reading this prologue, and just listen to the second one when you have a chance.

Disclaimer: I don't own this brilliant show, or it's brilliant characters. The end.

"She never slows down.

She doesn't know why but she knows that when she's all alone,

feels like its all coming down

She won't turn around

The shadows are long and she fears if she cries that first tear,

the tears will not stop raining down"

She gulps in a big breath, it sounds loud and chunky and her throat won't swallow properly. She's trying so desperately hard not to cry, not in front of Booth and Angela and everybody.

She wants to show them she's strong; that she's alright. But she can't, and she's not. She's been reduced to a withering, crying stalk, who's primary function is to get through the day.

She doesn't know why everything suddenly seems so dire to her, why everything has crashed when only one thing has happened. Everything else has remained a constant, except perhaps for her behaviour.

But that was a catalyst; it effected her whole life, though it was not necessarily her whole life before. She feels the hole now, but she had not felt how much of her life had been patched up.

She motions to them that she needs some time alone, and that she'll be a while. She needs some fresh air, and none of them deny her that. They're worried for her, she can realize. But she's not sure how to stop them worrying.

It's raining outside the Jeffersonian, and the droplets of water slap up against the walls of the automatic doors of the Medico-Legal Lab. She pulls her coat tight around her, as if when she steps outside, the tight-fitting clothes item will protect her against the rain and the wind and the cold.

She gasps a bit when she exits, and she imagines everyone wondering what she is doing. Because let's face it, this isn't exactly the most normal thing to do. But they should know she's not a normal person, as the brown coat wrapped around her becomes a slightly darker shade of brown in little spots of water.

It hits her face, and she sighs with relief. The water is cold, and relieves her hot flustered temperature. She knows she will be shivering later, but she does not care. She feels at peace, almost.

She forgets that when she thinks of peace, she remembers what it was like before. She struggles not to cry; not just for Zack, not just for when she thought Booth was dead. But she doesn't want to cry.

She wants to be Dr. Temperance Brennan, a strong and independent woman who would not be ruined and turned into such a worthless shell of life by something like this.

But she can't, and a small tear escapes her eye, a wretched sob following. She can't make out the tear from the rain droplets. Her hair is soaked, her coat is stained dark brown.

She collapses on the fortified garden wall in the middle of the large garden area she's in – the place she and Booth argued on the case that started a partnership; she remembers calling him a rat bastard.

She cries even more at the fact, and she knows she regrets crying. Because it seems like once the one tear had fallen, mixed in with all the drops of water, the rest would come out.

And they did, they fell and she sobs in large bursts and is no longer Temperance Brennan, just a sopping wreck in the gardens of the Jeffersonian.

And before she knows it, before she can register, maintain a somewhat normal appearance, pretend she isn't crying, he's there. In his suit, and it's getting all wet, his hair looks ruffled from the rain.

She wants to tell him to go back inside, because his suit shouldn't get ruined. But she doesn't have the strength, and takes to hugging him instead. He's warm, and she assumes that she is very cold and wet – this must not feel very nice to him.

She rests her head on his large chest, and if it was at a more appropriate moment, she would have noted how big and muscular it is.

Breathing in his scent, trying to stop the wracking dry sobs that come out even when you've stopped crying and your face is all red and puffy, she hears him comfort her and whisper in her ear.

"Temperance, it's alright. This is nothing; you can do this. We can do this." She is puzzled at his use of the word we; it connotates something she never thought they were.

But she's not fussy on analogies or sentence structure right now, and she welcomes the reassurance, even if she doesn't believe it.

"How do you know, Booth?" She looks up at him, his soppy wet hair and drenched tie and suit.

"I just do, Bones. I just do." He whispers, closing his eyes and letting the rain drop on his eyelids, resting his head on hers.

A/N: Like it? Love it? Hate it? Do tell, I pray you! I'd absolutely love to see what you think as I'm really excited about this fic and I hope it gets the results I would like. And I hope that doesn't sound too cocky.

So review! You know you want to. Otherwise, Booth will break down the door and hurt his shoulder. And you wouldn't want that, would you?