A/N: Okay, so this is a super-angsty little one-shot that I wrote for a competition over at the boards on tvDOTcom. Normally I am all fluff, all the time, but for the competition I had to write an angsty one. Thought I'd post it here to see if you guys like. As always, review review review, especially for this because I want your opinions on my first angsty fic. :-)

Rain fell in sheets, the grim grey sky seeming to cry with her as the droplets pelted down hard against her face.

No. No. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to end like this.

They were supposed to have their Happily Ever After.

Angela had once—okay, well, more than once—said that they were meant to be. That they were soulmates. She had told Brennan to "Buy a ticket on that ride", that Booth liked her. Loved her.

Now she would never know.

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It was cold. Dark. The sky, billowing with clouds, threatened a storm. They were in Booth's black SUV, driving along the highway on the way to interrogate a suspect. The pair was at ease, bickering lightly over the likely killer—the jealous ex-boyfriend, the best friend, the husband. Their arguing, while admittedly sometimes escalading into bigger fights than she would have wanted, secretly enthralled Brennan. Sitting in the passenger seat of the oversized car,—inwardly pouting all the while because Booth wouldn't let her drive—Brennan leaned her head up against the window, watching a crooked grin spread across Booth's face as he convinced his partner that the ex-boyfriend was the top suspect.

It was just like any other time.

Exiting the highway onto a secluded, two-lane dirt road in the middle of nowhere, the car quieted, the arguing over and the only sound coming from Booth's fingers lightly drumming against the steering wheel. Dirt and rocks flew up around the car, poking and prodding the tires, threatening them as they pulled into the driveway. Both partners exited the car, Booth instructing Brennan to stay back, earning a disapproving "as-if" look from and a scathing glare. Resigning himself to the fact that she was just too stubborn for her own good—not that he was complaining; he loved her just the way she was—he approached the locked door, busting it down with smooth precision.

It was just like any other time.

For Brennan, everything happened in slow motion after that. She saw a long, shaggy-haired twenty-something turn from his place in the kitchen. She heard his swearing, his yelling at them to get out. She saw him reach toward his pocket; saw the shining silver of the gun peek out from the edge of his frayed, faded jeans.

She heard the bang.

She didn't have time to react. She didn't have time to think. She just stood, in the middle of the beat up kitchen, a hand on the dust laden counter to steady herself. She saw a body lunging out in front of her; felt the weight of Booth pressed up against her on the ground seconds later as she saw the tails of the suspect's shirt blowing in the breeze from the still open door as he darted around the corner and out of the house.

"Booth. Booth," Brennan whispered, the weight of his body on hers not only hindering her breathing but also doing things to her body that the touch of "Just a Partner" shouldn't. Flipping him over and finally sitting up, her world was filled with red.

She had always hated the color red.

The edges of her brain fuzzed as she tried to comprehend. She felt the tears pool behind her eyes as she pressed both hands to the oozing wound, both hands pressed on top of his chest. On top of his heart. The heart that she would never know, that he would never get a chance to tell her, belonged to her. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, letting the tears slip down her cheeks; falling onto her lips. She couldn't taste the salty tears.

All she could taste, all she could see, all she knew right now was pain.

For the first time in her life, Temperance Brennan felt lost. She felt scared. But most of all, she felt alone.

Outside, rain fell and lightning flashed. The storm had finally come.

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She had loved him. She knew that now. Her only regret was not having known sooner, not having been able to tell him, not having been able to know if he felt the same way. He had once told her that everything happened eventually.

He was wrong.

She was surprised she still had tears left to cry. Memories flashed through her mind—lost chances. All the times—at the shooting range, outside Sid's, after he rescued her from Kenton, from the Gravedigger—when it had almost happened. But it hadn't. She longed to feel his touch again, his embrace, to feel protected and safe in his arms. There were so many things she should have done, so many things she should have said. And now she'd never get the chance.

It should have been her. It should have been her lying in that coffin, should have been her that had taken the bullet. He shouldn't have had to jump in front of her, to pull her down. Shouldn't have had to save her—again.

Damn those Alpha-Male tendencies.

He had already saved her, so many times. In the literal sense, yes, he had saved her from danger; from being killed. But he had also saved her, just by being in her life. He had opened her up, broken down her walls and made her feel. She let him see a whole other side of her; a side that no one else even knew existed. With him, she wasn't Dr. Temperance Brennan. She wasn't a forensic anthropologist or a best selling author. She was just Bones.

His Bones.

She smiled at that. It was the first time she had smiled in a week. Squeezing Angela's hand, she embraced the tiny drops of rain, letting it blend with her tears and wash over her. Wash away her tears, her sorrow. She was his Bones, always, no matter what. Nothing could ever take that away, even if he was gone. Her heart, she knew, would always belong to him. She was his Bones.

The rain had let up. In the sky, the clouds had parted and the sun peered out, ready to show its face once again.