One year from today. At the reflecting pool in the mall, right next to the coffee cart. The mall was bustling with people, teeming with life at three o'clock on a Thursday afternoon. The local high school was off for week, teenagers migrating across the courtyard in packs, talking, laughing, and generally contributing to a cacophony that characterized one of the busier places in downtown D.C.
Alone on a bench with a view of the entire square, a woman sat alone, hair obscuring her face, immersed in the dregs of a lukewarm cup of coffee, held loosely in her slacken grip. Another sat by her side, still filled to the brim and steaming slightly, still as untouched as it had been half-an-hour ago, when she'd had it crafted to his exact specifications. It was her third since she'd arrived, harried, exhausted, and distinctly disheveled, eyes ablaze with a mixture of absolute exhilaration and pure terror, straight off a Japanese connection that had touched down in Dulles at half past ten. She hadn't looked up from the intertwined hands lain carefully and deliberately in her lap for some time. He wasn't coming.
She hadn't heard from him in seven months, two weeks, four days, thirteen hours, and twenty-seven minutes, not that she was counting. In the course of a single fifteen minute video conference, he'd detailed his men, his mission, and his day to day activities, sparing her the more gruesome aspects of the realities of war. She, in turn, had waxed on about her archeological dig, the find, the bones, just how close they were to forever changing the course of history. It was all so interesting, so informative, and oh so very impersonal. Someone in the background bellowed his name. A glance over his shoulder. "Sorry, Bones, I've got to go. I…I've missed you." She bit her lip and looked down, quietly reciprocating the comment. The man bellowed again. "Day 134. I'll be waiting." He beamed. The screen went black. He was gone again. She spent the next hour and a half sobbing uncontrollably into a pillow.
A young man in combat fatigues approached her. He removed his cover and waited patiently for her to acknowledge his presence. Without looking up, she inclined her head. He began slowly, deliberately reciting what was clearly a prepared speech. "Ma'am, it is my solemn duty to inform you that Master Sergeant Seeley Booth went missing in action during the critical phase of a covert operation. He and three other men were captured saving the lives of the rest of their unit. Their whereabouts are currently unknown. Finding and rescuing these men is our highest priority. We will find the Master Sergeant, Ma'am, and we will return him to you safely. I promise." He paused tactfully, waiting for a response. She merely bit her lip and bade him continue.
He proffered an envelope, neatly addressed to Dr. Temperance Brennan. "This is for you, from the Master Sergeant." She accepted it gratefully, looking up for the first time, so that he might see her red rimmed eyes.
"Thank you." Only the crack of her voice betrayed just how close she was to tears.
"Good day, Ma'am." The young man, a mere boy, she observed, a boy transformed into a man before his time, but still a boy at heart, melted into the crowd, leaving her speechless, alone on a bench in the hub of Washington, isolated from the bustling crowd, oblivious to the chatter, the laughter, the frivolity and the joy, separated from the rest of the world as if by a simple curtain formed of a simple truth: he was gone.
That night, alone in her apartment, curled up on the couch in front of a muted television, a glass of wine in one hand, with the rest of the bottle and a full box of tissues well within reach, the sheer combined brightness of every light in her possession tattooed the inky night sky, a beacon for him, should he choose to see it. It was insane, it was illogical, it was absolutely useless, and yet it was absolutely necessary. She was giving up on Booth if she didn't try, and there was not a force on Earth that could drive her to do anything of the sort. So the lights were on to call him home, television to stamp out the loneliness, wine to drown the sorrow. Her cheeks were stained with tears.
Through watery eyes, she contemplated the envelope in her quivering hand. Its magnitude frightened her beyond all possibility, and yet she found herself slowly tearing it open. It contained a single sheet of slightly yellowed paper, a short missive scrawled in hasty print, in his handwriting.
Hopefully you're reading this Thursday. Rebecca will be down in two days with Parker. If it isn't too much trouble, would you mind watching him for me? It'll only be for a short while, but it would be a great help to the both of us and he's missed you a lot. I have too. A lot.
Don't worry about me, Bren, regardless of whatever official story they told you about what happened out here. You're on my list this time. I made sure of it. You are my list this time, Bones. Just don't worry. I promise you I'll be back soon. I'm sorry I stood you up earlier. It'll never happen again. I owe you one day and counting. Leave a light on for me.
Love,
Booth