As it turns out, a year is not "just a year". You might have told yourself that at the beginning, but you were only fooling yourself.
No, in the grand scheme of things, a year is three hundred and sixty-five long fucking days away from the life you built for yourself in D.C. Even worse: a year is three hundred and sixty-five nights, when all you have time to do is think about everything you left behind. But hey, there it is. You wanted time away, you got it. You wanted a chance to gain perspective? Well, here it is. Three hundred and sixty-five nights' worth of fucking perspective.
It doesn't change a thing. Not one single thing.
So, on day three hundred and sixty six (though with all the time zones and jet lag, it could still be day three hundred and sixty three...it's hard to tell), you're right where you said you would be: walking down the Mall towards the Reflecting Pool, the Lincoln Memorial looming ahead of you. There is one slight hiccup in the plan, however: the coffee cart is now selling pretzels.
Not everything can be expected to stay the same. That's evolution, you suppose.
As you scan the area, you see a group of school children on a field trip, the same German tourist couple you could swear was here a year ago (taking the same cheesy pictures), a slew of joggers…but your eyes are still seeking the sight they've been missing for an entire year.
Nowhere to be found. What if...
"Booth!"
The breath you didn't realize you were holding rockets out of your lungs like you've just taken a punch to the gut. You spin on the spot, and there's the vision you've waited a year for, walking towards you with two cups of coffee in her hands.
She smiles hesitantly, your temperate Temperance, coming ever closer and you're frozen where you stand. When you fail to close the distance between you, she falters and stills. There's a flash of panic in her eyes, so raw and so swift that it propels you into motion. Three hundred and sixty-five days and three steps and you're together again.
She holds out a Styrofoam cup. "I brought coffee."
"Three sugars?" you ask, hoping she remembers.
"Four," she replies archly. She does. You crack a smile. You take both coffees from her and set them on the ground, and just as she opens her mouth to object (in that oh-so familiar way she says your name like it's a question), you pull her soundly into your arms. You bury your nose in her hair and she smells the same, which is more comforting than you even have words to express. Her arms come up and around you, and the two of you just stand there without saying anything at all. The air feels electric around you, humming with late spring humidity and the promise of rain. It's a poetic kind of moment, the kind you don't really ever experience in real life but only see in movies; it's almost—
"Booth? You're very strong and this hug is diminishing my lung capacity."
Typical.
"Just...hang on, okay, Bones? I'm being affectionate." You do loosen your grip slightly, though, and you can feel her smile against your shoulder.
"Oh." You open your mouth to speak again and then she beats you to the punch.
"I missed you."
"I missed you too, Bones." The words lift a weight off your shoulders.
"Booth?" she asks, not pulling away.
"Yeah, Bones?"
Her voice is so soft, it's like it's disappearing into the lining of your jacket. "I've...changed."
It's a seemingly innocuous statement, but you recognize the hopefulness and apprehension coloring her words and you think (hope, pray) that you know what she's trying to tell you.
"Oh," you say, as flatly as you can manage. Her body stiffens against yours and you fight back a smile as you press your lips into her hairline. "I haven't."
"Oh," she breathes, sagging into you. "Good. I was counting on you to be the constant variable."
"We're not an experiment, Bones," you say with a laugh, and when she pulls back to look at you questioningly, all you can do is grin.
"We're a scientific inevitability, baby!"