As Time Goes By

A/N: For those of you wondering why a 'complete' story is being continued, I received a review from JSBonesLover, who doesn't have a profile where I can thank her, but who leaves the most wonderful comments after reading. She was upset at the abrupt nature of Brennan's demise, and the dark nature of this story. Having read this review just before leaving for church Sunday morning, I didn't get much benefit out of the service. My brain was mulling her over comments rather than the divine. So I decided to rectify the suddenness of Brennan's earthly departure, and lengthen this story. I hope the result is more satisfactory. And thank you to all the non-profile readers who are kind enough to leave reviews. I appreciate all your comments and try to take them to heart. This whole story resulted from my hearing a radio discussion about the Hispanic tradition of Día de Muertos (Day of the Dead) the night before Halloween. Odd, I know.

Chapter 1

Despite the passage of time, and her ancient theories and worries about the fickle nature of love, Brennan's and Booth's love for one another had never wavered nor weakened. Neither had their attraction to one another, for that matter. And their close friendships with Angela and Hodgins were just as important a part of their lives as ever. Their characteristics and personalities had remained constant as well. Angela still enjoyed commenting on attractive men walking by the window when she and Brennan met for lunch, and she still urged her best friend to 'dish' on her latest romantic adventures with one handsome FBI agent, now retired. And, as always, Brennan still demurred, holding true to Booth's admonition that 'What's ours, is ours; just ours, Bones."

The pair had achieved their 'thirty or forty years', having currently been married almost forty-three years. Whether they would reach the fifty-year mark of marriage together was an unknown at this point. Both partners were still healthy for their respective ages, and they took walks together each evening to stay active and as flexible as possible. This was important, because they still shared a spark for each other, and demonstrated their mutual affection whenever the chance presented itself. As Parker, Christine, and Zach matured, they had been embarrassed by their parents 'making out' in front of their friends, as they called it, groaning "M-oooo-m; D-aaaa-d, geez!" Until. Each of them was brought up short by a friend wistfully pointing out that he or she thought it was cute, that their own parents barely looked at each other, or were bitterly divorced, that the Booth kids were lucky to have parents who were still madly in love with one another.

Behind closed doors, in the privacy of their bedroom, the pair had gradually found that a few adjustments were necessary to continue breaking the laws of physics. An extra pillow here, a folded towel there made it possible for the partners to demonstrate their mutual adoration; as they always had and ever would until death came for one or the other.

Booth still knew every curve of her torso. She still cherished every inch of his strong solid chest. The fact that the curves sagged slightly and the muscular expanses had withered a little with age meant nothing to this pair. They were so closely connected, so much in tune that Booth had told her they shared the same molecules. She, of course, had smiled fondly at him, shaking her head at his scientific inaccuracy, knowing it was intentional; a unique declaration of his abiding love.

This utopia might have continued forever had it not been for a particularly frigid burst of weather hitting DC in late January. Brennan had driven to the whole foods market, making her weekly grocery run while Booth had coffee with Hank Lutrell, the retired judge and old Army friend he'd known since Kosovo. When his smart phone buzzed, he pulled it from his pocket with his left hand, while taking a drink from the coffee mug in his right.

"Booth."

"Mr. Booth, this is Officer Simpkins, Rockville PD. There's been an accident—"

The coffee mug landed hard on the formica-topped table with a thunk.

"Yes?" Booth said, a sharp edge to his voice that made Hank look over at him with concern.

"Sir, your wife has been involved in a collision. The streets around here have gotten icy rather suddenly and another driver slid into her Prius. She's being taken to GW by ambulance."

"Is she badly hurt or are they just checking her out?"

"Mr. Booth, I'm not an EMT, I can't comment on her condition. I do know that both drivers were injured. I'm sorry I don't know to what extent-"

"And you couldn't tell me if you did. I'm aware of the regulations, Officer, I'm retired FBI. Thank you for informing me; I'll meet you there," Booth responded tersely. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, it's just that—"

"No need to apologize, I'd be the same if it was my family, sir," the officer assured him. "Do you have someone who drive you or come with you? Road conditions are deteriorating quickly and we don't need you getting hurt too."

"Yes, I can get there okay. Thank you for calling, Officer." He wiped his hand across his eyes.

As Booth disconnected the call, Hank Lutrell spoke up. "Who can I call for you, Booth? You don't need me slowing you down with my wheelchair."

"No one for now, thanks, Hank. I'll page Zach when I get to the hospital. No need to worry Christine or Parker til I know her condition—" his voice faltered into a choked sob. "God, I should've checked the weather before she left this morning. The streets were dry earlier; I thought this front wasn't expected til later in the day." Booth rose from his chair abruptly.

"Booth, this isn't your fault," Hank said quietly, squeezing his friend's hand as he stood. "Take it easy, and go to her- in one piece."

"I know, but what if it's serious? What if-?" he couldn't continue.

"Call me when you know something, Booth. I'll pray for her and so will Jenny."

"Thanks, man."