TITLE. Life of a World-Class Forensics Anthropologist
CHAPTER. Prologue
AUTHOR. XDVanilla

DISCLAIMER. There are many things I own, but Bones is not one of them. All characters belong to Kathy Reichs, Hart Hanson and FOX. The 'Dark Knight' mentioned in this chapter also does not belong to me. Batman, the character belongs to DC Comics and the film belongs to the Warner Bros. and the creators of the film.

DEDICATION for the chapter. To my 'person' or best friend, Fionne. You never exactly enjoyed 'happy' stories as much as the 'sad' ones, so here is a 'sadder' story written purposely for you. D

'Am I dead? Or am I alive?'

Every morning Temperance Brennan wakes up surprised to see herself still alive and breathing--even if her lungs feel like they are gorged with cement. Her heart, stinging with the painful sensation--like as though someone had ripped it out of her chest. Her cerulean eyes redden with tears of sorrow and pain. Her mind, screaming in agony, trying to relinquish his voice and the image of his weak, vulnerable body that had laid before her. He was gone. He was never coming back. He was dead.

She couldn't wrap her mind around it. It just didn't seem right. He wasn't supposed to leave her, he promised her that. But now, that he had, she couldn't bare the fact that she didn't get the chance to say that she loved him. Yes, she loved him, with all her heart, but sadly, she knew that it wouldn't bring him back to her.

It was three months ago...

"Bones, you are staying behind me the whole time. Got it?" he said, looking back at her.

"But--"

"No 'buts'. You are to stay behind me. You are to shoot when I tell you to shoot. And when you do shoot, don't shoot at me!"

"Fine." She sighed and followed him, holding a Smith and Wesson 60 revolver he had given her.

The reputable crime-fighting duo, along with a team of four other FBI agents, entered the secluded, abandoned warehouse, in search for a psychopathic, systematically murdering cutthroat, who murdered one Deputy District Attorney, two infants, three juveniles, four adult civilians, and injured a half a dozen more--talk about systematically. They recognized the serial killer's strategy of murdering innocent citizens and were longing to put the man behind bars. So, here they were.

Suddenly, several loud bangs sounded coming from their right. The psychopath was shooting. What was happening reminded her of a scene in 'The Dark Knight'--the movie she was forced to watch by Booth, even with her extensive protest--but secretly she admitted she enjoyed the film very much. However, this was not a movie. This was for real and the next thing she witnessed was not Batman coming to the rescue, but a gun aimed at Booth. The next thing she knew was him falling to the floor with a thud. A bullet was lodged in his chest. She froze scared after repeatedly calling his name to make him stay awake. The paramedics took him away shortly after and the cops took the psychopath to the slammer.

Arriving at the hospital, Cullen and the rest of her team were there, sitting in waiting chairs for her arrival. Slowly, Angela got up and walked towards her. By the look on her face, Temperance knew that it was not good news.

Angela hesitated before she said, "Booth, he..." There was a sob in her voice. "He didn't make it..." Dropping her tone and began crying.

Temperance froze. She didn't know whether she was supposed to be angry or sad. She swallowed, looked at the depressed faces of the other four, before turning around and walking out the hospital.

From then on, she posed as different characters.

At work, she would pretend to be strong and perfectly fine, although everyone around her knew that she was not. They knew she was saddened, by the way she talks, the way she stares into mid-air, and by the way her face looks when someone brings up Booth. Angela would try and pull Brennan's thoughts and feelings out of her, but they dared not to come out. She would say that nothing was wrong or that she doesn't want to talk about it, but she knew that no one--not even Angela--would understand if she did express herself.

At home was a different story. She would come home and breakdown on the floor in the middle of the living room weeping her heart out. She would blame herself for everything that happened that night. She would mumble to herself, saying that the bullet was meant for her and not him. And if she could reverse time, she knew that she would have forced herself at the bullet, instead of seeing him die like the way he did. Sometimes she would lose control of her emotions and end up crumpled on the bathroom floor--something that she never used to do ever, no matter how horrible a situation was. It was not like her to be this way.

This Saturday morning was no different. She woke up, subsequently dreaming about the incident all over again, and this time, the incident was more detailed than the last. She arose off the twin-sized bed and walked to the bathroom lethargically. Inside, she washed her face over and over again with face soap, scrubbing harder each time, trying to banish the dreadful nightmare from her head. Suddenly, a few repeated knocks sounded from the front door. She briskly placed some more appropriate clothes on and walked over to the door to see who it was.

She unlocked it and turned the knob, pulling the door open. Her breath suddenly caught and her face turned pale.

"Hello, Bones."

My free gift to you?: Hearts
Reviews?: Would make me alive.