A/N: Hello. This is my first story I'm actually PROUD of on fanfiction. I've been writing it and revising for at least a month and a half. It's been on my spare time, a lot of it coming from my head randomly. It's weird, just like I didn't have to think. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this. Please, Please review. It'd mean a lot to me. Also, I know there are mistakes, so if there are any betas out there, it'd be greatly appreciated. I don't know if this will be a multi-chaptered fic, but I will deffinetly not be able to update in less then 1 and a half weeks…The story is inspired by the OneRepublic song, All We Are. I'll be posting the lyrics on my page…Enjoy!

I parked as close as I could get to the airport entrance. I looked on as people came and went in and out through the big glass doors, in pairs and groups. I then turned my attention to the cars zooming in and out of the parking lot. Planes buzzed by overhead, leaving the city, destination unbeknownst to me. I really wasn't interested, anyways. My doors blocked out most of the noise, although the rumbling of the turbo engines up above managed to pierce the silence. I sighed. The rumbles were the horrible sound of goodbye. Of regret. I want to leave. I can't. It's self-inflicted pain, but I can't break through my own barriers.

My hart thundered in my chest, threatening to break through. I couldn't force my hand to my door handle, to pull it open. It was too hard. I'm not going to be able to make it through.

My eyes unwillingly flickered toward my car clock. 8:19. Eleven minutes and counting until most likely the worst day of my life really started. My mental struggle was beginning to make my head ache. As if things weren't bad enough. Another sigh.

I banged my head upon my steering wheel, rolling my forehead over the soft leather ever so slowly. I bit back a sob, and finally reached out for my door handle. I pulled. A rush of air flew into my car, along with the faint voices of passengers ready to board. I sat for a moment with the door open, cool air soothing my red face. I moved my leg approximately one inch closer to heartbreak.

One year. One year. It's only one year. I silently chanted, the thoughts flying through my mind. I unbuckled. Attempted to pull myself together. Failing, as I bit back yet another cry of anguish. It seemed that had been happening a lot. If it's physically impossible for your body to act like this, then why is it happening to me? How can this pain be coursing through my being, and I not go into a coma or something of the sort? Something like this if it were physical, would put me in the hospital.

I pulled myself out of my car. My legs peeled off of the vinyl. Slowly. I'd been sitting there long enough that my legs were slightly sticky from the material. They made a squelch when they came undone, but I barley noticed. I had somewhere I had to be. Though I was reluctant to proceed.

Moving as fast as I could will myself, I slammed the door, holding onto the side of my car for support as I straightened myself out. I felt weak and had for some time. Somehow I leaned up straight again.

My ability to compartmentalize didn't seem to help. I guess it wouldn't when the only man I'd ever loved and ever would, most likely, was about to fly towards danger. To death. To war. Strange I'd never believed in love until devastating news pulled apart my life.

I scolded myself for thinking such thoughts.

That's no way to think. Everything's fine. I'll be fine. He'll be fine. We'll both be fine. I'll work. He'll work. For his country. He was doing good. He really was. I have to admit that. Even though those bastards are sending him back to the place of his nightmares.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't convince myself that this was alright. I was angry at them, at everyone. It seemed that forced were pulling us apart on purpose. Trying to tear us away from each other.

I knew it was true he could die, and that scared me even more. To know he might not come back. I was even worse to think that any bullet he might take would not be for me, or for his son, or even his friends. It would be for his country. It was a horrible feeling, to be cursed with the knowledge that he may be just another statistic. Another body on my lab table, a family somewhere heartbroken.

Facts didn't do me much good at all, it turns out. How depressing that the one thing I could always rely on was failing me. I guess that's just proof that everything and everyone I love and depend on leave me at some point or another.

I'd finally reached the entrance. I hadn't noticed my legs pushing me towards my 'fate'. If such a thing existed, why would it bring such pain?

Reaching the doors I moved a shaking hand to my pocket. I didn't have to look at the paper he'd given me, but I did any way just to attempt to memorize his handwriting. I remembered when he'd given it to me, quietly asking me if I'd come to see him off. I hadn't answered. I never did.

I set down the beige potholder, hearing the doorbell. I smirked; Booth was probably here early to try and squeeze some Mac n' Cheese out of me before it was ready. He should know that being half an hour early wouldn't do anything. Thermal energy would transfer itself just as fast through the oven with or without his hovering.

Rolling my eyes as I opened the door, I was met with Booth. That alone didn't surprise me, but the pained look upon his face sacred me. I opened my mouth to ask him what was wrong, but his face told me to hush. He and I stood still for a moment, before he spoke.

"Can I come in, Temperance?" He looked wary; like he was afraid I'd reject him. I nodded. I stepped slightly to the left, nodding again.

I was now even more worried and confused. He'd used my full name, something that rarely happened. True, we'd had an especially hard case, but only when something bad happened did he call me by my given name.

I stepped lightly into the kitchen, turning off the oven. I figured that whatever Booth had to say didn't need to be interrupted by the shrill voice of my oven timer.

I entered the living room to find him sitting on the couch, running his hands through his hair in the nervous fashion he always did. Something was happening, and a feeling of nausea rolled upon me in waves. That must be my 'gut' speaking. If it was, I didn't want to ever hear it again.

He stopped for a moment, staring at a framed picture on my wall. I recognized it as one Angela had snapped at one time. She's always taking random photos or sketching moments. It could've been any day, month, season, or year since our partnership had begun. It depicted Booth and me exiting the Jeffersonian, me scanning my badge and Booth laughing at some little thing. His hand on the small of my back. I hadn't really noticed this gesture, but now that I looked for it, it always felt right. Reassuring almost. It seemed we were having an argument. Or a small bickering match. I was almost glaring at him, but my eyes twinkled. We were happy. I got the sudden feeling that was about to change.

I sat down next to him, touching his shoulder slightly, reminding him that I was there. I nodded my head, urging him to begin, not wanting to find out what had happened. I had to find out, I supposed. My 'gut' again spoke to tell me whatever was happening, I wouldn't like.

He sighed a weary sigh, one I knew well. He used it in exasperation, or sleepiness, or anger. This time it seemed to be in defeat. This was wrong already. Booth never accepted defeat. Never.

He sighed again, turning to face me. The light was gone from his eyes. My breath faltered. No. No. Something was…horribly wrong.

"I…I checked my mail for the first time in days. Huh." I nodded, like I had any clue where this was going. "I hadn't checked it for a while because I was so focused on giving that little girl justice. I opened the mailbox. Number 3456. The same mailbox I've been opening for five years. Same building. Same me. But this time it was different. I pulled out my letters, bills…I found a small manila folder. Like it belonged there, like it deserved a spot next to all those daily envelopes."

I didn't want to interrupt his monologue, but I was burning in puzzlement at this point. I was sure my heart rate was through the roof. This suspense wasn't healthy. I urged him to go on, placing my hand delicately on his arm.

"Temperance…" No. He'd used it twice in one evening. This was NOT just something wrong. This was horrible. And I couldn't stop it. "I. I'm going away, Bones. I have to. I can't stop it, I won't be able to stay. It's an entire year. I'm not going to be here for you. Three-hundred sixty-five days. Gone." He was shuddering, silent tears running down the contours of his face. He always never cried! No! where could he be going so horrible to break him?

I grabbed his hand.

"I'm going into the army. Again. They need more snipers, more well trained ones. They can't afford to loose the rookies. It was all there in the folder. Not in so many words, not as harsh, but it was there. If I make it through, I get honorable discharge. An epic if if I ever heard one, but those people don't have hearts. They have money, time, and stamps. That's all they need."

I swear my heart stopped for at least a moment. This was surreal. I was terrified.

"Booth…I…You, you said when I was scared I could hug you. I really, really need a hug."

I collapsed into his arms, tears down my face, running into my mouth, blurring my vision. I don't know how long we were like that. We seemed to be in a catatonic state, an almost shock.

He pulled away." I came here first. I have to tell Parker…And, God, I have to tell my parents."

"When do you leave?" I asked, not wanting the answer.

"One week."

"Stay. For a little while"

He did.

I didn't see him those seven days. I couldn't. I didn't go to work, I only had tea and bread. I slept as much as I could. I maybe showered twice. It felt like I was that person sitting on the couch, trying to push down the feeling of terror, while Booth and I told them their loved one was gone for good, that they wouldn't come home to warmth any longer.

I could barely bring myself to come today.

I walked up to the escalator. Eyes straight ahead. Back straight. I would not break.

I saw people around me. Little boys holding a parent's hand. Like Parker. Friends hugging, about to leave. Women kissing husbands and boyfriends. Like I wish I could be.

I was hurting. I had something to say, but for the first time in my life, I couldn't gather the courage to speak. I almost scoffed at the people around me. Like they could feel this way. I was the worst of the bunch. But I was the most scared of them all, too. I couldn't bring myself to say three little words. Such an impact words make.

It felt like those words could ruin everything. That they would seem like a lie. Like I was only comforting him. Saying 'Don't worry. Someone loves you. Cares enough about you to make you come home.' It wasn't though. It wasn't a lie. Not in the least. They were the truest words I'd ever thought, spoken, or known.

It had to be true. If it wasn't it, something was wrong with the world. Something was wrong if feeling like this didn't mean something important. If feeling this hurt wasn't for love, then what did the pain of love feel like?

Seeing him brought on another sob. Sitting on a plastic chair; one of many. His bag occupying the one next to him. He wasn't looking around, but I could tell by his face he was hopeful someone would come to see him off. To say goodbye. Anyone telling him goodbye, soon you soon. Someone to make it all a little less real.

I knew Parker wasn't here because of Rebecca. Just because I didn't speak to him, doesn't mean he didn't try. He would hold one sided conversations on my answering machine, telling of his parents reactions, and how it felt saying bye to his son. I would play them and again and again. Just to remember his voice. Remember the way it used to be. Him calling to tell of a case, or asking about dinner plans…

Another chocked sob. Almost routine now. Remember good times… Bad times. Sob. If it wasn't me, if I hadn't been feeling this affection, I'd of called myself pathetic. Told myself to put it together.

It wasn't worth the effort now.

My breath caught as my eyes met his. Time stood still, as clichéd as that is. I saw his eyes light up dimly, but surely. I stepped forward. He moved to stand up.

Left, right, left again. I moved to almost a run, reaching him and grasping his hands.

I never wanted to let go.

He was the only thing keeping me grounded. If there was a God in Heaven, I would've been there if I hadn't held on. I felt like flying through the sky, soaring, releasing this feeling.

This euphoric, crazy, ridiculous, obnoxious, wonderful feeling. Tainted by sadness.

We sank to the colorful chairs. He squeezed my hand, and I squeezed back. Keep holding on.

I don't know how long we held that position, but it felt like forever, if that was even a possible concept.

Suddenly, in perfect sync, we stood, falling into each other's open and waiting arms.

Head against head, heart against heart. Breathing in rhythm. Perfect.

We both closed our eyes lightly, memorizing the feeling. My senses went into overdrive, fueled by the desire to memorize everything, to have something to hold on to.

His eyes opened.

"Temperance, I…" I stared at him, familiarizing myself with his features. He spoke again. "I love you."

I never knew such small words could be spoken with such intensity. I nodded mutely.

"I know." I knew, too. It couldn't be a lie.

His flight was boarding. The speakers seemed to rush over me, fuzzy and in perfect detail.

He nodded, and began to turn.

"I love you, too." It burst out of me, like a overflowing dam. It burst through with such force, even I was surprised. I smiled at my sudden declaration.

He grinned the widest I'd seen him, and he pulled me to him in a tender kiss. It was the best kiss I'd ever experienced, even the one we shared last Christmas. This one wasn't tainted my mistletoe or Caroline counting in the background. This was perfect.

I sighed as we pulled apart. He kissed my forehead tenderly, then both cheeks. Then my lips softly, then he was gone.

I stood there with my eyes closed for a moment, then grinned lightly. I sat in his recently vacated chair, barley recognizing the warmth he'd left from sitting waiting for his plane.

I sat for hours, watching people going and coming, no longer believing it to be a sorrowful affair.

I finally forced my legs into action, my legs stiffly moving out of their previous position.

I began walking, remembering this moment as well as I could. I barley paid attention to my direction.

When I reached the exit, I pushed through the large glass doors, watching the planes overhead light up the sky. The giant windows informed me of night falling, a purple pink hue incasing the landscape. I stood still a moment before pushing open the door.

We hadn't said goodbye. It's better that way. He'll come back.

He has to.

So, that was it! Please review, and thanks for reading!

-TheBlueHour