It's hard to breathe with a tube down your throat and needles in your veins. It's hard to move at all. I breathe in the clean oxygen from the tank, but my lungs feel heavy in my chest. Each breath is a needle in my throat, each word spoken is broken glass in my lungs.

But at least I'm not alone.

He's not left my side for hours. His strong hands cradling mine, thumb stroking my hand. It's the only comfort I have in knowing I'm dying. I've known Booth for over 10 years, and every time he touches me, I feel like it's the first time all over again.

He brings me comfort in death. He brings me laughter in the end. There's no rejecting the inevitable, we both know that, but even as I'm essentially drowning with the water filling my lungs, I couldn't feel more at peace, knowing the man I love is by my side. Never leaving.