Title: This if Life

Rating: I'd say probably a T.

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Fox.

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews. No one has expressed dislike, exactly, at my previous chapter, but today, it is extraordinarily sunny in Belfast and I'm in a mood for not caring! So, I'm going to continue to write along this line :D

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To say that Temperance Brennan withdrew into herself would have been a vast understatement.

When the hospital released her, she didn't express joy. She didn't mutter 'thank God' or race from the sterile building as fast as she could. Instead, she packed her bag slowly with one hand, her eyes lost in a far away place that he'd come to recognise as her sadness.

She spoke only when she was spoken to and even then her comments were brief, as though she wanted to be silent. Her behaviour worried him. She wouldn't open her thoughts to him, and their miscarried baby was mentioned only once; the day after Dr Hamilton dropped his bombshell, Brennan had commented at the irony.

"I never wanted a child. I never knew I was having a child and now that I know… it feels like someone's shot me with more bullets, Booth. And as each moments goes by, it feels like those bullets keep coming."

He hadn't known what to say. Her hand stiffened beneath his when he took it, and since that moment, she hadn't mentioned the baby, nor had she allowed him to touch her. It wasn't exactly as if she expressed her desire for him not to touch her, but when he did, she shied away, her spine stiffening and her eyes taking on a hardened emotion.

Within days of her release from hospital, she propelled herself into her work, staying at the Jeffersonian until eleven thirty, sometimes midnight and coming straight to bed when she got home. Booth waited until she was asleep, turning to study the angular features of her face, to gauge how she was coping – because sleep was the only time during the course of the day that Brennan didn't maintain the façade that everything was 'just fine'.

Sometimes, when he pretended to be asleep, she would cry. Soft, momentary sobs that lasted a few seconds until she regained a steely grip on her wayward emotions. It was those times that his own heart really broke.

She'd been pregnant.

"Booth, man!" Hodgins clapped his shoulder, jolting him to the present, where they all stood around a medical gurney. "Reign it in dude, we haven't got all day whilst you dance around with fairies." Angela caught his eye, and he knew that she was all too aware of his thoughts. Brennan's friend, who'd somehow become his friend, had kept a silent watch over his behaviour and it offered a small amount of comfort to know that someone understood how empty he felt, too.

"I'm with you," Booth said, turning to Jack. "Particulates, evidence of methane, blah, blah, blah…" Hodgins' eyes narrowed, his thumb clicking his pen with irritation.

"There's no blah, blah," he said. "In fact, it's very not blah, blah." Angela chuckled, slipping her pencil into her lab coat.

"Let me assure you, Jack, it's very blah."

"I'm in agreement," Zach said, tilting the skull to the light. Brennan sighed.

"Not today, please?" Her blue eyes flashed her impatience, and she pulled her gloves off. "We've work to do and right now it's wasted." No one spoke. Tension hung thick in the surrounding air and, while everyone shifted awkwardly, Brennan turned, oblivious. Or perhaps she wasn't oblivious so much as she didn't care. Her eyes had taken on the dead look again.

Angela glanced from Booth to Brennan and back again, eventually shrugging. "Sweetie?"

"What is it, Angela?" Brennan asked, her tone brisk. Booth dropped his eyes to the gurney again, focusing on the discoloured bones, the skinless frame. He sensed Angela wanted to comment on her best-friend's irate state, but instead, she turned her canvas.

"I'm going to start the recon now, okay?" Brennan shrugged.

"Fine. I'll be in my office if anyone needs me." When she left, the atmosphere seemed to disperse and Zach breathed a sigh of relief, his eyes wide as they followed Brennan's stiff movements to her office. Booth felt his emotions surge. How could she withdraw so easily? How could she turn her back on their mutual grief?

Turning, he followed her, not bothering to knock when he reached her office door. She sat at her desk, hands spread over the papers. She stared at the wood, looking startled – as though she'd only just realised she was sitting there and she was quite unsure as to why. "Bones…?"

"I sense you're going to do your psychology lesson. Your tone speaks volumes." He stepped further into her office, easing the door shut. It was now that she looked at him, her eyes still wide. She looked dazed, almost as if she were intoxicated.

"No psychology, Bones. I'm not your shrink. I'm…" he frowned. "I don't really know what I am. I haven't been playing any definitive role in your life, recently." She blanched a little, throwing her head back. Her startled gaze disappeared when she closed her eyes.

"I don't want to talk about it, Booth…" she said.

"About what?" He asked, pressing his palms to her desk, leaning imposingly towards her. When she opened her eyes she was startled to find him inches from her face.

"The baby…" she whispered, her voice choked. "I don't want to talk about the baby." Booth sighed, dropping his head. His shoulders felt heavy – so many hours spent contemplating their relationship and whether they'd ever find themselves back to where they were.

"What do you want, Bones?" He asked, watching as her eyes darkened with unshed tears and the way her lips seemed to tremble a little.

"I've been asked to go to Ireland," she said. "To work on a mass grave and… I think I'm going to go. I think…" she paused. "I know it's best for me." He felt as though someone has punched him in the gut, and his expression obviously conveyed this.

"You're leaving?"

"Only for a couple of months. I'll be back… I need to work, Booth." He stepped back, crossing his arms, his stomach churning. "Don't take it personally…"

"You're being extremely selfish, Brennan," he said, his eyes bright with fury. "You'd walk out on me rather than face your emotions. It's cowardly." She pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head.

"It's my way-"

"Fine. I get it. You go… relax with leprechauns and I'll…" he felt his heart swell, almost until he was engulfed by his sadness. "Good luck, Bones." As he left, he half expected her to call him, but she did not. He heard merely the beginning of a strangled sob and then… nothing.

Angela turned to look as he stormed through the Jeffersonian, making eye contact with no one. When she called his name, he shook his head. "Not now, Angela," he said, the doors hissing open as he stepped into the tangy afternoon air. His lungs tightened and he tried to breathe.

He loved her. He loved her more than he'd loved any woman, and now, just like that, she…

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Brennan did leave. Half way through October, flew from Dulles to New York and from there she caught a plane to Ireland and her goodbye consisted of an answering machine message promising him that, when she returned, they'd talk.

"I need to get my head together," she'd said. "I miss you, Booth. I sound as though I am… heartless and unkind and I'm not. But… it hurts, you know?"

He did know. He knew that it hurt every time he thought of her impromptu decision and every time he thought of the baby they could've had. But, work filled the majority of his day and, on the day she left he was wrapped up in a case.

Three days later, when he was finally realising that Brennan was gone, Angela dropped by his apartment, bearing gifts.

"Vodka? Really, Ange… it's a weekday.."

"Every day is vodka day. You pour." He did, and the alcohol numbed his throat and his pain. Angela winced. "Good stuff… I was going to bring whiskey but, I'd a bad experience with that recently. How you coping?" Booth shrugged, pouring another.

"I'm fine. I'm… yeah… fine."

It wasn't exactly a lie. He was fine, in a half-hearted way. He blocked out all thoughts of Brennan by ignoring the memories and telling himself that her grief would have driven her slowly insane, if she hadn't left.

"She called me this morning," Angela disclosed. "She misses you like hell."

"Yeah… I know…" Booth knocked the entire shot back, breathing in. "I miss her too." Angela nodded, dropping a Continental ticket unto the table.

"I didn't come here for an afternoon drink, Booth. I came to tell you to go. What harm can it do, right?" Booth fingered the ticket, his head spinning. It seemed too romantic. Grand romantic gestures rarely worked in real life. It was an unfortunate truth of life. He pushed it away.

"It could drive her away further," he said. "I'll wait on her." He'd have waited for eternity simply because he doubted he'd get over her. "She's dealing with the miscarriage in a way she knows how, and that's to ignore it. I can't ignore it, Angela. So, I deal with it my way and she deals with it hers…" He toyed with the idea of refilling his glass.

"You need to get off home turf. She's no where to go, in Ireland. I hear it's like… empty…" Angela said. "Like… seriously…" Booth sighed, dropping his head to the counter. "No better place to find yourself."

It was these words that made him think – and fundamentally realise that Brennan was worth more than his passive behaviour.

It was essentially Angela's seemingly inert statement that made him go after her.

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People like Ireland. I live here, so it's not really anything amazing to me, anymore. But the scenery is fantastic and in the country there's nothing. Maybe it's a good place for Booth and Brennan to go…

I also think Brennan would be the type to ignore her feelings and submerse herself in work.