Title: This is Life

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. Except the Irish ones. They'll all be mine.

Rating: This one is rated T. But your beloved M rated chapters shall return.

A/N: I really like writing angst. I hope you all like reading it. I'd like to give another big shout out to BonesDBchippie, because, for anyone who is liking this story, it wouldn't be going anywhere if it weren't for her encouragement!

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He was out of his comfort zone and he did not know where he was going.

The little roads, made of compact dirt and not tarmac, winded dangerously along sloping cliffs. He drove slowly having been caught unawares by two unexpected cars, already. Although here, people didn't seem to get angry at the inconvenience, in fact, strangers waved at him and smiled.

Brennan had been given a little cottage high on the north coast of Donegal. The little white-washed building, with grey slate tiles and flowery hanging baskets made him think of contentment. The sharp October wind, however, made him feel cold inside and out.

She met him on the stony path, her arms folded, her cheeks rosy from the wind. He'd smiled at her attire; heavy jeans and a thick wool sweater. She'd pulled her hair into a tight knot at the nape of her neck, and her eyes were a little less dead than when he'd last seen her.

Brennan wrapped her arms around him, but her hug was perfunctory at best, almost awkward. "Hi," she said, stepping back.

"Hi," he replied, glancing behind her to the old-fashioned cottage with it's billowing chimney. "This is nice…" The air smelt of burnt peat and salt. Beyond the little white building, the ocean roared. "We must be close to the beach…" Booth commented, and Brennan nodded.

"It's two minutes that way," she replied, gesturing over her shoulder. "It's too cold, though. How… how are you?" He met her gaze, saw how there wasn't so much helpless sadness. There was a glimmer of azure that had crept back into the depthless sapphire.

"I'd like some coffee…" He said, feeling the Atlantic winds bite through his clothes. "Then maybe you could tell me about what you've been doing here?" Brennan nodded compliantly, turning and moving towards the cottage. "Nice digs, by the way. Jeffersonian paying for this?" Booth asked, and Brennan chuckled.

"Yeah, and it's only eighty Euros a week. I like it. I've decided on a retirement home." She eased the front door open and the smell of bread, honey and peat wafted delicately through the air. Booth laughed.

"As if you'll ever retire," he said, taking in the dark wood décor, the sofa, the high chest of drawers and the lamp that burned in the corner of the room, illuminating the dull afternoon. Brennan straightened a stack of magazines, thrusting her hands into her jeans.

"Do you doubt it?" He heard the sobriety in her tone, and it startled him. "Life's too short." There was a deep honesty in her statement, and, when she saw the questions forming in his eyes, she quickly turned away. "Coffee? Lucky for you, I had some made." He smelt it now, mixed with the burning peat in the open fire.

As she poured them a cup each, stirring cream into his, Booth stepped around the little living room, pausing to admire the oil paintings that hung on the two gable walls. The first, of a green mountain, which, in his opinion was pretty much all there was to Ireland, looked dazzling in its vast array of emerald colours and the second, a tempestuous print of the ocean battering against the grey cliff made him think of the salty air he could smell outside the door.

Behind him, the fire crackled and he turned, thankful at the heat which wafted across the cottage, warming his chilled flesh. Brennan stepped into the room, passing him a cup of pungent, steaming caffeine which immediately eased the tension from his shoulders.

"The roads here are a nightmare," he commented, sinking into the cushiony sofa. Brennan hummed in response, taking residence in the chair opposite. Her shoes had been removed and she wore only her socks. "So, how has the work been? Cold, I imagine." Brennan smiled, bringing her cup to her lips.

"I work indoors, mostly. It's difficult to identify the bodies," she said. "They're over a hundred years old and dental records mean virtually nothing out here. We're in the sticks, Booth. Researchers have been scouring through article after article of newspapers and missing persons reports and, last week, based on a piece of jewellery found on one of the bodies we can verify that one of the women was a Geraldine Laverty. She…" Brennan sighed. "It's been a fairly long week, actually."

Angela had carefully planned his trip for one week and three days after her departure because, apparently, booking too soon would seem like he was crowding her. He hated to admit that Angela was right, but apparently she was. Brennan seemed fresher, less weary. But her sadness still wreaked from every pore in her body.

"How did the woman die?" Booth asked, absorbing the strength offered to him by the coffee. Brennan did the same.

"She was stabbed. We don't exactly what happened to the people of the village. The mass grave was unearthed when a local property developer decided to build a three phase apartment complex, much to the annoyance of the locals." Booth ran his eyes over the cottage.

"I can see why people want to preserve the seclusion. It's very rural." Brennan turned her eyes to the fire, watching the curling flames in the grate for a long few moments. "So, Bones, how have you been?" Her eyes flickered, her lips thinning.

"Like… I've been existing, Booth. That's pretty much it. Every time my arm aches or I get a pain in my thigh, I think about how I have ditched my physiotherapy and then it's an automatic leap to…" she swallowed. "I'm alright with saying it now, maybe because I've spent a week on my own, repeating it over and over again."

Booth drained his cup, setting the empty mug on the coffee table. "Saying what, Bones?"

"I lost my baby…"

"Our," Booth corrected, his voice harsher than he'd have liked. "It was ours, Bones. And, in case you're wondering, I am okay, too." Her eyes flashed, a mixture of hurt and anger and then… her features softened, and she blinked into her coffee cup, sighing deeply.

"I was going to ask you that, actually," she said quietly. Booth inhaled sharply, cursing his own insensitivity. Perhaps as the days progressed his anger built and, when this woman, the woman who was supposed to travel the journey of despair with him, seemed so intent on going it alone, he was no longer able to suppress it.

"Well, to be honest, I think about it quite a lot, Bones. I imagine how, if things had been different would we be celebrating or would you have, had you found out about your pregnancy, pushed me away anyway? Are we destined to be in this hellish place, Brennan?" The azure disappeared again, and she looked crushed.

"That's unfair, Booth," she said, dropping her eyes to the floor. The only sound, for the longest moment, was the flickering flames and the wind as it howled down the chimney. "I have been overwhelmed by my grief. I… it was unexpected and the ferociousness at which it attacked my emotions surprised me. I was too absorbed in my own feelings to worry about yours. That is selfish, but it's the truth." Booth nodded, once, his heart suddenly heavy.

"And Ireland," he said, clearing his throat. "Has it helped you come to terms…?" Brennan looked at him now, her gaze steady, determined, her jaw firm and tight.

"It's helped. I feel pain – emotional pain, but I want to try…" she halted briefly, "I would like to try to find my strength, again." The thought of Brennan, emotionally weak, was almost unthinkable. But, since the shooting, she'd been somewhat absent. Her mind had been focused only on her own heartache. As she looked at Booth now, she felt something different. She felt sorrow for the pain endured by the man she loved so desperately.

"Okay," he said at last. "If you'd let me, I'd like to help you." For the first time in what felt like a life-time, she smiled. The light caught her eyes, and the expression he saw there tugged at his own emotions.

"I am… so glad I found you, Booth." He chuckled, raking slightly unsteady fingers through his hair, his grin disarming and amused.

"All these thousands of miles, having to endure a flight with only peanuts and a coke and driving through insanely dangerous roads, I'd say that I found you, Bones." Her laugh was a welcome surprise to the sombre mood that had plagued them for far too long.

Brennan stood, shifting across the real-wood floor, and sat next to him on the sofa. Their bodies were still, riddled with an awkwardness. After a steadying breath, she reached her hand across the small space between them, and took his fingers in hers. He brushed her knuckles with his thumb.

"We'll get through this, Temperance," he said.

And for the first time in weeks, she actually believed they might.

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Fluff will come back again – but for now, I so enjoy this angle. And besides, I think I'll like writing about their relationship growing. Please review, you all know how happy reviews make me.