Title: This is Life

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. Poor me.

Rating: T.

A/N: I have been so busy for the past few days. I have barely had time to even check my mail. So, if you've been waiting on this, so sorry for the delay.

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"When are you leaving?" Brennan asked, slipping her arms into a heavy sweater, her hair standing on end, dishevelled and so unlike her.

"Wednesday," Booth replied, unlocking the front door and pulling the heavy wood back, allowing the tepid autumn sun to leak into the cottage. "Will you…" he paused, his brow furrowed a little. There'd been a kind of awkwardness between them since their kitchen 'fuck'. Quite a few days had transpired, yet, the memory of the less than romantic event played inside his mind as though it were only a few hours ago. "When will you be coming?" He rephrased, stepping outside.

Brennan pulled her hair back, binding it with a coated band. She looked as though she were born to live in the country; woolly sweater, faded jeans, sturdy boots and ruffled mahogany hair. She looked the Temperance that didn't bother to be perfectly preened every day.

"Maybe in another month or so…" she said with a light shrug. "It'll be difficult to leave this place." He followed her around the cottage, to the top of the uneven steps and together, they paused to look at the beach. The sandy strip, a dark golden, was deserted. Booth couldn't remember it ever being busy. In fact, it seemed almost as though people didn't know it existed. He liked the thought. A secret beach. Like the secret garden, except he could have believed it was infinite. From here, he could barely see where it ended.

The air carried the distinct scent of seaweed and he inhaled it deep into his lungs, absorbing, certain he was breathing in the purest of air. "A whole month," he said at last, exhaling so deeply, he sounded as though he were sighing. Perhaps he was.

"A month isn't a long time," Brennan said, beginning the descent to the beach below.

"It is for me," Booth reached out, slipping his hand into hers. She tensed for the smallest of moments, then her fingers relaxed around his. "I'll miss you, Bones. I always so, when you're not around." He lifted his eyes to the cloudless sky. After weeks of rain and looming grey clouds, he welcomed heated air, the bright yellow glow.

"I'll miss you too," she admitted after a long while. "But you still have a job to do. And so do I." Her job. It was a thought that had been looming like a threatening balloon, ready to explode. Her work. Her science. Her everything. Lately, it seemed as though she'd squeeze him in whenever she could, and, even though he'd travelled across the world to be by her side, it didn't matter because more ancient remains had been found.

Work. Work. Work.

"Yes," he said. "I know." A breeze ruffled her hair as silence fell upon them, and Brennan wondered what she ought to say. It seemed their chances of ever rectifying their relationship were slipping further and further away. He'd almost lost his grip on it completely.

Even as he held her hand now, she was detached from him, as far away as any person mentally could be. And it wasn't the baby that put the space between them now. It was Brennan's fear of getting hurt, again. He felt a surge of answer, and slipped his hand free, curling his fingers into a tight fist.

"Booth… what…?" He spun, surprised to find himself glaring into the crystalline depths of her blue eyes. He felt the breath whoosh from his lungs, and saw her lips thin in confusion. He flexed the aching muscles of her fists, and closed his eyes, almost swaying on the sand.

"This isn't worth it, Bones," he said with slow determination. "I love you so much. Really, I do. But I'm here and you're way out somewhere else inside your mind because you have some illogical fear of having your heart broken. I am… so tired of this. I've done all I can. And bar giving you my soul, there is nothing else I can do." She reached out, clasping his hand, her nails digging into his palm.

Shaking her head, he watched her eyes well, and hated himself for the agony. "Booth… no…" she whispered. He saw the explanation form on her lips, and stepped back, her hand falling from within his.

"No, Temperance. No more. Selfishness has no place in a relationship. You're not the only person who hurts. We all hurt sometimes." She swallowed hard as he shook his head. "We all… hurt…"

He strode away from her, back to the foot of the steps, and he paused. "Love is a fragile thing, Bones. It's easier to banish it than it is to banish hurt and pain. You're cold and reserved. And even I can't break in. I'm sorry."

She didn't call him as she watched his retreating back. Her body felt numb and her heart heavy. After twenty minutes, she heard the purr of the engine and she knew he'd left. Brennan didn't move, even to confirm her suspicions because it didn't seem worth the agony.

Her eyes wept for her loss. But her heart felt nothing but loathing towards her self. Was she incapable of love? Did normality frighten her so much? She knew the answers to both questions, and the knowledge scared the hell out of her. Did she honestly believe that she could continue her aloofness and Booth would just be there whenever she finally decided to pull herself out of her depression?

He hurt, too.

And she was cold. So desperately cold.

When she went back to her cottage, the rooms were empty and all evidence that he was ever there, was gone. Except for the bronze medallion, laying on the counter where it had remained since he'd found it. Next to it, a note, scrawled in his recognisable hand-writing.

For times when there seems to be no escape, remember that we all find our way home, sometimes.

When she shifted the paper aside, she saw an airline ticket, dated for Wednesday. He'd wanted her to come home with him.

Turning the note overleaf, she sighed. It was blank. No 'I love you' or 'please can we be together'. It was almost as though he'd given up. And yet, in his own despair, he'd found time to console her.

Sinking to her knees, clutching the airline ticket to her chest, she sobbed. For all the things she'd lost.