A/N: Before you read this chapter, I just want to say one thing. No matter my opinion on the war in Iraq and whether or not we should be there, I have the upmost respect and pride for those that are willing to fight and put their lives on the line for us back home. I have friends and family in active service, plus I am aware that a number of people who are reading this have loved ones in Iraq too. For that reason, I have tried to keep this chapter as violence-free as possible, mainly out of respect and also because I do not want to upset anyone (least of all myself) with the type of imagery that war in Iraq undoubtedly creates, whether it's fictional or not. I hope you all understand what it is that I'm trying to do and I apologise if anything I have written has offended anyone or is inaccurate in any way. I'm simply trying to tell a story.

Anyway, that's more than enough from me. If you do have any opinions or issues with this, please do not hesitate to let me know.

"For every man who wants to rule the world
There'll be a man who just wants to be free…
So everybody's gone to war, but we don't know what we're fighting for,
Don't tell me it's a worthy cause, no cause could be so worthy.
If love is a drug I guess we're all sober.If hope is a song, I guess it's all over.
How to have faith when faith is a crime, I don't want to die.
If God's on our side, then God is a joker. Asleep on the job, his children fall over.
Running out through the door and straight to the sky, I don't want to die."

'Everybody's Gone To War', Nerina Pallot

oo00oo

Booth marched in to the barracks, duffel over his shoulder and a stern look on his face. Finding his bunk, he sat slowly and stared down at his spit-shine boots. Knowing he didn't have much in the way of time, he pulled a carefully packed envelope from his bag and laid the contents out in front of him, unable to keep the small smile from pulling at his lips as he did so.

Unfolding the portrait Angela had drawn, he sighed heavily as he stared down in to the pencil eyes of the woman he loved, the aching in his chest so strong he was scared it was about to swallow him whole. Next, he pulled out an array of wallet-sized photos of his son and fanned them out in front of him, running a finger across Parker's joyous smile and sparkling eyes.

Beside him, the duffel bag fell on its side, spilling some of its contents. Rolling his eyes, Booth leant down to pick them up, finding an envelope addressed to him he had never seen before.

Frowning, he practically ripped it open, pulling out a handwritten note from Brennan.

My dearest Seeley,

I know that I'm not great with goodbyes so in case I mess it up later, I thought I'd better write you this. It's currently 4:30am and you're fast asleep beside me. I plan on hiding this in your duffle bag for your arrival in Iraq but, knowing how meticulous you are with your packing, I hope you don't find it sooner. I want it to be a surprise.

He smiled to himself sadly, his heart pounding with excitement as he continued to read.

I'm not too sure why I'm writing this exactly, but I woke up about half an hour ago with so much I still wanted to say but without the heart to wake you. I suppose it's easier to write it all down than to say it face to face anyway. I mean, writing's what I do these days.

What it was I wanted to say seems to escape me now that I've come to the point where it has to be said. I guess that's the way it's always been for me. The science, the facts, they all come so easily even though I know that those around me sometimes struggle to keep up. However, I hope you understand that when it comes to the emotional side of life, it is I who struggles. I watch you when you talk with victims and their families, the compassion you have for the world and the people in it, and sometimes I envy you. If I had that skill then it would be easy for me to say these things to you without getting worried. As it is, all I seem to do is worry at the moment. I worry about you.

Booth turned the page slowly with a trembling hand, his eyes locked on the familiar curves of her writing.

As I'm sure you're aware, I don't want you to go. Not just because it's a war zone and I'm worried about what might happen to you, but because I worry about what might happen to me in your absence. I've grown so accustomed to having you with me every day that the idea of you not being around seems to cause me more distress than seems appropriate. I suppose it's because I love you, Seeley. I've always loved you, it just took me a while to realise it.

His eyes swimming in tears, Booth had to run a hand across his face to clear his vision, though a smile still clung to the corners of his mouth.

I'm sure that there are many things that you should be doing right now so I'm going to end this letter here and hope that it goes some way to conveying how I feel, especially if I failed to make the right impression in person (I'm well aware of my shortcomings in that area). Just know that I'm proud of you for doing what you are, for fighting and teaching and just being the noble, righteous man that I fell for. I'm so very proud of you, we all are, especially Parker. And I miss you so much, even with you still lying beside me, I miss you. Because I love you..

Come home to me soon.
Yours, always,

Temperance x

Without an ounce of shame, Booth let the tears fall.

oo00oo

The days seemed to pass in a heat fuelled daze for Booth. If he was being honest with himself, he hated being in Iraq. He had only been there just over a week and he already found two of the boys he'd been teaching had died. Insurgents had staged an ambush on the outskirts of Bagdahd, not far from where their main camp was situated, leaving his two students dead and a further four soldiers seriously wounded when a rocket propelled grenade was fired at their truck.

As they say, "War is Hell"…

But it wasn't the heat or the hatred, the blood or the bodies that got to Booth. He was saddened to admit that he had basically become immune to the sight of all that years before. Instead it was the knowledge that he still had so much time to go before he could see the people he loved again.

He carried two photos in the breast pocket of his flak jacket everywhere he went, both dog eared from their constant viewings. One was of Parker throwing a baseball with an enormous goofy grin which Booth was well aware had come from him. The other was of Brennan and himself, his arm draped around their shoulder in Wong Foos, taken months before by Angela on one of their night outs after work.

Every single time he looked at the photos, the memories came flooding back. Every single time, he couldn't keep the smile off his face. Every single time, he couldn't help his heart breaking a little bit more.

And the rest of the guys had noticed. They'd done the obligatory showing of photos to each other on the first night, a bonding exercise Booth had come to expect from his time as a Ranger. The lads had all let out low whistles of appreciation when they set eyes on his girl, their comments ranging from the respectful to the downright x-rated. Once they found out that she was the same Temperance Brennan who wrote those crime books, the friendly ribbing got even worse. After all, he was technically dating a celebrity.

But the lads never went too far, keeping a respectful distance between the friendly banter and any real intrusion in to what they knew was private. After all, they all had memories they wanted to keep just for themselves. That was all they had to keep them company when the nights drew in and the steady patter of gunfire lulled them to sleep.

Booth spent half his time wishing it was about to turn to night. Then he could return to his bunk, hunker down under the covers and for a few blissful hours, he could leave Iraq and be with Temperance again. That was all he really wanted.

But the nights were becoming shorter and his sleep more fitful. The thud of mortars and the crescendos of gunfire were getting ever closer to their base. The troops were losing ground and they all knew it. Booth cursed the insurgent movement, not for their cause or their beliefs, but because they were taking away the only time he had with Brennan, even if it was only just in his head.

During the day, Booth had stepped up the training schedules, running drill after drill on being the best sniper these boys could be. They were gearing up to an important mission, taking out the leader of the local insurgency before he could get a chance to carry out an all-out assault on the allied troops stationed in the area.

Booth thanked God every day that the powers that be were yet to ask him to be a part of the mission. The last thing he wanted was to be out there again, being forced to take another life.

Leaning against the rubble of what used to be a wall, Booth pulled out his canteen and took a sip of water, considering his last thought.

Is it really any different if I'm the one teaching these boys how to kill more effectively? Don't I still have this Iraqi's blood on my hands? How is this really any different to how things were before?

Twisting the lid back on the canteen, he stood there for a few more minutes staring in to space, barely feeling the heat of the afternoon sun beating down on the parched earth at his feet.

All that matters is that Bones understands what I'm facing out here, she understands what I went through before, the aftermath of all that death and destruction. She knows how hard it was for me to come out here but she also knows it was something I had to do. They needed my help. How could I say no?

Straightening up, Booth carried on walking through the encampment, nodding greetings at familiar faces and saluting those he needed to without even thinking about it. His mind was elsewhere, back in Washington DC, same as always.

Somewhere up ahead, he heard the rat-a-tat of machine guns and the harsh bark of orders above the din.

Do they ever stop running drills? Well, better to be prepared as much as you can, especially with so many kids out here. God, they don't have a clue what they're facing…

Deep in thought, he just kept on marching towards his make-shift office, preparing to draw up the next week's training schedules. Something was nagging at him though, tugging at the back of his mind.

What? What is it?

He stopped dead in his tracks.

Something's not right…

Standing stock still in the middle of the camp, he realised what was wrong as he listened to the exercises up ahead.

That's not exercises…

Without a second thought, Booth darted right through the piles of rubble, heading straight for his bunk. Charging inside, he shook his buddy Tom awake and grabbed his weapon, the pair of them racing back outside and towards the sounds of fighting.

Shaking his head to clear the cobwebs away, Tom loaded his weapon as he ran, glancing at Booth.

"What the hell's going on? Did the bastards attack our camp?"

Booth didn't even glance in his direction as he started to slow down, carefully manoeuvring round crates of supplies that were in the middle of being loaded out of the back of a truck. At least they had been before the interruption.

Rounding a large stack of boxes, Booth hunkered down, moving swiftly and silently down the length of the vehicle, using its bulk for cover and aware of Tom doing the same on the other side.

Mentally, he laid out a map of the base and plotted where they were. The truck was parked outside the supply depot meaning there was a guard station about ten feet ahead of them and slightly to the left. Beyond that another thirty to thirty-five feet was the main gate, protected by guards and multiple layers of barbed wire.

Dropping to his stomach, Booth shuffled forward in the dirt, adjusting his helmet as he did so. Somewhere ahead he could people shouting, gunshots echoing in his ears as a large mortar round shook the truck beside him. He ignored the noise, focusing instead on reaching the front wheel and the end of his cover. Pausing for a second, Booth slowly inched forward, craning his neck to get a look at the pandemonium at the front of the camp.

Two large trucks had been driven up to the main gates and then exploded by the looks of things, the barbed wire curling back on itself and the guard hut now just a pile of splintered wood. A thick haze of smoke and dust limited Booth's vision and he struggled to make out who was who through the sting of sand in his eyes.

There's no way in hell that I'm gonna fire if I can't even tell who these people are…

On the other side of the truck, Tom seemed to have a different idea. Booth vaguely remembered his friend having goggles hanging around his neck as they left the bunk and he cursed himself for not having the foresight to bring his own.

And they let you teach people…

Tom was firing round after round in quick succession towards a point somewhere beyond Booth's field of vision. He knew he couldn't risk moving forward any further to get a better look or he would be totally exposed. Blinking rapidly, he tried to focus on distinguishing the few shapes he could just make out in front of him, trying to decide if they were friend or foe.

Booth never got the chance to come to a conclusion.

The last thing he remembered was the white heat in his back as the truck exploded above him and as the shards of metal rained down around him and blood soaked in to the sand, only one word escaped his lips.

"Temperance…"