A/N: For those that read my AN for the last chapter, the sentiment still holds true which is why this update is short and sweet. I don't want to go into gory details when it concerns an issue as sensitive as Iraq so I'm sorry this is so short but I promise that you find out Booth's fate and all the rest of it very soon. In fact, this whole story should be done in the next couple of days so stay tuned...

And thank you to every single one of you that's reviewed this, especially Goldpiece, Mariah, Carol, Bella and Lynn. You guys rock my world!

"He takes a step back, he's under attack,
But he knows that no-one can touch him now.
He seems so at ease, a strange inner peace
Is all that he's feeling somehow."

'All Kinds of Time', Fountains of Wayne

oo00oo

Lying on his stomach in the dirt, Booth squinted ahead of him, trying to make out the figures charging through the haze of smoke and swirling sand. On the other side of the truck that he was using for cover, he could hear his buddy Tom firing off round after round in to the turmoil up ahead.

Booth pointed his M14, training it on the nearest figure.

Friend or foe, friend or foe, friend or foe…

Unable to distinguish the man's identity as he disappeared back in to the haze, Booth relaxed his finger against the trigger.

I have to make a choice… Friend or foe…

Booth didn't get a chance to choose. He vaguely heard the whoosh of something passing through the air above him on his left just before the truck protecting him blew up.

The white heat of the blast seared his back, pain ripping through his uniform as shards of metal pierced his body. As his vision swum and faded to black, only one word escaped his parched lips.

"Temperance…"

As the darkness descended, Booth tried to cling on, tried to keep a grip on the real world. Forcing his eyes open, he watched his own blood begin to soak in to the sand.

Temperance… Parker…

He could see them standing at his graveside, tears sliding down their faces as they lowered his body into the ground.

No, I can't let that happen… I can't leave her, I can't leave either of them. I love them… Come on, Booth, get up. Get up!

Booth forced himself to grab a hold of his weapon, trying to push himself up to his feet. His arms wouldn't support him and he collapsed back in to the dirt, a cloud of dust enveloping him as the pain shot through his body, blinding him instantly.

Lying in the sand turning red before his eyes, the pain was becoming too much and his eyes slid closed.

Get up, get up, GET UP!

His eyes flew open and he concentrated all his effort on getting to his feet, slowly managing to steady himself against the smouldering remains of the truck. Wobbling a little, he quickly ran a detached eye over his body, examining his wounds. Although he couldn't see what was going on with his back, he knew there were multiple pieces of metal buried in his uniform. His front was mostly unscathed, except for a large piece of shrapnel pointing out of his shoulder.

Attempting to ignore the pain, he felt a sudden twinge of fear and dug through the pocket of the front of his uniform. His fingers slick with blood, he fumbled through the contents, his heart pounding until he found what he was looking for.

Staring down at the photographs, he felt his eyes sting with tears.

My son and the woman I love… I know I promised I was coming home but…

Laying a quick kiss on each image, he thrust the photos back in to his pocket and raised the weapon to his shoulder, carefully moving forward to take the offensive.

His eyes blurring, he shook his head and looked around. Tom had stopped firing and the sandstorm was still limiting his vision. Booth stopped himself from looking left, aware of the service weapon lying discarded in the dirt and not wanting to know the fate of its owner.

Seeing movement out of the corner of his eye, Booth took a stumbling step backwards and pointed his M14 at the figure. Catching a glimpse of the stars and stripes plastered on the figure's arm, he relaxed his aim, lowering his weapon.

He never heard the enemy approach, his only warning the sudden heat of the bullet tearing through his Kevlar.

Booth never felt the arms roughly grabbing him, never heard the angry yelling above him, never smelt the gunpowder or tasted the metallic tang of the blood in his mouth.

He never felt a thing. He was already back in Washington DC, lying in the arms of the woman he loved.