Weeks passed and the case Booth and Brennan had been working on was solved and decreased the stress that was weighing heavily upon Booth. After the completion of the case he was finally able to take the trip that Brennan had suggested; he would go and visit Parker's parents.

A quick search of the FBI database came up with an address not far from Washington D.C., a home in the small town of Haymarket, Virginia—which was in Prince William County, a region Booth was familiar with thanks to the twenty two weeks he spent at Quantico and the FBI Academy. It would only take a few hours for him and Bones to make the drive down and visit their home.

Booth was quiet while driving, his arm rested casually on the window sill of his Suburban, a nervous finger tapped at his chin while he gazed at the road ahead. He was trying to come up with the words he would say to Parker's parents. It was awfully audacious of him to show up on their doorstep fifteen years after the death of their son. He had no idea what to expect and found himself at a loss for words. He was used to this sort of thing—telling families about the deaths of their loved ones. It was no easy task, even when he was speaking about someone he knew nothing about, but he was good at it. However, this was a personal matter and seemed wholly different.

Brennan was also silent, but sat almost uncomfortably in the passenger seat beside Booth. She anxiously glanced at her partner, then out of the window at the surrounding countryside. It was spring time, the weather was gorgeous and the heavily wooded regions just off the highway were vibrant and green. She even noticed a few deer as they progressed down the road. She took pleasure from what she saw, momentarily cracking a grin as she basked in the luminescent glow of the sun beaming in through her window and enjoying every bit of the flora and fauna they passed by. She felt guilt for this immediately, however, considering the nature of their trip and the unimaginable amount of grief that was troubling her partner.

Suddenly Booth was forced to swerve just as a small Volkswagen Golf veered dangerously close to the front of the Suburban. After crossing into the lane to his right, Booth swerved back into the center lane of the highway.

"What the hell?" he cursed. "I ought to pull that jerk over!" The Golf accelerated and sped off, quickly leaving Booth and Brennan behind.

"Do you want me to drive?" Brennan offered, noting Booth's irritation.

"No, why would I want you to do drive?" he replied shaking his head.

"You seem distracted," Brennan said in her usual cold, observant tone.

"Well of course I'm distracted, Bones, I'm trying to figure out what to tell them," Booth explained, sighing.

"Just speak from your heart. That's what you always tell me—you're pretty good at that and it seems to work," Bones suggested.

"Bones, this isn't like trying to reassure some victim's family, or breaking a suspect in an interrogation… this is… I'm talking about people I avoided years ago at Parker's funeral. How are they going to react when they see me now after all these years?" Booth exclaimed passionately.

"They should be happy you've come forward to speak with them, even after all of these years. It's certainly better than never knowing what their son meant to you."

"They're going to ask me how he died," Booth guessed confidently

"Why? How do you know?" Brennan questioned curiously, concern appearing on her face.

"They always want to know," Booth answered. It was true and Brennan realized that after a moment of thought. How many parents or loved ones of the victims whose deaths they investigated had asked how they'd died. Nearly all of them, that was the fact, based on anecdotal evidence anyway; Brennan never really kept a record of that information.

It was the same for the parents of men who fell while fighting for their country overseas. Booth knew that, Parker wasn't his first friend to fall in the line of duty. He'd remembered others from his time in the Gulf. During memorial services and funerals the parents had always questioned the men who knew their children, asked them everything about their last moments on Earth. It was an uncomfortable position for any man to try and explain—it wasn't one that any of Booth and his comrades had ever wanted to explain.

In war men—young men, died in gruesome ways. A mother remembers her son as the spit and polish, proud, broad-chested young serviceman that valiantly marched off to far away shores on behalf of the stars and stripes; no one felt it was their place to describe how indignant and terribly saddening death was and thus destroy that memory. But after all these years if Parker's parents asked then Booth would almost feel obliged to tell them. He'd neglected how they felt years ago and he owed them that much.

They travelled for several hours before finally reaching the town's limits. It was a tiny place, census information had put the population at somewhere around 850 people and if someone was driving fast enough and blinked long enough they just may have missed it entirely. Aside from a few quaint shops along a central drag in the town there wasn't any high concentration of buildings or neighborhoods and Booth knew all too well from the information he'd pulled from the database that the place he was looking for was more rural, like a farm. He turned left on a small two lane road flanked by aged elm trees which took him a few miles east of the town.

"It's beautiful here," Brennan discerned gazing out onto infinitely lush green pastures which collided seamlessly with thick foliage a hundred meters off in the distance. The sun shone brightly upon their car as they traveled down the small municipal road.

"Yeah, Parker used to tell me what it was like growing up here. Said it drove him crazy how small it was, not even a single stop light—but once we got to the Balkans he kept talking about how he couldn't wait to come home," Booth reminisced. He was also quite taken by the beauty of the landscape around them, it was incredibly peaceful. He'd often forgotten how wonderful nature was in its basic form. This was certainly the sort of small, idyllic town a person would remember when off in some far flung hell hole. While the Balkans was beautiful in its own right, that beauty was greatly marred by the savagery and destruction taking place there. This town, by contrast, was the exact opposite.

"It's very serene; I can understand his desire to return," Brennan admitted. It reminded her of her home where her parents raised her before their disappearance. She had such fond memories from those days with Rusty and her mother and father. She banished the thoughts quickly, however, not wishing to revisit them at the moment.

Their vehicle pulled onto a dirt road which ran approximately two hundred meters. A white fence ran parallel to the road which finally dead-ended into a lot flanked by a large old house and a barn. The house was in decent shape, despite its age being obvious. Its blue paint was chipped and the wooden walls were somewhat decayed.

As the car halted Booth threw it into park and shut off the engine, then stepped out and surveyed the scene around him. It was picturesque, almost how he had imagined it on the long cold nights when Parker had described it to him.

"Can I help you?" an aged man asked, approaching from the field nearby, a shovel in hand. He was stiff and stood erect quite admirably despite his apparent age.

"Mr. Parker?" Booth asked, somewhat nervously as Brennan rounded the hood of the car and appeared beside him. "I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth with the FBI." Ah, there he went acting so official as if this was any old business related visit.

"And I'm Dr. Temperance Brennan of the Jeffersonian Institute," Bones suddenly blurted.

The man paused; his brow was raised by these two newcomers to his small bit of property. "Okay… so what can I do for you?" he asked somewhat suspiciously.

"I'm… I'm here about your son, Edward," Booth admitted sheepishly, scratching the back of his head.

"What did you say your name was again?" the elder Parker asked, canting his head as a look of recollection appeared upon his façade.

"Seeley Booth."

"I'm Thomas Parker," the man offered a hand, which Booth and Brennan both shook. "Why don't we head over to the porch?" Thomas Parker hefted his shovel and led the duo over toward the front of his domicile. The boards were aged, but had recently been repainted. The weathered planks creaked with every step they took. Thomas offered them both a seat which they took and then explained that he would return with some refreshments despite their insisting that it was unnecessary.

"He seems nice," Brennan stated, looking around the house as she sat down in a wicker chair.

Booth noted the comment, but said nothing. His eyes were drawn to a large tree a few meters from the house. High up in its branches was a shoddy old tree-house, clearly it had not been used in years. He sighed.

After a few moments Thomas returned with a tray with a carafe of lemonade and several glasses. He set the tray down on the table that was centered between two sets of wicker lounge chairs. He poured his guests a glass then took a seat. Booth did the same, sitting across from him.

"So, what did you want to tell me about my son?" he asked interestedly, making himself comfortable in his chair.

Booth looked around the premises for a moment. His brown eyes betrayed nervousness and a level of uncertainty. "Is Mrs. Parker here?" he asked hesitantly.

"Unfortunately no," Thomas replied with a rueful shake of his head. "She died three years ago of pancreatic cancer."

"Very sorry for your loss," Booth stated, clearing his throat. "About why I'm here…" he trailed off for a second, blinking endlessly. He glanced at the field beside the house once more and his eyes traveled up to the boughs above where the unused tree-house sat idly. Thoughts of a child-like Corporal Parker playing within the house suddenly appeared and then, much stranger, thoughts of his own son Parker doing so. Odd. He blinked continuously trying to clear his mind then shook his head before returning his attention to Thomas.

"I served with your son… I was his team leader… his partner," Booth admitted, anxiously sipping at the lemonade Thomas had poured.

Brennan watched quietly, she had never seen Booth struggle to express himself quite like he was now.

"I know," Thomas responded, pursing his lips in contemplation. "Parker wrote about you quite a bit. He said many great things about you, Sergeant." Thomas had a good memory, perhaps he had re-read his sons letters. Fifteen years later and he was still able to remember the rank of the man that was responsible for his son's life.

"My wife and I were sorry to miss you at his funeral."

"I was there, sir."

"Oh," Thomas cocked his head slightly and thought for a moment, confused by the admission.

"I uh… I was too afraid to speak to you," Booth muttered.

"What for?"

"I… I…" Booth hesitated. He looked at Brennan who urged him on with her caring eyes. "I feel responsible… for what happened to Teddy."

Thomas closed his eyes, his face appeared serene and he exhaled a heavy gust of air then nodded as if he was saying something to himself. "No, that is just absurd, Sergeant."

"We were on a mission, our job was to stop a certain General and—" Booth was stopped mid-sentence by Thomas.

"You don't need to explain yourself or what happened, Sergeant," Thomas assured him.

"But… don't you want to know what happened? Don't you…" Booth trailed off. Don't you want to hear me take responsibility for your son's death?

"Follow me please," Thomas said, rising from his chair with some difficulty. He led the two admittedly curious people into his home.

Inside was modest, spartan almost. But it was very clean. Along the wall was a large shelf containing many trophies and awards, all of them belonged to a young Edward Parker.

"Your son was quite the athlete," Brennan complimented, feeling she had to say something.

"Yes, he played football and baseball, but he really loved track and cross country," Thomas agreed. As they passed the shelf they saw another smaller book case. Here were several photographs on display from Parker's time in the Army. A shot of him at graduation from both recruit training and from Ranger School as well as a singular shot of Parker on deployment in Yugoslavia. A fit, trim young man stood next to him in the photo, practically towering over him.

Booth picked up the picture and glanced at it. "This is me," he said, a smile breaking the grievous look upon his face from before as memories of that day came back to him. "Parker said he wanted a shot to send back home. I was laughing because he wanted it to look like a Rambo picture, shirts off holding as many guns as we could." The picture was quite the opposite, just two men standing casually with broad smiles in their camouflage utilities and large floppy hats nearly concealing their faces, which had been painted for the sake of an upcoming sneaking mission.

Booth set the photograph down and followed Thomas into the next room. Brennan, however, lingered for a moment and picked up the picture that he had just replaced on the shelf. She studied it carefully, taking in the sight of Booth in his military fatigues. He seemed very happy in the photo, something she found odd considering the fact that it was taken in the middle of a warzone.

In the next room there were more photographs, but they were old and sun bleached. A few plaques hung on the wall, all of them listed Thomas' name and rank on them.

"You see, Sergeant Booth, I was in the service as well. Eight years with the 101st Airborne and two tours in Vietnam before I was medically discharged," Thomas said, motioning to the pictures. Brennan soon materialized in the room as well and began looking at the many old photographs of the elder Parker and the men he'd served with.

"Parker said you were a veteran, but didn't mention much more," Booth commented.

"Yes, he used to gaze at this wall like it was put there by God almighty himself. He played soldier in the fields with his friends, demanded I teach him to shoot and hunt as soon as he was able. All he ever wanted to be was a soldier and I think it's fair to say that my influence had a heavy hand in that desire," Thomas explained. "So by the extension one might say that I am in fact responsible for the death of my son." He looked over at Booth seriously.

"No, no, that's ridiculous," Booth remarked, shaking his head fervently.

"Exactly; so is the notion that you were responsible. I know what you've thought since you came home, that feeling of guilt and endless remorse. Always questioning your actions and what you could've done to make things right. Why had you been so lucky to survive when he had not? I was in your shoes once, Sergeant," he motioned to a photograph clearly taken during Vietnam. A group of young men stood clad in their OD green uniforms amidst a muddy backdrop. It was black and white, unlike several of the others. Brennan observed the men were all smiling in the photo as well.

"I buried eighteen of these men in south-east Asia, Sergeant. Not a day goes by where I don't consider the actions I took or the orders I gave. But I'll tell you that I've given up trying to take responsibility for their deaths. I realized a long time ago that war is a terrible, costly thing. It consumes all life and destroys everything we cherish. We march off to face uncertainty, we follow orders, we fight other young men and we die. All along that path we believe we have some form of control, but the truth is that we simply do not. There are higher powers at work, Sergeant, and they decide our fate by simple chance," Thomas stated. He turned to face Booth. "We had a saying in Lam Son—'When your time is up, your time is up'."

He rested a hand on Booth's shoulder. "My son didn't die because of anything you did or didn't do, Sergeant, he did because he was an unfortunate soul whose time on this Earth was deemed over by something or someone bigger that you and I."

"Are you a very religious man, Mr. Parker?" Brennan asked curiously. Booth shot her an irritated glance and she mimicked a display of apology to him.

Thomas glanced at her and smiled. "No, Dr. Brennan, I am not. I've seen enough horror on the battlefield to make me question everything I ever learned as a boy during Sunday mass, but I've also seen strange and miraculous things that can't be explained by anything other than the unexplainable."

Brennan nodded, accepting his response for what it was.

"Sergeant, I want to thank you for coming out here and seeing me. My son spoke very highly of you and I can see why, you're a good man, it doesn't take a psychology expert to see that. I want you to remember what I've said if you ever have such nasty thoughts again and please remember that Parker is always with you, keeping an eye on your six just like you taught him—he's just doing it from a higher elevation," Thomas asserted with a smirk.

Booth was awestruck. It was amazing what Thomas had said and how he had come to terms with the death of his son. But then he had likely survived countless horrors during his time in Vietnam and was likely very good at rationalizing death—something that Booth had been decent at, but never on such a level. He respected Thomas Parker greatly for his words and his sentiment. He thanked him and after a few more lingering moments he and Bones left.

"I am really glad you suggested this, Bones," he said, relieved as they drove away from the old home, Thomas Parker waving in the background.

"Yes. I am as well. It's good to see your mind at ease," Bones added.

"You know you always learn something new," Booth said nodding with a smile. "That guy—that guy back there, you know he's survived some horrible stuff. Me and the guys always had so much respect for the troops that slugged it out through the fights like World War II, Korea, or Vietnam. I mean we thought we were tough, but guys like that, they were the real deal. I come out here trying to express something I can't even put into words and he set me straight… he set me straight, Bones."

"I learned something new as well," Bones interjected, almost excitedly. Booth looked at her with an inquisitive glance. "I learned that even in the most horrible atmosphere young men forge unbreakable bonds, that they can forget whatever tragedy befalls them and live each day happily because of the brotherhood they have formed with those around them. I saw it—I saw it in the picture of you and Parker and I saw it in the pictures of Parker's father. You were all smiling, every one of you despite the wars you found yourselves in the middle of and the dangers you faced you were smiling and genuinely happy."

Booth was surprised by her observation. In truth, she was right. When Booth saw the photograph of him and Parker he didn't have a flashback of the terrible things he saw, or the deeds he had done. Instead he had memories of all of the jokes they told, the stories they shared and the pranks they pulled on one another. What he needed to take away from that place and his experiences there was the camaraderie and the brotherhood, nothing more.

"You're right," he admitted. She smiled at his admission. "So, what do you say we go get something to eat?"

THE END

Hope you all enjoyed this short story. I just watched the 100th episode last night, pretty crazy happenings. I actually like how they dealt with it, though I'm sure there are many fans that are not haha. Anyways, I may write some more Bones stuff, not sure yet, but I'm more than open to any critiques you may have regarding my story. Thanks again for reading it. The show and its characters are all creations of Hart Hanson and those involved respectively, I own none of it, merely felt inspired to write something about it.