He saw them before he stepped outside, sitting side-by-side in the tree fort with their backs to the house, leaning against the open rails that made up the sides of the structure. Even with the width of the backyard between them, their dejection and sadness was obvious. Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Max opened the door.

"Hey up there."

Zach's head swiveled as he looked over his shoulder and watched his grandfather cross the yard and stop beneath the tree. The sun was high overhead, casting the smallest of shadows on the lush green grass.

"Mind if I join you?"

The five-year old instinctively glanced at his sister. When she shrugged despondently, he turned back to Max. "Okay."

Max grimaced as he faced the line of boards affixed to the outside of the tree but when his head popped above the rough wooden floor, he was smiling. "Been a long time since I climbed a tree." He hauled himself somewhat clumsily inside as two tear-stained faces watched.

"Did you bring juice boxes?" Christine's chin rested on her hands, on the bony caps of the skinny knees revealed by the long cotton shorts she wore.

"No." Max looked from one child to the other as he folded himself into an uncomfortable seat on the hard surface. "Was I supposed to?"

"Daddy brings juice boxes." The mumbling explanation was barely audible as the little girl bent lower and toyed with the laces on her sneakers.

"Oh." Max studied his grandchildren, helpless in the face of their sorrow. "I can go back down and -"

Christine was already shaking her head. "I'm not thirsty."

"Me, either." Zach picked up a fallen leaf from the floor beside him and focused on it as he twirled it by the thin stem. "Did Mommy and Daddy leave?"

"Yea." Max reached across the gap and squeezed the little boy's denim-clad leg. "I'm sorry about Grandpa Hank," he said gruffly.

Chin trembling, Zach raised wet brown eyes. "Does Mommy have to look at his bones?"

The old rogue's heart splintered, at the question and at the answering sniffle from Christine. "No, sweetheart, they're just going up there to . . . to see him and take care of . . . what they have to take care of." He scooted closer so he could lay a comforting hand on both children. "Hank - well, they know how he died so Mommy won't have to look at his bones."

"Daddy said he just went to sleep." Zach looked at his grandfather for confirmation.

"He had a long life," Max replied carefully. "And he had a big heart and . . . he was tired, I think. It just stopped beating. It was his time."

"Daddy said we'd see him again in heaven." The small boy stared intently at Max.

"But when Annabelle died," Christine broke in, fresh tears growing at the mention of her beloved cat, "Mommy said there was no such thing as heaven. She said I should try to remember her like she was because she was gone forever."

Max hesitated, his gaze roving over both children. They looked back at him, miniature versions of Booth and Brennan, through eyes too wise for their young faces, with features softened by childhood and blurred by traces of each parent. His thoughts scrambled as he searched for words to ease the pain in their young hearts.

Finally, he settled on his own version of the truth. "I think they're both right."

It was Zach, predictably, who found the flaw in his argument. "They can't both be right. There's either a heaven or there isn't."

Max wedged himself between the two kids and, legs stretched out in front of him, draped an arm around each one. "That's the way it usually works but the truth is, Zach, nobody really knows for sure what happens next and since we don't know - and we can't know - the most important thing is that we find something to believe that makes us happy."

Eyes of blue and brown studied him carefully as he continued to speak.

"Your dad, he wants to believe that if you live a good life, if you're a good person while you're here, then something even better is waiting around the corner. And Tempe," he squeezed Christine close, "well, your mom believes that it's what we do right now that matters, because it's right now that matters. And they're both right," he said again, "because no one can prove that either one of them is wrong."

Zach face scrunched in thought as he considered his grandfather's words. "What do you think?"

"Me?" Max hugged both children tight and breathed deeply. "I think we live forever."

When they looked at him with surprise, he smiled and unfurled his arm from Zach's shoulders. "In here," he explained, with a touch of a finger at Christine's temple. "And right here." The same gentle touch landed on the little boy's t-shirt, above his heart.

They nestled closer into him as Max returned his arm to its place around Zach.

"You know, your grandmother Ruth? She's been gone for almost thirty years," he said, his voice as soft and comforting as his embrace, "but when I close my eyes, I can still see her, just like always." He smiled down at the dark heads burrowed against his chest. "I still talk to her every day, too."

"About what?" Christine didn't look up as she asked the question.

"Oh, about you two, mostly," he laughed. "And about your mom and dad. Uncle Russ and Aunt Amy, and Emma and Hayley, too. We have a lot to talk about."

Zach looked up then, one side of his mouth curling in a smile he'd inherited from his father. "Does she answer you?"

Max gave him a one-armed squeeze. "Sure she does. Usually when she thinks I'm doing something wrong."

They sat in silence for a moment as the wind rustled the leaves around them with a soothing whisper.

"The thing is," Max continued quietly, "talking to Ruth keeps her alive for me." His head dipped as he looked down at Zach. "One day, you'll be all grown up, and big like your daddy. And you'll have kids and you'll tell them about your Grandpa Hank and how he called you Jelly Bean." He grinned, even as his own eyes filled with the same tears that came to Zach's. "And they'll laugh, because they won't be able to imagine you little enough to be anyone's Jelly Bean. But you'll remember, and Grandpa Hank will be alive again for you."

Christine sniffed into his shirt when he pressed a kiss into her hair. "And you'll tell your kids all about an octopus princess named Olivia, and how she had a boyfriend named - what was his name again?"

"George." The answer came on a voice choked with tears.

"George, that's right." Max rested his chin on the top of her head and smiled. "You can tell them all about George and Princess Olivia and sharks going to the dentist and all of those sandcastles at the bottom of the ocean, and it will be just like your Grandpa Hank is there telling those stories with you."

Time passed as he held his daughter's children close while they dampened his shirt with their grief.

"That's what's important, all those memories you have and being able to share them later on. That's how we keep the people we love alive, so other people can love them, too."

After a few minutes, the weeping began to fade into sniffles and hiccups. He rubbed circles into their shoulders and patted them comfortingly.

"Max?"

"Hmm?" He tried not to wince as Christine wiped her nose on his shirt.

"What did Grandma Ruth look like? Was she pretty?"

"Oh." His silver head rested on one of the narrow boards of the wall behind him as he smiled up into the canopy of leaves, seeing Ruth's face again as he so often did, and shared his memories. "She was the prettiest girl I'd ever seen. She was wearing a white sweater the first time I saw her . . ."

.

.

.

I'm going to miss Pops. I'll be 49 this upcoming birthday so I'm old enough to remember watching Ralph Waite on The Waltons. Thinking of that show reminds me of nights spent watching it with my own grandparents, too, which makes the memories even more special.

It makes me happy that a few chapters in Roots & Wings leave Christine and Zach with their own memories of Hank. In the best of times, children should have wonderful memories of their grandparents. Even the pretend children of a pretend world.

Rest in peace, Ralph Waite and Pops. Thanks for the memories.

Edited to add: Because the question came up in a review, the relevant R&W chapters are:

13: You're Never Too Old
31: Family Traditions
54: Red is Not a Flavor
and, 44: What We Leave Behind, because it passes Booth and Brennan's wedding rings, which were originally worn by Hank and Margaret, to a third generation of Booths.