Day 3 (day 27) prompt: Snow

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Booth was irritated. He was irritated and he really didn't know what to do about it. Sitting on the chair on the patio, Booth exhaled deeply and glared at his lawn. "It's disgusting . . . that's what it is. It's just disgusting."

Standing in the open doorway, Brennan leaned against the door frame and stared at her clearly agitated husband. "What's disgusting Booth?"

His eyes still on his dead lawn, Booth threw up his hands, stood up and jammed his hands into his pants pockets. "It's 74 degrees, Bones. It's Christmas Day and it's 74 degrees. Our lawn is dead, our trees have lost their leaves and our flowers are dead as can be and it has the nerve to be 74 degrees on Christmas day. It's absolute bullshit. Where's the damn snow? We might as well be in California or Hawaii or something."

Cocking her head to the side, Brennan nodded her head and stepped out onto the patio, closing the door behind her. "The temperature is supposed to drop by Monday. I believe the high for Monday is supposed to be 40 and the low in the upper 20's."

Booth realized that he was being petulant, but he didn't care. This was his little boy's first Christmas and what did they have for him to experience, but warm days, dead grass and trees and the air conditioner running. "It'll be too late, Bones." He removed his hands from his pockets and crossed his arms. "Our boy's first Christmas is ruined."

She wasn't sure what was going on, but whatever it was, she knew one thing and that was her husband was acting very strangely over weather. "Booth, what's going on? You don't usually care about things like this. It's Christmas, you love Christmas whether it is hot or cold, raining or snowing, foggy or the sun is shining. I know because I've seen you take all of these conditions in stride during Christmas. Why is this time any different from the last ones you've lived through? Surely it can't be because this is Hank's first Christmas. He won't remember this day. He's not likely to remember next year's Christmas either, so why are you really upset?"

Agitated, Booth turned and stalked over to the edge of the patio. Staring at the leafless oak tree, Booth tried to rein in his emotions and realized that he was barely under control. "I'm having a bad time, Bones." A tear fell down his cheek and he roughly wiped it from his face. "This is our first Christmas without . . ." Swallowing, Booth tried once more to rein in his emotions. "A lot has happened since our last Christmas, Bones. It's almost more than I can bear . . . almost . . . Sweets is gone and Christmas last year without him was kind of rough, but now Pops is gone . . . Jared . . . Jared is gone."

Wiping the dampness from his lashes, he sniffed and shook his head. "My daughter lost two uncles and, her great-grandfather in fifteen months. She knew them . . . she loved them . . . well maybe not Jared but she knew him and . . . and Hank . . . our little boy Hank is never going to know them. Our daughter lost three members of her family in less than two years and she knew them . . . and Hank never will." Wiping his eyes once more, Booth turned to face his wife. "Don't you think that's sad?"

The pain was there for her to see and hear and it made her want to weep for him, but Brennan knew that she needed to be strong for him as he had been strong for her when she needed it. Booth had been through so much and she was afraid for him. He'd already slipped once and gambled. What would it take to push him back to that brink? What if this time it was worse?

"Booth . . ." Moving closer to him, she stopped when she was close enough to tough him. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to hold him, to kiss him, but he needed something more and she wasn't sure what that was. Once more, she was afraid that she wasn't empathetic enough to help him. She was so afraid that what she had to offer wasn't what he really needed. "Booth, if I could fix this for you I would, but death is the natural order of things. Everything dies. It's something we see every day and we know that it's isn't something that can be evaded."

Her hand now resting on his left arm, Brennan spoke soothingly, trying to reason with the angry man in front of her. "Yes, Sweets was murdered. Hank died of the consequences of attaining a great age and Jared . . . Jared was killed before your eyes . . . There is nothing we can do to change those events. All we can do is accept them."

Tired and full of sadness, Booth sighed and ran his right hand through his hair. "I'm just sad Bones . . . and I'm angry and I don't know how to snap out of it. I'm trying . . . I am trying. I put up the Christmas tree and I decorated the yard and I took the kids to see Santa and I really really tried to be happy today, but I'm not, Bones. I'm not happy and I'm scared. I don't want . . . The hits keep coming and what if . . . what if the next time it's you or one of the kids? I . . . "

"Booth you're allowed to be sad and angry . . . it's allowed." Brennan realized that Booth needed a connection to his family and right now he didn't seem to see he had one. His fears were making him see the worst possibilities and not what he had at that time. Moving closer to him, she wrapped her arms around him and leaned her head against his shoulder. "You're allowed to be sad, Booth. Society expects everyone to be happy on Christmas Day, but sometimes . . . sometimes circumstances won't let you. That doesn't mean that you're a failure or that what you're feeling isn't right. What you're feeling is right for you in this time and in this place . . . You haven't really had time to mourn, Booth. You've lost . . . we've lost three family members in a short period of time and none of us has really had time to mourn our losses."

Booth's arms now around her, he leaned his head against her head and felt his rage calming deep inside of him. "You think so?"

The question gave her a sense that she was reaching him and she held him tighter. "Yes, I really do. We don't have a set amount of time that we set aside to actually mourn for our losses, but I think when someone is dealing with the loss of so many family members . . . you're allowed to be sad Booth . . . and afraid. You're allowed to mourn for the loss of the ones you loved and you're allowed to worry about the future, but don't let that fear and that sadness stop you from seeing what you have. I understand what you're going through and I'm right here Booth. I'm mourning with you. You're not alone in this."

A sense of calm moving through him, Booth felt the black cloud that had been with him since he had woke up that morning start to fade. Brennan had always had the ability to calm him. It was one of the things that he loved about her. She was his rock, his anchor in any storm.

Her touch calmed him and though he was still sad, he wasn't wallowing in the darkness he had found himself in just moments before. "Maybe it'll snow next week."

The sadness was still in his voice, but the pain seemed to have diminished for which she was grateful. "Maybe it will."

A cool breeze started to blow across the yard and with it, it picked up a few dead leaves and swirled them around the couple. "I'm sorry."

Puzzled, Brennan moved her head so that she could look into her husband's face. "For what? You didn't do anything wrong, Booth."

With a slight smile on his lips, Booth leaned down and kissed her. "You know, I don't think anyone in this world understands me like you do."

Gratified to hear those words, Brennan smiled at her husband. "You've been my project for many years Booth."

Before he could reply, the back door crashed open and Christine stepped out onto the patio in a huff. "Daddy . . . Daddy come play with me. You promised that you'd play with me and . . ." With a laugh, Christine ran over to where her parents were embracing and threw her arms around their legs. "Don't forget me."

His black mood suddenly gone, Booth released Brennan, leaned over and picked up his daughter. As he held her in the crook of his arm he blew a slobbery raspberry on her neck. Her squeal a balm for his battered soul, Booth glanced at Brennan, winked at her and then assured his daughter. "I would never forget you and Hank, Monkey, never." Placing his free arm around Brennan's shoulders, Booth leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Maybe it will snow next week."

Brennan snaked her arm around his waist and smiled. "Next week, Booth. There is always next week."

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