"Hey Bones." The cemetery was peaceful and quiet. The sun was out, and a gentle breeze rustled through the trees, not quite enough to take the edge off the heat. But despite the sun, the heat and his hot, black suit, Seely Booth was still cold. He hasn't been able to feel warmth since the fire from his adrenaline wore off that day. He still cursed himself. What good was he? He was quick and had perfect aim. Forty-nine people he had killed in the military. He improved with every shot, every mission, every success and every failure. But what good were all those years as a sniper if he couldn't use them to protect his partner? I should have been faster. I should have shot the man before he had the chance to kill Bones. I should have...
"I know that you've never thought anything of speaking to the dead." Temperance had always insisted that the dead never regained conciousness due to the fact that they were... dead. She would have mocked him, accused him, assaulted him with her anthropological analysis of the tradition of speaking to the dead.
"I know you would think this is foolish, a waste of time." And she would. Booth longed for her voice. He deep breath and continued.

"But I don't know what else to do." His voice cracked. Voicing the words truly threw him at the harsh reality. Bones was dead, and the was nothing he could dead. He felt useless and utterly alone. He felt his eyes start to water, and since no one else was here, he let the tears drip down his face. "I don't know what else to do Bones. I don't think there is anything I can do." He had to stop and compose himself before he completely broke down. It took a few moments, but he wiped his eyes and took another breath. He squatted down, getting close to the headstone. He reached out and softly traced the 'T' in her first name, distracting himself from reality.

Dr. Brennan had been awarded a posthumous medal for all the work she did at the Jeffersonian, which was given to her brother at the funeral service. Bones had achieved so much in her life, doctorates, medals, and she caught a murderer almost every week. If anyone truly deserved an honorific, it was her. And yet, only her name, Temperance Brennan was on the tombstone. Booth shook his head. It didn't seem right, a woman like Dr. Brennan would want to display her success. She deserved it. The dead didn't care about her name, it was the living she would have wanted to impress. The doctorates were proof of her success, proof that she achieved something in her life. Booth already had to stop the maker of her headstone from putting a cross on it. He knew it would not have been what she wanted.
"What's it like?" He asked softly. "Being dead. Is there a heaven? Were you wrong about the afterlife? Or were you right?" He paused. He tried to imagine Bones arriving at the pearly gates of heaven. How she would try to pick apart everything she saw- 'this can't be real'- until finally she accepted the truth. But what if-
What if she didn't make it to heaven?
Booth shook his head and stood up. Enough thoughts of the afterlife. He closed his eyes and began to say a prayer.
Our lord in heaven, take Temperance Brennan into your loving hands-

"I always liked the name Temperance." A smooth voice rang out across the silent cemetery. Booth, lifted his head and turned around. An older man was walking toward him, carrying a sad smile. Booth watched him approach the grave. "It was very fitting. Probably more than her other name." Booth furrowed his eyebrows. Who was this man?
"Her... other name?" The man turned to him, his blue eyes locked on Booth's.
"Joy." Booth took a step back.
"Who are you?" The man simply smiled and turned back toward the grave.
"I protect my own. I know who killed her, of course."
"You mean, Isaiah Blanch?" That was the name of the man who had shoot Bones. He too, had died that day, at Booth's hands.
"No. Blanch was simply a pawn. There was someone higher up on the food chain that wanted Temperance dead." Booth inhaled sharply.
"Who?" The man chuckled.
"That's for you to find out." He knelt down and placed a small object next to the grave. He stood up and patted Booth's shoulder, beginning to walk away.
"I'll give you 48 hours to arrest him. And then I am going after the son-of-a-bitch that killed my daughter." He let go and began to walk away. Booth blinked, trying to make sense of it all. His daughter... although the man he had just spoke to looked nothing like the man in the photograph. But a little plastic surgery, dyed hair and colored contacts, maybe...
Booth spun around.
"Max Keenan?" The man, just now reaching the top of the hill, give a little wave without turning his back, as he continued forward past the horizon.