I. The Promise in the Departure

One year from today.

The moment his hand let go of hers, she knew it was a mistake.

The moment he turned around one last time, every cell in his body wanted to run to her.

But the deal was sealed, the decision made. And so she walked away to change the entire notion of what it means to be human, and he went off to be a hero.

-BONES-

The first month she would look up whenever somebody said the word "bones". Considering her surroundings and the purpose of the mission it happened quite often, and she started to feel pathetic.

The second month he began to believe that the sand and dirt could never be washed off again. He tried to view it from Hodgins' perspective – see more than "sand" or "dirt" – but didn't succeed.

The third month she woke up one night, her stomach clenching with inexplicable waves of nausea. It felt as if there was a hole in her body, and despite being very literal, she failed to see the irony of her guts telling her that something was missing.

The fourth month the photo of her began to pale because of how many times he would be looking at it in the merciless sun. He traced the lines of her face with his fingers and tried to remember the feeling of her soft skin and silky hair under his hand. He wondered if she missed him.

The fifth month she finally admitted to herself that she did – perhaps more than in an "attagirl kind of way" in which one should miss their partner. She longed for the natural easiness of his touch, the way he grounded her and the feeling of belonging she used to get in his proximity. In an attempt to evoke that feeling, she sat down and wrote him a letter.

The sixth month a letter with a very colorful collection of stamps arrived, lightning up his face with the most genuine smile in a long time. She wrote about the dig, the colors of the rain forest, her everyday life on the campsite. She described a secluded waterfall she had found several weeks ago, and he closed his eyes, picturing her there. Slightly more tanned, her hands somewhat rougher – but still her. His wonderful and brilliant partner... his Bones. She ended her letter saying that she thought of him and expressing her hopes that he would be safe.

The seventh month she got a letter in a crumpled and slightly dirty envelope and her heart did a somersault. She studied her name in his handwriting for a long time, imagining the movements of his hand as he had been writing it down. She read about kids playing in the ruins of what used to be their school and the way the desert starts to blur with the horizon in the boiling heat. He admitted that every time the sun started to burn his skin, he would think of the comforting touch of her cool hand, imagined it soothe his burning forehead.

The eighth month his unit got ambushed and they lost a man. He got drunk that night, and not even the thought of her was comforting enough.

The ninth month a monsoon flooded their dig site, making them lose a month of work. Soaking wet and knee-deep in mud she stood watching the consequences of its disastrous rage, and cold desperation crept into her heart.

The tenth month he was way beyond missing her. He cursed his sentimental heart and his wish to pursue a romantic relationship with her. If he hadn't tried to change everything, she wouldn't have felt the need to run away. He just wanted to have her in his life again, to smell her rose shampoo, to hear her proud laughter when she understood a pop culture reference. He vowed to himself never to take a risk like that again.

The eleventh month an archaeologist from Russia asked her out. She enjoyed an evening in his company, reveled in his symmetric structure and the feeling of being a woman. But even before they finished the first beer she knew she wouldn't let him kiss her. Or anything else. It simply didn't seem right.

The twelfth months he was anxious to get back to his normal life and scared to death at the same time – scared that normal life as he knew it didn't exist anymore.

One year from today was now.