"It's been an honor serving under you, Master Sergeant." The soldier stood at attention. He looked like such a kid – barely shaving, standing there in fatigues and a sunburn, head shaved so the hair reminded Booth of down on a baby duck.

"At ease, Reynolds. I'm not your commander anymore – I'm just another guy on his way home."

"And you're sure you don't want to catch a transport with us? This isn't exactly standard procedure, sir."

Booth looked around the crowded airport. His head was starting to ache, and he didn't like how close everybody was. Still, he shook his head.

"Nothing about this past year's been standard procedure, Lieutenant." He ran a hand through his too-short hair. "I just wanna be normal again. Get back to my life."

Whatever the hell that meant. He waited until Reynolds left before he hefted his pack over his shoulder again; he didn't want the kid to see him wince at the move. He looked around again. That morning, he'd left the Landstuhl Medical Center against the doctor's orders, eight days after his guys had come in and pulled him out of the hellhole he was being kept in, about fifty miles outside Kandahar. The details of the rescue op were fuzzy – some of it didn't make sense, the way he remembered it. Some of it, he didn't remember at all.

Some of it, he knew he'd never forget.

Booth was wearing jeans and a T-shirt; trying to blend in. He wanted to get lost in everyone else's lives for a while, but it felt like he was wearing a flashing neon sign. "Soldier headed home."

That word again: Home. He thought of Bones… She was freaked out, he knew. Freaked out that he'd been taken; freaked out that now that he was back, he wasn't more anxious to see her. The fact was, he was dying to see her again. He just didn't know… He wasn't ready yet. Once he felt a little stronger, once he didn't flinch at every loud noise or wake up screaming every time he closed his eyes… Yeah, then he'd be ready. Time. He just needed a little time.

His leg was starting to throb, so Booth got himself in gear. Made sure his pack was solid over his shoulder, balanced himself on his crutches, and tried to ignore the first lightning bolt of pain that never failed to hit every time he made a move. The nurse had wanted him to use a wheelchair, but there was no way. No way in hell was he leaving his tour and first setting foot back in the U.S. in a wheelchair. They'd also been pushing the drugs like there was no tomorrow, but Booth had seen too many guys go down that road and never come out of it.

So, he clenched his jaw, ignored the pain. Gimped his way through the security check, listening to the foreign languages all around him. People were smiling, laughing. A few enlisted men, but he was in the Frankfurt airport now… Among civilians. Still, he found himself watching people – looking for trouble. A couple of scruffy looking teenagers were making out in the corner, a duffel bag at their feet. An old woman was crying, saying goodbye to two chubby granddaughters with dark hair and big brown eyes. He was back in the world, but he felt like an alien. Seeley Booth, FBI-man. Sniper. Prisoner of war. Master sergeant.

Seeley Booth.

Fuckin' martian.

Once he'd gotten through the checkpoints, he got to the ticket counter and the pretty woman who took his ticket said in a thick accent,

"It will be just a moment, sir. Perhaps you should sit?"

He didn't know what the problem was, but he was pretty sure if it took more than two minutes, he'd do well to take the woman's suggestion. He eased his pack to an empty seat, then stretched his right leg out as he kind of crashed his ass into the cold plastic seat.

A couple of boys Parker's age were fooling around in the middle of the terminal, laughing. Booth thought of what it would be like to be back in Washington. He tried to imagine making small talk with Cam and the squints, tried to picture himself staying cool and easygoing while Sweets grilled him about what happened while he'd been captured.

He tried to imagine seeing Bones again, looking into those blue eyes, and telling her he was okay. The same guy she'd fallen in love with. The muscles in his thigh started to bunch; fifteen seconds, and they'd start to spasm. He clenched his teeth when the pain started. Sweat ran down the back of his neck.

"Sir?"

He looked up maybe three minutes later to see the woman at the counter staring at him.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said, too fast. "Did you get everything figured out?"

She nodded. "Yes, sir. Your seat has been switched, however – we were made aware of your rank and most recent assignment. It would be our honor if you would take a seat in first class."

Well, he sure as hell wasn't going to fight them on that. Reynolds had probably told them.

He started to get up, and winced. The ticket lady offered her hand; Booth had this overwhelming urge to slap it away.

"I've got it," he said. Harder than he meant to – she stepped back, looking like he was somebody to be pitied.

Booth's jaw hardened. He steeled himself so his face wouldn't show a fucking thing when the pain hit, and limped past her to the plane without looking at her again.

Things got better once Booth sat down in the giant, first-class seat that was waiting for him. If Reynolds had been the one who did this, he was gonna have to send the kid something – it turned out Booth hadn't quite thought through trying to cram his cast into a regular seat for the long trip stateside. The flight attendant brought him a pillow and a blanket, some nuts and a drink – beer, even though he knew getting up to piss would be a pain in the ass. But the beer was cold, and German, and he'd already killed the bottle and was leaning back with his eyes closed by the time the passenger sitting next to him showed up, just a couple of minutes before takeoff.

He felt the seat shift, and he knew it was her before she said a word. Before he'd opened his eyes. It was her smell… Which might sound a little weird, kind of primal, but Booth had spent six years with her in pretty much every situation known to man. Once you've done that, you get to know a woman's scent.

She sat down, big blue eyes on his. A minute passed, maybe more.

"I know you said I shouldn't come."

He thought of the things they'd been through over the years. How many orders had he given her that she'd ignored in that time? Had he really thought this would be any different?

In the Medevac 'copter leaving Afghanistan, Booth had hallucinated that she was with him. One night, hanging from the ceiling by his wrists, electrodes in his chest and his eye bloodied shut, he could've sworn she was with him when roaches were swarming at his feet and another prisoner's screams kept him awake for what felt like hours. She hadn't said anything, but he'd imagined her head on his chest, arms wrapped around his waist.

Bones took his hand. He felt tears come, and swallowed them back. Pressed her hand to his lips, still dry and cracked.

"I'm glad you did, Bones."

She brushed his hair from his forehead. Studied his face in that way she did, her eyes bright with tears of her own. Her fingertips were light, careful, as she catalogued his cuts and bruises. They didn't talk for a while. It occurred to him that she would know – without him having to say a word, Bones would know what happened to him. His body would tell the story, and the words wouldn't even have to leave his mouth.

"Are you okay?" she whispered to him as the plane began taxiing down the runway. She moved closer, until her forehead was almost resting against his, her hand at the nape of his neck.

He nodded. "I am now," he whispered back. She wrapped her arms around him. Kissed him, soft at first and then harder when his fingers twined in her hair. "We're going home, Bones."

They parted, just a little – just enough so he could see her eyes, the light of her smile. As the plane left the ground and gained altitude, he had that moment of weightlessness that he always felt when he was flying. He draped his arm around Bones's shoulders and pulled her closer. Closed his eyes.

They were going home.

Fin