A/N: This fic has taken me the longest out of anything I've ever written. To give you a time-frame, I started this in about January 2009. Yeah.

This song was written to the lyrics of Vienna Teng's 'Recessional'. I highly suggest listening to the song over and over again, because to me, it gets more beautiful with each press of the 'play' button.

On thing I really love about this song is its title, which is why I am using it as the title of this story. A recessional, for those of you who do not know, is defined as "a hymn or other piece of music played at the end of a service while the congregation is filing out [of the church]". This song is kind of like the recessional to a relationship, played as the girl (Brennan) is making her way out of the other person (Booth)'s life.

So anyways, I hope you enjoy this piece, and this song! And thank you to Stephy Newton for beta-ing this fic! :D

~*~
"It's so beautiful here," she says
This moment now
And this moment now
And I never thought I would find her here,
Flannel and satin
My four walls transformed

They sat in Booth's apartment, poring over cases, filling in monotonous paperwork, and nursing longnecks. Suddenly, she rose from her seat and padded over to the sliding glass door separating her from the October sky.

"Headache?" Booth's rough voice broke the noisy quiet.

"I just need to think about this one. I know Grant killed both those girls." She pressed one hand against the balcony window and peered out at the silvery stars. "We just need more evidence."

Her partner set his empty bottle on the coffee table in front of him and rose up from the couch. "Well, maybe another beer will help you think."

"Actually, quite the contrary. Alcohol--"

"Sheesh, Bones," Booth laughed. "I was kidding." He grabbed two bottles of Sam Adams and removed the caps, then padded out to the living room. He found the sliding door to the balcony ajar, and a few papers on the table fluttered in the incoming breeze.

"Bones?" he called as he poked his head out into the chilly October air. She turned and looked at him, then returned her gaze to the cityscape before them.

He gingerly stepped through the dooway, beer in hand and words on his lips. He handed her the bottle, which she plucked from his fingers gracefully and set on the railing.

Booth's feet drew him towards her, and his elbows propped themselves against the railing. The feel of her skin against his was comfortable, as was the silence, the night, and the cozy little balcony.

But she's looking at me,
Straight to center
No room at all for any other thought
And I know I don't want this,
Oh I swear I don't want this,
There's a reason not to want this,
But I forgot.

Suddenly, he felt the weight of her body pressed against his. He was acutely aware of every spot in which she touched him: shoulders pressed together, her arm covering the length of his, her hip barely brushing his. Booth gripped the edge of the railing to support himself. He could feel his own heartbeat thundering inside his chest and hoped that she couldn't. All coherent thought had crawled out of his head and flung itself over the balcony; his mind was blank, he had no memory of ever thinking in the first place, and he damn well would never do so in the future if she stayed where she was.

Barely moving his head, he slid his eyes to the right, where he found that her gaze was still trained upon downtown DC. Without warning, her head turned to look at him, and his fingers twitched a little because he wanted to look away but at the same time he couldn't stand to do it.

Her pale blue irises shone in the dark, so bright that one would think they were illuminated straight from the inside instead of by a dull porchlight. Her pupils jumped almost imperceptibly from left to right, as if she was reading words on a page (though she certainly read him like a book). He felt her soft fingers brush the inside of his palm quickly, and his hand twitched again.

"Uh, Bones..." Booth said slowly. "It's getting a little late, don'tcha think?" She pulled away from him and looked out into the city.

"Oh," she deadpanned. "Yeah."

Booth led her inside, hands kept well away from the small of her back, and started to gather her things.

"I can pack up my belongings just fine, Booth."

"Right."

He watched her shrug into her grey pea coat and sling her canvas bag over her shoulder, and made a(nother) mental note of how beautiful she looked tonight. They both stood at the doorway, his hand on the knob; Booth and Brennan locked eyes again, the heavy quiet comfortable and awkward at the same time. Tension crackled in the air between them.

Booth broke the silence. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah."

His eyes darted to her lips for a second, just a second, not even a second, and she probably didn't notice it anyways, right?

"Good night, Bones," he said, and with that he opened the door and ushered her into the night.

~*~
(instrumental interlude)

The office was dimly lit as she was leaving for the night, finally. He approached the glass door to her office and shoved his hands in his pockets, eyes to the floor.

"Um, Bones?" She turned to him, brows knitted together. They locked eyes as she spoke.

"What is it?"

"Um...before I say this," he started nervously, "I've done everything in my power to stop this decision from being made. They...whoever they are...are dead-set on this happening." Brennan's graceful fingers stopped moving at this forewarning, resting on her coat that hung on the coat tree. She cocked her head, urging him to continue.

Booth sighed, and averted his gaze. He couldn't look at her while he broke her heart, sealed the deal, affirmed her truth that everybody leaves eventually.

"I've been...called back to service by the military."

Her lips slowly parted, and her hand slid down her coat and hung over a rung on the tree.

"That's not possible." Her head shook slowly as the words slipped from her mouth. "They can't do that."

Booth's lips pressed into a thin line, then he said grimly, "I've checked it out. They can." He gave his lucky poker chip a little once-over with the pad of his thumb.

"Nuh-uh," she insisted, head still moving left-right, left-right. "They can't call you back now, not while you have a life."

"Yeah, Bones, they can." His mouth stretched into a smile that looked more like a grimace than anything. "Trust me, I know."

"But what about everyone else?" Her hands had moved from the coat rack to her hips, and her lower lip was stuck out just a little bit further than usual. "What does Parker do? What do I do?"

He sighed again, and recited the plans methodically. "Parker will live with Rebecca for the year that I'm gone (her face fell a little at the time frame), and you will be assigned a new FBI liason until I get back, at which point it will be decided whether or not my position at the Bureau will be reinstated."

Everything was silent for a long time, until Brennan whispered, "I don't want a new liason." Booth stepped towards her until they were standing face-to-face. He put a hand on her forearm and looked her in the eye, upon which she shrugged out of his touch guardedly, and Booth sighed.

"I don't want to leave, Bones."

~*~
And the words, they're everything and nothing
I want to search for her in the offhand remarks
Who are you, taking coffee no sugar
Who are you, echoing street signs
Who are you, the stranger in the shell of a lover
Dark curtains drawn by the passage of time

The Jeffersonian was dark, just like it had been that day, one year, one month, and six days ago. Except instead of seeing himself in the doorway of her office, hunched and solemn, he saw another man, the FBI guy, standing over his former partner.

Bones.

They had talked for awhile after his deployment, by phone, email, or regular old snail mail. Towards May or June, however, four months into his service, the letters began to come more sparingly, and by August, all contact had been severed. She would not pick up his calls or reply to his messages, virtual or otherwise.

But now, on this rainy February day, he stood before the lab platform, sporting camouflaged ACUs and buzzed brown hair.

She emerged from her office now, walking a step or two behind the liaison, bag in hand. He talked animatedly with her, but she just seemed stressed, frayed. She had failed to notice Booth, who stood on the other side of the platform.

He called her name. "Bones."

She stopped in her tracks, mouth held slightly open. When she resumed walking, her pace varied: first faster, then she slowed, then she took a couple big steps but almost stopped completely after that. He could tell that she was deciding whether she was happy to see him or mad that he left in the first place.

Her step was slow and controlled by the time she came to meet him near the entrance, and the FBI guy matched her pace, eyeing Booth the entire way there.

Booth and Brennan, Booth and Bones stood before each other, a little under a foot between them. As Brennan opened her mouth to talk, face blank, another voice cut in.

"Hi, Special Agent Scott Stryver," FBI guy said warmly, but with an icy note in the tone of his voice. He shook hands with Booth as Brennan stepped out of the way silently, her features still deadpan. "If you don't mind me asking, who are you?"

Booth's eyebrows furrowed imperceptibly as he gave Stryver his name. "Sergeant Seeley Booth."

"Ah, I've heard about you. You were Tempe's partner before me, right?"

"Yes, and I assume you're her new partner," Booth said with a fake smile. He didn't like this guy.

"Well, yes. But Tempe is also my fiancé. We're getting married at the end of the month." He grabbed her hand and held it up proudly, allowing Booth to admire their rings.

His heart lurched, plummeted, and landed hard on the ground somewhere on the other side of the earth. "Oh, congratulations," he said slowly, carefully, careful not to show any disappointment.

Booth looked to his former partner and noticed the look on her face. She didn't look happy, or proud, or excited. Instead, she looked...apathetic. Like she didn't really care anymore. He realized that she wasn't his Bones anymore. This guy was walking all over her, talking to Booth in an attempt to keep his girlfriend and him from reuniting, and she didn't care. He had shoved her out of the way when they tried to meet, because she was his even though she had told Booth that she would never belong to anybody, and she would never get married and never have kids or live in a white picket fence neighborhood with her quiet little family because she wasn't the type of person who gets trampled.

She was a stranger to him, after only a year. He had missed her chance with her, his chances that kept coming up time after goddamn time, because he was too damn scared to do anything about the way he felt for her.

And now he was angry. Angry at Bones, because she was his Bones and she should have known that. At Scott Stryver, for stealing her from him. And angry at himself, because he knew she was never his to lose in the first place, and he should not have thought that at all.

Oh words like rain, how sweet the sound
"Well anyway," she says, "I'll see you around."

"Well Tempe," Stryver started, "I think it's time we head out. I made dinner reservations at La Rosa Mexicana for eight o'clock." She looked into his eyes and nodded quietly, and Booth noted that she hated Mexican food, if he was remembering correctly.

As Stryver took her bags and headed towards the exit ("I can pack up my belongings just fine," she'd said just a year ago), Brennan stopped next to her former partner and smiled genuinely. "It was nice seeing you again, Booth. I'm glad you're back." She put a hand on his shoulder and met his gaze, sharp and soft at the same time.

"Tempe! Let's go!" the older agent called from the doorway.

She nodded back to him, silent as she had been this entire evening with him. "Well anyway," she continued, "I'll see you around."

"Yeah, I guess so. See you later." As she walked away, a fluttering in Booth's stomach intensified, and he whispered something, almost inaudibly.

"I missed you."

For those of you who might want more, I have a little secret for you. I omitted some of the lyrics, just because of a sheer lack of inspiration. If I ever get inspired, I'll add it to this, so if you wish, put this on alert!

By the way, I checked out whether or not Booth could get called back to service, and apparently they really can't do that. Enlisted soldiers owe a maximum of eight consecutive years to the army, whether they're active or not. Since Booth is not in his twenties, it's not too likely that he'd get called back. But since I'm the writer, oh well. ;)

Anybody who spotted an allusion in there gets extra brownie points!

Please review!