A/N: Here's something new. I used the fantastic song Shelter from the Storm, by Bob Dylan. I hope you like!

'Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood
When blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud
I come in from the wilderness, a creature void of form.
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

And if I pass this way again, you can rest assured
I'll always do my best for her, on that I give my word
In a world of steel-eyed death, and men who are fighting to be warm.
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

He was different. She knew immediately. It took the others a few days to notice. He smiled less and when he did, it never reached his eyes. He rarely made jokes, their witty banter an apparent casualty of recent events.

He walked slower too. She knew by his gait that he'd been hurt. Badly. But he never let on. Never complained. It was barely a week before she found herself pacing her apartment, full of worry.

Their relationship, always ambiguous at best, had exploded into a supernova of passion before he left. They hadn't even had time to define who they were before he left. As she was left alone with the memory of his hands, his lips, his eyes.

They had kept in contact for the year and a half he was a way through emails, letters and the occasion phone call. Both skirted around their issues, never defining what their hearts both ached for.

But he was hurting and she needed to be there for him like he was for her. She was bad with people. She had been told that a lot. But she was good with Booth. There was no denying that.

Grabbing her jacket and keys, she yanked open the door.

Her eyes widened as she saw him there, hair mussed, eyes rimmed red, shifting back and forth on his feet.

Not a word was spoke between us, there was no risk involved
Nothing up to that point had even been resolved.
Try imagining a place where it's always safe and warm.
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

I was burned out from exhaustion, buried in the hail,
Poisoned in the bushes an' blown out on the trail,
Hunted like a crocodile, ravaged in the corn.
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

She turned and moved into the apartment and he followed, neither of them saying a word. She headed into the kitchen to grab them both some water while he sat on the couch, wincing as he did so.

When she came back into the room, she had to choke back the sob that formed in her throat. She had seen him angry, frustrated, happy, everything but this. He looked defeated. As if life had finally crushed his indomitable spirit.

That frightened her. More than she could bear it. Her heart was pounding a mile a minute. She didn't know how to fix this. Didn't know how to fix him.

He looked up and caught her gaze, his eyes full of despair.

Suddenly I turned around and she was standin' there
With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair.
She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns.
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Now the bonds are broken, but they can be retied,
by one more journey to the woods, the holes where spirits hide.
It's a never ending battle for a peace that's always torn
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

She moved towards him, placing the water bottles on the table. Sitting down next to him, she stared into his eyes unflinching.

He opened his mouth as if to say something but he couldn't. She saw tears well up in his eyes and instinctively her hand slipped into his. She remembered when he had told her about his past as a sniper, how hard it was for him.

There was nothing she could say to make it better, nothing that would heal the gaping wound within him. But she could hold his hand and listen.

"I…I.." he started, bowing his head as he was unable to continue.

"It's okay." She said softly.

He shook his head as if to disagree.

Well, the deputy walks on hard nails and the preacher rides a mount
But nothing really matters much, it's doom alone that counts
And the one-eyed undertaker, he blows a futile horn.
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

I've heard newborn babies cryin' like a moanin' dove
And old men with broken teeth stranded without love.
Do I understand your question, man, is it hopeless and forlorn?
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

She lifted her hand and placed it on his cheek, her heart giving a little flutter as she did so. God, she loved this man. Loved him. Everything about him, even the dark despair that he was dealing with now.

She knew that a storm raged inside him, sometimes she could feel it too. She knew what it was like. To see death and suffering in its most naked form. To have it envelop you and leave you choking, gasping for relief.

He let out the breath he'd been holding as she moved her hand across his cheek, really touching him for the first time since he'd been back. It had been too long. She shifted closer to him and soon her fingers were untangling themselves from his hand and moving up to cup his other cheek.

And now there's a wall between us, something else been lost
I took too much for granted, I got my signals crossed.
And just to think it all began on an uneventful morn,
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

In a little hilltop village, they gambled for my clothes
I bargained for salvation an' she give me a lethal dose.
I offered up my innocence and got repaid with scorn.
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

She stared into his eyes and when he tried to look away, she held her hands firmly in place.

"Seeley." She whispered, her words lingering between them. "It's okay."

He tried to shake his head but she wouldn't let him.

"It's okay." She repeated firmly.

A tear slipped from his eye and then another and soon he was in her arms, sobbing desperately. She clung to him, whispered to him, told him she would never let him go. She stroked his hair and let his hot tears soak her shirt, releasing the knot of anger and turmoil inside him.

Well, I'm livin' in a foreign country but I'm bound to cross the line
Beauty walks on a razor's edge, someday I'll make it mine.
If I could only turn back the clock to when God and her were born,
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."