Originally I was going to finish all the one-shots I have planned and post them as a mass-update. That's not happening. -_- I mean, it could, but it would probably take all month. I just can't sit down to write some of them. So instead, I'll be posting four one-shots today (the ones already done), and I'll post the others whenever I finish them.

This was a weird little idea based on one of the (multiple) theories I have about Bree's personality. I know it's slightly OOC, and I acknowledge that. I tried my best, and I think it actually turned out pretty good.

Trigger warnings for bullying, small injuries, low self esteem, and general angsty-ness.

Thanks in advance for reading. I hope you'll consider leaving a review at the end of the story. They're a writer's fuel. :) I don't own Lab Rats, just my crazy ideas. Enjoy!

* * * Big Girls Don't Cry * * *

She may not have been a super genius like her younger brother, but Bree knew pain when she felt it. She also knew that pain was not a good thing. Also, pain hurt! Like, a lot.

The six-year-old gripped her ankle and wailed, the sobs building up in her chest. She was used to the small cuts, bruises, and various injuries they gained during training, but this . . . this was something else. This was a fire, spreading through her foot and consuming it. It was torture, agony . . . Bree was starting to wish she had taken up Chase's offer to borrow his thesaurus.

Regardless of what the correct word would be, Bree knew that it hurt. Really, really, really hurt. She rubbed at it consistently, hoping to sooth the pain. The area had grown red and was swelling. She winced as more tears rolled down her cheeks.

"You'll be okay," Adam said, rubbing her shoulder.

"How do you know?" Bree blubbered.

"Because you're always okay," the older boy said matter-of-factly.

True. Bree had always been okay in the past. One time she fell off of the wall—a long story that involved super-speed and a way-too-hyper-for-bedtime toddler—and she had only hurt her back a little. She was fine a few days later. So would she be fine now?

The elevator dinged and the children looked up. Bree was filled with a mix of relief and dread. Relief because help was finally here. Dread because that "help" would demand to know what was going on.

"What is going on?"

And she was right.

"Bree fell off the climbing wall!" Chase said quickly.

"It . . . it hurts, Mr. Davenport," Bree said, wiping her nose and her cheeks on her messy sleeve. The tears still poured out of her eyes like a faucet that couldn't be turned off.

Mr. Davenport knelt down and Bree felt herself relax a little as he grabbed her ankle. She trusted him, and it was a good feeling. She knew that Mr. Davenport would know what to do. He always knew what to do.

"It looks like you sprained it," he said softly.

"Sprain?" Bree asked.

"It's when you tear ligaments," Chase explained. "You must've done it when you fell off."

"Bree, how many times have I told you not to super-speed up the rock wall?" Mr. Davenport asked. It wasn't mean at all; he said it just as if he was asking a real question.

Bree shifted uncomfortably. "But Adam double-dog-dared me," she mumbled.

"I'm sorry!" Adam blurted out. "I didn't know she would be hurt!"

"It's okay, Adam," Mr. Davenport reassured the frantic seven-year-old.

Hmm, Mr. Davenport sure was calm today. Sometimes he was angry. Maybe his meetings went well. He always seemed to be happy after meetings went well.

Then Mr. Davenport's fingers touched a particularly sore spot and Bree yelped. She yanked her foot back, only causing more pain. That made her scream more, and the tears came even faster and harder than before.

"Hey, shh, calm down," he said gently, though Bree caught the slight strain in his voice. "I'll go get you some ice. We'll put that on there and it will help you feel better. Okay?"

"Okay," Bree said with a sniffle.

"Boys, try to keep your sister calm," Mr. Davenport said as he stood up and headed to the elevator.

"Okay," the boys said in unison.

Bree gulped and her hand went back to her throbbing ankle. She coughed a couple of times and let the sobs start up again. Pain was spreading through her foot and up her leg. It hurt.

"You'll be okay, Bree," Adam said calmly.

"B-But it hurts! Adee," Bree sobbed, using her brother's nickname, "it hurts a lot!" She burst into a fresh round of tears.

"Bee-Bee, it's okay!" Chase said, moving closer. "It's okay, really!"

"But it hurts!" Bree shrieked.

"I know. But you'll be okay! All you have to do is calm down."

"I-I-I don't know h-h-how!"

"Just think about happy things," Adam suggested.

"I can't!"

"Hey, Bee-Bee," Chase said, "you're a big girl, right?"

Bree nodded her head mournfully. Ever since her sixth birthday a few weeks ago—Mr. Davenport didn't celebrate birthdays, but Bree still knew what day hers was—she had gone around proclaiming how she was a big girl now. She was almost tall enough to use the sink in the bathroom without a stool. She knew the whole alphabet. She could use her super-speed without running into things. She was a big girl.

"Right, you are a big girl," Chase said, looking her in the eye. "And Bee-Bee, big girls don't cry."

Bree stared back at him. Big girls don't cry? Well . . . well Bree was a big girl! She was a big girl now! So why was she crying? She couldn't cry!

The elevator dinged again as Bree reached up to wipe her cheeks. Mr. Davenport helped Bree onto the bench and instructed her to lay down. He lifted her ankle and put it on a pillow, and then he put the cold ice on it. Bree recoiled at that (it was really cold!) but soon accepted it.

Mr. Davenport had also brought down tissues for her. Bree wiped her face and nose with a few of them. But now there were no new tears to wipe away. The sobs still sat in Bree's chest and throat, but they didn't come out. Not anymore.

The next few weeks had Bree hobbling around on crutches. She healed quickly because of her bionics, but it still wasn't fast enough for her. But let's face it: nothing is fast enough for a girl with super-speed. To Bree, the whole world moved in slow motion.

Every time she placed her foot on the ground, pain shot through it. Mr. Davenport had wrapped it up snuggly, and it didn't hurt nearly as much as when she first fell, but it still did hurt. Regardless, Bree continued walking around on the crutches, confidently and without hesitation.

And she didn't cry.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry!" Chase sounded like he was stuck on repeat.

"Yeah, me too," Adam said. "It's kinda my fault anyway . . ."

"It's all your fault, dummy!" Bree snapped. She didn't quite mean to, but anger was building alongside her sadness.

Adam held in his cupped hands Bree's only doll, Lilliana. Only, now it wasn't a doll. Now it was a wad of twisted, burnt plastic. He put it on the cyberdesk and said, "We'll give her a proper funeral."

"What are you going to do, flush it down the toilet?" Chase asked. He noticed Bree's quivering lip and apologized again.

"I-It's fine," Bree said softly. A lump was rising in her throat, but she swallowed it. "I'll be eleven in a month. I don't need a stupid doll to keep me happy. I was getting too old for her anyway."

"We're really sorry, Bree," Chase said again. "We were just roughhousing."

"Yeah, that's what we were doing," Adam said. He leaned over and whispered to Chase, "What's roughhousing?"

"I said it's okay," Bree sighed.

The boys looked at each other and shrugged. "If you're sure . . ." Chase started to say.

"I am," Bree assured him.

Adam and Chase went around the corner to the rock wall—Chase apologizing one more time as they left—and within minutes Bree could hear them racing each other. She pulled out a stool and sat on it, staring at the melted plastic in front of her.

Lilliana had been her best friend since Mr. Davenport had given the doll to Bree when she was four. Lily was the only female companion Bree had—and yes, she knew it was just a doll, but what else did she have? Now even her doll was gone.

Bree sighed again. She would be eleven soon. She was growing up. She didn't need a doll. So she grabbed what remained of Lilliana and threw it in the trash can.

And she didn't cry.

"Oh, what have we here, girls?"

Bree groaned internally at Stephanie's annoyingly high pitched voice—and she used to think Eddy was bad. She turned from her locker to see the posse of cheerleaders headed her way. "Hi, Stephanie," Bree said unenthusiastically.

"Hi, Bree!" Stephanie said in her usually overly chirpy tone. "We were just wondering if you'd like to have lunch with us."

Bree's heart fluttered in her chest. "Really?"

"Of course! All you have to do is lose the dumpy clothing, fix your ratty hair, and becoming overwhelmingly popular. So, I'll see you the day after never?" All the cheerleaders laughed together at what was apparently a hilarious joke.

Bree just rolled her eyes. "At least people like me."

"Oh, sweetie," Stephanie said, reaching out to rub Bree's shoulder. "No one likes you. You're just a freak and an outcast and that's all you'll ever be. Let's go, girls!"

The gaggle—Bree had learned that word from Chase—of girls walked away, whispering and laughing to themselves. It was in that moment that Bree decided she wanted to join the cheerleading squad. Sure, she loathed those girls, but at least they would be nicer if she was one of them.

Weeks later, tryouts came. And Adam just had to get involved. Cheerleading was Bree's thing! Why did he have to mess everything up? Not only did he insist on trying out, but he took the only spot left!

During the basketball one-on-one tournament, all Bree could do was sit on the bench. She wanted to support Leo, who she had determined was the least annoying of her brothers, but Adam was performing with the cheerleaders.

Bree wanted to be angry as she stared at the ground, but she couldn't be. She felt utterly sad inside. She wondered if Adam had made any difference. If he hadn't been there, would she have made the squad? Stephanie was just a huge jerk, and Bree wasn't sure that she would've let her join anyway.

It was later in the game that Adam came up to her and announced he had quit the squad. Not only that, he had quit the squad because the girls were making fun of her. Bree's heart swelled at hearing that. Maybe she had underestimated her brother.

So they performed on their own, without Stephanie. And Bree certainly thought it was amazing, not that she wanted to brag . . . oh, she was a Davenport! Of course she wanted to brag!

After the game was over, the boys decided to go out for ice cream. Leo was over the moon about making his first basket ever, even if Trent had beat him. He was desperate to celebrate.

"You three head out, I'll be right there," Bree said.

"Are you sure you can catch up?" Leo asked.

"Leo, she has super-speed," Chase pointed out.

"Oh, yeah," Leo said sheepishly.

Adam, Chase, and Leo left the gym, talking excitedly about the game. Bree grinned and grabbed her cell phone, heading in the direction of the girls' bathroom. In the hallway, however, her path was suddenly blocked by an angry blonde she-devil.

"That was a sneaky little stunt you pulled out there, new girl," Stephanie hissed.

"I've been going to this school for months . . ." Bree tried to say.

"Save it! You're still a nobody. And quit trying to be . . . somebody! You should not have stolen my thunder like that. You will never be popular. You're an ugly, pathetic little girl that no one wants to hang out with. You should be glad you have your brothers, but even they don't like hanging out with you, not really. I hope you enjoyed that little stint in the spotlight, because it was your last. Remember, I'm the most popular girl in school. Don't cross me again."

"What are you going to do?" Bree asked, her voice wavering.

"I can do whatever I want. I can tell everyone to shun you. Not that it would make a difference; no one talks to you anyway. But I can make your life miserable, so just stay low and stay out of my way." Stephanie flipped her hair over her shoulder dramatically and stormed away.

Bree pursed her lips and rushed into the bathroom. After leaning down and checking to make sure no one else was in there, she stared at herself in the mirror. Gently she touched her face and whispered, "Am I really ugly?"

Stephanie's words cut her to the core. They were spiteful and hate-filled. Bree had been full of insecurities since she came to this new school. She could feel herself changing to fit the molds of popularity. Was she shaping into the wrong mold? Was it true that no one liked her? Bree's heart burned as she thought about these questions.

But she didn't cry.

Eventually the sound became drilled into her brain so that if it was interrupted or altered, she was alerted. That wasn't a problem, considered she controlled the sound. Clomp, clomp, clomp. Back and forth, back and forth; the pattern continued.

The sound was Bree's own footsteps as her boots made contact with the metal floor of the lab. They were perfectly steady. She walked back and forth, back and forth. She stood with her chin lifted and her arms folded across her chest. And she walked.

Every now and then she would attempt to slip into her super-speed, only to be reminded that she couldn't. In those moments when she forgot, her heart would stop and she would wonder what the matter was. Then she quickly remembered: the matter was her.

"I'm an idiot," Bree mumbled. As that sentence rang true in her mind, Bree repeated it over and over again. "I'm an idiot. I'm such an idiot."

Occasionally she would stop and pick up the comm set, radioing her father and brothers. Most of the time all she got was dry static. When she did manage to get through once or twice, her father would snap at her and say they were busy. Bree didn't listen to his words, but instead focused on the background noise. It was always screaming: terrified shouts coupled with strained commands. Once it frightened Bree so much that she shut the comm set off before Mr. Davenport had even finished his sentence.

"I'm an idiot!" Bree shouted, feeling anger sweep through her. She put her hands on the cyberdesk and sighed. "Why did I do it? What was I thinking? I wasn't thinking."

She mechanically rubbed her neck and sighed again. Her brothers were out there, without her. They were risking their lives, without her. After everything they had been through, they still had to fight without her.

And she had no one to blame but herself.

"They needed me and I wasn't there," Bree whispered.

Mr. Davenport's words still rang in her ears: "You're not on the team anymore."

And she wasn't. She wasn't bionic, because she wanted freedom. But that freedom came with a price. She was part of a team. She had been her whole life. From the day Mr. Davenport rescued them from Douglas, they were a team of heroes dedicated to saving the world. Bree had completely ruined that.

Once more Bree picked up her comm set. Slowly she pressed the button. "Hello?" she asked weakly.

No one answered. Somehow, though, the sound came through. She heard a loud crash, and a shout. A pained shout. A pained shout that came from Bree's little brother. She had heard it too often in her life for her liking. With a gasp, Bree threw the device to the floor.

Bree walked back over to the cyberdesk and took a seat on one of the stools. She placed her arms on the desk and rested her head on them. Maybe I'm not the big girl I thought I was. I was childish enough to ruin my chip and destroy our team. I was immature and selfish enough to put my own brothers in danger—all because I wanted something. I'm not a big girl after all.

And she cried.