11 years ago
"Little Duck!" An eleven year old blonde boy called out from the lawn; a brown piece with patches of dead flowers, curtesy of the summer droughts. He chuckled as the door opened, and out wriggled an antsy, brunette five year old with gentle, petite features and electric blue eyes.
She knew the only person who called her Little Duck. He had called her that for as long as she could remember."Wendeeee!" She cried, throwing herself in a run towards the older boy.
Wendell Bray, now laughing at the five year old's antics, knelt and held his arms out, so the catch would be gentle, as his mother had taught him when his brother got older. "Hey, Duckling, how are you?"
He answered exactly as he thought she would, which sent everyone but the five year old involved (including Mrs. Robinson, the "Little Duck's" mother and Mrs. Bray, who was Wendell's mother) into hysterics. "I'm awesome!" She cried, emphasizing the last word and holding up the sign for rock and roll on her little hand.
Suddenly, a very confused looking girl was watching Wendell rolling on the grass laughing. Their mother's had somewhat recovered and were watching their children play together, like they had when they were young kids.
"He's great with kids, Martha. You've trained him well," The two giggled a little, before Martha Bray answered back.
"I know, especially Clare. I think those two have something special, a sort of bond," Martha told her best friend. "Maybe they knew each other in a past life,"
Abby silently agreed when they turned back to the two. The kids, even as the eleven year old aged and the little girl seemed to be too young, were as close as a brother and sister. They barely even fought. It became even more obvious when Claire climbed onto Wendell's back, yelling for him to, "Giddy up, horsey!" and Martha quietly grabbed the camera out of her bag and snapped a picture.
9 years later
Clarity "Little Duck" Robinson opened the door to find the sweetest sight she had seen in her fourteen years. "Hey, Little Duck," The older man said, smiling as he had when they were children.
"Oh my God, Wendell!" She cried, pulling him into the house by his arm and hugging the living daylights out of him. "I thought your plane left tonight!"
He ruffled the girl's long, strait brown hair in affection. "Sorry to burst your bubble, Claire. My flight doesn't leave until tomorrow morning. You didn't think I would leave about saying goodbye, did you?"
She cocked her head. "But Aunt Martha told me it was leaving tonight,"
He could almost see the wheels turning in her head as she figured out exactly what he had done from fragmented emotions and turned to glare at him. "Wendell Mathew Bray!"
"Hey, sorry," He tried to appease as she burned with fury. "I wanted it to be a surprise. I brought a peace offering, if that's all right,"
The look on her face changed within a fraction of a second. "Presents! Get your butt inside, Wendell!"
She dragged him to the couch, and he handed her a small, crudely wrapped box. Inside was the most beautiful, heart shaped golden locket she had ever seen.
She gasped. "Wendell, this is way too expensive,"
He shook his head. "It wasn't bad, the inside has large scratches, so they sold it to me on sale. All I did was fix Mr. Franklin's car and do an oil change, and he said was paid for,"
"I love it, it's the prettiest thing I've ever owned," She said firmly.
"Wait until you look inside," He told her. He almost wasn't prepared when she found that inside was a small picture, of her at five and him at eleven, with him giving her a piggy back ride; she gave him a bone crushing hug,"
"It's perfect," She whispered. "Thank you,"
After a small dinner they shared together, they stood at the door for their final goodbyes. "Promise me you'll call?"
He chuckled. "Of course, Little Duck,"
He almost couldn't believe his eyes as they made his way to the murder site. He had climbed into Agent Booth's car when he had come to work, finding out that they had a body. There were a couple of jabs at why he was there so late, but most knew...he had already called in, explaining that he had felt sick that morning.
Partially true. Sometimes he wished Claire hadn't taught him how she did that whole energy sensing thing. Especially since, no matter how much she said he was a natural with psychic energy, he wasn't the most fantastic at it. He just had a really bad feeling something was going to happen.
But it didn't matter. This was his town. He knew the place like the back of his hand: he knew all of the people.
And then they turned into the North side, the side where he had come from. People here had babysat him, came and got him and Claire from school if his Mom had worked late (Aunt Abby always worked late). They had single-handedly paid for his college. They had payed for Claire's treatment, and saved her life. Then they turned into his street, and he almost allowed himself to believe the worst- his Mom was working class with many outstanding debts. What if she was dead?
The color drained out of his face. The house wasn't his, oh no. It was much, much worse.
The Robinson's. Claire's. No.
She can't be...no, she isn't dead. The house was a dumping sight, and she saw it on her way to school...the place looks abandoned enough...she's seen bodies before, she'll be fine.
Then why didn't she call you? The logical portion of his mind screamed.
He didn't even realize his legs were pumping, powering him towared the house. Wendell heard shouts coming from Dr. Brennan, Booth, and later Dr. Sweets and Dr. Saroyan joined in the chorus. He didn't listen, didn't stop. He couldn't stop. One moment longer was a moment wasted.
He ran in the door, into the living room he had spent so much time in as a kid. "LITTLE DUCK!" He screamed.
Silence. Nothing. The forensics team stared, but he ignored it. A tear rolled down his cheek. He didn't wipe it away. Please, God, he prayed, not Claire, don't let it be Claire.
"LITTLE DUCK!" He yelled again. Dr Brennan and Booth had reached the house, and listened to the anguished wail. A beat, maybe two, passed, then...
"Wendell?"