Author's Note: Hello, all! This is just a cute oneshot that my warped mind conjured. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Bones is not mine. Unfortunately.

-Daddy's Little Bug-

I can't have friends over to my house. Ever. It's not that I'm not allowed. On the contrary. Mom's constantly badgering me, insisting that I invite someone to stay for the weekend. But I can't. Why, you ask? My Dad just ends up scaring the poor girl out of her wits. Is it so hard to stay put in the lab? I really don't ask for all that much. He's got plenty down there to keep himself entertained. There's microscopes and fancy...metal-ly...state-of-the-art...technological equipment. The walls are cluttered with samples of dead moths, bees, butterflies, exotic beetles...and that's just the stuff I can understand. I avoid it at all costs.

He sounds geeky, I know. But that's what my parents are: official geeks. Squints, really. But Mom's not too bad. Dad, well, he's just beyond help. Rubber bands were never in style, and God knows they never will be.

Once, I invited Chrissie to the house for a sleepover. Yeah, big mistake. How are you supposed to explain that the main house is north of the tennis courts, not east? And that the crazy man living above the garage isn't a homeless freak that we saved from the streets of D.C.?

Dinner was a nightmare. I know Zach can't help it, but for pity's sake, must he discuss every documentary he watches on television, especially when it's about the ritualistic sexual positions of the ancient Aztecs? Seriously. No thirteen-year-old girl wants to hear about old Indian people going at it. And I just about died when Dad mentioned the latest case to Mom. Dress it up with as much technical lingo as you like; nothing, nothing, is cool about maggots. Nothing. Especially the shriveled up kind. Nothing.

Yeah, the whole slumber party thing? So not happening.

But it's not all bad. Mom and I have our own art studio. I painted it myself. I tried to go for an abstract look. Lots of swirls and twists and turns. Kind of like life, you know? You never know where a road will take you, whether it'll be good or bad, if you'll end up sad or happy. I made it colorful, too. Pinks and reds and a dash of orange...those signify energy and warmth...kind of like me: bubbly and free. I mixed those with some blues and blacks and silvers. A mish mash of colors keeps you searching. Focusing on one thing can be boring. I mean, just look at Dad. I've learned that if you explore a bit, you never know what you'll find.

Melodramatic, I know. Admittedly, I'm just a sappy romantic, the kind that believes in love at first sight. I sob my eyes dry at the end of sad movies, regardless of whom I'm with or where I am. I'm a big believer in being yourself. I'm content to just stare at a sunset or watch the clouds. Cheesy, yeah, I know, but true.

And ironically, my name means rational. So not me. I'm the least logical, rational person I know. Mom's the same way. But I like my name. Alyssa Mae Hodgins. It has a ring to it. I like the name Lissie, too. Better yet, Daddy's Little Bug. Dad's called me that since I was just in diapers, and I'm still his Little Bug after thirteen years. No one calls me that expect Daddy. No one. I make sure of that.

And in the summers, I tag along with my parents to work any chance I get. Not for the work aspect, I assure you. Rotting corpses and slime aren't my cup of tea. What kind of girl do you think I am? I go to see...him. Who's him, you ask? Parker Booth, just about the hottest heartthrob ever to walk the planet, and trust me, I'm not exaggerating. Nothing can compare to those big, brown, puppy dog eyes...and don't get me started on his muscles...or his hair. He must go to the gym at least once a week 'cause let me tell you...abs don't get any harder than Parker Booth's. He must use this super-dooper-male-hair-conditioning-gel on those wavy, blondish locks of his. They're always combed to perfection. I could stare at him for hours on end, and I'm not ashamed to admit. He's sinfully sexy.

The age difference just seems to disappear in my fantasies, and believe me, I have plenty of them...probably more than a thirteen-year-old girl should have. Besides, six years isn't a lot. Just think: by the time I'm nineteen, he'll be twenty-five, which isn't that bad at all. And I deserve someone more experienced anyway. He'll come around eventually. I'm sure of it. At just thirteen, my powers of seduction are quite advanced—a trait inherited from Mommy Dearest.

When I'm not staring at Parker, I'm watching Aunt Bren. The woman's a genius. Seriously. I'd fall asleep if I had to stare at piles of smelly, old bones all day. But she never tires, almost to a fault. Mom says she's a workaholic, but I say that's dedication. Aunt Bren is the most amazing woman I know, save Mom. She's all for fighting her own battles and whatnot. I like that about her. She's living proof that nothing can get in the way of your goals unless you let it.

And it's even better when Booth is there. The two are priceless. It's a wonder they've managed to work together all these years without killing each other. She's says black, he'll say white. He say's up, she'll go down. She turns right, he'll turn left. The two clash on just about everything, yet they compliment each other perfectly in everyway. Mom says that connections like that are rare, and I agree. Aunt Bren and Booth have something special. Something that keeps them going, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do they part.

Of course, as much as it may nauseate me, so do Mom and Dad. They'll always be Angie and Hodgie, together forever. Who knew that boring, stuffy labs could be so romantic? I guess Mom did, and so do I. So do I.


I imagine that if Parker grows up to be anything like his father, he'll be heck of a hottie...Of course, this is a female's opinion. Reviews make me oh-so happy! So please, please...don't be shy!

-Susan :o)