This is sort of a filler chapter. It's about Rebecca, and the back story on her illness. I'm no doctor, so if I made a mistake on the medical aspect, either forgive or tell me so I can fix it. Next chapter, the story will really start. Enjoy!

Rebecca woke up with a start. Parker stood by her bed, shaking her shoulders.

"Mom," he whispered, "it's time to go home, Mom." Rebecca smiled at him. "Mom, you gotta get up and come home."

Rebecca was very weak; it was hard for her to get out of bed. The nurse insisted she use a wheelchair. Parker loved sitting on Rebecca's lap, the nurse pushing them down the hall. The chair never got above five miles an hour, but Parker giggled halfway down the hallway, and Rebecca couldn't help but laugh. She hadn't seen her son happy, not this happy, in a long time. When the nurse finally brought them to their car (to Parker's horror, an ambulance), Rebecca was helped in. she wouldn't be missing the hospital. Home had felt like a dream not so long ago, but now here she was. The ambulance turned on its siren after Parker begged and whined. In no time, Rebecca and Parker's house was splashed with the flashing lights. Rebecca breathed a sigh of relief as she swung open the front door.

As Rebecca wheeled herself through her house, it felt like she was pulling on an old shell, one she hadn't worn in a while. The yellow of her kitchen, which she'd once thought was too bright, seemed mellow compared to the blinding white of the hospital. All Rebecca wanted to do was sleep, but Parker pulled her into the living room. Golden light filtered through the curtains, dappling Parker's face. He was totally focused on the TV. If Rebecca closed her eyes and listened to the TV, Parker's soft breathing, the hum of her home, she could almost trick herself into believing everything was back to normal. Like it had been three months ago.

Three months ago, Rebecca had been fine. Healthy as a horse and stronger than one, too. But one day, bending over to clean up Parker's mess, she felt a sharp pain in her back. If felt like someone stabbed her, but not hard – like she'd been attacked with a butter knife. It was the only way Rebecca could describe it, and thinking it absurd, she shook it off and kept cleaning. A week later, reaching for the black high heels she loved to wear, she felt it again. Rebecca couldn't deny it was odd, but still, it wasn't really any cause for alarm. The next time Rebecca felt the stabbing pain in her back, it was only two days later. She'd been vacuuming, and noticed the cord was tangled into a knot around the coffee table. Not wanting the vacuum to crash onto the floor, she held it steady with one hand, stretching the other to uncurl the cord. Before she could untangle it, she straightened up again. Three times just wasn't a coincidence. Rebecca went to the doctor.

"Cancer," Dr. Whittsin announced. "A large tumor, in your lower back."

"Excuse me?" Rebecca thought her ears were playing tricks. After numerous tests, a multitude of those awful hospital gowns, and so much medical speak she wondered if the doctors had made up a new language, Rebecca was at her breaking point. To keep Parker from being worried, she'd kept him distracted with friends, while telling him she'd gotten a big project at work and was busy planning it. Parker was a smart boy, though, and convincing him was hard. Rebecca was tired, stressed, and apparently, terminally ill.

"This may take a while to sink in, but you've got bone cancer. Right now it's in your lower back, but it's spreading. You only have a few months – about five, I'd guess."

"So you're telling me that I have five months to live. Five months left to see my son, my parents, and my friends. I have to tell my son that in five months, he won't have a mom anymore. In five months, they'll be reading my will and divvying up my life's savings and possessions, and my house will be sold. My son will move in elsewhere. My parents will outlive their daughter. My son's father will become a parent to his son full-time – which I'm sure he'd be fine with, if it weren't so sudden – and his friends will have to drop everything to help him. You're telling me that in five months I will die. And yet you have absolutely no emotion." Rebecca was angry. This man, he probably told people they'd die every day. He got so used to it, he didn't even care anymore. Or maybe he was just that much of an asshole.

"Well, Rebecca, you had to die sometime."

Rebecca grabbed her coat and bolted up from her chair. "Thank you doctor," she growled. The door to his office banged shut a moment later. On the way home, she rehearsed her speech to Parker a million times over. But she couldn't do it. She couldn't tell her boy his mom would be dead and gone in a few months' time. That night, Rebecca pulled over at a motel and camped out, huddled in her blanket cocoon, sobbing. Why couldn't the evil people in the world die young? Why did she – a mother, a daughter, a friend – have to be the one?

For a month after that, Rebecca was a whirlwind of activity. She wrote a will, joined a support group, and started a charity. She'd encouraged her friends to walk in the breast cancer walks, even though she had bone cancer. She took Parker to all his favorite places and took time off work to be with him. Even if she didn't want to be, Rebecca got herself prepared. When she was admitted to the hospital, she knew the end was coming. She made up her mind to call Seeley until she couldn't put it off any longer. Daily visits from friends, family, and doctors blurred together. Through it all, Rebecca focused on Parker. When she lost her hair, she was rocking a new 'do. When she was too weak to move, they played checkers. But when the final week in the hospital rolled around, before Rebecca's transfer back home, she still hadn't told him.

Dr. Asshole was wrong, Rebecca thought, laying down on the couch, TV painting the room blue-gray in spurts. I got less than five months. I got less than three.

Parker made her popcorn and settled down with the movie-style bucket. Rebecca remembered the time they'd bought that bucket. She found, more and more, that everything reminded her of everything. Parker snuggled close to his mom. He knew she was sick, and it was bad. But it was bad when he'd had pneumonia, and he hadn't stayed in the hospital. Something was wrong, and Parker knew it, but he knew Rebecca wouldn't tell him. That would make everything more real.

The next morning, Parker and Rebecca woke up in a heap, still lying among the couch pillows strewn everywhere. Rebecca jumped when she heard the doorbell. Her first instinct was to try and make her hair look presentable. Morning off to a bad start, she pulled the door open.

Seeley Booth had taken the day off work. He didn't think Rebecca would be thrilled to see him – a reminder of the time she had wearing down – but he had to see her. Bones had tried to comfort him, and she'd done her best, but the only person who could put Seeley Booth's fears to rest was Rebecca.

Rebecca knew what Seeley wanted her to do. He wanted her to say she was okay with dying. Well, maybe not okay, but that she'd come to terms with it. But she couldn't say that. She was obligated to tell the truth, since she'd be having her soul weighed soon. "Seeley. Why are you here?" She was stalling, buying time before Parker woke up.

"I wanted to see you."

"I'm sorry, Seeley. But this is one of my last days with Parker. I'm barely strong enough to enjoy it. I don't want to deal with any more drama right now. I can't." With that, Rebecca shut the door in Seeley's face. She refused to turn around and say goodbye (she didn't want to be remembered by him as coldhearted) but if she did, she'd break down and let him spend the day with her and Parker.

The last day she'd ever spend with Parker.

I know, I know, I'm evil. But hey, I don't like the idea of killing Rebecca any more than you do! But it must be done… :~( So yes, next chapter the story gets going for real. As always, if edits are needed I'll make them to this chapter before I post the next one. If I get 15 reviews you get your chapter in two days. Just a little incentive.