Here's chapter 1...Hope you guys like it :)

Christine's sitting on her window seat, hugging her legs, which are bent and pressed almost flush against her chest. She heaves a sigh and continues to stare into space. She doesn't hear the knock on the door, or chooses to ignore it. She extends her legs and subconsciously picks up the charm of her necklace, a half-heart with a jagged edge and the word 'Best' etched into the stainless steel. She's worn it faithfully since third grade.

The door opens and Brennan steps into her daughter's room. "Sweetheart?"

Christine just shrugs, her eyes glazed over and unfocused, her body turned away from the door.

"Are you ready to go?" Brennan soon realizes that Christine is still wearing her pajamas. She walks over to the window and places a hand on her daughter's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Christine turns her head slowly and finally meets her mother's eyes, which are nearly identical to her own. "No," is her simple, unemotional answer and then she turns away again.

"Your dad is making pancakes…your favorite."

"I'm not hungry."

Brennan lifts her hand and pulls some of her daughter's hair away from her face. "We need to leave soon."

"I'm not going," Christine says, her voice colder and more distant.

"She's your best friend, Honey."

"Was…was been my best friend," the teenager corrects. She shifts and brings her legs back to her chest.

Brennan takes a seat on the edge of the bench and sees her daughter clench her jaw in attempt to prevent tears from falling. "Are you sure you don't want to go?"

Christine nods. "Yep," she mutters.

Brennan sighs. "I hope you change your mind."

"I won't."

Brennan rises to her feet, and without a second thought, she bends down and wraps her arms around her daughter. She kisses the top of her head and rubs her arm. "I love you." She pulls back and straightens her shoulders. "We should be home by eleven."

Christine just nods, quickly swatting at her cheek when a tear manages to escape.

Brennan gives Christine's shoulder another gentle squeeze and then leaves the room, to give her daughter some privacy.

The second Christine hears the click of the door shutting, her resolve crumbles. She hugs her legs tighter against her chest and buries her face in her knees, making absolutely no effort to control the tears now. Her shoulders shake with each painful sob and her breathing becomes heavy.

Brennan returns to the kitchen and catches Booth's eye. She answers his unasked question with a shake of her head and then takes her place at the island counter.

Booth sighs and fixes his tie. He sets a plate of pancakes in front of Brennan and takes her hand when she reaches for her fork. He squeezes and offers her a small smile. "She'll be okay. She's tough."

"I have my doubts, but I applaud your optimism." Her smile back to him is weak, but it's a smile nonetheless. She relinquishes his hand and pushes her plate away. "I told her we'd be downstairs having breakfast if she changes her mind and wishes to attend Brittany's funeral after all, but I don't think she will."

"Give her time, Bones. Remember how you felt when I died?"

"I would rather not," she pauses, "but you weren't actually dead, so how I felt in those two weeks, is irrelevant. Yes, I can understand how she is feeling in this moment, but I have no reference point for how she'll feel tomorrow, or a week from now, or even a month from now."

He's about to open his mouth and say something else, but Gizmo, their one year-old German Shepherd mix, starts barking and takes off for the front door, his claws clacking against the wood floor. He furrows his brows and glances at Brennan, who looks just as confused by their puppy's erratic behavior. He just shrugs and turns back to his wife. "All I'm saying is, Bones, that we need to give her some time to, you know, deal with this. She'll be her old self soon."

"Why do you guys look like you're going to a funeral?"

Booth turns his head at the familiar voice. "Bub, what are you doing here?" He walks over to his son and wraps his arms around him, hugging him with practically all his strength.

"Dad, I can't," Parker squirms, "breathe."

Booth steps back and smiles. "Sorry. I just missed you." He pauses. "So what are you doing here?"

"What? I can't just stop in and say hi? I'm hurt, Dad. I guess, if you don't want me here, I'll just call the airport and bump up my return flight."

Brennan stands up and pulls her stepson into a hug. "We just weren't expecting you, Parker."

"Surprise!" Parker laughs, hugging her back. As he pulls away from her, he nearly gets tackled by Gizmo. "Oomph." He pauses. "Down, Boy." He scratches the puppy behind its ears and pats his head. "Hey, there, Gizmo." He looks up, then back and forth between his dad and stepmom. "So why do you guys look like you're going to a funeral?"

Brennan sighs. "Because we are."

Parker's face suddenly pales. "Who died?"

"Brittany."

"Christine's best friend?"

Brennan nods. "Yes."

"Oh, man. How's she doing?" Parker asks, continuing to scratch Gizmo between his ears.

"She hasn't left her room in six days," Brennan answers and then looks at her watch. "Booth, we should get going."

Booth nods. "Bub, we'll be home around eleven. I made pancakes if you're hungry. Keep an eye on your sister."

Parker nods.

Booth gives his son another hug and smiles. "It's good to have you here."

Parker completes the embrace and nods. "It's good to be here, Dad." He smiles and takes a step back. "Jenna is bummed she couldn't come with me, but her boss is a real, grade-A, jackass. She says hi, though."

Booth and Brennan nod, tell him they'll have time to catch up later, and then leave the house.