Okay, I had to change the story title from "Screaming Silence" because another author started a fic around the same time with almost the same name and people were getting very confused. It's fine. Also, I just want to put a hit out for everyone to finally recognize this fic is probably one of the few that does not demonize Cam into the all seeing enemy of Brennan. She's just a girl, just an ordinary girl. Review ;) Please. Seriously. I knew a lot of people wouldn't jive with the story, but the lack of any feedback - positive or negative - is killing me!

"Whoa, Cam," same Angela's sultry but shocked voice on the forensic platform. "Rough night?"

"Excuse me?" asked Cam in shock. She had been having a relatively normal couple of days since falling asleep in the book and her dream about Tony. Today, though, was bad. It was the day before the twentieth. Not the twentieth of October, but the twentieth anniversary. Of Tony.

Felicia was in town.

"The bruises, on your arms," gesticulated Angela, and Cam looked down in surprise and genuine mortification. How had she not noticed those getting dressed? Sleep deprivation, she consoled herself. She scowled to think of Felicia, blissfully ignorant of what it meant to have a high powered career, and who was now sprawled across Cam's bed, fast asleep.

Hodgins came to squint at them, and Cam's blush darkened; she thanked God for her latté skin to keep her embarrassment from being too public.

"Rough bar hopping?" suggested Hodgins with a wink. "Or how about mosh pitting?"

"I…uh…"

"What are those from." It was so obviously not a question that Cam flinched as both Booth and Brennan, carelessly in synchronized steps sprung up the stairs, but carefully not looking at each other they way they had been since everyone had met Hannah.

"Did somebody grab you?" It was Angela again. Cam realized she was staggering slightly like a drunk, turning as quickly as she was to face her attacker in her heels.

"No, no-"

"Did these come from sex?"

"Whoa. Inappropriate," she chided Booth, but her tone belittled him, underneath saying as if that would ever happen.

"Nobody grabbed her," offered Brennan unexpectedly; she wasn't even looking at any of them. She was already bent over the body, staring at it with close eyes and intense focus.

"Well what's your theory Dr. Spock?" Booth's voice was testy and Cam threw him a glance, folding her arms across her body, possessively covering her bruises with her hands.

"She's doing it," Brennan said, staring at Cam with blue eyes that bore into her very soul. Yet as damaged as they were, they were also…compassionate? Possibly even understanding? Cam had to recall to herself her colleague's singularly impossible upbringing and childhood. She remembered all too well when it had been wrested into focus for the entire lab to gawk at – on multiple occasions. Cam had never given it much thought, but Brennan had conducted herself with a careless grace she envied and yearned to learn.

"What?" sneezed Hodgins.

"Huh?" grunted Booth. Angela chewed a piece of her hair like a 30s ingenue.

"The bruises," explained Brennan patiently, standing to her full height. She mimicked Cam's pose, arm over arm, her own fingers indenting the flesh of her forearms through her lab coat. Cam's cardigan and own lab coat, which would have saved her all the attention, were hanging over the back of her office chair. "It's from holding yourself so tightly," she said, her voice low but ringing clear and true, "that you leave marks."

Eight sets of eyes studied Cam intensely.

"Something you want to share with the class there?" asked Booth sarcastically. Angela immediately moved, hand out to place over her own and Cam tripped backwards before her pity.

"I'm always in my office-"

"It's Felicia," Cam heard herself blurting unexpectedly. Booth's retort was quick, his eyes suddenly concerned.

"What about? What happened?" Cam rolled her eyes abrasively, her voice as scathing as she could muster to impart to Booth the finality of the conversation and how little it bothered her.

"She's in town. When I can't say anything – well I just cross my eyes and shut my mouth, just watching." Booth laughed and Hodgins joined in. Cam forced herself to laugh to, and only then did Angela giggle. The only one not even to smile was Brennan, who watched her steadily, sympathetically, before returning to her perusal of the bones.

Cam took the grace to make her escape, but not before she said,

"You look very nice today Brennan." Brennan straightened, flushed, and Cam could tell she was pleased – which led to the conclusion she had in fact put in extra effort.

"Thank you," she said with composition. Cam smiled her usual smile and signaled at Angela with raised eyebrows to contribute, her own dark eyes flicking significantly between Booth and Brennan until Angela rushed to gush about her necklace. Cam retreated with head high, heels clacking, and pride dragging.

Last night had been hell.

"Camille?"

"Felicia!" Cam infused cheery warmth into her tone at seeing her sister again. She had done something different with her hair. Of course. At least this time it was black, like her own, and flattened.

"Oh Cammie!" Felicia ran from the taxi into her arms, throwing herself, as usual 'forgetting' the cabbie's fee, which Cam had to pay out of pocket, and disregarding her elder sister's slimmer build, strangling her neck with overblown emotion.

"I don't know how I can do this. I'm so glad I won't be alone tonight!"

"Yeah," Cam panted, lugging Felicia's suitcases up the stairs; Cam herself had the flaw of packing heavily (who knew what you could need?) but this was ridiculous. Later she would see Felicia had brought at least three different dresses for night clubs; as if she would need them. Maybe she would.

"Lisey," she said hesitantly, "you know that Tony-"

"Oh don't say it!" Felicia cried dramatically, simultaneously flinging up a hand and swooning onto the couch in front of the television. She was flipping through takeout menus on the coffee table before Cam could finish her sentence. Cam conceded defeat and put Felicia's suitcases in the guest room.

"What I meant was-" she tried again, but Felicia wagged a finger at her, gesturing with one perfectly manicured nail (which Cam was sure she purposefully did to mock her sister's short clipped nails needed for lab work), as a gesture to the phone.

"That's right. Three large pizzas. Two 2-liter sodas. Uh huh. And 2 boxes of chicken wings. One spicy. No I don't want garlic sauce! Ew!" Cam opened her mouth, but shut it in defeat. It wouldn't even matter if she told Felicia that the garlic sauce was her favorite part. She was too busy worrying about the quantity of food she was ordering for two people and the cost Felicia would 'promise to pay her back.'

After she punched the dial on the phone, Felicia steamrolled any means of Cam being serious by sighing, turning on a movie three times the volume Cam usually watched at and huffed in melancholy.

"It'll take an hour for the food to get here," she whined petulantly, batting her lashes at Cam. Cam knew the routine. Felicia wanted something.

"Do you want a snack?" she played dutiful hostess. Felicia, instead of accommodating guest, played herself.

"Popcorn!" she squealed. Cam nodded and had taken one step before Felicia's usual Harry Met Sally qualifications began. "But no butter! I'm on a diet. But it can't be dry, so a half cup of olive oil warmed with margarine. But not too much or it gets soggy. And salt, but only sea salt. The kind they put on pretzels at the fair. And make sure that when you get the drinks, please get them with ice – but too much ice doesn't let you have enough. Okay?"

"I'll make a pitcher," smiled Cam tightly; that was when the crossed arms had first begun. Her lungs were so full of not speaking they felt like they would burst.

"Great," squealed Felicia. "Oooh! Hitch! Let's watch that!"

"I actually-"

"Super!" simpered her sister. Cam decided to take as long as possible in the kitchen; it wasn't possible at all as soon as her sister smelled the popcorn, she demanded to have it brought out to her, sans topping before it could get 'cold.' Then she wanted lemonade. They didn't have any; Cam made some.

By the time she emerged from the kitchen with all of Felicia's specifications, the movie was more than half over. Cam sat down, and refrained from touching Felicia's bizarre popcorn. She poured herself a large helping of wine.

"Yum! What's that?" Cam sighed. Only my favorite, she wanted to snap. Found only in one place an hour away.

"It's a red-"

"Gimme!" Screeching like either a banshee or an imitation of an adorable toddler, Felicia bounded from the couch, her hair bouncing and snatched the glass from Cam's fingertips.

"Mmmmm!" Her eyes went as large as saucers. "Yummy! Can I keep this glass?" Cam swallowed again.

"Sure." She attempted a tight smile and got up to get another glass. On her way to the kitchen, she noticed the world spun slightly; she felt faint. She decided that in fact, perhaps the wine wasn't the best idea. She turned back from the kitchen just as the doorbell rang.

"Could you get that?" called Felicia. "This is my favorite part. Oh – and I promise I'll-"

"Pay you back," chorused Cam under her breath as she opened the door to get the food. It was $78.

By the time Cam had gone to bed, Felicia had polished off the wine. It had been $120. Cam wanted to groan.

Having a sister was suspiciously like being married, without any of the shoes going in her own closet.

Cam couldn't even sleep. She felt nauseous and sweaty. The air conditioning was not even close to cold enough; it was broken but she didn't have the money to pay for it, at least not after what Felicia had taxed her through food and transport alone. If Cam didn't know better, she would have suspected that the taxi had driven from New York. It had still been $80.

She was staring at the clock. Insomnia was an inevitable part of her listlessness, helping lend a hand to her constant fatigue and churning stomach. She wanted to feel like herself again, but it seemed a huge vortex had opened when the Jeffersonian had closed down. She was sure a piece of her was still missing; she wasn't sure what catalyst would even trigger its return. Deep, deep down, in the darkest recesses of her soul was the fear she refused to acknowledge but still knew existed: that part of her may never return.

So she was awake when the noises started. Cam wanted to scream. Trust Felicia to make a big deal out of something she would have never given a second thought about had Cam not mentioned her dream in passing over the phone. Felicia hadn't even wanted to know the details. Now, there were soft little crying sounds – like a mewling cat – coming from down the hall. Cam was so envious that Michelle could beg the night away from her aunt; Felicia was just as demanding of her daughter as of Cam herself. Michelle had quickly learned that absence made the heart grow immeasurably fonder of Felicia than she could have ever wished. She had claimed an "emergency study party" and was sleeping and attending school with her best friend for the two nights Felicia was in town. She left the morning of the third, to Cam's relief and guilt. She should be nicer to her sister, she knew, but it was damn hard when Felicia was so damnably annoying. And making a fuss was even worse; the drama wouldn't die down for a year, and Felicia was a big believer on tattling to Daddy.

Cam pulled a pillow over her head. She refused to listen to this. She felt a deep burning resentment. Felicia had only been eight. Felicia had hardly known Tony at all and now she was crying as if her heart was broken. Cam tossed beneath the cotton on her face; she was too overheated to keep it restricting her airflow and warming her skin temperature for long. She threw it across the room. She sobs hitched and stopped. For a breathless instant, Cam had hope.

They started in three seconds – Cam counted them through her heartbeats.

As she lay there alone in her bed, the sobs slithering into her head, Cam realized they weren't typical Felicia. Usually she was loud, messy and theatrical. Anyone in a mile's radius was bound to know any happiness or ill temper Felicia felt. She didn't wear her heart on her sleeve; she had a goddamn megaphone.

These sobs were quieter, more ashamed, more…broken. Cam sat suddenly up, listening harder, her heart pounding in response. The anguish she heard in those cries was not foreign. As a cop, she had heard plenty of heartbreak, and a good city's worth of agony. Felicia wasn't faking this – and she was hiding it. The sobs were quiet, muffled, as if her face were pressed to her knees.

Cam didn't decide so much as her feet hit the floor. She crept down the hall and peered into the crack where Felicia had left the door open for "airflow" but Cam knew it was really for the light she had "accidentally" (but kindly refrained from mocking) left on in the kitchen.

Felicia was just as she had suspected. She was curled in a fetal position, her face to her knees, her arms shivering and empty. Without a word Cam slipped up behind her sister and into her bed, her skimpy tank top and short shorts riding against the cool fabric of an empty space. Felicia didn't say anything either, and as Cam sat her up, and gathered her into her arms, Felicia collapsed into grateful tears to Cam's neck. Cam could feel the hot tributaries wending down her bare shoulder blade. She wondered if she were doing it right: the comforting.

It was dark – far past midnight – and Cam had to wonder what sort of picture they painted at that very moment. Here were two lonely women, sisters, clinging to each other like girls. Cam was supposed to be older, wiser and better at comforting, at understanding. Yet she felt awkward. She didn't feel like she was helping, or that she was mending a piece of herself as she sat and cradled Felicia. On the contrary, she felt as if someone had thrust a newborn baby into her arms when she had never before held an infant. She rocked her to no particular cadence and her skin slipped from its positions often as she readjusted. Felicia didn't seem to notice, but Cam despaired at her inadequacy to fulfill the most basic of big sister needs.

"Thank you," whispered Felicia into her neck pitifully. "I miss him so much. I can't even tell anyone how it's affected my life; you're the only one who understands." Cam nodded in agreement.

"I know." Her arms tightened protectively and she felt despair uncoil from its dormant position and rear its ugly head. Cam closed her eyes as it swallowed her whole and tugged Felicia to her feet, leading her to her own bed, where the sheets smelled of her shampoo. Felicia murmured the observation sleepily as they lay down, side by side, Felicia exhausted and spent, and Cam the same yet wide awake.

Felicia drifted to sleep in her arms as Cam gave into the insomnia and the crushing weight of the despair. After she heard Felicia's even breathing, Cam slunk into the dark living room where she sat, unblinking, unseeing, in an armchair, knees to chest, her arms grasping the other tightly across the empty space her heart would be, pushing her scant breasts up to hide the hole. She didn't notice the stiff locked fingers or the eventual bruising of her arms after hours of not moving, of hardly thinking, of simply being. She didn't even have the energy to cry; there was only the dull, age old anger she had felt watching people cry over his grave. The hypocrites.

Felicia, she laughed bitterly to herself. She didn't even have the heart to tell her own sister what she had tried all evening to say.

He hadn't died until tomorrow.