Ya'll know the drill! I don't own Bones. I'm totally pumped for tonights episode. Hopefully I'll do the shot in the dark fic update soon, I just haven't been having muse for it. Read and review, my lovelies! Have a good day!

Every hour goes by like it'll last forever.

Every minute goes by too quickly.

And I'm trapped in the middle of it.

It's not exciting.

It's not breath taking.

It's not like the movies where I'm here and everyone is surrounding me.

No…I'm alone.

Utterly alone.

Sure, there's Angela. But she has her own things.

And Parker. But he went home for the week to keep up with school. Engineering.

And yeah, there's Michael. But what am I supposed to ask of him?

I'll tough it out.

And the entire squint squad is behind me, but all I can think of is mom and dad whenever I see them.

It stings. It stings so much. All I want to do is be that little girl again, telling my mom and dad that everything in the world was up for grabs. Telling myself the world was open. My mom and my dad? They're hero's. And no one knows.

No one but me and our family.

Mom didn't earn an award for her work or her bravery. And Dad had so many metals that he learned to hate them.

Mainly during the days, I would sleep. Sleep and dream, exhaustion becoming my one friend and worst enemy.

"Christine! Where the hell have you been?"

"Mom, I was just at practice. Chill out. You know I have practice every day now."

"You're never out this late!"

"Calm down, mom. I left a reminder this morning. Me and some friends got some fries after practice. I've done it before,"

"I called you three times! And don't you DARE tell me to calm down, Christine Angela Booth."

"Mom, I was just having some fun! Why's it so bad to have some fun?!"

"You're irresponsible! You should have called!"

"How am I irresponsible? I've done everything you've ever wanted me to do!"

"You're irresponsible!"

"Jesus, mom! Weren't you ever a teenager?"

And it would always end like this.

My mocking her.

Me mocking him.

Our fights playing over and over in my head, becoming one steady stream of home video, a steady stream of anger and hate. Me running out dramatically. Me telling them I hate them.

Damn it.

I would awaken in a cold sweat, crying softly. Once, Michael had come in and was handing me a box of tissues before he walked out with one glance over his shoulder.

"Call if you need anything, Chrissy,"

And that was all I needed or wanted. He was giving me space, and the instant that I wanted him, he'd be there. But I didn't need him, and I didn't want him.

Sometimes they'd be more realistic, and sometimes the dreams would come to the point where I was watching them die, or to where everyone else was there too, and nothing could change. I'd watch everyone die before I'd be killed.

But I never screamed.

No, never screamed.

I was strong.

But I wanted them to be there comforting me, Mom and Dad. I wasn't too strong to admit that, though I never told anyone about this desire. I know that Angela was trying to get something out of me, but I could never quiet tell her. It didn't seem right to let her know about what I was feeling, what I wanted. She couldn't DO anything about it, anyways.

Best to just make her think I was fine.

I was barely eating anymore, though because I didn't feel like it. Eating required more energy then I had, and though scientifically I knew that I had to eat to GAIN energy, it seemed like too much. I'd eat enough to please Angela, and then I'd watch TV with Uncle Jack and Michael, or I'd sleep.

I think because I slept so often, no one realized that I could easy get up and get ready for things that needed to happen. So when I got up at five o'clock and went on a jog, a slow one to try and gain more energy then I had, and I came back into the house to Jack sitting at the table drinking coffee, he looked shocked for a moment.

"What are you…Doing up, kiddo?"

"I went for a jog…I have school today,"

"You can skip more then a couple days. The school understands,"

"No…I need to get back…"

Jack smirks and ushers me over. When I make me way to him, he ruffs my hair up and shakes his head.

"You're just like you're mother. Did you know that?"

"She always said I was more like Dad…"

"You're like him too…But, baby, you remind me of her," he bit his lip and looks down.

"So you're not going to stop me from going to school?"

"Michaels going today…But you'll have to get through Angie…She won't be happy with you leaving just yet," he gets up and gestures at the fridge. "Make yourself something. She keeps saying you don't eat enough."

"Not hungry,"

"Like I said. Just like your mom."

I didn't understand this, but I decided not to push it forward. I was too tired.

Always too tired.

When Michael comes down, his backpack in tow, he looks over at me and holds his hand out, gesturing for an orange. I toss one at him and we start out. I don't want to deal with Angela telling me that I should stay home, rest, whatever. I don't WANT to rest.

"Oh, I have practice tonight. Can you wait for me?" I ask, looking at him carefully. He shrugs and looks over his shoulder, as though expecting his mom to come barreling out.

"Sure. I love me some girl violence," he jokes.

"Good,"

We go to school, and I just kind of drift through. I wish I could tell you more, but really, that's all there is. I hear some sympathies, a couple of guys want to look at dads tags and then tell me how sorry they are, but mainly I can tell that they just don't want to deal with me.

Same with teachers. They offer to let me skip assignments or turn them in late, it's okay, but I just smile and walk away. I'll get them done on time.

After school, we have hockey practice, and some of the girls on the team hug me, and a couple are crying. In middle school, my dad was a coach, so it isn't that much of a surprise that some people are asking about what happened. I take in their comfort and comfort them, all while dressing in gear. Our coach seems surprised that I'm back, but doesn't argue when I say I want to participate.

Michael stands guard, giving me a thumbs up every few seconds, eating donut holes.

By the time we get home, it's five thirty, and I know that both of us are in deep shit, but I feel better then I have in days, and this doesn't bother me. When we pull up, I see Angela watching out the window for us, and I look at Michael.

"We're fucked, man."

"Yeah, well…We can both deal with it," he states, then takes his keys out and walks to the front door.

I can already hear the shouting by the time I get in, and I can tell that Michaels getting it laid on him.

"…and you don't even think to tell me, or ask me, or even talk to me before driving…"

"Ange…Stop, please…It's my fault,"

She turns on me and then starts to lecture me, though her eyes are softer than they were on Michael, and I take it. Every word. Because I'm not going to tell her, it was nice to forget, I was okay today, even if it was a blur it was something more than just sitting here. It was nice not thinking of them. It was nice.

When that word, though, slips through her mouth, I can't help but tear up slightly.

"How in the hell could you have become so irresponsible? You-"

I slink then, and suddenly I'm crying, crying, because Mom, she said that too, and I know that's what she thought of me.

And Angela's just proving it.

For a moment she seems shocked, and seems to think that it's her yelling, her scolding that's causing me to act this way. Suddenly, she's embracing my, whispering to me,

"Oh, sweetie, no, no, I'm not mad, I was just worried, it's okay, honey, shh,".

She doesn't understand, and I'm trying to correct her, but my words come out in hiccups, I feel sick, I just want to whisper the words, no no that's not it, but I can't.

Michael is standing back, wide eyed, looking at both of us before he creeps away slowly, scratching his neck and slinking upstairs. Girl moment, he mouths to me, and then turns.