Update! Sorry it took so long. Thanks to everyone! I don't own Bones.

And of course, in the end, a true war story is never about war. It's about sunlight. It's about the light at the end of the tunnel. It's about dead friends and girlfriends that never write back.

Brennan always went to the lab, day in and day out. It seemed that was her way of coping. Christine consistently tried to stay aware, get stronger, get better. Parker consistently helped her with this, until finally he managed to get her to start working prosthetics more and more. They had to go the hospital for that, of course, but he was always there, cheering her on. Once or twice, Michael had even come, grinning and giving her a thumbs up.

It was about a month after she came home that she, Michael and Parker decided to go downtown. Christine was still in the wheel chair most of the time, but she could work that like a pro, so the trio get ready and told Booth, eagerly, about what they were going to do. The protective instinct in Booth kicked in as he looked between them and sucked in a sharp amount of air.

"You sure you want to, Christine?"

She nodded and grinned at him.

"Please, Daddy? I just want to go out for a little bit,"

While Booth was hesitant, he was hoping that the small amount of normalcy might help her ever occurring dreams. She didn't scream, but he and Brennan had been taking turns sleeping on the couch, and he knew just as well as she did that neither of them slept much and simply listened for any disturbances. The sound of panting, of whining, always alerted them that something was wrong.

The first time, Brennan had to restrain herself from going to their daughter. Booth had explained that, unless she asked, they shouldn't go to her. She didn't need to know that they were this close. As far as Christine should be concerned, he reasoned, they were still sleeping upstairs together. They started that way, of course, before one came down.

Strangely, this wasn't affecting their relationship. Which he was glad to see.

He watched the two boys help Christine into the car, though she was managing to do a lot more of the work now a days, and laughed when all three rolled down their windows and gave gleeful cries as they road down the road. When they were down far enough that Booth couldn't see them, he finally went back inside, and went to the couch where he watched TV once more.

Downtown was one of two things-A, either tourist infested. Or B, as of late, protester infested. Lately, really, it had been filled with both. Downtown and on capital hill, protesters galore. Parker had choice words to share with them, but held his tongue most of the time. He was good with stuff like that.

It wasn't that all of them were rude. A huge majority were very nice. In fact, Parker liked some of them, because they had the troops best interest in mind. Get them out, keep them from getting killed. Plus, a large majority could get drafted, something that he was heavily against. Any of the draftee's he'd been with hadn't been into it, and he risked his neck making sure they didn't risk theirs.

It was the one's like he had encountered when he came home that made him want to freak out. The ones that spat on him, that mocked him, that asked no so softly, if he'd ever killed anyone. Once he'd shown one of his scars to them just to get them off of his back. His chest, a scar from shrapnel. It didn't stop anything.

Sadly, he'd been running into this variety more and more. He'd just forgotten that downtown could be filled with them because he tended to ignore them.

However, Parker was not with them when Christine and Michael saw this group. Parker had gone off to find something for them to eat, some place outside in the sun, when Michael and Christine passed the group of protesters.

The words shouted, well, they won't be shouted here. At least not the mass of them.

Michael was visibly flustered at their remarks when he turned to Christine.

"Why don't you say anything?" he asked, seeing her calm demeanor. He had expected outcry, a fight from the Christine he'd used to know. She looked at him, almost blankly, and took in a sharp breath.

"I took an oath to uphold and protect the constitution of the United States of America. This includes the first amendment, freedom of speech. No matter how much I hate it," she stated, about to wheel away. Michael stared at her and gritted his teeth.

"I didn't take that oath," he stated, before walking over to them, clearly ticked off. One of them took his anger as being for them, and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Hello there, brother! You want to join us?"

Michael glared at him, looking at him through his dark, long hair before shaking his head.

"You better knock it off, and knock it off soon. I mean it. Shut the hell up," he growled.

The man looked taken aback and shook his head.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that my friend fought in this god damned war. I mean that she was not a killer, that she saved lives, and that she doesn't need to hear that god damned poison come out of your mouth. So shut. Up. Please,"

"Aren't you afraid of getting drafted into an unmoral war?" he asked, visibly angry. Michael stared at him long and hard before turning around.

"I'm not afraid of anything. Including you. So back off," he stated. When he came back to Christine, she looked up at him in surprise and blinked, unable to find words.

"Mikey…You didn't have to do that,"

Michael walked along while Christine fallowed, before he looked over his shoulder.

"I wanted to," he whispered, smiling at her with a goofy smile and hoping, just hoping, she'd like the fighter Mikey just as much as she'd liked the lover Mikey. Or maybe a mix of both.