Disclaimers: I do not own CM or the characters. I do own all OCs.
Spoilers: Chronicles
Rating: T

Notes: So… it's been a while. Oops. I wanted to get all 3 parts finished before posting, and that took quite a long time. I had most of this typed out, but then I just… stalled. I could not figure out how the hell to write it. What to say, how to do the recovery part, and so on. Good news is, I finally got it finished. And updates will be coming more frequently!

Notes 2: Here is the second part to the last chapter. This is the follow-up to Caleb getting in trouble and deciding to run away. You can find Michael's journal entry, which started all of this, in chapter 25 of The Chronicles of Jennifer Jareau.

Enjoy! :)

Thursday, January 11th, 1979

*Jareau Residence – Meanwhile, right after Caleb goes upstairs*

After I send Caleb upstairs I practically have to scream to get Sandra to shut up. To keep her from bitching. To stop her spewing hate about how Caleb can never do anything right.

I yell at her to shut her mouth, and she rolls her eyes before storming out of the kitchen. I am left with Jennifer screaming, Lucas fussing, and my head pounding.

Sandra took Juliet with her. She better not be going outside to fucking smoke. I swear, if she causes my baby girl any distress she is going to wish she never came home. Juliet is severely allergic to cigarette-smoke and I am sick of Sandra putting our child at risk of a severe asthma attack.

I try to get my thoughts in order. I open the kitchen window because it still smells of gas. It is absolutely freezing outside, and I immediately close it halfway. I check the dishwasher and the stove. I slam the laundry room door shut.

I know at some point I need to go on there and access the damage. I am sure the clothes in the floor are ruined. I am sure the washer will no longer work. And I am, most positively, sure that we do not have even a single cent of what it will take to fix the problem.

I go to the table and I sit, and I slump forward, and I scrape my nails against my face, the after burn the only thing telling me this is real.

I should not have left the house. I should have made sure Caleb knew not to do anything but his fucking homework.

God, why can he never listen. Why is it that out all the kids, my oldest child is the one causing the most problems?

:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/

*7 minutes later*

I do not have time to think or deal with it. I need to get dinner started and homework accessed and kids in bed.

I look around. My nerves are shot, and I have no idea how to even think about beginning dinner.

More specifically, I do not want to have that same fucking argument with Caleb about me cooking fifteen different meals because the kids do not think it is fair for me to make them eat the same thing while Caleb gets something completely different.

I make up my mind, then.

My parents are in town. I am sure they would be thrilled to have us over. They are always asking but I just never seem to be able to say yes, always having too much to do.

Today is Thursday. It won't matter if the children are a little tired tomorrow – they never do anything on Fridays.

Well, there are their spelling tests.

They will have to be in bed at a decent time. On top of studying. Maybe we can bring their pajamas and homework. My dad always made studying spelling words fun.

:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/

*3 minutes later*

I get up to go and find the others. But before I can do anything, the phone rings. I pick the phone up, and I hear Sandra saying hello. I should hang up. I should not eavesdrop, no matter how much I want to. It is not right. And it is hypocritical of me to tell the kids not to and then do it myself.

But I cannot help myself.

And boy, am I glad I did not hang up.

"He wrecked the fucking washer, Mom! God. I swear, if we had had his brother before him, we would never have had another!"

I hear Sandra say. I cannot believe my ears.

"If Michael had just listened to me last year! Sent his ass away this never would have happened. I swear, I am half expecting to find him passed out again. Any little thing, and he immediately turns into a crybaby."

Oh…

My body swims with anger. My hand tightens on the phone, and I suck in a deep breath. Oh, she did not just say that. I hear her continuing speaking, but I am not listening now. Slamming the phone down, I go towards the stairs, intent on storming to wherever Sandra is and giving her a piece of my mind.

"Daddy?"

Elijah's voice stops me. He is standing at the top of the basement stairs, worry etched into his expression. I force myself to calm down; to get ahold of myself. There is no need to let him see the fury on my own face; no need to let him know of what Sandra — his mother — said about his brother.

Turning around, I plaster a smile, as close to real as it can be, on my face.

"Hey, sweetie."

He just looks back at me.

"We heard the yelling, so I kept the kids down here." He tells me. "Is Caleb in trouble again?"

I sigh and nod. There is really no beating around the bush. I am sure they all heard every word. I do not intend to bring it up. There is no need for that. So instead, I inform him of the plans for dinner:

"We're going to Nana and Sabba's for dinner. Go gather up pajamas and any homework you have. You will have to shower and get it done over there."

He hesitates, but only for a moment.

"Do you want me to tell them?"

He gestures to the stairs, where my other children are, and I almost shake my head but then, of course, the babies start wailing – again. More specifically, Jennifer does.

I almost forgot about them. I did not even notice them cease their crying in the first place.

My eyes fall shut of their own accord.

"I'll go tell them." He leaves then, and I am reminded what a good kid he is. How helpful and the responsibility he shows at just 11 years old. I turn towards Jennifer and Luke. They are in their carseats in the living room. Of course Sandra did not do anything with them. She took Jules but not them.

The least she could have done was sit them in their playpen. I guess even that is asking too much. Instead of getting them out myself, I just pick their seats up to bring to the kitchen.

"Alrighty, you two. Oh, what is the matter, huh?"

My babies do not deserve my anger. I have to put on a happy face even if I am screaming on the inside.

"Oh, lets get you out of those not-so-fun seats. Peanut, would you like to go in the swing?" I place her in one of the three baby-swings that are set up. I turn it to the medium setting, her favorite, and then tend to Luke.

"Ok, Mister Man, how about you, huh?! You want to swing? I know the two of you love doing this." Placing him in the seat, I give him a sensory-feeling toy. I set it to the lowest setting, his favorite. He calms within just a few minutes, cooing and giggling.

"Look at you, Mister Man. That swing is fun, huh? I bet you will love to go to the Park once you are older. They have such cool swings there." I tickle his sides, and my most-favorite sound fills the kitchen: baby giggles.

"You are such a smart, silly little boy, Lukey. You are going to grow up to do big, wonderful things, I just know it. Do you know how loved you are?" I look at my miracle baby – well, one of my miracle babies. "You are loved by Daddy. And you are loved by your big brothers. And you are loved by your big sisters. You are loved by Nana and Sabba, by your aunts and uncles. You are so, so loved, my sweet baby boy."

With Lucas cooing, I move to Jenny. She is calm now; the swinging motion does that for her. Emilia has told me that she calms even faster if you sit in a spinny chair, and spin in circles while holding her. Unfortunately, there is no baby swing that spins in circles, so this will have to do.

I tickle her feet — not her sides, because she does not like that — and she screeches in laughter. I pretend to eat her toes — "num-num-num!" — and she kicks and giggles.

"And you are my most precious Peanut. There is no one other person on this planet that can replace you. You are doing to do wonderful things. Big things. You are so loved by everyone. I love you, even more every day. All of your big sisters and big brothers adore you. And I just know Nana and Sabba, and your aunts and uncles cannot get enough of you."

"But you know who loves you the most? Who absolutely adores you, with every ounce of herself? Emilia. She will love you every day for the rest of your life. I have not a doubt in my mind."

Peanut looks intrigued by my words. Could she really understand?

"Emilia is going to treasure you, both of you," I include Luke because I have seen the way she looks at him. The way her world revolves around them, even now.

:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/:/

*7 minutes later*

I clear my throat; blink away the tears. I want to keep on, but the kids will be ready soon, and I have a lot of stuff to pack for Lucas, Jennifer, and Juliet.

I get to work. Bottles, syringes, their medicine, their formula, toys… I have to pack diaper bags, but before I can do that, Elijah and Gabe are coming back downstairs.

"Daddy, is Bubba Caleb down here?"

Gabe asks at me. He has his backpack and his overnight bag. Eli is standing beside him, similarly. I am confused by their question.

"No." Why does that question send pains through my stomach. "Why? He is supposed to be upstairs in his room."

"But he's not up there." Now Eli looks confused as well. "I went up there to tell him we are going to Nana and Sabba's house, but he wasn't there. And our bedroom is a mess! It looks like he threw stuff all over the place."

I stop listening at his first sentence. Sprinting passed them and up the stairs, I burst into the boys' bedroom. It is a mess; it does look like Caleb threw his things all over. It looks exactly like the aftermath of a…

I run so fast out of the room, I nearly hit the bedroom door. I check the bathroom next – no one except Emma, who confusedly asks me why Caleb would be in there. Their bedroom has only Roslyn, and I hear Sandra, still on the phone.

"Sandra!" I burst in, scaring her. "Have you seen Caleb?"

For once, I hope she says yes. I hope she can tell me where our child is. But, she just rolls her eyes and retorts that I sent him to his room.

"He is not in there." I tell her.

"Well, he is probably in the bathroom. Or bothering his sisters. Or making a mess somewhere. Where else would he be?"

I grit my teeth. I can't explode at her. I can't do it, no matter much I want to.

"He's not. I already checked. Are you sure you have not seen him? Think, Sandra, please. When you came up here to answer the phone, are you sure he was in his room."

"Mom, I am going to have to call you back." She hangs up the phone and stands, stepping closer to me. Holding Jules on her hip.

"Yes, Michael. His bedroom door was shut. I assumed he was in there, sulking as usual." She steps closer. "What do you mean, he isn't in there."

I sigh, taking a breath, trying to calm down because the last thing I want to do is tell my wife that another one of our children is missing.

"Michael!" She hisses. "Answer me, dammit!"

"He is not in there, Sandra. He is nowhere up here, and he is not downstairs."

"Well, did you check in the backyard? Outside? In the basement? He does this all the time, Michael! He has to be somewhere!"

"Daddy?"

My attention is drawn to my daughter. Roslyn.

"Daddy, I'm cold."

She comes closer, hugging my legs. I have to remember to breathe; to be calm. I cannot alert her to a problem until I am sure.

But, I do notice something: the house is significantly colder than a couple of hours ago. I then remember… I left the kitchen window open downstairs – which is also where Lucas and Jennifer are, in their swings.

Don't let them know something bad has happened.

I force a smile for Roslyn. My mind is whirling but I– I need to get them somewhere safe and quiet so I can think. I tell Roslyn and Emma to go to their room. I tell Sandra to put Juliet in her crib, and then I go downstairs.

Just get them in their room. Somewhere quiet and safe.

I close the window in the kitchen. The room is freezing. Jennifer is crying — again — but Lucas seems to have fallen into a nap. I ignore Jennifer — you have to let them cry-it-out eventually — and instead, I turn the thermostat up, going in search of my sons next.

"Boys?"

I find them in the living room. They have their homework out; Elijah is helping Gabriel with his sight words. I plaster on a smile.

"Hey, you two. I need you to go upstairs to your room, and don't come out until I say so. Okay?"

It confuses them, of course.

"Awe we in… in tuh, truh-bull, Daddy?"

Don't snap; keep calm.

"No, Buddy. You aren't in trouble. There is just something Mom and I have to do before we leave, and we need everyone in their rooms, ok?"

Elijah gathers their stuff, stacking books, papers, pencils. He picks up both his backpack and Gabriel's bag, but Gabe is persistent.

"If-If I pwomise to be good, I stay down here, pease?"

Don't snap; stay calm.

"Gabe, sweetie, no. I need you to go upstairs."

"Gabey, come on," Elijah tries next. "Do what Daddy said."

I see the determination fall over his expression.

"No! I wanna be down hewe!"

Stay calm, Michael. They don't deserve your anger.

"Gabriel, I am not asking; I am telling. Go upstairs to your room, and do not come out until I say so."

It is the firm voice that I usually do not have to use. The voice that only comes out when it is absolutely needed. I can't snap at them. I cannot be mean. But the longer we wait, the longer Caleb is gone. If he is outside, in this weather, minutes and seconds really count. He could be hurt. He could be unable to do anything.

I need to know where my little boy is but first, I need to Gabriel to fucking listen to me. Now is not the time for a temper tantrum.

"Go upstairs. Now." I firmly point to the stairs. Gabriel's face screws up. His tiny hands ball up into fists. I know what is coming.

"No! I want to be down hewe!"

Oh, I so do not have time for it.

So, I pull out the Big Guns, aka, The Threat.

"Gabriel Anthony, if you do not march your butt up those stairs right this instant, I will put you over my knee, and then you won't have a choice anymore. Do you understand me?"

Out of my peripheral, I see Elijah blink in surprise. Never have I ever threated the kids with that type of language. But they are around Sandra's mother enough, and around Sandra enough, that they know exactly what those words mean.

Every ounce of the temper tantrum is drained out of my middle son, and the two boys silently make their way up to their room. Jennifer is still screaming – I find that I could not care less than this moment.

Soon, it will wake Lucas up, and I will have two screaming babies.

Amongst those sounds, I hear Sandra yelling at me to shut them up.

I ignore it all.

My feet carry me to the phone. I dial a number I memorized at no older than seven years old. My mother's sweet voice calls out to me; I tell her she needs to come over immediately. I hang up before she can respond.

*20 minutes later – approximately 35 minutes since disappearance*

It takes my mom 15 minutes to get to the house. By this point, Caleb has been missing unofficially for nearly an hour. Anywhere from 30 minutes to a full sixty.

I call the kids down and tell them they are spending the night at their grandparents' house. Mom is confused; she tries to get me to talk. But I just tell her I will explain later – I do not have time right now.

The kids are gone in under 10 minutes.

8, to be exactly. Another 8 that my oldest little boy has been gone. Sandra has been on the phone. Her mother, parents around the neighborhood. Calling, asking, pleading for them to say they know where he is.

Jennifer has been crying for so long, by now, she has spit up twice. Lucas is now screaming his head off, and my brain seems to be pounding the same tempo. I robotically make my way to the diaper bags. I stuff them full of bottles and medicine and formula and toss them by the backdoor.

Penelope should be here any minute. She is going to take the babies. Soon, it will be just Sandra and I.

Penelope arrives. She has her husband with her. They load the babies quickly. Penelope stays and Alden leaves.

"Michael, what is going on?"

I still. My brain takes a full 30 seconds to catch up. I look at her. My mouth won't work. So she sits me down at the table. Sandra slams the phone down; she angrily picks it up a second later.

"This is Sandy Jareau, three houses down." I hear my wife say, distantly. "We are hoping you could help us. Our son, our older son, Caleb. He went missing early this evening. Is he, by chance, there at your house?"

Penelope is in front of me. She presses a hot cup into my hands, and it thaws by body enough for me to process the look on her face.

"How long?"

She states.

"Michael! How long ago was this?!"

I look at the clock. Tick-tock goes the seconds.

It is now nearly 7 o'clock. (6:52 p.m.)

"Almost 2 hours."

Is that really my voice?

"Do you know where he would go? Where he is?"

"I've been calling for a fucking hour!" Sandra bursts out. "No one fucking has a clue!"

Penelope leaps over to the phone. She yanks it from Sandra and hangs up, picking it back up and quickly punching in numbers. I take a sip of the drink. It is warm, calming. I take another. And another. By the fifth, I am fully aware of the conversation.

"James, call Elias, now. Caleb is missing. Sandra and Michael have idea where he is. He went missing approximately 2 hours. They do not know what he was wearing, or where he would go, and they need help. Now."

She hangs up 3 seconds later.

"Elias is coming over. James will be here soon. Where are the kids, Michael?"

"With my parents." I state.

"Ok, good. Elias is going to be here. James will come. We will get a Search Team going. Do you have any article of clothing? We'll need it for the dogs. We need to have everything ready to go. It is already in single-digit temperatures; we cannot wait any longer."

I get up. I grab a shirt that is outside the laundry room. I give it to Penelope. She suggests I call my parents. She ends up doing it for me. I wander over to the door. The coldness of the night hits me like slap to the face.

I stand there. In my jeans and t-shit. In my shoes. I let the cold air surround my body. I wonder where he could be. Is he inside somewhere? Is he out there, cold, and alone, and dying? Did he have on appropriate clothing?

Probably not.

My baby is out there somewhere. Alone, freezing to death. Scared. I wish I could go back. Just three hours. I wish I would have reacted differently. He was only trying to help.

He is good at that, helping.

Only I never see it that way; not recently, at least.

But that is all he wanted to do: help out.

And I threw it in his face. I yelled and screamed and criticized, and I treated him no better than Sandra does on a good day.

My little boy…

I am so, so sorry. And I promise you, with all that I am, I will find you, and I will spend every day from here on out making sure you know how much I love you, and am thankful for you.

Please be ok, Cal.

I can't lose another child.

In this, Michael realizes Caleb is gone, and everyone convenes to begin the search to find him. Next will be a small part with Caleb in the morning. And an update with Michael and Sandy about how the search is going. Plus a happy ending.

Please review and let me know what you thought! Any questions or comments are welcome. If you would like to see something in particular, an extended or a missing scene, etc. just let me know! :)