A/N: it's been a pleasure, guys. Illegal review shout-outs at the bottom. I'm sorry for not replying to reviews, I've really, truly busy. It's actually a wonder that I've gotten thirty minutes a night to write each chapter. Hope you enjoy. Weirdest one.

Disclaimer: I broke my guitar the other day. Cry for me, please.


Crash And Burn

"But why aren't we gone?'

'We aren't gone- we're just not here yet.'"

-Raina1, Walking In The Light

Parker quickly glanced up at the woman standing beside him. Uncertainty marking his innocently happy face with a slight crinkle of brow. He almost never needed anyone to chaperone him anymore- he was, after all, a grown-up, seven years and three-quarters old. He was big enough to tackle everything the world might decide to throw at him, whether they be that weird dog next door or cooties.

But sometimes, when things were just beyond his reach, or he was too scared- he'd never admit it, of course- he knew that he needed to grow up just a little bit more before he could do everything on his own. And until then, he could always ask for help. His father had told him that, and it had to be true, because his dad was the coolest dad in the world.

So that's why he was standing there, on the sidewalk, looking up at the woman next to him. She was his dad's special friend. She was weird sometimes, but she had always seemed to be happy whenever he had talked to her. And she smiled. He trusted people when they smiled the way she did. It was just something he knew how to tell apart- a fake one and a real one. Like crayons. His dad had told him that, too.

He had been told that her name was Tempe. It was a nice name. But sometimes, he got confused, because he'd heard his dad call her something different. Maybe it was a nick name. His was Bub.

He liked her. Not just because he trusted her, but also because his dad seemed to laugh more often whenever she was around. And whenever his dad laughed, it always meant that the whole world was okay.

He had wondered, last night, just before he had turned off the nightlight, if he would ever grow up to be as old as Tempe. Maybe then, once he had caught up with her, he'd be able to laugh real loud whenever she was around, too.

Not that she didn't already make him laugh. She was fun- acting just like him, sometimes. And he knew more stuff than her about some things. She didn't even know who SpongeBob Squarepants was! And she gave him milk and cookies- his favorite food in the whole world.

A tune made him stop his thinking as he saw her smiling down on him.

He smiled back, and an ice-cream truck passed them by.


They were fighting again. He really hated it whenever his parents got into fights. They didn't shout at each other like other kids' parents did. They didn't even say anything particularly insulting- they insulted each other all the time. No, for them, a fight would be heralded by silence. And sulking.

He knew what it was about. Him.

Tempe didn't care much for his decision to take his music so seriously. And his father didn't, too. But he was at least a bit more civil about it. He believed that it was just a phase all teenagers had to go through.

He hadn't eaten anything yet today. He had gone straight into his room after arriving from school. He didn't really want to face her.

Why couldn't they just support his choice? They hardly approved of anything he did. His friends, his music, his grades. He knew that both his parent's were smart, Tempe was a genius- he had been reminded, rather annoyingly, time and time again by his teachers. Maybe that was why they expected so much from him.

Well, screw their lousy expectations. They didn't really give a damn about how he felt and who he was.

Besides, Tempe wasn't even his real mother. His real mother lived in some trailer park with some drunken bastard after she'd married some other drunken bastard.

His fingers felt chilly as he stuffed his clothes into his bag. He really needed to get out of this place. Away from everything, especially from them. Checking his watch, he saw that it was already three a.m.

His stomach grumbled. It was too risky to make a sandwich in the kitchen downstairs. Maybe he'd stop buy a fast-food place before he hit the road to L.A.

Sneaking carefully down the stairs- they squeaked- he said good bye to all the familiar shadows. Glad to be finally rid of them. Feet making soft sounds on the carpet leading towards the dining room then freedom.

He stopped when he saw the milk and cookies set on the table.


She'd never forgiven him.

But everything was forgotten today.

Because today was the day that he buried his father.

He glanced around the room, seeing faces both familiar and not. Sometimes a little bit in between. Maybe he should right a song about that. All those lonely people floating through your life, never truly there, but never truly gone.

Wisps.

Listening to the idle chatter and rampant finger-food eating, he thought about how he had grown to miss this place, with its squeaky stairs and Congressional medals of Honor up for display.

It was ironic, really. His father had been an army sniper; had seen action enough to make him uncomfortable. And then had spent the remainder of his active life chasing down serial killers and falling in love with Tempe. But he died at the age of sixty-seven because of a stroke while driving.

It made him sad, sometimes.

She still hadn't talked to him yet. Actually, she hadn't talked to anyone about anything substantial for the past few days. Even Angela couldn't get her to react. She had just stood there, staring down on everyone during her eulogy, saying that her husband had been a good man- and then had calmly invited everyone to food back at the house.

She was running on auto-pilot. But then again, only the people who really knew her would be able to spot the difference. Tempe had never been an emotional woman. Always burying herself in one project or the other when life got too stressful.

He detested people like that. He was an artist. He sang repackaged stress and emotion for a living. She was a robot.

Still, it didn't change the fact that Tempe was his mother. If not by blood, then by name.

He really had to talk to her soon. Get this over with as soon as possible. Catch the red-eye to L.A. later. He knew that it was hopeless trying to make her accept his life. And he wasn't a fool enough to try and invest in something that couldn't even shed a tear for her husband.

Smiling through-out the rest of the afternoon, he managed to survive.

Later that night, he found her crying, huddled against the corner of the sink and cupboards.


He had tried his best, honestly. But his best had never been good enough. Why should it start being so now?

He looked down from the podium, meeting eyes that were as ashen or unfamiliar as his own. Seated in neat rows, side by side, listening to him talk about his dead step-mother.

Tempe had never truly approved of anything he had chosen to do with his life. Had never tried to make amends and overtures of reconciliation even when it was apparent to all that her time was fading fast. She had already buried her husband and her dearest friends- sometimes he thought that she also buried a part of herself every time she had walked away from a funeral.

He coughed.

He had flown to Washington D.C. as soon as he heard the news. But soon wasn't soon enough, as he had so very few contacts left from the place he grew up in.

He had had the chance to look into her eyes and see the tears. He had turned away.

Spending the rest of the afternoon at his old house, he felt all the lingering shadows of times past. Times irrevocably lost- not by anyone's design or fault- just by the simple ravages of life.

He had opened the first bottle when the phone had ringed. He hadn't bothered picking it up.

Drinking had never really been his forte, and he had woken up with a skull two sizes to small, huddled in the corner between the sink and cupboards.

And now, standing before so many people he didn't know, his acute sense of incredulity and irony came to the fore.

How would he be able to describe the woman who had tried her best to be his mother to this people? When he couldn't even decide whether she had failed or not for himself?

She had never gone to any of his concerts. Even when his tour schedule forced him to perform in D.C. She hadn't even come the day his first child had been born. Out of wedlock, of course. Like father, like son.

Or maybe not.

He had tried his best, honestly. But his best had never been good enough.

Just like when it came to his daughter. A beautiful young woman who was growing up without a father.

Maybe one day it wouldn't hurt as much anymore.

He had never forgiven her. And Tempe had never forgiven him.

He had found the news-clippings earlier that noon. Saw his black-and-white photos, his tour dates.

Soon enough, a complete collection of all his albums was found.

He hadn't cried in a long time. But he had had, right then, on the floor at the foot of his step-mother's bed.

He had tried his best, honestly. But his best had never been good enough. Why should it start being so now?

"Tempe was many things to many people. To me, for better or for worse, she was my mother."

The first tear fell like some lead weight.


The ice-cream truck had come and gone, leaving a trail of happy children and exasperated mothers in its wake. And he was still there. Standing side by side with Tempe.

Was she supposed to be his mother?

He really didn't know. She made his dad happy. So she must be the coolest lady in the world. But it wasn't something important, though. He could decide for himself next time, when she came to tuck him in. Maybe one day.

No, it wasn't important at all.

Not like crossing the street. Now, that was a grown-up thing to worry about. An important thing. And he was old enough, mature enough, and smart enough to know that he wouldn't be able to do it- for the first time, at least- on his own.

He really didn't know anything about Tempe. But she smiled. And that should be enough.

Grinning, Parker took her hand and started walking.


A/N: Well, how did I do? Definitely hardest one to write. But it just sort of came out of me.

Additional info: If anybody cares, I apologize for any inaccuracies, because I've only seen a grand total of three episodes.

Also, sorry for mistyping anything, it's 4 am.

If anybody has noticed, I had the hardest time picking the write chapter title for chappie six. But I like my chapter titles.

Yes, it does seem that everybody is getting depressed with Booth and Brennan getting together. I'm an angsty person. Sorry.

The quote and one line from the story are sort of tributes to one of my favorite authors, Raina1. She's a writer for the Invader Zim fandom. That's not a typo. The word really is "here".

Do you think I should continue this take on Parker? Alas, I hate future fics except for a handful of well-written ones.

I won't be writing a BoothBrennan chapter, as I wanted to make this without ever dipping into their heads. Wanted to get the miscellaneous characters down.

So apologies to stwbrryCSI for that. If you want, check out my other fic, When I Don't Pick Up The Phone. You could read it as a companion fic.

Also apologies to both Ataea and Caroline for spelling their names wrong.

Finally, special thanks to JacobedRose, Estreya Star, pagan-seijou, Elizabeth Theresa and BonesFAN! For reviewing consistently.

Also, I thank Selene47, StwbrryCSI, Ataea, Limone, Hawkeye Girl, avaleighfitzgerald, none, Ketchup, The Dramatic Dolphin, Christy Sanborn, Tinatwin, Queen Tigeress, hick13itch and everyone else for the feedback and for the patronage. Thanks for reading.

See you guys next time.