(In the future)

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I don't own Bones.

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It was the fifth anniversary of the death of Lance Sweets and Christine was feeling sad. Her 'uncle' had been dead for five years and she still felt it was unfair that he had left her. He had been a sweet man, his name being perfect for him and he'd helped her be less afraid when her father had been in prison. At the time, she hadn't known her father was in prison and had been told he was away doing FBI business, but she had missed her father at the time and Sweets had been there for her. Often, while her mother was busy at the Lab and since her father was away, Christine could count on Sweets to come over on the weekends and play dolls with her or he would bring Daisy with him and they'd go to the zoo or the park.

Oddly, it had only been a few months since she had found out that her uncle had been murdered and why. She wasn't sure why she did it, but she had googled the name Lance Sweets and a lot of old news articles had popped up. Curious she had read about her father being in prison, her Uncle Sweets being murdered and the eventual arrest of the man who had caused so much damage to her family. She had yet to ask her parents about it and she wasn't sure she wanted to. Those months that her father had been away had been painful and now that she knew what had happened, she had come to realize that her father could have also died at that time and that made her stomach hurt when she thought about it.

A little listless, a little depressed, Christine was sitting under the oak tree in the backyard and watched while Hank played in the sandbox. She wanted to be happy and play like her brother, but she felt it was a betrayal to have fun on the anniversary of her Uncle Sweets' death. She was never going to see him again and there was no grave to visit since he had been cremated. She didn't think it was fair that there was no gravesite because she wasn't sure how to visit him. Her grandfather Max, her Uncle Jared, her great-grandfather Pops were all in cemeteries and she could visit them whenever she wanted to, well whenever her parents wanted to. There was no where she could go to talk to her uncle and she felt so frustrated and angry. Ripping some grass from the ground near her knee, she sprinkled it back on the ground and shook her head. "Why did they do that to you, Uncle Sweets?" Her mother had explained cremation to her the year before, but she didn't understand why people did that to someone they loved.

Checking on his children, Booth noticed Christine sitting under the tree, her face blotchy as if she had been crying. Concerned, he walked into the backyard and over to where his daughter sat. "Christine, are you alright?"

A tear escaping her lashes, Christine looked up and shook her head. "I miss Uncle Sweets. I can't go talk to him and I think that's unfair."

Gingerly sitting down next to his daughter, Booth placed his arm around her shoulders. "Honey, you can talk to Uncle Sweets whenever you want to. All you have to do is think about him and you start talking."

"But he's just burned up dirt, Daddy." Sobbing, she leaned against her father.

Not sure how to respond, Booth thought about what he could say for a few moments while his daughter cried. "Sweetheart, your body is just a vehicle for your soul. What happens to your body after you die isn't really that important, not really . . . every country handles death differently, I know your Mom told you that . . . Sweets . . . In the past, your Uncle Sweets had told Daisy that he wanted to be cremated, she remembered that and that's what happened . . . His soul was freed from his body when he died and that's who you talk to." Booth had faith that when he talked to his dead loved ones, they heard him. His wife didn't believe in an afterlife and didn't believe you could talk to your dead loved ones and that they could hear her, but she didn't interfere with his beliefs for which he was grateful.

"I know Uncle Sweets was murdered . . . I googled his name and . . . and I know you were in prison when I was five . . . I know why too, Dad. I don't want to talk about it, but I just wanted you to know that I know what happened to Uncle Sweets and to you." Her tears stopped. "You don't have to keep stuff like that from me. I'm not a kid anymore."

"I wasn't keeping anything from you, Christine." Booth stared at Hank who was busy building a sandcastle in the sand box. "The truth is, I try not to think about the past too much. I don't believe in living in the past. There can be a lot of pain in the past. I think we should live in the present and look forward to the future, but if you ever do want to talk about it, we can do that. I don't know if I can talk about all of it . . . but we can try."

Slowly nodding her head, Christine knew that her father was there for her when she needed it. "Thanks Dad . . . Can we go to where Uncle Sweets was poured on the ground? This is the anniversary of his death and I want to leave flowers."

"Of course we can." His knees popping, Booth stood up and realized that he was getting too old to sit on the ground. Waving at Hank, Booth called out. "Hank, we're going somewhere. I need you to go take a bath. I don't want sand in my truck."

"A bath?" Hank stood up and glared at his father. "It's not time for a bath. I don't want a bath."

Moving over to where his son was standing, Booth leaned over and brushed sand from the boy's clothes. "You're full of sand. Let's brush off some of it, then you can go in and get a shower. It doesn't have to be a bath, but you have too much sand on you. You'll get it everywhere if you don't get it off."

Irritated, Hank looked down at his shorts and tried to brush them off. "I don't want a shower."

"Tough," Booth pointed towards the house. "We're going to take flowers out to where Uncle Sweets is and we're going to get ice cream afterward. I don't want sand in my ice cream."

"Me neither." Christine scrunched her nose. "Yuck."

Since he didn't have a choice, the boy did what his father asked.

Ooooooooooooo

Not sure what to do, Christine held the bouquet in her arms and glanced around the meadow. "Where do I put the flowers, Dad?"

Pointing at the oak tree near the picnic table, Booth knew that it didn't really matter where they left the flowers, but Christine wanted certainty. "Lay them next to the tree."

Once the flowers were resting under the oak tree, the girl noticed a small plaque screwed into the trunk of the tree. 'Lance Sweets beloved friend, partner and father'. "Dad, there's a plaque."

Curious, Booth moved closer to the tree and read the words imprinted in the plaque. "Daisy probably had this made." It was simple, but the washed bronze plaque conveyed a sense of dignity. "It's nice."

Glad to see the plaque, Christine rubbed her hand around the cool smooth edges and smiled. "I have a place I can come and talk to Uncle Sweets, Dad. It's what I wanted and here it is."

The smile on his child's face assured Booth that Christine was going to be alright. She'd had a rough morning but laying flowers for Sweets and seeing the plaque had brightened up her day. "I'll let your mother know that this is here." Taking a picture with his phone, Booth also took a picture of his children. "If you want to talk to Sweets, go ahead Honey. Me and Hank will wait."

Her hand on the plaque, Christine smiled. "Hello Uncle Sweets. I miss you. I remember that time you came to visit me and we had tea together. You told me to call you Buddy which I thought was funny . . ."

A chill ran down Booth's spine as he listened to his daughter talk. That time Avalon found the flash drive with Sweets' book on it, was he talking to Christine? Was he Buddy?

"You wanted Mom and Dad to read a special book." Christine continued her conversation with her uncle. "You wanted them to read a love story. Then Aunt Angela showed up with that lady and she gave Daddy that book about Mom and him and it was a love story written by you before you went away. I've read your story Uncle Sweets and I like it."

Booth hadn't thought about the book for a few years. It was on a bookshelf in the living room, a gift from his young friend. He'd read it and at the time it had been weird to read it knowing the story was about his love for Brennan and her love for him, It was romantic and the kid had done a good job.

"I wish you were still here, but you're not . . . I love you Uncle Sweets."

Hank hadn't known Sweets since the man had died before he was born, but his sister talked about him sometimes and he knew that she loved him. "Bye Uncle Sweets."

"Yeah, bye Sweets." Booth shook his head. He decided not to ask Christine about Buddy. He didn't need to know if Sweets was Buddy, he knew Christine believed it and that was alright. She had great memories about her 'uncle' and he was grateful he'd had such a dear friend that thought so much of his family when they needed him. "Okay, who wants ice cream?"

"Me! Me!" Hank held up his hand and laughed. "Chocolate and chocolate sprinkles on a chocolate cone."

"So, you like chocolate?" Booth laughed and patted his son on the top of his head. "Who would have guessed that?"

Oooooooooooooooooo

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