A/N: Halfway through this adventure! Are you guys having fun? It's snowing and cold here, so I've been writing a lot and listening to the constant football my dad and brother have on TV. Maybe that's why I sent these nerds on vacation, so at least someone could go somewhere warm. Is it bad I'm jealous of them?

Enjoy!

'On the sixth day of Bonesmas, my writer friend gave to me six days vacation.'

Summer vacation was in full swing. Michael Vincent had passed third grade with flying colors, receiving both a most improved in Science and Citizenship award at his school's end of year assembly. Not twenty-four hours after the last day of school, the Hodgins family whisked off to an undisclosed location for a much-needed vacation. Their days as a family of three were dwindling, and both Jack and Angela wanted to spend as much time with the three of them as they could. Though with Angela still on modified bedrest, flying anywhere was out of the question. So a good, 'ole fashioned road trip started off their trip.

The island sat off the coast of North Carolina and was a popular vacation destination for many families. Their rental house sat as close to the ocean as it could without actually being in the sand. After dumping their bags in the house, the family rushed for the beach, where they spent the remainder of their first evening.

Days fell into a semi-routine of waking up late and easing into the morning and then spending a few hours on the beach where Angela made camp on a chair under an umbrella, and the boys played in the water and found piles of shells. With a beach wheelchair, Jack had full freedom to play with his son; to come and go from the water's edge as he pleased. In the afternoon, they came back home for a rest; usually one of them fell asleep, though some days all three of them managed to nap. In the evenings, they sometimes went back to the beach, or walked along the boardwalk, or just enjoyed their home. Michael loved the hammock chairs on the back deck and could be found quietly reading while rocking in the chair, listening to the sounds of the ocean.

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"Momma! I'm gonna go surfing! Watch me!" Michael shouted at his mom as he dashed back out to the waves, boogie board in hand. He runs into the water, getting up to his chest before turning towards the shore. He looks behind himself, waiting for the next wave. As it comes, he tucks his board under his stomach and pushes off the bottom just as the wave reaches him. Michael uses the momentum to ride back to shore. Dripping wet, he happily looks to his parents, and off their waves and thumbs up, he runs back for more.

"He's gonna sleep well tonight," Jack comments, watching his son surf, more and more kids joining him.

"Oh yeah," Angela agrees. "He's awake," she says, putting Jack's hand on her stomach.

"He loves the beach," Hodgins says. Though the baby had been moving before their trip, the new environment had invigorated the fetus and he had been moving like crazy since they arrived at the beach. "Don't you, buddy?" You love the beach," Jack says, his face pressed against his wife's belly. As if answering his dad, the baby moves again. Arms and legs stretching out, clearly visible from the outside. "See? I'm right," Jack says, smug in his observation.

"Yeah," Angela says, rolling her eyes.

"Dad! Come surf with us!" Michael calls out to him, a band of kids watching, waiting for the next wave to come.

"In a minute, bud!" Jack replies, perfectly content to lay there with his hand on his wife's stomach, feeling their unborn son move around.

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Though they wished they could stay, eventually it was time for the little family to go home. The lab could only survive without their king for so long, and Michael had plans to go to summer camp with his best friend Landen, so they packed up, knocked the piles of sand out of the shoes, and headed up the coast.

Weeks after coming home, all three members of the Hodgins family found sand in places they didn't think sand could get. The shells they had collected found a home in a jar that sat prominently displayed on the entry table of their home; a constant memory of one last, amazing trip.