Thanks to everyone who is reading! I really appreciate the patience with the incredibly slow upload time. Title from "The Children's Hour" by Longfellow.

While there were definite perks to Mom's house (like the fact that all of his friends lived pretty nearby and Mom allowed candy) Parker couldn't lie: He liked spending time with Dad and Bones better by this point. For one, his room was way bigger. For two, Sophie was great, or at least as great as a baby sister could be. For three, they had Asta, the terrier that Dad had given Bones for her birthday right before they started dating. And finally, watching Dad and Bones was just … fun. Whether they were arguing or just talking, he'd never see them be boring together. And Brent was kind of boring, unless they were talking about sports or cars or his job. That was why calling him Captain Fantastic was so funny.

But now they were worrying him. They were both very quiet, Dad staring straight ahead a lot, Bones looking at Dad, then starting to move her hand over to his side of the car, then stopping, biting her lip and looking away or busying herself with Sophie. Plus the conversation at his Mom's house had just seemed weird, with Mom obviously looking like she'd just been crying and Brent looking scared and Dad and Bones just looking … confused. Thank God for Sophie, anyways.

"Do you have any homework tonight, Parker?" Bones asked.

He grinned, remembering his assignment. "Yeah. For science we have to identify all the parts of the skeletal system."

"You have to ID all the bones in the body?" his dad asked, chuckling a little.

"Don't worry, Dad, Mr. Abernathy already warned me about asking Bones to do it," he grinned. Then he got an idea, "Though you and Dad should totally come to class and talk about how you figured out murderers from bones, Bones!"

Normally something like that would have made Dad laugh and agree immediately, but he just said, in a real uneasy tone, "Yeah, we'll talk to your teacher next time we see him, k bub?"

Parker nodded, creeped out by both their weirdness. "Don't call me bub," he grumbled. He was way to old for that, anyways.

Dad and Bones seemed to improve over dinner, though Sophie obviously hadn't had the greatest nap. So mostly he avoided Sophie, and Angela (who was busy dealing with Talia, their one-year-old, and filling in Bones about her latest pregnancy) and Bones, and talked with Dad and Hodgins and Joe, their almost-three-year-old. Hodgins was great because he liked baseball, and they could all talk the Nationals.

Sophie was lights-out by the time he was halfway done with his burger, and when they got home Dad took her upstairs to her room as he and Bones settled in her office for a long night of school crap (him) and museum crap (her). Bones' office was pretty cool, lots of artifacts from her days as a girl version of Indiana Jones, before she'd decided that him and Dad were cooler, and lots of books about random science things, one of which she handed to him. It had super-detailed, really pretty drawing of bones, which was much easier to read than the handouts on phalanges and tarsals Mr. Abernathy had given them.

"Bones?" he asked at one point.

"Yeah, Parker?"

"Is everything OK?"

She looked at him for a long while. "Yes, Parker. It's fine." She was obviously lying.

"Because you don't lie, you know." He looked at her carefully. "And you, and Mom, and Dad, and even Brent have all been acting weird. So I kinda think something's up." Brent acting weird was the weirdest part. Brent barely reacted to anything most of the time. He didn't get mad; he didn't get sad; he didn't get excited. He was just kinda … nice, and easygoing.

She looked like a deer caught in headlights. He smiled. Bones couldn't actually lie. Poor Sophie would never get to experience the joys of Santa Claus. "You know that none of us — me, your dad, your mom, or Brent — would do something we think would hurt you."

"So you would lie?"

"There are certain situations in which a parent feels it is necessary to lie to a child in order to protect them or when there are larger machinations than the truthfulness of a statement at play. Like … Santa Claus."

He raised his eyebrow. "Sweets teach you that one?"

"And your father, Parker," she said gently.

"Is this one of those situations?" he asked.

"Considering I just told you that I would lie to you under certain circumstances, my answer could hardly be considered valid right now. Now, how is that bone identification coming along? You want to come in sometime next week after school to see real bone identification? Two dimensional renderings are hardly accurate."

He grinned. "Sure, Bones."

Life with Bones and Dad also simply moved at a faster pace. The next morning, for instance, he woke up super-early to go running with Dad — down 31st to M Street, across the bridge, through Foggy Bottom, down 23rd Street, past the Lincoln, around the Reflecting Pool, and then back past the Lincoln to home — but then Dad had to leave for work so quickly that Shawna, Sophie's nanny, drove him to school (Bones was in at the museum by six). Then that evening, after practice, Angela invited him and Bones by the gallery to see her new exhibit ahead of time. Thursday afternoon Bones asked him to bring friends by the museum after school to check out the new ocean thing to see if it was interesting for middle-schoolers. It was actually pretty cool — lots of stuff to touch and an IMAX and videos. And Bones got them food afterwards, like always. Friday neither Dad nor Bones had to work really late, so his friend Tyler came over and they all watched movies and Dad grilled chicken and vegetables and made mashed potatoes for dinner.

He didn't realize until his dad came into his room and wished him goodnight that Mom hadn't called him at all since he'd been at Dad and Bones'.

It wasn't until Mom picked him up Saturday that he remembered his conversation with Bones — about how parents would sometimes lie if they thought it was in the best interest of the children. Mom looked like shit. He'd never thought that about anyone before but it was true: She'd been crying, and even though it'd been three days since he'd been home she looked skinnier.

"Mom, can you please tell me what's wrong now?" he asked plaintively as they walked down Dad's front path.

She sucked in a breath, bit her lip. "Let's go get ice cream before going home. How about Thomas Sweet?"

"What's wrong?" he asked impatiently.

"Parker Michael Stinson Booth, car, now," she said, heading to the driver's side door.

"Seriously, Mom, this is so unfair, I can't believe you and Dad and Bones and Brent are all, you know, in a conspiracy against me, like I'm not old enough for whatever it is that you're not telling me and I know Bones said that you were all doing whatever was supposed to protect me but right now I don't feel protected at all I just feel scared and you look like shit, Mom, I mean really like shit, so would you please tell me what the hell is wrong?" he yelled, tossing his bag into the backseat and slammed his door. He'd never sworn before, at least not to his mother, and it freaked him out a little. He was getting a little paranoid. Dad would blame Hodgins.

"Parker," she finally said. "I'm not trying to scare you, it's just … we're all scared, too, and we're trying not to scare you."

He looked at her. "What are you scared of?"

She looked back at him, and he got the feeling she was trying to memorize the way he looked. "I have cancer, sweetie."

"Cancer?" he asked, uncomprehending. "Like what Grandpa Steve had?" Brent's dad had had skin cancer a few years ago.

"Not quite," she said. "More like … more like how my mom had it."

"That's not true," he said, without thinking. "Because your mom died of it." She paused, just a second too long. "NO!" he yelled. "NO! It's like Grandpa Steve and you're not going to die." He thought, desperately, fleetingly, about life without Mom. It would not happen. It could not happen.

"I didn't say I was, sweetie," she said. "Just … Grandma Annie's was in her female parts — breast cancer, right? And mine's in my ovaries, and my uterus. Female parts, you know them, right?" He nodded. Bones had taught him.

"But the doctors — they said you're not going to die, right?"

She looked at him again, hugged him tightly. "I don't know, sweetie. I don't think so, and I sure hope not. What's going to happen to me is going to hurt a lot," she said slowly.

"But you're going to have surgery, right? And they'll get it all, right?"

"I'm having surgery on Monday, sweetie. They'll do as much as they can. They still don't know … They still don't know where everything is, and that's part of what they're going to do on Monday. You're going to stay with Dad and Temperance, okay? You'll go over tomorrow night. You can drop me off at the hospital tomorrow around dinnertime and then Brent will drive you here."

"Do Dad and Bones know?" he asked.

"Yeah, they know."

"About the cancer?" he asked.

"Yeah, they know."

"And you told them Tuesday night?" he guessed. He was very good at investigations.

"Yeah, sweetie."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was scared, honey. I just got back from the doctor's at two, called Brent and then your dad. We didn't know anything, besides these small … indicators. And since Wednesday I had a lot of tests and Brent and I had a lot of meetings with doctors to figure everything out. And I just wanted to say something real to you, not have to talk about what maybe will happen."

"And now you're having surgery on Monday?"

"Yes."

"What are they doing?"

"They're doing a lot," she said. "Mostly, they're finding everything with cancer and removing it. They're going to give me a lot of drugs. Then in a few weeks I'll start chemotherapy."

"When do I get to see you?"

"After the surgery?"

"Yeah."

"Well, the surgery is at six in the morning, and should take about six hours. Then it'll take me a few hours to wake up from it. … Why don't I have Brent call Dad as soon as I'm waking up and then you can come over?"

"No," Parker said suddenly. "I want to go straight from school."

"Park, come on honey, you've got practice."

"And you've got cancer!" he yelled. He looked toward Dad and Bones'. They hadn't even left the driveway. "Can we go talk this over with Dad? I think this means family meeting." Family meeting was a rarely called state of emergency. The last time it had happened was when he got detention for going off-campus during recess.

She sighed. "Yeah. Sure. You're going to be spending more time over here, you know. Your dad and I have discussed it already.""

He suddenly felt very ambivalent, because he had preferred Dad and Bones' house. It felt evil now, like he had turned on his mom.

He opened the door, and yelled, "Dad! Bones! We are having a family meeting."

Unfortunately for Bones, she was the first person to come downstairs, so he yelled at her first. "You were lying! Something was wrong and you wouldn't tell me. I can't believe you!" He took a look at Bones. She was pretty tired — Sophie was kinda sick — and she was on deadline for Bone Dry and she had the banquet for the fish thing tonight, so she was really busy and he felt pretty bad.

"Parker," she said, crossing her arms before uncrossing them and putting her hands on his shoulders. "Yes, we did. Me in particular, when I tried to tell you everything was OK. And I'm very sorry I had to do that. You know why I did it though?"

"Mom told you too," he said defiantly.

"No, Park," she said kindly. "You know me better than that. Your mom was scared, and your dad and Brent and I are all a little scared too, because nobody knows what's going to happen, and the natural human inclination is to fear the unknown. So we needed a few more days so we could tell you things. We didn't want you to have to fear so many unknowns."

"I still should have known!" He felt his resolve slipping. Bones was kind of right.

"What would that have done, Parker?" Bones asked. "What do you think any of us would have accomplished? It would have upset everyone even more," she looked up at Rebecca and behind her, to Booth, who had appeared. "Why don't we go sit in the kitchen, have some pie, and talk. You can ask questions about what we know is going to happen."

"Fine," he said. "Do we still have strawberry rhubarb?"

"Unless your dad finished it off after lunch, yes," she said. "Booth? Rebecca? Is this alright?" She suddenly looked nervous.

"Yeah, of course, Bones," Dad said, kissing her temple. "Good call on the pie. Maybe Brent should come too?"

Becca shook her head. "He had to leave yesterday for a survival thing for the Guard. It was too close notice and I think he needs some time to process, too. He'll be back tomorrow, early."

"You've been staying alone? You should stay here tonight."

"Seeley Booth. Do not try and pull this the white-knight bull. I will kick your ass, right in front of Parker." Parker looked up interestedly.

"No way, Bec —"

"I am not sick yet. I am not in treatment. Besides the whole cell-eating-cell action going on, I'm fine. Do not disrespect me just so that your guilt complex feels a little bit better." Dad sat down, clearly defeated, and Bones slid a plate in front of him. She handed one to Parker, too, with a little bit of vanilla ice cream.

"Where do you want to start, honey?" Mom finally said, stroking his hair.

He swallowed. "What do you have?"

"I've got a couple of things. First, I've got a little tumor in my breast, one that's not too bad. Kind of like how Dad had that little tumor in his head, one that wasn't too bad?"

"Right. You and Bones both think sometimes it's still there," he mumbled around his pie.

Mom laughed, gently. "Right. There's that, and it's not bad at all. In fact, it's good, because I went to the doctor for this and then he found the other, bad stuff. Right now, they know it's in my ovaries and also in my uterus. They're going to see where else it is, and try and cut them all out."

"And they're going to cut it all out on Monday?"

"As much as they can."

"How long is the operation?"

"Pretty long, honey. Probably six hours, at least."

"It's going to hurt a lot, isn't it?"

"Probably," Mom's look bored right into him.

He gulped. "And then what happens?"

"And then I … take a lot of medicines for a few weeks, because all the hormone chemicals will be out of whack, and then I start chemotherapy. Three days a week, I'll go into the hospital and sit for a while and read while they give me medicines."

"And then what?"

Something twitched in Mom's neck. "Then we wait. And see what happens."

"That's it."

"Yes."

"What will happen to you?" he demanded. He didn't want to ask the real question.

"Park," Dad put a hand on his shoulder. "Nobody knows."

"Your mom will get sick, for a while," Bones tried. "Very sick."

"I figured that. What are the numbers? They're OK, right? Bones? Dad?" Bones ducked her head and bit her lip. That meant she knew the numbers and knew they weren't good.

"We don't know what's going to happen, Park," her mother repeated. "But we're all here for you — me, Dad, Bones, Brent. All of us, okay?"

"So we don't know, we don't know what actually happens?" He didn't want to say the D word. d

"No, bub," Dad said. "We can hope but we don't know what's going to happen — to any of us, not just your mom — in the long run. Nothing's going to really change for you, though. You might be over here a little bit more but grades, school, your mom, me, Bones, Sophia, sports — all of those will stay the same."

"You promise?" he challenged.

"Parker — we can't promise anything about the future, that's an unreasonable request," Bones said. "But we're going to make it as close to the present as we are capable of."

He stared at all of them. "Okay. Can I go say goodbye to Asta?"

All three of them exchanged looks. Finally, Bones said, "Yes, you may. He's in the backyard."

He trotted out to the backyard, where Asta was in his run. Unlocking the gate, he sat cross-legged in front of Asta, who had the decency to sit up.

"Hey, Asty," he said, scratching the dog behind his ears. Bones had received Asta around the time Dad and him had started dating Bones — Dad had always said if he'd dated anyone, that woman would date Parker too, because they were a team. It sounded corny but he'd loved it when he was little. But Dad came with him and Bones came with Asta, so it was like Asta was his.

The dog whistled low, and Parker put his hands in his lap, staring at Asta. He thought about talking to Brady, but he was pretty sure this was one of those times Dad would make him go to Sweets. And he didn't know what he thought. All he knew was that there was no way Mom would actually die. He lay down on the ground, and Brady obediently put his paws across Parker's stomach.

About five minutes later, he heard the back door open. He didn't need to open his eyes to know that it was Dad; he recognized the footfalls. When they stopped, right by him, he crooked one eye open. It was really bright. He placed his forearm on his forehead to shield the light.

"Hey bub," Dad said. He looked really nervous, all shifty and jumpy.

"Hey, Dad," he said, not moving.

"Can I sit down?"

"Free country," he shrugged. Dad nodded, sat down, and reached over to scratch Asta's ears.

"How you doing, bub?"

"Don't call me bub."

"You're mad," Dad quickly deduced.

"No shit," he said.

"Don't use that language, Parker," Dad said, his attention momentarily diverted. "Bones or your mother'd heard that, they'd probably smack you."

He thought about it. "Mom would. Bones would lecture me on the anthropology of words, or something." The Bones-style punishment sounded worse.

"So you're mad at us for not telling you," Dad stated. It was true.

"Of course I am," he said. "I'm 11, not 1. That's your other kid."

"Parker," Dad began, and shifted to put his arm around him. Parker promptly hit him. Like the swearing, it kind of felt good. "We're sorry. All of us — Bones, your mom, me. We don't know what's going on and we're a little scared here, and your mom doesn't want you to be scared."

"Well, now, no matter what, I'm scared," he didn't want to think about it. And he didn't like that his chin was trembling either.

"I know, bub," Dad said, softly. "But when we get scared, we have choices. And those choices, bub — they're what make a person, a person."

"What?"

"Not the way Bones or science would do it, bub. How we choose to act when we're scared, that's what tells the world who we are. And up till now, you've had it good. Yeah, a haunted house is scary, but you haven't had to be scared. Really scared, like now, you know? So now it's your turn."

"To show the world who I am?" he asked skeptically.

"Yeah, exactly," Dad said. "You can be brave for your mom — who is very scared, Parker — and you can have a positive attitude and stay strong, or you don't have one. Your choice."

"What do you do, when you're scared?"

"When I'm scared?"

"Yeah, you've been shot. And you were a sniper. Those … are scary." His dad's bravery scared him sometimes. Parker didn't know too much, just some stories from his mom and once, when he was nine, his dad had sat him down and told him about snipers and what he had done, and about getting shot. He talked about how he would be safer now that he had a better job with the FBI even if sometimes he wasn't home as much. Dad had shown him the bullet scars. Parker had noticed others as well, though Dad didn't talk about those. He'd asked similar questions then, but didn't remember the answers. Mainly, Dad just made him feel safe.

"You just get through. Instinct. You just go with it, and keep your eyes on the prize. You remember why, why you're doing this, and who you're doing it for. You know," Dad said, shifting a little to put his arm around Parker, "when I get in a scary situation, I think of you. I know I have to get home to be with you."

"Really?"

"Of course, Park, and every time I see you after those I hug you just a little tighter." He squeezed his shoulder. "So now, I think, it's your time. You gotta be brave for your mom, OK? Can you do that for me?"

"How do I do that?" he asked.

Dad bit his lip. "You tell her that you love her. You hug her and tell her she's pretty even when her hair falls out, which it's gonna do. You be extra-nice to her and Brent, and considerate of them. And you talk to her. You talk to me, you talk to Bones. And we'll be brave for you by listening. You got that?"

He nodded, wiping at his eye. He wasn't crying, not really. "Okay, I got it," he said.

Dad just squeezed his shoulder, and they sat there for a while before finally going back in.