Hey! I know what you're thinking — this story's still around? Jo hasn't completely defected to Chuck? I should still care about this old thing? The answers are yes, no, and Jo certainly hopes so.
My apologies for the delay on this. I fully plan on continuing it, but it's a behemoth. And, between school/life/my new job, it's been a busy few months. I have the next several chapters plotted out, though, so hopefully the wait won't be too long. This chapter was also kind of ridiculously tough to write (more on that later). I have to confess, though, I have another reason it took so long: I started to seriously dislike the direction Bones the show is taking. It's hard to take inspiration from a show that doesn't seem to feature the same characters you once loved. I'm not sure I'll be watching next season. Then again, this went very seriously AU after season 4, so I'm trying to remember the good things and work from that.
Now, This Chapter. It's HUGE. With all caps. However, it's so huge, so pivotal, in the development of Brennan, in who she is as a wife and mother and person and pillar within her family, that she doesn't even realize it, so it's kind of downplayed from her point of view. Because she doesn't realize it. But make no mistake: This chapter is more important, story-speaking, character-speaking, than the Mother of All Fights Chapter. So please, let me know what you think — especially about the final conversation between Brennan and Rebecca (which isn't finished) but also about the conversations and interactions she has with Booth, Parker, and Dr. Towne.
I don't expect people to still care about this story, but I do hope that you do. PLEASE let me know what you think, and leave a note or comment. I really appreciate it, and I'm sorry, again, for seemingly abandoning this. There will be more! I thank y'all for all your patience.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bones, Stepmom, or the song "Runaway" by The National.
Although many often criticized her regarding her apparent lack of social grace and acknowledgement for decorum, Temperance Brennan was a master at observation, and loathed when Booth or Angela acted as if she was simply incapable of insight. She had lots of insight. One of her favorite games, when bored in a meeting, was to ascertain the probability that other meeting participants would develop osteoporosis, and she often would also count the numbers of bones, excluding phalanges, that they had broken over the course of their lifetime. She could catch minute line-item changes in bible-thick budgets and realized when colleagues erred just slightly from their typical habits. She knew how to gather information.
She just often diametrically disagreed with how others insisted that it be utilized. Time was finite, bad things happened, and she was busy. She was not about to prioritize superfluous things, and emotional responses typically qualified as superfluous things.
So she knew, immediately, that something had gone wrong when she came home. Logic and probability dictated that it involved Rebecca, whose continuing looming presence in her life she was beginning to resent, just a little bit. Booth's had neatly lined up his shoes by the door, and he was only that careful when he was thinking hard about something. Parker was presumably in his bedroom, and he only went upstairs before dinner when he didn't want to speak to Seeley. The TV wasn't on, and that simply never happened.
She'd had a long day. They were making plans for their next big exhibit, a human origins permanent exhibit, which she was quite excited about and had lots of thoughts on. There had been planning sessions all morning. She'd squeezed about two hours in the lab before work by waking up at four, which Booth had not been happy about. She'd had financial meetings all afternoon, and Sophia was fussy in daycare so she'd been forced to call in Shawna on her day off, and pay her in cash (Shawna was funny like that sometimes). She'd been up early for a publicity shoot for the book. Closing her eyes, she entered the kitchen. Although Booth appeared fine — he was stirring something, and Wish You Were Here was piping through the iHome — something seemed just slightly off.
"I'm home," she announced.
"Hey, Bones," he said, tapping the wooden spoon lightly against the pot to shake off the excess, and facing her and smiling. "How was your day?"
"Satisfactory, I suppose. Too many budget meetings and goal-setting exercises," she said. "Yours, though?" He sighed and shrugged, turning back to his sauce. "Booth, be honest, please, what happened with Rebecca?"
His eyes widened slightly, and she rolled hers in response. "Your shoes were lined up carefully, the television is off, Parker is upstairs before dinner, you're avoiding eye contact … clearly, something is wrong."
He sighed. "In her two seconds at home, she got pneumonia."
"She was home for many more than two seconds. She was home for a week and a half."
"That was exaggeration, Bones. The point is, she's got pneumonia, and Parker's upset, and she's in the hospital for a while, and they have to interrupt chemo for this, and she'll have to have surgery anyways, once her lungs heal up." He started dicing tomatoes with intense purpose.
She bit her lip. "The chemo didn't take?"
"No. In fact, no decrease in her lungs or liver."
"Coupled with the pneumonia, that's a poor sign," she noted, more to herself than him, but it was enough to make him angry anyways.
"Yeah, Bones, which is why Park's a little upset," he said, setting the knife flat onto the counter with just a little too much force.
She pursed her lips. "When's the surgery?"
"At least after Thanksgiving." The holiday was a week away; they had plans to eat with the Hodginses. Cam was coming down. She and Booth were cooking, as Angela was simply too close to delivery to manage a large meal. "They have to clear this crap up first. If they can."
She tilted her head. "I'm so sorry, Booth."
He ran a hand along his neck, cracking it in the process, and sighed. "Nothing that you can be sorry for, Bones. I just … I don't know what to tell Parker anymore. I don't know how to talk to Rebecca."
"I would think that … the truth is the only way to go," she said, setting down her bag. "It always is."
He shook his head. "The truth is too hard, the lies are too hard … There's nothing really left," he said, walking out of the kitchen. She looked on helplessly.
So the next morning, Friday, she did something quite unorthodox. Something she had sworn she wouldn't do, because she was not going to meddle. But she swallowed her fear of Rebecca's potentially negative reaction and her certain knowledge that she was interfering in a problem and a life that she had no claim to. She called a "friend of the museum" (she still didn't quite understand that term) who worked at NIH who put her in contact with someone else who passed her on to one Malcolm Towne, a noted ovarian oncology researcher. Although she lacked medical evidence, such as scans and blood tests, she was able to give a detailed and thorough report on Rebecca's condition.
"What are you asking, Dr. Brennan?" Dr. Towne finally asked gently, as she finished her description. "What precisely would you like me to do?"
She hesitated, unsure of her exact request. "Given your expertise, can you think of any more aggressive alternative to treatment? Or perhaps a more creative approach would be appropriate."
He sighed. "I've known Randy Harrison since we did our residencies together. Believe me, she's getting some of the best care in the D.C. area."
"Is there anyone else, though?" she pressed. She had to do something. Say something. "Given the rapidity with which the cancer spread, as well as its resistance to treatment and her apparently high susceptibility to infection … In your unbiased opinion, what avenue we could pursue? Undoubtedly her case presents medical challenges that many doctors would find intellectually gratifying."
He sighed. "It appears you are looking for some sort of Dr. House, Dr. Brennan." She wrinkled her brow. "You could try Dr. Simon Altman, who is doing some new radiation treatment trials, or Dr. Catherine Kowalski, who adds some promising homeopathic elements, but I'm afraid, in my unbiased opinion, that they're going to say the same thing."
"And what would that be?"
"That at this point, Dr. Brennan, your stepson's mother's fate may be out of science's hands."
She pursed her lips at his overt spirituality. "Thank you for the recommendations, Dr. Towne. However, from one scientist to another, I'm disheartened about your dismissal of modern medicine and reliance on constructed faith," she chided.
He laughed, not unkindly. "I'm just not in the business of peddling out false hope, Dr. Brennan. I understand what you want, I do. My mother died when I was 11 of ovarian cancer. But 31 years researching this disease and I still don't know the larger answers, or even the larger questions, really. Science will find both, one day. But right now, toward the end of someone's life, the science ceases to matter. And you're getting quite close to that point."
After they hung up, she sat back, momentarily stunned. She contemplated this possibility, of course. She was a realist; neither an optimist nor a pessimist. She had known, of course, that Rebecca faced steep odds. But the idea that she would actually die from this struck her as fundamentally novel. This had been a struggle, a conflict, something that had been disrupting all of their lives, causing Parker great pain and Booth great conflict. But she had to admit to herself that she had seen something Rebecca's illness as a somewhat temporary condition, a problem just waiting for a solution. She been lulled into having faith in something — although it was not religion, the belief that science would save Rebecca was a similar leap of logic. While she had been realistic about Rebecca's statistics verbally, a small part of her had, internally, considered Rebecca exceptional simply because she was an important person in Temperance's life and that the science would eventually prevail for that reason. That was not, she realized now, necessarily true. Using her thumb to lazily twirl the Claddagh ring on her pinky, she sat and contemplated that fact for several good minutes.
Booth texted her and asked her to pick up Parker from GWUMC that afternoon, where he was visiting Rebecca for his allotted two hours every-other day. She headed there armed with cards for the appointments she'd made and articles about the doctors. Rebecca was sitting up in bed when she came in, which was a more encouraging sign than they'd seen lately, and waved her in. When Parker ran down to get Rebecca a final magazine, she turned to Rebecca and awkwardly thrust the Note from the Desk of Dr. Temperance Brennan at Rebecca. "Here," she said. "I thought you might want to make these appointments. A very knowledgeable donor suggested these doctors. Dr. Towne is a preeminent researcher and his suggestions surely will be fruitful."
Rebecca took the paper skeptically. "Who are these people?"
"They're oncologists. Cancer specialists," Brennan offered.
Rebecca rolled her eyes. "Really? Wow, thank you."
"They're … slightly more radical specialists than the ones you have been seeing," Brennan clarified. "They're seeing results. They could help. I … took the liberty of calling them and setting up appointments via my professional connections. I'm told this is called pull."
Rebecca crumpled the paper agitatedly. "Temperance, you made appointments for me?" she demanded, staring hard. "What happened to staying out of it, like Seeley said you wanted to? I actually found that refreshing, you know." Tears sprang to Rebecca eyes, out of, Brennan deducted, sheer frustration.
"I know, but Booth has been requesting this for weeks, and I realized that I did have a way of helping out that did not feel like it was interfering." She wasn't about to tell Rebecca that she felt uncertain about the situation. She was not sure of their relationship dynamic, of who owed whom what, but confessionals and emotional honesty, she was sure, was not in the cards. Well. Angela told her it wasn't. "Besides, these doctors are very high-profile and probably couldn't fit you in unless someone was there to grease the wheels."
Rolling her eyes, Rebecca snapped, "I thought you of all people was the person who wouldn't do this to me. Honestly. It's not like I'm trying to have it go this poorly." Tears sprung to her eyes, and Brennan involuntarily took a step back, unsure of what specifically she had done wrong. It could be so many things, honestly.
"Yes. I know. That would be ridiculous. But Booth is always telling me that I'm not being actively supportive enough, given your significant medical problems, …" her voice trailed off. Perhaps that was a bad tactic, "and Parker is always so worried and upset … I wanted to do it for them," she finished lamely, as a clarifying clause. "I'm doing this for them. Not you," she added quickly.
Huffing, Rebecca said, "Thanks, Temperance. Really." It did not sound sincere.
"What's going on?" Parker asked, re-entering the room. "Is everything OK?"
"Of course. Just talking about you," Rebecca said, smiling inexplicably. "I'll see you tomorrow, ok, bub?" she hugged him tightly.
"Sounds good," he acquiesced. Brennan grabbed his backpack and coat and they headed out.
"How was school today?" she asked as they drove around the traffic circle.
"Fine," he sighed.
"Any homework?"
"No."
"Don't you have an upcoming math test?"
"It's on Wednesday, Bones, right before Thanksgiving break," he sighed. "I can't believe she scheduled a test for the day before Thanksgiving."
"It's an ordinary instructional day; the fact that the next day is a government holiday doesn't have any importance," Brennan rattled off automatically.
"Whatever, Bones," Parker muttered.
She glanced over at him, realizing just how out-of-sorts his mood was. "Is everything alright, Parker?" she questioned. "Beyond the usual things, of course."
"Of course, Bones," he said, finally turning from her and burrowing deep into the seat. "I don't need you logicking away everything, alright?"
"I'm not logicking anything away; in fact, that's not even a word."
"God, can't you just be quiet, once?" he said. "Please?"
Bewildered, she drove on. She understood that emotionally Parker was in turmoil and would exhibit unpredictable reactions, but she couldn't help but feel she had done something wrong. Somehow she had managed to greatly offend both Parker and Rebecca today; at this point, much as she disliked it, it was probably better to heed Booth's advice and not say anything else. She wasn't the people person, and these two in particular were his people.
Booth smiled grimly at her interaction with Parker when she recounted it, as they were getting ready for bed. "I don't understand why he's so angry now, all of the time," she said. "It's just irrational to snap at us."
"Bones, his mom's sick and the holidays are coming up. You know how it is."
She did, unfortunately. She knew the sick feel of dread that something very bad was happening to your domestic unit, and how the societal expectations surrounding holidays amplified that feeling. "Yes. I do," she finally said.
"Anyways, he always gets a little down around holidays — when he was little he always asked for his family from Santa — and this year, it's just worse," Booth sighed. "I want to give him something really awesome for Christmas, but whatever it is won't matter."
She pursed her lips. "You should be proud that material objects don't matter too much to him?" she suggested, though she knew it wouldn't help.
His shoulders sagged. "I'm thinking Sweets should take him out to ice cream. You know, his teacher called me again today? Apparently, besides being mouthy to us and punch-happy at hockey, he also hasn't been turning in his homework."
"You and Becca agreed to ground him for infractions like that."
"Not right now, Bones," he said. "He's responding to the situation. I just don't know what to do with him."
"Perhaps, instead of having him spend Thanksgiving lunch with his mother and Thanksgiving dinner with us, we should all have a meal together?" she tried. "We could bring the food to the hospital."
He looked at her curiously. "Are you sure?"
"You said the stress of having a fractured family is only compounding the stress of having an extremely ill mother. One practical solution is to bring that family together during the holidays," she reasoned. "Angela and Cam will understand."
His face broke out into an all-out Seeley Booth grin, something that was unexpected but certainly a refreshing sight to see. Kissing her lightly, he said, "I'll check with Brent, ok? We'll see if we can make this work. Thank you."
"Booth, I hope you know by this point that — that I love Parker very much. That … I love you, very much. It's a minor thing, really, and if this will help him, of course we'll do it." It was not like she put a great emphasis on holidays, though she certainly understood them more since marrying Booth.
"Still, though, Bones, that was amazing. Thank you." He kissed her again, and she pressed herself into him wantonly, hoping that sex would clear her feelings, or at the very least make her forget about how inexplicably, out-of-proportion his happiness at this was. She could have sworn they'd already settled this argument, about whether he could depend upon her for support. He responded eagerly, and she quickly rolled him under her, taking comfort in his usual cocky I'm-about-to-get-laid grin.
Her feelings of confused inadequacy lingered, though. She and Sophia were already scheduled to meet Angela and Talia for shopping, and she decided impulsively to invite them to brunch at Urbana beforehand. Angela's outlook always made her feel better about herself.
Angela, somehow, knew that something was off immediately. "OK, Brennan, spill. I'm two weeks away from popping out twins and I have no patience right now. Just talk," she said as soon as they'd ordered.
Shocked, Brennan's mouth gaped for a few seconds, and she focused feeding Sophia orange juice. Finally, she said, "Booth is checking, but I believe we're going to be celebrating Thanksgiving at the hospital with Rebecca's family. I'm very sorry to be switching plans on you."
"Don't be, Bren. Jack and I can cope. This way is probably better for Parker."
Brennan nodded vigorously. "That was my thought."
"Great. So what's really bothering you?" Angela smiled.
"I will never understand how you do that," Brennan said, after recovering. Honestly. It was such a skill.
Angela just rolled her eyes and said, "Rebecca, Parker, or Booth?"
"Rebecca, I think," she mumbled. "But they're all so confusing."
"What do you mean?"
"It's just … No matter what I do, one of them is angry with me. Or they're all angry with me, for no logical reason. Or I do something that respects one of theirs' wishes but makes someone else angry with me."
"Bren, they're not angry at you. They're angry at the situation."
"I understand that, but that doesn't help me," she seethed.
"What's the latest crisis?" Angela scooped some jam onto bread.
She sighed. "While I sympathize with Rebecca and … can't imagine what she's going through now, I've been keeping my distance, for many reasons. This has upset Booth and, while Parker hasn't expressed displeasure with me, Booth says it's upset Parker as well. And Rebecca has extended invitations to me, via Booth, to attend various appointments, et cetera. But when I heard about the latest report, I … called a friend of the museum. A doctor at NIH. I got the names of several researchers in the area, called them, made appointments. When I go to tell Rebecca, she's … angry with me. She started … crying."
Angela was contemplative. "Does Rebecca know why you stayed out earlier?"
Brennan shrugged. "I don't know. I try and stay out of her life."
"Which Rebecca knows," Angela replied. "She's probably just scared of the same things you are — that she's getting closer to dying. And you volunteering to set her up with some of your contacts and rearranging Thanksgiving probably just reminds her of that."
"So I shouldn't have done that?"
"No, you absolutely should have done that," Angela insisted. "You're in this, Brennan. You're in a family. It means opening yourself up to get hurt by someone, in order to help her. It means there will be tears sometimes. But you do this stuff because you've got a bond, and that bond is love — love for Booth, for Parker, even for Rebecca."
"I don't love Rebecca," she answered automatically.
"You do. You love her for how she gave Booth Parker."
She contemplated the possibility that Angela was right.
That night, Booth informed her that the hospital had okayed them doing Thanksgiving there and, provided everything complied with Rebecca's nutritional restrictions, they could bring a feast with them. She dashed off a quick email to Rebecca's nutritionist and Googled bland, but tasty, Thanksgiving recipes. Parker, for his part, was visibly relieved to get to spend all day with all four parents, his sister, and his aunts. He spent the evenings that week making large, colorful Thanksgiving decorations and "test-posting" them all over the living room.
Still, when the morning arrived, Parker was suddenly, again, in an awful mood. "I'm not going," he announced over breakfast. "You can go without me. I'll make myself macaroni and cheese."
"Parker, don't be ridiculous, go get dressed," Booth said, tiredly. "You're going. Bones arranged all of this so everyone would be together. We're not going to the Hodginses' just so we could all spend this together."
"I feel really sorry for you, Daddy," Parker said crossly, and it struck Bones out anachronistic the term 'Daddy' was right now, how absolutely trapped Parker was, in so many ways. "But I don't want to. So sorry." He stomped off.
"Parker Michael Stinson Booth, get back her now, apologize to Bones, and sit down, or you will be grounded," Booth yelled, something inside him snapping. "You have been getting away with murder this month, and you need to know that will not be tolerated. NOW!"
Sullenly, Parker came back, arms crossed. Heavily sighing as he sat down, he kicked a leg of the chair. "Happy now?" he snarked.
"Sit. Up. Straight." Booth said, his voice deadly. She hadn't heard that tone since their last interrogation together. Parker obeyed. "Apologize to Bones. That was disrespectful."
"Sorry, Bones," he huffed, not making eye contact.
"It's OK, Park," she said, smiling slightly.
But an hour later, when Booth called for Parker to come down so they could all leave, the pre-teen screeched, "I'm not coming, and you can't make me!"
"Parker, that's it, you're grounded!" Booth yelled. "You are disrespecting your mother, your stepmother, and me!"
"I don't care!" he yelled back.
"Can I try talking to him?" she asked.
Booth made a big gesture of stepping aside so she could go upstairs. "Be my freaking guest."
"Language, Booth," she reminded him, as she ascended the stairs. She could feel him roll his eyes.
"Parker?" she knocked on his door before opening it. "Hey. Can you tell me what's wrong?"
Parker was lying on his bed, staring out the window. "I was all excited an' everythin' for Thanksgiving," he admitted. "Because I never get to have one Thanksgiving, you know?"
"Yes, I do know."
"An' then I realized … I might get just one Thanksgiving next year, too, but it's because Mom's died." He stared out the window, his eyes empty.
"Parker …" she said, helplessly sitting beside him. "That might be, yes. But we can't let hypotheticals in the future dictate our current moods."
"It's not a h'pothetical," he mumbled.
"Well, it's a little more than that," she admitted. "But, Parker —"
"Just stop, Bones, please," he begged.
"No," she said resolutely, moving so she could look straight at him, whether or not he liked that. She remembered something that Angela had told her, long ago. "At the first Thanksgiving —"
"The one that you said was basically invented to cover up the white people murdering hundreds of Native Americans?" Parker asked, his eyebrow raised.
"Well, yes, there was that," she said, remembering her slightly-wine-fueled argument with Booth at last year's Thanksgiving.
"Well, yes, but the myth was invented with a purpose that transcends its factual meaning, within our culture," she said. "It's important — when studying cultures, it's important to remember why these myths were invented. What purpose they served. We have to ask, what comfort do they give members of that tribe?"
"It basically lets white Americans feel safe in the knowledge that their murdering an entire population?" he asked, smirking a little.
"Parker, I'm very sorry for that little soliloquy last year, please let it go," she said, smacking his shoulder lightly.
He laughed a little, burrowed into his pillow. "Just teasing, Bones."
"I know," she smiled. "Anyways, when one examines the myth, one realizes that the myth is really about overcoming hardship. About coming together, about being a family of human beings, despite the terrible things that are happening in their lives. It's remembering why they care for one another. Anthropologically, remembering why we care for one another is extremely important, as it is this kind of selflessness that separates higher primates from lower primates and other mammals. We … have to care for each other, or we die. That's what the Thanksgiving myth highlights."
"I don't care right now," he said defiantly, face back in the pillow.
"Parker," she said firmly. "This is about family. Which is the most important thing in the world, to you, to your father, to me, to your mother, right now. And I know it hurts. I spent … years … running away from family, because family hurts. Because family — is about doing things that might hurt you a little, because it helps someone that you love. And … we've asked you to do a lot, for people that you love, recently. But this … this one is really important to your father, Parker. It's really important to your mother. And, because we are family, because we love family, we do these things. We're all hurting, Parker, every day, right now. But we keep doing these things because … well, because we know they're right. We know we're all hurting. We know we're all doing this because we love each other. You know that, right?"
He sniffled, a little. "Yeah."
"OK. Let's go." She wasn't sure if that would work, but Parker stood, wiped his eyes, and followed her slowly.
Twenty minutes later, Brennan steadfastly carried several platters of food into a conference room on the chemo floor of the hospital. It was sparse, but those things didn't matter to Brennan or, she suspected, to Rebecca. There was a flat-screen TV at the front of the room, and Booth and Brent began toggling between the game and the Macy's parade almost immediately. Parker hung up his decorations. Rebecca, too weak to walk, was wheeled in, her sisters following and worrying over her every move. Rebecca's nameless brothers-in-law and nieces and nephews milled hesitantly on the other end of the conference table. Booth and Brent were mostly getting along, which was nice. Parker spent most of his time with one or both of his parents, who were making an extra effort to be cheery.
To her surprise, she was able to have a generally pleasant conversation with Lisa about Disney movies. She had initially felt trepidation about meeting Sarah and Lisa, as Parker and Booth both seemed to loathe them, but she was surprisingly insightful about the long-term impact of Disney movies on the American child. As soon as she mentioned that revelation to Lisa, however, Lisa simply puckered her sallow lips and moved on. Brennan focused on playing with Sophia.
For Rebecca's sake dinner was served very early, around noon. The only place to sit was around the faux-wood conference table, and they took their places gingerly, the awkwardness back.
Brent stood to make the first toast. "Um, well, thank you, everyone, for coming. I know this isn't the ideal place to spend a Thanksgiving, but I — we, Rebecca and I — really appreciate everyone being so accommodating. And thank you, Temperance, for making most of this feast, and Sarah and Lisa of course for helping. It looks really delicious. Anyways, I'd like to just say that I'm thankful that you're all here. It's been a tough year, and it's times like this you realize just how important family is. We … couldn't do this without you. So — to family, and to next year celebrating at home." Everyone raised a glass, and Brent seemed to struggle to hold back tears. Rebecca leaned over and hugged him with one arm.
Brennan motioned to Booth to speak, but he shook his head. "Bones, you planned this all — cooked it all. You should say something."
She tried not to stare at him too obviously, but was not happy with this suggestion. Finally, she stood, thrusting her glass into the air. It dangled there for a few moments before she found her voice. Starting slowly, thickly, she remembered her talk with Parker, and finally said, "Although it is blatantly historically inaccurate and is often used to cover up many egregious human-rights violations, the Pilgrim-Native American myth upon which this holiday is predicated talks of putting aside differences and coming together to bond over our shared humanity. Today we're focusing on similar themes. In that myth, the Pilgrims and the Native Americans had just had a very difficult year. They didn't know what the future held — for all they knew, it could be even worse. They gathered and ate with the belief, perhaps completely unfounded, that the next year would be better. It is not unlike what we're experiencing today. Rebecca's illness is why we are here. It's been a hard year for all of us as we cope and help and try to help. But for today, even though it is irrational, let's set aside differences and expectations and hope that whatever we believe it — whether that is science or faith or in other people — will fix this, so that next year we can all celebrate in much more aesthetically pleasing homes. So, to family, the future, celebrating survival, and remembering that unexpected things happen." They raised their glasses in toast. Booth squeezed her hand tightly and kissed her cheek.
The chatter picked up at dinner then, and even after Rebecca retired with Parker and Brent to her room, conversation was able to continue as the nephews and men rearranged chairs around the flat-screen. As she was talking with one of Sarah's children about her interest in science, Booth came up behind her, wrapping his palms flat against her waist and murmuring, "Why didn't you tell me?" into her ear.
Twisting in his embrace so she could face him, she replied, "Tell you what?" Her mind whirred through the possibilities of important things she should have told Booth, particularly anything that would have offended him if he were excluded.
"What you did for Rebecca? Calling those oncologists?"
"Oh," she said. "I mean, I … I just made some calls."
"Yeah, but Bones," his eyes searched her face, before he finally said, "Thank you."
"It wasn't a big deal," she said. "I just … You were so upset. And Parker was so upset. It … became too much to watch."
He kissed her lightly, but she deepened it immediately, and they stood there, kissing deeply but without fervid intensity, until Parker cleared his throat. "Um," he said, "Mom wants to talk to you, Bones."
"Oh. Of course," Brennan said, straightening her shirt. As she walked off, she heard Booth kneel down next to Parker and ask, "Is everything alright?"
Rebecca's room was empty and dark, save for a bluish-green blur of a football game on TV. Rebecca's eyes were closed, and Brennan was about to leave when she stirred and said, "I'm awake. It's alright."
"If you need rest, you should do so," Brennan volunteered, still standing in the doorway. "Rest is an important component of recovery."
"No, no, please come in," Rebecca sat up, adjusted her scarf. She'd recently lost all her hair, and it brought a sense of finality to her illness. "So is this."
"Is everything alright?" Brennan sat down gingerly in the plastic armchair.
"Yes. Well … as alright as they can be."
"I … feel as if I owe you an apology, though I'm not quite sure why," Brennan said, stumbling over the words. "For giving you those names. As I'm sure you've picked up on, I try and stay as far away from your life as possible. Out of respect. We have no role in each other's lives, really. And making those phone calls was … very impetuous of me. Therefore, I owe you an apology." She didn't care what Angela thought, it was wrong.
"I owe you one as well, then," Rebecca said. "You were trying to help, and I get that, and I yelled at you. Parker is important to you. It kills me … to see him so upset. And you're practically raising him right now," her voice was laced with only a trace of acrimony. "So you have to see him, this upset, every day. And that … I know that is hard."
"He's your son, Rebecca," Brennan said, unsure of where the conversation was headed.
"Right. And if I can't be there to comfort him and try and make this … to make anything, better for him, I want you to be the one that does that," she looked straight at Brennan. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"Of course …. I … no. Not exactly," she admitted.
Rebecca swallowed and looked away. "I'm dying. Maybe that will reverse at some point, but as of now, I'm dying. I'm having surgery again, next week. And after that, there's more chemo. But … nothing's taking. The treatments aren't working. Doctors are saying weeks, months. The doctors you called … they said the exact same thing. We're adding elements from their regimens, but they're cautious. They don't think I'm going to live. I pushed them yesterday. Dr. Nixon said three months."
She stared at Rebecca. "Nobody can predict the future," she said, surprising even herself with her reckless, insistent optimism.
"No, but they can predict the odds," Rebecca said. "And they're not good." She shifted. "Did you ever see the movie Stepmom?" Brennan shook her head. "Good," Rebecca said. "It's an awful movie, really. I don't want … I don't want to give a speech. But … I need to know that if … when, really … something happens to me … that Parker will still have a mother."
Stunned, Brennan stepped back. "Rebecca …" she started.
"No. Nothing about the future. No. I'm just … I'm not scared … or mad … anymore. I'm really not. Not for me. Mostly, I'm just tired. But Parker … I'm scared for him. I'm mad I don't get to see him grow up. I have … so many things to say, so many things I haven't taught him," Rebecca looked at the ceiling, attempting to blink back tears. "But right now, getting things in order is more important. Because every day, he changes. Some days it's a little, some days it's a lot. But he grows, every single day, and I'm scared for him, that … he'll change in bad ways, if I'm not there. And Seeley … Seeley tries, so hard, with him, and he's a great father for him, really … But all Parker wants to do is to grow up and be exactly like Seeley. And that's not good for Parker."
She flinched. "Booth's a good man. A good father."
"No, no, he is. But trying to be exactly like him will just crush Parker, because he can't be exactly his father, you see? And everything that made Seeley Seeley … Parker shouldn't have to go through that. He needs to be protected. He needs someone to be his mother."
"Rebecca … I can't … I'm not … I'm not you. And I can't just replace you, replicate that bond. You two have … years together. You know his history in ways that I cannot. You know everything about him, things he doesn't even know. I've … observed him, for years, but even the best anthropologists can't become members of their own subject groups. That's not how it works."
"I know. And I still don't want anyone else to be his mother. But that … How I feel doesn't matter. The one thing, the only thing that really matters, is making sure that someone is around to remind him to buy a corsage for his date to prom. And to tuck in his shirt, do his laundry. To remind him to eat vegetables and to sleep and to laugh. To ask the love of his life to marry him, instead of just assuming she'll go along with it. He'll try and do that. To give him hugs even when he says he's too old for that mushy stuff. To kiss whatever the grown-up version of scraped knees is."
"I'm not sure how good I'll be at those things," she admitted.
"You could be better than you think," Rebecca insisted lightly. "You've been much better at being a mother, a stepmother, than you've given yourself credit for. Than I've given you credit for." She stared straight at her. "I've never really seen what Seeley sees in you, until lately. But you care deeply, even when you have trouble showing it, and you work hard. It's not the way I would do things but right now… Right now it's enough. More than enough, really."
"I … don't want to be Parker's mother, you know. I barely wanted to be a mother, until very recently."
"I know. Seeley and I talk; Parker and I talk. I never wanted anyone else to be Parker's mother, either," she sighed. "But right now, you're here. And I need to know — you have a baby. You'll probably have more kids, according to Parker. You and Seeley have this whole, perfect family. I need to know that Parker won't just be a stepchild. I need you to be his mother."
Brennan was quiet. There was so much she wanted to say, so many points she wanted to refute, so many treatments she wanted to push onto Rebecca, to keep her alive, to keep Parker happy. She had a million case studies at the tip of her tongue, a million cultural examples of the importance of mothers. But it wasn't the time. "I … can't replace you. At all. But I will always love and protect Parker, Rebecca, no matter what happens to you, to me, to Seeley. You have my word."
Rebecca didn't say anything, just slumped backwards, as if all her energy had been suddenly depleted. Brennan had a suspicion that the conversation had not gone the way Rebecca had wanted it to, and she wondered, again, what she could have done differently.
She didn't have much time to speculate. "Bones! Hey, Bones!" Parker skidded into the room on the back of his loafers. "Dad — Angela's in the hospital! She's having the babies! You gotta come. Dad says I get to watch Jack and Talia!"
"Oh. Yes, of course," Brennan rose. "Rebecca — do you need anything? I'm very sorry."
"No, no, I'm done. You should go," Rebecca shifted. "And Temperance — thank you."
Brennan paused as Parker tugged her hand. "You're welcome. I'll — If necessary, I'll do my best." She took off quickly, after Parker, trying hard not to look back at Rebecca.