Woohoo, look, another update! Sorry for the delay on this, but real life (post-college) is kind of insanely busy. I'm still working on this, and it will, eventually, one day, get finished (I should note: This is not going to end with Rebecca's death. We know she dies in January, and I've said all along this follows an entire year.). This chapter feels a little like filler to me, but it needed to be written. It's an important bridge. Let me know what you think about it, and how Parker's doing.

Disclaimer: I don't own Bones, or the song "Swim Until You Can't See Land." It's by Frightened Rabbit and you should listen to it.

Whenever Parker had a bad day at hockey, his coaches would just yell, "Bad day, bad day, brush it off, brush it off."

But what was he supposed to do when it had been one big bad month, going on two, now? He pondered that question as he looped around the rink, skating backwards, doing some trick footwork just cause every so often. He was so good at skating backwards, you didn't even know. But this sucky day thing was just getting old.

"Good form, good form," Dad called, from where he stood in the middle of the ice. "When did you go pro on me, Parks?"

Parker rolled his eyes and grinned. "Right after they suspended me. It wasn't for fighting. It was for being too good." He'd been suspended right before Thanksgiving, for fighting in a game. It had been weird — he'd been playing, playing, playing real good, then some guy from the other team got all up in his face, and he just punched him to get him to shut up. He barely remembered doing it. Brent and Aunt Lisa had been there, and they almost got to him quicker than the coaches, they were so mad.

"Smartass," his dad called back. "You're lucky you're out here. Your mom wanted you benched an extra month." The coaches had been pretty cool; at least, they hadn't kicked him of the team, which they totally were allowed to. He was benched for five games though.

He had been kind of surprised when Dad had pulled him out to go on the ice today. Dad had been madder than anyone else. He hadn't been at the game because of work but he'd gotten really in his face and yelled and then sent him to his room. Dad kind of had a temper too, so he couldn't really talk, but he could yell, since he was the dad.

So Parker had known better than to argue when Dad suggested the visit.

"You kiss Bones with that mouth, Daddy?" he sassed back, twisting a phrase all of his parents always used on him. He wasn't sure what it meant, but Dad's bugged-out face when he said it was priceless.

"Alright, now, when did you start acting 16?" Dad said, and it was funny because Dad looked honestly confused.

He laughed. "Sorry, Dad."

"Don't grow up too fast on me, OK? It's bad enough you're going to seventh grade in the fall, you hear?"

He giggled. "Yes, sir."

Dad grinned and gave him a noogie. "OK, let's get these skates off. We need to get to Angela's and Hodgins's."

Angela had had the twins, which they named Ava Charlotte and Audrey Claire (not their original names, according to Bones, but then again Talia was going to be named Azura before she was born), just three days before, on Thanksgiving. It had been awesome — Dad and him had taken care of Sophie and Joe and Talia as Bones and Hodgins dealt with Angela. He'd gotten to touch a one-hour-old baby. It was kind of cool, because their skin was basically see-through. But since they came pretty early, Angela hadn't had her baby shower, and she was throwing it as planned now — just with the teensy little babies.

Not that he thought babies were cool. They were kind of gross and loud. But a party at Angela's and Hodgins's meant really kickass food. Still — "Are there going to be other kids there? Not babies," he clarified.

Dad laughed. "Not sure, bub. Angela didn't say. I'll have your PSP in the car, OK? We don't have to stay the whole time, but Bones definitely does. I told your mom we'd swing by around four to see her too."

"Do we have to?" he asked, scowling, before he could help it. It wasn't that he didn't love Mom. Because he did. He just was sick of the hospital and didn't like to see her there. He knew what it meant and how sick she really was — he didn't need to be as smart as Bones to know, her weight loss and hair loss told him enough — and he just didn't want to be there. But Dad kept making him go and it kept messing with him. He didn't know what to think or say anymore, and not thinking and not saying anything made his head hurt, and thinking about what to say made his head hurt, so he tried not to do either anymore. That didn't really hurt, but it didn't feel good, either. Mostly, he just felt shitty and obligated to act happy, even though he never felt happy.

"Parks," Dad said, with a warning in his voice. "Your mom is having surgery in two days. You need to see her beforehand."

"Sorry," he mumbled, yanking a skate off his foot. "I just hate the hospital."

"I know. So do I. So does your mom."

Angela and Hodgins had the most awesome house, up on California. It wasn't that the place was huge — even though it was — but they put the craziest stuff in it. Some of it was art, that was Angela's. She had crazy stuff he knew Mom and Bones weren't thrilled with him seeing, though he didn't understand what exactly they were. But some of it was crazy inventions and science stuff and some crazy bugs, and those were Hodgins's. And they were awesome. For instance, the doorbell was a scarab beetle that danced when you rang it, and ringing the doorbells set off a dancing light pattern in their crazy-colored chandelier in the main hall. There were lots of random things like that around the house.

After he rang the bug doorbell, a slightly-crazy-eyed Hodgins answered the door, Joe on his back, Talia sitting on his leg. "Excellent, excellent, come in, come in," he said. "Uh… so throwing a baby shower with three-day-olds … Maaaaaaybe not the best idea we've ever had. So we cancelled the big shindig, Angie thinks she'll throw it around Christmas instead. But we wanted to have you guys over, and Cam and Malcolm and Michelle were already in town too, so, uh … we're having a christening. In about half an hour. Daisy and Sweets are coming. Angie's dad too."

"You should be in a church for a baptism," Dad said, stepping inside and taking off his coat.

"Yeah," Parker echoed. It was true. He remembered Sophie's christening. They were in a church then. "They're too little too."

"Well they can be baptized at any age," Dad corrected him. "Some cuckoo Baptist types don't baptize their kids till they're way older. Like your age."

"That's done so the youth can make their own decision to join their religious faction, Booth, don't judge," Bones said, walking in behind a toddling Sophie.

"You just called them factions!" Dad retorted, and Parker rolled his eyes. Bones and Dad just liked to fight, he was convinced.

"If I were discussing, for instance, an island group that worshipped reincarnated beings, such as zombies, the term 'cult' would be anthropologically as well as colloquially correct, and even forgiving. Faction is a less socially-loaded term than cult; therefore, I am, again, confused by your outrage at my word choice," Bones said. He could tell she used the word zombie to intentionally poke Dad. Dad didn't take the bait, probably to the relief of everyone in the room.

"Anyways," Hodgins said, leading them into the second family room. "I know a guy, this Episcopalian priest, he did everything when I was growing up, I called him, he can do it here. We thought a small thing at home would be best." Parker looked up to see Dad rolling his eyes. He knew that Dad didn't like it when anyone — including them and the Hodginses — got special things done for them because they had money. He knew that Dad and Bones had money, but that the Hodginses had money.

"You can't wait until the Feast of the Baptism of our Lord, or something?" Dad asked, annoyed, as they entered the kitchen. "Also, part of the point of the sacrament of baptism is to welcome them into a family of Christians."

"What, just because I'm half Jewish suddenly we're not a family?" Angela raised an eyebrow.

"A church family, Ange."

"If this priest friend of Jack's hadn't agreed to do it I would have gotten my Universal Life-Buddhist monk friend to do it," Angela said. Parker believed her. "It's about celebrating the miracle that they were born, not relegating them to one deity and religion for their entire lives."

"It's a sacrament," Dad started, but Bones cut in with, "Booth, stop. You're being rude."

"Anyways, it's just a small thing — we're just thankful we got through such an early delivery and we're celebrating that," Angela said. At that, Dad was finally silent. "Sweets and Daisy have already been asked to be one of the sets of godparents," Angela continued. "And, Parker, we'd like you and Michelle to be the other set."

"He isn't confirmed —" Dad started, but Bones silenced him with a Look.

Parker shrugged. "Do I have to do anything?" he worried. "Like, help them find Jesus or something?"

"You just have to promise to help them out, if they ever have any problems," Angela said. "You look out for them. Make sure they know they're loved."

He shrugged again. It kind of felt like it should be more than just that — he would do that for any of the Hodgins kids, even Joe and Talia and whatever twin he didn't get — but then he realized that Uncle Jared and Aunt Lisa hardly did either of those things for him. He could be a way better godfather than either of them, even if he was only in sixth grade. "Sure. Which twin do I get?"

Angela grinned. "Audrey's kind of our tomboy already, so we figured you'd like to be hers? Ava's a little quiet. But really happy."

He nodded. "OK, that sounds fine."

Angela clapped and hugged him, squealing a little. "Awesome! Ok, wow, so excited. But now your dad needs to take you home to get a suit on. Non-negotiable, Parks."

So he and Dad ran home. By the time they got back, Daisy, Sweets, Cam, Malcolm, and Michelle (and he had to admit, he was kind of excited to have to spend all afternoon standing next to Michelle, who was, as always, looking fine. Today she had a pretty pink-and-orange print dress on.) were already there and dressed up, and the priest was there in his funny collar too. The priest was pretty nice, if old.

Then he and Michelle and Sweets and Daisy had a meeting with the priest about the rules and what they needed to say and everything. They ran through it pretty quickly. It was a lot of I Will, with God's helps, mostly, and some Lord, here our prayers and stuff. He wasn't really paying attention, honestly. The priest friend was kind of old, and he whistled a little, on accident, when he talked, and he wore a suit, not the priest collars that Parker was used to, but he seemed pretty nice. Daisy was crazy-excited, and kept clapping and hugging people and shaking them back and forth. Daisy always kind of scared him. He didn't get why everything made her so happy. It made her seem like not a real person.

Then it came time for the actual ceremony and Michelle turned to him and asked, "Do you want to hold her?"

He shrugged. "Sure." He was used to babies by this point, after all, with Sophie and everything.

She gingerly transferred Audrey into his arms, and the baby settled down quietly. Michelle smirked. "You're good with her."

"I have a gift," he smiled, like Dad. Mom had told him this was what flirting was. "I'm really good with kids. Dogs too."

Michelle doubled over, literally, her hands on her hips and her nose practically at her knees. "God, you are too much," she finally said, standing and catching her breath. "Natural born charmer. You are so Booth's kid."

His smile faded a little. After all, Mom said that all the time. "I also help old ladies cross the street?" he offered. She just laughed harder.

Everyone else came out then, Dad and Bones all dressed up and Angela and Talia and Hodgins and Joe too, and Angie's crazy bearded father. Mr. Montenegro (or whatever his name was) at least had a clean shirt. Parks held Audrey carefully, slightly awed by the fact that something this little and light would one day bloom into an entire person. He remembered feeling the same way with Sophie. The priest had a very large silver engraved tub, and when he filled it with water, the water sparkled like diamonds.

"Ohhhh, I'm so excited," Angela trilled. "Parks, are you excited?" She put his arms around his shoulders and kind of made him sway back and forth. He liked it.

He grinned. "Yeah."

Angela grinned bigger. "Excellent. Let's just get everything ready."

And suddenly there was music and the lights dimmed, and Angela quickly lit a bunch of candles. They were in a very formal room, and it looked like a church. It felt very hushed, almost spooky. He stood up a little straighter.

It didn't quite feel like a church, but it felt a lot like one. It made him appreciate everything a little more, kind of. And it made him think. There was heavy, sad, churchy music coming from somewhere too, which made him think more.

Parker said the same words that he had said only a few minutes before — that he would help Audrey, show her God, teach her things she needed to know, protect her. Keep her safe. He promised, to God, that he would do all these things. Tears sprung to his eyes.

He stared at the babies harder. They were so little, their skin like paper. They had so much in front of them. And nobody knew what exactly what was there, what was in front of them. They could live for one hundred years, they could live for one hundred days. Who knew what would happen to them? They could get cancer when they were thirty-six. They could beat the cancer, or they could not. No matter what happened, it didn't matter if he protected them or not. It was in God's hands. And he couldn't control that. At all. In the end, these words that he and Michelle and Sweets and Daisy were saying, they were all just words. Just words. They didn't matter. It made him dizzy.

He started to sob harder, clutching at the baby, trying not to be too loud. Michelle grabbed Audrey quickly, just to protect her, just like she'd just promised to, and then looked at him concernedly. Dad grabbed him by the shoulders, waved everyone else off, and pushed him into the kitchen.

"Hey, hey, bub," Dad said, hugging him as he cried harder. "Here, here. It's'k. Drink some water. Here." Dad handed him a glass.

He swallowed and brushed off his eyes. "Did I ruin everything? Do I still get to be Audrey's godfather?" He hadn't thought of that. What if that was a requirement or something? That he took the vows and got through them without screwing up?

"Of course, bub," Dad said, still looking at him. "Now, you going to tell me what's up?"

"Nothin'," he shrugged. Then, he admitted, "I'm not … I don't know."

"Well, why'd you start crying? Is this about your mom, bub?" Dad rubbed his back. Bones appeared in the doorway, slipping in silently.

"No. Not everything is about Mom," he rolled his eyes. "It's just … It doesn't matter if I say I'm going to protect Audrey, does it?" he asked. "She could still get hit by a bus or struck by lightning."

"Or get cancer," Dad supplied.

He paused. "Yeah. Or get cancer." He could feel Dad and Bones exchanging a Look over his head.

"Bub, that's … kind of part of it. You can't protect her from everything. You're not going to be there for everything. But it's a promise just to help, when you can. To be there. The way you're there for Sophie. That's all."

"But I can't protect her," he huffed.

"Bub …" Dad said, his voice so funny and thick Parker almost didn't recognize it. "I can't protect you from everything. Hard as … hard as I try, I can't. And I'm sorry. Sometimes … Sometimes that makes me feel like I'm screwing up too. But all I can do is try. And I try so, so hard. And that's all they're asking you to, in a little way."

"They're not. They're not. I'm saying I will, not I try," he insisted.

Dad and Bones exchanged a look. Angela poked her head in, worried. "What if we changed it to 'I'll try,' not 'I will'?" Dad asked. "Would that make it better.

He sighed. That wasn't the point, really. His stomach was still in knots. But he didn't know how to explain it to Dad, and he didn't want to keep holding everything up. It was embarrassing, crying in front of Michelle like this. "Yeah, I guess," he breathed hard through his nose. "Yeah, that's good."

All the adults exchanged a look, and then nodded. Dad squeezed his shoulder and clapped him on the back. Bones and Angela slipped out again, he drank some more water, he and Dad walked back out.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm ready now."

Everyone tiptoed around him for a little, but he was funny and jokey and he managed to convince everyone that he was OK again, and he mostly was. And mostly had to be good enough these days, he decided.

He kind of expected Dad to let him skip visiting Mom, but no such luck. She was kind of sleeping when he came in, but she woke up pretty quickly and sat up. "Why are you in a suit?" she laughed. "You look very handsome."

"Angela and Jack had a bap'ism for the twins," he said. "Me'n'Michelle are Audrey's godparents."

"You're her godfather?" Mom asked, astonished.

"Well," he said, "Dad doesn't think it's a real baptism. B'cause it was in their house, and I'm not sure he was a real priest. Or he was but it wasn't normal. Or something." That part still confused him. "Basically I just promised to act like Audrey's my little sister too. Like Sophie."

"That's a big responsibility, Parks," she noted.

"Yeah. Angela thinks I can do it, though."

"How was the baptism?"

He shrugged. "Fine." He had trouble telling Mom things these days. Part of it was that Mom was embarrassing about certain things, like girls and school, and part of it was he just didn't like to tell her things anymore. Telling her things meant talking to her meant being in that hospital, where she wasn't fine. Basically, she just needed to leave the hospital so everything could go back to normal. "Are you ready for your surgery?"

"Ready as I'll ever be. The doctors are running some more tests tomorrow and we'll be all set for Tuesday."

"What kind of things?" Although he hated being I n the hospital and seeing her in the hospital, he genuinely thought the medical things were interesting. It was really cool, actually. The doctors had given him diagrams, like what they used when planning the surgery, so he could follow along, and he liked hearing about how the treatments could make her better. They felt like magic, some days. It made him forget about the awfulness of the hospital. The X-rays, the diagrams, were clear, easy. They were solutions. They showed a way out of this mess. That was why he liked them so much. Plus, while he didn't like (at all) what was happening to her, he'd much rather know what was happening than just be sitting outside worrying. "I have my maps."

"You wanna take a look at them?" Mom asked. "We can go over it."

So they went over the met-level tests she'd be given tomorrow, and they used the big book the nurses had left on cancer pathology to look up the terms. Mom didn't like knowing them the way he did, but she went over them with him anyways. She knew a lot now. He only had to explain a little. They lay on her bed, as if floating or stargazing, and he used his pointer finger to talk about what they saw on the X-rays or diagrams. "So once they cut all this out, down and around and a loop here, you'll basically be better," he promised her as he pointed to her lungs on the film.

"We hope I will, Parks," she reminded him.

He pretended he didn't hear her. "And then you'll be going home."

She sighed. "I sure hope so, Parks."

They sat like that for a while — he wasn't sure why, but he liked the quiet. He always had, like Dad and Mom and Bones. Even Brent. They weren't people who liked to talk much.

Dad picked him up pretty late, and they went home. He didn't get to see Mom on Monday because her surgery was the next day and she needed to rest, but they talked on the phone Monday night. They didn't talk about anything important — Mom's voice was easy; she didn't seem worried, so they didn't really talk about it. He'd gone into Bones's office for a little privacy (anywhere else and he knew Dad would listen in) and so Bones, unshockingly, found him there after they'd hung up and he was still sitting there thinking hard.

"Oh," she said, and she looked a little startled. "Did I disturb you? Even though you are, as I'm sure you know, in my office."

"Sorry Bones. I needed some privacy. Dad likes to eavesdrop," he explained. "You don't think he'd actually tap the phones, do you?" He had threatened that once.

"I truly think that was just your father's misguided attempts at humor," she said, though she looked like she was definitely considering it.

"Probably," he said sarcastically, but Bones cocked her head anyways like she wasn't sure what he meant. "Anyways. I'm sorry. I know I'm not s'posed to be in your office without permission."

"You were on the phone with your mother?" she asked mildly.

"Yeah," he shrugged.

She nodded. "Anyways. Dr. Sweets is here to see you. He wants to take you out for ice cream. Despite the fact that it is 28 degrees out and that a chilly snack typically isn't what one craves when the temperature is so low." He thought he saw a touch of a smirk at Bones's lips.

He narrowed his eyes. That was weird. He liked Sweets, well enough (he barely knew Sweets, honestly, except he knew it was OK to be mouthy to him, according to Dad), but they weren't buddies, the way maybe he and Hodgins could be sometimes. He and Sweets didn't do things together. So it was weird.

Still Bones pushed him out in the living room, where Sweets was hanging out awkwardly, hands in the pockets of his baggy suit jacket. Parker didn't think he'd ever seen him without his suit on. "Hey, hey, Park-o," he said, awkwardly fist-bumping Parker's shoulder.

"Heya, Dr. Sweets," he said, looking at Dad, who looked like he thought something was really funny. "We're going out for ice cream?"

"Yup. I figured Thomas Sweet."

He shrugged. "Sure. We can probably walk there even."

Sweets nodded. Bones looked — well, he couldn't read Bones. Dad now looked worried.

So he grabbed his coat and the two of them hiked down Q Street and up 32nd until they got to Thomas Sweet. Sweets did most of the talking, like normal, and made jokes with the ice-cream scoopers about how they should give him free ice cream because of his last name (the ice-cream guy, thank God, did not believe that Sweets was actually related to the founder).

"You knew they would never buy that, right?" Parker asked as he sat down with his Kitkat blend at a tiny table by the window.

"Yup," Sweets said. "I just thought it would be funny."

"It wasn't. That funny, I mean. I get why you think it would be, though."

Sweets just chuckled. "You know, you're assimilating some aspects of Dr. Brennan's personality."

He shrugged. That was kind of uncomfortable. "I spend a lot of time with her. Even more these days," he added sarcastically.

"Ah, yes, your mother's illness," Sweets said, pretending like that had just occurred to him even though it totally had been on his mind the entire time.

Parker rolled his eyes. Of course. That was why he was here. Annoyed, he said, "Don't pretend like you forgot, OK, Dr. Sweets? I know I'm 11, but I'm a really smart 11-year-old."

Dr. Sweets nodded, seriously. "Of course. Apologies." He took a noisy sip of his milkshake. "She's got surgery tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah. Her lungs, I guess. I talked to her tonight."

"How's she doing?"

He stopped playing with his ice cream and threw the spoon down. "You couldn't ask my dad about this?"

"I already have. I wanted to hear what you thought."

"Look — I'm sorry — I don't know — OK? I don't really want to talk about it, thanks."

"Ah," Sweets said.

"No, really, I don't. And I think it's pretty shitty of you to pretend to take me out to ice cream and then really just ask your really dumb questions." He remembered Dad's comment from Sophie's birthday party. "And isn't that illegal or something?"

"Parker. Hey," Sweets said. "Listen, I just wanted to make sure you were doing OK, that you knew you could talk to someone. … I know that your mom's sick, so you can't talk to her about it, and your dad's, well, Booth, so talking to him is kind of hard sometimes, and your stepmom is Brennan, so talking to her is sometimes impossible."

"Bones is great to talk to. What are you talking about?"

"See, that's interesting. You find Brennan easier to talk to than your father."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Bones just doesn't know to give me a fake, grown-up answer. Dad does."

"Alright, I'll ask you the grown-up question then. How are you feeling about your mother? Your dad says you hate visiting."

"Yeah, cause she's in the hospital. I don't like hospitals. Really, Sweets. It's pretty easy."

"That's it?"

"Yeah."

"So what happened at the christening the other day?"

"I … got upset." He straightened slightly, concentrated on his ice cream before setting down his spoon. "Look, Sweets, I'm fine. Thanks for … going shrink-y on me though. Can we go home? I'm not hungry anymore."

Sweets slurped his milkshake again (that was a habit that really annoyed Mom). "Parker, I've lost more parents than most people ever even have. I lost my biological parents, which was probably a good thing, but then I lost the parents that raised me. I get not being able to talk about things. I do. But I also get that talking actually does help make it better. Talking about it harder, but it's braver, too."

He rolled his eyes. "You know my dad, right? Talking isn't brave."

"Talking's about the bravest thing someone can do. That's why even your dad, who's the bravest person any of us knows, has trouble with it."

"Fine, whatever. I just don't have anything to say."

"Why do you hate the hospital so much?"

"Why do you think? How many colleges did you go to again?" He sighed. "It's only been two months, Dr. Sweets … Most days, when I wake up, I don't even remember that it's happening. I … like that."

"And the hospital makes you remember it's happening?"

"Yeah," he said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. The "duh" was just too obvious. "Sweets, I'm fine, really."

Sweets tried to ask him a few more questions, but then gave up and they just talked a lot about hockey and his suspension and school and Dad and stuff. He then walked him home, and Parker went up to his room and shut the door and pretended he couldn't hear Dad and Sweets murmuring about him.

The surgery the next day went OK — Brent texted him as soon as it was over and he and Dad went over after dinner. Mom was pretty out of it, and the doctors, through Brent, said that it went "as well as can be expected." They'd gotten most everything, and hopefully she could be recovered enough to start chemo up in a week or so again. She needed to let everything heal first. He stared at her. If he squinted, she disappeared from the bed.

She slept for most of that visit. He stared out the window on the car ride home and didn't talk much.

Looking back, years later, he would never remember those next few days. Mom was at the hospital for most of it, and it was mostly him and Brent chilling in the hospital — him doing his homework or whatever — and watching her sleep. The surgery had just taken a lot out of her, much more than her first surgery had: Her color got even whiter, if possible, and she was just … listless. Finally she got a little better so they took her home, where she slept most of the day and he avoided her when she was awake.

Finally, though, he had to go into her room to find his backup practice helmet. When he entered she shifted slightly on the bed, using her elbows to raise herself up. "Fancy running into you here," she quipped.

He shrugged. "I do live here. Sometimes."

"I know," she said, faltering a little. "I just … you never come in here."

"You never ask me too," he shrugged again.

"I … guess I just wanted you to come in," she said.

"I'm sorry," he said. "How … do you feel?"

She shrugged. "Up days and down days. A lot of the time I just feel hazy," she said. "How has hockey been? School? Your dad said you verbally smacked the Boy Wonder down over ice cream?"

He shrugged. Again. "It's been … OK. I finally get to play again for hockey. The bench has a permanent butt-print of mine so it's really good to be back."

"You haven't been fighting again, have you?" He shook his head. He was too tired to fight.

"So you start chemo up again Monday right?" he asked, toying with the edge of the blanket.

"I hope so," she said. "They have to run more tests. If I'm strong enough they will."

"Are you feeling strong enough?" he blurted out.

She shifted. "Honestly? I'm not sure they'll clear me for this week. Maybe next week."

"But you really need this."

"I know. I just don't think starting right now would be wise."

"It's not like it's going to kill you any faster than the cancer will."

He regretted the words almost as soon as they were out of his mouth. "I mean — I didn't mean — "

"It's OK, Parker," Mom said gently. "We can talk about this. We should talk about this. For the record, I'm not dead yet."

He was very quiet.

"Do you think I'm going to die?" she asked carefully.

"I don't know," he finally admitted. Because most days he thought he thought that. Some days he didn't. Most days, he just wanted everything to be over. "Some days? A … little. You just … you're not getting better, Mom."

And stupidly, again, like at the christening, he burst out into tears. Mom somehow immediately snatched him into her arms and he kept crying, as she kind of … rocked him, or whatever.

"I've read everything," he sniffled ugliliy. "Well… everything you guys will let me. And this treatment is supposed to work. And it isn't. So yeah … yeah, sometimes I think you're going to die. I … do."

"Oh, Parks," Mom sighed, her voice weak and uncertain. "Nothing is over yet. I don't give up fighting, you don't give up hope."

"Bones says hope is just an invention of your imagination."

"Maybe, but she doesn't believe that. No mother does, Parks. Trust me. Every mother has hope, has faith, every time she lets her child out into the world. Hope, faith, they're important. Don't give up yet, OK?"

"But … do you think you're going to die?" he finally dared. "Even though you're not going to give up fighting, do you think you're going to die?"

She was quiet, and taken aback. Shifting so he was leaning against her chest, she started rubbing her back. "It's … probably likely," she said. "I know that. But that doesn't mean I'm giving up fighting. I'm not focusing on it."

"It's all I can focus on," he admitted. "What do you think it feels like, dying?"

"I don't know," she said. "I imagine it's kind of … quiet. I don't think it will hurt. But I try not to think about it, honestly. I'm not scared for that."

"What are you scared for, then?" he asked.

"The usual. Not watching you grow up. Not being there for the big things. How everything affects you."

"You're not scared of anything else?"

"Not really, no," she said. "It's all about you, Parker. It always has been."

They sat there in silence for a while.

Two days later, he freaked Bones out a little by hiding in her darkened office again. "You need to stop doing this, Parker," she admonished.

"Sorry," he said, though he wasn't really. "What do you think dying feels like?"

"I don't know. Having never done it, and considering that nobody who has experienced death has been able to record their impressions of the event, I'm not sure … That's not what you wanted, was it?"

"No," he said. "Not really."

"This is about your mother?"

"Yes," he said. "She … she thinks she's going to die, too."

"I … Modern medicine makes sure that it isn't painful at the end," she said, sitting next to him. "I imagine that it's … quiet."

"That's the word she used, too." He rolled his eyes. "I think that sounds dumb, honestly."

"Maybe you should talk to your father," she prodded. "He usually has great insight on these matters."

He rolled his eyes. "Alright. Thanks, Bones." He got up to leave.

"Parker!" she called, and he turned. "I think … It's important to remember, Parker, that she isn't dead yet. That her life still has meaning and value right now. And … I know it certainly can't feel like it, but … you have a chance, to make what are potentially your last weeks with her, have a sense of … closure."

"Closure?" he laughed bitterly.

"I mean," she faltered. "You actually have a chance to say good-bye. Your father and I … never got that with our mothers. I know it doesn't feel like a … positive, but I … strongly encourage you to try and … One day, I hope you view it as a positive out of the entire situation. One day."

He was too tired to get mad at her for the ridiculous rudeness of that statement, though he really should have. "Fine, Bones," he said, closing the door behind him. He stared out the window in the hallway. It was snowing. First snow of the season.

Love it? Hate it? Let me know!