It's been a while! Hopefully I can update this more frequently now that I've figured out where the heck I want to go with the plot! Enjoy! Please review because they make me happy! :)
Note: Michael and Christine are around 17 years old. Christine does not have any siblings, but Michael has two younger siblings. Patrick Zachary Marcato Hodgins (age 15) and Annabelle Temperance Caesura Hodgins (age 11). Patrick is named after Jack's uncle and Zack Addy. Annabelle is Jack's mother's name, and Temperance of course references to Brennan. The Caesura and Marcato are musical terms, which keeps with the Staccato in Michael's name. Marcato is a musical instruction indicating a note, chord, or passage is to be played louder or more forcefully than surrounding music. And a Caesura is a complete pause in a line of poetry or in a musical composition. And in case you didn't know, a Staccato signifies a note of shortened duration, separated from the note that may follow by silence.
Disclaimer: I do not own Bones!
Inevitable
Chapter Two
.
Wearing an old stretched-out t-shirt and plaid boxers, Michael breaks three eggs into a bowl and whisks them quickly with a fork.
Stupid eggs.
Michael is not a morning person. He never was, but he certainly isn't now that he lies awake at night thinking of her.
Stupid Christine.
He barely gets any sleep at night, and when he wakes up, he is frustrated in more ways than one.
(Some of these frustrations he can solve by himself, but that just means he thinks about her then too.)
Michael pours his raw eggs into the hot skillet on the stove. He scowls down at his eggs. The eggs sizzle back at him because he has the heat of the burner turned on too high. The eggs will probably end up a little burnt in some places.
Oh, well.
Stupid eggs.
Stupid Christine.
He must be the only teenage male on the entire planet who is complaining about unlimited, no-strings-attached sex. But it isn't enough for him. While the sex is great and all (and it certainly satisfies those frustrations he tries to hide so well), it's clear to Michael that sex simply isn't enough.
How can she think this is enough for him?
Nothing will ever be enough for him. He will never have enough of her. He will never be close enough to her. He wants all of her, yes. But not just sexually. Not just her body. He wants all of her; heart, body, mind, and soul.
Stupid eggs.
Stupid Christine.
Stupid, stupid feelings for Christine.
Michael turns off the burner. He picks up the skillet so he can scrape his half-burnt scrambled eggs onto a plate. He places the used skillet back on the stove, deciding that he will clean the dishes after breakfast.
He sighs down at the eggs on the plate in front of him.
Does she really care about the opinions of their peers that much? So much so that she feels the need to instigate meaningless sex with her best friend?
Michael growls and pushes the offending plate of eggs away from him. God, something has to distract him from her. If he spends the rest of his life thinking of her, he will go insane.
Out of the corner of his eye, Michael spots his sketchbook on a nearby table. Perfect, he decides. A quick sketch will take his mind off of her.
The eggs are left forgotten on the counter, as Michael opens his sketchpad and focuses his attention on the bowl of fruit on the counter.
A bowl of fruit, he decides, is a much safer thing to focus on than trying to figure out the whirlwind in his head from Christine.
Michael is trying (unsuccessfully) to sketch the bowl of fruit on the kitchen counter. He sits on the kitchen barstool with one hand supporting his chin and the other drawing the gentle curve of the apple in the fruit bowl. But he simply cannot focus. His hand is betraying him, and the pencil begins trace her curves instead of the curves of the fruit.
The pears become her hips, the oranges become her breasts…
Michael tears the drawing out of his sketchbook with a groan, and tosses the paper onto the floor at his feet.
He runs his hands through his messy, morning hair.
"You look frustrated," his mom points out as she walks into the kitchen.
Ha, frustrated is damn right.
"What are you doing up so early on a summer morning?"
Michael looks at the clock on the stove. It's 8:17am.
"Couldn't sleep," Michael replies.
God, if she only knew the half of it.
Angela reaches over to scoop up a forkful of her son's eggs. She puts them in her mouth, "Yuck, Mike," she exclaims with a grimace, "Your eggs are cold…and a little burnt."
Michael shrugs.
Angela gestures to the plate of eggs and used skillet on the stove, "Will you please clean up the kitchen when you're finished with breakfast?"
He nods his response as he scowls at the oranges in the fruit bowl.
Stupid oranges.
Stupid Christine.
He only looks up when he hears his mom put on her jacket in the entryway.
"Where are you going?" he calls to her.
"The Lab," she calls back, "Brennan needs a face for the body they found last night."
"But it's Saturday."
Angela walks back into the kitchen to fetch her purse from the kitchen barstool next to Michael, "Unfortunately, death doesn't seem to care that it's my day off."
Michael nods.
Angela continues to speak as she checks her purse for her keys and wallet and other items she will need throughout the day, "Your father is already on his way to the Lab, right after he drops off Annabelle at a friend's house. Do you plan on coming to the lab today? Patty can come to the Lab too if he wants, or he can stay here and hang out at home by himself."
"Yeah, I'll probably come to the Lab. But I'm sure Patty would rather watch tv here instead."
"I figured as such."
"Christine and I will probably get some homework done there."
"Homework? It's summer, Mikey."
"Dad and Brennan thought it would be a good idea for us both to take a science class or two online through the community college this summer. We are both taking anatomy."
"Well, don't stress yourself out too much over it. It's summer and you both should be relaxing."
"I know, Mom," Michael smiles at his mother, "It's not too hard. And we're only taking one class."
"Is that why you're so frustrated this morning?"
Michael sighs down at the counter top, "Well, not exactly."
Angela reaches over to grab an orange from the fruit bowl on the kitchen counter. As she does, she notices the discarded ball of paper on the floor. She bends down to pick it up, and soothes it out on the counter. She looks at Michael's sketch, and then turns to look at her son.
"You sure you're okay?"
Michael playfully rolls his eyes, "I'm fine, Mom."
"Your fruit say otherwise."
"What do my fruit drawings to do with anything?"
"You're an expressive artist, sweetie. Even more so than I am," Angela smiles at her son, "Ever since you were little, I could take one look at your art and figure out what you were feeling," she looks back down at the sketch as she continues, "Your fruit give me a sense of longing. But it's deeper and more complex than that. Like you're feeling a million feelings at once, really. But the way you ripped the sketch out of the pad shows me you're frustrated and angry…and possibly a little hurt."
Michael doesn't look up from the kitchen counter.
Angela continues, "I take it I'm not too far off with my guess, then."
All Michael can do is nod. This certainly isn't the first time Angela has correctly guessed what her eldest son was thinking.
"Michael, sweetie, whatever's bouncing around that handsome head of yours, just remember that I'm always here to talk if you need me. And so is your father."
She leans over to kiss the top of his head before turning and walking towards the front door.
"I love you, Mikey," she calls as she opens the door, "See you soon."
"Bye, Mom," he calls back, his eyes never leaving the drawing on the counter in front of him, "Love you too."
As the door clicks shut behind her, Michael's phone lights up with a text. He reaches across the counter to bring his phone over in front of him. He slides the touchscreen to unlock the phone and opens the unread text.
Stapes: u going to the lab today? :) wanna drive or should i?
Michael sighs.
Oh, Christine.
How can she possibly think that sex is the answer to their emerging problems?
Does she really think this is enough for him? For them?
His mind flashes back to when they were lying in Michael's bed. It must have been the third or fourth time they ended up there together. Tangled in the blankets and tangled up in each other.
'It's not a big deal.'
She rested her head on his chest with a sigh and whispered that everything was going to be okay.
'It's not a big deal.'
'It's not a big deal.'
As he placed a soft kiss to the top of head, he knew she was waiting for him to say something back. But he couldn't figure out how to respond.
And he sure as hell knew that this was a big deal.
Michael: i'll drive. b there in 30 min.