"Michael….Michael, wake up!"

Michael groaned dramatically, flipping onto his stomach as the sun pierced his slitted eyelids.

"Christine, leave me alone," he mumbled into his Spiderman pillow. "The sun hurts…."

A minute of sweet silence followed. Michael had almost drifted back off when his "sleep sanctuary," as he called it, was ripped out from under him and his face plummeted to the leather couch below. He groaned again, even more dramatically (if that was possible), and turned his face away from the window once more.

"Get. Up. Staccato. I swear I will taser you again."

Michael could hear Christine's sock-covered footsteps as they ran around the apartment.

"Michael, have you seen my new hair curler?"

Michael rolled over on the couch to see Christine, still in her pyjamas, squinting at him accusingly from the hallway. Her shoulder-length brown hair was tied in a messy bun that sat directly on top of her head.

Michael thought very carefully about his answer.

"I may have used it yesterday."

Her blue eyes flickered in annoyance.

"Your hair is already curly!" She yelled, turning on her heel and stomping back to the bathroom.

Michael sighed and jumped up to follow her, almost crashing into the bookshelf.

"Why are you screaming at me?!" He yelled back as he clipped the doorway. "OW. Have you seen my glasses?"

"You left them in the kitchen!"

After stumbling around the living room and finally finding the kitchen, Michael felt around for his glasses.

"That's right," he remembered as he picked them up off of the microwave, "The pizza rolls…."

Throwing his glasses on, he grabbed the hair curler out of the kitchen cabinet where he had stowed it (for a good reason which he could not remember at that moment), and made his way to the bathroom they shared.

Michael realized that people thought he and Christine's living situation was weird, and in all honesty, it was. Personally, he prefered to think of them as a modern day "odd couple." He was messy. Her things were neat and organized. She loved science. He leaned towards art. But they were both brilliant and they fit together perfectly. Her friends thought she was insane. His friends thought he got lucky. But the truth of the situation and his answer to everyone who questioned their lives was this: They were best friends, always had been. He couldn't remember life without her and he wasn't going to start just because they were off at college. He couldn't imagine sharing an apartment with anyone else. They had talked about it since they were little. Sure, it was strange, but they made it work.

Michael twisted the doorknob to the bathroom and, not expecting it to be locked, smacked his head against the wood.

"What the….Christine?"

He tried twisting the knob again.

Locked.

Michael leaned his forehead against the cool wood and waited silently, his curly dark bangs hanging down in his hazel eyes.

"Chrissy, what's wrong….," he whispered against the grain.

"I don't know," she whimpered, her voice quiet and high-pitched.

"Let me in," he demanded gently.

After a few tense moments, Michael heard the lock click and saw the door open slightly. He slowly pushed it aside to see Christine, her back to him, leaning against the wall. In front of her, the reflection revealed her solemn features as she bit her lip, the way she always did when she was about to cry. He smirked sadly, sauntering up behind her and wrapping his arms around her neck.

"You worried about telling your parents?"

"Yes," she admitted in a whisper, hanging her head over his arms. He was skinny and taller than both of his parents. He looked funny, peering out at her from behind dark curls and she managed a smile.

"Hey," he smiled as he spun her around to face him, "You're parents are going to be proud of you no matter what you do. My parents are, too. You know that."

Christine couldn't help but grin as she stared at the floor.

"Right?"

Christine didn't answer and he spun her all the way around before asking again.

"Right?"

"Right!" She conceded and pushed him off.

Michael picked up his toothbrush and slathered on toothpaste.

"So what if we both dropped out of college," he mumbled through his mouthful. "We graduated at 16! They know we're smart! Why should they care?!"

Michael looked up with a toothpaste mustache and Christine rolled her eyes.

"Well your parents aren't going to care! Your mom's an artist and your dad is Hodgins! They're going to be thrilled that you're writing a book! Plus, you didn't grow up with Doctor Brennan and Special Agent Booth as parents! You don't understand!"

"Hey," he interrupted, "We're children of the Jeffersonian. We were raised by a collective!"

Michael spat out his toothpaste

"I know exactly what it's like to have Brennan and Booth as parents!"

Christine shook her head.

"And hey," he added more quietly, "I know exactly what it feels like to love your parents more than anything in the world. We're in this together, like always. Okay?"

She nodded and he finally noticed his phone beside the sink. Remembering that he left it there the night before, he picked it up and casually flipped through the messages. Christine began brushing her hair while continuing their conversation.

"My dad is going to kill me," she whined.

"I have sixteen missed calls from my dad," he stated blandly. "That's gotta be a new record, right," he smirked.

"Michael," she scolded, "You need to keep your phone on you! What if that's important?!"

This time, Michael rolled his eyes.

"You know as well as I do that it's going to be about bugs. He wants me to be an entomologist so bad he can't stand it!"

He used his shoulder to hold the phone to his ear while he ran his fingers through his shaggy hair.

"How do I even begin a conversation like that," she questioned. "Do I say…. 'Hey Mom, Dad, I'm quitting school and…."

Christine trailed off when she saw Michael's face. His mouth hung slightly open and he stared fixedly at his phone. His face had gone pale.

"Hey," she said, warily touching his arm. "Is everything okay?"

Michael lowered the phone slowly. Although he stared directly in her eyes, he didn't appear to see her.

"My….It's my mom," he gulped, his throat suddenly dry. "She's really sick."

"Is she going to be okay," Christine asked as her heart started to sink. Michael never showed fear, not like this.

"He said that she's been in the ER all night and that she got really bad this morning so they moved her to the ICU. They don't know what's wrong with her."

They both stood in silence, stunned at the news and having completely forgotten their other problems.

"He said that her fever's really high and that she hasn't stopped talking about me….asking for me."

Christine rubbed her best friend's back, something she had learned from Angela when she was a little girl. Though they'd been inseparable all their lives, Christine had very rarely ever had to comfort Michael and she began to realize how much she'd taken that for granite.

"Christine?" He finally spoke, his sudden calmness unsettling. "It's time for us to go home."