Christine sat in shocked silence, listening as her father's deep voice broke the terrible news. Her thoughts, though, were with Michael. Are they telling him right now? How is he taking it? How are Angela and Hodgins taking it? Hodgins must be a wreck….

"Christine."

Christine was jolted back to reality, not realizing that her father had been calling her.

"Did you get any of that?"

Christine nodded her head as her stomach churned inside of her.

"Yeah….Aunt Angie has cancer and it doesn't look good," she said solemnly. Christine paused for a moment as the words took root. "Do you think she's going to die, Dad," she asked earnestly, praying that her father could make it better like he always did when she was little. But she was an adult now, and her father shook his head.

"I don't know, sweet pea. But you know Angela, she's not going down easily," he answered with a smirk, holding her hands in his. "Are you alright," he asked after giving her moment.

Christine nodded sadly before standing up.

"I need to be with Michael right now. I have to go find him," she said urgently before running off, pausing briefly to kiss her father's cheek.

Christine ran to the elevator and pushed the button hastily.

"Come on. Come on….," she thought as the elevator took its time. As soon as the doors opened on Angela's floor, Christine darted out, almost running over her mother who had been waiting for a ride down.

"Christine," she scolded, pulling her daughter back to face her. "Why are you running in a hospital?"

"Sorry, Mom," she said distractedly, "But I have to find Michael. Have you seen him?"

"Yes, I have," she replied matter of factly. "He said he was leaving. He got on the elevator a few minutes ago. I don't believe that he took the news very well."

"Thanks, Mom. Gotta go," Christine yelled as she jumped back in the elevator, heading for the ground floor.

She bolted past the waiting room and down the hallway. As the sliding glass doors made way for her, the cold wind tickled her reddening cheeks, sending a shiver up her spine. She spun in circles, scanning the cars for Michael. But right before she began to call his name, she spotted him, sitting on the curb a few yards down. Planted in her tracks, she watched him, trying to grasp the situation. What do you say to a friend who's mom has just been given a death sentence? What comfort could she give?

She watched him for several minutes, debating what should be done. But what if he didn't want to talk? He wouldn't run from her. She knew he wouldn't leave. Michael didn't drive. He wouldn't drive. It had been years since the accident, but every time he sat behind the wheel, fear gripped him and he had given up trying. Christine couldn't bring herself to force him. She couldn't bear to hear his desperate begging as he fumbled to get out of his seatbelt.

Christine cringed, remembering with vivid horror.

XXX

It was her seventeenth birthday and she and Michael were home for the weekend. With both sets of parents working a case, they each had a house to themselves and Christine expected to wake up alone. But when she opened her eyes, Michael was there, belting a birthday song that the Jeffersonian team had written for her when she was little. He made her favorite breakfast and vowed to be her slave all day, an annual tradition. Music boomed from the stereo speakers as they ran around the house in their pj's, getting ready to face the day like they did as kids. As afternoon approached, they jumped in their car and Michael drove towards the diner where they were instructed to meet their parents. Christine remembered pointing out a man with a funny hat to Michael as they approached the restaurant's intersection, causing him to laugh until the light turned green.

Christine never saw it coming, neither of them did. Suddenly, the deafening noise of screeching brakes and crunching metal pierced her ears and she was thrown towards the windshield, the safety belt smothering her chest as her breath was taken away. Then she was spinning, flipping over and over and over until she couldn't tell which way the sky was. Her head throbbed as they finally came to a halt, her mind pounding behind slitted eyelids. Christine struggled to focus on her surroundings as her vision improved with every blink. She heard voices, "Hang on!" and "Don't move!" but she recognized none of them.

"Michael…" she mumbled as she turned her head toward him, wincing under the effort.

What she saw become the substance of her nightmares for years to come.

Blood covered his face and hands, soaking his shirt and pooling on his seat. A wound in his head gushed, dripping off of the glass shards that penetrated the skin. The door, completely caved in, surrounded his outer arm and leg, making him appear as only half a person. Christine was covered in blood as well, unable to tell the difference between hers and Michael's. The interior of the car was painted dark red, and Christine suddenly felt sick. It was then that she heard the familiar voice.

"Those are my kids! Let me through!"

"Hodgins!" she tried, but the seatbelt took her breath once more.

The next five minutes were blurred as Christine attempted to stay conscious. She vaguely remembers an attractive fireman, asking her questions as he pulled her from the clutch of her seatbelt. But she could only focus on Michael, watching the rescue team cut him from the desolated car. Petrified, she could not turn away.

XXX

Christine shuddered, remembering the harrowing day. She silently approached her best friend, taking a seat on the curb beside him. She waited, deciding not to pressure him, but to simply be there, another heartbeat.

"My mom….," he squeaked after a moment of silence. His voice broke and he inhaled a shaky breath. He looked deep into her eyes, so desperate, so worried.

Christine couldn't remember him ever resembling his dad more. Sure, he had Hodgins' curly hair, but his other features were pure Angela. Michael looked at her now, the same way his dad did, when she was pulled from the totaled car and brought to the waiting ambulance.

XXX

Christine insisted, against the fireman's will, on walking to the ambulance, despite her knees wanting to buckle under her. She was shaken, but her pumping adrenaline killed the pain, at least for the time being. She sat on the edge of the rescue vehicle as the paramedics began to check her for injuries and looked into the crowd that had formed, seeing her uncle fighting his way through.

"Christine!" he called to her.

Christine began to sob at the sound of his voice, unable to contain her tears any longer.

"Hey, hey, I'm here sweetheart. I'm right here. You're okay," he comforted as he finally reached her, automatically wrapping a strong arm around her.

Christine fell into his embrace, clinging to him as he held her tight. He rubbed her back gently, kissing the top of her head as she sobbed into his chest.

"Michael," she cried, "I couldn't tell if he was breathing. There was so blood," she choked out.

"Oh god," she heard him say shakily. "Okay….alright….he's going to be fine. Both of you are…."

His voice trailed off. Finally, they had managed to unhinge the car door and were pulling Michael from the wreckage. Hodgins and Christine watched in stunned horror as they loaded him onto the gurney, his limp body cut open and stained red. He was then rushed to a nearby ambulance, loaded carefully inside, and taken quickly to the hospital.

"Please don't leave me. Please," Christine sobbed, still clinging to her uncle. She felt selfish for begging him to stay with her instead of Michael, but she was terrified and begged anyway.

"I won't. I'm right here. I'm not going to let you go. I promise." Hodgins held her tight in his grasp as he searched the crowd. "Angela!" he called suddenly, startling Christine."

"Hodgins!" Angela answered as she ran over. "Oh my god, what happened?" She stroked Christine's hair, looking her over to make sure she was alright. "Sweetie….," she said sympathetically.

Christine buried her face in Hodgins shirt which was soaked from her sobbing. She could hear his voice vibrating throughout his chest.

"Where are Booth and Brennan?"

"They're still at the Jeffersonian," Christine heard. Then a panicked, "Where's Michael?"

"They took him. He's hurt really bad. Go to St. Vincent's and meet them. I'm going to stay with Christine. I'll be there soon."

Christine felt her aunt's hand leave her back as Angela left quickly and silently.

XXX

Christine place her hand on Michael's back and scooted in close, savoring the warmth that was passing between them. He leaned his head on hers as she rested on his shoulder. It was quiet, peaceful, if not for the torment inside of them. Christine sat, listening to Michael's breath hitch, although he tried to keep it from her.

"Chrissy….," he cried. "I don't know what to do. I….I want to take care of her. I mean," he sniffed, "I don't want my dad to have to take all the stress, you know? I want to step up." Christine nodded gently and he continued. "She's taken care of me enough. I should be able to do the….the same for….for her. Right?"

Christine responded by continuing to rub his back and shoulders as Michael choked on.

"I've never seen someone dying before, Christine…."

Christine flashed back to Michael bleeding out in front of her while she was held captive by the very thing that kept her alive, forced to watch the slow death of her best friend, unable to save him.

Still leaning on his shoulder, she traced the many scars the lined his arms and hands which turned bright red in the winter chill. They led her like street signs, making their way to the long, straight scar that Michael hid under curls.

"It's okay, Michael. I have."