Thank you for reviewing my story. I appreciate it.

I don't own Bones.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooo

Sitting at the kitchen table, Christine Keenan reread the letter from Temperance's school for the fourth time. She wasn't sure what she should do about it, but she knew that Max needed to see it as soon as possible.

His car driving up onto the driveway, Christine was alerted when she heard him hit one of the trashcans. The cursing coming from the front of the house was quite colorful and she knew that when Russ came home that evening from playing at his friend's house he would be lectured once more about the proper placement of trashcans after the sanitation trucks came and picked up the trash.

Slamming the front door closed on the way in, Max shouted out, "Russ . . . Russ where are you?" Entering the kitchen, Max opened his mouth to fuss at his wife about their son, but stopped himself when he noticed the look on her face. Not sure what was going on, he hurried across the room and as he came near his wife he suddenly found her in his arms. Her desperate crying like a knife to his heart, he asked her, "Hey, what's going on?"

Her hands clutching his jacket, Christine tried to control her crying, but found herself unable to do it. Her forehead pressed against his chest, she sobbed out her misery.

Holding her in his embrace, Max waited for his wife to calm down. He knew that she wouldn't be coherent until she'd released the tears that needed to flow.

Once she was under control, Christine released her husband's jacket and stepped back over to the kitchen table where she grabbed a napkin so that she could wipe her face and blow her nose. Embarrassed, she finally picked up the letter and handed it to Max remaining silent while he read it.

Wary of the piece of paper, Max took it from his wife and read it. The rage he felt bubbled up and with it a need to strike out. Unable to do that, he tore the paper into tiny pieces, marched over to the trash can and threw them away. "No Christine. No way . . . if we allow them to label her then we'll let them control her future. I will not let them label her."

Miserable, Christine sat down at the table and looked up at her husband. "They just want to test her to see if she's in the right classes."

Vehemently opposed, Max sat down next to his wife and scooped her hand into his. "Christine . . . we can't let them label our little girl. If they do that, they'll place her in special classes and . . . they'll destroy who she is. There isn't anything wrong with her . . . yes, she's literal and she has a tendency to be direct, but that's alright. She's unique . . . she's a genius and those sheep at the school board want to turn her into a sheep too . . . No, she is not going to take any tests and she's not going to be labeled. She's got a bright future ahead of her and I won't let them call her special and try to fix her . . . it would crush her . . . Look, I've been thinking about placing her in another school anyway. I hate her teachers. All they do is complain about Tempe, but you and I know it's because some of those teachers don't know what to do with someone as smart as Tempe is. I want to place her in that private school across town. I've talked to them and . . . yes, I should have told you, but I didn't . . . Anyway, I want to transfer her and Russ to the school next semester."

Surprised, Christine shook her head. "Russ? Russ isn't a genius. If anything sometimes I think he's as average as average can be. Not that there is anything wrong with that, but he's not the genius that Tempe is."

Waving his hand, Max shook his head. "I know that, but the school they're going to is too crowded. They have too many kids and not enough teachers. That private school I'm interested in . . . well, I'm trying to get hired there. If our kids were there, I think they'd do better. The teacher student ratio is much smaller and . . . and our little girl needs that. What she doesn't need is to be labeled. She's seven years old and I will not let them change her. She needs to be her. "

For the first time since Max had come home, Christine smiled. "Yes, I think you're right. Our Tempe is very smart . . . we know that. We don't need to label her. You're right . . . I . . . yes, you're right."

Ooooooooooooooo

I've read a few articles that showed that Hart Hanson never chose to label Temperance Brennan. He based her on a friend who had Asperger's syndrome. "The needs of a broadcast network like Fox to get as large an audience as possible meant that he couldn't come out and say it." Since Brennan was never diagnosed, either the schools she went to didn't care or right or wrong, Max and Christine never had her tested. If Brennan does have Asperger's syndrome, she's managed to navigate through society and she's done it with the help of her friends and Booth. I admire her. She's strong and brave and she's willing to take advice when it comes to things she doesn't understand.