Hello! It's been a while. This one has been brewing for a while, but it took me some time to get it the way that I wanted it. Takes place in season 9 (can you believe we get a season 10?!) and I think it will be clear which ep it tags.

All mistakes are mine. I skipped the beta process and went straight to posting.

I hope you like it.

Gray

It's gray outside.

She wonders if it's a writer's cliché to notice that the sky matches her mood, but cliché or not, it's true.

It's gray out and it fits perfectly with the way she feels.

She is up well before the sun, but the truth is she hadn't really slept to start with. She simply waited for an acceptable time to start the day before she gave up trying to get any rest.

Days like today simply don't allow for the peace that comes with slumber.

She sits at the kitchen island, steam coming out of the coffee mug in front of her, the night fading into the gray daylight and she listens to the silence that surrounds her. Usually she likes silence.

Today it is screaming at her, paralyzing her, keeping the same loop running in her head over and over and over.

This isn't how it's supposed to be. It's just not fair.

She is a scientist. She knows better than to believe that there is any such thing as a fair life. That being a good person doesn't guarantee any karma, that being nice or kind or fun or dedicated or loving or generous or intelligent or even being ALL those things doesn't mean the universe will leave you alone.

The universe, she decides, is a bully.

This isn't how it's supposed to be. It's just not fair.

Booth comes into the kitchen, not in his suit, but in jeans and a T-shirt and the exhaustion in his eyes is a mirror to her own.

There is nothing to say, but he tries anyway.

"You sleep?"

His voice is loud, too loud in the quiet she thought she didn't want, but she can't find her voice to answer back, doesn't want to add noise, so she simply shakes her head in reply.

"Yeah, me either." His voice is lower now, quieter, and she thinks he probably understands that words are a jackhammer in the silence. He pours his coffee and takes a seat beside her.

They sit for a while, he drinks his coffee while she doesn't drink hers and they both steal glances at the clock as it counts down to the inevitable.

He stands first, takes his mug to the sink and she knows the next thing he will do is put on his jacket, pocket his wallet and his badge, and pick up his keys.

She goes to the sink with her mug, too, rinses them both out of habit and leaves them on the rack to dry. When she turns, he is as she expects him to be: ready to go and waiting for her.

He helps her into her coat, she picks up her bag and they head out the front door.

It feels gray outside, if that's possible, and the wind cuts through her. He doesn't seem affected though and she wonders if maybe it isn't the air that is so chilling. Maybe it's what the day is about to bring that makes her feel cold. She closes the door with a thump and crosses her arms in an attempt to warm up.

As the car backs out of the driveway she sees her father and her daughter waving from the nursery window. They both wave back, as they always do.

It's an ordinary thing on a Tuesday that is anything but ordinary.

She's told herself over and over that it's not about her. She's aware that her stake in the battle that is about to begin is really quite small. But it doesn't feel that way. After attempting for so long keep people at arm's length, she's finding once again that not doing so comes with a price that can hurt.

They drive for a while, no radio, no conversation, just the quiet until he breaks it as they pull up to an older building on a slightly dingy street.

"We can't be like this with him."

"I know." They are the first words she's spoken all day and they catch in her throat.

Her intern, her favorite intern, if she's honest, comes down the 5 steps from the front door with a backpack slung over one shoulder. He looks tall and young and healthy and the loop in her head begins again.

This isn't how it's supposed to be. It's just not fair.

He opens the door and scrambles into the back of the SUV, his smile and his bravado so false that even someone who is as bad at reading people as she is can see he's trying to overcompensate for his terror.

"Thanks for being my chemo-mobile. My mom can't be here until later and the doc says I can't drive after, so…"

"We're glad to do it." Booth answers before she can and she tamps down a bitter sound she's about to make. Glad is not the word she would have used.

"Of course," she says, instead, but then the silence settles over the car once again and there is no conversation she can imagine that will feel appropriate, so despite Booth's warning, she lets the quiet take hold. She notices that neither of the men attempts conversation either. Talk is cheap she thinks and though she's pretty sure that's not the right phrase for that moment, it still seems to fit for her.

It's still gray out, she notices, as they walk from the car and through the automatic doors of the hospital, and she finds the inside of the building to be no cheerier. A nurse hands Wendell a clipboard of full of papers and insurance forms and one sideways glance at her husband assures her they agree that the young man will not see a bill, will not pay a dime.

They can't do much, but they can do that.

In the waiting room there are a half a dozen other rather dazed looking people in faded chairs and a small television in the upper right corner of the waiting room. It's on a news channel with a banner running underneath. She finds herself counting the number of time the banner loops around, much like the words in her head, in a constant cycle.

This isn't how it's supposed to be. It's just not fair.

She hears Booth and Wendell talking in low tones about hockey and as she reads the news about some pop star's latest antics for the 17th time, a nurse opens the door to the room.

"Wendell Bray?"

He stands and the irony of how healthy he looks strikes her once again. He makes his way over to the nurse, but stops to look back at them before he goes into the infusion area.

"We'll be here when you're done," Booth assures him and she smiles and nods her encouragement, but has to hold back the tears as she watches Wendell's face crumble a bit when he steps past the nurse and through the door.

Booth takes her hand and squeezes it and she's known him long enough, knows him well enough, that she understands the hand holding is as much for him as it is for her.

She squeezes back and is settling in to wait when the nurse appears in front of them.

"Mr. Bray is allowed to have one person with him. He asked me to come get you."

She looks to Booth. He's the one who is good at these things. Booth can do small talk. Booth is comforting and reassuring. Booth always knows what to say. "You should go," she tells him.

"No ma'am," the nurse interjects. "He asked for you."

She blinks in surprise, but is quick to stand. She'd told him in her foyer they'd do anything he needed, so even if she can't imagine why he'd chosen her over Booth, she's not about to deny him.

She follows the nurse down the hall. There are no windows, and the dim overhead lights still make it gray, still make it dreary and that's fine with her. False cheer would be cloying. At least this ambiance is fitting.

Wendell greets her with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "I thought you'd get the technical stuff."

She smiles back. "I see."

His pasted on grin fades. "Plus…I don't know…you make me feel…looked after. I mean, if not for you, I wouldn't even have the chance I have now. You're like…my work mom, you know?"

She does know. Somehow, even though she swore it wouldn't happen again after Zack and after Vincent, this intern has become special to her.

"Whatever you need, technical or otherwise." She means it.

"Thanks, Dr. B."

The doctor comes in then and shakes Wendell's hand before he turns and extends his hand to Brennan. "I'm Dr. Cole, Wendell's doctor."

She shakes his hand. "I'm Dr. Brennan, I'm Mr. Bray's…" she sifts quickly through the options; teacher, boss, supervisor, before she settles on one. "I'm Wendell's friend."

The doctor explains the different medications that Wendell will receive and she listens intently, peppering the oncologist with questions as he goes. Once all her questions are answered and the doctor leaves, she looks at Wendell, who is smiling at her for real, this time.

"What?" She is confused by the look on his face. Certainly chemo is nothing to smile about.

"You really are a good mom."

She smiles a little in return and asks him, "Do you understand what the doctor told you? He's very dry, but his information is accurate."

"I got it."

The doctor returns with a nurse and they get to work.

Chemo has begun.

He asks her, at first, to talk to him. What's happening in the lab, is there a new case, what's happening with the skeleton she was looking at from Limbo.

She answers him in full detail and thorough descriptions and, though he keeps up at first, she can see when he begins to get tired, the drugs taking hold.

"You should sleep," she urges him.

"You'll stay?"

"Yes."

She won't leave him, not for a moment. She stays all day, texting with Booth, who doesn't leave his station in the waiting room, either.

After hours, it's over. Wendell seems tired, but not otherwise affected.

At least, not yet.

She knows that it can take up to a few days for nausea to show up, knows that his body may feel the worse for wear tomorrow or the day after.

"My mom will be at my place when we get there," Wendell says as they walk out of the hospital.

It's not gray outside anymore, but harsh and bright and Brennan wishes for something less jarring, even the depressing air from that morning. Bright seems wrong in every way. Today is not a sunny kind of day.

Wendell sleeps again on the way home, after apologizing several times for tearing them away from their work. He only stops apologizing when Booth assures him they would have been there whether he'd asked them to be or not. This is what friends do.

Booth pulls up in front of the apartment and gets out to help Wendell up the steps if he needs it. Brennan exits the vehicle as well and sees Mrs. Bray open the front door. The woman looks exhausted already and Brennan can only imagine how hard this all is for her. First her husband and now her son and once again Brennan curses the universe.

Wendell goes straight to bed and after going over some of the doctor's instructions with Mrs. Bray and giving her their cell phone numbers, there is nothing left but to go home.

It's starting to turn gray again when they get back to the car. The day is heading into night and as they pull into the driveway, it's completely dark out.

Christine is in bed and Max makes a quick exit. She's thankful for that. She's not in the mood to be social. It's too much effort, she's too drained and the only thing she wants is her bed.

She slips out of her clothes and into her favorite comfy pajamas, brushes her teeth and climbs into bed. With the covers pulled up to her chin she wills herself to stop the loop in her head.

This isn't how it's supposed to be. It's just not fair.

"It's not even eight thirty," Booth says from the doorway.

"I'm just tired."

He doesn't say anything else, but disappears into the bathroom himself, only to return in a few short minutes in a clean shirt and pajama pants. He crawls into bed beside her and reaches over her to turn off her light.

Instead of settling on his side of the bed, he settles beside her on her side, his head resting on her shoulder as he shares her pillow.

It is now, in the safety of the dark, in the safety of his love, that she dares to speak the words aloud.

"This isn't how it's supposed to be. It's just not fair."

"I know."

She scoots down a little and turns into him as he wraps his arms around her.

She says it again. "It's just not fair."

And she cries.