Hi, I'm Fictionwriter91. You might remember me from such stories as A Change of Events, Booth & Bobby: FBI, The Love in the Heart (co-written with I Love Kol Miakelson), and The Science Teacher in the Public School. I was writing flashbacks of Max and Ruth Keenan in my next chapter of The ST in the PS, and I got this amazing idea. I won't get into details since you'll read the story below, but I thought this idea deserved it's own story (I apologize if it's been done already!). I will still do flashbacks in The ST in the PS, so don't worry! It will just be a different version than this. I'll stop talking now!

Brennan opened her eyes from her dream, and she felt slightly unnerved. Ever since the Jeffersonian had blown up, she was having nightmares about being trapped inside the lab forever or of never regaining her memory of how to do her job. She also would dream of her father, Max. She desperately missed him. The snuffle beside her drew her attention to her husband. She smiled at him, his face twitching with whatever dream he was having. Probably about sports. Brennan was thankful for the millionth time that she opened her heart to him and let him show her that life could be so wonderful. She looked over at the clock. It was 7:13 am. Odd. She craned her ears. Christine was normally awake by seven at the latest, something she hoped would soon get out of Christine's system. Brennan did enjoy sleeping in. Even Hank was abnormally quiet. Something was up. Brennan slipped out of bed and tiptoed to her door, listening. If both children were quiet, that usually meant someone was up to no good. Christine was a week away from being six, and Hank had just turned three, so she hoped the eldest was not influencing the youngest in any way since Christine had recently discovered that Hank would do just about anything she wanted in order to please her. It was something Brennan and Booth were working on. Brennan snuck into the kitchen, and sure enough, there was Christine standing on the wooden step Grandpa Max had made just for her so she could reach the counter. Hank was on his tiptoes beside her.

"Hurry," Hank was whispering loudly.

"Shh!" Christine ordered. "You'll wake them up and ruin the surprise!"

"Sorry," Hank whispered loudly again. Brennan craned her neck, and she noticed that Christine was making toast. Her daughter was bringing them breakfast in bed. How sweet. She watched for a moment longer before Christine hopped off the step stool and grabbed the tray, albeit a little wobbly. Brennan quickly went back into the bedroom where Booth was now snoring. She carefully climbed back under the sheets and closed her eyes. Sure enough, their bedroom door opened slowly, and she could hear the two children giggling with pleasure at their surprise. Brennan waited for them to shout out their arrival, but it didn't come right away. Instead, Hank climbed onto the end of the bed, and he leaped onto Booth's chest on his knees shrieking, "SURPRISE!" Brennan sat bolt upright while Booth's eyes shot open wide, his lungs expelled all the air at once, and his arms flailed around while he tried to get his breath back.

"Hi Mommy, hi Daddy!" Christine shouted. Brennan turned to face her. "We made you breakfast in bed! Well, it was mostly me, but Hank was the one who decided on how to wake you up."

"Hi," Hank grinned, wiggling on his Daddy's chest. Booth finally got air into his lungs and over the shock of it all.

"You little scamp!" he cried, grabbing Hank into a bear hug and making the little boy giggle even further.

"How thoughtful!" Brennan announced while Christine placed the tray onto her lap. Brennan bit back a chuckle. Some of the toast looked like they'd barely escaped a house fire. The rest looked great. She picked up one of the golden brown pieces for herself.

"This is really good, Christine. Thank you," she smiled at her daughter, who beamed with pride. Booth slid Hank off his lap and reached for one of the better looking pieces. Brennan smacked his hand away.

"Ow!" he complained.

"Christine worked hard on all the toast," she said, giving him a meaningful look. Booth gave her a pleading look, which she shot down, so he gingerly picked up one of the burnt pieces, trying not to grimace.

"Mmm," he said, biting into the charcoal. "My favorite." Swallowing was proving difficult, but he managed. Christine was bouncing up and down now.

"I knew you'd like it!" she cried. "See, Hank?"

"Yup," Hank agreed. He was still wriggling with excitement.

"Very good," Booth nodded. He slathered a two inch perimeter of jam onto the second charcoal piece while Brennan smiled cheekily at him while eating the best pieces.

"Juice!" Christine cried, smacking her hand to her face. She took off to get some with Hank on her heels.

"You owe me," Booth said, gesturing to his toast.

"It's not that bad I'm sure," she laughed.

"I've had better," he replied. He leaned in and planted a kiss onto her cheek before getting up.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Our son not only landed on my lungs but he landed on my bladder," Booth winced, closing the bathroom door behind him. Brennan chuckled to herself. She loved days with her family where work was not interrupting constantly.

"Here," Christine said, returning with a glass of orange juice. Brennan thanked her and sipped it.

"Don't we have the best children in the world?" Booth asked, coming out of the bathroom. He went over and scooped up Christine, tilting her upside down and making her squeal.

"Me! Me!" Hank called, bouncing around Booth's feet.

"Careful," Brennan said, smiling. Booth set down Christine and gave Hank a ride too.

"What are we doing today?" Christine asked. It was Saturday, so no school.

"I don't know," Booth answered, looking at Brennan. "What are we doing today?"

"Something I should have done a while ago," Brennan told him. He looked at her curiously. It had hit her just now, watching her family. The ache of missing her father was ever present, and she suddenly really wanted to be surrounded by all his things. She had put off tidying up his small house and listing it because she couldn't bear to lose the last piece of him, but now she saw it was time for closure. Russ would be happy.

"Really?" Booth asked, getting what she was saying. He'd wanted her to do it weeks ago, but he understood that she wasn't ready.

"Yes," she nodded. "Would you be okay with playing with the kids today?"

"Oh. Yea, of course," he agreed. He'd wanted to be there with her for support, but he guessed if she needed to do it alone...

"I know you wanted to help," Brennan said, reading his mind. Christine and Hank were now entertaining themselves with a silly face contest, so they weren't listening anymore.

"I just want you to know I'm here for you," Booth told her.

"I know," she nodded, grabbing his hand and squeezing it tightly. "I'll call if I need you."

"Okay."

...

Brennan was overwhelmed with emotion when she opened the door to her father's house. It was very small, just the way he liked it. She stood in the entryway, staring at her surroundings. It looked as though he'd never left. There was an open newspaper on the table and dirty dishes in the sink. She thought Russ would have been here by now, but perhaps he was respecting her decision. It was that or maybe he wasn't up to it either, and Brennan wasn't alone in the fact that she wasn't ready to say goodbye to everything yet. She had messaged Russ before coming here, but he hadn't responded yet. She walked over to the kitchen table, touching the wood and collecting a thin layer of dust on her finger. It was barely two months since Max had tragically been taken away from her. This fact was with her every day. Her phone vibrated then.

Are you okay? Booth asked.

It feels like he's still here, she answered.

I can get a sitter...

No, I can do this. I have to do this.

Okay. I love you.

I love you too.

Brennan put her phone down and looked at the task that was ahead of her. Where did you even start? She wasn't intending on keeping a lot of things. She would box things up and let Russ look through in case he wanted stuff, but Brennan didn't anticipate wanting much. She wandered into Max's bedroom, halting in the doorway. She was met with photos of her mother, Amy and Russ with Hayley and Emma and her, Booth, Christine and Hank everywhere. She put her hand to her mouth. Her father had obviously loved them very much. Why hadn't she ever come here before?

"Oh, Mom," she whispered, touching the framed photo of Christine Brennan smiling back at her. She hoped they were together again. Brennan took in a deep breath, and she went to the closet. Her dad's familiar scent hit her immediately, and she felt tears in her eyes. Maybe this was going to be harder than she thought. She opened the door all the way and surveyed it all. She had to start somewhere. She knelt down and started pulling things out from the back of the closet. Her hand bumped against a box that felt heavy. Curious, she dragged it out from under the blankets. What was in here that her father felt the need to conceal so well? She felt a little anxious at first, but when she opened it, all she found were dozens and dozens of leather bound journals. This was interesting. She didn't know her father was a writer. Then she almost laughed. They were probably her mother's. No way did Max keep a journal. She lifted one out and opened it. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise.

...

September 4, 1951

Our English teacher is making us write in a journal like a bunch of girls. Who has time for this anyway? I don't want to write about my feelings! Oh wait, I guess I am. I'm angry, and that's a feeling. Darn it. Oh well, here goes nothing!

My name is Max Keenan. I am ten years old. I just started my first day of grade five, and I'm already bored. If this is going to be an indicator of how the rest of the school year is going to go, then just shoot me already! It doesn't help that Steve changed schools. Now who am I going to play ball with? No offense to Dave, but he does not have a very good throwing arm. It's like watching a very old man trying to throw something into a garbage can that's practically next to him. Ow! Dave just hit me. I guess he was reading over my shoulder. I'm sure he's writing something nasty about me in his journal now since he's scribbling furiously. Whatever.

Wait! There is something I can write about. A new girl started today. Ruth Whitman. She sure is pretty. Her black hair is almost long enough to sit on! I'm trying to be cool. Walter already tried asking her to be his friend, and she shot him down flat. I don't want that to happen to me. I'll have to think of something.

Oh, apparently we write on a schedule, and my time is up. Well, I'll see you tomorrow!

...

Brennan stared. She was holding her father's journals. This was her father's life. She ransacked through the box and pulled out more journals. She flipped through the dates. He had been consistently writing since he was ten years old. She sat back against the wall with a thud. In her hands, she held her father's history, and by the looks of it, how he met her mother. Without hesitating, she put the others back in the box and re-opened the one she had started. She needed to keep reading. She wanted more. This could clear up so much that she didn't know, and the only regret she had was not finding them sooner.

...

September 5, 1951

Walter stole my lunch money again. I punched him in the nose and earned myself a note home to my parents, not that they'd really care. I can't wait until I'm older and people respect me!

Okay, back to Ruth. I've been studying her, and I've learned that she has a very kind soul. She helps people when they're struggling with math or history, and she has offered other people half her lunch when their money gets stolen by Walter. She didn't offer any to me, but I think it's cos I showed her I can handle myself. Or maybe she doesn't like violence. Hmm. I might have to watch that. I want to talk to her, but I'm afraid she already thinks I'm a ruffian. That's my mother's nickname for me: ruffian. I guess it's true. I spend a lot of time out in the dirt and getting into trouble. I wonder where I learned that? Certainly not from my father. Are you getting my sarcasm here? My sister barely tolerates me. Being the oldest, she gets a lot of responsibility put on her. Luckily, she has a twin brother, so they're close. I think I was an afterthought, the kid that came by accident and disrupted the perfect family.

There goes the bell. My hand really hurts. Who knew that writing caused injuries like sports do?

...

Brennan wiped tears from her eyes. It seemed her father had a hard family life. She wished she had spent more time talking to him about it. She wondered if she'd know the truth once she kept reading. It almost scared her. Her phone vibrated again.

Dinner out? Booth asked.

Yes :)

How's it going?

Very good. Talk later.

Brennan picked up the book again. She knew she was going to get lost in these. She pondered whether she should tell Booth about them or keep them her secret for a while. That was something she would think about later. Right now, she wanted to get back to her father.

So what did you think? Should I bother continuing?