AN: Welcome, lovelies, to my second multi for Bones! As I've mentioned to a few people, I've been plotting a casefic for some time (wait, don't go!), one with a bit of a lighter element (think The Mummy In the Maze) but also, serious character development moments.

This fic is set in season 8, post 8X02. Spoilers through that episode. At times, I may tie in "canon" from my one-shot series, but you don't need to read them first. You can, though, because I enjoyed writing them and love feedback.

B&B, Hodgela, and a healthy love of The Bard are at play here. Don't worry; characters will mock his work if you loathe it. Something for everyone! I deliver, my pretties.

I disclaim, although Hart Hanson can offer me a job as a writer and I will take it NOW. Rated for violence, language, a twist of lemon and all that good stuff. Also, this chapter is admittedly a bit short, but it IS the pre-opening credits section.

"Are you sure this is the right way?"

Jenny's feet dug in, yanking her companion to a halt. Her shoulders ached from the prolonged weight of the backpack, her legs were sore and more importantly, they'd yet to actually begin rehearsing their scene. And while Colin was rather hot, Jenny had no time for romance in her life. If this was his grand attempt at seduction, she was going to beat him with her anthology.

"Jen, it's just through there and across the creek," Colin protested. "I promise you, the scenery is so perfect, it'll make rehearsal a breeze."

He flashed that panty-dropper of a smile at her again and she relented, following him along the rough trail through the woods. Maybe it was a long walk, but she had to admit that the towering trees and faint song of birds really did capture the vibe of the play.

"Who built a treehouse out here, anyway?" Jenny asked. "And how did you find it?"

"One of the frats built it two decades ago," Colin replied, huffing as he dodged a large exposed root that threatened to claim his ankle as a victim. "We restored it two years ago. It's a great spot to have a drink or smoke up, but it also has this beautiful view of the creek. I like to wander out here when working on scriptwriting assignments."

Hand in hand, he led her around a shady bend, revealing a sudden drop-off. The sound of rushing water reassured Jenny. I'm being ridiculous. Colin's only two spots behind me in the program standings. He wouldn't screw around on a mid-term.

"It drops off over there," Colin explained, pointing downstream.

"Cool. Thanks for doing this, by the way. My roommate's such a noisy bitch, I can't get anything done."

"I hear ya. Last year, my roomie was constantly drunk and throwing up on our floor." Colin rolled his eyes, sneakers skidding along a muddy decline. "Careful, here."

Jenny gasped as she slid halfway down, relieved that Colin was there to steady her. She was dreading the return trip. Her shoes were coated in thick globs of mud and the hill had no traction at all. Maybe Colin could carry me back up, she thought absently. He looks strong enough.

"And just over here, we..."

"We what?"

Jenny followed Colin's gaze and clamped her hand across her mouth, stifling a scream.

"Watch your step, Bones; it's been raining for days."

"I'm well aware of the weather conditions for the area, Booth," Brennan replied, slightly annoyed. "You, on the other hand, should have heeded my warning and brought your hiking boots."

"What? I'm fine!"

Brennan stifled a laugh as her partner slid halfway down the hill, rescued by a large tree trunk. It reminded her of the cartoons she and Christine often watched during her time away. That line of thinking immediately killed the urge to laugh, the familiar sensation of a squeeze near her heart kicking in. Angela called it heartache, but it wasn't an ache, so the term seemed a tremendous misnomer. It was a physical reminder of the loneliness and guilt that lingered beneath warm embraces and passionate lovemaking, an echo of the pain she knew she'd caused Booth.

He'd forgiven her. He'd sworn it. And yet, she could not forgive herself, although the precise reason why eluded her.

"Bones?"

Brennan glanced up, shaking her head slightly. "Sorry, I must be tired."

Dr. Saroyan was already examining the scene, coordinating the perimeter. Dr. Hodgins was five feet away, collecting samples of the shoreline soil and water. These tasks were routine and of little interest. Brennan's eyes were drawn to the swath of white sheer linen, from which protruded the skeletal arm of the remains.

"Has the crime scene been thoroughly documented with photographs?" she called out.

"Yes, Dr. Brennan," Cam replied. "Although we haven't determined that it's a crime scene. It could be a drowning."

"Certainly not!" Brennan protested, approaching the creek carefully. "Doesn't anyone else recognize this? It's iconic imagery."

She glanced back at Booth, noting his furrowed brow. Thinking face, she thought. He wasn't cognizant of the symbolic intent. Turning to Dr. Hodgins, she waved him closer.

"Didn't you notice the herbs and flowers?" she asked briskly.

"What? Where?"

"Granted, they're small and tangled within the dress, but they're certainly visible." Brennan gestured to the camera nearby. "I'm the first to admit when pop culture references evade me, but this is classic literature. Mandatory study in high school, from what I recall."

Cam joined her, wading out into the creek gingerly beside her. "Wait... Yes, I see them." The camera fired several times as Brennan tilted her head, studying the angle of the arm. "Dr. Brennan, are those pansies?"

"Of course!" Hodgins exclaimed. "Nice catch, Dr. B.!"

"Uh, would someone like to clue me in? Why do pansies matter and how does that prove murder?" Booth grumbled.

"Well, in addition to the fracture across the temporal region of the skull," Brennan began, reaching beneath the surface, "this is clearly a staged tableau of the death of Ophelia. Given the lack of reasonable explanation for a self-inflicted fracture, it's likely someone arranged the body after striking the victim."

"Ophelia? As in Shakespeare?" Booth asked.

Brennan nodded, gently shifting the nebulous garment aside. "As in Hamlet. One of his better tragedies," she added, studying the pelvic bones. "Female, Caucasian, nulliparous... I'd estimate age between sixteen and twenty-five, but I can narrow it down at the lab. The bones aren't fully exposed within the shroud."

Around her, voices blurred into a white noise of instructions for collection and delivery, observations and speculation as she emerged from the creek. Rosemary, rue, pansies and fennel, she noted silently. Someone had taken great care with the details of this scene and it concerned her deeply. This level of planning suggested a collected demeanor, a peace with the act of taking a life.

"What is it, Bones?" Booth asked quietly.

"This won't be the only victim," she answered reluctantly. "This has just begun."

Do we all remember how fun it was when Brennan quoted The Mummy film? Oh yes, we're going to have that sort of fun ahead... Set your alerts and get ready... This is going to be what I feel is a long overdue episode!