Prologue

The shovel got rammed into the ground on regular terms. Next to the hole that got more and more shape, a heap of earth developed. The man pushed the shovel again and again in the ground and formed a regular grave. When he was satisfied with his work, he based himself on the shovel and smeared the sweat from his forehead. With a dull sound the garbage bag blazed on the ground of the grave. The man hesitated for a moment and looked at the hole. He moved the bag a little with his shovel, before he started to fill the grave with ground again. Piece by piece the blue garbage bag vanished. An owl howled, when the man patted the ground. He looked around startled. But there was no one in the wood except him. His shovel reflected the moonlight, as he turned around and went with creaky steps to his jeep, that was parked a few meters away. The shovel got thrown in the trunk, got in the car and drove away. It was not until he'd left the last trees behind him that he switched on the light...

Brennan turned over the pages of a magazine. Headlines like „Paris Hilton back in prison" or „the newest diet of the stars" didn't attract her attention. „It's a pity that they don't have 'anthropology today' here." she thought.

She turned to Booth who was sitting next to her. „Who is Paris Hilton?"

He didn't say anything for a moment, but the expression on his face revealed his thoughts. „Not really ?!" With a sigh he put the magazine he had been reading on the table in the middle of the waiting room.

„Does the Hilton Hotel tell you something?" he asked with a snappy undertone and turned his head towards Brennan.

Brennan nodded. „Sure, I've stayed in one during a congress on Malta. The service was pretty good. And Paris Hilton ? Is this woman in charge for the Hotel in Paris ?"

Booth had to fight against an upcoming fit of laughter. „Mhm.. thereabout." he said and smiled.

Satisfied with his explanation, she took a look at the magazine again. Booth based his elbow on the backrest and laid his head in his hand. Without a word he observed Brennan, who frowned her forehead once in a while. He turned away amused and looked through the stack of magazines for something useful, when Brennan closed the magazine with a snap, threw it back on the stack and abruptly turned ot Booth.

„What are we actually doing here ?" she asked nerved.

Booth leaned back in his chair. „We're waiting."

But Brennan didn't let go. „I could be at the Jeffersonian now and work. Instead I'm sitting in this waiting room...with you!"

Booth looked at her aggrieved. „What's that supposed to mean? At least you can tell that you've been alone with a hot FBI agent. I got the Bone-lady."

Brennan pushed her lower lip forward. Ok, Booth doesn't have a good day today, she thought. „I'm just asking myself, why we're supposed to see a psychiatrist...we're working well together...we understand each other...more or less."

Booth nodded. „Mhm...and still Dr. Gordon gives me the referral to this psychiatrist." He said. Brennan just wanted to reply, as the secretary entered the room.
„You're free to go to the treatment room now."

„Well, then go in and win!" Booth said with a sigh and stood up. When he laid his arm on Brennans' back and pushed her more or less out of the room, he raised an reproachful glance from Brennan. Thereupon he lifted his arms defensively until she turned around again and went into the room of the psychiatrist. Booth followed her, not without rubbing his hands nervously. „That sounds like fun!" he thought...