Disclaimer: I, unfortunately, will tell the truth for once and state that I do not own Bones. Unless Hart Hanson finally agrees to my ransom statements. But for now, no.
I was in the middle of a meeting for an important conference on different defleshing techniques. Except that it did not seem very important to me. The presenter was an amateur, and I have seen Cam already use many of these so called "new" techniques. Right when I was about to stifle a yawn, a smiling face with warm brown eyes entered the room.
"Bones!" he whisper-hissed loudly, causing all of the heads in the room to turn. Smiling, I grabbed my bag, put on my coat, said a quick 'Excuse me,' and we left the conference room together.
"What is it?" I asked as we sat down on a nearby park bench.
"A case," he said simply, but I had a feeling that his mysterious grin meant that he was hiding something.
"Care to describe it?"
"A famous musician, Amber Finch, washed up in the San Francisco Bay. Although we already have identification, we need you to figure out the murder weap…"
"Wait, we're going to San Francisco?" I did not have time for this. There were several more mandatory conferences this week, some of which actually seem remotely interesting.
"Yep, Bones, we going to San Fantastico, land of the Golden Gate!"
"Is it just me, or are you speaking another language?"
"C'mon, Bones, pretty please with a cherry on top?"
"I have never understood that expression," I said, smiling and shaking my head at the same time. He smiled back, knowing that I had agreed.