Welcome to the wild world of a round-robin fanfiction writing. For those of you who have read Crossing Jordan fanfiction, the name Nina La Vough should ring a bell. She has been the pen name for various authors for that TV show for several years. Each Nina La Vough story is written by a varied group of writers. Since Crossing Jordan was cancelled last year, some of us have turned to writing Bones fanfiction.

This time, Nina La Vough is made up of Rin22 and NCCJFAN. This is our first time writing together and we hope you like the product.

As usual, neither of us own anything connected to Bones. That all belongs to Hart Hanson, Fox, and Kathy Reich. No profit is being made by either of us.

Because if it was, we'd make Zach's bail and spring him from that institution.

Enjoy!


Chapter One

St. Pricilla's Catacombs

Incense.

Candles.

The soft murmuring of last minute prayers.

The old nun smiled, the satisfaction of the mass and communion plainly showing on her wrinkled face. Now that the parishioners and tourists had either fulfilled their religious obligation or their non-Catholic curiosity, she could complete her own act of worship. Hands gnarled with time and Christian service lit a candle and Sister Angela knelt in front of statues.

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women,

and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.

"Sister Angela!"

Ignoring the call for her attention, the elderly nun continued…

Glory beto the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. As it was in the

beginning is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Amen.

"Sister Angela!"

The pleas for attention were more urgent, but the Sister was intent on finishing her prayers before lunch.

O my Jesus …

"Sister Angela!" The voice was beside her now. Reluctantly the nun raised her head and opened her eyes, preparing to give whoever it was interrupting her act of worship a stern tongue lashing once out of quiet solemnity of the church.

"Forgive me, Sister Angela, but you must come." The rather large form of Margaret stood before the nun, nearly bowing and tripping over her own two feet. Margaret was a novice, preparing for the vow.

And only something of great importance would have made the other nuns send Margaret to interrupt Sister Angela's worship. Something of great importance…or a great disaster.

Instantly the aged nun was on her feet, speed belying the years spent on her knees. "What is it my child?"

"Sister Constance said you must come…and quickly…I fear…" Margaret took the nun by the hand and led her out of the dark confines of the Basilica and into the bright sunshine of a Sunday morning in Rome. Across the court yard…through a narrow entrance way that only the nuns used, down the steps and into the catacombs of Saint Priscilla. Neither woman spoke on their way, the urgent look on Margaret's face giving Angela all the information she needed Whatever the disaster was, it was bad. Bad enough to warrant interrupting an old nun at her prayers.

And bad enough to risk going down into the catacombs of Saint Priscilla – catacombs that were currently undergoing restoration and more exploration. For years the nuns had used the Saint's catacombs as place to make the holy vestments worn by priests and the Pope himself. The dig work ordained by the Pontifical Commission for Sacred Archaeology had produced more holy artifacts but had forced the nuns to move their sewing and embroidery work to another location under a villa owned by the ancient Roman family of Arcili -- the family that claimed Saint Priscilla as one of their own.

None of the nuns had been in the catacombs for weeks. The archaeological workers hadn't been down there in days. The latest find, a small, ornate silver chalice, had been hailed as major find, but the digging had weakened one of the walls of the catacombs. The workers were waiting on scaffolding to be set in place before continuing their work.

In short, no one had been down in Saint Priscilla's Catacombs in at least a week. Probably more like ten days. What prompted Sister Constance to suddenly disobey the order to stay out of the area until further notice? As Sister Angela rounded a corner of the catacombs with Margaret, she found her answer.

It was an altar. A crude one, thrown together by lumber left by the archaeological team.

And on it were the remains of a body.

..forgive us our sins, save us from the fires of Hell; lead all souls to

Heaven, especially those in most need of Thy mercy. Amen.

Sister Angela mentally finished her prayer before crossing herself.

Our Father, who art in heaven…


In Booth's opinion, Monday mornings should begin a lot quieter.

It wasn't enough that he had been back and forth with Cullen half of Sunday night on the phone. Sunday had begun normal…orderly…gently. Mass. Pick up Parker at Rebecca's. Lunch. Afternoon at the park. Take Parker back to Rebecca's. Burger and a beer at the diner. Home. TV. Bed.

At least that's how it was supposed to be. But somewhere between re-runs on Comedy Central and the eleven o'clock news, all hell had broken lose in Rome. Some remains had been found in the catacombs of Saint Priscilla. And for all his Catholic upbringing and catechism classes, for the life of him Booth couldn't remember a Saint Priscilla.

"Saint Priscilla? You mean as in Aquilla and Priscilla in the New Testament?" Booth had quizzed Cullen.

"How do I know? I'm Protestant."

Booth pinched the bridge of his nose. "Priscilla and Aquilla are in the New Testament of the Holy Bible. Protestants and Catholics both read that."

"Oh." Cullen had cleared his throat. So much for religious training on the director's part. He quickly veered back to the subject at hand. "Look, Booth…the remains of an exchange student have been found…"

And as the case was going so far, the Vatican police had tentatively identified the body as a female exchange student from New Jersey. That plainly put the remains under the jurisdiction of the United States and the FBI. The Vatican police had made a phone call to the US Ambassador, who in turn had interrupted Cullen's Sunday dinner.

Then Cullen had put the case in Booth's able and Catholic hands – who in turn was going to tell his more-than-able and distinctively nonreligious and definitely non-Catholic partner she needed to pack a suitcase and any equipment she may need because they had a flight to catch.

First to London.

Then to Rome.

Then the Ambassador's car would take them to the Vatican.

The Vatican. One of the most revered places for a Catholic. Only Bones wasn't Catholic. She wasn't even religious. God Himself only knew how she would react…much less what she would say.

Booth began to feel a headache pound behind his eyes. He silently said a Hail Mary and mentally crossed himself before he stepped on the platform at the Jeffersonian.

"Bones…we have a case."