"Sweets, you're coming with me." Booth gestured impatiently with a manila folder toward Lance sipping his coffee.

"What? What are you talking about? I have a pile of case files on my desk that I'm supposed to be reviewing! Seems like everyone in the Bureau now needs me to put together psych profiles. I mean, some of these are kindergarten level. Anyone could put a profile together on these people. I was reading one file where-"

"Yup, don't care. Here's your new priority." Booth slapped the folder onto Lance's chest. "Remains found in a concrete mixer. We're talking lots of remains. Multiple bodies. Ripped apart by the mixer's rotation, not to mention all coated in cement."

"Are you sure it's murder? I need a little more to go on to build a profile for a murderer. For instance, proof that this was a murder." Lance got into the elevator with Booth, still holding his coffee cup. "At this stage, I think Dr. Brennan is far more needed than I am."

Booth punched the elevator button. "Oh, you're not profiling the murderer. You're profiling one of the victims."

Lance wrinkled his brow. "Yeah, I'm totally confused here."

Booth gave him a sidelong glance. "One of the victims is a woman. And she was found alive." He opened the door for Lance as they exited the building.

Lance shrugged and shook his head. "Still not seeing why it's imperative for me to enter the investigation now." He took a sip of his coffee while getting into Booth's SUV. "Are you just tired of interrogations now?"

Sunglasses on, Booth started the car. Lance opened his mouth to remind him to put on his seatbelt, then thought better of it. Booth never wore his seatbelt. For being the law, Booth sure does like to feel above it, Lance thought.

"The woman, found in the concrete mixer, doesn't speak English. We need you to do your shrinky stuff and figure out all the nuances in her speech that we're not getting by using an interpreter."

Lance settled back into his seat and considered this. It was a challenge, for sure. He'd have to infer more than usual from emotions and gestures. He could also get the entire conversation recorded, then analyze the speech patterns, see which words are repeated and if they have any special relationship to each other. He looked over at Booth and shook his head. Those case files would just have to continue piling up on his desk. "All right, I'll do it."

Booth chuckled and punched him playfully on the shoulder. "See, I knew you'd want it!"

Rubbing his shoulder, Lance nodded. While most of the cases that the FBI had to consult with the Jeffersonian on were interesting, this one was especially fascinating to him. Since his breakup with Daisy and subsequent fling with Agent Sparling had ended sourly, he definitely required some distraction from his romantic woes.

Booth and Lance were greeted at the Jeffersonian by the sight of five people on the dais clustered around a table where a woman sat, covered in blood and bone fragments. There was a sixth person who Lance assumed was the interpreter; she was standing apart from the group looking nauseated. As they approached she spoke.

"Listen, I'm not going to be much help here. She's speaking indigenous languages from South America. And different dialects of them. I'm just from the linguists department; I'm not fluent in these languages. I do etymology, not this." She placed her hand on the railing and sighed heavily as Cam removed a section of spleen from the woman's shoulder with an audible squishing sound. Booth rolled his eyes.

"Well, we just need you to interpret, right? You can do that?"

The woman glanced toward the table. "You'll get the same results from me as you would an online translator. I can't put together grammar and meanings when someone's using obscene dialects! Hardly anybody speaks these languages anymore, much less combines dialects from completely different regions. If you want to fly residents of tiny Chilean villages up to D.C., I will gladly help you translate."

Hodgins looked up from a petri dish that to Lance appeared to be empty, but he was sure there was some microscopic slime in it. "We can record her voice, then run in through an online translator. Or multiple online translators."

Angela nodded. "It's not going to be perfect, but we'll get the gist."

"Which is the same thing I would do. Excuse me, I'm going to go study ancient Greek phonemes now." The interpreter practically ran down the stairs.

Booth threw his hands up. "All right, can we get this translator up and running now?"

While everyone turned toward the monitors to discuss how to set up the program, Lance took the opportunity to walk up to the woman. She had not said a single word since he arrived. Her expression was blank, yet he got the impression she was in some type of pain. Whether physical or emotional, he couldn't tell. She was attractive, with large green eyes and chocolate brown hair. Her nose was slightly bigger than what most people would consider attractive, but the rest of her face was so symmetrical that her nose just made her interesting. Her clothes, from what he could tell underneath the remains that covered her, were well-made, her trousers tailored. She wasn't hard up for cash, that was for sure. He peered at her wrists closely. Just below her sleeves, he could see marks on her arms that could only be tattoos. He straightened, attempting to profile her in his head. Expensive, professional clothing, but tattooed as much as an inmate. Adding that to her almost unsettling calm, this was a woman he wanted to know more about.

"Hi." Lance frowned. Brilliant psychologist, consultant for the FBI, and all he can come up with is 'hi.' "I'm Dr. Lance Sweets, I'm a psychologist with the FBI." He held up his credentials, thinking maybe seeing it would help her connect the words with what he was saying.

"Hola."

He tried to contain himself. She was speaking Spanish now. They could handle Spanish. He could handle Spanish.

"Um, okay, it's been a while since my last Spanish class, so bear with me. Me llamo Doctor Lance Sweets. ¿Cuál es tu nombre?" He briefly wondered if he should have used the formal form.

"¿Puedo estar limpio?"

From behind him, he heard a computer voice. "Can I get clean?"

Everyone turned back to look at Lance and the woman. Brennan and Cam both hurried to her side to continue picking off the remains. Booth grinned. "So this just got a lot easier. Sweets, if you want to go back and work on all your cases, be my guest. I'll call you if we need anything."

Lance tore his gaze away from the woman's eyes, staring at him hopefully. "No, no. I think I'll stick around. You can always use my help, even if you don't want to admit it."

Booth clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "All right, let's do this."

Lance rubbed his chin as he watched the woman being led away to be x-rayed. The case was intriguing enough, with someone using a concrete mixer as a body dump. But did they intend for this woman to be murdered as well? If so, they had made a big mistake. The Jeffersonian team can figure out a lot with human remains, but sometimes, it's the living that hold the final clue.