A/N: Bones is as of recently one of my three favorite TV shows, and as you'll find out, I have a favorite intern as well, who I hope is chosen for Season 5. This kind of came out of nowhere, but I hope you like it. Lend me your thoughts, if you will.

Five For the Deadline

She never thought it'd be so hard to pick an intern. It wasn't really until she reached the deadline of needing to tell the five potentials to beat it or to come in bright and early Monday morning that she realized she hadn't really taken them into true consideration. It'd always been the case that had preoccupied her, and while she'd compliment them once or twice, it hadn't really registered with her what she was saying. Despite that, though, she'd had it in her mind that it'd be a no-brainer as to whom she'd pick to be the next Zack, her next doctorate-bound. But now that the newest case is over, everyone's gone home, and she's sitting at her desk with a cup of coffee and the profiles of all the interns splayed out in front of her, she honestly can't decide. And it's really, really starting to piss her off.

There's Clark Edison, 26, the Princeton attendee with the most professionalism, least tolerance for what even she has to admit is the lab's soap opera-like atmosphere, and observational skills. He's straight-laced, got the accolades and the backbone to keep returning to the Jeffersonian in spite of his dislike of the environment. He's the obvious choice.

But then there's Wendell Bray, 23, top one percent at U of Maryland Baltimore with the most street smarts, widest range of pragmatic yet applicable knowledge, and most personable. He's not from the most prestigious university, and he's more impressionable than perhaps the others are, yet the kid's got guts (she did hear about that Egyptology stunt) and she's sure he's got the most ambition. Angela's told her that. He's the forerunner, right?

On the other hand, there's Vincent Nigel-Murray, 25, who completed undergrad at the University of London and currently is at William and Mary. He's incredibly intelligent, his most recent IQ reading out at 175, and he's definitely got the random trivia thing down. Periodically, she's even surprised to find out it's tangentially relevant. It gets annoying, but he's sometimes got an odd charm, and she can't ignore his brains…

Although she can't discount Colin Fisher, 26, right in D.C. at Georgetown, member of a half-dozen clubs there, and possessing a unique disposition. He's definitely got an ingenious idea now and again (even she wouldn't have thought of the denture cleaner to get those cabernet stains out of the bones), and even though he's depressive and cultish, he can fit into sects that perhaps neither she nor the rest of her team could. She can overlook the dark personality if need be, she's pretty sure.

Then she's got Arastoo Vaziri, 27, two years out of Penn State, a strict Muslim and unfortunately the latest recipient of Dr. Hodgins's jibes. She's sad to say that she honestly doesn't know much about the man, as he's only been involved with two of her cases, but what she's seen so far has been for the most part satisfactory. She thinks she could see him slowly mature up to being a member of her team. She hopes.

Her pen hovers over each paper, ready to either put a giant "X" through the application or circle their name and place it in the center of her desk to remind her to tell its correspondent that they've been made the newest member of her forensic anthropology department at the Jeffersonian Institute Medico-Legal Lab. Unfortunately, her brain is unable to command her hand to make either mark on the paper, her rational mind having to sort through each applicant again and again and again, and then one more time.

With a groan, she gets up and stretches, walking over to her couch to sit down instead of her less comfortable desk chair. She recalls the informal meeting she had with Booth a few weeks ago about this same quandary, in which she professed that she wanted his opinion, if nothing else than to simply help her decide. Of course, they'd been interrupted by a body discovery and subsequent crime that had temporarily taken her mind off of it. She hadn't gotten around again to talking to her partner about the whole thing, and now that was coming back to bite her in the ass.

It's a thought, though. She admits that she's not the best judger in terms of people—live people, that is—as well as in terms of sociology or psychology, but hey, she might as well give it a try. Nothing else was working so far. She'd put herself into the minds of her colleagues, see what she'd anticipate them wanting or saying. The clock reads one forty-five a.m., meaning she couldn't actually call them and ask, but mentally was better than nothing.

Naturally, her best friend springs to mind first, Angela's kind face, broad smile, and artistic eye all too familiar. Angela would want someone congenial, someone able to empathize with people; and not just the members of the lab, but ones in the field as well. She'd want someone who could think outside the box, see something that none of the others would have. Someone who could even maybe help Angela herself, describe whatever it was in detail to help her with a reconstruction. Someone who wouldn't necessarily mind the Days of Our Lives-esque veil that all of their lives could take on occasionally. Perhaps even provide insight. In a word, compassionate.

Next, just as naturally, comes her partner, in a lot of ways the opposite of Angela, his features harder than hers, although there were those moments where he could be just as sweet as Angela could. But in terms of the "squints," she imagines he'd want more of a guy's guy, someone he could just go out and have a beer with, without having to want to stab himself because his compatriot analyzed the components of the beer, or some such. He'd want someone who could make fun of people, in specific their colleagues, without being too harsh or alienating anyone. Someone who could be stern but also laidback depending on the circumstance. Who was actually normal enough to be seen with in public, yet enough of a brainiac to earn his place in the lab. Someone who wouldn't make Booth think he was being psychoanalyzed. In a word, assimilative.

Hodgins pries his way in after, the self-proclaimed bug and slime guy long ago having earned a soft spot in her heart, lovable despite all his paranoia and, in all honesty, gross fascination with creepy crawlies. In terms of him, she imagines he'd want someone who could deal with the nastiness without cringing or needing to leave, someone who would indulge him in his government conspiracies and misanthropy without it getting too out of hand. He'd want a guy who could switch from suggesting possible sources of some unpronounceable chemical to giving advice about girls on the flip of a coin and not get too disoriented. Someone who could withstand Hodgins's initially off-putting veneer and not take it personally. Who'd go out of their way to appeal to his human side, and yet not necessarily let him know that was happening. In a word, judicious.

Cam ends up in her consideration as well, regardless of the ex-cop's bad first impression with her. She has to give the woman credit for sticking with everything so far. And given that, she's pretty sure Cam would want someone who could be just as tough as her, who wouldn't succumb to her sometimes caustic orders and viewpoints, withstand the disgusting parts of autopsies, but also realize that Cam's really just a mostly regular person who has dates and is comfortable with simply chilling out. She'd want someone who could be flexible and unyielding at the same time, but recognize the difference, and when to be either or both. Who could give perception of not just the bones of a person, but through their flesh and background as well. In a word, capable.

Against her better judgment, she decides to include Sweets in this, just for a last opinion. It couldn't hurt. She still despises psychology, and still holds a certain amount of disdain for the young doctor, but he has proven himself paramount in more than one case, and also her personal life. She doesn't know his actual self that well, but she thinks he'd be the kind of guy that'd want a person who could accept his ways and area of expertise without immediately slamming it down and disregarding it with no support as to why. Who'd defend him if worst came to worst, but also provide a levee to indicate when enough was enough. Someone who'd be willing to gratify him, but not do it just because he felt pity for him. Who'd still be a part of the squints in that he'd ridicule Sweets now and again, but not in too much excess. Who wouldn't completely disown him, maybe invite him out to lunch or something sometime. In a word, magnanimous.

More than anything, she would love to include Zack's point of view, and while she knows she could, she also knows that what he would think has no bearing upon the current situation. Much as she has an intense fondness for her former assistant, he's no longer a part of the lab, and thus shouldn't contribute, even if ephemerally, to her decision.

Her head in her hands, Brennan considers what she imagines each of her colleagues would suggest. Each of them is so different, she's realizing, but there has to be someone who fits into their fray. After all, she, Booth, Angela, Hodgins, Cam, and Sweets obviously have some commonality; otherwise, they'd be like oil and water on every single aspect. They're all completely different, yet they're able to work together with limited diminution. That's the main attribute, Brennan thinks, that she should look for.

She's looked at the applications long enough and multiple times to have memorized them, memorized the facts and the credentials. Even the tidbits of personal information she's gleaned from working briefly with them, and the not-so-subtle hints that especially Angela's been nudging in. Every time she thinks she's totally sure on an intern, there's another one that seems to fit the bill, and she has to evaluate further on that one, too. She's only got hours until she has to decide who to choose, whose life to change exponentially for the better, and whose lives she'll force to veer in an alternate direction, where it's extremely doubtful she'd ever end up finding out upon what path they'd ultimately strolled.

It's rare that this happens to her, but she's not blindsided enough to not realize what's going on: she doesn't know. She simply doesn't know.

Brennan sighs, long since resigned herself to a sleepless night, a night of poring over the papers time and time again, probably to just end up picking one at random. Worst, she knows all too well that her associates—no, her friends—would support her decision, no matter who she decides to take under her wing. She loves them all, but that was a fault she at the moment doesn't appreciate.

She nearly jolts out of her skin when she hears a knock on her glass door, and the following, barely-audible footsteps coming into the room. She stands up, not wanting to address whoever had interrupted her admittedly stonewalled musing.

"Dr. Brennan?"

It takes a second for her vision to focus, given that she's been zoning out and staring at text for so long, but when it does, her brain puts together the young face and blond hair, before her brow knits in confusion.

"Wendell? What are you doing here so late?" she asks, taking in the intern's slightly wrinkled clothes and rumpled hair, yet straight stature.

He holds out a cup that she hadn't noticed before, and offers it to her. "I was thinking of using some of the aspects of that last case in my dissertation," he admits, like it's something to be ashamed of. "I noticed your light was on. Brought you coffee. If that's all right."

Brennan manages a smile at him, and accepts the hot drink, her eyes sharpening on the earnest yet currently exhausted man. "Thank you, Mr. Bray," she says appreciatively.

He returns her smile before turning around, with the apparent intent to leave. She takes a sip of the liquid, the strong but somewhat bitter taste indicating the run-of-the-mill coffee that the lab provides in bulk. It's not anything special, and Brennan's sure Wendell had gotten the cup of caffeine for her as more of an afterthought, but she acknowledges the gesture for what it is.

Before he gets completely to the door, though, he turns back to her, his face contemplative. "Yes?" she asks, trying to be the least rude as she can, given her mood.

"Today's when you have to pick an intern," Wendell says, keeping her eyeline. "Just want you to know it's been very gratifying to work with you, and I'm glad I got the chance to get to know you."

Brennan's not quite sure how to respond, let alone to Wendell's assumption that he knows anything about her apart from her work methods, but he gives her a last smile and exits before she can think of a rational reply. Still frowning a little, Brennan sits back down at her desk with the coffee in her hand, looking at the five papers with the five faces staring up at her.

She goes from Clark's face to Wendell's, from Nigel-Murray's to Fisher's to Vaziri's. She thinks of Angela's kindness, Booth's diversity, Hodgins's idiosyncrasy, Cam's sarcasm, Sweets's impassion, even Zack's acuity and her own logicality.

Her lips quirked, she throws four applications in the trash, and puts one straight in the center of her desk.

And she knows as she looks down at that last paper, with the most clarity she's had today, that the first phone call she's going to make in the morning is to tell Booth that he's damn well going to have to relinquish jurisdiction to her in matters of his best hockey player. 'Cause Wendell Bray's her man now.