Author's Note: So I used to have a story called What Happens When Things Change. Well this is sorta that story, but completely rethought. I hope you enjoy. I am currently looking for a beta for this story. Disclaimer: I don't own Bones, any of the U.S. Military branches I mention. I do however own Sam. Enjoy and review please.

We Booths have always been servicemen since way back. My great grandfather Booth fought in WW2 as a Naval Pilot during the Pacific War, his brother a Naval "SeaBee" who built command posts on the different Pacific Islands. My grandfather was a Marine in the Korean War and during the Vietnam conflict. My father was a Naval Aviation Electrician during the Cuban Missile Crisis. See a pattern? And that doesn't include all the older Booths and the siblings of my paternal family tree. Well my oldest brother Seeley was the first Booth to be in the Army, but oh, he wasn't just any soldier. Seeley did his best to do the family name proud by becoming a Ranger Sniper. Then Jared, my other brother, joined the Navy, Dad was only too supportive of that decision. And me? Well, I thought it best to carry on the family legacy. So when I graduated from high school at age 16 with a handful of AP credits and a 97 on my ASVAB, I went to go talk to my local recruiter. Ten years later, I am now a Petty Officer First Class of the United States Navy. My post resigned two years ago I now work with my brother at the Federal Bureau of Investigations headquarters in Washington DC. I work with the street task-force, usually undercover and I occasionally work with the HRT bomb squad due to my Naval training and expertise. My career has gone off without a hitch until two weeks ago when my cover was blown and my alias' name was added to the hit list of one of the most powerful gangs in DC. I now walk, with well practiced bearing toward the deputy director's office, my bottle black-brown braid hanging clear down to my lower back, swishing against my jacket. I knock on the door and open the handle only when the clear and authoritative "come in" is given.

"Agent Booth, have a seat please."

FBI Deputy Director Samuel Cullen greets me when I shut the door to his office behind me. I sit, both feet flat on the ground, hands resting atop my knees.

"Your last assignment has brought some concern to not only myself by to others here at the Bureau and so I feel that for the time being, it would be best if I were to reassign you."

Cullen's statement comes to no surprise, the he continues,

"I realize with your Naval training you would in any other circumstances be placed with one of our many HRT units. However, this situation is not that simple. So I am then placing you as a liaison with the Forensic artist over at the Jeffersonian Medico Legal Lab. Her name is Angela Montenegro, you will contact her and the lab supervisor Dr. Camille Saroyan after you are dismissed from my office. Is that clear?"

My years in the Military have taught me not to talk back but my thoughts are racing with different arguments. This assignment is so that my brother can babysit me and I know it. I, however, reply with a meek but clear 'Yes Sir'. We both rise from our seats and I shake the hand he offers me before I turn to walk out the door. I grasp the handle and begin to turn the knob but Cullen's voice stops me.

"Agent Booth, you're off the streets now, Maria Ayala is dead to you. She no longer exists in this world or in any other. It would be best for you if you started looking like Samantha Booth again."

The tone in his voice became soft and fatherly so I turn around and nod my head and murmurer one last 'Yes Sir' before I shut the door.