Hello dear reader, before we begin on this journey, I would like to say some things.

Firstly, this is an AU story. Alternate Universe, which means that things are not canon. Therefore, if you want canon, this is not the story for you. This story is based on the 100th episode (I think) where Booth dreams up the fantasy life of him and Bones as club owners. (So technically this is canon, as it's Booth's dream world. Ha.)

Secondly, I am a late Bones fan. I only started watching this year. (I was 9 when the series started, so maybe a little young for blood and guts). Bones has had a phenomenal impact on my life. I am 6 months away from my first degree, and my next degree will definitely be in anthropology, but enough about me.

Thirdly, for the past two years, I have given up on writing. This is my hail mary, my attempt on getting my mojo back (If you've read my other fics you'll know the struggle). I hope you like it.

The Skeleton in the Closet.

Now we're picking fights and slamming doors

Magnifying all our flaws

And I wonder why, wonder what for

Why we keep coming back for more.

Aubrey slammed the file down on Booth's desk with gusto. He unbuttoned his jacket before sitting down in one of the two sleek leather chairs Booth had in his office. Booth raised an eyebrow at his young associate, who was busy opening a pack of peanuts.

"Good morning to you too," Booth said as he picked up the file.

"Morning," Aubrey greeted back between mouthfuls of peanuts. It was a hot and sticky morning in Philly, but the office air conditioner was doing a great job of keeping them cool and sweat free. Booth only got agitated in the heat, and an agitated Booth was not something Aubrey liked to deal with. "I got the file on The Lab."

Booth flipped open the file, scanning the contents quickly to get an overview. He had made a good choice in employing Aubrey as his junior associate, the kid was thorough and knew his stuff.

"Well the club's financials look good, could be better, but whoever is running the place knows what they're doing," Booth said as he scanned over the statement.

"The club's got a name too, and there's nothing better than a place with a name," Aubrey leaned back, grinning to himself as he sensed Booth's approval. The Lab was a club in downtown Washington with an interesting theme. It has been up and running for five years now and it was a nightly hotspot for the locals.

Booth flipped to the photographs of the club, raising an eyebrow. "Interesting," he mused.

Aubrey leaned forward and craned his neck to see which photo Booth was looking at. "It's awesome, right? The whole place looks like a chemistry classroom inside. They serve you shots in beakers and everything, just like a lab."

"It clearly has potential," Booth flipped through the rest, scanning over the menu as well. That's what Booth did, he took over clubs with potential and made them epic. Some called him a crook, but to him, it was all business. Booth always got what he wanted, and he had his sights set on The Lab.

"Have you got anything on the owner?"

Aubrey frowned. "That's where it got tricky." He leaned over and flipped a few pages over in the folder. "All I could get was that the owner was a T. Brennan, and that's it. Apparently, the owner lives a very private life. Whoever he or she is, they have no social media presence and no association with the club. Meeting the owner is supposedly like meeting the president, but once you meet them you're in."

Booth leaned back, flipping a pair of dice between his fingers. It was a common tactic often used by new club owners. They wanted to create something exclusive, somewhere people would die to get into. Being unreachable made people fall all over themselves to reach you.

"You're going to have to find the owner, I can't make them an offer if I don't know who I'm making the offer to."

That was another reason why Booth hired Aubrey. The kid had a knack for digging up dirt, and it was often the dirt that persuaded the owners to sell to Booth. You don't get to run a multi-billion dollar firm by playing nice.

"I was thinking of going down there, doing some recon," Aubrey said, finishing his pack of peanuts and crumpling the paper. "There's no online trace I can follow, and I'll get a better read on the owner if I meet them in person."

Booth thought about this for a minute. He liked to have all the facts before making a decision, but he mostly went with his gut. His gut told him that buying The Lab was a good deal. He could turn it into an overnight sensation, the next Space Miami or Limelight, and he would actually be able to keep it open for more than ten years. Buying clubs was an art, they had a limited lifespan and you always had to be one step ahead of the latest trend. It was hard work, but it sure as hell paid off.

"I want to discuss legal options with Caroline first, and have forensic accounting dig a little deeper into the club's finances. Then we'll talk about going."

Aubrey nodded, giving Booth a salute before making his way to his office. Booth leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on the table. He flipped the file back to the beginning and started to read the detailed report Aubrey compiled.

The Lab was founded in 2012, the club had a rough first year, but made it through. By 2013, the idea of drinking brain jelly out of a beaker became a fad and The Lab's popularity grew. In 2014, the lab became famous for their 'bone killer' shot, a shot that supposedly turned all your bones to jelly. The Lab was featured in the hottest entertainment magazines and became a member of the Washington pub crawl experience. It was rated as one of the 50 best clubs in America in 2016 after hiring world famous chef, Colin Fisher, who created the 'tower of bones' — a massive stack of pork ribs. The club has been going strong since then, but Booth's mind was already working on ways to improve it and to get it to the top of the world's best clubs list.

He was just about to flip to the financial statements when Sweets sauntered into his office, black shades on his face. He flopped down in the same chair Aubrey was in earlier, looking like he spent the night in a bottle of beer with a cat.

"Last night's fundraiser gala did not do my wallet, or my liver, any good," he complained, rubbing his stomach. Booth suppressed a grin as he looked at his publicist. He grew up with Sweets, the man was his closest friend. When Booth's company started gaining a reputation and making millions, Booth brought Sweets in to make sure his private life stayed private.

"It was that brunette that didn't do you any good," Booth countered, giving Sweets a knowing glance. Sweets was a few years younger than Booth, which meant he hasn't made the mistakes Booth's made yet.

"Daisy," Sweets sighed dreamily before snapping himself out of it. "She turned me down Booth, I had to restore my confidence again after that."

"And you restored your confidence by drinking six slippery nipples in a row."

"It was the only nipple I was going to get," Sweets grumbled and Booth couldn't help but laugh.

"How are you supposed to look after my image if you can't look after your own?" Booth had practically carried Sweets to a cab after the slippery nipples. The kid was head over heels for Daisy, but the bubbly brunette wanted nothing to do with him. Booth suspected that it was partly his fault, he had a reputation for being a snake, one which inevitably rubbed off on Sweets.

"Your image is just fine, Booth," Sweets grumbled, pushing his shades up. "I heard Aubrey talking about a new takeover."

Booth almost rolled his eyes. Aubrey had a big mouth. "I have my sights set on something."

"Anything good?"

Booth handed Sweets the file. After a few minutes of looking through it, Sweets said: "Do you think she'll sell?"

Booth raised an eyebrow. "She? You think the owner is a woman?"

Sweets nodded, handing the file back to Booth. "No man could have come up with the items on the menu. She is an alcohol genius."

"I don't know," Booth said, playing with his dice again. "It just feels like it should be a guy. My gut says, guy."

"Come on," Sweets argued, "no man would name a cocktail 'making love in the driveway'."

"No woman would name a shot a Washington Long drop!"

"Sorry for the interruption," Aubrey's head was leaning in through the doorway. "Booth, your ex-fiancee is here to see you."