A/N: I think this is going to end up being the longest story I've written since "Sweet Dreams" (which was a pretty long time ago…) and I'm having fun with it. I was going to start out with a long first chapter and really delve into the plot of it, but instead I'm going to leave this as a prologue. Have fun with it.
Lights flickered off in increments, casting certain areas of the Jeffersonian's Medico-Legal lab into darkness one after the other. Time to go home.
Eventually, the only human life left in the modern building was that of one anthropological team, working overtime on an FBI case. The agent in charge of the case in question supervised while trying to resist tormenting the "squint squad". But they were such easy targets…
"It's just dirt, Hodgins."
The entomologist's ears turned bright red and his eyes narrowed. He took a deep breath and turned to face his new enemy.
"It… is not… just… dirt… Agent Booth." Another deep breath. "The next person… who says that… will get this microscope… shoved down… their throat."
He squinted his bright blue eyes in a menacing, do-I-make-myself-clear type of way. Booth had to do everything he could not to laugh at how seriously the scientist took his work.
"Booth! Stop trying to start a battle of wits with my team!"
Temperance Brennan's voice floated through the lab, calling him out on his intentions without even looking up from her work. How did she do that?
"Yes mother. Ouch!" He winced and rubbed the back of his head where a very well aimed pen had hit him. "Uncalled for!"
"Was not!"
"Now children, don't make me separate you." Angela, resident forensic artist and matchmaker, emerged from her office and suppressed a giggle when she was met by two equally immature glares. "Anyway, I was thinking it was about time to call it a night and go get some booze. What about you guys?"
"Last one to Sid's is a rotten egg!" Came the answer via Hodgins, as he made a beeline for the door, closely followed by Angela. Apparently this was the consensus because Zack, Tempe's assistant, came out of nowhere to join the footrace. Booth chuckled.
"Sid's it is, then. May I?" He extended his hand toward Brennan in a Southern Gentleman's fashion, but was interrupted when a chorus of expletives rang out from the direction the squint stampede had gone. Brennan and Booth simultaneously leapt to their feet, exchanging worried glances. When they caught up to the rest of the team, they saw what the commotion was about.
White. Everywhere. At least two feet of it already blanketed the ground, and it was still coming down hard with no hope of stopping. They were trapped.
Reviews trump oxygen.