Trev

Okay Trev... breathe deeply.

I swallowed and steeled myself for what I was about to do. I gripped my FN P90 tightly. I swallowed once more.

I rushed from my cover and vaulted onto the dumpster. I brought my weapon up to bear, squeezed the trigger...

"WHAT?" I screamed, "I SO KILLED YOU!"

I could hear Booth laughing from Brennan's office. I gritted my teeth and screamed, "IF THIS WAS REAL YOU WOULD BE DEAD SEVEN TIMES OVER, BOOTH!"

I hated Call of Duty 4. It was so stupid. The bastards engineered it for me to lose. It didn't even simulate an actual battlefield right. I fought in the Middle East. I have done some jobs with the SAS. That is not how they operated. At least we were playing system link. It was a little tradition we had. We played against each other and Booth always won. At least Brennan was as bad as I was, and Hodgins had been playing a Zach Addy for years, so he was pretty good. So teams were roughly even.

"Easy man," Hodgins said, "It's just a game."

Angela chose that moment to walk in, "Wow, Trev. I thought you were the best there was," it took all my self control not to force feed her one of her husband's bugs. Preferably a poisonous one.

She must have caught the dangerous look in my eye and quickly said, "There's a sweet old couple waiting for you at the entrance."

Sweet old couple? They wouldn't actually show up here...

I quickly got out of the room. Hodgins paused the game and followed. Booth would do the same soon enough.

Standing at the entrance were two old people, a man and woman. I knew exactly who they were.

"Mickey, Sally," I greeted, "What are you guys doing here?" I asked as I embraced the old man.

"That any way to treat an old friend?" Mickey asked, "Especially one that has been as nice to you as I have!"

"You traced my call, didn't you?" I asked Sally. The elderly hacker (I'm pretty sure that's an oxymoron) smiled at me.

He looked at the Squint Squad with a critical eye. I realized I forgot to introduce them, "Oh, this is... Tori," I pointed at Brennan, "Cathy," Cam, "John," Hodgins, "Annie," Angela, "Sam," Booth, "Warren," Wendel, "Lily," Daisy, "Gothy," the weird guy, Fletcher, "Larry," Sweets, "and-"

"We've met," Mickey said, shaking Max Keenan's hand, "Hello Matt."

"Mickey," he greeted.

Brennan looked confused, "My name-"

"Tori, you never tell a forger your real name," I said, "Otherwise people like Sam here will be able to track you down."

She digested that, "I can understand that logic."

"Back to the matter at hand," I said, "How do you two know each other?" I pointed to Max and Mickey.

"He was the forger I used to get me identities while I was in hiding," Max said.

"Second matter," I said, "Do I smell your cookies and beef stew?"

She smiled and held up a car key, "They are in your new ride. I thought we might have a picnic?"

I smiled. Firstly, because Sally was an awesome cook. Secondly, because I recognized what car went with that key.

I like cars. They rank right under guns and knives on my Favorite Things list. Those are the second and third on that list. Number one is my daughter.

I had previously called Mickey and asked him to do some shopping for me. I used Booth's cell phone to make the call. Not a smart move considering his wife is one of the best hackers that ever lived and has a Trojan in the NSA.

They led me to a green Ford Mustang 2006 with black racing stripes. It was a beautiful work of art, and looked fresh off the lot. Considering it came from a chop shop, it probably was. Good thing the plates were changed.

I whistled, "This is why I love you, Mickey."

He chuckled, "You haven't seen anything yet."

Booth asked, "Do I want to know where this car came from?"

"No."

"Okay, then."

Mickey popped the trunk, revealing a collection of items, "Sally had spared no expense-"

"Especially since this was all paid for with the money from one of my Swiss accounts," I said.

He chuckled again, "She went to her own gear-runner."

Brennan asked, "Gear-runner?"

Booth explained, "Like gun-runners except they deal in technology. Computers with illegal programs on them, military grade equipment, bugs, that sort of thing."

Mickey drew out a touch-screen smart phone, "A lot like your PDA. It's a burn phone, untraceable. It's got all the apps your old PDA has, it's essentially it's clone. Except it's not bullet proof."

He pulled out a laptop computer, "This thing has all the hacking software that phone has, except with rabies and steroids. And, it's easy enough for me to use."

"Awesome," Mickey may have a hacker wife, but he was about as computer literate as a caveman.

He pulled out more items, "Laser-mike," useful, "night-vision goggles," definitely useful, "And a spare burn PDA," oh thank God. Bin(short for Binary), my old tech support, would give me grief about losing equipment. I was notorious for losing my PDA. The main reason he upgraded the GPS on it was to give me the exact position of it within inches.

"I got some clothes right here," he hefted a duffel bag, "Your usual shirt and jeans stuff. Plus your op outfits," durable, BDU like garments that I don for big-boom style events, "And we got three suits up front. One Italian, made by your favorite fitter," Michaelangelo, a dirty Italian immigrant who'd sell his own mother for money. Luckily, he had a lot of modern, stolen Italian suits for when I want to make an impression. And he knows my measurements, "A kinda nice one from Men's Warehouse. And a crappy one from Sears."

"Now where's my fun stuff?" I asked eagerly.

Mickey chuckled again. He moved all the tech stuff out of the way and opened a false bottom. My mouth dropped and so did every one of the Squint Squad's.

"Oso went all out," I observed as I drew out a shotgun, "Mossberg 930," 12-gauge, semi auto, 8-round mag. I put it back, "Bravo 51, with Leupold Mark 4 MR/T scope and built in suppressor. Ain't this nice, Sam?" I handed Booth the 7.62mm NATO rifle. He hefted it in his hands and nodded. I continued to examine the guns, "Uzi," 9mm Parabellum with 30-round mag and threading for the suppressor, "Steyr AUG Mark 3," a 5.56mm NATO bullpup assault rifle with a 1.5x scope and 30-round mag, "And my honey," the Mark 23 SOCOM .45 ACP pistol with laser sighting and a 12-round mag, "And another favorite too!" a FN Five-seveN. It fired the 5.7x28mm rounds with a 20-round mag. And these bullets, unlike the similar 9mm Parabellum, were armor piercing. And a final present, "K-Bar fighting knife. I love you, Mickey."

I embraced the man again. How could I not? He bought me a virtual armory and enough ammo to storm Fort Knox. Even if it was my own money. Sally clapped her hands, "Now, I've been cooking all afternoon. Let us eat, before the stew gets too cold?"

We ended up having a picnic in the parking lot. It was just cool enough to be comfortable and very sunny out. Me and Booth ended up eating most of the hearty Beef Stew Sally made. She brought a hot plate and warmed up the stew she brought in piecemeal. Otherwise it would have taken all day. She brought gallons of the stuff. We had somehow managed to eat it all and a ridiculous amount of the cookies she brought.

Brennan sticked to vegetarian sandwiches("Mickey needs to watch his sodium intake" "Blah!" "What was that?" "Um, yum?") and Sally talked computers with Angela. Jack was riveted by all the conspiracy tales Mickey told about his time as a forger for the CIA. I chatted with the interns. Well, I talked to Wendel about sports(not weird) and Fisher about death(I think I creeped him out a little), and gossip with Daisy.(People like her are my favorite. All you have to do is tune out the annoying voice and focus on what she says. Then you get a lot of info. For instance, about the sex scandal in her yoga class.) I also talked psychology with Sweets. Therapy had taught me to distrust therapists, yet many missions had taught me to trust profilers. Plus, I dabbled in psych study here and there.

Cam also joined in. she and Mickey hit it off right away with him telling her stories about his father being good friends with one of the Tuskegee Airman. Particularly all the funny stories that involve planes nearly blowing up, or blowing up and revealing a soon-to-be-embarrassed man and woman. She in turn shared with him strange and exiting cases she worked, both in the Jeffersonian and as a cop.

Booth stood back, watching us interact. I pulled myself out of a argument over who was better, USC or Georgetown(I didn't need for both of my parents to be USC Alumni to know the answer to that one!) with Wendel and leaned on the car next to Booth.

"All right, spill," I said, sipping the cranberry juice Sally brought("Alcohol is the Devils drink").

"I know you Trev," he said, "And I know that what you do will stop more needless death in the future. But, I also know that without being a part of a group like the COVENANT Project, you're a wild card."

"Good call," I said, "I promise: bloodless as possible."

Booth sighed in relief. Despite what I was, he put his trust in me. He said it was his gut. I didn't care. I lived in a world were alliances change at the drop of a hat. It felt good to have a close ally that has your back. I returned the favor. More than a few of his cases were solved with me covertly threatening judges for warrants. And he let Ms Julian take the credit. Not that I cared. Let her have the credit. She is honestly the only person that truly scars me.

One hour later...

"Bloodless as possible, Trev," Booth repeated as he shook my hand.

Brennan shook my hand, "I expect you to be at the wedding."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," I assured.

Hodgins asked, "If you're going out of the country, bring me back some bugs."

"Even if I have to smuggle them in my stomach."

Angela hugged me, "It's been interesting, to say the least."

"It has, Art-girl."

Cam shook my hand, "I'll get you over to teach the kids some other time. They want to learn more pyrotechnics."

"I'm sure they do."

I shook hands with the Squint-terns. When I got to Max he fixed me with a steel hard gaze, "Nothing of what you do gets traced back here."

I fixed him with my own, "Don't worry. I protect my sources."

I got into my new car. It had been specially modified with stronger suspension and a nitro-injector for a souped-up engine. It carried around 200 pounds of weapons easy as pie.

As I drove away, I felt the same panging sensation in my chest as when I shipped out for Afghanistan for the first time.

I would be home sick.