A/N: This story is way on the back-burner for me, but I love it. I especially loved this chapter, because I got to work on characterizing Daley. Let me know what you think!

Also, it's come to my attention that there was an episode of Bones titled "The X in the File." I'm laughing about it. Whatever, enjoy the chapter! Leave some reviews!


"Before you start examining the remains, you should know," he starts the second he appears by the platform, "that everything you are about to find is already detailed in another file."

A thick folder in hand, Daley makes his way up the steps with Booth in tow. As the younger man's temporary ID lets them through, the heads of each Jeffersonian team member snap up and find his familiar face; and then they turn to Booth. Hopeful.

The senior agent just shakes his head, and this does not go unnoticed.

"Once again, I'm John. Agent John Daley. Not that other guy."

"Lance Sweets," Brennan fills in, hurt evident in her voice. "His name was Lance Sweets."

And at that, Daley just nods his head dismissively and offers a quick yeah. Him.

"Anyway," the agent goes on, ignoring the obvious curiosity in the people around him. "Like I said. Everything already known about this case is already recorded."

"So show us the file," Hodgins says, his tone flat, completely devoid of any fondness. The man standing opposite him, on the other side of the strange set of remains on the slab, may be the spitting image of the friend they lost four years ago – but that's really all they have in common. Booth even confirmed it.

"Well, that's the problem, Dr. Hodgins," Daley starts, but is interrupted by the entomologist once more.

"You remember my name?" he asks, and is about to continue – is about to point out that he can so easily forget the name of the man who must have been his own brother – but is cut off with a reason.

Daley answers with a curt nod, saying, "I don't need to. It's written on your lab jacket, in case you weren't aware."

The room goes quiet at that, but the tension continues to run high. Each of them can feel it.

"I should remind you that if your team cannot focus on the case at hand, Agent Booth, I'm sure Hacker will have no problem taking you off of it. As I was saying…"

He steps over to a nearby counter and makes sure it's dry before placing his folder down and opening it.

"I don't have that file, and that's exactly where the problem is. The file I do have…" he holds a page up momentarily, as proof, and continues, "is an overview of the preliminary case notes of similar events that happened five years ago. In 2013, a set of remains just like these – humanoid in structure, yet strange and seemingly unidentifiable – was found on the edge of some Maryland farmland. It was actively investigated for nearly seven months before it was halted suddenly by the order of their then-Congresswoman. You might recognize her now as Senator Anne Marsh-Sennick."

"Let me guess, alien boy," Booth interjects with a sigh, stepping forward to glance at the file. He reads for just a moment before looking back at Daley, a near-mocking expression on his face. "You think this is just one big government conspiracy, right?"

And the alien boy shrugs.

"All I'm saying is that the case was pulled without any indication that it was going cold. And why on earth would a Congresswoman get personally involved unless the investigators found something she wanted to keep hidden?"

"I'm gonna stop you right there," Booth says, his expression suddenly sober. "As far as government conspiracy goes – we've been there, done that. In case nobody told you, that's how your own brother was killed. So you might want to watch it with that."

There's a moment's pause, and the scientists on the platform are forced to look away; it's a memory they'd all rather not revisit.

Booth goes on, "And as far as this goes, cases get closed all the time, no matter how long they've been open. And since all these labs are funded by tax dollars, I'd say it makes perfect sense for her to get involved. It's her job."

Daley's hands find their way to his pockets, and he leans against the nearest stable counter as he dips his head in a fluid nod.

"Okay, sure. I'll concede. But what's more is that the investigation's findings were all confiscated, sent directly to Washington under her name. The files that contain everything known about these remains are under strict lock and key. Mind explaining that to me?"

"Well, did you put in a formal request?" Booth asks, a half-smirk edging up his mouth. "Those can take days to be processed."

"I'm well aware, thank you. And I did – I faxed request forms twice in the five hours this case has been open. Once in my name, and once in Hacker's; both were denied outright within half an hour."

Booth, as it seems, has nothing to say to that.

"I don't like secrets, Agent Booth," Daley says, closing his folder. "Never been a fan. I'm inclined to think that is a distaste we both share, and if there's one place secrets don't belong, it's here."

He pauses.

"My first priority is finding the truth."

After another short stretch of silence, a voice speaks up.

"I can respect that, Agent Daley," Brennan says, straightening up and meeting his eye. She is purely objective. "Regardless of whether conspiracy is an appropriate word to apply to the circumstances – something is obstructing our path to the truth. As it is now our case, it is our responsibility to remove that obstruction."

And to that, the agent offers a half-smile and a full nod.

"I like her," is all he says at first, but he quickly returns to business. "Anyway… the first thing we need to do is obtain those files. In the meantime, Dr. Saroyan, I'd have your team begin investigating as usual, so we have something to corroborate and compare with whatever we dig up. If you could, though, keep any digital documents offline. Now, as far as getting the files we need, what we're going to do –"

Booth clears his throat expectantly at that, and Daley glances over sidelong to see the older agent's eyebrows shoot up – a wordless sort of challenge.

Daley sighs. "What I suggest… is that we arrange to confront Ms. Marsh-Sennick directly. Confronted, as a general rule, people have a much more difficult time explaining things away. And if we can convince her somehow to allow us access –"

"Sure, sure, just confront her. Find her office, wherever it is, and walk right in. I'm sure after a little talk, she'll just hand them over."

"If you would let me finish," Daley turns his head and narrows his eyes just slightly in Booth's direction. He sighs, and with his composure regained, he lifts a hand to point at the woman on the other side of the slab with a camera hanging from the strap around her neck. "You. You're not a scientist, correct?"

"What, you couldn't be bothered to read my name off my jacket?" she asks, setting her jaw.

The agent runs a hand through his hair and says, "I could, certainly. But the lapel is covering it, Ms.…?

"Montenegro. Angela. And I'm not a scientist, correct."

A nod.

"Got it. Since I can practically guarantee that a facial reconstruction will not yield much information, I would ask you to help me get to the senator."

She knits her eyebrows for a moment, confused. "How?"

"You wouldn't need to do much. But long story short, there is a political gala in Baltimore two days from now; Marsh-Sennick is fully expected to be there. We pose as donors, I pull the senator aside, and if all goes well – those files will be on my desk by Monday morning."

"And if all does not go well?"

He pauses for a moment.

"Then we'd better work quickly."

Booth chimes in the second he finishes his word: "Hey, not a chance, Daley. Not only is that the worst plan I've ever heard, you're dragging a squint into it. If you're set on wasting your time there, I'll go with you."

"A squint?" Daley considers the phrase, but, deciding it doesn't much matter, moves on. "Whatever. If you have any better plan, Agent Booth, I'll gladly hear it, but in the absence of one, this looks like our best option. And while I have no problem with going bi for the evening, your name isn't exactly a small one. Meanwhile, working from the Bureau's basement means that no one knows who the hell I am. And at least with Ms. Montenegro we stand half a chance at being inconspicuous."

"Yeah, no way, buddy," Hodgins says as soon as he can get a word in, stepping around the slab and right up to the younger agent. "That's my wife you're talking about, and if you think I'm about to let you drag her into something that could get her –"

"It's a political event, not a firefight. Regardless, she's perfectly safe with me. And though the concern is natural – and appreciated, I'm sure, Dr. Hodgins – it's not your decision. This is our best shot at finding the truth right now, but if you'd prefer not to do it, Ms. Montenegro, I certainly won't force you."

He turns to her and asks the question.

"What do you say?"