A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews and feedback. The majority of you were open to developing this story a little more, particularly finding out what Bones thought of the gift. Well, you know what they say - give the people what they want...


It's 8:30 on a Saturday and yes, I'm heading into work.

I smile politely at Dave, the weekend security guard, as he buzzes me into the Jeffersonian. I'm rather taken aback by the conspiratorial wink he returns. I smile uncertainly and speed up as I head out of the lobby. Dave and I have waved and nodded in a professional manner on countless Saturdays for almost four years, so what's with the winking all of a sudden?

As I walk along the familiar corridors I notice that the building seems totally deserted. Believe it or not this is actually pretty unusual. I'm normally not the only person putting in long hours in here. The Jeffersonian is full of people for whom work is the guiding passion in their lives. People who will spend their whole careers studying the behaviour of a single species of ant or trying to piece together the fragments of this continent's early history. We're all enthusiasts, but we're also acutely aware of the considerable privileges we enjoy working at one of the country's leading research centres. No-one wants to slip up, or get complacent or start to take the lab and its amazing facilities for granted.

Which is why it's not normally just me haunting the empty corridors of the lab on Saturday. Except today. I pause at the entrance of the lab, noticing that the lights are on.

Someone must be here.

You see, the lights switch on when they detect movement. It saves energy, but I've been caught out more than once at my desk when all the lights have dimmed and I've been left in a pool of light from my computer monitor. Still, suffice to say that there wasn't anyone to witness my star jumps that kicked the illumination back into action. Thank goodness.

I make my way towards my office, I'm still unable to spot the tell tale signs of who might be working today.

As I stand on the first step of the staircase I wonder what Booth is doing. I sigh impatiently, but don't dare look at my watch.

You see, I've been trying a new system for dealing with Booth. Well, not dealing with him per se, but dealing with what is becoming a frankly embarrassing fixation. I've been a bit concerned for a while, but thought I ought to gather some evidence, so I've been timing how frequently questions about his whereabouts, activities, health, smile, voice, state of undress cross my mind. And I can safely say, on the basis of testing it out yesterday and this morning, it's too often. I stomp up the stairs irritably, ignoring the voice that's suggesting that I might find it easier to count the occasions when I'm not thinking about him.

I decide that I'm going to focus on my plans for the rest of the day, including what should be an entertaining lunch with Angela. It's become a bit of a tradition for us at Easter to meet up on Saturday for lunch and to exchange a gift. I smile slightly as I recall how it all started.

It wasn't long after Ange first started to work with me, when I found her in the ladies room in tears. I like to think that Booth would have been proud of my people skills on that occasion, as she sat perched on a toilet with the lid down, I knelt down next to her handing her tissues. I discovered that Ange's boyfriend had been cheating on her, but what seemed to be upsetting her more than losing him was the fact that she wouldn't have anyone to exchange Easter eggs with as she didn't know anyone in town.

I've got to admit that this didn't make much sense to me, although I'm told that people will often focus on the small, insignificant things when they are upset. Well, I did the only thing I could do, and suggested that we met for lunch on Saturday. And that was really where our friendship was born. Ever since, we've met up on Easter Saturday to exchange eggs and have a really good chat. I wonder idly if I should be timing how long it takes her to bring up the subject of Booth.

As I walk into my office, I start to frown in confusion.

There's an egg-shaped pile of cellophane and tissue paper on my desk.

I approach the desk cautiously, wondering where it's come from. No-one buys me anything at Easter except for Ange.

I look at the orange and brown wrapping, which is tied at the top of the egg with a real orange and brown checked ribbon. I have to admit that this egg is in very tasteful packaging. My eyes narrow as I realise that somehow it's standing up on the desk, despite being egg shaped. I grasp the excess tissue paper that is fountaining out above the ribbon and pick it up.

It's really heavy.

Which explains why it stands up.

I can also smell the chocolate wafting from the package. I close my eyes in appreciation.

I suppose I should make a confession here, I'm afraid that I'm a chocolate snob. The prospect of eating the mass produced, dry, tasteless, preservative-filled candy that most people munch their way through is pretty grim.

I blame it on spending six months shuttling between Brussels and The Hauge. I was providing expert testimony at the International War Crimes Tribunal at the Hague and working with European Union investigators in Brussels. I lived in Brussels, surrounded by Belgian beer, moules and frites and lots of fabulous, real chocolate. My chocolate eating habits were never the same again.

All of which means that I am seriously impressed with the egg on my desk.

I'm also very curious.

It's then that I notice the card, tucked into the folds of paper. I fish it out and read, distantly aware that I am breaking out into in a huge smile.

I put the egg down and tap the card against my chin, thinking.

I lean over to my phone and press the speed dial one.

I wait, listening to it ring, my fingers tightening around the phone.

There's a click as the phone is picked up and I hear him say his name.

I swallow and then say, "Dinner sounds great."

I can actually hear him smile down the phone and I sit on the chair as he tells me where we're going.