(2018)

A/N: JAG'ed Bones in a Casckett requested this sequel to chapter 47

I really don't own Bones.

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It had been a sad few weeks for Henry Blake. His father had died and he had set himself the task of going through his father's house and seeing what he could throw away, what he could give away to family members and to prepare the arduous task of trying to get the house sold before the end of the year.

Sitting in his father's home office, Henry spied a cardboard box on the top shelf of the bookcase near the door, stood up and removed it from the shelf. The box was light and the lid was dusty. Curious, he carried it over to the desk, sat down and opened the box to see what was inside. Surprised, he found quite a few envelopes and ad circulars. Not sure why his father had kept them, he grabbed a handful and studied the addresses written on the envelopes. One thing soon became clear. It appeared that these were pieces of mail that had been mis-delivered to his father's house. Why his father had not given them back to the post office to be redelivered was unclear, but Henry knew that he'd have to rectify the situation as soon as possible.

Most of the mis-delivered mail were advertisements and junk mail and Henry had no intention of handing those over since they were long past being relevant or useful. Once he had pitched those in the trash can he was left with 28 envelopes and a few post cards. He knew he would have to take them over to the post office and explain the problem and let them handle it. No matter how much time had passed, the recipients deserved to get their mail.

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The Postmaster at the post office was kind and showed a lot of understanding once Henry explained the situation. Glad that there weren't more than 28 envelopes involved, Victoria Mars sorted through the envelops and saw a pattern. Mr. George Blake's house was on College Street and most of the mis-delivered mail had addresses on Coolidge Street. Annoyed that these letters had been mis-delivered she called in the postal carrier responsible for both streets, handed them to the postman and stared at him for a few moments. "College Street and Coolidge Street aren't remotely spelled the same. These letters have been mis-delivered to George Blake's house on College Street for the past six years. You took over the route six years ago."

Embarrassed, Jesse Carter knew he was in trouble. "I'm sorry, sometimes I get in a hurry and when I set up my trays for delivery, I may have put some of the Coolidge Street mail in the College Street mail . . . I can deliver them to the right owners today."

"You do that Jesse and from now on, slow down just enough to keep from repeating this kind of error." Victoria wasn't happy about the situation but delivering the mail would probably mitigate some of the issues. "Make sure they're all delivered today. I'll probably get some phone calls, but I can handle them. Just don't let this happen again."

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Dr. Clark Edison was puzzled. When he'd returned home for the evening from work, he found a stack of mail waiting for him in his mailbox. That wasn't unusual but while he flipped through them he found a bright red envelope in the small pile and realized that it was a Christmas card.

"A Christmas card? In August?" He read the address the letter was sent to and realized that it was the right address, but the wrong occupant. Curious, he inspected the date stamp on the envelope and whistled. "2013? You've got to be kidding me."

Not sure what to do next, he knew the letter needed to be passed along to the person who the letter was addressed to, but Assistant Deputy Director Seeley Booth was in one of his surly moods and Clark didn't want to deal with the man at the moment. He knew this was the anniversary of the death of the agent's grandfather and that was why he didn't let Booth's lack of tack bother him, but he wanted to avoid Booth until the man was in a better mood. "A letter from 2013 is not going to improve his attitude." Still, he couldn't throw it away and he didn't want to trust it in the mail system either. It had been in the system for five years and if he gave it back to the post office, Booth might not get it until after he died.

Rubbing his forehead, he finally came to a decision. He was going to drive by the Booth/Brennan household and leave it in the mailbox. One way or another, the agent was going to get his letter even if it was an inconvenience for him. Clark hoped it wouldn't make the man angrier that he already was, but the chips would have to fall where they may.

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A few days after he had delivered the letter, Clark happened to be in Bones Storage working on a set of unidentified remains when Brennan entered the room. "Clark, I have a mystery that I would like to solve and I think it's possible you may be able to help me."

Thinking he was being asked to work on a case with Brennan, Clark nodded his head. "Does this case involve Booth?"

"No, you know he doesn't work directly on cases anymore." Donning a pair of gloves, Brennan moved closer to the table and picked up the right femur. "There appears to be an abrasion on the lateral epicondyle . . . A Christmas card arrived in the mail last Friday . . . It was mailed in 2013 and we just received it. It was addressed to our previous abode, the one you bought from me after I had it repaired . . . Do you know anything about it?"

"Yeah, I got it in the mail last week." Clark placed the bone he had been studying on the table. "I could see it was a Christmas card and it was addressed to Booth. I also noticed that the postmark said it was stamped in 2013 and that envelope had been lost in the mail for too long. I didn't want to trust the mail, so I placed it in your mailbox on Friday during my lunch hour."

As she continued to study the femur, Brennan acknowledge what Clark had told her. "I thought that might have been what happened, but I wanted to be sure. Thank you. It was a card from his grandfather. It came at the right time since the anniversary of Hank's death occurred last week. My husband was sad and that card cheered him up. I am grateful for your kindness."

His cheeks slightly flushed Clark nodded his head. "I know Booth was having a rough time last week. When I saw him at the Diner, he was arguing with Agent Aubrey about something and they normally get along better than that. I knew it was the anniversary of Hank Booth's death and I knew why Booth was arguing with Aubrey. I left before he saw me."

She had already heard about the argument from Booth and knew he regretted being angry with Aubrey over something so miniscule. "Booth said he was going to talk to Aubrey today about it."

"So, I guess the card came at a good time." Clark was pleased that he had made the right decision. "I'm not sure what I would do if I received a Christmas card from my grandfather a few years after he died . . . I'd be sad and happy, mostly happy."

"And that was Booth's reaction." Brennan smiled. "Booth put up the Christmas tree and we baked gingerbread men with the children. It was a wonderful way to celebrate Hank's Christmas card from the past."

Surprised, Clark smiled. "It really was . . . good for him. Good for Booth to see the bright side of the situation."

"Yes, I think this is the first time since his grandfather died, that Booth could remember the good times with Hank. Hank loved Christmas and Booth got his love for the holiday from him. That card was a final gift and Booth will cherish it, thanks to you."

"Anytime, Dr. Brennan." Clark picked up the left femur and noticed it was cracked. "It looks like this guy broke his leg at around the time of his death."

Satisfied with the conversation, Brennan removed her gloves and walked over to the door. Before she left the room, she heard Clark call out to her.

"Merry Christmas, Temperance."

"Merry Christmas, Clark."

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