I still love this show. There is so much to glean about the characters, so many nuances they include in such subtle ways. Happened to watch a season one episode the other day and discovered from just a passing comment, that this chapter was all wrong. Since my goal is to be completely in sync with the show, I had to rewrite the whole thing. That said, it is a GOAL and I've already discovered a few things I would change in earlier chapters. Feel free to point out discrepancies though. I have thick skin and I welcome the challenge :)

February 2005

Three weeks. Three weeks Booth had been assigned the case without significant headway. Five and a half since Mr. Jeremy's body had been found. The victim's elderly mother's health was failing, too, adding to the pressure of finding who had done this.

Booth looked to the ceiling for answers he would not find there. His gut told him the answer was some blocks away probably doing something squinty.

The FBI forensics lab had done all they could. With the body, with the victim's clothes, with the dirt that had lain under the victim's body. No one there had seen injuries on a body exactly like this. Thanks to Cullen's orders, Booth couldn't even brainstorm with the other agents for ideas.

He had one last hope: Agent Myers had already contracted with Dr. Brennan and the Jeffersonian for help with the forensics. Unfortunately, he had no idea how get the information from her since she wasn't taking his calls and he couldn't wrangle another agent to make the call since he wasn't allowed to use anyone else on the case.

Focusing on the file laid out on his desk again, he picked up a small ball and began tossing it back and forth between his hands, mimicking the interplay within his mind.

She's already agreed to work this case.

But that was with Myers, before it was handed off to me. If she won't take my calls, what's the point of trying? The lab has already been over everything anyway.

Then again, even if our lab hasn't been able to find anything useful, Bones can. She said she's the best in the world and she did work a miracle on Gemma's case.

But those remains were down to the skeleton. This is a corpse. The only bones to see are on x-rays.

What other options do I have? You have to at least try.

Something in his gut continued nagging him. She holds the answer.

Before he could decide against it, he lurched forward and dialed the long-ago memorized number.

"Jeffersonian Forensics lab, how can I help you?"

"Dr. Brennan, please." He'd been through all this before.

"One moment." The man answering the phones put him on hold and began the transfer.

Booth leaned back in his chair cradling the receiver between his ear and shoulder and waited for her voicemail to leave a message.

"This is Brennan."

He almost dropped the phone as he sprang upright. "Hi, um, wow, hi. You actually answered your phone. This is Special Agent Seeley Booth with the FBI," he stammered.

Clenching her jaw, she cursed herself inwardly for absent-mindedly answering her phone. With a clear, steady, authoritative voice, she asked reluctantly, "What do you want Booth?"

"It's nice talking to you again." His thoughts jumbled in the shock of speaking directly with her, he could hardly remember why he had called.

"If you're just calling to chit-chat, I'm going to hang up. I am very busy."

"Right, right." He stopped himself from making a quip about what's another day after already waiting two thousand years. "I actually have a case I'd like your expertise on."

"The FBI has its own forensics department. I suggest you check with them."

"They do. I have." He rubbed his brow while taking a calming breath. "They've already given me all they can and they don't have anyone qualified enough for what I want."

She saved the report on her computer, multitasking while he attempted to charm his way through.

Without humility but without meaning to brag either, she asserted, "You're going to have to be more specific. I have three doctorate degrees and am qualified in multiple areas." She glanced over some reports as she half listened to him.

Booth mumbled to himself, "What is it with you and your doctorate degrees? I get it, you're smart."

"I've earned my credentials, have you?"

Apparently, it wasn't to himself as much as he thought. "More than you know" he shot back. "Can you help or not? I have this body…"

Interrupting him, she wanted to get off the phone as quickly as possible. "I am not in the mood to play your game of let's-see-if-she-can-figure-it-out-without-any-information. I have…"

Patience worn out, he cut her off brusquely, "His name is Matthew Jeremy, age 46. Six foot two inches, about two hundred pounds."

Brennan looked up and set the reports down. Booth was actually sharing information with her? He had her full attention as he continued, "He was single at the time of his disappearance. Parents are in a nursing home, one brother he rarely saw, and an ex-wife who lives five hundred miles away and hasn't had contact with him in over ten years. No kids. He was a home remodeler and woodworker from Virginia. Last seen at a house construction site. His body was found dumped off a trail on Theodore Roosevelt Island, beaten with atypical stab wounds. It took our lab over two weeks to sort out his identity due to the condition of the body. No drag marks at the scene and our team estimated he had only been dead twelve hours tops when he was found. Cause of death: internal bleeding caused by a combination of blunt and sharp force trauma."

Silence greeted him as he paused for a breath. Had she hung up on him? "Hello?"

"What do you mean atypical stab wounds?" Her mind was actively cataloguing all the different types of contusions she had ever observed, trying to decide which had been the most unusual.

With a sigh of relief that she hadn't hung up and feeling more hopeful since she was asking questions, Booth answered, "If it was a knife, it isn't like any other knife wound I've ever seen. They've ruled out common tools like screwdrivers, chisels, pickaxes, you get the idea."

More silence greeted him. This time he waited more patiently.

Finally she spoke. "You already have his identity and cause of death. What do expect from me?"

Booth leaned on one arm as he grew thoughtful, "Well, here's the problem. He was a devout, practicing, ultra-conservative…"

"The family is refusing an autopsy." Brennan interjected.

"Yeah." The agent looked down at the file resting on the desk. This was the sticking point that left him feeling the most defeated. "No judge is going to order one since we already have cause of death."

Going back to looking over her reports, Brennan snapped, "I don't know what you expect me to do if you already have identification and cause of death."

"Anything." He sat up straighter, praying against hope that she wouldn't shoot him down and hang up. "Agent Myers has a note in the file that she sent you the coroner's x-rays three weeks ago, the day she was shot. That's why she never followed up with you."

Brennan's eyes darted to the forgotten oversized manila envelope half buried on the corner of her desk.

"If you've already looked at them, great, just send me your notes. If not, you already have the packet. Would you just look to see if you see anything else, any…? I don't know, clues as to the weapon or something. Anything." Something sounding a lot like desperation came through his voice.

"Yes, I have them, but I don't have time to look at them, Booth."

"You already have the information. Just glance at them. It would take you, what? Ten minutes?"

"I'm very busy."

If flattery wouldn't work, it was time to try another tactic. He shifted effortlessly. "I get it. You need actual bones to be sitting in front of you. You can't trust yourself when it's only x-rays images. Don't worry about it, I understand! Just send the packet back to the office so I can…"

"Excuse me!" Brennan's flustered self couldn't let him finish. He had gained her full attention once more. "I do not need,… I frequently use x-rays and I read them very well!" She was nearly yelling into the phone.

If interrogation room experiences had taught him anything, he knew he was getting closer if she was getting this riled. Booth maintained his cool, purposely aggravating her. "You don't have to make excuses to me. It's fine," he jabbed.

"I can do it," she shocked them both into momentary silence: she for consenting, and he for how quickly she had given in.

Booth was the first to recover. Speaking quickly, "Great. Give me a call when you're done to let me know what you can get out of them," and he hung up before she could renege. He interlaced his fingers behind his head as he leaned back sighing. This was his Hail Mary.

Brennan stared at the phone in her hand. What had just happened? If she believed in superstition, she would have thought the universe had conspired against her this week.

Just the day before, Zach had been sent home with the flu. He hadn't wanted to leave Dr. Brennan with his work on top of her own but Dr. Goodman had insisted. He would find a way to make it work. Brennan didn't fault Zach by any means, but her only acceptable solution to Goodman's 'make it work' attitude was to do the work herself.

She really was too busy, but Booth's reference to 'atypical stab wounds' intrigued her.

The FBI forensics lab had decades of experience within its walls. Even if they didn't have her level of expertise, if they were calling the wounds atypical, it had to be something peculiar. If nothing else, it would be an interesting study and challenge. Deciding her curiosity was stronger than her dislike of the agent, she decided she would look at the x-rays.

She pulled her lab coat on. The reports that she had been working on could wait until tomorrow or could be done from home later in the evening. There were bones to examine if she was going to add to her already long to-do list.

Brennan walked with purpose to an examination room to finish the skull reconstruction prep Zach had left only partially complete.

Twenty minutes later, satisfied with the tissue depth marker placements, she rolled the skull on a cart through the lab towards Angela's office.

Hodgins fell in step with her as she rounded the corner out of the exam room and handed her an envelope. "This just came, I signed for you."

Pausing briefly to look at the packet, Brennan thought aloud, "That was fast." She continued down the hall dismissing the entomologist with a "Thank you Dr. Hodgins."

Jack followed alongside until she stopped short, unnerved by his shadowing her. "Is there something else you needed Dr. Hodgins?" she asked testily.

"That came from the FBI," he stated factually. "I want in if the FBI needs help on another homicide investigation." His eyes glittered as he rubbed his hands together mischievously.

"I am looking at some x-rays. That's all," she retorted, stressing the 'I'.

"That's all the FBI wants? Just to look at some x-rays?" Hodgins's face gave way to disgust. "Way to get a man's hopes up."

"I don't know what else you were expecting Dr. Hodgins."

"Did I hear you say you're helping the FBI?" Angela stepped out of her office to join them.

"Purely for scientific study." Brennan rolled the cart with the skull closer to her friend. "Here is the skull for the remains on the table in the exam room."

Grimacing at the skull, the artist dead-panned, "Lucky me."

Brennan ignored the comment, ready to escape more questions. "If anyone needs me, I will be back in the exam room for the next ten minutes to use the light mounts to analyze these images." She turned on the heel or her boot and quickly made her way to the privacy of the smaller examination room.

Brennan pulled the small stack of films from the envelope. The top images were not x-rays but rather autopsy photographs showing the battered body's bruising and stab wounds. Atypical is the appropriate adjective thought Brennan as she studied the pictures. Pulling her recorder from her pocket she began. "Victim identified by the FBI forensics lab as Matthew Jeremy. Autopsy photos show puncture wounds, inconsistent with standard knives. Additionally, the remains indicate massive blunt force trauma to the torso and head."

Stopping her recorder, she mused to herself, "It's no wonder the FBI lab couldn't determine the weapon without an autopsy. With this much soft tissue damage…"

She set the pictures down and moved on to the x-rays. After studying them a few moments she began recording again. "Victim's x-rays show no indication of osteoarthritis and bone density appears normal for an individual in his mid-fifties. My professional recommendation would be to procure a bone density test for higher accuracy if one has not been performed already. There are multiple fractures across… there appears to be a pattern shown by bone breaks to the right clavicle, right ribs one and two, and left ribs five through seven, they appear to be fractured in a linear pattern. The sternum shows damage consistent with single strike causing all these breaks. Zooming in, on the anterior aspect of the right first rib, the break in incomplete but effected a ninety degree nick in the bone. Fractures to the victim's left iliac crest as well as left ulna and radius suggest a defensive position at one point during the attack." This poor man knew what was happening to him all the way to the very end.

Two hours later, Angela stuck her head in the room. "There you are, I expected you to be back in your office by now."

Brennan turned the recorder off and looked up as her friend added, "I've finished the facial reconstruction when you're ready for it."

Distractedly, the scientist answered, "Thanks Angela. I'll get to it as soon as I'm done with this."

"I thought this little project was only getting ten minutes. It's been almost two hours you know."

"I guess I lost track of time." She looked bewildered at the films again.

Angela began to leave but paused on second thought. "Everything alright, Sweetie?"

"I know exactly which strike caused death. I know the size of the perpetrator. But I cannot make out what the weapon is." She hated that she could not solve this mystery.

Tipping her head in empathy for her friend, Angela suggested, "Sounds like more than what they had to begin with. Why don't you call Booth and let him take a whack at it."

Brennan sighed in defeat. "I suppose it's only rational. I have too much to do to spend any more time on this than I already have."

Despite her initial reluctance to help, she had found enjoyment in the puzzle. Knowing it would help put a killer away in prison helped drive the energy she had derived in doing something so purposeful.

Angela walked off and, half reluctantly, Brennan returned the images in their original folder and went back to her office to willingly call a certain agent she had avoided talking to for months.

He was quick to answer. "Booth."

"You tricked me into doing this." Her voice was calm and her tone was polite, but accusing at the same time.

Booth reclined at his desk and smirked. She had actually looked at it. And she had looked at them right away, even though she had been so emphatic in her statement that she was too busy. He was smug at his victory. "You could have said no," he reminded her.

Unwilling to admit he was correct, the Brennan launched into her findings. "Your killer is left handed, probably between six foot two and six foot four, most likely male due to the strength required…"

"Wait," Booth shot forward, "you got that from the x-rays? How?"

"While the victim was brutally beaten everywhere on his torso, the more damaging fracturing always occurred on the left side of the victim's body meaning the killer's predominant arm is his or her left. I have estimated the height given the height of the victim and the location of the injuries."

"And his strength?" Booth was furiously taking notes so he wouldn't forget a detail.

Getting annoyed at his interruption, her tone became tense though the recipient took no notice. "The remains show no evidence of any contusions on the victim's back which means the assault occurred from the front. For how often the victim was struck, the blows must have come hard and in quick succession."

"Doesn't mean he saw the attack coming. He could have been blindsided." This was nothing he didn't know already.

"Yes, but the victim was a large, physically strong man himself. He would have been able to overpower anyone weaker, even after the first hit. That, and you said there were no drag marks at the dump site. Whoever left the body was obviously very strong to carry two hundred pounds of dead weight. Even if they had someone helping them dispose of the body." She paused, alert to the scribbling sounds of him writing on the other end, letting him catch up.

When the scratching stopped, she continued, "I believe the weapon to be a cuboid, at least three feet long."

Booth's brow crinkled in confusion, "A cube-what-now?"

"A cuboid." Brennan pursed her lips, deciding how to describe it for him. "Like a cube except elongated. It is at least three feet long and exactly one inch tall as well as wide. Given the size of the weapon and the fact that it was swung, I would suggest focusing on wooden object. Solid metals that wouldn't maleate themselves upon impact would be too heavy. Also, the small side of the cuboid has a three inch protuberance with a blunt end sticking out from the center."

All this time, Booth was roughly sketching as she described the weapon. His serious expression turned to confusion. "But what is it?"

"I don't know, but that is what it looks like. The same weapon is responsible for the blunt and sharp force traumas."

"How could you know that?" She got all that from pictures of bones in two and a half hours? I don't think so.

"Do you not believe me?"

Booth thundered, "How can I? This was a mistake asking for your help. I have a murder case riding on this. And all I got is a weird shape without a name and squint-speak I don't understand."

Brennan clenched her jaw to respond as professionally as possible, "Fine. Everything your lab needs will be in my notes. I will courier everything back this afternoon." Still that arrogant, condescending jackass he always was. Note to self: tell Zach to never put him through again.

"Fine. Thanks." Thanks for nothing.

What was he thinking? He never took her to be a liar or a saboteur, but what else could he think? She was trying to screw up his case just because she hated him.

When the package came back, he'd forward it to the lab to see if they could confirm any of what she came up with. Until then, he would start at the beginning again. He grabbed his coat to go revisit the housing development where Matthew had last been seen.