Sorry guys...I abandoned you guys for my birthday, Harry Potter, and my sister's dog's skin rash. Many apologies. I'm horrid, I know. This chapter begins the real story, so to speak.

Disclaimer: No. Period. End of Discussion. Though I am now in possession of eighty four dollars worth of pills for my sister's dog.

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"Oh, I hear the weather's nice in California, There's sunny skies as far as I can see"

-Kellie Pickler-

The wood, filled with years of countless family memories, creaked as someone opened and closed the front door to the Craftsman home. The man unclipped his keys and his weapon from his belt and tossed them onto the wooden table. "Dad? Charlie? Anyone home?"

"In here Donnie."

The FBI agent joined his father in the den; the elder Eppes was busy with a crossword, pen in hand, in the dim light cast from the side table lamp. "It's a little late don't you think?"

Don looked down at his wrist. Damn. He'd lost track of the time. His thoughts had been completely centered on the case. Time and all other thoughts had been pushed to the side.

"Oh…yeah." He sank into the ottoman, muscles releasing and relaxing from their tense positions.

Alan took in the disheveled appearance of his oldest son. His hair, judging by the different directions, looked as if it had been run through several times; it was a nervous habit that Don had picked up; he did it whenever he was flustered or stressed. The pressed white shirt was not so pressed anymore, wrinkles having taken over. "Did you uh…find the guy?"

"Who? Keslow?" The words were muffled behind the arm that had been thrown over his face.

"The car exec? He's been all over the news for the past three days."

"Yeah. We found him." There was a short pause and then he continued to say, "Alive, thank God."

"That's good." Alan was not going to push his son. It was rare enough that Don opened up about any of his cases. Charlie and Alan had only recently, over the years, convinced Don that his childhood home was always open for him when he needed it. His eldest always tried to be the one that didn't need anyone else, always tried to be strong, but they had finally convinced him that he didn't always have to be the strong one. He could lean on them when needed, if only for a short time until he slipped back into the role of toughened FBI agent.

Don was about to ask the whereabouts of his younger brother, when the person in question himself came through the kitchen door, head bent, focusing on something in his hand. His brother had only been home for a few hours and had already gone back to his haven in the garage.

"Hey, Dad, do we have any…" He stopped at seeing his brother. "Oh, Hey Don. I tried calling you; Dad mentioned you couldn't find anything conclusive on your case. I was going to ask if you wanted me to take a look. With enough data from surveillance I should be able-"

The agent waved his hand. "No. Thanks, Charlie. We found him tonight."

Charlie quieted at this. "So, uh…I guess you won't need my services."

"Not this time, Buddy. We've got a new forensic specialist that helped us find him. Used some program with math similar to something you would have made up. Dr. Huntzberger is her name. She, and her team, got transferred to us a couple of days-"

Charlie looked from his paper, clearly now more interested in his brother instead of whatever was written in ink. Coming closer to the den and the two he asked, "Dr. Huntzberger? As in Peyton Huntzberger?"

Don looked up at his brother. He remembered the frames that he had seen in her office this morning. Perhaps Charlie knew more about her. The more facts he knew about the doctor the easier it would be to get along with her. "You know her?"

Charlie gave him a baffled look as if it was the most ludicrous question, as if he was an idiot for not knowing who she was. "Well, yes."

"Yeah? What do you know about her?"

"Well, Peyton Huntzberger is a highly esteemed member of the scientific community. She's a world renowned forensic expert; some argue that she is the best there has ever been or will be. She's ingenious in her methods and has influence over a great number of people, ranging from simple law enforcement to Senators. I've only met her a few times, but I've never worked with her. I think she crossed paths with Larry at some point in time. You know Don, I'm surprised that you have never worked with her either. It was to my understanding that she worked at the L.A. Crime Lab. I would have thought that you would have come into some type of contact with her." He paused for a moment, shaking his head, curls bouncing, as a thought came across his features. "But, Peyton is somewhat of an anomaly."

"How so?"

"Well, for one, she's from a very affluent family on the east coast; her parents presumed that she would become a research doctor or lawyer or a politician. At least follow in the footsteps of her father. Entering into the lowly paid world of working for the government was not in her family's plans. In my world, she's thought of as odd, because of the fact that she doesn't teach or do any type of research; with a mind like hers she should be consulting on research projects. However, if you believe the rumors, you're not the first time that she's worked for the government, Don. I know she's consulted for the NSA," he looked sheepish at this, "I…uh...might have seen her name in the computer once, along with what she was doing. She does keep who she works for a tightly guarded secret. It's rumored that she once worked for the CIA on biochemical weapons to be used in the Middle East. For all she's worth, she does her job exceptionally well; she's got a closing rate of ninety-seven percent."

"Sounds like you Charlie. You say she works for you, Donnie?"

Don shook his head at his father. "Yeah, well, she doesn't work for me. Ask her, she'll say she works with me. She's got the temper of a viper."

Alan looked at his son over the rim of his glasses, the crossword forgotten for the moment. Don recognized that look. It was the same look that his father had given him back in high school when Don had done something wrong that was abundantly clear to everyone else but him. "Ah, Donnie. She can't be that bad. You should try being nice to her. You know, don't do that boss thing that you do so much."

The hand came off the eyes and waved in disbelief. "Ah, come on, Dad. How can you say that? It's not like I've been mean to her. You haven't even met her and you're already taking her side. And what boss thing?"

"You just sometimes tend to come off a little too strong on people when you get going, too much in charge. You might scare the girl. That could be the problem."

"I do not." He retorted; riled up now, he flounced up, sitting on the edge of the chair. 'Scare the girl? Peyton Huntzberger afraid of him? Yeah. That was it. That was why she had yelled at him.'

"Yeah. You do tend to do that, Don. Although, I think it's just the emotional pull around you. You get caught up in the moment…" Charlie piped in from his position in the archway, providing evidence to support his father.

Don leaned back into his previous position, his head falling back to rest on the wood of the chair. He eventually quit listening to his father and brother arguing about his so called 'demanding boss like' attitude. For that night he pushed all thoughts of their truce and Peyton Huntzberger from his mind, determined to get some non-interrupted sleep. It worked until his phone went off somewhere around seven in the morning, rousing him from his rest as he half listened to what Megan had to say. When she finally stated what it was he was suddenly fully awake. Don was dressed, out the door without a goodbye, and backing out of the driveway in a matter of minutes.

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The sun shone down on the citizens of Los Angeles as they went about their daily business. It was a clear blue sky, not a cloud could be observed, puffy or dangerous. The smog and pollution that was normally prevalent was low scale today. They could all breathe deeply and not worry about dying from some disease twenty years before their normal time. A balmy wind blew down into the valley city; it made for a pleasant and comfortable day in spring. A day to be outside with friends, families, and loved ones. It was a happy day, not a day for what lay before her.

Megan lifted a hand to shade her eyes from the reflection of the sun's rays from the water. Thoughts ran idly through her mind as she scanned the scene. How was it that they always found these types of scenes on beautiful days, days when the sky was an endless blue? Somehow she thought it should be dreary or devastating on a day when they were called out to see this. It was never raining. Somehow, it just didn't seem right.

Colby stood beside her, her silent watcher. He was absorbed in his own thoughts as the police unrolled their yellow tape, marking the perimeter. As to whether it was about their new case or who won the game last night, Megan couldn't tell.

The familiar sound of rubber gritting against asphalt and the flash of silver paint, emblazoned with the circular L.A. FBI seal, caused the both of them to turn towards the SUV now alongside their own. Colby and Megan both had taken one look at the fisherman's find and silently come up with the same conclusion: She would want to see this, needed to see this, and was probably the only other person besides the medical examiner who could explain to them what it was.

"I'm going over there." Colby turned from watching her collecting her kit, and pointed at the woman with the 'FBI; Medical Examiner' jacket in big yellow letters.

She quirked one eyebrow. This was interesting. Could it be that he was actually intimidated by the doctor? Megan voiced her thoughts, enjoying the chance to tease her friend.

"No!" Frowning at her smirk, he shifted his gaze back to the approaching woman in question. "Maybe," his face glowered as she let out a laugh, "Hey. Don't laugh. She's got it out for me, Megan. I can't even get one word in when she's around before she's down my throat making me feel like I'm three years old again. Just wait until you're on her list. I'm just avoiding the temptation for her to yell at me. If I'm not here then I can't do anything wrong."

"Uh-hunh. Well, unlike you, Granger, I'm not afraid of the doctor. I haven't done anything to make her mad."

The profiler laughed as the disgruntled agent left her side to exchange facts with the medical examiner.

"What's so hilarious?" Huntzberger had joined her, head tilted in curiosity, eyes hidden by those oversized shades, kit in hand.

Megan found herself comparing the forensic doctor to their team's other residential doctor; by reading her file, Megan had discovered that Peyton too possessed a brilliant mind. However, unlike Charlie who sometimes looked as if he had just walked out of his closet without putting much thought into what he was wearing, Peyton was always impeccably dressed. She also possessed a fighting spirit that was in direct opposite to her diminutive stature. Charlie was not the most forward person, in contrast to his big brother. When his math came into question he didn't always defend it in a firm manner. Charlie, in his world of numbers and algorithms, did not hold the best set of people skills. It was this reason that Don, especially him, and the rest of the team were so protective of the younger man. Peyton, on the other hand, knew just how to deal with people who questioned her. She, with a cool tone and an even cooler gaze, pinned them until they did exactly what she wanted them to. In their profession, where men continued to dominate despite it being the twenty-first century, Megan admired the fact that the doctor stood out.

"Nothing." She followed the shielded gaze to Colby, the white lie falling through.

"Right."

They both fell in step, picking their way over loose nails, hooks, and rotted planks.

"You're not originally from here are you?"

Megan stumbled, the toe of her boot catching on something. 'Blunt, much?' The woman wasted no time. "How could you tell? And why the sudden interest?"

The shorter woman shrugged. "Just trying to connect. Creating small talk," the shades slid down the bridge of her nose and she gave Megan a small wink, "Your accent gives it away. Eastern side of the country I believe?"

"Yeah. And you? You're not native to L.A. either. The District?"

"How did you find out about that? My accent is nearly nonexistent after twelve years."

"I read it in your file." It was Megan's turn to wink.

She nodded. "Of course you did. You probably read all of our files when we transferred. Probably was the first thing you did." Megan couldn't deny that she hadn't. The natural curiousity that made up her profiling nature had taken over. "No. You would be correct. Georgetown is my hometown. I left when I was twenty. I've lived here ever since."

"Three thousand miles is pretty far away. There are plenty of jobs back in D.C. for someone like you. Something must have made you come out here. Family issues? I had some of those. Ran away when I was fifteen."

"You could say it was something like that."

They had reached the boat. The Medical Examiner passed them, finished with her preliminary report. Colby took up his silent position by her side.

The doctor was done with her little friendly chat with Megan. Turning to Colby, she addressed him, all business as she moved her sunglasses from her face to her head. "What do we have here, Agent Granger?"

"The examiner says it's definitely human. I don't see how, but…well, see for yourself."

"Is it that bad?"

His shoulder shook as he shuddered for a second. It wasn't normal for Colby, a man who had seen such horrors in the war that he still carried the emotional scars on his shoulders, to be so affected by the sight on the boat. It hadn't been too long ago that those scars had come back to haunt him. Usually, crime scenes didn't faze him at all. This one, however, was not something usual. This one was anything but normal. They had both had a hard time looking at it for longer than a few seconds. Their stomachs had rolled and heaved, and they had retreated back towards their vehicle; retreated back to where they were safe from the sight and stench.

"Let's just say, I hope that you didn't have a heavy breakfast."

The forensic expert looked at both of their faces, saw twin expressions mirrored on each other, and gave them both a frown. Ducking under the yellow cross tape, she balanced her weight and then stepped onto the rocking boat. Her figure disappeared from their sight as she rounded the corner. And then her voice rang from the bow, loud and clear in the endless blue sky.

"What the hell is that?"

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A.N: And now it's time to play 'Guess-just-what-it-is?' It's actually pretty obvious. Those of you who get it win...something.

Questions, comments, guesses, etc... go in the box below. They make my day and let me know what I need to improve on. I tried something new with this chapter, it has more of a thought/dialogue approach instead of the emotions. Let me know the verdict.

Thanks to those of you who take the time to read this, thanks to those of you have added me to your alerts and such, and thanks to you, who has reviewed.