Well, it took a lot of pleading, and a bit of annoying, and a dash of exasperation from Booth, a word from Brennan in my favor, and a comment about tight security in the Jeffersonian from Zach, but Booth had finally allowed me away from him. Now I was technically under Brennan's watch, but it was much more enjoyable because I'm not mad at her for arresting me. Plus… you know… she's awesome. And Zach's my friend! So, yeah. I'm happy.

Cleo Eller's remains were laid out on the examination table on the metal platform. I wasn't allowed to do much; they didn't know how much I knew, and I haven't told them. Zach and Brennan were cataloguing injuries and such, while I was allowed latex gloves and power of passing tools when they were requested. Mostly I just ended up giving Brennan an evidence bag, which Zach took to Hodgins quickly.

It was still cool.

Brennan was observing the cranium while Zach was searching the metatarsals for stress fractures that could provide some clue as to where she'd been via particulates. I looked along the humorous curiously, scanning for anything unusual. Nope. I scanned down the radius, ulna, and phalanges, waiting for something to leap out at me. "There!" I declared triumphantly, pointing at the finger bones. "There's odd marks on the distal phalanges."

"There are stab marks here," Zach said, pointing towards more bones. "Nothing I've ever seen before," he added, craning his neck to see what I was pointing out.

Hodgins came into the room and immediately began talking. "In a nutshell; anxious, depressed, and nauseous."

"Take a sick day," Brennan said distantly as she set down the cranium to come look at the marking.

Hodgins rolled his eyes. "Not me! Cleo Eller. Pupal casings show she was on Lorazepam, Chloradiazepoxide, and Meclizine Hydrochloride."

"Sounds like she was miserable," I commented. "Nausea."

Brennan's eyes narrowed. "Zach, show me those bone fragments again."

Zach set down the tibia he'd been examining softly on the exam table before crossing to the computer. He pulled up an enlarged, blown-up image of small bones.

"Is that-?" I started. The bones were definitely the right shape… "Malleus, incus, and stapes." I looked to Hodgins. "Cleo Eller was pregnant. That's why she was taking so much medicine!"

"Fetal remains…" Zach trailed off, casting his eyes downward almost sadly.

"She wasn't very far along," Brennan observed. "Zach, can you try to get a DNA reading? Maybe we can prove paternity, however I'm not too optimistic. Let's hope there's enough genetic material to test."

Hodgins shook his head in disbelief as Zach collected the fetal bones and started off to the equipment to get a DNA test. "This Senator, ah, he is smart! He gets an intern pregnant and then murder her when it threatens his career, and he has the connections to get away with it."

Brennan frowned. "I hate it when you make paranoia plausible. It's like sliding off a cliff."

"Special Unit?" Hodgins scoffed. "No way your FBI pal heads it up unless the dark powers in charge are convinced he knows where his political bread is buttered. Either way, this is where this investigation ends." He took his paper report and left the platform, back to his lab.

After he was out of earshot, I looked to Brennan. "Is he always such a bundle of joy?"

"Joy is an emotion and not a tangible substance, therefore there can be no such thing as a bundle of it."

"Right. Sorry. My bad."

Brennan and I stood side by side, with Booth off a few feet away from us. We were in the Hart office building of the U.S. Senate. It's helpful to do this when we live in the same city as Congress, the White House, et cetera. Thompson, Eller's boyfriend, and the Senator himself were facing us in much the same fashion that we were them.

"I'm a little confused as to why the director of the FBI would send you to speak to the Senator instead of coming himself," Thompson told me, doing a lousy job at concealing contempt. "I mean, how old are you? Twelve?"

Surprisingly enough, Brennan was at my defense. "Probably because she's the one who identified the fact that Cleo Eller was pregnant." As an afterthought, she added, "And her correct age is seventeen."

"You can tell the girl was pregnant from her skeleton?" Senator Bethlehem chuckled like it was a funny joke.

I glared at him. "Don't be stupid, that would be impossible. However, we did find fetal bones."

"The only question now, Senator, is which one of you is the father?" Brennan arched an eyebrow at Eller's alleged boyfriend and "friend with benefits". "Are you willing to submit to a DNA test?"

Thompson closed his eyes and shook his head before he turned to Bethlehem. "You know what, given the sensitivity, don't say anything on the subject without your attorney present. That's my advice."

Bethlehem gave Brennan and I condescending looks. "Advice I intend to take," he said, still laughing. He turned around to Thompson, taking a few steps in another direction. "Ken, we have a vote to get to."

The Senator spat some gun out into a trash can on his way past. Brennan pulled an evidence bag from her messenger bag and ran to the trash can, retrieving the gum. Ew… but necessary.

Brennan wouldn't have been noticed if her dress shoes hadn't clicked on the tile when she ran. The Senator turned around and squinted at her, confused by her seemingly weird actions. "Um, heh, what are you doing?"

Brennan sealed the evidence bag even as she spoke. "Saliva, say from chewing gum, is an excellent source of DNA. I intend to compare it to the DNA in the fetal bones."

"You need a warrant for that," the Senator announced, slightly angry, as Brennan and I smiled triumphantly at each other and started out the door.

Thompson grabbed at my arm to stop us from leaving with the DNA sample. Before I had a chance to threaten to sue him for harassment, Brennan turned on him, grabbing his wrist and holding on as she contorted his arm in order for her to elbow him in the gut. Thompson dropped to the floor limply, moaning in pain.

"Thanks," I told her, feeling a bit slaphappy that my role model seemed to be showing favoritism to me. "Nice moves!"

"You are welcome. I try," she nodded.

As we walked out, I turned and walked backwards, trusting Brennan to tell me if I was going to run into anything. "If we have any further questions, we'll be in touch!"

Later that day brought us back to Cullen's office. Oh, joy. He was very pissed. Well, I'm proud in saying I helped play a part in that. "When you work for the FBI, Dr. Brennan, you're a Federal Agent, government property. I own you." Okay, so he was mostly ticked at Brennan, considering all I did was be a smartass, and if there was a law against that, we wouldn't have enough un-convicted people to guard one jail, forget a whole world full of them.

"I'm not certain that's accurate, sir," Brennan said, not letting him boss her around.

"It's not. Slavery was abolished decades ago," I asserted.

"Well how's this for accurate?" He seethed, leaning over his desk. "I could place you under arrest on a federal charge right now for uttering threats against a United States Senator."

"What?..." Brennan was taken by surprise, so I felt the need to jump in.

"Review the tapes," I invited coolly. "No one threatened Senator Bethlehem at all – although he would have deserved it. He was being a moron."

Cullen rounded on me. "You! You're lucky you're a minor or I'd have you charged, too. You were under guidelines directed by common sense not to hinder this investigation!"

I raised my eyebrows, not intimidated in the least. "Aw," I pouted mockingly. "You used to like my attitude. Like you said; I'm a minor. All I did was be a bitch. I might as well have gone to London and pranked the Queen's guards and try to get them to do something. If people were arrested for stupid stunts like that, there would be no civilians in the city of London."

"They were your responsibility!" Cullen said, going back to Booth when he couldn't argue with me. I was a sassy brat, yeah, but I knew not to break the laws unless it was a necessity. Getting the Senator pissed off was just for kicks.

"Yes, sir," Booth said submissively.

Cullen sent us all dirty looks before holding down a button on his phone set and speaking into the intercom. "Send in Special Agent First." He let go of the button, freeing himself to continue throwing a fit. "I warned you about taking squints out to the field but you vouched for her, said she wouldn't screw up!"

"Yes, sir."

"She accosted a Senator, assaulted his aid, that counts as screwing things up!"

Alarmed, Brennan exclaimed, "No! No! Booth didn't know I was going to see the Senator, I wanted to get a sample of his DNA."

"Exactly," the director sent Booth a dirty look.

"The aid got what was coming to him," I added. "He assaulted me first. Here, see!" I rolled up my shirt sleeve. Luckily for us, Thompson had sharp nails and he'd grabbed my arm with enough force to scratch and leave red marks on my skin. I showed off the scraped patch of skin to the director.

Cullen's eyes narrowed, but before he could throw any more accusations, Agent First entered the room, standing with stiff posture and waiting by the door. Cullen threw us all warning looks. "Tomorrow morning, I'm announcing the formation of a special unit to investigate the murder of Cleo Eller, at which time your investigation will be officially terminated." He glared at Booth. "You will not head the new unit."

Booth inhaled a long breath and spoke without bothering to hide his disdain. "Congratulations, Patrick."

"No hard feelings," First said.

"Right."

"I need the complete case files in the morning."

"Of course," Booth nodded tightly. "They'll be ready."

"Thank you, Agent First," the director dismissed.

I was thinking about something to throw in the director's face for good measure as we left, and thankfully, it came to me. As we stood from our chairs, I shrugged carelessly. "At least Dr. Brennan found out that Senator Bethlehem was having sex with Cleo."

"I did?" Brennan whispered to me in surprise.

I did my best to look bored as Cullen's attention was piqued. "Report said there wasn't enough DNA in the fetal bones to determine paternity," he pointed out, but nonetheless, he wasn't completely writing me off.

"Yeah, but he didn't know that," I smirked. "He didn't want Dr. Brennan to take that gum, so he's hiding something."

Cullen gave me a level look. "Miss Kirkland, when you are released from our protection, I suggest you go back to your bar shifts, and get used to being there."

I raised my eyebrows. "I already am, otherwise I'd be a lousy employee, but I'm not fired yet, am I?" I asked arrogantly. This guy just pushed all of my buttons.

"Come on, Holly," Booth muttered, putting an arm over my shoulder and urging me to come with him. It wasn't weird. Being chewed out by the director had seemed to give the three of us a sense of unity as we got to the point that we'd all gotten ourselves in trouble in the pursuit of answers so that a man could be punished for murder, which was something we all believed in. Aside from that, Booth's actions were more paternal than anything, and, not having had a good father, I didn't mind it that much. I'd drown myself before I admitted that aloud, though.

"You okay?" Booth asked Brennan and I when we were out of earshot and in the hallway.

"Don't be nice to us after we got you in trouble," I scoffed, laughing a little despite myself.

"Your heart was in the right place," Booth said definitively.

Brennan shook her head in denial of his words. "No, I'm not a heart person, you're a heart person. I'm a brain person. You vouched for me?"

"Forget it," Booth sighed.

"No, I won't," Brennan told him seriously. She paused. "Do you two think it was the Senator?"

I winced, tilting my head both ways in a noncommittal way. "Well, the Senator's not exactly celibate, but he's not killed any of his other interns. I think our best bet right now is the stalker guy."

"Kid's got a point," Booth agreed.

"You want to check him out?" Brennan offered. "We can, I don't know, what do you call it – roost him?"

I tried not to laugh. "Rouse," I corrected.

"Rouse," Brennan repeated. "Well, the murderer snatched a Bronze Star from Cleo's neck, so…"

"Right," I nodded, getting her point. "Obsessional felons usually keep souvenirs of their victims."

"How do you know this?" Booth asked, surprised.

I looked down. "I read a lot," I said vaguely, not wanting to admit that I did so because it was the closest I could get to actually doing what I wanted with my life. It was one thing to know it for myself. To say it to others just felt like it would make it invariable.

"Right, okay, you read a lot," Booth repeated. "Must read one hell of a book collection. We've got twelve hours before this case is over and we're off it, so let's go rouse."

"We?" I questioned, not expecting that. Booth seemed pretty independent, and he and I hadn't been the best of buddies since we met. Brennan seemed to be constantly butting heads with him.

"We're all in this one together, like it or not," Booth said simply.

"I find I like it when we work together, it provides for an instinctual desire of companionship and we appear to have been making headway," Brennan shared.

I smiled softly to myself. We had companionship in each other, according to Brennan. That wasn't really something I'd had before… I could go for it. "Alright, we. We're a team," I consented.

Oliver Laurier had a pretty nice-sized house considering he'd had charges pressed for stalking. "He looks like he's got a pretty big garden," I said, taking note of the size of the picket fence around the house. "I'll go around through the back in case he's doing yard work."

"Good plan," Booth nodded. "I'll make an agent of you yet. Bones and I will take the front door."

"Don't call me Bones!"

I choked back a snicker, taking the stepping-stone route to the gate of the fence while Brennan and Booth walked up the driveway. When I opened the gate and stepped through, I found it was pretty clear that this wasn't garden. It was just a bunch of overgrown lawn. I rolled my eyes. Of course. What had I been thinking? I headed for the door at the back porch, which was unlocked, so I let myself in.

I was in the back, and straight ahead was the sitting room, which the door opened to. Oliver Laurier had his back to me and had the door open. "Mr. Laurier, we have a warrant to search your apartment," Brennan started.

Oliver slammed the door in her face and turned to run. Not a second later, Booth reopened the door. Oliver, who hadn't seen me, ran right to me before processing I was actually there. He tried to stop and go the other way. I snatched his flailing wrist from the air and twisted it around behind his back, grasping his shoulder firmly to keep him in place.

Booth smirked. "Don't run, Oliver," he advised.

"Yeah, it makes you look bad," I told him dutifully.

Oliver was taking his time to thoroughly read the warrant. Booth was looking around the house, not looking for much aside from Eller's star. "Agent Booth is under the impression that you may have something that is pertinent to a case he is working on," Brennan told Oliver, trying to engage him in conversation so that maybe he would slip up and reveal something.

"You're looking for a Bronze Star?" Oliver looked up from the warrant, looking confused. "Like the one that Cleo wore?"

"Exactly like that one, Mr. Laurier," Brennan confirmed.

"I don't have it."

I exhaled slowly, walking around. "Sometimes stalkers retain keepsakes."

Booth picked up a little booklet from a bowl full of them on the mantle. "What the hell are these things, anyway?" He asked derisively. They were pocket-sized, leather-bound, and didn't look like they were worth much.

"Miniature lives of the Saints," Oliver looked up to the sky and bowed in respect to the God and lives he worshipped. "I hand them out."

Booth turned it over in his hands and, when it wielded nothing of use, he tossed it up in the air. "Heads up, kid," he called, dismissing the booklet.

I caught it during its flight through the air with one hand. Snatching it up, I surveyed it critically before clasping my fingers around it possessively. This could, at the very least, provide evidence for the degraded paper Eller had had when her body was dumped in the pond. If it matched, then we'd have probable cause to arrest Laurier for murder.

"I hand them out for donations, I'm not a panhandler, help yourself," Laurier told Booth before rotating to observe me critically, a miniscule look of appreciation growing on his face. I shrugged it off as nothing; if I dwelled on it, I might shiver. It was slightly creepy. Okay, more than slightly. "I never stalked Cleo."

"Then why did she get a restraining order?" Brennan inquired skeptically.

Laurier closed his eyes and shook his head, bemused. "Okay, okay, no. First of all… no. Ken Thompson, her supposed boyfriend, got the restraining order with his box, the Senator, but Ken is only concerned with his job and his tropical fish. They colluded to ruin my reputation with this specious-"

"Then why'd you run from the warrant?" Booth drilled, interrupting him.

Laurier did a good job attempting to hide his dismay at Booth's presence. "My fight or flight response is heavily weighted toward flight. If there is anything I can do to help you catch Cleo's killer, just tell me."

"Full confession would be great!" Booth smiled brightly.

"I love Cleo," Laurier restated, aghast. "Why would I hurt her?"

I interrupted their argument. "Booth, Dr. Brennan, I think we're done here," I said, casting Laurier a glance. "If you don't mind, I'm going to keep one of these little books."

"Whatever you need, Miss," he said, a smile ghosting on his face. I rolled my eyes. Men. They're all pigs.

Angela projected the data up and the hologram display started. "This is just a rough composite," she excused. "But you get the idea."

Angela was showing me the display scenarios and recreation while the others worked. Booth and Brennan were discussing possible suspects or leads, after Brennan and Zach had told me the information I might need to help Angela reconstruct a scene. She herself had said that I had demonstrated enough intellect in the topic to come to a rational conclusion.

"So, the skull trauma wasn't the cause of death," I said, almost disappointed. That, at least, would have been done with quickly. "She was stabbed first. Somewhere between five and eight times. Zach said that it was most likely with a military issued K-bar knife."

The projector showed Eller being stabbed from behind by a tall silhouette. "And I just completed this rendering," the forensic artist said, watching with her lips pursed in concentration. "The defensive wounds to the bones of her hands suggest that it wasn't until the third of fourth penetration that…" her voice faded for a moment. "…that Cleo stopped fighting back."

Picking up on it, I tore my speculative gaze from the hologram scenario to look at Angela in concern. "Are you okay?" I asked.

She shook her head to herself, but said, "Yeah."

I let it go at that. I pointed out a specific moment when the projection replayed. "That's likely the fatal stab, right there."

"I believe the distinctive damage to her distal phalanges-" Angela shook her head slightly at me and gave me a look, so I revised my sentence. "-the damage to the tips of her finger bones, was caused by the murderer using the knife to remove her finger pads. The cranial suggests a hammer somewhere around twenty pounds struck her four to five times while her head was on a cement floor. That's our best explanation for the traces of cement and diatomaceous earth. But that means that this wasn't a crime of passion," I finished in confusion.

"Cleo never saw the first stab coming." Although the observation was clinical, Angela seemed to take solace in it. "It didn't arise out of an argument. So why smash her face, why whittle away her fingertips, why remove her clothing and her jewelry?"

"Sank her body, too," I added, not liking the intelligence that the felon was displaying. "The murderer put much more effort into obscuring her identity than he did in the actual murder."

"Hodgins said that the little book you got from the stalker matches the cellulose Cleo had in her hand when she first got to the lab," Angela informed me. "That was good thinking, by the way."

"So evidence was planted." I summarized. "The use of a military knife incriminates her father – Major Eller from the first Gulf War."

"Sound like any conniving Senator you know?" Angela asked rhetorically.

I sighed, blowing hair out of my eyes. "We can't declare war on a US Senator based on conjecture, however much I'd love to. Even if this is a logical recreation of events, based on solid evidence, it still can't be proved until we have the murderer and/or murder weapon."

"Yeah, it's no more valid than my gut," a new voice stated.

I turned. Booth was leaning against the doorway. "A good hypothesis withstands its testing. That's what makes it a good hypothesis," I challenged.

"It's not a hypothesis," Booth argued. "You have a dead girl and a United States Senator. This is exactly why kids don't belong in the FBI or science labs. You don't know anything about the real world."

My jaw dropped slightly and I scoffed, throwing my hands in the air. "You're right. I have no clue who my parents are, I've been in the foster system all my life, and I still don't have an actual family. I live in a bad part of town where I get in fights just to get to my residence without being raped or murdered. I work in a bar, and despite my outstanding credits from high school for managing to graduate way early, I still can't go to college because I have no financial security, which goes right back to having no family." Angela gaped slightly, taking a step back. Booth looked meek and chastened. And I didn't even mention the abuse I'd gone through at the hands of some of the foster families! "But who cares? I'm obviously a naïve little moron who's clueless about real life. Thanks for enlightening me."

Not giving him a chance to say anything, I shoved past him roughly and stalked out onto the balcony, headed for the stairs back to the ground level.

That's too bad. I thought we'd been working well together.

Whatever. It was just a badly-timed comment that wasn't completely thought through. I'd get over it. It hadn't meant to sting. It was just my bad luck that it did.