Brennan scoffed loudly as Booth pulled the SUV to a stop outside the county police department. "So let me just get this straight – I'm the tactless and insensitive one?"

Booth raised his hands up to his head, trying to defend himself from Brennan's verbal derision. "Okay, look. The girl lied to a federal agent during the investigation in the death of a boy that she said she loves. You know what? These kids, they all lie! That school teaches them that they're special, that they're above the rest of us. Well-"

"You are the least objective person I have ever met," Brennan observed, interrupting Booth's rant before he could get out of hand.

"Thank you."

"I don't think that was a compliment," I said, rolling my eyes. Why couldn't they just get along for once?

"Aw, come on, Brennan," Booth whined childishly as he pulled the keys out of the ignition. "You know something is wrong here! Alright, the school, the tapes, and now Sheriff Roach!"

"All this mess you're uncovering – it smells, yes, but doesn't add up to murder… not logically!" Brennan argued back.

Booth unlocked the car doors and pushed open the driver's side door, going out feet first. "Maybe if you looked for more than the facts, you would be able to see the bigger pi-"

"Maybe if you opened your mind, we could find out the actual truth!" Brennan heartily accused, interrupting him fiercely.

The sheriff came down the front steps of the department building, holding a cardboard box to her side with one arm. She wore a slight scowl of distaste when she saw us, as Brennan and I crossed around to stand with Booth. The sheriff's appearance made Brennan and Booth stop bickering to save their pride at their public appearances. "Brought you the tapes," the sheriff explained uselessly, shoving the small box into Booth's arms.

"How many?" Brennan asked, looking in the box and trying to count without using her hands to sift through.

The sheriff put her hands on her hips sassily and gave Brennan a cold, calculating look. "All of them," she swore. "What do you think? I'm withholding evidence?"

I resisted the urge to swing at her. The tone she took with Brennan was obviously derogative. I didn't appreciate my own growing feelings of protection towards Brennan, Booth, Hodgins, Zach, and Angela. I knew that protection was my way of showing I cared; I didn't know how to show it through other means, so if I felt like I had to defend them when they were just being verbally roughed up, then I felt close or I wanted to be close with them. They were the nicest people I'd ever met; the most decent to me that anyone's ever been, and they all worked like a TV family; they fought and had petty arguments but they all had each others' backs. That was something that most people took for granted; friendships and supportive allegiances, but they didn't realize how lucky they were most of the time.

"You know, I'm thinking Hanover Prep gets you elected, and you deny your obligations as an officer of the law and look the other way so that you stay in office," I slighted, crossing my arms and taking a step forward.

"Kids having sex. There's no law against that," the sheriff drawled at me, a sickeningly snide tone of voice.

Booth's calm, collected voice answered before I could snap back. "Let's hope that's the worst thing that we find."

I groaned as I found myself right back in Angela's office. The other tapes were playing on a loop, the artist having burned them to her computer on a file folder. I had my head down in shame. The stupid radio had been playing Madonna's Like A Virgin and I'd been absently humming to it without realizing when it got stuck in my head. Luckily for me, Angela was the only one who recognized the song, and she seemed like she was willing to pretend not to have heard.

"You're right about the school serving pudding," Brennan said offhandedly to Booth.

Booth shook his head, closing his eyes briefly, before correcting her. "Stirring the pudding. It means…"

Brennan stopped him and I found myself just staring at her and Booth in a desperate means of not looking at the screen. "Melody Destri!" She exclaimed, standing up suddenly. "That's Camden Destri's mother! Wait, is that… is that Nester Olivos she's with?"

I really debated with myself for a few seconds, but curiosity won out and I flashed my eyes to the screen, analyzing the features and not the positions. "No, that's… Tucker Pattison, Nester's roommate," I said in surprise as I recognized the flyaway blonde hair.

"How long did the sexual relationship continue?" I demanded of the ruffled teenager.

Tucker shook his head and tossed up his hands in frustration and desperation. "I don't know! A couple of months?"

Tucker's mom didn't meet her son's eyes, shamed at his actions, but she still defended him from me to the best of her capabilities. "Tucker is the underage victim of statutory rape."

"When did it end?" I ignored his mother. I wasn't interested in his defense; sex wasn't my area of expertise, court and law-wise, and besides, I was more interested in murder than sex scandals.

"That was the last time," Tucker insisted solemnly, actively drawing his hand across his heart to emphasize his truthfulness.

"Why Nester's bed?" My hope was that if I kept asking startling questions without any sense of order or warning of when I was switching approaches, Tucker would be too surprised to deflect or lie. "Why not your own? It was ten feet away."

"I don't know!" Tucker cried, bringing his hands up to his head.

I changed tactics again, pinning accusations on him. "It was because you know exactly where the camera was pointed!"

"Mrs. Destri gave me money to keep quiet!" Tucker finally shouted. He was breaking out in a sweat. I smirked; I'd succeeded and he'd broken to my questioning. I arched one eyebrow, telling him to continue, and Tucker took the only moment of peace since I'd come in to take a breath, rake his fingers through his pale blonde hair, and try to shake out his nerves before explaining further. "Nester said, 'how much you think she would pay to keep her husband from seeing a tape.' Nester set up a drop and got five thousand dollars. He said we should do it again but just before vacation I told him that I was going to tell my parents, even if it meant getting kicked out of Hanover. The next thing I know he killed himself." Tucker's voice became very small and he just drew subconsciously on the table with his fingertip. "I didn't tell because I figured it was my fault."

"Tabanid pupil casings show the boy ingested a heavy dose of ketamine before he died," Hodgins reported, a slight look of triumph in his expression as he looked between Brennan, Booth, Zach, Angela, and I. "Kids call it Special K."

I shook my head in disgust. "I call Special K a cereal brand. I call ketamine a horse tranquilizer and classify it as something to ingest when I'm feeling particularly suicidal and want to be hospitalized and recorded acting like an irrational moron."

"So somebody dosed him, right?" Booth rubbed his palms together. "That explains why he wasn't struggling before the hanging."

"Or, wild thought? He took it himself for fun, like most kids do!" Brennan countered. For not liking conjecture, she sure is good at it, with the capability to use open-minded observations of society coupled with factual information to come up with real-world, plausible scenarios.

"So I heard you totally nailed the kid in the interrogation," Hodgins prompted slightly, a rouge grin taking place as he shifted, crossing his arms and wanting an explanation.

"I used a technique to startle the adolescent and catch him off-guard in hopes that an increased sense of duress and a difficulty to catch up and lie without making it obvious would cause him to see sense and tell the truth of what happened to the full extent," I said simply with a modest shrug. "I succeeded."

Hodgins looked to Angela for a moment, then jerked his head at me. I narrowed my eyes suspiciously as Angela shook her head wildly, but Hodgins crossed his arms at her and turned back to me. "We've been trying to ignore it, but what happened to your face?"

I lifted my hand to my cheek. I'd almost completely forgotten the band aid sticking to my skin. The unusual feeling had sort of numbed as I'd been distracted by other things. I rubbed along the line of the band aid as I answered. "There was a Venezuelan official trying to sneak into the dorm to prove the point that suicide wasn't the only option. He felt threatened and when I stopped him from escaping, not knowing his identity, he went on the offensive. He was wearing a ring, and it cut me. It's shallow and clean. It should be healed in a couple days."

Hodgins smirked at Angela and whistled, the pitch going from high to low. "The mighty warrior shot down by an office man. How the mighty have fallen."

I crossed my arms and pouted slightly before I could control my reaction. "Actually," I corrected. "I got a cut on the cheek. He got several surface bruises, likely a bruised mandible, sore ribs and a stomachache, and I may or may not have broken his nose."

Hodgins paused for a minute, looking between myself and Angela, who gave him a look that said 'I told you so.' "Fine," Hodgins finally ceded to the artist before telling me, "Remind me never to make you mad at me, Xena." I fought with the urge to roll my eyes at the reference to a warrior princess from an old TV program.

"I had sex with Naomi in Paleontology," Zach announced randomly, but I suppose he thought it was okay to bring up for some reason.

Angela's eyes widened. "You mean, actually in Paleontology?"

"No, at her place," Zach corrected. "I thought it went great, but I could be wrong, because apparently what I think is wild and kinky is basic-" insert sideways look at Hodgins. "-And since she never called me back I'm wondering if it's because I lack imagination in the sack."

"You know what, Zach?" Angela asked, showing the first signs of discomfort. "I'm thinking this is more of a guy-guy conversation."

Zach opened his mouth, but while Hodgins and Booth argued about Hodgins' seven organ soup and how he apparently got salmonella, I took Zach over to the side of the platform and talked quietly to him. "Um, what Angela means is that she feels uncomfortable discussing your sex life with you," I explained, trying to save everyone some embarrassment. "Your inclination to discuss triumphs over sex would be more fitted to discussing with another male due the masculine desire to boast over previous sexual encounters." I was really glad I could keep a straight poker face when I really needed to, or my face would be crimson as the fires of hell.

Zach looked up slowly. "I understand that," he said, sounding almost amazed that I'd been able to explain to him something that had confused him for so long. I would've felt complimented if he hadn't sounded so shocked.

I nodded in agreement, mildly proud of myself anyway.

"Heartburn!" Brennan suddenly exclaimed loudly. I turned around, surprised at the shout.

"What?" Booth asked, looking lost, and so I knew that I hadn't missed anything that anyone else hadn't.

Brennan's triumphant smile was almost contagious. A flicker of happiness fluttered across my expression for a moment before I went back to being neutral as she explained enthusiastically. "Hodgins has heartburn because stomach acid is rising into his esophagus. The ketamine plus choking could have caused Nester to regurgitate. The rope would hold the gastric fluids in the upper throat, weakening the hyoid."

"And digestive fluids are basically the chemical equivalent of hydrochloric acid," I realized, smiling for real as I made the connection. Brennan speed-walked back to the exam table, looking over the remains critically for any indicators supporting her theory.

Zach walked up to about five feet away from Booth and spoke in complete seriousness. "Sometimes when you're not busy, I wonder if I could ask you a few questions about sexual positions." I hit my forehead with my palm – I meant for you to talk with another male that would humor your questions, not threaten to kill you!

True to my suspicions, Booth pointed at Zach vindictively. "If you even try, I will take out my gun and shoot you between the eyes."

Brennan bent down over the bones to look at them closely. "These marks here and here – that's scarring consistent with hydrochloric acid."

Booth pretended that Zach didn't look like a kicked puppy and turned his head slightly to the side as he eyed Brennan apprehensively. "I don't like where you're going with this."

Brennan shook her head slightly to herself and she tapped Angela's upper arm, getting the Asian woman's full attention. "I need to run a few scenarios through the Angelatron," she said, getting Angela to speed up.

Booth looked at me quizzically, but I shrugged. I had a sneaking idea of what Brennan's theory might be, but I didn't want to tell Booth since I didn't know for sure, and Brennan would explain to us for sure. I gathered up the will to move and jumped over the stairs leading up to the platform, bunching my hamstrings and bending over to absorb the impact, before setting off at a brisk jog to catch up with Angela and Brennan, who were already at the long staircase that led up to the offices on the balcony.

Angela quickly booted up her computer and holograph projector. It didn't take very long, considering how complex the data input is, but then, everything here at the institution is richly financed. The moment Angela picked up her stylus and the input board, Brennan started firing off instructions. "Replace the values for the hyoid bone mass with these sliding coefficients," she said, sharing a piece of paper between them on a brown clipboard. "That will replicate bone deterioration as the hyoid is being digested by stomach acid."

Angela nodded slightly, looking back up to the projection every few seconds to make sure she had the instructions filed in correctly. "I'm applying a timeline and running in fast-forward. This will show it in measured time."

Booth shook his head slightly at the two as he had nothing to go on as to their actions. Seeing this and taking pity on him, I motioned to the projection as it began to form a close-up image of the hyoid through a translucent throat, with the slight outline of a tightly-pulled noose just barely visible. "The body decomposes, and gastric fluids trapped in the esophagus by the noose would actually digest the hyoid over time, which could have caused the break."

"There!" Brennan pointed up at the hologram suddenly as the half-opaque shape snapped in two. "The hyoid snapped."

"A hundred and ninety-six point three hours…" Angela read from the screen as she paused it in the timeline progression. She did the math quickly in her head, biting her lower lip subtly as she focused. "Just over eight days."

Brennan exhaled slowly as she looked to Booth, her lips pursed in almost regret. "This finding is congruent with suicide."

Booth closed his eyes and shook his head like he was trying to shake off the discovery. "I do not accept that," he declared stubbornly.

"You can't not accept a fact," I pointed out mildly.

Brennan sighed to herself. She must have really thought that Nester Olivos had been murdered, but she'd not found anything to indicate homicide. "I have to amend my cause of death report," she acknowledged.

Booth intercepted her as she started on her path to the door. "Then you'll stop my investigation. The school is trying to cover up a murder, and you're helping them!" He declared strongly, not faltering. Brennan swallowed visibly, but I could see that, despite Booth's efforts to shake her into working through it further, she wouldn't give in to the pressure without a very good reason other than cruel words.

Brennan and I worked in silence as we went through a final examination of Nester's bones. After this, Brennan would fire up the ultraviolet light and we'd treat the bones before releasing them to the Venezuelan embassy. Although I recognized the subdued nature with which I worked just a little bit more slowly than I had before, I was surprised that I was also noting Brennan's evident frustration. Her jaw was clenched and the silence was forced, not just the result of a lack of a desire to talk.

I set the calcaneus back down on the table. "Dr. Brennan, you did all you could," I said softly. I didn't want to poke, but she shouldn't feel guilty with herself. "Despite popular belief, the results of this investigation are that he most likely committed suicide. At least we got to make sure that a murderer won't walk free."

"I am aware that there is no more that can be done to assist Nester Olivos in his passing," Brennan said firmly, but she still frowned slightly. "I just wish that…"

She trailed off, unable to find the words, but I nodded so that she wouldn't have to try to convey her meaning. "I understand, Dr. Brennan." She hadn't wanted to know someone had committed suicide. Nester Olivos had overcome being deaf. He'd gotten decent grades and with his mother's rank, he could have easily gotten any career he wanted if he'd worked hard for it. It was sad that someone had offed themself when they'd had so much to live for. Nester had Camden, his mother, his father, and Tucker, who was obviously friendly to him due to the willingness to lie in his favor. It would maybe be easier to tell ambassador and Mr. Olivos that their son had, in fact, been murdered, and not that he'd chosen to end his own life. That he hadn't felt life was worth living anymore, and condemn his parents to wondering for the rest of their lives if it was their fault, or if they could have prevented it.

Angela sighed, alerting us to her presence as she approached, her heels clicking as her pace slowed while she scanned the card to access the platform. She clutched an auburn-colored sketchbook tightly, her necklace hitting the large drawing pad with a rattle every time until she drew even with us. "Honey," she asked Brennan, "Did you ever just believe something, despite the evidence, and just know it was true?" Angela's expression looked borderline pleading, telling me that she was feeling the same basic emotions as Brennan and I.

"No," Brennan said without hesitation, shaking her head very slightly as she wanted to stay concentrated. "I've hoped things. I will always know the difference between hope and fact." She left it at that for a moment, but then words just started to spill out of her mouth. "You know, all that's left of this boy is this table full of bones. Now everyone he has ever known has an agenda, his parents, his school – even the cop who's investigating his death! I'm the only one who cares about the truth of what Nester's life came to in the end, good or bad, and I know the truth is more important than anything else."

Angela raised her eyebrows slightly, still sad and therefore lacking the usual bouncy attitude. "You know, or you hope it's true?"

Brennan actually paused. She set down the left ulna and put her hands at her sides, her eyebrows furrowing as she did her best to convince herself that what she'd said was true. "Suicide is the most rational, logical explanation. What I believe doesn't matter. What makes me sad doesn't matter."

Angela hummed disappointedly, looking down to the sketchbook she cradled in her arms. Slowly, she changed how she held it and flipped the pages, found the paper she was looking for, and folded the ones in front of it around back behind the rest. Thank God for spiral notebooks; they make life easier. Angela held up a rough sketch of Nester Olivos. Although it wasn't perfect, it was pretty accurate. It was a great testament to her abilities as an artist. "Look at this face," Angela whispered to Brennan. "He did not kill himself." She drew him smiling, his Catholic necklace just barely visible around the half-drawn shoulders.

Brennan smiled despite her words as she found Angela's behavior touching. "Ange, I need a little more proof than a nice drawing." It's more than nice.

"I can do that," Angela promised seriously.

Angela stood back and let her monitor do the work for her as it projected on a large screen on the wall. "This is not from the DVD," she asserted quickly to us, turning the volume of the sex scene down when I started to turn crimson again and covered my ears. I gave in, rewarding the thoughtful action with removing my hands and instead just trying not to watch the screen. "It's a quick snippet that was on Nester's hard drive. Somebody tried to erase it, but Zach and I got some of it back."

Brennan observed the video without any indication of embarrassment. Must be great to not feel as awkward as I do right now. "Angela, zoom in on that necklace."

Angela drew the stylus across her touch pad. The screen zoomed in to just below Camden's neck and refocused on a little sparkling necklace. The pendant was a detailed seahorse with a slightly orange tinge. "A little seahorse?" Angela voiced, a smile growing on her face. "Come on. What kind of blackmailer does that? It's sweet. It's a clueless kid in love."

Brennan looked to Angela skeptically, looking slightly disappointed. "That's your evidence that he didn't commit suicide? A seahorse?"

"A kid doesn't give a gift because, you know, he's in love," Booth said, scoffing very slightly and glancing at Angela as if scared she would snap his neck. "He does it because he wants a little loving."

I sent Booth a disturbed look. "You must not know very many decent guys," I dictated. Booth gave me an almost insulted look, so I sighed, resigning to explain myself to keep good relations. "In my…" I paused, thinking. "…Fourteenth foster residence, when I was ten, there was an older guy living there too, and he was always doing things for his girlfriend, even though she was a complete bitch. He was totally smitten with her, and I don't remember them ever fighting."

"Rerun that," Brennan directed, ignoring us as the clip ended.

Angela complied, setting the video to play again. "That cynicism you affect, Booth, it's your way of hiding your deeply romantic nature," Angela said with a smirk.

I gagged as Brennan pointed at the camera, jerking slightly in surprise. "There. Stop. Play it again. There! She rolled her eyes for the camera."

"What?" Booth asked, squinting at the screen.

Angela frowned very slightly. "I didn't see it either."

"Could you replay it in slow motion and zoom in on Camden?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at the screen. Angela rewound and paused the tape, then let the video proceed through frames slowly. Sure enough, Brennan had been right. Although it was slight and quick, Camden looked to the camera in exasperation as she rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "Oh my God. She lied. She knew the camera was there."

"How did you see that?" Booth demanded in shock, looking from the screen to Brennan.

"Camden's not a victim," Angela sighed, sounding hurt that the girl had lied to us. "She's in on it."

Booth hit the back of his right hand against his left palm. "You don't roll your eyes at yourself. You do it for someone else, not Nester Olivos."

"What do we do now?" Brennan asked.

Booth inhaled sharply. "This is where a public school education comes in handy. 'Divide and conquer' was the playground motto."

My jaw dropped and I stared at him. "What kind of sick, twisted school did you go to?!"

Camden and her mother were both quite obviously nervous, as they both displayed nervous tics while they sat at the interrogation table. Upon entering, I debated rolling up my sleeves to show I had no issue with playing dirty to get what I wanted, but decided against it. I always wore long sleeves over my arms when I was with other people because of the scars and pain associated with them. I wasn't about to change that just to increase the anxiety of a petty little gossip girl.

"So, Camden," I said casually, trying to pretend to be friendly. I glanced at the Destris' lawyer in brief acknowledgment of legal protection presences. I sat on the edge of the table, bringing one of my legs up to the table to keep my balance. "We could close our murder investigation right now, if you would tell me why Nester killed himself."

"Why is Tucker here?" Camden's focus, however, was preoccupied by the live feed going through the small TV set, streaming live from another interrogation room. Tucker and his mother were in the other room, although they didn't know they were being recorded. In the same situation, a webcam was playing straight to the TV in Tucker's room, but the Destris didn't know that. This had been Booth's suggestion, that by using them against each other, we could legally manipulate them into confessing all. It was perfectly legal, because we could lie, which the government did all the time, about minor things, and we could poke and prod all we wanted. It was fine to insinuate things, too, that seemed incriminating. If we could get each of them to turn on each other, we'd inevitably get the full story.

I exploited this knowledge simply. "Oh, Tucker…" I shrugged, then pulled a deliberately neutral expression. "He said some things."

"What things?" Camden immediately bit the bait, so to speak.

I slowly exhaled all the air in my lungs. "Well, what Tucker said doesn't make you look too good," I confided. "I believe him, but Agent Booth says it's only fair to hear your side. If your stories match up, we'll be able to drop the murder investigation." Camden swallowed, and her breathing was picking up. I resisted the urge to smirk. "You know, I find it hard to believe that it was your idea for Tucker to seduce your mother," I said, making my eyes wide sympathetically. "I mean, we know it happened, or you wouldn't be here, but we don't want to think about the adults in our life getting it on, especially with people we know. It's just wrong."

"It wasn't," Camden agreed immediately, a note of relief in her voice. "She hit on Tucker."

Mrs. Destri's eyes widened and she started to shake her head. "No. Wait, wait." She looked to the lawyer. "Can they do this?"

"She's fishing," the lawyer said firmly, obviously talking about me. "Don't say a word."

I raised my eyebrows cynically. "I wasn't fishing," I said slowly, like it was a stupid suggestion. I looked back to Camden. "Camden, you really want to listen to me. It just makes you look bad if you try to lie any more, and besides, I'm pretty damn intelligent compared to your lawyer. I mean," I lowered my voice slightly, like I was telling her a secret. "He can't tell the difference between hunting marine life for recreational sport and leading an interrogation."

Camden looked to the lawyer almost regretfully, probably having thought he'd be more useful. "Tucker was all, 'Stacy's Mom' about it. I just… sort of gave him the permission. It was funny."

Mrs. Destri lowered her face to look at the table and cupped her face in her hands. "Please stop this. Stop it."

"Mom, deal with it, okay?" Camden snapped, losing her patience for the tenuous discord her mother had caused. "You're the one that's the perv, so…" I nodded with a shrug at Mrs. Destri. It was true. "When my mom gave Tucker money to keep him quiet, we got the idea to blackmail her with the tape. I was mad at her, I guess," Camden started to explain. "Then Tucker said it was my turn."

I saw the wheels beginning to spin and the puzzle pieces started to click. "Nester was rich, lonely, Catholic, estranged from society, and he had a thing for you," I said. Because appearing angry or accusatory wouldn't benefit the case, I did the only thing I could; I kept my voice devoid of all emotions.

"And he was cute," Camden admitted, blushing slightly. "People didn't notice, because of the way he talked, but he was really cute. I liked him. We made the tape and showed it to Nester. It made him really upset… really upset."

"Because you threatened to show it to his mother," I finished. Having met the ambassador, I could take an educated guess that seeing her son exploited into assisting making a sex tape would hurt her. Not knowing that it had been made against his will would be worse. There were two types of sex, as far as I could tell from society; genuine, when it was simply because of the people involved, and exploiting; when it was done for ulterior purposes and led to one or both parties involved being hurt.

"Or because I broke his heart?" Camden suggested sharply. Wow, Booth was right; they teach kids at Hanover to have way high expectations of other people's impressions of them. "I still can't believe he killed himself. I'm really sorry he did that."

The lawyer cleared his throat. "What Camden did was wrong, which she's acknowledged. But she can't be held responsible for an unstable boy's overreaction."

"I said I'm sorry," Camden repeated as I lazily pushed myself off of the table.

"Yeah," I sighed. "Camden Destri, on behalf of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, I'm placing you under arrest for the murder of Nester Olivos."

"What?" The lawyer started, incredulous. "She's admitted to blackmail and attempted blackmail, that's all. Hardly an offense worth legal detail."

"Nester was going to the headmaster," I told Camden. I had no use pretending to be oblivious or friendly anymore. I had what I needed… on tape, too. "He was going to expose you, so you dosed him with a sedative drug called ketamine and hauled him up into the tree with the noose. If we search your dorm, I assume we'll find the scissors that cut the excess rope after his body was in the tree, and the Jeffersonian Institution will find evidence to further incriminate you via the blades. Also, we're getting a warrant passed as we speak to take a DNA sample, which we'll compare against the noose Nester was hanged in. I'm pretty certain we'll get a hundred-percent match. Plus, you've already confessed to a motive. People have killed for less."

Camden's expression had quickly turned horrified, but now she desperately interrupted me, a hand reaching out to grab my sleeve. She was lucky I'd moved away already, or she might have to go to the hospital before she can go to court. "If I cooperate and tell you everything Tucker did, do I get some sort of deal?"

I tilted my head to the side. Although the initial plan hadn't been necessary to seed the truth out of the girl, it was entirely possible that reverting back to it now could convince Tucker to come completely clean, too. I paused, only a few feet from the door, and turned back, crossing my arms and throwing my weight to say that I was staying in place. "That depends on what else you have to say."

"Ambassador Olivos, the headmaster and head of security will both be losing their jobs over what happened to your son," I told the woman solemnly. It had taken and hour and then some minutes to see her, but I'd felt as though she deserved to know the outcome of her battle against the school and the loss of her child. Brennan and Booth had agreed with me wholeheartedly, although Booth had seemed a little subdued. I think he was told something by his superiors, because I found out after leaving Camden and her mother that Booth had been called away for a few minutes by an agent.

"The sheriff will resign. The two kids who killed your son are both in custody," Booth added.

The ambassador nodded tightly. "Thank you."

"We're very sorry for your loss," Booth said, repeating himself from the beginning of the case.

Brennan stepped forward without warning, the picture of Nester that the ambassador had given her held gently in her hands. "Ambassador Olivos, you told me that all a mother wants is to know that she's raised her child well." She hesitated, as if to see if she was in the green to continue. "That your biggest regret is that you will never know if Nester would have grown up to be a good man, but he was a good man." She held out the picture now to the distraught ambassador, who accepted the photograph back with shaking hands. "He died because he was trying to do the right thing."

As we left the building and the earshot of the guards at the embassy suite, Booth smiled over at Brennan. "Very impressive, Temperance. You got that one right."

Booth groaned when we entered Wong Foos again (to my displeasure; yay, another expensive meal) and saw Angela, Zach, and Hodgins making themselves at home already. Angela was telling Zach something, and Zach looked confused, but Angela looked sure of herself. Hodgins was laughing out loud at whatever was being said.

"Oh, no," Booth said, shaking his head at the ground as he stalked over to the booth. I exchanged a look with Brennan (she seemed confused as to his negative reaction) and we followed him over to hear him growling at the other squints. "This isn't going to work. I mean, this is my place. Sid!" He looked over at the manager for help.

Sid shrugged. "As long as they keep it down on the subject of rotten corpses and bodily fluids, I have no beef at all."

"Well, of course you don't. This is a Chinese restaurant," Brennan pointed out.

I shook my head at her slightly. "It's an expression. He meant he has no problem with it."

Booth looked crestfallen at the lack of assistance. Hodgins, if he noticed, didn't care. He raved about the restaurant to Booth enthusiastically. "Okay, this is amazing. I had heartburn. I asked Sid to bring me something and now the heartburn is gone! I mean… it's gone! Man, I love this place!"

Booth's eye twitched and he spread his arms quickly, definitive. "Okay, fine! New rules – that counter is mine. That booth is yours. Everything else around here, alright? Mine. Alright, mine… M-I-N-E. Mine."

Brennan smiled at Angela in passing as she followed Booth to the countertop, where Booth waved at a bartender for a drink. "I've been thinking about your whole, 'something stinks' aptitude," she started conversationally, with a hint of apologetics. "I think you have a subconscious knack for reading body language, stress in the voice, other subtle but discernible indicators. It's not mysterious, but it is impressive and in the future, I will try to record it in an appropriate degree of objective worth."

Booth nodded to her, inclining his chin smugly. "Thank you Temperance, I appreciate that." He suddenly looked from her to the bar in front of him. "So, uh, what part of 'this is mine' did you not understand? Do I have to say it in Latin?"

"Holly's here, and you're not objecting," Brennan pointed out, although she didn't actually seem upset.

"Yeah, well, the kid's got a good reason to be around," Booth said decisively.

Brennan smiled slightly. Pulling a small rectangle from her pocket, she set it on the tabletop in front of Booth before sliding out of her seat. "Abset invidia," she said in Latin to Booth. The card was a Jeffersonian clearance card like he'd asked for at the beginning of the Olivos case. Brennan's eyes lit up in pride for herself as Booth grinned at the pass before moving across the room to join her colleagues.

Once Brennan was joining Angela in the roomy booth, Booth looked to me. "I got the call earlier from Cullen," he told me, his voice low and slightly somber. "The Martin Davis murder investigation has been closed."

He didn't have to elaborate. In the orange-yellow lighting of the restaurant, with dark forms still swarming around and friendlily talking with peers and voices making hearing mildly difficult, I could have easily asked 'what?' and it would have been justified. The Davis investigation was closed. They had evidence linking to a perpetrator. Of course, I would still have to testify my innocence in court, and then I'd have to go through the motions of filling out FBI forms and filing disclosure forms for the Jeffersonian, limiting how much information was released to the press about my involvement, but that would come later. For the moment, I was free.

Two weeks ago, when I'd first met Booth under the murder suspicion, I'd have jumped up and down and quite possibly sang for joy for being freed from the constant supervision. I could actually go to my residence now – but not my home, because I've never had one, not really. But now, having worked with the Jeffersonian team and with Special Agent Booth for two weeks, finding and catching murderers, I was disappointed that it was all over.

I'd always known that it was going to end. That was why, during the Eller case, I'd been so focused on keeping myself apart from them. There was no 'us'; there was an 'I' and there was a 'them.' There was no 'ours'; there was a 'mine' and there was a 'theirs.' But a life with no one to go to had quickly led me to making the emotional connections despite my own conscious desires, and by the end of the Masruk case, I'd started thinking with the terms 'us' and 'ours'. It had seemed natural telling Camden and Tucker what 'my' team was doing; what 'we' were doing in regards to the investigation.

I didn't want to go. I liked the feeling of companionship. For the first time in my life, no one I'd been around had harmed me, physically or mentally, and everyone had respected me and taken my thoughts into account. They'd actually been worried about me when I'd chased after Farid Masruk. They'd trusted me and welcomed me, even though I was an unruly adolescent from the slums of the city. They'd treated me equally, even though they'd all gotten high education and I'd graduated high school early, gotten a full-time job, and still hadn't gone to college. They'd included me, when no one could have blamed them for ignoring me. They didn't look down on me; they didn't know my past as a 9/11 victim, they didn't know my history as an abused child, and they didn't know or see all of the scars littering my body.

But it was all a bit too fairytale, and while it's always good to dream, it's another thing to let the dreams consume you, which was what I'd let happen. These come past had been the best two weeks of my life, during which I'd lived my dream. And, as all dreams inevitably do, it was time to let this one end and go back to being a nobody with a future headed to Nowhereville, and unstable in almost every aspect of the word.

"I'm out of custody," I stated simply, translating without making him do it for me. I don't have a place here anymore. I looked over to Zach, Hodgins, Angela, and Brennan, then to Booth, but I quickly looked down, unable to think straight under the emotions wanting to let themselves out. Did I ever really have a place here to begin with?

"Of course, you'll be testifying next week," Booth said with an almost sad nod. "If I'm not out of the city, I'll be there at the trial. You're free of having me and the squints watching you every minute!" He cheered. Are you mocking me?... No. You really think I'll be happy with never seeing any of you again. And if I did, it would likely be on a newspaper, on the TV… maybe I'd meet someone else who reads Brennan's novels, and then I can say to someone besides myself that I'd met Dr. Temperance Brennan.

I swallowed, trying to keep my emotions in check. What good had they ever done me? They certainly weren't helping now. I hoped Booth mistook the shine in my eyes as the lights and not the beginnings of a harsh reality check. "That's… this is good!" I said, trying to sound as enthused as I could. "I can go back to my job now."

Booth's smile faded slightly. I couldn't tell if it was because he saw through the happiness or if it was for some other reason. "Thanks for all you did on the cases, kid," Booth said, and it was pretty clear that he was holding back estranged feelings too. He's probably happy he doesn't have to deal with me anymore, but he's too sensitive to others to show it.

"It was my pleasure," I returned cordially. More than that. Thank you for giving me the time of my life.

"The hotel room's being released," Booth informed me. "Your belongings have been packed up and are being sent back to your home." Not mine. My legal guardians that never do anything for me and now are missing own that house. It's not my home, it never has been. "Starting tomorrow, you'll be back to your own life." And we'll be back to ours, without a scrawny kid to look after. Although it hadn't been said (or even implied, for that matter), I couldn't shake the feeling that maybe that's what he was thinking.

"Thanks, Booth," I said suddenly, words tumbling. "Thanks for going to all the trouble of making sure I wasn't hurt. Thanks for tolerating me barging in on your work." Thanks for being understanding that day outside the Jeffersonian after I'd been prepared to kill Farid, and he'd ended up being killed in my arms. Thanks for believing in me. Thanks for trusting me. Thanks for not dumping me off the moment I wasn't yours to worry about anymore. Thanks for – hell, thanks for arresting me! Thanks for changing up my life and giving me a little time to be happy. Thanks for letting me help lock up the bad ones. Thanks for letting me feel like I've done some good by identifying criminals. Thanks for – for not blaming me for not stopping Brennan from going after Thompson with alcohol in her system. Thanks for letting me feel proud of myself. Thanks for giving me the opportunity to feel important, by letting me lead more than one interrogation. Thanks for introducing me to the squints, who were all so kind to me. Thanks for acting like you cared. Thanks for giving me the chance to live my impossible dream. Thanks for even bothering to tell me in person that I don't have any business around you or our team – no. Your team. They're not mine. It's not us. It's 'them' and 'me' again. But still. Thanks for everything you did that led to this. Thanks for the ride of a lifetime. Special Agent Seeley Booth, who arrested me under murder charges, thanks for absolutely everything.