Snip. Snip. Snip.

Short clips of platinum blonde hair fell into my sink. I combed through my bangs again, rereading the cardboard box the hair dye had been in, just for good measure. As the comb pulled neatly through now-even fringe, I held my hand over the hair straightener. Heat billowed up against my palm. I set down the scissors, split ends clipped away, and lifted the hair styling tool up, carefully pulling my hair away from my body and closing the superheated tongs around it.

I went through this process several times and gradually, my hair began to lose the natural volume. It began to straighten itself, leaving only a very, very slight curve inwards at the very last inch. I unplugged the flatiron and looked at myself in the mirror. I barely recognized myself.

My pale complexion had been changed with the use of some dark blush. My cheeks were slightly rosy, but not in an unhealthy way. My blue eyes looked like they had a touch of green because of the color of eyeshadow that I'd used. My characteristically wavy, voluminous black hair was now significantly shorter than it had been when I'd woken up, not to mention that it was a radically different color. Oh, yeah. This ought to give me some freedom from the media for a while. If I can barely recognize me when I'm looking in a mirror, then there's no way they'll figure it out too soon.

I walked to the bar, keeping my head down and my sweater's hood up over my head. I hated doing this, but if it was going to keep me from becoming the press's go-to for an article, then I'll gladly suffer through it.

The bar was quiet. I clocked in with Andy, and told him not to ask about the appearance change. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that assisting the federal bureau had led to it. I'm not in the mood for frustrating "I told you so"-s.

After serving a woman a martini while she read a feminist romance novel, I sat on a stool on the bar, propping my head up with my hand and yawning. I hadn't slept as long as usual last night, because I'd had to get up early to dye, cut, and straighten my hair. It's only for a few days, I promised myself. The press can't keep rerunning the story for forever. It's temporary dye, anyway. Since it's the cheapest brand I could find, it'll probably wash out in a matter of days; a week, at most.

Around noon, while I was dozing off, another woman came in, wearing a pristine, creaseless business suit. I snapped the rubber band around my wrist to wake up further. "Welcome to the establishment," I said, pretending that I'd been awake the whole time. "How can I help you?"

She had long, curly ginger hair and sharp light blue eyes. She radiated confidence, from the way she held herself with a completely straight back, to the way she spoke to me. "I'm looking for a Miss Holly Kirkland."

I sighed. Oh, no. "You've found her."

She seemed surprised. "Oh, in the pictures you always seemed to have dark hair. I'm sorry, I didn't realize-"

"Dyed it today," I said, waving off her apology. "Now how can I help you? Is this about the Davis trial?"

The woman eyed me, trying to decide something. I tried not to squirm. She was definitely from the government, because news of the trial didn't seem to surprise her. "Amy Morton," she said, extending her hand to me. I just shook my head. Not going to happen. Amy took it in stride. "I'm a defense lawyer, and I'd like your help."

"Listen, Miss Morton, I'm really not able to help you." I said, bewildered. I can honestly say I did not see this coming! I mean, whoa! "I'm testifying against Martin Davis's murderer, and if you're not here about that, then I'm really no help at all."

Amy smiled slightly at me. "But I think you can be," she countered. "My client, Howard Epps, was arrested by Special Agent Seeley Booth, who you have been in allegiance with."

I straightened. Was she going after Booth now? Loyal to the agent, I crossed my arms. "Booth wouldn't arrest someone without evidence against them," I stated sharply. "And I'm not going to help you to convince a jury otherwise."

Amy sighed, getting slightly frustrated. Good. "I don't want to undermine anyone!" She exclaimed, exasperated. "I want to save the life of a man who is on death row. Booth was only the arresting officer, not the judge that sentenced him to execution. But I need the Jeffersonian scientists to help me if I want to get anywhere, and their supervisor rejected my request to meet with them!"

"Good for him!" I said, mentally applauding Dr. Goodman. "They're not just some agency that you can contract when you want something done! They have jobs. Besides, evidence has to go through the chain of forensic command before it reaches the judge. There's nothing they can do for you." I softened slightly when Amy appeared devastated. "I'm sorry that someone you know is going to be killed. But if he's on death row, then don't you think that maybe he deserves it? The name Howard Epps rings a bell, and if he's a criminal, then there's no way that that's a good thing."

"He's innocent. I truly believe that," Amy protested. "But some evidence wasn't fully investigated before his prosecution."

This got my attention.

I believe in the death penalty. Call me all the names you want, that won't change. Some people do not deserve to live among innocent citizens, especially in a society where there are so many opportunities to catch someone alone in the dark. Many people wouldn't blame anyone who claimed they would strangle Hitler if they could travel in time, so why is death penalty so hard to accept?

At the same time, it's still condemning someone to death. It's okay, in my opinion, if there's no doubt whatsoever that the suspect is the perpetrator. But if key evidence wasn't examined, then facts could be skewed, and a wrongly-convicted man could be executed for something he didn't do, and that's not right.

"So why not bring this to Booth? It's him you're searching for," I asked instead of leaping up to declare myself on board. I can't help it if I'm intrigued by murder and convictions.

"Because he won't listen to me. I think if he hears from you, then he might be more inclined to reactivate the investigation," Amy explained.

On one hand, I felt like I was being used. That's fair, I mean, I kind of am. But on the other hand, what would it say about me if I didn't do what I could to make sure someone innocent didn't pay for murder? "I can go with you to the FBI to see Booth. I can get you in, because for a short time I wasn't even supposed to be more than a mile away from a federal employee, but I can't promise he'll help."

Amy sighed, deeply relieved. "Thank you, so much."

Amy and I waited in Booth's office for his return. I claimed Booth's spinning seat behind the desk and rocked backwards, crossing my arms behind my head and trying to seem like I felt like I belonged. Amy stayed standing, which told me she wasn't comfortable here. She's probably not been in here before.

We didn't have to wait long. Booth came towards the office from a conference room, Brennan at his heels. "Bones, you don't need a gun," Booth sighed, still in his argument. It was so loud I could hear it all the way over here. "If anyone needs shooting, I'll do it."

"What if you're injured or dead, and someone still needs shooting?" Brennan proposed. Booth turned on her and gave her a 'what the hell?' expression. "Well, I'm not hoping it will happen, I'm just stating a possibility!"

"You know what, Bones?" Booth moaned as Brennan kept following him. "You're a professor! You're not an FBI agent. Use your mutant powers to just talk people to death."

Booth's eyes widened as he stepped into his office and saw me lounging in his chair. Amy smiled uncertainly between Booth and Brennan. "Am I interrupting something?" She asked, looking between the two of them.

Booth raised his hand to her. "I told them not to let you into this building. I gave them your picture."

"I'm pretty sure that's why she wore the obscenely short skirt," I said with a hapless shrug. Amy fingered the hem of the pleated skirt in question.

"Amy Morton," Amy introduced herself to Brennan, holding out her hand.

Brennan understood the gesture and they shook hands. "Temperance Brennan."

"You work with Booth?"

"Yes, I'm a forensic anthropologist."

"I'm a defense lawyer. I tend to work against Booth."

"If it's all the same, I'd prefer you two didn't bond in any way," Booth interrupted, pushing them both away from each other.

I laughed. "Oh, I bet you would."

Brennan waved at me. "Hello. Have we met?"

I raised my eyebrow. "Um, yeah. You know, seventeen year old from the slums, Booth's ward for two weeks, person who totally beat up a Venezuelan official and got away with it."

"Holly?" Brennan asked, stunned. "You dyed your hair!"

I nodded. "The publicity was beginning to be a hassle. This way they won't recognize me, or take pictures!" I grinned, pleased with myself. Brennan nodded in agreement, calming down as she processed my rational explanation.

Then she looked to Booth, dismissing Amy. Amy had been about to say something, but since she no longer had the attention, she faltered. "Hey, I want to get back to the lab. You said I could fill out some gun reapplication forms."

"Yeah," Booth said, waving her away. "Send it back by courier. No hurry."

Brennan frowned, biting her lip as Booth frustrated her once more. She spun around and started out the door, calling over her shoulder to Amy. "Nice to meet you."

Amy watched Brennan retreat out of the office suite, her extended arm falling back to her side as she'd failed to get the anthropologists' lasting attention. She seemed disappointed, dismayed, sad, even, but it was clear that, since she'd gone as far as to get a seventeen year old to get her in the building, she wasn't going to give in that easily. "Hey, if you want to get him on board, better start trying now," I hinted without subtlety.

Booth sat down in the chair across from me. I gave a silly grin. Now I know how it feels to be behind an authority's desk. He massaged his temples like he was preparing for the worst. "What do you want, Amy?"

Amy brought her hands down in front of her, intertwining her fingers. "You remember Howard Epps?"

Booth looked up. I swear, his eyes took on a guarded and haunted expression. "Not likely to forget him," he answered, keeping his answer careful.

"He's scheduled to be executed tomorrow night. My job is to keep that from happening."

"Huh," Booth grunted. "Best of luck."

Amy's lip curled at his obvious lack of caring for Howard Epps. "Howard Epps deserves five minutes of consideration from the man who put him on death row!" She said, her eyes lighting up. Her bravado increased. She really was working to help, not just to get a paycheck. She genuinely thought Epps was innocent.

Booth shot up from his seat, angling himself to Amy and staring her down. "I arrested Howard Epps, okay? It was the jury who sentenced him to die!"

"They found a pubic hair on the victim at the crime scene. It didn't belong to my client. They never figured out whose it was," Amy argued. Her hands moved from in front of her to her sides.

"Oh, great. More sex. Wasn't there enough of that in the Olivos case?" I asked rhetorically. Neither of the adults answered, although that wasn't a surprise. I hadn't actually expected them to.

"Blame the judge who disallowed it as evidence, and the judge who disallowed it on appeal," Booth growled.

Amy's fingers curled around the hem of her skirt. "Epps was not well-represented at either trial," she said curtly.

"How long have you been on this case?" Booth asked, his eyes narrowing to pierce through the defense lawyer. His voice lowered.

"Almost a week," Amy answered confidently, but frowned when she realized what angle he was going at.

"Less than a week, huh?" Booth chuckled mirthlessly. "Two judges, two juries, two prosecutors that find Epps guilty – yet it's me you come after."

"I'm just asking," Amy said softly, her eyes not leaving his. "Are you absolutely positive that Howard Epps killed that girl?"

Booth didn't hesitate, but his eyes slipped from Amy, to the floor, then back to her. "Yeah. I am absolutely positive."

Amy smiled very softly, having noticed the same thing I did. "You know in your heart that the judges should have allowed the juries to hear that that victim was with another man that night. You know it."

"Epps would still have been convicted," Booth declared with finality, trying to dismiss her without being overly impolite. I watched curiously. It was an interesting debate to watch; Amy truly, honestly believed Epps didn't kill anyone. Booth, however, had seemed resolute until Amy brought up the evidence that hadn't been investigated. I knew for a fact that Booth didn't like loose ends, and now it seemed that, like he had one himself, he was fraying and unraveling.

"Not if I'd been his lawyer," Amy insisted adamantly. She clearly wasn't going to be dissuaded.

"You weren't," Booth said obviously, like he thought she needed reminding.

"I am now," she countered. Her entire countenance softened as she saw that she was getting through. "When was the last time you looked him in the face?" She appealed. "Because you're a lot smarter than you were seven years ago. You're a lot less angry. You might want to check out the evidence again."

I felt like now might be a good time to interrupt and see what I'd gotten myself into. "Sorry – but it seems like Amy's winning, so – do you think someone could tell me what Epps did? I mean, was convicted for?" I quickly corrected myself when Amy sent me a wounded look.

"He beat a girl your age to death with a tire iron." Booth said, his voice cold. "While she was all alone in the dark. He killed her, listening to her scream, and it wouldn't have been particularly fast."

The darkened jail hall of the local prison was not a very welcoming place to be. Now magnify that feeling by about ten times when you go to the extremely-secure hall for the convicts on death row. It was a long walk down the marble corridor to Howard Epps' cell, and due to who we were seeing, where we were, and my age, Booth and I both had a guard accompanying us.

I'd been all gung-ho about seeing a killer in a place full of serial offenders. But I was quickly learning it wasn't like it is on TV. I mean, I knew already that it wouldn't be the same, but I hadn't really thought about it too much. Howard Epps would have a creep factor to him just for being in this place, but the difference between Thompson, Masruk, Pattison, Destri, Nelson, Hall, and the people in this place was the psychology. Sure, the killers I've met have been horrible. A killer has to be, if the only reason they're killing is for the kill or their own personal gain. But these people here, a majority of which are serial killers or particularly gruesome murderers, are psychopaths or sociopaths, which are an entirely different class. Psychopaths have absolutely no empathy, and that makes them dangerous. They are incapable of understanding emotions. Sociopaths often lack a sense of right or wrong, or a sense of self-control. Both are incredibly risky types of people to be around.

Mostly, my excitement had been killed by getting too close to one of the cells on accident, back at the beginning of the corridor. An inmate, shrouded in darkness, had reached out and snatched at my arm. The guard had grabbed the convict's hand and ripped it away from my body before I could return the unkind sentiments, but it had spooked me nonetheless.

The buzzer rang as the door opened. Epps was in solitary containment, since he was scheduled for execution in forty-eight hours. His appearance took me by surprise. Aside from being manacled, he didn't seem crazed. He was sickly-pale, which wasn't surprising since he hasn't seen the sun in who knows how long. His lips were chapped. His hair was kept short in a buzz cut, the normal prison style, I guess. His nose had been broken at least once before, I could tell. But his eyes… oh, man. His dark brown, nearly black eyes were sunken, bloodshot, and there were purplish rings around his eyes. His gaze locked on me as I slipped in behind Booth and a chill ran up my spine by how he looked at me.

His eyes turned calculating, nearly malicious. They sparked back to life as he looked at me, starting at my now-blonde hair and moving down. Ugh! Damn it, I feel like he's undressing me with his eyes! Can someone say pervert?! And he's got to be at least three times my age! Maybe instead of being a psychopath, his problem is that he's a pedophile!

Booth didn't seem to notice the unnatural attention I was being granted. "I'd ask how you were doing, Howard, but I guess we both know the answer."

"Agent Booth." Epps nodded, forcing himself to look at the agent. "Did you come to apologize?"

Booth set his jaw. As Epps's eyes flickered to me again, this time I didn't just freeze. I rolled my shoulders and made my hands into fists, sending the message that I would crush him like a bug. If anything, this only made him more interested in me. I glared at him anyway.

"I'm not the one who beat a seventeen year old girl to death," Booth returned coldly, missing the silent exchange. "Your attorney wants me to look you in the face."

"Why?" He asked, his voice sounding too whispery for my liking. It made me associate him with shadows.

"She thinks you're innocent."

"She's right about that," Epps nodded, swallowing pitifully. "I didn't kill anybody. Unlike you, the sniper." I tensed. Now he's going after Booth with his low, simpering voice. "The girl who got murdered was smart, pretty, from a good family. Someone has to die for that, and I'm all they've got." He looked to me. "Do you think that's fair?"

Booth didn't turn his back on Epps, but he did talk directly to me. "You don't have to answer anything he asks you."

"I think Agent Booth wouldn't have arrested you if he didn't think that you were capable and responsible for bludgeoning a woman to death." I answered. Although I appreciated that Booth was giving me an excuse not to interact with this creeper, I wasn't going to take it and let him think that I wouldn't stand for myself. Not with the way he looked at me. "After that, he had nothing to do with your persecution. You shouldn't go simpering to him. Your appeal failed. He had nothing to do with anything after the initial charges. And I also think," I added, hardening my gaze. "That if you don't stop looking at me like a Playboy magazine, then unarmed or not, I will punch you in the face."

For a barest second, a smile flitted over Booth's face, like he was proud of me for putting Epps in his place. Well, I suppose he wanted to, but it's not very professional, so he was just glad someone did it. Then Booth stood up abruptly, the chair scraping loudly on the floor as it was shoved back. "Okay. I looked you in the face."

"I read it can be hell," Epps said suddenly. "They say it's like going to sleep, but you're on fire. And you're paralyzed, so you can't scream." His eyes glowed mildly as they reflected the dim light of his death row cell. "I mean, that's all you've got sometimes, you know? The scream."

Booth shooed me into the Jeffersonian Medico-Legal lab to introduce our presences while he, because of his gun, had to be checked over by security. Luckily for me, I had no concealed weapons (that they knew about) and since they recognized me, I was let right on through to the platform.

Angela was holding her purse in her hand and swarming around Brennan, persuading her to go do not death-related things with her, while Hodgins and Zach were racing beetles across a makeshift track set made of books. "What if they get mixed up?" Hodgins asked.

"I can tell them apart," Zach answered honestly. "That's Jeff, and that's Ollie. I win."

"What do you-" Hodgins started, but stopped in favor of protesting. "What?! That one was mine!"

"You had Jeff, I had Ollie," Zach reminded him. "Ollie won. You owe me a buck."

Hodgins, stalling, looked up to the artist hopefully. "Do you want in on the action, Angela?"

Angela gave him a pretty smile that she plastered on her face as she looked between the three scientists. "No, thank you. I'm going to go have sex."

"Have a good time," Hodgins said with a smirk.

"Down, boy," I interjected with an equally-evil smile.

"Xena!" Hodgins' attitude brightened. "What the hell did you do to your hair?!"

I reached up and smoothed down the side of my dyed hair. Aside from the obvious, that it was blonde, when it had formerly nearly reached my elbow, it was now several inches shorter. "I dyed and cut it," I said, amused. "I thought it was pretty obvious."

"Why would you do that?" Angela asked, gaping in shock. "I mean, the split ends could have been fixed without taking dramatic action!"

I rolled my eyes. "It wasn't because of my hair, it was because the news is getting the attention of my boss. I don't like my job, but I do like my paychecks. This way the press won't recognize me as easily and I'll get a break for the story to die down."

Angela looked physically pained as she looked down at me, and then to the other adults on the platform with her. "You know, the whole point of the week is the weekend. This is not the cabaret, my friends. Life is the cabaret. Come to the cabaret." She pouted when Brennan didn't reply to her, instead making note of something on a partial skeleton that lay on the table. "It's like describing the moon to a mole…"

Hodgins was ignoring Angela, and had given up stalling Zach. "I demand another beetle, alright?"

I moved so that Hodgins couldn't see me but Zach could and rubbed my fingers together to indicate money. I pointed to Hodgins and then made a 'wait' motion, and then made the 'more' sign in sign language and did the money symbol again.

Zach took my theatrics to heart. "Because you attempted to get out of paying me the agreed amount, you should pay a more extensive fee or I will not race the beetles with you again."

I grinned and made a big thumbs up as Hodgins' shoulders slumped. "Fine. Go from one dollar to five dollars."

Zach subtly looked at me. I shook my head and pointed upwards. Zach gave Hodgins a neutral look until the older man caved. "Ten dollars."

I made the so-so gesture and then pointed up again.

"Twenty?" Hodgins offered helplessly, seeing as Zach wasn't going to give in.

Zach looked at me for confirmation. I nodded and made the 'okay' sign with one hand and a thumbs up with the other. Zach looked back to Hodgins. "Deal."

Hodgins must have noticed Zach had been looking behind him. He spun around and crossed his arms, giving me a look. I whistled innocently. "Really, Xena?"

"What?" I asked, pretending to be oblivious. "I didn't do anything." On the other side of Hodgins, Angela was giving me two thumbs up and a big grin.

Booth came into the lab then, looking disgruntled. When he saw Angela, he smiled at her. "Looking good, Angela!"

Angela crossed her arms over her low-cut red shirt's neckline. "And don't I know it."

"Our tax dollars hard at work."

Hodgins glared, although it lacked a sting. "Yeah, what's break time at the FBI? Book burning?"

Booth walked over to their table after sliding his new ID card. With an angry expression, he picked up an empty chemical beaker from Hodgins' platform desk and flipped it before placing it over one of the beetles threateningly. "No!" Hodgins exclaimed, looking like he'd been physically attacked. Booth rolled his eyes and moved the beaker away from the arthropod.

Smiling, happy to have bothered the entomologist, Booth sauntered to Brennan. "Hey Bones, what are you doing this weekend?"

"I have plans," Brennan answered immediately.

Booth followed her as she walked around the exam table. "Come on," he whined. "I'm serious."

"Between your girlfriend the corporate lawyer and the defense lawyer on the side, your weekend must be completely booked. What is your thing with lawyers?"

"Dr. Brennan," I interrupted softly. My change in demeanor got her attention. "Please just hear him out." If he was innocent, then, creeper or not, Epps shouldn't face the death penalty. If he was guilty, then at least it wouldn't bother everyone's conscious.

Brennan stood up straight, temporarily dismissing her partial skeleton in favor of surveying Booth's sincerity as he spoke. "Look, seven years ago, a seventeen year old girl, April Wright, was found beaten to death in a federal park. Amy's just trying to stop the guy who did it from being executed."

"So, I guess we're not pursuing your lawyer obsession?" Brennan asked.

"No. Amy doesn't think he did it."

Brennan crossed her arms. "And what does this have to do with you?"

"Amy's client is scheduled for execution, and she needs to cover everything she can. Booth is one of her proverbial stones," I explained.

Brennan seemed too intrigued to not ask for further detail now. "Do you think that he did it?"

"Yes," Booth answered without much hesitation.

"And what's her reasoning?"

"There was a pubic hair that wasn't accounted for."

"Pubic hair? That sounds like a job for the FBI crime lab."

"It's a weekend deal," Booth sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Off the books, but if you have plans…"

Brennan gave Booth a long look before stepping off of the platform and beginning to follow the route to her personal office. Booth chased after her, still trying to succeed in his goal, and I followed, figuring that if I stayed and Hodgins was unoccupied, I might end up being guilty before proven innocent for my games. "This is a personal favor you're asking?"

"Not for me," Booth quickly corrected her. "For Amy."

Brennan shook her head, disagreeing. "Your personal favor would be for Amy, but mine would be for you, strictly speaking."

Booth gave in with a sigh. He must not have seen another way to get her on board. "Please do me a favor. Please?"

Brennan snapped right back into her anthropologist mode. "Any remains withheld from burial?"

"Not after the last appeal," Booth answered promptly, relieved.

"I'd need x-rays from the medical examiner and the coroner. Originals," she quickly elaborated. "The copies are useless. I'll need bone scrapings, lab results, toxin screens."

"All the evidence will be here within an hour," Booth promised.

"Is Holly good to work one like this?" Brennan asked, looking between Booth and I.

"Amy roped me into it already," I explained. "That's why I was at the office. I was a link to get to Booth, but in the process I found out about the case. I've already been with Booth to see the accused in the local jail. Technically, I've already become a consultant."

Brennan nodded, understanding. "I'll ask the others," she told Booth, but said in no uncertain terms, "But I won't order them. They might have plans."

"Yes, I specifically remember Angela announcing that she was going to go have sex," I stated matter-of-factly.

Booth gave us a deadpan look that would have been funny if circumstances weren't quite so time-sensitive. "It's Friday night and they're racing beetles."

Brennan picked up her fur-lined coat from where it lay on the back of her desk chair. "How much time do we have?"

I looked to the analog clock on the wall and did a quick mental calculation. "Howard Epps will be executed in exactly thirty hours and twenty-three minutes."

A/N: "The Man on Death Row" was always one of my favorite Bones episodes from the first season. I really enjoyed writing this and since it was originally written around six months ago, I considered going back and revising it, but I decided that I liked it enough the way it is. I'm really excited for the reception of my written version of the episode.