I shouldered by bag and pushed on. Today was one of the better days at the bar. While the sun is beginning to set over the cityscape of Washington, D.C., the beginnings of the holiday thrill had been drifting in the air today, and as such, we had less customers and less work. We'd had such an easy day I'd actually been released early to go home.

Holiday thrill? Oh, well, it's Friday. Tuesday, the Costellos had made a plea bargain and been sentenced as guilty for the kidnapping and murder of Maggie Schilling. Wednesday, I'd attended my own court for the Martin Davis murder and quickly been cleared of all charges. Yesterday, I'd returned to work, only to find that Easter had snuck up on me and made its presence known in the bar (Helena had decided to wear a headband with white fluffy rabbit ears to work to celebrate). This Sunday was Easter, and even the convenience store where I buy my groceries had an aisle dedicated to the festivities.

Since I don't actually have anyone to celebrate with, I just bought myself a two-dollar bag of Hershey's and called it good.

It seemed like the turn of events to reflect positivity had been life's way of making up for the nightmare that I'd taken to calling "The Howard Epps Incident." In turn for dealing with a psychopathic serial killer who totally undressed me with his eyes (and, God forbid, probably raped me in his mind), I was now getting a streak of good fortune.

This was actually what I was contemplating as I was walking through the city to get back to my apartment, but it quickly left when I saw the van coming up behind me accelerate and then coast to a stop by the edge of the sidewalk a little bit ahead. Briefly, I considered doubling back and taking a different route, until I recognized the license plate.

Exasperated, I broke into a jog and came to the passenger's side of the SUV, looking through the vehicle and to the driver as the window rolled itself down. "You realize how lucky you are that I didn't turn around and find a different way home?" I asked Booth accusatorily. "You don't just stop along the road in this part of town. It's creepy and unnerving."

"I'll keep that in mind," the FBI agent said dryly. "Good afternoon to you, too, kid. What are you doing around here, anyway? I was just driving when I saw you walking from the bar a few blocks back and thought, "let's go say hi to the junior agent-squint," but then I realized that you're going the opposite direction of your house, so I just followed in case you were going to see a friend or something."

"Firstly," I started, completely serious. "You followed me? All the way from the bar?" I let that float for a minute. "Dude, that is… unspeakably weird. Secondly, I am going home."

Booth frowned at me. "But you live up north of the bar. You're walking south."

It was around this time that whatever divine intervention that had been providing me with good luck stopped doing so. I had totally forgotten that I'd lied to Booth about where I lived. "Well, uh…" I started, trying to think of a very good excuse. "I was actually going to go to the store first," I "confessed," trying to make it seem believable. "There's a store up a ways that sells Belgian chocolate."

Booth had narrowed his eyes and almost seemed suspicious of my lies for a moment, but then he shrugged, like he couldn't think of why I'd lie to him, and I felt like kicking myself, but that would rouse the suspicion again. "Girls and their chocolate," he muttered, before saying more clearly, "So are you going to get in or just stand there?"

"Why would I get in?" I asked.

Booth exaggerated a long-suffering sigh. "I'm arresting you for murder," he said, painfully sarcastic.

"That was hardly even funny the first time."

"Well not five minutes ago I called you a junior agent-squint, and why else would I have tracked you down?"

"I don't know. You did follow me for several blocks. Maybe you're a stalker at heart."

"Oh, now that's comedy gold."

"I'll add comedian to my list of aspirations."

"Before or after terrorist control?"

"I think it'll replace homicide investigator. I think I can scratch that one off now."

I didn't realize how much I enjoyed poking fun at people until I'd started to have the little, playful arguments with Booth. It had been gradual, but after he'd found out I'd been abused, even though he didn't know the full extent, I'd become a bit more relaxed around him. This definitely isn't the first time we've gone back and forth pointlessly.

"You think?" Booth returned, although he was smiling slightly. He pressed the button on the side of the door and the car clicked as the doors unlocked. "We've got a new case," he sang, hanging it over my head.

I growled slightly to myself, still irritated that I haven't learned to tell this man "no." Still unable to resist the tantalizing invitation, I yanked at the door handle and pushed my messenger back under the passenger's seat. I got in and closed the door before hooking up my seat belt.

Booth grinned triumphantly. "I guess that's a yes to the offer, then."

"What can I say? For a street rat, I've got high ambitions."

"For a street rat, you've got an advanced vocabulary."

"Oh?"

"I'm not sure how many street rats would throw out words like "ambitions" or "right periosteal lateral" in everyday conversation."

"Touché," I hummed. "So am I working for the FBI or for the Jeffersonian?"

Booth gave a half shrug, like it didn't really matter to him just so long as I was there. "I'm inviting you via the FBI, but I'm sure you'll be welcome at the Jeffersonian."

"Sure," I said, rolling my eyes. "One day I'll find out why you're keeping me around."

Booth frowned slightly. "We like you! You're our junior agent-squint. Haven't I already said that?" Booth started to drive, pulling the car away from the side of the road and back into the street.

"Yes, but really, Booth. Try to be realistic." I gave him a look; I wasn't being rude, really, but I know it's not going to last forever. "I'm a seventeen year old without college education. How long do you really think that this arrangement will last?" I asked quietly, not really expecting an answer.

Booth looked from me to the road, almost worried. "I don't think there's really a limit. I mean, even Cullen knows that you're helpful. Some cases might not have been solved without you. You tipped us off about the Costellos' expert witness. I mean, you prodded Hall into hitting you with the cane, and that got us the murder weapon, which led to the conviction."

"Don't worry about it, Booth. I'm sure that if you ever need someone to hit you in the future, all you'll have to do is ask."

"Sweetie!" Angela whined. The forensic artist was definitely into the Easter spirit. Her tight, low cut top and short shorts were both white, and her top had downy fur lining her neck and waist. Her eye shadow was pink, and her long black hair was decorated with a black headband with a set of fluffy bunny ears on top. One was folded over in that way that Bugs Bunny's does. She wore black dress shoes and tall, light pink socks, and her shorts had a little rabbit's tail sewn onto the back.

"Angela, I don't want to!" Brennan exclaimed, rushing to slide her security pass and climb up the stairs to the examination platform. Unlike Angela, Brennan was dressed like a normal human being.

Angela followed, getting up the stairs before Brennan's clearance timed out. "Sweetie, could you stop galloping for just two seconds?"

"I'm better able to withstand peer pressure when you can't catch me!"

I blinked. What did I just walk into? For a moment I seriously considered going back to the entrance of the Jeffersonian and waiting with Booth while he got his visitor's badge. I guess there's something to be said for being forced to be watched by security guards; they know you, even when your hair still has traces of blonde, and they don't make you sign in every time.

"Call it a favor, okay?" Angela pleaded, following Brennan around the platform.

Brennan had a skeleton lying on the examination table and held a clipboard in one hand and an uncapped ink pen in the other. "How is me going to a company Easter party doing you a favor?"

Angela put her hands on her hips. "Remember what happened last year?"

"I didn't go last year," Brennan reminded the artist.

"Yes, exactly!" Angela threw her arms up in the air. "It took me weeks to collect all those photocopies. I need you! Friends don't let friends photocopy their butts at company Easter parties."

"I really hope you were intoxicated when you made that decision in the first place," I called, announcing my presence. Instead of waiting around for someone to let me up the platform, I just crossed my arms down on the main floor and looked up at Angela over the railing.

"Of course you laugh now," Angela waved her hand at me in warning. "But just wait until you start photocopying yourself at parties."

"I don't like parties. I hardly think it's an issue."

Angela held up a hand at me, like she was telling me to stop arguing. She shook her head at me. "I've already had alcohol, if you can't tell. But now how am I going to enjoy this party knowing that my best friend in the whole world is in the lab, eyeball to eyeball with Skeletor?" She asked me, looking back to Brennan in clearly exaggerated distress.

"Who?" Brennan asked, standing up straight and furrowing her brows in confusion.

"Skeletor is a child cartoon's villain who looks like a skeleton," I supplied helpfully. Hm. I think I just realized what purpose I serve for them; I'm a portable, easily-operated translator between artist, scientist, and cop.

"Would you please just come to this party?" Angela begged Brennan, clasping her hands in front of her desperately.

Brennan sighed, clearly not content with this, but she also knew her best friend well enough to realize that the carefree artist wouldn't give up. "Twenty minutes," she conceded finally.

"Bones!" Booth's voice echoed around the dome-shaped Jeffersonian Medico-Legal building as he passed by the security guards. "Alright!" He grinned, slapping the front of a case file against his palm. "You're already here!"

Angela smiled, her rabbit ears flopping slightly when she turned suddenly to see Booth. "Happy Easter, Seeley!" She chimed.

"Oh, wow." Booth paused for a moment, taken aback by her costume, before shaking it off with a shrug and continuing up. "What are you, a rabbit?" He swiped his security card and I followed up the platform on his heels.

"Yes. What's wrong with a little holiday spirit?"

Booth extended the file out to Brennan, and with a bit of intrigue, she took it from him. I think she's hoping it's an excuse not to go to the Jeffersonian's party. "What's the context?" She asked.

I looked over the skeleton already on the examination table. The bones were off white and frail – probably Brennan exercising her job as an anthropologist for a historical society. Having already read the file in the car, I answered for her. "A federal property on Dupont Circle where Congress puts up visiting specialist has a scheduled dig so they can put up a solarium. While they were starting to prepare for that, they found a fallout shelter from back in the last century, and there's a skeleton inside."

"How long was it in there?" Angela asked, frowning. The cheer was slowly leaving her body and her shoulders were slumping.

"The shelter was built in the fifties," Booth explained. "Part of the whole A-bomb panic."

"It's not a suicide," Brennan announced suddenly.

"Exactly!" I beamed. "I am so glad I'm not the only person to think that!"

"Why not?" Booth whined for show. He and I had already come to the conclusion of a homicide, and he had ordered the FBI to ready the skeleton for transport. I think he's just being silly and trying to irritate Brennan. "Hole in the head, gun at the side, it's a suicide!"

"He shoots himself in the head and somehow his arm ends up across his chest?" Brennan asked, crossing her arms in disbelief and carefully holding the case file so that she wouldn't bend the pages while she did so. "Bring the skeleton in and I'll prove that it wasn't a suicide."

Booth broke into a huge grin that lit up his entire countenance. "Happy Easter, Bones!" He brought his hand to his mouth and whistled shrilly through his fingers. "Come on, boys, bring it in!" A pair of FBI forensic recovery agents had the security guards hold open the doors for them while they marched inside with a stretcher between them. A pale off-white sheet covered the skeleton from the outside world.

Brennan smiled very slightly, pleased that she'd be able to get to work so quickly, but Angela frowned, closed her eyes for a moment, and shook her head vigorously. "Oh, no. We are going to the company Easter party."

"Well, you go ahead," Brennan offered a little too quickly. "I'll do a cursory examination and I'll meet you in a few minutes." Booth scanned his card so that the FBI pair could come up onto the table to lay down the stretcher on the second exam table.

Brennan reached the body and pulled the sheet down from around it, revealing the cracked and time-worn skull. "Alright," Booth said, looking away quickly, disturbed. Dude, you've got to learn to get used to it. It barely even phases me anymore, and you're supposed to be the tough guy! "Whoa. Okay. There you go. Wow." He turned his back and started back to the platform stairs, taking his leave. "And I leave the junior agent-squint with you."

Brennan looked away from the skeleton for a moment and quickly stopped him. "Booth, will you escort Angela to the Easter party and make sure she doesn't photocopy her butt?" She asked hopefully. Angela threw her arms in the air and rolled her eyes.

Booth's eyes lit up and he started to scramble for an excuse not to. "Oh, no, no. I can't do that. You – You see, I've got some really important last minute shopping that I have to do. For Easter presents."

Angela sighed at his reluctance and linked arms with him against his will. "It's not last minute until tomorrow," she corrected.

"Come on," Booth whined as Angela started dragging him with him. "Bones. Bones! Help me out here!"

I looked back to Brennan. "We're not going to save him from her, are we?"

"No."

I smiled and shook my head as I lifted a pair of latex gloves from the stainless steel equipment table. "I'm not surprised Booth's not getting a break. You know what they say; no rest for the wicked!"

On my way back down to the examination platform after getting water for Brennan and I, I stopped by Hodgins' laboratory to swing by and say hi, just to make sure they knew that I was there. When I walked in, I stood at the doorway and watched the little contraption on the table. It looked like a remote-control robot, about a foot tall, with no casing over the circuitry. "Stop!" I heard Zach order it. I couldn't see the guys, because they were on the other side of the room that I hadn't fully entered yet.

Well, the robot certainly didn't stop. Instead, it bent over and started pushing itself over with its arms in a lame somersault. "Stop!" Zach commanded again. The robot finished its totally tripped-out acrobatics and balanced on its feet for a second before it continued to mechanically walk again.

"Turn," Zach pleaded.

The robot froze and stayed absolutely still. Hodgins burst out into laughter and, unable to stop myself, I made my presence known by laughing, too.

"Your robot reminds me of you," Hodgins mused fondly. "You tell it to turn, it stops. You tell it to stop, it turns. You ask it to take out the garbage, it sits on the couch and watches reruns of Firefly. And hello, Xena. Glad to see you could drop by in time for the Easter party."

"After I fix the voice recognition protocols, this is going to blow those gomers at M.I.T. away!" Zach insisted, scowling in frustration. "Good afternoon, Holly."

"Hey, boys," I returned. "Thought I'd let you know I'm here. Dr. Brennan and I are on the platform doing a cursory exam on a new case that Booth got. Hodgins, if you think I came here just for the party, then you're freaking insane. And what's Firefly?"

Zach looked like I'd asked him what two plus two equaled. "You've never seen Firefly?" I shook my head, unsure as to whether or not I would regret asking, when Zach bowed his head to me in deepest apologies. "I offer my condolences."

I blinked, but decided not to ask.

Hodgins shook his head at me. "Come on, Xena. We've got about half a liter of pure alcohol here! Dump it in the drinks and we've got the best Easter party in history!" I shook my head and headed back out of the lab.

I bent down carefully over the mostly skeletonized corpse. The old-fashioned pinstripe jacket was much too big for its owner, now that the owner was literally just bones. I was very aware that not very far from my hair was human remains and that motivated me to hurry. With a pair of tweezers and latex gloves on hand, I manipulated the fabric of the suit pocket and removed two slips of paper folded together.

"What do you have there?" Brennan asked curiously.

I set the tweezers on the instrument tray and unfolded the degraded papers carefully. It seemed like the shelter and the pocket had provided a lot of protection against the elements, but nothing can stop time. They were yellowed and tender, but I could still make out the letters. My face fell. "Oh. It's tickets to Paris, France, one way. Pan Transit airlines, but the names are blank."

I turned slightly when movement caught my attention. Booth was coming up to the platform from the entrance to the Medico-Legal labs. "Pan Transit went out of business in the sixties," he supplied helpfully.

"I thought you were at a party," I accused, raising my eyebrows.

Booth groaned and sighed up at the ceiling. "Ugh. It wasn't a party, it was a Star Wars convention!"

"So why aren't you still there?"

"You're a riot."

Brennan held out an evidence bag so that Booth could see the recovered bullet casing. "This was still in the skull when we began our investigation."

".22 caliber," Booth identified quickly. He's like a ballistics team in one person. "It matches the gun he was holding. Did you open up the suitcase?"

"Nope," I denied. "Dr. Brennan doesn't want to compromise her objectivity by seeing what's inside."

Booth turned on Brennan and raised his eyebrows at her incredulously. "What, like a name and an address?"

"I prefer to make unbiased initial observations," Brennan steadfastly insisted. Up on one of the catwalks going around the second level, Hodgins and Zach were quietly creeping past. Hodgins was carrying a large beaker of what I suspect is probably the pure alcohol he mentioned earlier. Brennan's sharp observation caught them. "Is that pure alcohol?"

Zach was caught by surprise and didn't have a clever lie planned. "Yes, Dr. Brennan," he honestly answered, too flustered to make an excuse. Hodgins shot Zach a very dirty look and I had the feeling that Zach was lucky that there were other people were there to hear whatever Hodgins might have said otherwise.

"You really think Goodman's going to let you spike the drinks after the Fourth of July fiasco last year?" Brennan called up to them knowingly.

Hodgins sighed loudly and then turned around and back to Zach. "We may have to rethink this," he said loudly enough for us to hear.

"Zach, I need you to clean these bones," Brennan interrupted.

"Now?" Zach asked, crestfallen. I almost laughed at his expression.

Hodgins really did laugh. "Burnt," he exclaimed with a smirk, turning back to the direction they had been heading before, and carried on with the alcohol.

"And I need you to search the clothing for insect evidence!" Brennan added swiftly.

Booth chuckled. "Jesus, Bones. Happy Easter!"

Angela's tapping foot got out attention. The outlandishly dressed artist had her arms crossed and she looked extremely determined. The rabbit ears on top of her head made her look a bit less intimidating. "Okay, you people. Listen to me," Angela ordered authoritatively. Booth and I exchanged nervous glances before looking back to Angela. "There is a party going on upstairs, okay? A holiday party. We're going up there. We are going to talk to some people, we're going to sing some songs, and we're going to drink alcohol." She pointed at Booth bossily. "You are going to kiss me under the influence of alcohol. On the lips." She twisted to look up at Hodgins and Zach. "I might kiss you guys, too." Finally, she turned back to the platform and Brennan and I shared a common anxiety. "I might kiss the both of you, too, in a festive, non-lesbian manner. But we are going to that party."

"Angela really wants to go to that party," I told Goodman. Upon hearing about the skeleton from the fallout shelter, he had opted to come see what was going on. While Angela impatiently waited for Brennan to finish a thorough examination of the bone markers on the cranium, I was updating the director of the Jeffersonian on life this afternoon while Booth was waiting with his arms crossed for Zach and Hodgins to finish their tests in their lab. "Apparently, she is going to kiss Booth, Zach, Hodgins, Dr. Brennan, and myself, which I'm not that okay with… Anyway, we found tickets to Paris in the jacket. The suitcase has remained unopened. The remains are that of a Caucasian male. Dr. Brennan intends to file a basic report soon enough."

"Very good," Goodman nodded to himself before looking up at me curiously, but calmly. "Tell me; why are you here today?"

I blinked and frowned slightly. "Well, Booth invited me onto the case. Do you not want me to be here?"

"It just seems like a young girl should be spending the holidays with her friends and family," Goodman explained.

My shoulders fell. Easter weekend is a time that people spend with their loved ones; too bad for me, I don't have any. "I'm estranged from my foster family and I lack a social life," I stated bluntly, hoping that Goodman would exercise the tact that I know he has and refrain from asking more.

Goodman's eyes widened for a moment and he nodded his head at me respectfully. "I apologize for asking."

"No, it's fine. You have a right to know why an unqualified teenager is poking around in your work."

The lights cut for a split second and I my head snapped up. When they came back on, the light system seemed even sharper than before, and a blaring alarm assaulted my eardrums, screeching violently. "What is that?" I yelled over the noise, covering my ears with my hands.

"Biological contamination," Goodman answered, clearly surprised. He looked around for a source but didn't find one.

The sliding doors on our side of the security guards began to slide shut much faster than they normally do. They closed so quickly that there was a thud as they collided and the seals on them went into action, the locks clicking on. Booth ran at the doors, pushing on one of them and panicking. "Whoa!" He shouted.

"The doors seal automatically," Angela sighed, rolling her eyes up to the ceiling in disappointment. This is really not her day. "Don't worry about it."

"What do you mean, don't worry about it?!" Booth demanded harshly.

I took a moment to collect my thoughts. Zach and Hodgins are running tests on some of the bones, which means that they might have cut through with a surgical instrument. The doors shut and the alarms started. And Goodman mentioned a biological contamination. "Don't try to shoot the doors!" I called to Booth quickly. "Really, don't! We must be going into quarantine!"

"She's right," Brennan said. She was still by the remains but she had lost interest in them. She stripped her hands of the latex gloves and I couldn't even hear them snap over the sound of the alarms. "There's no use panicking until we know what it is."

"What what is?" Booth growled, frustrated.

Just then Hodgins and Zach came into the main, domed area of the lab and my eyebrows shot up at their attire – or lack thereof. Hodgins' curly hair was matted and dark, and Zach's hair was plastered to his head. Both men only had towels around their waists. I blinked. Okay. I am not going to comment. I am sure that there is a perfectly good reason. … Well, I hope there is.

"Uh, we might know," Hodgins said, raising one arm guiltily, the other staying firmly over the towel to keep it in place.

"I cut into the fallout shelter bones and the biohazard alarm went off," Zach elaborated, his voice unusually high to cut through the high-pitched wailing of the quarantine system.

Goodman seemed confused and surprised. "Were you conforming to autopsy protocol?" He asked, his voice slightly accusatory, like he knew that they probably weren't.

Zach threw Hodgins a very dirty look. "One of us was," he grumbled, just loud enough to hear.

Hodgins had the respect to look sheepish. "The other was… drinking alcohol."

"And you didn't have your mask on," Goodman concluded, raising a hand to cover his face. "Oh…" Well. Quarantined on Easter. That is definitely a good reason for missing work. Hey Andy, sorry I didn't come in yesterday. I was a bit busy being locked up because I may have been exposed to a dangerous biological compound. Guess the Easter bunny had a bad day.

Oh, yes. I can already tell what fun this will be.

An hour later, we had an official on the large monitor in Brennan's office, overlooking the rest of the room. It turns out that, even when everyone is busy and trying to go home for a holiday weekend, officials dressed as rabbits work pretty quickly when there's a biohazard involved. I was staring at the floor, letting Goodman handle the quarantine procedures, while Zach and Hodgins shared the couch (still not dressed. Really, people, it was okay right after you set off a biohazard alarm and got in a decontamination shower, but you've had a while to get dressed) and Brennan sat in the chair behind her desk. Booth and I were leaning against the wall while Goodman sat on a chair across from the entomologist and intern.

The official on the screen was reading off of a piece of paper. "The pathogen is coccidio idomycosis," he said, his voice crackling slightly as it came through the speakers.

I looked up, surprised. "Valley fever?" I translated for Booth's benefit. I frowned back at the ground. "Hm. Well, assuming it came from the bones, and they'd been sealed in a fallout shelter, I suppose the viral infection could have weakly survived."

"It was picked up in the scanner in the discharge vent at Mr. Addy's station," the official said, looking straight at me even though I wasn't looking at him. Damn, I shouldn't have brought attention to myself. "Who is the little girl?"

I looked up long enough to roll my eyes. "I am seventeen. I'm hardly a little girl. I'm Dr. Brennan's consultant, allowed access to a federal case through Agent Booth and the FBI."

"Wait, but what's valley fever?" Booth asked, looking at me for answers. I suppose it makes sense, since I first called it valley fever. Almost everyone has heard of valley fever at some point; enough to know that it's a serious disease that has been a problem in the past, but most people don't know that much about it aside from its devastation due to it not being much of an issue anymore.

"It's a fungus that can lead to pneumonia, meningitis, spontaneous abortion…" Zach listed off, anxiety clear in the way he was frowning at Brennan's coffee table.

"Don't forget death," I reminded him wryly and rather pessimistically.

Goodman shook his head woefully, covering his eyes with his hands. "The alarm sounded shortly after Mr. Addy cut into a human bone. That must have been the source."

"Was he following autopsy protocol?"

"Of course," Brennan said, sounding mildly offended that the official had thought that her grad student hadn't been following procedure. "However…"

"I was… drinking alcohol," Hodgins confessed, hanging his head and raising his hand.

The official looked irritated, but that's understandable. Other than that, he seemed frustrated at the circumstances. "And now he's there with you, breathing the same air."

"Hey, I got into the decontamination shower with Zach!" Hodgins yelled, suddenly irate. "Haven't I been through enough hell?!" I sighed. This was exactly what I'd been worried would happen; with everyone scared of a biological contaminant, tensions would run high and instead of working to protect themselves from it, they were releasing emotions on each other. Well, at least, Hodgins is.

"Is he contagious?" Booth demanded, looking from Hodgins to the official on the monitor.

"Dr. Hodgins may have inhaled the spores, yes."

Booth shrugged his shoulders and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Okay. It must suck to be Hodgins right now, but the rest of us, we didn't inhale. So it's okay if I go, right?" He jerked his thumb back to the doorway.

"It's not quite that simple, Booth," I corrected.

"Dr. Hodgins may have exhaled the spores all over us," Goodman started, and I took over for him, knowing that Booth would probably appreciate a straightforward and blunt answer rather than a technical analysis of the situation.

"The spores of valley fever are easily airborne. They get on Hodgins or Zach, then the air around us, then us or our clothes. If we have spores on us and we go out in public, then before we know it, we've caused an accidental pandemic. The procedure for treatment is painstaking and expensive, not to mention the risk margin. We can't risk it."

"She is right," the official agreed reluctantly, shrugging his fake fur-clad shoulders helplessly. "We have no choice but to impose quarantine. Valley fever can be fatal and we can't risk an outbreak. Just calm down, and let us handle things from this side."

Booth growled under his breath. "Is anyone besides me worried that a guy dressed like Bugs Bunny is in charge?"

The officer gave him a stony glare, all sympathy gone. "Happy Easter." He reached forward to his computer and shut off the video feed, and Brennan's monitor went black.

Booth glowered at Hodgins and Zach. The latter cowered, shrinking down to let Hodgins's frame hide him. "Okay, you know what? If this is fatal, I will shoot both of you!"

Angela sighed, shaking her head at Booth. "Maybe you guys could go get dressed," she suggested softly.

"Just change into your extra clothes," Brennan instructed both men calmly. "The CDC will probably need to seal up the clothes we were wearing at the time of the alarm in case we did contract it. We all have an extra set of clothes, don't we?" Various heads nodded around the room.

"I've, uh, got some extra clothes in a suitcase in my van," Booth said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"You can probably ask the CDC guys to pick that up for you," I told Booth, before speaking up. "I don't." At the look of surprise I got from Goodman, I defensively added, "What? I don't work here and I don't carry clothes in my vehicle, mostly because I don't own one!"

"It's alright, sweetie," Angela said, taking up the role of peacekeeper as she tried to make sure everything smoothed over without any damage. She smiled at me reassuringly. "I have some extras that I can loan you."

I set my expression carefully into neutrality and nodded in agreement. It's not like I really have a choice. But the CDC will take my sweater, and I doubt Angela has any on hand. Most of what she wears is tank tops, short sleeved blouses, and low-backed camisoles. So I definitely won't be able to hide all of the scarring. My heart sank at this realization. Everyone here is going to have to find out about the abuse, and Booth will find out that I was lying to him when I told him that he'd seen the full extent of it.

Personally, I think I'd be better off taking my chances with valley fever.

I sat in a bathroom stall of the Jeffersonian Medico-Legal lab, my arms wrapped around my knees, which were pulled up to my chest. I was wearing the extra pajamas that Angela had thoughtfully provided, and unfortunately for me, my first thoughts had been right. No sweaters. I did get sweatpants (which is nice, they're soft and warm), but I was being forced to wear a black camisole. The lace trim at the bottom was a bit girly, but not the worst part. The spaghetti strapped, thin fabric was cut low in the back; by the time it decided that skin needed to be covered, it had already almost halfway down.

I had absolutely no way to cover the scars on me. My arms were completely exposed, and the thin lacerations and silvery scars and cigarette burns were bare. I could feel the cool side of the stall against the whip marks on my shoulders and back. I closed my eyes tightly and pressed my forehead to my arms, hoping that maybe I could just disappear in here and they would all forget about me until the CDC gave me my normal clothes back.

Look on the bright side. I tried to reason with myself. I won't have to lie any more. I've felt guilty about lying to Booth; now I won't have to. And I don't have to come up with any excuses as to why I don't let people touch me. And now Goodman probably won't ask any more unsettling questions about why I spend my holidays alone.

I sighed heavily, pulling my head back up and then leaning back against the wall again. "I am in misery," I sang quietly to myself, musing about how fitting the lyrics were. "There ain't nobody who can comfort me."

The door to the bathroom opened. The brighter light from outside cut in and I stopped singing immediately, holding my breath. "Sweetie?" Angela called softly. "Are you alright?"

"I'm just fine," I lied.

"Come on, Holly," she continued, sounding sad and worried. "You can't just stay in here forever. Ten minutes is long enough." I didn't reply, so the artist continued to speak. "The CDC is here. They have some shots to take as a precaution, and they're going to want everyone there. You can't just stay in here all night."

"Actually, I bet I probably could," I quickly disagreed.

"If you don't come willingly, I will tell Booth that you're contemplating suicide."

"One less worry for him, then."

Angela took several steps forward and the heels of her shoes clicked on the tile. "Sweetie, that's not even kind of funny." She had reached the door of the stall now and she rattled the handle. "Come on. What's the problem?" Her voice went lower and turned soft and sympathetic. "Is it about the valley fever? Sweetie, we'll be fine if we just go and get the shots for it."

"I'm not worried about valley fever," I ground out.

"Then what are you so distraught about?"

Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's because you're probably all going to pity me and treat me differently? Maybe Booth will be angry with me for lying? See, Angela, I have these marks all over my body from where I was used as a fucking anger management toy.

Of course, I didn't say any of that out loud. Instead I sighed loudly. There really is no way that I'm going to be allowed to stay in here. If Angela couldn't talk me into leaving the bathrooms, then she would get Booth to come in and break the lock on the stall and drag me out, which wouldn't make my situation better. Rip it off like a band-aid! Usually the thought makes me laugh a bit, but not this time.

I took a deep breath to steel myself and pushed up from the ground. "Alright," I conceded to Angela softly. "You win. But I do have a good reason for wanting to be alone." I unlocked the door to the stall and let the door swing inwards. Gluing my eyes to the ground, I let Angela grab my wrist and pull me towards the door.

It took her a moment to really realize what she was seeing. "Oh my God," she breathed, and that's when I knew she had figured it out. She let go of my wrist and I let my arm fall limply to my side. Angela's hands covered her mouth in horror. "Oh, sweetie. What happened?"

"What do you think?" I countered, before looking up at her. "No one else was so angry at Charles Sanders's murderer for manipulating a foster child. Why do you think I've had so many foster families?"

She was totally dumbstruck. "Is this… why you always wear that sweater?" She asked. I nodded wordlessly. "Oh, sweetie," she repeated. "I am so, so sorry." I could tell she was sincere, too. She wrung her hands in front of her and she looked absolutely grief-stricken.

"It's not your fault," I reminded her. I inhaled deeply and then nodded to the door. "C'mon. The sooner we get out there, the sooner I can just get this over with." I paused before I said honestly, "I don't want pity. I really am okay now. I'm free of it. Really, Angela. Please just don't make a big deal out of it."

My hand hovered over the doorknob for a moment before I forced myself to twist it open. Can't go back now. I yanked it open quickly and pushed myself through, making my way across the room and back to the team in front of the platform with an air of confidence and with my head held high. Angela knows. She didn't call me a freak. I can do it! I really can. And if they don't keep treating me the way I want them to, then I'll stop taking their cases. I can walk out of their lives just as easily as they can walk out of mine.

That realization bolstered me. No matter what changed, I would be able to free myself of it quickly. Even if I would be sad after I said goodbye, I could still do it. Although maybe… maybe I could give them a chance to decide for themselves how to react before I start planning for disappointment. Yeah… maybe.

No one saw me before I spoke to announce my presence. I had come up from behind them. On the good hand, when I keep my head up, my hair covers some of the scarring on my shoulders. "Alright. What's up, Doc?" I asked the CDC official. He was the same one that had been on the monitor feed in Brennan's office, dressed like Bugs Bunny, but now he was wearing an orange hazmat suit, complete with the visor.

No one replied. I looked away from the injection syringes on the CDC tray and reluctantly looked around the Jeffersonian team. Five sets of eyes, aside from that of the CDC people's, were staring at me and I clenched my fists. Zach and Brennan seemed stunned, which is good, because they wouldn't say anything in their surprise. Hodgins had dropped his jaw and seemed to have forgotten how to make his muscles move, and Goodman deliberately averted his eyes from a particular scar on my arm when he knew I had noticed. I met Booth's eyes defiantly for a moment. He was watching me sharply, but at least he was more interested in my face than he was my arms. And they can't even see my back. I was grateful to Angela for not mentioning it immediately when she joined us.

"I'm sorry. Am I distracting you all?" I demanded, my tone more callous than I had intended.

"Xena-" Hodgins started.

I held my hand up to stop him. "No. No, no, no. We are not talking about this," I laughed derisively, gesturing to myself vaguely. "I don't care what you see or what you want to know." My voice held a certain power, which I was glad for.

"But your back…" Angela started in just barely above a whisper.

"-Is exactly the same as it was an hour ago," I interrupted snappishly. "Nothing's changed, so it's not a matter of interest at all." Suddenly the power that had rushed into me left just as quickly, like a balloon had been popped. I felt drained, and I waved at the CDC guy. Come on. Hurry up.

I wouldn't be able to thank the official enough. He quickly continued, barraging through the awkward change in the atmosphere. He lifted up the steel tray with the syringes. "This is a cocktail of four antifungal drugs, including amphotericin B. Orally, you'll also all be taking ketoconazole, fluconazole, and itraconazole."

"That's great," Booth said hurriedly. He hadn't looked away from me, even though I was pointedly not meeting his gaze. "Then we can leave?"

"We won't know for a couple of days if the fungus took hold in your system," the official answered with a bit of a roundabout sentence, but it got the message across. Like he'd given a cue, the other CDC men picked up a syringe each and approached someone. The first went to Booth and held his arm steady while the agent complained.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! You're saying that we're stuck here over Easter? Look, you know, I have… places to go! I have obligations!"

"We all have obligations," Goodman chided. He rolled up a sleeve of his more casual shirt for the CDC to give him the shot.

"I'm supposed to go to Quebec!" Hodgins spat angrily, sneaking another look at me before quickly looking away again.

"Hey, whose fault is this?" Angela asked rhetorically, tilting her head up at the ceiling. With a pang of discomfort, I noticed that she was moving slightly between Hodgins and I. I don't need you to protect me! Just because I've got some injuries doesn't mean I suddenly can't fight for myself anymore!

"Who forced me to go to the party where I drank too much and had to hide from a girl?" Hodgins returned to Angela fiercely.

Angela crossed her arms and looked away from Hodgins pointedly. "Who never should have cut into a bone with a drunken fool in the room?"

Zach frowned for a moment before he angled himself to face Booth. "Who brought us human remains just to ditch a little paperwork?"

The CDC official reached me and held my arm steady, readying the syringe. I rolled my eyes at him; he was being obvious about his caution. He touched me just enough to keep me still and he was going out of his way to make sure he didn't touch any scars. "I'm not made of porcelain, you know," I huffed.

Booth growled under his breath and pointed at himself with both hands. "Oh, so you're saying this is my fault?"

Goodman lifted his shoulders slightly, almost defensively. "You knew Dr. Brennan could not resist."

"I'd have been able to resist if I was in Niger, where I wanted to be!" Brennan quickly retorted, feeling the pressure shift onto her.

Goodman raised an eyebrow at her incredulously. "You're blaming me?"

"Children, you're all to blame, okay?" I shouted, raising my voice even more at the end when the needle cut through my skin. It stung slightly but I didn't fuss. "You don't want to fill out paperwork, you don't let people go to foreign countries, you drink alcohol during work, you do dangerous things with drunk people. Who cares?" Okay, so maybe my temper was slightly raised because of the stress levels. "Que sera, sera. You can't change it, so stop yelling at each other and deal with it!"

Goodman sighed to himself. "She's right," he admitted reluctantly. "Arguing amongst ourselves will get us nowhere."

"Ladies and gentlemen, we'll have sleeping bags delivered," the CDC spokesman announced, gathering the used syringes up onto the tray again. I rubbed my arm slightly over where I'd gotten the shot. It stung, but it shouldn't last very long. "Please have your loved ones call me and we'll set up some kind of safe, quarantined Easter visit tomorrow night. Oh, and do be prepared for side effects of the medication."

"Nausea, fever, insomnia," Brennan listed off of the top of her head.

"Euphoria, dream state, mild hallucinations," Zach added.

Angela raised one arm halfway up into the air. "I'll take that, please."

"Early symptoms mimic a common cold," the CDC man advised. "Be on the watch for headaches, sinus effects, and fatigue."

"What if it manifests?" Goodman asked.

"First treatment protocol involves extremely painful injections into the base of the brain," Zach said, looking at the floor in dismay.

"You know what?" I turned slightly to see what Booth was doing, careful not to turn too much and let anyone but Angela, who had already seen, see my back. Booth was standing off to the side, swaying slightly on his feet, and staring up at a line of bright lights. I raised my eyebrows as he said, "I never realized how pretty all this shiny stuff is."

I puffed out a breath and crossed my arms jealously. "Now that is definitely not fair!" I have more stress than he does! Why can't I get a little loopy?

A/N: Before you all get upset that I changed the holiday this revolves around, please take into consideration that, for Holly, it's still early in the year. I know that the holiday was originally Christmas, however I've changed it for the purposes of my story's timeline. I don't mean to be rude by putting in an author's note just about this one point, but when I posted this on Quotev I got a lot of comments just correcting me about that and I'd like to establish that it's on purpose.