"I really don't think this is necessary."
"Come on, sweetie. Where's your holiday spirit?"
"It's in Cardiff, where the Doctor Who Christmas special will be filmed during holiday this year."
I took small steps into Angela's office, due to the fact that the artist had threatened me into covering my eyes with my hands. She was trying to show me something that she'd done, but she wanted it to come as an all-at-once surprise, so I wasn't allowed to look until she said so.
"What I don't get is how you can be a science fiction geek on the inside, but not have seen Firefly."
"Zach told you?" I asked, mildly surprised.
"Yeah," Angela said. "He also said he took my advice and gave his condolences when you were sad. He really loves his Firefly.Oh, move a bit to the right or you'll accidently hit the bookshelf," the artist instructed helpfully.
I shuffled to the side, knowing that by now I should be near the hologram projector. "Can I uncover my eyes now?" I asked hopefully.
"Yeah, sure. I guess I was pushing my luck, anyway." I let my hands fall from my face and my breath was snatched away. Angela had found a new way to use her holographic machine; a three-dimensional woven basket was lit up with sparkling yellow and orange lights. A golden bow twisted and dangled from the highest point of the arch of the handle. The basket was piled high with Easter eggs, designed to look as if they'd been painted. Sparkling silvery spirals and vivid neon colors made the computer simulation look much better than the kind that's bought in stores. "You like it?" Angela asked.
"It's beautiful," I replied, and without thinking I reached out to try to touch it. The colors and designs were amazing and it seemed almost surreal, given the circumstances. Of course, my hand went right through it.
"It's not done yet," Angela admitted. "I thought I could put up some lights, and then if I could get the right codec, I could transform it to an animation and use it on the monitors, like the fireplaces at dinner. And for variation, I could set up a color scheme recognition program…" Angela sighed. "You probably think it's stupid."
"No, I don't," I denied honestly. "It's amazing. And besides, I'm sure everyone will appreciate it." The cheer and sentiment behind the hologram was what the Jeffersonian was missing for a holiday. Although nothing will be able to replace their children, in Booth and Goodman's case, it would make Easter a bit brighter. I stepped away from the mesmerizing Easter hologram and sat down on one of Angela's couches. "What were your plans?"
Angela sat down with me on the opposite end of the couch. "My dad and I get together somewhere quiet and have dinner and talk, just the two of us." She sighed. "Since I was a kid, getting some time alone with my dad was always difficult. What is it with you and holidays, anyway?"
I frowned softly at the sofa and picked at a loose seam with my nails, unwilling to look at Angela while I talked. There wasn't really a reason not to tell her; if she knows about the abuse, which is what I keep most guarded, then there's not a good excuse not to tell her about my most recent foster family without getting into my emotions. Ugh. "About a week before Christmas, they – the foster parents – were going to the store. They told Aaron and I – oh, Aaron was my foster brother. He was older than I was by a few years. He was nineteen when I was sixteen – that they'd be back in a few hours. They left before dinner and told us to order pizza.
"By midnight, they still hadn't come back. Aaron called the police, but it hadn't been forty-eight hours, so they couldn't do anything. They offered to put us in custody until we had word from our parents, but since Aaron was legal, he said he'd take care of me, since he was legally my brother. Two days later, they still hadn't come back, and Aaron had started acting weirdly. He would send me to the store for something but give me way too much money, and then told me to keep the change for my savings account at the bank. And it was never just a few dollars. It was always a lot."
Angela was a good audience. She realized that it was a sore topic and that it was taking effort to tell her. She was quiet and attentive and didn't push.
"A few days later I started noticing how much empty the house seemed, and not just because Aaron's parents were missing. I mean, I finished the laundry faster than normal because there wasn't as much to wash. Aaron's car magazines weren't lying around on the table anymore. His trophies from high school had disappeared from the display case. I thought he was going somewhere, so I went to look in his room to see if I could find suitcases. Instead I found a letter out on his desk." I took a deep breath. Although I'd probably never forgive him for abandoning me, Aaron had been the best foster sibling I'd had, and as such the majority of my anger came from the feeling of betrayal. "It was an acceptance letter from the army. Aaron had enlisted without having the decency to tell me. He was gone the next day. He left a note on the fridge and didn't even say goodbye. He left a cash stash so that I could provide for myself until I got a job." I left out the papers that he'd signed for me to get an apartment, since everyone still thinks I live at the family home. "The day he left was actually Christmas Eve. I was so angry with him I ignored the phone when he called on my birthday a couple days later."
"Oh, sweetie," Angela breathed sympathetically. "That's horrible."
"Excuse me…" Booth said, knocking his hand softly on Angela's door. He seemed saddened and subdued, making me wonder how long he'd been listening in. "We have Lionel's missing persons file."
I pushed myself up from the couch and started towards the door. "The basket is beautiful, Angela. It really is."
I sat down beside Brennan on the catwalk up high, overlooking the main lab with the exam platform. I swung my legs out over the side and kicked slightly at the air. Although it was cool, I held on to the railing for good measure.
"Lionel Little was born May nineteenth, 1934, Tulsa, Oklahoma," Booth read from the missing persons' file. He was standing up and walking back and forth, pacing, while Brennan, Goodman, and I all lounged with our legs over the edge.
"Twenty-four years old," Goodman hummed, quickly doing the math.
"That fits the remains," Brennan nodded in acceptance.
"According to the report lodged by his boss in January of 1960, Lionel Little worked as a lease inspector for Silver Cloud Petroleum out of Tulsa, Oklahoma." Booth added, and I realized what he was doing. To keep things calm and unconfused, he was handing things out fact by fact and letting Brennan and Goodman rake over them.
"Basically, he was an accountant," Goodman simplified.
"Yeah," Booth nodded. "And you know what? You were right about Lionel's coin collection. When Lionel vanished, so did most of his rather extensive coin collection." He waved the folder up in the air a bit. "That part was attached to the file."
"Did the coins ever show up?" I asked curiously. If someone collects anything for long enough, then eventually, as the level of rarity increases, so does the monetary value of the collection. That could have easily been a motive.
Booth whistled and held up one of the pages so he could read the one under it. "Yeah. Through D.C., Maryland, Virginia, and Pennsylvania. The sales were traced back to a Gill Adkins. Yep. He made out about eight thousand dollars selling those coins."
"Adkins killed Lionel for a coin collection?" Brennan guessed incredulously. Her tone indicated she thought it was ridiculous.
"Eight thousand dollars in 1958 translates to roughly sixty-four thousand dollars," Goodman said, raising his eyebrows at Brennan as if to say, not so ridiculous now, is it?
"Not-Careful-Enough Lionel gets a young black girl pregnant, then sells his coin collection so he can move them to Paris and live together," I offered. "Say he offers the coins for sale to Adkins. Adkins decides it would be more of a profit for him to kill the coins' owner and sell them off himself." I made rational sense, but we couldn't prove it. I sighed. "It's really too bad we can't question people from nearing fifty years ago."
"Oh!" Booth exclaimed, like he'd just remembered something important. "Also, the last person to see Lionel was a woman who cleaned his office – Ivy Gillespi."
"What's the significance of that?" Goodman asked, looking up at Booth in confusion.
In reply, Booth passed down one of the letters in Lionel's suitcase to him. The yellowing parchment was curled and wrinkled and torn around the edges, but that was a given, considering how old it was. "Does this look like an ivy leaf to you?" Booth asked, pointing toward the bottom of the letter.
"Ivy Gillespi," Goodman said, his eyes dulling as he realized what the signature drawing meant. "Race: Negro."
"You have to find her!" I looked down over the first bar of railing. Looking off of the catwalk, Angela was standing underneath at such an angle that, if I so wanted, I could straighten my legs and make it look a little bit like my feet were on her shoulders. But I wouldn't do that. It's childish.
…
No. Resist the childish urges, Holly Kirkland!
"Ivy," Angela elaborated when no one responded to her.
Goodman looked to me for a moment. I shrugged. What's he want the abused kid to say?! That's a fantastic idea because Ivy's probably not at all emotionally damaged?! Goodman looked back down to Angela. "Ivy Gillespi may not even be alive, and if she is, this could be a reminder of an extremely painful time of her life. What would we accomplish?" He asked.
"You have to find the girl, and tell her what you know," Angela insisted emphatically. She looked up to me and locked eyes with me and I was slightly bewildered. "Don't you see?" She implored. "You can give her the answer that you never got!"
"Angela…" I started, unsure of how exactly I was going to finish.
"I'm sorry, sweetie, but it's true," Angela persisted. I know she doesn't want to dredge up painful feelings, but that's exactly what she's doing. Her honesty and desperation was palpable. "You have a real chance here."
"To say what?" Brennan asked with a scoff, taken aback by Angela's insistence.
"Happy Easter, Ivy Gillespi. Your fiancé was murdered and your life was ruined, but hey, at least you get to know what happened to him?" I suggested with a slight flare in defensive attitude.
"But don't you both wish that somebody had said that to you?" Angela looked between Brennan and I, searching for the answer that she had to know we would give.
I was unwilling to say it out loud. I really do try not to care, but I don't know what happened to Aaron or his parents, and they hadn't hurt me. They had tried to include me. At the very least, I could honestly say that I did want to know what had happened to that little family that had been taken apart.
Brennan said it for me, after a pause and a struggle to find words. "Yes."
I stifled a long yawn and leaned back against the sofa, looking blearily at the clock. Eleven thirty. The dial tone rang in my ear again, jolting me back awake, and I jerked before getting up from the couch and pacing around. Can't fall asleep yet.
Brennan and I have been spending the last couple of hours trying to track down Ivy Gillespi. So far we've searched phone books in paper and online and we've used a few other means of records.
"Good evening," someone picked up the phone.
"Yes, hello," I said, making sure to tone down the motor mouth. When I get tired, I either talk too slow or too fast to be clearly understood. "Sir, I realize it's nearly midnight on the day before a federal holiday, but it's extremely important that I find a Miss Ivy Gillespi. I know that she was a cleaning lady at the Silver Cloud Petroleum in 1958 and 1959, but beyond that, I don't know…"
An hour passed and Brennan and I switched places. I took the computer and records and she took the human-over-telephone-interaction. "I wouldn't interrupt your holiday, except this is very, very important to a friend of mine. I don't want to take time from your family," Brennan said calmly and sincerely. "But I have extremely important news for Miss Gillespi regarding a loved one.
The first two hours of Easter, 2005 passed. "Do you have an address, or place of work, or anything?" I asked softly, careful not to wake up Angela, who was now dozing off on the couch.
"I've made dozens of calls this evening in an effort to track this woman down. It's that important," Brennan stressed over the phone at three in the morning.
At five, I finally got a narrow result. "Assisted living?" I repeated for Brennan's benefit. "Is her last name still Gillespi?" Brennan opened a new tab on her computer browser and started narrowing down phone numbers to the assisted living homes in Maryland. "Yes… Happy Easter to you, too."
At six, we'd phoned every organization possible. It seemed like just our luck that the last one we called was the one we wanted. "Hello?" I asked, to make sure that the voice on the other end of the line wasn't just a silly machine. "Yes, I was wondering if you could tell me if you have any guests, first name Ivy, born in January of 1934. She'd be African American-" The cranky nagging of the woman on the other end of the line made me stop and roll my eyes before continuing. "Yes, I apologize, I should have started with Happy Easter."
And at seven, when our search had been going for nearly nine hours, Brennan put the receiver back on its cradle and hit the speakerphone button as she said, "Date of birth is January 21st, 1934. She's African American…"
"First name Ivy, surname Gillespi?" A calm, collected feminine voice at the other end asked.
"Yes, Ivy," Brennan answered quickly. "Her name is still Gillespi?"
"Yes, her name has not changed. We can't put you through to her right now, but her granddaughter is just about to sign in to visit her. Would you like us to pass you over?"
"Oh, yes. If her granddaughter's right there, that would be wonderful," I said, blinking several times to take away the blur of the red digital clock on the desk. Staring at any clock for too long is never a good idea.
"Hello?"A feminine, but much softer, voice asked. "My name is Lisa Pierce. May I help you?"
Brennan's shoulders sagged in visible relief and I could tell that she had been just as thrilled to finally conclude our project as I was. "Yes. Hello. I'm Dr. Temperance Brennan, and my assistant Holly Kirkland is on the line, too. We're from the Jeffersonian Institution in D.C.. We have information that might be very interesting to your grandmother."
I blinked at her words while she talked to Lisa, giving her a brief sentence on why she wanted to see Ivy. My assistant? We're from? I smiled softly. They're starting to get as used to me as I am to them.
I finished the phone call when it became clear that Lisa wanted to hang up and go speak to her grandmother. "We can be reached through the Medico-Legal lab here at the Jeffersonian. And please tell your grandmother Happy Easter."
Angela stood up slowly, stretching out her back and rising from the couch. "You found Ivy Gillespi," she stated, sounding relieved and proud. I nodded.
"In an assisted living facility near Bethesda. We spoke to her granddaughter," Brennan added.
Angela smiled peacefully. "Thank you."
"She might not get in touch with us," I warned, keeping to the side of caution.
Angela shook her head at me. "She will," she said, and her voice was so solid I understood that somehow, she just knew that Ivy would contact the Jeffersonian again.
"Okay, everybody," Angela said, holding up her computer tablet in anticipation. "Stand over here." She brought the squints to the holograph display and ordered them to close their eyes. I didn't bother, since I already knew what it was she was going to show them. Brennan and I stood near the back, prepared to slip out and catalogue the last items found on Not-Careful-Enough Lionel's person before officially closing the case.
Angela brought up the spectacular hologram of the Easter basket again and I grinned as everyone's breath was taken away. Up at the top of the simulation was an illusion of a string of neon lights that glowed softly, and the weave of the basket had been enhanced to a more complex design. For a moment, the room echoed with the sound of astonished applause before Booth, Goodman, Hodgins, and Brennan highly praised Angela. Hodgins and Zach shared a big hug. Zach seemed a little unsure about why he was hugging Hodgins, but he let Hodgins hug him anyway. I think it was Hodgins' way of making up to Zach for drinking alcohol during the autopsy, and for being so rude right after.
Brennan and I stayed for a moment. When the merriment started to die down, our eyes met and she nodded slightly before turning and walking silently back out of the room. I waited a moment before following, my eyes lingering for a moment on the fantastic hologram.
"I don't believe it," I said softly, shaking my head at the ridiculousness of the situation. Brennan sat at her desk and I stood behind her, looking over her shoulder at the last item we'd found on Lionel. It had been a part of his coin collection; in a little coin pouch, it had remained safe, even through its owner's attack and murder.
"I don't understand why not. We've been looking at it for a better part of five minutes," Brennan replied, slightly confused.
"No, I mean… it's just surprising. That's what I meant by it."
Booth approached and stood just inside the doorway. He flipped his own coin in his hand without really thinking about it, occupying himself while he talked. "Look, Bones, here's the thing: what if a gift goes both ways? What's wrong with that?"
"Come look at this," Brennan commanded, her voice still slightly dazed at what we found.
Booth walked over, closer to the desk, and looked down at the rust-colored coin. He looked back up at Brennan, unimpressed. "Yeah. It's a penny."
"It's not just a penny," I corrected, giving Booth a little glare for getting it so wrong. "It was one of the last things in Not-Careful-Enough Lionel's suit. It's a 1943 bronze one-cent piece."
Booth sighed and he was probably deciding to just ignore us, since we were being so weird. "Look, Bones, all I'm saying is that maybe the real gift is when you accept something with a little grace."
I have no idea what he's talking about. I guess I can assume that it's something that they argued about earlier on a catwalk. I rolled my eyes and picked up the penny from the desk. "Booth. No offense, but this penny is much more interesting than you are giving it credit for!"
Brennan reached up and carefully turned the monitor at an angle so that Booth could see it without a color glare. The enlarged picture on the screen was an exact match to the penny I held up. Brennan pointed at the penny. "Over a billion pennies were minted in 1943, most of them in steel to conserve copper for World War II. But a handful were struck in an old-style bronze planchette. Only about a dozen exist today."
"Whoa," Booth said, shoving his hands in his pockets. He looked at the penny in a new light. "And this is one of them?"
"Yes," Brennan nodded.
"Huh." Booth reached out to see the coin. I pressed it into the palm of his hand and he held it up in the light, looking to see if there was anything special about it. "How much is it worth?"
"Over a hundred thousand dollars," I said, crossing my arms and shaking my head. "Not-Careful-Enough Lionel didn't show Adkins the best part of his coin collection."
"And so we can reasonably assume that when Adkins murdered him, he never knew that there was still a fortune in his pocket," Brennan concluded.
Booth carefully set the penny back down onto the yellowing paper pouch. "Well. It looked like Careful Lionel got the last laugh." He seemed pleased by this; I was a little happy, too. It was like Lionel was telling Adkins that murder is never okay, and he was taunting his own murderer for failing to reap all of the benefits of his death.
Goodman appeared in the doorway, none the wiser to our discovery. "Ready?" He asked. Without waiting for anyone to answer, he added, "It's time for our test results."
"Well, I'm definitely curious as to whether or not I'll be needing acupuncture," I said wryly.
I pushed my hair back over my shoulders and huffed, crossing my arms and watching the CDC. Wearing hazmat suits, three members of the CDC, including the official who had organized visitation hours, surrounded a cart with two computer monitors facing the quarantined group and a computer to the side. Zach and Hodgins were sitting on the bottom step of the lab platform, while Angela was standing and leaning against the railing on the second step. Booth and Brennan stood on one side of the platform, while I stood leaning against the side of the raised exam space on the other side of the stairs. Goodman was standing on the platform level, leaning over the railing in a totally safe way.
The monitor beeped, cutting through the silence of the lab. No one had said anything, too apprehensive about the test results. Quickly, the top monitor went from black to completely solid stoplight-colored green.
"Green! Green," Booth jumped as the color changed. He rubbed his hands together nervously. "Is that green as in "go," or green as in "stick a needle in your brain?""
I frowned over at him. "Congratulations, Booth. I've never associated the color green with surgery and death before."
The CDC official (I kind of wish I knew his name, just so I wouldn't sound so rude in my head) looked between the two of us with a look that I couldn't really decipher before he seemed to decide to ignore the strange interaction. After heaving a sharp sigh, he reached up to his head and lifted the visor and helmet from his head. "Happy Easter," he said with a relieved smile.
The lab's automatic doors unlocked with a buzz and a loud hiss, then slid open. The red light that had been on the motion sensor above it turned green. I smiled, relieved that no one would need to have an operation done on their brain for valley fever, and stayed back from the stampede of cheering masses rushing to leave the platform and go home.
"Yes! We are out of here!" Hodgins whooped loudly, celebratory and drunk on giddiness. "Happy Easter, everyone!" He yelled, running out of the lab without a second thought. Goodman wasn't far behind him, although, unlike Hodgins, the archaeologist didn't sprint like his life depended on getting out of the facility within fifteen seconds. Angela picked up her purse from where it hung over the rail and set off in a fast speed-walk and Zach followed right behind him.
Once the herd of scientists was out of the way, the CDC official, looking a bit dazed by the sudden onslaught of running and cheering, wheeled a plain grey suitcase over to Brennan. "These are the clothes we took from everyone," he said briskly. "They've been treated and they're sterile. Completely safe. I was going to give them back before everyone left, but it looks like you three are the only ones that thought it was worth sticking around."
"I've got nowhere to be, and I think we're expecting a visitor later," I explained. Brennan took the suitcase from the CDC man and laid it down on the ground, unzipping it and rummaging through the neatly folded clothes. She found her own sweater and draped it over her arm. I glanced at Booth and raised my eyebrows. "But you've got a kid, so I'm not sure why you're still here."
"Holly!" Brennan exclaimed suddenly, her voice kind of happy. I looked back to her and smiled sincerely. She had closed the suitcase but was holding out my long-sleeved sweater. I jumped forward and lifted it from her hand excitedly and unfolded it, pulling it down over my head and pushing my arms through the sleeves. Although I have come to accept that the Jeffersonian scientists, unlike others that I've met, aren't going to judge me by my appearance and physical markings, the sweater was warm, comforting, and familiar.
Booth looked to the doors and then back to Brennan, his eyes darting between the two hesitantly. Brennan smiled softly at him and then motioned towards the door. "Go. Go have Easter," she ordered lightly.
"Wish your little boy a good holiday for me," I requested softly, recalling the image of the adorable little child who had been so eager to see Booth.
Booth seemed to have made up his mind. "I'm at Wong Foo's if either of you decide you want company for Easter," he said as a goodbye. I nodded to show I heard, and if I'm completely honest, I may not want to completely disregard it. I mean, if he was willing to bring me on so many cases even when he doesn't have to bother me anymore, then maybe a quick hello on Easter wouldn't hurt.
"Happy Easter," Booth said, waving at us. Brennan nodded at him as he turned and walked off at a casual, unhurried pace to the doors, intent on spending part of the holiday with his son. When I met him, I'd never have pegged him for the father of a little child.
Brennan zipped up the plain suitcase and stood up. "I'll take this up to Angela's office," she told me. "If you want to go make sure the equipment in the lab's secured, I'll give you my security card again."
"Excuse me?"
Brennan and I both looked away from each other and to the women entering the open doors of the lab. One of them was young, maybe a year or two older than me, with black hair and a soft green shirt with jeans. She was helping an elderly woman, also African American, walk. I hope she's not having trouble walking because she got caught in the stampede of scientists,I thought to myself.
"Hi," the younger one began again, slightly unsure of herself. "My name is Lisa Pierce, and this is my grandmother, Ivy Gillespi. We were called by a Dr. Brennan and her assistant, a Miss Kirkland."
My eyes widened. I guess Angela was right – Ivy really had come, and now Brennan and I could give her answers which anyone would deserve. I rushed forward from the platform. "Yes, right, of course. Please just come with me. I'll take you to Dr. Brennan's office. She'll be with us in a moment. I'm really glad you came, Miss Gillespi. We have very, very important information for you."
Ivy Gillespi sat on the couch, holding the wedding ring from Lionel Little's half-degraded jacket in her hands carefully, like it was a most precious treasure. Lisa sat on a chair across from her, keeping a nice posture even though her grandmother, Brennan, and I were the only people in the room. Brennan and I were standing – I don't know about Brennan, but my excitement was buzzing too much for me to sit still, so I'd opted to stay on my feet, instead.
"I gave birth to a half-white child in Oklahoma, 1960. Lionel's daughter… I raised her myself, no education. Got her to college," Ivy reminisced proudly. Brennan and I shared a look of pride for ourselves. Although Ivy definitely seemed sad about Lionel's fate, she was content. "She died eight years ago."
"Condolences," I said without thinking, bowing my head for a moment in respect.
"And grandma raised me after that," Lisa added, giving her grandmother a soft smile while Ivy turned the wedding ring over in her hands. Lisa obviously admired her grandmother for her endurance in a world that was socially inadequate for her situation.
"Her mother was a nurse, and Lisa's going to be a doctor," Ivy explained proudly, fondly gazing at Lisa, who shrunk back slightly.
"Grandma, I can't afford college," she told her grandmother quietly, looking down uncomfortably. Lisa, I highly doubt that will be a problem for much longer.
Ivy shook her head sadly down at the wedding ring like she didn't want to believe what Lisa said. She changed the subject and looked up at Brennan and I again. "So Lionel was murdered?"
"In 1959, yes," Brennan edified, nodding solemnly. "By a man named Gill Adkins."
"And you can figure that out… all this time later?" Ivy peered up at us inquisitively, confused and awed at the same time, and I had to admit that she was taking this a lot better than I would. If I'd found out that my foster family had abandoned me because they'd been kidnapped and killed on their way to the store, my emotions would probably do a flip and my temper would be ten times worse.
I nodded slightly, but felt she deserved a bit more detail. "Well, we can't prove anything concrete, but evidence and circumstances point to the culprit. We know he was killed for his coin collection, which he'd been intending to sell so that he had money to support his family." I swallowed. He was killed trying to provide for the family that never got to know him.
"He had these." Brennan handed Ivy the now-catalogued ticket envelope.
Ivy unfolded the papers with shaky hands and her voice shook. "Tickets to Paris?"
"Grandma, isn't that what he promised you?" Lisa looked up from the tickets to her grandmother's face, seemingly awed by the plane tickets. "A life in France?"
Ivy gasped and held the tickets delicately to her chest. "I thought the worst of him," she berated herself lightly.
"Thank you, Dr. Brennan and Miss Kirkland," Lisa said for her grandmother, looking up with a genuine smile to Brennan and I in turn. "We really can't thank you enough."
Brennan looked at her desk and watched as she gently pushed the coin in its pouch off of the side of the table, catching it in her palm. "I have something even better," she announced, returning to Lisa's side and letting the girl take the slip from her hand.
Lisa dumped the pouch upside down and the penny fell into her hands. Unamused, Lisa looked up to Brennan and said, with a completely straight face, "It's a penny."
"What could be better?" Ivy asked, her eyes closed as she held the documents up and breathed deeply, trying not to cry. "You've given me back my life."
I clapped my hand on the back of Lisa's chair. "You know, there's something really special about that penny," I said conversationally. "Back when it was made, just before the second World War, copper was being preserved, and only a few coins were minted with materials that could be used for war stocks. Today, only a handful of coins like that exist…"
Brennan and I pulled up chairs at the bar of Wong Foo's Chinese restaurant. Booth really didn't seem surprised when suddenly the chair next to him was occupied by his seventeen-year-old consultant, and on the other side of me was his partner. Sid approached us on the other side of the bar, holding a champagne glass already full of burgundy liquid and a normal glass with ice water. He sat them down in front of Brennan and I respectively.
"Drinks," Brennan nodded in acknowledgement, raising her glass up.
"Ah, yes. Holiday spirits come in many a guise," Sid said wisely, pouring himself a shot and holding it up by the narrow handle.
"Cheers," Booth said with a groan, and I raised my water and we all clinked our glasses, and for once I wasn't questioning my right to be here with them in their after-work-celebration place.
Sid went off further down the bar to take care of some other customer, while Brennan leaned forward and I leaned back so that she could see Booth around me. "Ivy Gillespi came to the lab after you left, with her granddaughter." Booth smiled out across the bar and didn't say anything. He wasn't surprised. Brennan seemed curious that he wasn't asking. "Don't you want to know what happened?" She ventured.
"I know what happened," Booth said knowingly, looking down the bar at Brennan and I. His voice was low but not like he was keeping a secret, and he was matter-of-fact and calm. "You told her about Careful Lionel. You showed her the letters, and the tickets. She cried, but you'd made her happy."
I took a long drink of ice cold water and set the glass on the countertop, a ring of water growing underneath as the condensation ran down the sides of the glass. "Not to mention we gave her a penny worth a small fortune," I reminded him, enjoying the cool water on my throat. Bottled water is okay, but the CDC never thought to gift us with ice.
"She won't care about that today," Booth murmured. "You just gave somebody the best holiday gift they could ever get. Who's the Easter Bunny now?" Booth asked with a playful wink.
"Stop," I groaned, taking another drink and half wishing that it was alcohol.
"Daddy!" A high-pitched little voice squealed. A little ball of blonde and dark green came running down the bar aisle and skidded to a stop, stumbling slightly over his own feet. The soft chocolate eyes looked up at Booth pleadingly from under a dirty-blonde-colored fringe. "Daddy!"
Booth picked up the child with both hands and turned him around, propping him up in his lap. He kissed the little blonde-haired boy's cheek and said, "Can you say 'Happy Easter' to my friends?"
"Happy Easter!" He repeated with a huge smile, waving at Brennan and I excitedly.
I smiled back genuinely at the child and waved back.
Booth's son suddenly beamed in recognition and pointed at me wildly. "Thank you for getting my daddy for me!" He said, reaching out for me with both hands. Booth raised his eyebrows at me when he saw his son's request and I shrugged. He's just a child, and he's Booth's kid, so what the hell? It'll be just like when I held Shawn Cook, except a bit less nerve-wracking.
Booth lifted his kid off of his lap and held him out. I leaned back in my chair and helped Booth pass him over to my lap, where the boy's arms found their way up to my shoulders to hang on while he smiled up at me. His legs swung lazily over the edge of the chair. "Parker, this is Holly," Booth introduced, reaching for his phone in his pocket.
"Hi Holly!" Parker exclaimed sweetly. "My name's Parker! I'm four!" He held up four fingers proudly.
"Wow!" I played along, pretending to be impressed. It's good for children to have their morale boosted. "You're that young? I could've sworn you were at least six!" I lied with a smile, supporting Parker with a hand on his side to keep him from moving around too much.
"No," Parker sighed, looking disappointed, but then he grinned again and puffed out his chest. "I look a lot older than I am, because I'm big and strong like my dad!"
I tickled his stomach and he had to let go of the air he was holding to laugh. "Oh, really?" I teased. "I think that at this rate, you'll be much bigger and stronger than your dad!" I smirked at Booth while Parker giggled at Booth's fake offended expression.
"Yeah, yeah," Booth grumbled, holding up his phone at the two of us.
"Are you taking a picture?" I asked incredulously.
"Yes, I am," Booth grinned at me over his phone. "My favorite child with my favorite junior agent-squint!"
Instead of being affected by the compliment, I analyzed that and raised my eyebrows. "Aren't I your only junior agent-squint?"
"That is absolutely beside the point," Booth said dismissively, waving my deflection off with one hand. "Now smile for the camera!"
"Cheeeeeeeeeese!" Parker dragged out the vowel and smiled as widely as he could, showing off his photogenic abilities. I smiled slightly despite myself, even though I don't particularly like having people take my picture. After Parker heard the click of the phone camera, he reached out with one hand for the phone. "I wanna see!"
"Here you go, bud," Booth said, turning the phone around and handing it to Parker. I looked at the screen, curious of how the picture turned out. Parker was smiling so largely I almost worried his cheeks would be sore later, but his big brown eyes reflected the lights of the bar in a way that suggested that he wasn't at all concerned with later issues. Parker had one hand on my shoulder to keep himself steady, and his legs were in mid-swing. Parker didn't even come up to my chin, even while I was sitting down with him on my legs, and my hair (which was nearly back to its normal ebony color) fell over my shoulder and became a contrast for Parker's blonde. I was softly smiling at the camera, and I looked much happier with my temporary co-worker's four-year-old son on my lap than I ever had in any picture (barring the expression I'd had when Aaron had managed to make a complete fool of himself on tape so that I could watch it over and over again and use it as leverage over him).
"Awesome!" Parker judged with the criticism of a four-year-old. "That should go in my scrapbook for Easter!"
I really wasn't sure how I felt about a four-year-old having a picture of he and I in a scrapbook when not only did the four-year-old barely know me, but when his father and I probably aren't going to get any closer than reluctantly bonding over histories of drunken, neglectful, and cruel parentage, but I didn't speak up against it. Instead I smiled at Parker while he talked happily to Brennan about what he did in school on Friday to celebrate the Easter weekend.