I took a cab back to the Jeffersonian after Kenton left. I just didn't want to talk to anyone - I'd much rather mentally whine about Jesse and Kenton to myself and not talk, just pout. Unfortunately, Booth is one of those people who finds it unacceptable to be in a car with someone and ignore them, so I had a memo sent to Booth and left before any other too-friendly FBI agents decided to talk to the sulking girl in the corner.

It took me a while to figure out what to do with Jamie Kenton's contact information and I turned the card over in my hands for the majority of the ride back to the Jeffersonian. Eventually I opened my wallet and slipped the card in with my library card for safekeeping. Wanting him and needing him are two completely different things, and while I don't want him, having a voluntary contact in the FBI could prove useful to me on a later date.

I went to the medico-legal lab but there wasn't anyone there. I assumed that either Zach and Hodgins were out eating or that they were in secure storage. Hodgins told me about it and showed me where it was in case there was ever a chemical accident or emergency. I don't have clearance to get in but if there is a chemical accident, the lab goes on lockdown but the door would become unsecure. They keep emergency first aid kits and whatnot in a cupboard next to it, and the storage is reserved for the hazardous materials like volatile or unstable chemicals or explosives.

I checked into the lab and spent about five minutes in Hodgins' office, looking in the terrariums and occasionally tapping on the glass when I didn't see anything. Eventually I got creeped out by a particularly big snake and decided that I should go up to the loft until someone came in.

It took about half an hour for anyone to come in. I stretched out on the sofa in the meantime, but when people started piling into Angela's office, I sighed to myself, stood up, shook myself off, tried to forget about Jesse Kane, and then set off purposefully towards the artists' den.

The lights were already dimmed so that Angela's projector could project and be easily seen, but they weren't so dim that I could mistake the people in the office. Dr. Goodman stood at one edge of the holograph's pedestal and I seriously considered turning around and leaving, but he'd already seen me, so that wouldn't work too well. I sighed internally and prepared myself to lie some more to someone I respected.

"Great, you're here." Angela rewarded my presence with a smile. "We were beginning to wonder if you were going to show."

"Sorry." I lowered my eyes to the base of the hologram. I didn't want to meet Brennan's eyes - if she was disappointed or angry with me for being rude to her new friend, then I didn't want to see it. "I needed a break. I'm here now, so we should just… work," I finished lamely.

"Okay, sweetie." I tensed very slightly but then rolled my shoulders to make it look like I was just stretching. It always feels like she's taunting me when she calls me that - but I know that Angela calls most females 'sweetie' if she deems them her friends, and it's meant as an endearment. Angela didn't seem to notice and she lifted her tablet to continue the slideshow of the victims. "Plane crash victim number four, captain Jacob Howard, pilot, age forty-seven, height five foot six, weight approximately one hundred and sixty-seven pounds."

"Overlay the photograph," Brennan told Angela. Angela's technology set up two images; one was of a flesh-and-blood Chinese man, another was a scan-in of one of the skulls from the crime scene. They merged together and the match points glowed a soft green. "Frontal zygomatic sutures line up, cranial meninges are in sync."

"Excellent," Goodman praised, but it sounded more like it was a thing done out of politeness than a "damn you guys are good" sentiment. "One more off the list."

Angela's lips quirked like she was thinking along the same line that I was. "Victim number five, Shen-Ru Fong, age fifty-six, height five foot six, weight approximately one hundred and forty pounds."

Goodman nodded impatiently. "Yes, that's terrific, except we knew all of these people were on the plane." I grit my teeth together for a minute. I already know what he's going to say. "What the state department wants to know is the identity of our mystery woman." He sent a look at Brennan for a moment before he looked over to me and focused his gaze on me. I felt sort of like he was trying to search my soul for something and I had to order myself not to move and react. "I hope I can count on your full energies on this."

Maybe he should have specified who, exactly, he was talking to, because now I can always say that I thought he was talking to someone else.

Brennan paused and crossed her arms almost defensively. She looked through the holograph at her superior. "If… I could be completely honest, sir…"

Alarm flashed in Hodgins' eyes and he interrupted quickly. "Toxicology reports came back from all six victims. Pilot and co-pilot were clean. Our two Chinese nationals had elevated levels of alcohol and Sildenafil-"

I saw the brief questioning expression cross Angela's face and I answered quickly for her. I'm not entirely sure what Brennan thinks she's doing - and it's entirely possible she's not meaning to expose that we've all been going behind his back - but it still seems like if Hodgins is alarmed, I should be, too. "More commonly known as Viagra."

"-and our mystery girl showed traces of alcohol and cocaine." Hodgins stopped and paused, tipping his head in a challenge. "Will the cover ups start now or somewhere between here and the state department?"

Goodman dismissed Hodgins and his paranoia in favor of looking back to Brennan, crossing his arms to look stern. "You were saying about being completely honest?"

"Yes, sir. Regarding the bone shards-"

Zach flinched back like he'd been hit. "Uh, the prostitute was six inches taller than anyone else on the flight and she had occupational stress markers!" He swallowed anxiously under Goodman's piercing stare and shrank back. While Goodman was looking away, I met Zach's eyes and shook my head quickly, drawing my hand over my throat.

Goodman didn't catch my gestures and instead lectured Zach calmly. "Let's not call her a prostitute yet, Mr. Addy. What occupational markers?"

"Eh." Hodgins shrugged with the smirk he uses when he's thinking about conspiracies and secrets. "It's a foot thing."

Goodman frowned in thinly-veiled distaste, getting the wrong impression. "She was a fetishist?" He seemed genuinely alarmed and frightful at the same time - it must be how I'd reacted to the pornography videos during the case of Nester Olivos's murder investigation.

"Both her cuboid and medico malleolus show signs of wear," Zach corrected him promptly. However, judging by how Goodman's expression didn't change, it didn't reassure him any.

I snickered and it drew Goodman's attention back to me. This time I didn't feel like I was about to get whacked with a ruler because Iwas the one with the information that hewanted. "You can relax, Dr. Goodman. The occupational markers were caused by common wear, most likely from wearing extremely high heels - stilettos or something of the like."

"I reconstructed her face from the partial skull." Angela changed the image that was showing and the hologram became that of the woman from the plane crash. Her face looked… almost too perfect. I supposed it was because at least half of the image had been simulated using symmetrical angles from what had already been reconstructed.

Hodgins wolf-whistled halfheartedly. "She was hot."

I rolled my eyes. "Says the insensitive idiot about the dead woman lying on our - the bone table." I had to stop myself when I started to say 'our.' It had just seemed like a natural thing to say and had slipped out before I really realized it.

Goodman took a deep breath but I saw the smile tugging at his lips momentarily. "What's our next move?" He asked Brennan, not making any acknowledgment to the childish arguing that had seemed to become commonplace.

Brennan inclined her head to Goodman but flashed a look of warning over at both male squints. "I suggest we try to match this reconstruction with escort ads, both internet and print, in the DC area," she instructed.

"Oh, I'll do that!" Zach practically jumped at the opportunity to do something that had actually been sanctioned by Goodman, then seemed to realize how anxious he came across as. He looked back over to me and frowned slightly, biting at his lip. "Was that overly enthusiastic?"

I nodded slowly and pulled my hand across my throat again.

"Thank you for the update," Goodman cordially smiled at all of us in turn. "This case continues to be your top priority, correct?" That was definitely directed at Brennan and I. I suppose maybe I had been overly enthusiastic in making sure everyone in a position of power knew that I didn't take orders unless I agreed with them… but this is not boding well for me.

"If I could suggest-" Brennan started to say for a third time.

Hodgins interrupted her for a second time. "Dr. Brennan has been very clear about your priorities on this, sir." He gave Brennan a brief, pleading look for her to go with it. Thank God Goodman didn't seem to catch it. These awful liars are making things a bit too obvious.

"Oh my God!" I ditched Brennan by the sidewalk and ran into the parking lot where a giant truck had towed one of the biggest woodchippers I'd ever seen into the Jeffersonian parking lot. Admittedly I've not seen many woodchippers, but oh my God, this is awesome. It was painted white and had several chips in the paint. The chute came out about fifteen feet in the air. I reached out to run my fingers along the paint in awe. "This thing is amazing!"

Booth hit the side proudly and smiled wider at the resounding echo. "It's the only Black Mantis woodchipper in Virginia Beach," he reported, nodding at Brennan in acknowledgment. "I subpoenaed the records from the manufacturer and traced it back to the town equipment yard." He rubbed the back of his neck apologetically after a few seconds. "My people, they, uh, couldn't find any blood residue."

I smirked at Booth. "Well, Dr. Brennan's people are elite," I boasted. It seems a bit odd to be boasting about something I don't have ties to, but it came to me naturally and I didn't question it.

Brennan rewarded me with a fond smile of agreement before she looked back to Booth and stated, "Although that makes sense, if the corpse was frozen."

"Not to mention, this puppy here has grinded up about ten thousand trees, you know," Booth protested, trying to give credence back to his FBI boys. "Hey, I figured you could match the blades to the cuts in the bones, right? Or… do something I haven't thought of that's much more confusing and scientific?"

"Booth!" My jaw dropped slightly and I looked down to the ground awkwardly hearing the intern's excited call. Zach jogged across the parking lot to us and I saw his shadow fall across Brennan's. "Nobody told me you were working this case!"

I looked back up to him apologetically. I had known how much he missed working with the FBI agent and yet I hadn't told him how he could see the other man, even in passing. "Yeah… it's kind of a secret from Goodman."

Booth totally ignored Zach and instead continued with his spiel to Brennan. "Only two people have had access to this machine in the past seven years - a city maintenance foreman and a city maintenance worker by the name of Ray Sparks. Sparks has got a jacket, so… What do you say, huh?" He gave her the winning smile. "You want to come with me to go talk to him?"

Zach smiled and nodded to himself happily, looking over to me. "I told you. It's a guy thing."

"Uh, yes, I'd like to come," Brennan agreed, glancing at Zach in pity for a minute.

"Alright!" Booth rubbed his hands together. "Here we go!"

Brennan paid Booth's hurrying no mind and took her time turning to instruct her intern on what she wanted done. "Let Angela do the escort matching," she ordered. "I have something a lot more interesting for you and Hodgins."

Booth smirked. "What's more interesting than escorts?"

I groaned. "Men."

"I need you guys to run a dispersal pattern test on the chipper."

Zach nodded obediently but I saw a spark of excitement in his eyes. "Using what medium?"

Brennan slowly smiled at him, appreciating his excitement. "Assume the victim was frozen solid when he was fed into the chipper."

I gaped in disbelief. "No way!"

Booth leaned over to Brenann and hushed his voice, but I could still hear him say, "The correct response to this would be, 'yes way.'"

"Oh." Brennan looked back to me and nodded. "Yes, way!"

"Oh my God." I grinned widely at Zach and saw him matching the expression. "I'll be back for the experiment. Have it ready and Goodman gone around one. I think he has lunch plans."

"How did you know that?" Brennan asked me, sounding put off that I'd been informed.

I smirked and crossed my arms. "He left his email open while we were in his office right after getting back from the crime scene and there's a glass bookcase behind his desk. I read it in the reflection."

Booth laughed loudly. "You crafty kid!"

I followed Booth and Brennan up the driveway of the city worker Ray Sparks and listened to them go over the same sort of argument that I'd had with Booth over Zach's behalf. "You ignore Zach to make him think that you've got some special bond," Brennan objected, sending Booth a glare. It's sweet how protective she is of her colleagues at the Jeffersonian.

"Yeah, but it works, doesn't it? I'm happy, he's happy…" Booth shrugged, hoping to leave it at that.

"But it's not the truth," Brennan protested, stepping up the porch stairs.

Booth sighed. "But it works." He knocked on the door roughly and called through the door. "Ray Sparks, I would like to have a word with you please."

"Zach wants to fit into the real world more than anything," Brennan argued defensively, glaring at Booth. "You're not helping!"

Booth deliberately ignored the issue this time, knocking again. "FBI, Special Agent Booth!"

Bang. The sound of a door slamming came from inside.

"He went around back," I muttered, moving quickly to the side of the porch. I braced my hands on the rail and jumped, pushing myself over the side of the porch and flipping to land on my feet in the yard on the side of the house. I pushed myself up to my feet again and ran, keeping parallel to the bushes growing at the side of the house and running around back. From the other side of the building I heard Booth yell, "FBI! Freeze!"

I made to turn the corner at the back of the house but ran directly into a white male in his thirties or forties, stocky with a beanie pulled over his head. His eyes widened as he saw me and he tried to run around me.

I extended my leg and he stumbled, falling onto his stomach with a loud, pained grunt. Footsteps thundered and then Brennan and Booth came around the side of the house. I pointed at the man silently and Brennan moved over to him, stepping over him and lifting her foot to press lightly against his throat. Booth held his gun level at the man from his height.

"Ray Sparks?" Booth questioned to be certain.

"Hey!" He coughed and jerked up slightly, only for his head to fall back onto the grass when Brennan's shoe made him immobile. "I didn't do nothin' wrong!"

Brennan looked up from him with a strand of hair in her face. She smiled at me brightly. "I feel like kicking him," she confided, sounding awfully happy about that.

"Uh, yeah." I nodded in agreement. "Er, that's normal after a chase, but we're not technically supposed to do that…"

"Technically?" Booth narrowed his eyes at me. "You're not ever supposed to kick a suspect that's down, there's no 'technically' about it," he pointed out, although he sighed after he spoke like he already understood that there was no point in trying to talk me out of doing so if I felt the need in the future.

I didn't want to stay for the interrogation again and I did say I'd be back at the Jeffersonian for the experiment. I explained the latter to Booth before I waved a halfhearted goodbye to Brennan before leaving the FBI, but not before giving Sparks a sarcastic 'good luck.'

I looked out to the right as I walked by one of the public parks on my walk towards the Jeffersonian again and I paused on the sidewalk, watching children at play.

A little girl with long ginger hair in pigtails giggled while she swung on the swingset, swinging awfully high for a child who couldn't be older than five. A boy who might be in elementary school hung from the monkey bars, his face screwed up in concentration as his hand slipped and he swung forwards, grabbing onto the next rung.

As I watched, the girl on the swings fell. Her hands slipped and she seemed to nearly catapult off and towards the ground. She landed in a heap and then the giggles stopped. I tensed, ready to move to help the child, but one of the men sitting on a park bench got up and hurried over to her. I forced myself to relax and bit my lip, forcing myself to continue forwards.

I moved significantly slower now, trying to blank my mind. It's only about another mile to the Jeffersonian and I have enough time to walk. My legs are my main method of getting through the city - or, at least, until I met Booth and started hitching rides and moonlighting. Still, I haven't gotten any less capable of the activity, having done a lot of more strenuous exercise during the cases.

It was when I was going down an alley between a local bank and a supermarket that I actually noticed that there were footsteps coming from behind me. I'd never cared before because I'd been on a populated street but now I was definitely paying attention.

I didn't hesitate to take a left at the next turn I got, and walked half around the supermarket before I took another corner and then pressed myself against the side of the building, biting down on my lip to keep silent as I heard the footsteps pause. I cursed to myself and leant down quickly, picking up a small stone from the grass, and threw it at the sidewalk running along the market.

The clattering seemed to work and the footsteps resumed themselves. The shadow came up quickly due to the sun's angle and I pressed myself up against the wall of the market, my heart thudding in my chest. I could think of several reasons for following me, but none of them were exactly the best.

As soon as I saw the olive-colored skin of the arm, I jumped out from my hiding place and dove at my follower. He yelped in surprise - a very unmanly and not at all tough sound - and I grasped his wrist in a vice, raising my other fist to his face. The snapping sound as his neck was forced the other way upon contact was oddly satisfying, and then I let go of his wrist and slammed my open hand up against his throat. I shoved him backwards by the neck and he didn't fight, only stumbled back before falling flat on his ass.

I braced myself and stanced my feet for a fight before I took the time to look at my aggressor and then stopped short. He grimaced and rubbed his throat where I'd grabbed and shoved him but looked up at me with a soft smile. I blinked several times before squinting to reaffirm what I had already confirmed - that I knew him.

"Laurier?!"

I gaped at the man who waved at me, seeming unabashed to have been caught stalking me. He seemed delighted that I had remembered him. "Oh, hi, Holly. Well… I suppose this is a bit awkward, isn't it?"

Now I fully understand what Brennan meant when she said she felt like kicking Ray Sparks.

When I first met Booth and the squints, we worked on the case of Cleo Eller, a senator's intern who had been murdered by her boyfriend. One of the primary suspects in the case was Cleo's stalker - Oliver Laurier. During the investigation, something about my abrasive personality must have acted as a strange turn-on, because later in the case I'd noticed that Oliver had followed me to a crime scene. I'd warned him that I'd hurt him if he stalked me and since then I haven't heard from him - I'd assumed I'd succeeded in scaring him away, but then again, maybe not, considering I just caught him following me.

I growled and clenched my fists, my nails digging painfully into my palms. "I seem to remember telling you that I'd kick your ass if you stalked me!" I spat furiously.

Laurier clambered to his feet. He was ungraceful. He's proven more than once to be a less-than-formidable opponent against me and I know for a fact that I could kick his ass any time I wanted to, both literally and in the figurative way that the phrase was meant in. I never liked him. He had come off to me at first as aloof, distanced from reality, irresponsible, disrespectful, and he had a magnificent creep factor that nearly hit the roof when he talked about first Cleo, and then me.

I won't lie; I like confrontation. I avoid them if they'll make my life difficult, but I like the type of simple conflict that gets solved with some flying limbs and endorphins. It's not healthy and I'll willingly admit that I know that, but if the opportunity and reason to get in a quick fistfight arises, then I'll go for it.

However, I do not like the idea of getting stalked. Five minutes of unwanted attention that comes to nothing in the long run, fine. But if Oliver Laurier managed to find me out of the literally thousands of people in the city after so long, then who knows how long he's been watching me? I love and value my privacy. I don't like the thought of some creep like Laurier hoarding every newspaper that mentions me, following me around the city, sneaking into my house when I'm not there, or even - God forbid - coming in while I'm sleeping. I'm a light sleeper and with nightmares I wake up often, but it's not an impossibility by any means. The very idea of having someone that fixated on me and with such crude intentions is enough to keep me awake at night.

"You're not…" Oliver stopped and then started again with a crooked, disappointed smile. "I thought you'd be happy to see me."

I glared fiercely. "You followed me for God knows how long and you have some sort of odd fixation with me, and given that it's a transference from your unwanted and unhealthy obsession with Cleo Eller, it's probably a sexual obsession." I glared at him, wishing that I were taller than he was. The height difference was slight but it was there. "Now, seeing as you're probably old enough to be my father and I have absolutely no desire to see you ever again past the next sixty seconds, I strongly advise that you back off and leave me alone. Get out of my life, you bastard, or I swear to God I will file a restraining order."

"Cleo would never have done that." Oliver stated, and his voice had that half-there creep quality. He fiddled with the right sleeve of his sweater. "You and her are a lot alike, you know."

I lunged forward and grabbed his lapels, shoving him against the wall of the supermarket. He squirmed with the cold, hard brick against his back and I was vaguely satisfied with his obvious discomfort. "I'll help you spot the difference," I snarled. "I'm not a legal adult. I am not pregnant. I have no shields from society's worst. I have no qualms with dragging you out into the middle of nowhere and beating you into a bloody corpse if you continue to waltz, uninvited, through my life. I have contacts with the FBI and I am not at all afraid of getting you on probation for sexual harassment. Got it?"

He smiled at me - the sick bastard actually smiled while a seventeen year old that he was stalking and victimizing threatened to beat him half to death. "Anything for you, Holly."

I snorted in disgust and shoved him against the wall once more before letting him go. "Anything? Stay the hell away. I'm getting a restraining order filed and that means that if you violate it, you get arrested. So keep that in mind." I drew back with struck him with an open hand for emphasis before whirling around and stalking away back towards the main road. Better avoid something like that happening again.

It was only five minutes later that I groaned in frustration, having realized that now having declared that I would get a restraining order, I have to, because if he violates it and nothing happens than any threats I make lose effect.

Well. I have three viable options; three people I know in the FBI, however tenuous the connection.

Cullen would be able to get the paperwork through fastest, but he doesn't like me, so that wouldn't work. If anything, complaining about someone like Laurier would only prove to him that he was right and I can't handle it.

Booth was the choice that I most favored. I'm not sure how much he trusts me or how far he'd go out of his way, but I know that he has a strong moral compass and he has offered me options that benefit me and not him, so I know that sometimes at least he is concerned for me. I trust him the most and I know that if I asked him, then he would respect that I felt honestly threatened by my not-so-friendly neighborhood stalker. However, doing that would also make me seem vulnerable and I can't risk losing the respect that I established with him. It's a slight chance but it's there, nonetheless.

And then there was also that other man I'd met in the FBI - Jamie Kenton, who'd offered his help if I needed it and given me his contact information. He talked to me willingly, making his offers seem sincere enough. Plus, it's sort of his job to protect civilians from perceived threats. Asking him to get the restraining order filed for me doesn't risk any sort of trust or respect, because with him I don't have any to risk.

Well, there we go. I guess I know what my plans are this afternoon.

Angela caught me on her way to the parking lot when I'd been walking around towards the back of the Jeffersonian. She jogged up to me, her wavy hair bouncing while she held a hot dog in one hand and a bottle of water in the other, most likely from a nearby vendor. One good thing I'll say about food in DC: if you need food, just walk a block or two. Vendors are usually pretty close by tourist areas.

"Holly!" She slowed down once she caught up to me after I slowed considerably and then she changed her pace to get slightly faster. I adapted to it easily and walked at her side, which is what I guessed she wanted. "Where were you?"

"Sorry?" I asked, blinking. "I was with Booth then walked here." I bit my lip for a moment and grimaced. "I had to take a detour but it's no big deal."

"Why? What happened?" Sometimes Angela bears a strong likeness to a hen of sorts. Maternal instincts are strong in the woman. She looks after everyone, whether they like it or not, and even when we just met, she went out of her way to make me feel welcome. I have no doubt that if she could, she'd hack into the credit accounts of anyone who hurt what she perceived as her family and she'd bury them in debt up to their eyes.

"Nothing," I lied, giving her a small smile to make it seem hopefully more convincing. "A road was just really busy so I went around instead of through." It was plausible - I'm far from being the most sociable and I detest being touched or jostled by strangers. I'd broken a Venezuelan official and knocked him out cold, bruising ribs and breaking his nose and been ready to keep at it when all he did was punch me to begin with.

Angela eyed me for a minute and I think she was trying to decide whether or not I was being entirely truthful, but she must have decided that either I was or it wasn't worth pushing. "Okay then." We turned the corner and I looked down to our feet and was once again surprised. We walked in sync, footsteps matching perfectly. I looked up and couldn't stop the broad grin from spreading across my face. Angela looked absolutely stunned and I laughed quietly at her expression. "What is going on?"

Behind the Jeffersonian, in a large grassy median by the side of the parking lot, the large woodchipper from Virginia Beach was towed out into the middle of the grass and the chute stood out in the air like black on white - in this case, black on blue. Hodgins and Zach were at the conveyor's side of the machine, both wearing blue lab jackets and plastic clear safety glasses. Tape was pulled across little orange cones, marking off the area around the woodchipper and leaving only the two men inside. However, that didn't seem to be stopping a majority of the male Jeffersonian scientists from gathering excitedly at the border, crowding around like it was a circus.

I looked to Angela and nodded my head towards the event. "It's an experiment," I answered proudly, with a slight smile. "It was Brennan's idea and Zach, Hodgins, and I are executing it." I moved to keep going across the parking lot and I made it to the grassy area behind the Jeffersonian's masses before Angela snapped out of it and chased me down.

"Are you insane?" She puffed incredulously. "What if Dr. Goodman finds out?!"

I lifted one arm up in the air and shied my way through the people, carefully avoiding touching any more than I had to. Angela followed, throwing out 'excuse me's and 'sorry's as she went. "Dr. Goodman's off having lunch with a friend," I replied carelessly. "I read it in his email. And no I did not obtain the information by illegally hacking into his computer." I reached the taped border and stepped over it simply, ignoring the few people who actually tried to talk to me under the pretense that I couldn't hear them.

I jogged down the length of the woodchipper to Zach and Hodgins, who stood with a cooler beside them and the woodchipper's conveyor feed turned on, the rumble deep and low. "Too many people," Zach worried to Hodgins. "How are we going to keep this from Dr. Goodman?"

I moved behind him and slowed, walking around to his other side. "He's out to lunch with the president of Harvard," I answered simply, looking to Hodgins and ignoring the murmurs out in the assembled crowd.

"Xena!" Hodgins grinned at me and reached on top of the cooler, picking up another pair of safety glasses and tossing them up in the air. I blinked once, reaching out and plucking them from the air mid-flight. "Glad you could make it. This should be minimal danger, but safety protocols and all," was his halfhearted explanation.

Good enough for me. I shrugged, unfolded the legs, and slid the glasses onto my face. I felt silly. The safety glasses were bigger than normal glasses and thicker, too. Given that I don't even wear sunglasses on a regular basis, they felt weird on my face.

Angela picked her way over past the woodchipper, sending it a stern glare momentarily like she was lecturing it not to misbehave or tattle. "What's going on?" She demanded Hodgins, crossing her arms as best as she could while holding her hot dog and water. "Why is every guy from the Jeffersonian out here? Why have you roped Holly into your antics?"

"Angela," I sighed, letting my shoulders fall with exaggerated disappointment. "What makes you think I didn't volunteer?" I smirked at her.

"They're scientists!" Hodgins gestured with one arm out to the Jeffersonian's staff. "This is a fascinating, scientific inquiry." He nodded sagely like he was oh-so-wise. "Xena's practically one of us, anyway."

I felt my cheeks warm slightly and hoped that maybe the bulky safety glasses would take the focus away from my blush. That, coming from one of them, was about the highest praise that I've ever gotten, and the fact that he said it just as a fact, like it was common knowledge, made it seem even more groundbreaking.

It also made me realize what I was doing with this case. I was truly getting closer to the squints than I had actually realized - I was spending more time with them on this case than I was Booth, probably for several reasons. I don't want to admit I missed him and I guess I'm sort of trying to prove myself right, even when I know I did. And I don't want to be around Jesse Kane. Yes, I'm empathetic towards his father's disappearance - I've gone through nearly the same thing! But not everything is about him and he's playing Brennan like a violin.

Which brings me to think about my timing - at the beginning, when this all started, I wanted to spend time with the squints. I didn't have the best opinion of Booth at the first couple of cases, because he arrested me and dragged me into this, and I thought it was cruel I was getting something only for it to later be taken away. But being with the squints hadn't been my reasoning; it had been being at the Jeffersonian. Then I started to trust Booth; and I tried to stay with him. Through him, Brennan and I connected and I began to trust her, too. Maybe building that same trust with Hodgins, Zach, and Angela is a good marker for me. Or maybe it'll just hurt more when it ends.

"Oh my God!" Angela gasped when she happened to see the cooler and her eyes snapped back up to Hodgins, exasperated and accusational. "They're all out here because you're going to feed something through this woodchipper!"

Hodgins didn't even have the decency to try to hide his big grin. "Not just something!" He leaned over and pulled at the cooler, popping it open. It was a big cooler and now I knew why - a completely frozen pig was rested at an angle inside, a tight fit even though it was a big container. Chips of ice stuck to the corpse's rubbery skin and little patches of frost sparkled in the sunlight. "Ta-da! A frozen pig." Hodgins laughed just at the sheer absurdity. Personally, I think the unique, interesting situations are part of the reason he loves his job so much.

Angela grimaced. "Oh…" She looked to the hot dog she held in one hand and sighed. "Ugh."

"The morphology of pig bones is almost identical to human bone," Zach explained, his brown eyes sparkling visibly even through the glasses. He was so excited it was endearing.

"By feeding the pig through the woodchipper, we - they-" I decided to just continue with my sentence rather than go back and forth between possessives and pronouns. "Will be able to determine the dispersal pattern of the fragments and compare it to that of the bone fragments found at the fairway." I grinned and crossed my arms, nodding proudly. If I had a scrapbook about this, this experiment alone would have a whole page.

Hodgins picked up the pace in a sort of unspoken agreement for us all to add to the defensive argument. "By comparing the remains to the fragment at the golf course, we can tell if this is the actual woodchipper that our mystery victim was fed through!"

Angela rolled her eyes in exasperation up to the sky before looking back at us disapprovingly. "You just want to see what happens when you toss some-" she gestured to the pig's frozen corpse in disgust. "Frozen pig into a woodchipper!"

I shared a glance with Zach. "That is going to be pretty awesome," I allowed.

"You guys get that side!" Hodgins declared. He reached into the cooler and I got the other side. Touching a frozen pig's dead body would probably revolt most people my age, but I just found it an interesting occurrence. The skin was smooth and felt as solid as rock, sliding slightly beneath my fingertips. It was hard to get purchase but I slipped my fingers under and pulled up. Zach moved next to me and I took a second to note that he took the precaution of staying a couple of inches away from me, once again acknowledging my value of personal space.

The three of us managed to lift up the corpse. The pig was frozen still in a straight form, legs tucked under it stiffly. I looked back out past the tape at the Jeffersonian guys and smirked. "Ready?!" I shouted over the rumble of the woodchipper. I looked back to Hodgins once I heard the rippling affirmatives.

Hodgins nodded to me in cue and we both started counting in synchrony. "One!" The people joined in. "Two!" We pulled back, giving ourselves momentum to sling the pig into the woodchipper. "Three!" We pushed forward, Hodgins on one side and Zach and I on the other, and the pig slipped over our hands and flew into the entrance of the machine.

The noise of the machine increased exponentially and became a rougher, less consistent growl, blades struggling to shred the pig into tiny little ribbons and shards. Hodgins, Zach and I all looked to each other with comical uh-oh expressions for a minute, wondering if we'd jammed it for a few seconds before the noise alleviated slightly and the chute rattled, speckling slightly in blood, and then started shooting out ripped up pieces of skin, muscle, tissue, and bone, all pinked in ice cold condition or red from the blood heated by the speed of the blades.

Angela groaned softly, looking to her hot dog before stepping away and tossing it into a garbage bin.

"Yeah!" Hodgins cheered loudly.

The pieces shooting out got bigger as the blades really got working. I giggled uncharacteristically; excitement from something new, pride at the experiment's success, the rush of adrenaline at having done something behind the "boss"'s back, and the joy at having done something enjoyable with people I considered - dare I say - friendsand the companionable atmosphere I maintained with them through the process all combined to put me in some state I couldn't remember ever being in before. I decided it was actual, genuine happiness; not just the satisfaction or relief I got from solving a puzzle or saving a life. I jumped up in the air, shouting triumphantly and fist-pumping into the air, hair flying around my face.

I turned to Zach, who was yelling out loud victoriously and grinning, and without thinking about it I jumped up again and high-fived him, cheering at the top of my lungs along with him and Hodgins.

Later I'd realize how I'd gotten so delighted I'd voluntarily touched someone and I'd decide from a psychological perspective that these people really are good for me.

Zach stopped suddenly and his face fell. Alarmed, I stopped and forced myself to still myself and I turned around to follow his gaze over my shoulder and my jaw dropped slightly before I closed my mouth and pulled at my bottom lip with my teeth.

Goodman fixed Zach, Hodgins, and I with a cutting glare. I wasn't a stranger to the emotions he must be feeling at the moment - so I easily recognized that despite the calm, controlled exterior, he was positively furious.

With a bit too much composure, he reached up to his lapel and solemnly flicked a piece of shredded pig tissue off of his suit.

While everyone else from the Jeffersonian still cheered ecstatically and laughed while cleaning themselves of pig remains, Hodgins, Zach and I all subconsciously stepped closer to each other and exchanged worried, slightly anxious looks, silently sharing the same thoughts of how the hell we were going to scrape our way out of this one.

Goodman had the mercy to spare Zach from his wrath. It's not like he could really just fire him, anyway; he'd have to go through channels because Zach's an intern and not a full-time employee. However, Hodgins is, and if he says so I can be manhandled off of the premises, so he wasted no time in having us directed to his office.

Hodgins and I kept our heads down subserviently. I didn't feel remorse for my actions; I had a bit of fun in the process of trying to determine a murder. I don't care about the state department. They can just go to hell if murder falls underneath "Chinese VIP party reputation" on their priority list, but my submissiveness dictates Goodman's attitude towards me after this fiasco, and if nothing else, it might lessen the blow that Goodman rains on Hodgins. I was already wondering if it was possible to convince Goodman it had been done upon my insistence.

Goodman stood in front of us on the opposite side of his desk. He was too frustrated to even sit down, apparently. "There is no way that that woodchipper experiment is connected to the plane crash at the golf course." His voice was too controlled. He wanted a reaction before he decided how to go about the "bad liars!" lecture.

"Look," Hodgins tried to start, voice and back tensed.

Goodman silenced Hodgins with a single glare. "Don't say anything," he hissed. "Just listen. Your primary job is to do what I say. Failing that, your job is to fool me. You both failed to fool me."

"We were succeeding," Hodgins muttered petulantly, still trying to seem a bit defiant. "We'd have continued if you would have gone to lunch as planned."

The thought occurring, my eyes darted to the glass bookcase behind Goodman's desk and I looked at the reflection of his computer, still opened to his email. I scanned over it, quickly doing the reversing and reflecting of the reflection in my mind so that I could read it. Something has come up with the administration issue mentioned earlier. I'm afraid I'll have to take a raincheck on our lunch. Well, damn. It was only sent an hour ago - I had no way of knowing that the lunch was canceled, but I still felt my own self-blame grating tersely on my nerves.

I tilted my face very slightly and caught Hodgins' eyes, shaking my head with the most miniscule of actions and telling him to drop the whole lunch thing.

Goodman continued like he had completely missed the exchange although I doubted he did. Maybe he didn't see that I read the email, but he probably caught that I told Hodgins to drop it. "I'll find some administrative ways to punish you, Dr. Hodgins. Parking, dining room privileges, budget reviews-" Yes, he is clearly ignorant to Hodgins' wealth, otherwise he'd know that wouldn't bother him. "That sort of thing. But if it happens again…" he sort of trailed off in threat.

"I got it," Hodgins sighed, partially relieved that it wasn't any more severe.

"No, you don't," Goodman snapped, his hands falling gently onto the table. He leaned forward to fiercely talk despite a lowered voice. "You both seem to think I'm a kind and fair man." Yes, that was my first impression, to be honest. "Egoless." No one is egoless. "Balanced." Eh. "Ruled by intelligent reflection." Most of you are, save Angela, Booth, and maybe Hodgins himself. "But I do have an ego."

"Clearly," I grumbled, rolling my eyes already at the monologue. I'm not too sure I can do this for much longer.

I felt his eyes boring into me and I kept my head down like I had been doing the whole time. "I can be vindictive and petty." I'm beginning to notice. "Unfortunately, Miss Kirkland, you do not work here under my rule, nor are you paid for your services. I am sure you are aware that if you had an employment here, you would be on probation." Yeah, I'm pretty damn aware of that, thanks. Well, at least he doesn't mistake me for an idiot. "And any fool could see that your public reputation reflects well upon the Jeffersonian and any intrigued donors are, of course, pleased to see you working in allegiance." I never liked that damn public reputation that developed after I shot Ken Thompson; but, I suppose, for this one time, it's helpful. "For those reasons, and those reasons alone, you are allowed to continue without the constant supervision of security guards." I was extremely surprised that he would have let me continue here at all. "Am I understood?"

"Crystal clear," I replied with the barest taint of sarcasm in my words. It was enough to let him know that I wasn't actually repentant, and that I wasn't going to be a submissive worker to his rule. I wasn't scared into place. At the same time, it wasn't enough to invoke a reasonably-explained argument.

"Dr. Hodgins." He turned the anger on the entomologist. "If I must, I will take you down, even if it means striking at you through your friends and co-workers." I glanced to the side and saw that Hodgins looked absolutely stunned by the revelation of Goodman's apparently rather large ego and pride. "Now you understand." Goodman finished with a wicked smirk at Hodgins' expression. "You are dismissed."

"Yes, sir." I nodded towards the door and Hodgins walked out through the threshold like there were wings attached to his shoes. I paused at the door frame, setting a hand lightly on the side of the doorway in a slight challenge to his authority. It's a more primal thing, the office being his territory, but it was perceived nonetheless. "By the way, if you don't want to be played for a fool in the future, you should leave your personal agenda inaccessible." I raised one eyebrow and smirked comfortably, leaving him slightly shocked at the subtle point that I had been the one to learn about the lunch plans.

I didn't let him ask me how I'd figured it out, but I just glanced around the office pointedly before nodding towards in in farewell and stepping out of the office, continuing on my way back to the medico-legal lab, smiling as I walked with my hands shoved in my pockets, satisfied at getting in the last word.