"Welcome to the dungeon," Booth said dryly, pushing open the doors from the stairwell and motioning grandly to the long hallway extending both to the right and left¸ eerily grey with steel-colored walls and floors. There was a glowing red exit sign on both ends of the hallway and shadows on walls cast by light as the doors interrupted. The lighting overhead was dim enough to make it seem drearier than the rest of the building without actually making it dark; or maybe that was the dull monotone color scheme.

Either way, it certainly felt like a dungeon.

Which is kind of strange, considering that this is just the basement of the FBI building, which seems bright and busy.

I walked in between Brennan and Booth with my arms held behind my back, lightly interlocking my fingers. "Where some say that if you listen close enough, you can hear the screams of the ghosts in the walls, either threatening a horrific death or pleading for someone to call Peter, Ray, and Egon," I narrated sarcastically, giving Booth a quick sideways glance to see if he fully appreciated the reference.

"What – who are they?" Brennan asked, frowning in confusion as she didn't recognize any of the names.

"The Ghostbusters," Booth chuckled, grinning in approval. "Nice one, Holly."

"Thanks."

Brennan's hands were in the pockets of her slacks, her dark jacket pulled forward over her blouse but left open. She looked around the walls in distaste. She doesn't really appreciate pop culture references as much as Booth does, mostly because she doesn't get most of them. "Why do the FBI always stick their morgues in the most depressing basement they can find?"

"Don't be such a snob, Bones, okay?" Booth complained. Apparently a slight against the bureau trumps Ghostbusters references. "Not everyone gets to play in a multimillion-dollar lab. With skylights."

Brennan answered her own question for Booth when she learned that he wasn't going to reply the way she wanted. "It's because, as a society, we feel the need to hide death away," she informed him coolly. She paused for just a moment, enough to give away how much it bothered her. "The people who deal with the dead are… viewed as freaks."

"Try not to let it bother you, Dr. Brennan," I advised lightheartedly. "The fact that people are insecure and frightened enough to call us "freaks" as a means of writing us off is a testament to our superiority," I added wisely, because it seemed like the sort of thing that she'd say and agree with. Maybe it would make her feel a bit better?

Booth rolled his eyes unhappily and tossed his head to the side. "Oh, great, you're already in good moods," he cheered sarcastically, clapping his hands together softly. "Listen, I don't know if it's the basement thing, but this guy you're about to meet, Harry, he's… a little twisted."

I took his warning to heart. Booth is a people person – if someone is off, he'll probably notice. "Twisted as in hilarious in the wrong way, or twisted as in I may feel the need to twist him the wrong way?" I asked for confirmation, to be totally prepared for whatever the FBI's medical examiner may be like.

"I dunno," he said with a sort-of shrug, and he didn't look at me, so I knew he was lying about not being sure. "Maybe a little bit of both?"

Brennan scoffed. "How do we know that he's actually twisted, rather than that he's actually a normal medical examiner and you're just falling into the same perceptions as the masses that are hiding morgues in basements?"

To myself, I remarked that the Jeffersonian did the same thing – active bone storage was on the same level as the Medico-Legal lab, but limbo was in the basement. Wisely, I recognized this as a point that would prove detrimental to my health if I reminded her of it.

Booth stopped and veered off to the left. If I hadn't been prepared to turn at any time, I'd have walked right past the door that apparently led to the morgue. It was guarded by a security system that required Booth holding his badge over a panel mounted to the wall, reading the code before a light on top turned green and the doors unlocked audibly.

"Trust me, Bones," Booth huffed. "If I ever started falling into those perceptions, between the two of you, I'd be yanked out real quick."

The FBI morgue was mostly empty and kept cool. The bodies were kept individually in chilled slabs that slid and closed into panels on the walls for clean and relatively orderly storage, and the floor was at an almost unnoticeable decline leading to a floor drain. Steel tables with locked wheels were in the corner of the room, but only one was currently needed. A corpse was on the table set in the center of the room, a towel thrown over his midsection for everyone's comfort.

A middle-aged man in a white lab coat stood over the body, observing and waiting. It was probably the grey color scheme, but he seemed unnaturally pallid. Wire-framed glasses were pushed up his nose, somewhat magnifying hazel eyes underneath thinning black hair cut close to his head. He was short, maybe only a few inches over five feet, making Brennan, Booth, and I all taller than him.

"Agent Booth," he said with a cordial dip of his head in greeting. So far, if he was "twisted," he was hiding it well.

Booth started to gesture behind him but then realized that neither Brennan nor I had been willing to stay in one place. I stepped up on his left, closer to the table to look at the corpse curiously, and Brennan had moved to his right to stay engaged. He adjusted to wave at Brennan. "Harry Tepper, meet Dr. Temperance Brennan from the Jeffersonian."

"I've read her," Harry informed us all, looking Brennan up and down. At his tone when he said it, I looked away from the body's bruised throat and stared at the M.E. closely. He was appraising the anthropologist, and for far longer than I liked.

"Hello," she said, frowning at the unnecessary attention.

"She's good," Harry decided. Something told me he wasn't just talking about her academic achievements, and I scowled at him. Booth just nodded, already visibly uncomfortable. He looked back to Brennan and seemed to consider what he was saying. "Read your novel, too. The heroine's very aggressive."

It was suggestive and crude, and I took a confrontational step forward. Despite one of my wrists being in a cast, I'm healed enough to do some damage, which relieves me more than almost anything. "To be fair, Kathy Reichs usually gets caught in pretty intense and dangerous situations where aggression is necessary." As Harry's attention switched over to me, I had to deal with the unwelcome eyes that weren't entirely focused on my face. I made a lazy gesture to myself but kept my arms at my sides. "Holly Kirkland."

"I know," he answered languidly, his tone far too at ease for my tastes. I'm not a sadist – I don't want to make people frightened just for the hell of it, but I would much prefer he understood that the leering won't be tolerated. "I've read about you, too. Every article."

I offered him a mocking half-smile. "Then you know to stay five feet away from me."

"Harry," Booth snapped, then schooled his expression to one of neutrality. Whatever Harry's problem was, Booth didn't seem to want to get involved. "You wanna-" he broke off and nodded towards the examination table. Harry nodded in understanding and he stepped closer, putting his hands on the side edge. "Okay, everybody, meet Ted Macy. The body was found in a national park. Local coroner wrote it off as some kind of an accidental drowning, but we have to investigate every death on federal land."

Harry cleared his throat, taking the focus away from Booth. I glared at him again. It felt necessary. "During my examination, I found he had a crushed larynx." He overly enunciated and he emphasized the words like he didn't think we could understand. I'll admit Booth isn't a rocket scientist, but he's far from an idiot. Brennan is an anthropologist, and I wouldn't be working with either of them if I didn't know the signs of asphyxiation. There was no need to treat us like morons.

"Strangulation," I stated.

Harry smiled dryly. There really wasn't anything funny about this. "That didn't seem accidental."

Brennan had been staring down at Macy's body in distaste, and then she looked up and abruptly started on Booth. "This is a corpse," she said bluntly. Booth looked up to her and she continued. "With skin."

"She is good," Harry praised sarcastically.

"Why am I here?" The novelist demanded, irked. She completely ignored the M.E.. "You know I don't work with skin."

"Relax, Bones," Booth tried to soothe. "I didn't bring you here to examine the body. I want you to see what they found in his hand." He looked across the table to the other doctor, who had tuned us out the moment Booth started talking. He only seemed to care about Brennan and I, and if I didn't know better, I'd say that he was deliberately antagonizing us.

… Oh my God, he's deliberately antagonizing us.

"Harry," Booth called impatiently, giving the other man a pointed look. "Bone?" He prompted.

Harry didn't deem it worth responding to with words, and instead walked away from Macy and to a stainless steel cart that held tools. He picked up a jar of clear solution with a piece of bone inside, slightly obscured from view by a long piece of red tape wrapped around the bottle to mark it as evidence.

Brennan's eyes widened. "What is that?" She asked urgently, coldness creeping into her voice.

I rolled my eyes and looked up. "Uh-oh," I sighed.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "It's a phalanx," he answered condescendingly, giving a momentary pause while Brennan glowered. "Finger bone. Figured she'd know that," he scoffed to Booth, for some reason expecting the FBI agent to be on his side.

What kind of idiot thinks that someone else is gonna be cool with him insulting and harassing their partners?

Brennan stalked around the table and snatched the bottle away from him quickly. "Yeah, and I'd figure any competent medical examiner would know not to compromise evidence!" She spat, holding up the jar and reading the label. "Is this Lysol I.C.?"

Harry crossed his arms over his chest, an inherently defensive gesture. It pleased me to know he was knocked down a few pegs. "We use it to decontaminate remains."

Brennan unscrewed the bottle and paced to a deep sink, dumping out the solution and the bone onto her hand. The liquid drained through her fingers and the bone remained. "Are you trying to break down the periosteal surface of the bone? Wreak havoc on the marrow?" She picked up a completely dry evidence bag to confiscate the bone from the examiner. Despite her livid words, she was gentle placing the bone in the Ziplock. "Did you even dilute this?"

Booth covered his face with his hand. "Bones!" He hissed.

"No, don't, she's right," I cut him off, hooking my thumbs in the waistline of my sweatpants. I looked across at the cowed M.E. expectantly and taunted him myself. "In decontaminating the bones with undiluted Lysol, he also destroys trace evidence."

Brennan sealed the bag and stepped back to Harry challengingly. "You've removed particulates and trace elements that could potentially lead us to his killer." She glared at him, eliminating the personal space between them. "Is this your first day on the job?"

Harry's eyes widened as he took offense and he tried to recover his wounded ego by speaking arrogantly. "Eighteen years next month," he overly enunciated, squaring his shoulders.

Brennan took that in and she whirled around on her heel to shoot Booth a look, like she was blaming him for making her deal with an incompetent and most definitely unsettling medical examiner, and she bolted out of the room, the heels of her shoes clicking rapidly as she attempted to get the bone out of the dangerous environment as quickly as possible.

Booth whistled. "Eighteen years," he repeated, giving the doctor a skeptical look.

Harry just grinned at him, looking winded and exhilarated. It was the same look most people have after going on a terrifying roller coaster. "She's intense," he commented.

I stared at him and then noted the lack of space from when he'd moved. "You're not five feet away from me," I reminded him warily.

Booth just kept his mouth shut. Honestly, if I'd chosen to hit the M.E. for not heeding my warning, I don't think he'd have been able to bring himself to blame me.

"Native American," Angela speculated thoughtfully, tapping her cheek with the end of her capped pen.

Zach walked by and along the length of the examination table of the bone room, carrying a small box of collected bones to be stored in one of the panels. When the Jeffersonian identifies the John and Jane Does from limbo, they and the evidence they're found with is tagged, catalogued, treated, and stored in the examination room in long drawers that pull out. They stay there until any living relatives are contacted. If there are none willing to claim the remains, then the government arranges a burial.

"British Colonial," the older intern suggested.

Hodgins grinned, pushing in another drawer and balancing a flat tray of a few bones to be run through the mass spec. "American Revolutionary," he decided, starting to come down the ladder with a hand on either leg.

I stood at the bottom of the ladder and with my hands on each side, keeping it open and supported. "I'm going with pirate," I countered with a growing smile.

Hodgins scoffed. "What are the odds of the guy being a pirate?" I didn't take it personally. The jest was made in play.

"What are the odds of the guy being an American Revolutionary?" I countered, turning his own words back to them and letting go of the ladder as both of his feet got back down to the floor.

Booth swung into the room, holding a yellow file folder in one hand and holding onto the doorway with the other. He grinned when he heard the argument, probably convinced that we were doing something entertaining. To us, it was – he probably wouldn't think it was quite as exciting, though.

"Hey!" He called for greeting, his eyes seeking out Brennan, who was sitting on a stool by the side of the table, a work station set up to magnify the phalanx from the FBI morgue. She was trying to place the age of the victim. "What are we playing?"

Zach was carefully placing bones from his box into a tagged drawer for storage. "Dr. Brennan, the destroyer of evidence is here," he announced playfully without looking up.

Booth's smile fell. He didn't get that Zach had been teasing, probably because Zach didn't vary his tone when he joked like most people did. "Okay, I'm going to assume that's a joke so nobody gets hurt," he growled.

I half-closed the ladder and leaned it against the wall before holding my arms up to Booth in a gesture of surrender. "It was far too compelling a story not to tell," I confessed.

Booth walked around the table towards Brennan, looking over her shoulder at the microscope she was looking through. "Did Harry really mess up that bone?"

"He dissolved any traces of ingrained particulates on the surface," Brennan answered tersely, obviously still extremely irate with the M.E. who screwed up her bone. I sauntered slowly to the opposite side of the table. It was hard not to be relaxed – aside from Brennan's apartment, this is the place that feels most like a home to me. I leaned over the table to the two adults. "But we were still able to save some valuable attributes."

"Like what?" Booth asked, his mood already lightening. He looked to the tools on Brennan's left curiously.

"Alternating sclerotic and porotic areas on sub periosteal surface demonstrates-" Booth picked up a normal magnifying glass from the tray, holding it up. He was listening to her, but he was bored, so he played with the tool like a kid might have, holding it up over his other hand and looking through. Brennan looked up, scowled, and then took the magnifying glass away. "-that whoever this was suffered from tertiary syphilis."

"Tertiary syphilis," Booth repeated, grimacing and feigning empathy. "Whoa…" he shoved his hands back into his pockets since he was no longer allowed to touch the things on the tray. "Wow, that the worst."

Hodgins looked up from his tray for the first time since he'd gotten off of the ladder. "It was a common ailment in the seventeenth century," he explained helpfully, practically buzzing with the excitement he'd temporarily tried to put on the backburner.

"Which is where the bone dates from," Brennan added, now finally smiling, pleased with the find. It was always a great find when a bone was dated that long ago, especially because there are so many exciting historically possible things that the owner could have done before he was dead.

"Say what?" The agent's eyebrows went up in surprise.

I grinned, nodding in excitement. It's fun to be excited. I used to have pretty little to actually be excited about. "Yep. Hence… pirate, American Revolutionary, British Colonial, and Native American. It's a guessing game."

"We ran a radiocarbon dating test," Zach confirmed, setting the now-empty box onto the exam table and picking up a file folder. He held it out for Booth in offering. "The finger's over three hundred years old." Booth took the results that Zach was trying to give him, and he flipped open the file to the first page.

"It's a unique find for the area," Brennan agreed delightedly.

Angela tapped her pen against her clipboard thoughtfully. "I'm gonna change mine to French trapper," she told Hodgins for the record.

Hodgins snorted. "You can't change yours," he denied. Angela rolled her eyes, pretending to be agitated.

"Where was Macy found, anyway?" I asked Booth. I had realized earlier that I probably should have asked for the more specific details, but by that point I'd already gone off after Brennan, partially to come back to the Jeffersonian but mostly to get away from the twisted medical examiner. "I mean, I know you said a national park, but which one?"

Booth flipped the page in Zach's file, his eyebrows pulled down as he tried to understand the science behind the tests, and he answered slowly, only half focused. "They shipped him over from… some resort town next to a federal seaside preserve. Uh, Assateague Island."

The effect was instantaneous. Hodgins' tray clattered as he put it down abruptly on top of the table. "That's where the money pit is," he almost yelled, his eyes wide and shocked.

Brennan raised her eyebrows at the entomologist. "Money pit?" She repeated.

I grinned. Assateague Island. It's a pretty big island just over sixty miles long off the coast of Maryland. Everyone who likes pirates knows that Assateague Island is supposedly where Blackbeard hid a treasure cache of over a million dollars. Given how money has changed, what was over a million then has probably become much more by now.

"Hell yeah!" I exclaimed, throwing my fist in the air victoriously. "My pirate theory's not looking so ridiculous now, is it?" I crowed at Hodgins victoriously.

Hodgins looked shell shocked. If I wasn't used to him, I'd have thought maybe Booth had broken him, but it only took him a few seconds to recover, sporting a thrilled grin and his eyes sparkling. "Legend is, Assateague Island is where Blackbeard buried his treasure." Brennan's small smile grew slightly, but she rolled her eyes. Booth turned more to Hodgins, leaning over the exam table to listen attentively. Even Angela and Zach stopped what they were doing to listen, and Hodgins was pleased to have an audience. "For three hundred years, people have been trying to find it. They've dug it out to something like a hundred and fifty feet, but they've found nothing. Every time they come close, they trigger a baffle that floods the pit with seawater."

Lit up with a boyish enthusiasm, Zach nodded knowledgeably. "Booby traps," he said, completely solemn.

"Cool," Angela commented.

Booth held out a hand to Hodgins. "The body was found at a dig site," he supplied, prompting Hodgins to continue with the interesting pirate story. Why can't you be this interested when we're talking about science readings?

"This is the first concrete evidence that the treasure is more than a legend," Hodgins breathed, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. "I'll bet this," in reference to the lone phalanx, "Is from one of the men who buried the treasure."

Brennan scoffed again, looking from Hodgins, to Booth, to myself, and then to Hodgins when she realized that we were all actually listening to the story. "Pure conjecture!" She objected loudly.

Hodgins was too revved up to let her rain on his parade. "Pirate," he told Booth simply, grinning from ear-to-ear like he'd just won the lottery. Wait – huh, that would have made more sense if it was someone else.

"Pirate?" Booth asked, catching his breath, to confirm before he got his hopes up.

Zach looked to Hodgins with big brown eyes, hopeful and engaged, which was really great. It's good for him to be able to participate in a conversation that can make him ecstatic, too. "Pirate?" He seemed like he didn't dare to believe it.

Hodgins nodded so quickly I was worried he might get whiplash. "It's a pirate!"

Angela held up a hand and waved her finger at Hodgins, sternly objecting. "You can't change yours," she reminded him smugly. What he'd said to her was now coming back to bite him in the ass, and the artist was enjoying it.

"Ha!" I fist-pumped, doing a little spin. "I so called it!" I whooped. I couldn't remember being this excited over something so little in a long time. Is it that it's just going back to childhood fancy, or is it that I'm happier and more secure than I've ever been?

"So – so the victim, Macy, finds evidence that the treasure exists," Booth hypothesized, shifting from foot to foot energetically. "Somebody else wants it all for themselves! That's certainly – that's a good motive for murder!"

"We gotta get out to that dig site and see what else we can find," Hodgins agreed, shaking his head sadly to Brennan's microscope, where the bone resided. The anthropologist watched him dryly, probably ready to smack his hand away if need be. "I'll be glad to help," he added hastily.

"That's okay," Booth said, his smile fading slightly as he tried to wave it off. "I can handle it."

"Come on, man, share the wealth!" Hodgins complained, with little to no reservations of how whiny he was being for a grown man.

"We are looking for answers, Jack," Brennan chastened sternly, finally jumping in. She'd been quiet for a long time, letting us have our fun with it, but I suppose when she thinks the priorities are being skewed, she has to remind us where our focuses should lie. "Not treasure."

Booth and Hodgins both stared at Brennan for several seconds until she blinked; then they looked back to each other, dismissing her reproach.

"Do you really think that treasure exists down there?" Booth asked, his voice hushed but still eager.

"What do you think?" Hodgins countered, another insane smirk on his face.

The three of us lasted about five seconds before we laughed. Hodgins looked at Zach, who was still grinning, delighted, and I covered my mouth, giggling, and not even bothering with trying to stop. Laughter filled the exam room and there was a slight echo that made it louder. Angela rolled her eyes, but she did so affectionately, and Brennan just went along with it with an awkward smile.

When we stopped laughing, we all just sort of watched Brennan, waiting for her approval on the conclusion, all smiling like idiots. My cheeks were starting to hurt from grinning for so long, but I was too pleased to make myself stop even if I wanted to. It was a good sort of ache – like the hurt you get when you stretch, because sure, you're stiff in the moment, but a little bit later you know you're going to feel even better.

Brennan returned the smile indulgently, but she was still confused. "Why are you guys smiling?" She asked uncertainly.

I looked over at Booth, who met my eyes, and I nodded. As the scientist between us, I was totally at ease saying that it was a reasonable assumption to make. We both looked back to the third in our field investigation trio and Booth, Hodgins, Zach, and I all exclaimed at the same time, "Pirates!," with no other explanation.

It didn't really feel like one was necessary.

Angela's lips were twisting into a half smile, affected more by our cheer than by the pirate thing. "It's a guy thing, sweetie," she told Brennan with a sigh.

"Wha – Holly seems amused," Brennan objected, pointing me out to Angela. I just turned my eyes to her and continued to grin, rocking back and forth on my feet with one hand steadying myself on the table.

"Most girls like shopping and getting their nails done, and Holly spends her time here." Angela glanced down to Brennan and pat her friend's shoulder as she spoke. "What's that tell you?"

Booth, Brennan, and I took a ferry from the coast out to Assateague Island. I looked around with my tongue in my teeth to keep myself from talking, absorbing the entire scene. It just seemed like something out of a movie, almost like it was too much of a fairytale to be realistic. The dig was up on a raised platform about three steps up from the ground level, and it was a base of solid concrete. I tried standing on my toes to see, but from where I was – at the beginning of the walkway leading to the site, where the tourists were cut off – I couldn't see the actual tunnel leading down into the water, just a bunch of people in sunny daytime shirts and the trucks that carried the equipment parked nearby, backs open for unloading.

The FBI had already gotten here before us, but they were taming the scene for us to begin the investigation – well, for Booth to begin the investigation, anyway. They blocked the entire site off with crime scene tape, but because there was no evidence suggesting the murder took place here, they couldn't block access to the people who actually worked on the treasure hunt, so it was still reasonably busy.

"So the dead guy, Macy, ran the dig?" Brennan asked curiously to get the facts straight before talking to others.

"With his partner, Hardewicke," Booth amended patiently, walking beside her with his hands in his pockets. I trailed behind them, both out of habit of keeping my space and out of wanting the extra time to look around. It wasn't often that I got to leave Maryland anymore. I've seen a lot of America, but it wasn't usually on my terms, and I was usually a bit busy being generally distressed to enjoy it or go sightseeing, and I've never been to Assateague Island. "He was hired by anyone with money to burn."

"Wha-" Brennan started, cut herself off, and then whipped her head around to look up at Booth in disbelief. "People would do that? Sane people? Look for treasure?"

Booth chuckled at her stunned reaction. "Well, isn't that what archaeologists do?"

Brennan lifted her head higher indignantly. Even if archaeology isn't her favorite science, it's still a science, so she took it as a jab. "Archaeologists are scientists who use evidence on which to base their explorations, not some pirate movie they saw when they were ten," she protested stiffly.

"Yeah, well, that three hundred-year-old bone that we just found sort of changes things now, doesn't it matey?" Booth joked playfully, lifting up the yellow crime scene tape from around the perimeter and ducking under it. He twisted, grabbed it with his other hand, and held it up for Brennan to bow under. The pirate humor was lost on the scientist, who gave him an odd look in response.

A waiting officer stepped forwards quickly to Booth, but then quickly bypassed when I took the tape from the agent and held it up for me to play limbo with. When I straightened up on the other side, I had to drop my wrist and step back, leaning backwards to avoid my personal space being encroached by the deputy of the island's police force.

"This is blocked to civilians, miss," the brown-haired, hat-wearing deputy said politely, making a 'shoo' motion with one hand in the kindest way possible.

Struck by sudden inspiration, I blinked once and then accented my voice to a near-perfect impersonation of Johnny Depp. "I'm terribly sorry, I didn't know. If I see one, I shall inform you immediately," I pledged, clapping my right hand over my heart before veering to the side.

"Pirates of the Caribbean!" Booth cheered when he recognized the quote and as I stepped to the other side of him, turning on my heel to survey the pursuing deputy, Booth held his arm out in front of me to make the other man pause. "It's okay, she's with me. What's going on over there?" He asked, jerking his head to the side in reference to the base of the dig. It looked like several people were there than there was actually meant to be, and a couple of them seemed to be arguing. "It's a crime scene!"

The deputy hung his head, embarrassed. "I tried to stop him, sir, but that's Branson Rose back there." I groaned loudly and tossed my head back to stare at the sky in defeat, squinting against the sun rays shining through the thick, fluffy cumulous clouds. "The mayor told me to let him in."

Branson Rose is crazy rich. I mean, if I think of Hodgins as being rich, then Branson Rose is even more so. Hodgins is loaded, but this guy's name crops up almost everywhere – sometimes I seriously think his ultimate plan is to invest in every economic stock that's having success, buy out other stocks, and then take over the entire damn world with the attitude of a total douche and the looks of a college professor.

"Branson Rose is funding this dig?" Booth exhaled slowly. Although he was a bit more literate than I was, the sentiments he expressed were pretty much the same.

"Has been for two years, but I heard he was pullin' out." The deputy shrugged at that, like what can you do?, but he didn't seem to upset about it either way. Figures – we're the ones that have to deal with the PMS-ing billionaire, not the deputy.

Booth sighed, psyching himself up for what was unlikely to be a pleasant conversation. "Alright, thanks," he said in polite dismissal. "I'll take it from here."

The deputy just nodded, relieved to be able to stay out of the debate. "Sure." He tipped his hat and then headed off to check out the perimeter again.

Our trio continued towards the dig site. Now when I looked, I could see the tunnel going straight down. The water was surprisingly clear, but I couldn't see very far past the surface where various thick, bright-colored cords disappeared under. It reflected painfully bright sunlight when the rays bounced off the surface, but where it wasn't blinding, it was a pretty aquamarine blue.

"Who's Branson Rose?" Brennan asked me now that we were past the point of being overheard by the deputy.

I did a double-take and stared at her for a second before I realized that she was completely serious.

"Arrogant, filthy rich bastard who owns half the world and seemingly the majority of the Tri-State area?" I questioned, emphasizing it by waving my arms. "Supposedly was in the special ops? Any of this ringing a bell?"

Absolutely no sign of any recognition whatsoever.

"The billionaire adventurer," Booth tried. "He made his fortune making aircrafts for the military?" Brennan shook her head slowly, staring at him blankly. "He's the guy that has that reality show that goes all over the world, and – and, still no TV," he guessed with a sigh. I shook my head quickly in answer to the remark. I've been living with Brennan, and while I wouldn't object to a TV, it's not something that either of us need to be content. We don't spend much time at her apartment, but when we are there, she's expressed several times I'm welcome to her books and music collection. That keeps me entertained until there's somewhere to go. Booth threw up his hands. "Why do I even bother?" He muttered to himself.

I was furthest on the right, so I turned to go up a staircase leading to the dig site. It was made of steel stairs and they were spaced far enough apart for it to require conscious thought not to fall. That didn't seem to bother the two men charging down, because they nearly bowled me over. I pressed myself to the edge, feeling the safety rail digging into my back, and I glared at the two men.

One was tall, with very short dark hair, an angular face, and tanned skin. I looked after him with narrowed eyes – he wore jeans and a dark button-up flannel with the top button undone, the collar down around his neck. I could have sworn I recognized him – Criminal Minds, or maybe some other popular show, like Doctor Who or… what's that other one, with the brothers? Supernatural? Obviously a treasure hunter isn't also an actor, but he sure looked like the same guy I could have sworn I'd seen on a Supernatural advertisement. I've never actually watched the show, but it seems kind of interesting.

Huh. Now that I think about it, a science fiction horror show seems like the sort of thing Zach might like. We'd marathoned Firefly and Xena when I was in the hospital, so why not? I'd be fun, and it's the type of thing friends usually do. Neither of us are exactly normal, but it's not like it could hurt to suggest it.

Back on the record, he was chasing another man, an older one with slightly longer hair and a beard, going from dark to peppery in color, a much paler skin tone, and a somewhat shorter stature, wearing tan slacks and a loose, buttoned white shirt who I recognized as the billionaire Branson Rose.

Booth and Brennan both swerved to the side to avoid getting trampled on in the two-man stampede. Both seemed completely oblivious to the three people they'd all nearly run into.

"You can't pull out right now, Mr. Rose, we got a contract!" The taller one argued.

"So you can sue," Rose offered flippantly, "But I don't think you have the resources to take me on."

I stepped back off of the stairs and onto the ground, crossing my arms irately and glaring after the two, particularly the billionaire. "I told you he was arrogant," I complained to Brennan, icily staring after him.

"Mr. Rose, we just broke two hundred feet now! If you pull out now-"

Booth cleared his throat loudly, but neither seemed to hear, and so the FBI agent was forced to sigh, roll his shoulders, and start to backtrack in the direction we'd come from to try to catch up to the arguing men. Brennan and I shared a look and agreed in a second to go after him.

"I've been hearing that for two years, Hardewicke." Rose was cold and mean, and maybe he was sick of hearing the same promises that had, thus far, turned out to be empty, but that was hardly an excuse for his poor treatment of not just his temporary business partner, but also the people around him. He nearly hit some poor woman as he waved his hands, for God's sake! He snapped around to some people who were slowly carrying a large piece of equipment up a ramp and into a truck. "Get off your asses and load my gear into the truck!"

If anyone deserved to get their asses kicked, it was definitely this guy.

"Hey, if you're so damn desperate to get the stuff loaded, why don't you go help them instead of bitching and moaning about it?" I challenged. I must not have said it loud enough. I opened my mouth to say it again, louder, but Brennan said something to me and I wasn't willing to yell over her, no matter how badly I wanted to knock the billionaire down a few (hundred) pegs.

"He doesn't seem very sociable," she observed.

"Uh, excuse me," Booth called.

Hardewicke reached forward and grasped Rose's shoulder, forcing the older male to stop and turn to face the adventurer. "Mr. Rose, Macy – he knew it. He felt it! We're – we are this close!" He held up his other hand and demonstrated by holding his index finger and thumb about an inch apart.

"Excuse me!" Booth called for their attention again, louder.

Rose shook his head defiantly. "Two years," he stressed the emphasis.

I rolled my eyes dramatically. "Hey, Rose and Hardewicke, can you stop bitching at each other for a minute?" I yelled, snapping my fingers. You've got to be kidding me. We're not even five feet away from them!

"Two million dollars," Rose continued as if he hadn't been interrupted to begin with. "There's nothing down there, Giles! Macy died for nothing."

"Oh, for God's sake-" I started to turn around, but quickly thought of a better means of breaking up the party. I raised my fingers to my lips and whistled, loud and shrill, before shouting. "FBI! Everyone who doesn't shut up now is under arrest!" I glared venomously at Rose.

Finally, he and Hardewicke broke apart their argument, and Hardewicke let go of the other's shoulder. Both seemed sufficiently shocked out of their own isolated world. … Unfortunately, the majority of the other, completely irrelevant, people at the dig site stopped, too, their voices dropping from outside levels to surprised silence.

Booth groaned softly. "Come on, Holly, you don't get to say that!" He told me, giving me what he meant to be a stern look. It didn't come out so well though, since he'd been getting quite agitated himself. No matter what he says, I know he's glad I made them shut up somehow. "For once, just for once, can we please pretend I'm the agent?"

"The FBI's involved now?" Hardewicke inquired, crossing his arms over his chest and looking between Booth and I at the definitely unusual exchange.

"Oh, yeah," Booth answered casually, stepping forward and closer to really be a part of the ensuing discussion. "You know, murder on federal land. We like to, uh, poke around a little." He shrugged like it was no biggie.

"Murder?" Rose repeated suspiciously, as the activity on the site began to pick up again when no one was actually arrested, despite my threat.

Brennan walked close up behind Booth, looking over his shoulder and standing up straight to stare at both suspects confrontationally. "Yeah," she drew out pointedly. "Murder." Booth narrowed his eyes and looked to her from the side, realized that she was trying to stare them down right over his shoulder, and gave her a discouraging look, nonverbally questioning what the hell she was doing.

Rose twisted, turning to look at Hardewicke suspiciously, turning his accusation on his colleague. "You said it was an accident," he said slowly, trying to piece together where the sudden revelation of homicide had come from.

Hardewicke's eyes were wide and he shrugged helplessly. "I… I thought it was," he answered, sounding not only alarmed, but also somewhat numbed. He and Macy had worked together for a long time, so they were probably pretty close.

Rose slowly pondered the thought and the realization and he, like Hodgins, quickly came to a possible conclusion. "Oh my God," he breathed, looking up to the platform with the tunnel dug down to the water. There was equipment running now, and the water was frothing, white foam splashing up around the edges of the large circular top. "He found something. Put my stuff back, now!" He raised his voice to shout bossily at his employees, waving his hand frantically to motion to put something they were trying to load down and move it back.

"Really?" I asked, almost as livid as Brennan had been when she found the medical examiner had put a bone in Lysol. "You find out someone you knew was murdered, and the first thing you do is start screeching at people to defend your investments?" I know how money works, and I know his reputation is important, but Jesus Christ, this guy is seriously pissing me off and I've only actually seen him in person for the last five minutes.

He ignored me completely in favor of staring, transfixed and hopeful, at the darker recesses of the dig site. "What did Macy find that would be worth killing him for?" He asked to himself, not expecting anyone to actually give him an answer.

How about the bone of a pirate?

A/N: Okay, so a couple of things: I don't own any of the TV shows/movies mentioned in this chapter, nor do I own Johnny Depp (although that would be awesome). The comment on Hardewicke looking like an actor was a shout-out to the man who portrayed him in the episode, Fredric Lehne, who had a role on an episode of Criminal Minds and played the recurring character Azazel in season two of Supernatural.