Zach, Hodgins, and I were all waiting for evidence that the FBI still held. I wanted to stay away from the creepy, possibly masochistic M.E., so I waited at the Jeffersonian for Brennan to drag Booth down to the morgue. If the guy's ass needed kicking, I was absolutely certain that Brennan would be happy to take care of said kicking.

Zach and I were on the computer. He was in the rolling chair in front of the monitor and I was reading over his shoulder while Hodgins was playing with his clipboard. Without anything that we could do right this instant, we were left to our own devices – and currently, the situation begs that we research pirates and the legend behind Assateague Island. The best part is that we can justify it as relevant.

We were currently looking at a website dedicated to the digging at Assateague Island, detailing the exploits of people through history who had documented their search for the allegedly buried treasure. A lot of people had been killed or injured trying to find what the island possibly hid.

"In eighteen thirty-two, a team of six men looking for the treasure were killed when a shaft they were digging collapsed," Zach read aloud off of the website. I was reading it silently to myself, but I didn't particularly mind that he was talking when he found something interesting. Zach may be different from most people, but if you get used to him, then he's pretty easy to understand.

Hodgins looked down from his perch. The stool he was on was taller than Zach's, so he was taller than the intern and maybe taller than me, though I was standing. His ankles were hooked around the front legs. "Blackbeard's curse, man," he chuckled as an explanation.

"A curse?" Zach repeated skeptically. Then he shook his head, dismissing it. "We're scientists."

"We're nerd scientists, at that," I told Zach with a helpless shrug. We'd been labeled. Zach may have escaped the crazy train, except for that he had discovered that he liked Loony Tunes. "We're allowed to enjoy science fiction. And if we're not enjoying it, then we're not doing it right." I smiled down to him but glanced back to the computer screen. "Hey, in nineteen oh two, a pair of treasure seekers went missing during a dig. Not even their corpses were recovered."

Hodgins laughed heartily. "Oh, that's very curse-y!" I think that part was mostly said to irritate Zach, who has a lot of buttons Hodgins likes to push.

Zach focused on Hodgins carefully, scanning him with his eyes with Vulcan focus. "So you believe in pirates," he determined analytically.

And Hodgins has a lot of buttons that Zach doesn't necessarily likes to push, but ends up pushing anyway. Hodgins scowled down at the intern and, with great spite, retorted, "Pirates aren't Santa, Zach. They did exist, they did have treasures, and they did bury it!"

Zach looked back to the computer curiously, his entertainment overpowering his urge to converse. "You know, I had an eye patch when I was six," he admitted, a faint blush creeping up his neck and ears. I grinned at the embarrassment. It was sweet that something so innocent was enough to embarrass him.

"Who didn't, my friend?" Hodgins asked with another grin, reaching over and clapping Zach on the shoulder. Zach had long since gotten used to the gesture and so even though he was rocked slightly to the side, he rocked back again, unaffected. "Who didn't?"

I sighed awkwardly and reached up with my good arm to rub the back of my neck, looking away from the computer and out to the doors to the Medico-Legal lab. Through the automatic double-doors, I could see Brennan and Booth arriving, Booth lagging behind as the anthropologist dragged M.E. Harry Tepper with a painful hold on his left forearm. His right hand was carrying a small metal case. Outside of the morgue, he was now wearing a tweed coat over a collared button-down with a spotted bowtie.

"Did you mean that rhetorically…?" I asked Hodgins, looking down and fighting the impulse to scuff the toes of my shoes.

Hodgins' smile fell and he unhooked his ankles from around the furniture, leaning forward like he was ready to slide off and do whatever comforting he could. "Sorry, Xena," he said with a guilty cringe. I hadn't meant to make him feel bad, but he'd asked a question and I had been trying to make an effort to be more honest, if only to avoid any more complications. I think having a stalker is a pretty big secret to keep all on its own, never mind the details of nine eleven, along with all of the littler things. "I didn't mean-"

I raised a hand to cut him off quickly. I didn't want him to apologize. I didn't want him upset on my behalf, either. "No, you know what? It's okay." I offered him a slight smile, just to prove that I really was cool with it. "It doesn't matter anymore."

As the doors to the inside of the lab slid open, the three arrivals became audible. I was glad Brennan was showing him who was boss (she's grabbing him with both hands and she looks like she's going to break him if he tries anything), but would it really have killed Booth to get involved enough to keep Harry as far from Brennan as possible?

"It's not necessary to lead me like a child," Harry puffed, trying to be indignant.

"I'd rather not have any more evidence compromised," Brennan explained harshly, adamant in her claim and her vice-like grip.

Harry looked to his arm and then up to Brennan, who didn't seem to realize that there were faster ways of making holes in his sleeves than trying to cut through with her fingernails. "You're squeezing my arm very tightly," he noted out loud.

"Sorry," she muttered, sounding (unsurprisingly) unapologetic.

Harry's expression changed and he brightened, smiling. "No, no, it's okay," he assured her. Brennan did a double-take and stared at him in confusion while she let go with one hand to slide the card on her lanyard through the security system. It beeped and the light turned green, and she forced Harry to start up the stairs onto the platform.

I stepped around Zach and turned my back to the doors, leaning against the railing with one hand on the highest bar. "I'd demand he be handcuffed for our safety and virtue and all that," I started to call to Booth, with a wave in the medical examiner's general direction as he was shoved towards Hodgins and, by extension, in my direction. "But I have a feeling he'd like that a little too much."

Brennan pointed up to Hodgins, who realized he was being summoned, and gathered a pair of latex gloves from a cardboard box and started tugging at the wrists to stretch them out a bit. "You can give it to Dr. Hodgins," she said to the M.E., who lifted the metal case he had been carrying as an offering to the entomologist.

Hodgins shoved one hand into a glove and took the case, carrying it to the exam platform. Normally we'd have had a skeleton laid out in anatomical order, but in this case, when we only have one bone, there's not really much of a point to it.

"What is this?" He asked, setting it down flat and working on the other glove.

"Soil and water collected from Ted Macy's throat and lungs," Brennan answered in explanation, giving Harry a sideways glance and watching like a hawk as he opened the case for Hodgins, lifting the top up and displaying the evidence samples. The water was in small evidence jars and most of the dirt was in evidence bags. "He was found floating in his dry suit at the top of the shaft."

"Alright, you know what we need you to do?" Booth told Hodgins from the M.E.'s other side, leaning on the table, braced with his elbows on the illuminated white top. "Your dirt thing. You know… match the slime to the crime." Booth grinned, pleased with the rhyme, but everyone – including the creepy as hell M.E. – stared at him uncertainly. I looked up to the ceiling awkwardly. Booth got the message and cleared his throat, trying to recover. "Make sure that's where he was killed."

Brennan dismissed the odd moment and looked to Harry. "I'd like to see the x-rays of the victim's skeleton," she said. The way she said it made it excessively clear that it wasn't a request; it was a command.

Harry smirked at her. "Bossy," he remarked snidely, taunting and trying to provoke more violence.

Booth glared, raising a hand and pointing at the man in warning. "Do not go there," he growled, running his free hand through his hair in exasperation.

"I'm starting to get really aggravated, so unless you wanna know what it feels like to be Ted Macy, you should really just learn to keep your perverted comments to yourself," I told Harry threateningly. It was getting to the point where I had had more than enough of his creepy attitude. Purposefully agitating Brennan was a bad idea – doing it for personal gratification was a dangerous one, especially with Booth and/or myself around to kick his ass if either of us thought he took it too far.

Harry looked at me condescendingly, somehow trying to seem like he was my superior. It might have worked better if I wasn't a bit taller than he was. "Ted Macy is dead," he said bitingly, patronizingly.

"Yeah. That's kind of the point," I deadpanned flatly. Harry seemed sufficiently startled, but he quickly recovered, looking down to the samples in the case.

Hodgins held up a jar like it was a prize, surveying it with very considerate scrutiny. "In the interests of being thorough…" he started slowly, raising his eyes up to Brennan. He carried it to hold it under a brightly-lit, large magnifying glass. "I need to determine if he died at the top, or died at the bottom and, uh, floated up. I need silt abstracts from both levels."

"Fine." Booth snapped with one hand and pointed at Hodgins with the other. "We'll get those for you." We was supposed to be the FBI's forensic agents. Even if Hodgins didn't appear to have ulterior motives, I doubted that the Jeffersonian team would allow the less qualified scientists of the bureau's team to be responsible for vital work on one of our cases.

"No, no, no, no," Hodgins protested rapidly, barely giving Booth the time to even finish talking. "No, the soil looks like an odd mixture of clay, plagioclase feldspar, pyroxene…" he pointed to what he mentioned through the magnifying glass before shaking his head, sighing. "I really wouldn't trust anyone else to harvest the samples properly."

Brennan crossed her arms in front of her and raised her eyebrows, fighting back a smile that was warring to creep up her face. "You just wanna look for treasure," she accused knowingly, teasing him as much as she was seeing through the excuse. With it made clear to Booth, the agent agreed, mimicking Brennan's position and nodding with a smirk.

"You're busted, man," I told Hodgins with a shrug. "Good try, though."

Hodgins looked from Brennan to myself, a hand dramatically over his heart. "What-?" He scoffed, pretending to be innocent and earnest. "I am a serious scientist," he declared, puffing out his chest seriously. "Merely trying to do my job as well as possible!"

I shut my eyes and shook my head to him, discouraging him from keeping up the charade. "Your lying skills may have improved since the Chinese flight crash, but they still suck."

Booth squinted at Hodgins and he leaned forwards to see the entomologist before rocking back on his feet. He was seriously considering the scientist's request, but at the same time, he'd put ensuring safety before indulgence. "That shaft is over two hundred feet deep, you know," he cautioned, and – yep, there was definitely a bit of a challenging bit in there. "It requires an experienced diver." He looked Hodgins up and down pointedly, successfully conveying his skepticism.

Hodgins raised his eyebrows, taking the challenge for what it was worth and responding with confidence. "I am a certified cave diver, which means I can go deeper than two hundred feet," he boasted. "I dove Mayan Blue, Dos Ojos, Tortuga…" he trailed off, holding out his arms to Booth almost pleadingly.

"Ever dive Naharon?" Brennan asked Hodgins levelly with a barely-there smirk.

Hodgins nodded briefly. "Once."

The smirk grew. "I named Naharon."

"Well, then how can you say no to me?"

Brennan sighed deeply, but she allowed Hodgins a smile and her blessing. "Okay." Then she must have realized by the way Hodgins started to fist-pump the air that she was actually letting him have not-entirely-relevant fun and she added quickly, "But just to collect soil samples."

Hodgins nodded all too quickly, just eager to leave the lab and get ready for a spelunking diving mission. "Of course," he agreed enthusiastically, setting the evidence jar back down on the table and running around Booth to the stairs.

"Anata no suichuu…" I had started to say, but then I frowned and concentrated, turning a bit so that I could see Hodgins jumping down the platform stairs from over Brennan's shoulder. Damn, I'm getting out of practice. "Doukutsu tanken omedetougozaimasu," I finished. It had been meant as a farewell to the entomologist, but I don't think he was paying enough attention to have understood even if I'd been speaking English.

Booth frowned at Brennan, turning around to her and shoving his hands down into his pockets. "You dive, too?" He asked a bit incredulously, a bit put out for not having known that beforehand.

"Yeah." Brennan smirked up to him and she turned her back to him to start down off the platform. With nothing left to do here, there was no reason to stay. Personally, I'd want to head off to Assateague Island with Hodgins and, more likely than not, Booth. "I have the time because I don't own a TV."

I smiled at the light dig and as I passed the M.E., following the two adults down the short set of stairs, Harry sort of turned daydreamily in the direction of Brennan's voice. "You wear a rubber suit, then," he said with a content sigh.

"Uh-uh," Booth started, twisting around to walk backwards and holding up another hand in threat.

"Oh, for God's sake," I snapped at Harry, completely fed up with the lecherous focus. "Knock it off already! There is no excuse for being that desperate! Just go find a damn hooker and be done with it!"

I sped up, hurrying to not just get away from the mortician but also to catch up and walk side by side with Booth. I rubbed at my wrist absentmindedly, more for something to do than anything else.

"What was that, anyway?" He asked me, looking to the side with his head tilted in question. His voice was lower, meaning the inquiry was just for me – and even though Brennan wasn't so far ahead she couldn't hear, I still kind of liked feeling like I had all of his attention.

"Japanese," I answered with a proud smile that I had to bite my lip to suppress. "'Congratulations on your underwater spelunking,'" I recalled.

"Geez, Japanese, too?" He complained, rolling his eyes and looking forward to the security guard. He nodded briefly in acknowledgment.

I shrugged. I know it's not normal, but it's not anything I'm going to feel bad about. "Freshman and sophomore years were productive," I answered vaguely, mostly because I didn't have a better answer to give.

Booth groaned softly, but it was playful and teasing. "Great, now you can insult me in four languages… that I know of," he added as an afterthought, glancing at me sideways in search of a correction or confirmation.

"Don't forget French," I reminded him helpfully. I hadn't ever conversed with anyone in that language, like I had Spanish or Russian, but the very first day we met, I'd sided with Brennan on an argument I didn't entirely understand, and when she'd said that the nearest forensic anthropologist near her level was in Montreal, I'd asked in French if he spoke French. "Remember, I asked you parlez-vous Francais."

"How do you learn all that…?" He wondered aloud. He looked honestly confused, but equally impressed, so I decided I would actually answer rather than just cynically avoid the question.

"I dunno," I answered. It was actually honest. I know it's not exactly normal, but then again, neither was graduating high school at fifteen, or being abandoned by my foster family, or working here before I'm an adult. I've just always had a great ear and memory for linguistics, but I wouldn't be too surprised if I was on a mental spectrum, or if my memory had been affected by post-traumatic stress or something of the like. "I just do. I had immersion for some and a lot of studying with others." Booth eyed me down skeptically, like he wasn't sure that I was offering the whole answer, and I raised my arms defensively. "Well, it's not like I was going to the zoo every weekend!"

Despite my earlier frustrations with Hardewicke, he was amicable and cooperating with the FBI and the investigation being led. Booth got a call out ahead to prepare the dig team for another visitor and another dive, and Hardewicke got another diver he knew and he cleared out most of the dig site for our ease of access. That didn't change that there was still equipment lying around and construction vehicles and pick-ups, but they were parked and stationary, kept behind orange net plastic fences tied and wrapped around metal posts.

"Accidents happen, you know? Macy and I were prepared for that. But murder! Murder, wow." Hardewicke shook his head like he still couldn't quite process what had happened. We – "we" being Hardewicke, Booth, and I – were walking in a very wide circle around the dive platform on dusty ground, following the trail of cleared land in between piles of equipment and dug-up and moved dirt that had to be half as high as I was tall. The treasure seeker turned so that he was shuffling along sideways, but it afforded him a better view of Booth and I. "Anything I can do to help," he promised.

"Okay, right, we'll talk about that a little later." I had no doubt that Booth would revisit that when we wanted something Hardewicke was unwilling to comply with. "Right now, I wanna get Hodgins down that shaft." He waved towards the dig platform on Hardewicke's right. With the agent between myself and the diver, I didn't even bother trying to look around them both to see.

"Dane McGinnis," Hardewicke started. "He's the best I know," he swore. I could detect the honesty he was conveying and I hoped it was genuine. Diving may seem fun, but it's one hell of a dangerous sport. "He's worked for us for years."

"Agent Booth!" A masculine voice shouted from behind us to draw attention. Booth and I both stopped, and I sighed and turned around sharply on my heel. "Are you Agent Booth?!" I saw who the offender was and immediately spun back around, eyes sweeping up to the sky and steepling my hands in front of my chin, silently recollecting as much scattered patience as I could manage.

The man was dressed as a pirate, with elaborately sewn black, red, and burgundy velvet clothes, complete with a black and white, skull-and-crossbones trifold hat and a dark cravat.

While Booth assessed the man for himself, I opened my eyes again and took a deep breath. Hardewicke caught my eyes and gave a brief, empathetic nod. At least someone shared my sentiments. I turned myself right back around quickly to the five-foot-something man jogging to us and stopping several feet away.

God, he's even wearing buckled black shoes.

Booth chuckled at the getup and assumed the guy was a tourist that happened to be a bit too excited about the police presence. "Sorry, you're gonna have to stay behind the yellow tape," he informed, gesturing for him to shoo off.

"I'm Mayor Ney," the pirate – correction: Mayor – said, huffing from the jog over and a bit out of breath. Booth and I were both taller than him, but his hat's highest point was a bit over my head. I stared at the iconic hat before lowering my eyes to the apparent mayor, having an extremely hard time taking him seriously when he was dressed like he was at a convention. "Your men keep pushing our tourists further and further back!"

I coughed, looking Ney all the way down to his shoes and then back up, and then I looked at Booth, begging him with my expression to do something. "Say something. Please. Something has to be said, and I don't think I'm the best person to say it."

"Mayor?" Booth repeated, surprised. "Wow." He looked the guy up and down, appraising the outfit just as I had, and with a poker face, he continued, "I hope you didn't look like that when they elected you."

"Thank you," I sighed in relief, no longer feeling the overwhelming compulsion to do some serious verbal damage.

Hardewicke deflated visibly and he held out a hand to the mayor, meant as an introduction for Booth and I. "Blackbeard's treasure is what keeps the economy on this little island running," he explained apologetically. "The mayor here gets that… sometimes too intensely."

Ney obviously heard, but he didn't let the minor slight get under his skin. "Hey, I'm not ashamed. I've increased tourism sixty-three percent since I took office, and I can boost it a bit more if the tourists could get a closer look." He fixed Booth with a deliberate and expectant look, like he expected the FBI to care more about his tourism industry than a murder case.

"I don't know if you got the memo," I said slowly, unable to stop myself from taking the easily offered bit. "But this is a crime scene, Captain, not a drama play."

"Blackbeard's curse," Ney sighed, looking longingly over to the tall fence and the small crowd slowly dispersing on the other side. It was mostly people with cameras or hats or sunblock or other things that tourists traveled with. He looked back to Booth. "Macy would have wanted to give a little back to the town that he loved," he tried to prompt.

"You're really not as subtle as you think you are," I expressed to him wryly.

From behind us and to my right, footsteps hurried up at a run, and I flipped around like a switch. I relaxed almost immediately thereafter, feeling a bit silly for being so obviously on edge. It was just another woman dressed in a pirate costume. She was taller than Booth and I by a few inches – very leggy and slim, and her ruffled outfit was a bit provocative, with more reds than dark hues and her neckline cut kind of low, much like her skirt. She also wore stiletto heels and bright red lipstick, which accented her sun-kissed light skin and luscious brunette hair.

"Frank, the police are telling them no pictures!" She objected to the mayor, putting her hands on her hips sassily and pouting in frustration.

"Now, who is this, huh?" Booth asked, visibly fighting with himself over whether or not it was acceptable to snicker at the pair or not. "The pirate queen?" He guessed jokingly.

Ney responded with more attitude, wrapping an arm around the woman's waist possessively and giving Booth a dark-eyed glare. "That's right. My wife, Katie."

I smirked sarcastically at the two of them. It is really hard to take them seriously. Even though he's the mayor and I should probably be a bit wary of irritating the local authority, I couldn't bring myself to actually care as much as I should. "If you really wanna boost belief in the curse, tell everyone the bad view's a part of it." I smiled, sugary sweet and mocking simultaneously. Katie scowled at me.

Booth held out an arm, looking around for the nearest blue-clad police agent and then waving him over. "Will you please escort the pirate and his wench behind the yellow tape?" He commanded with the polite format of a request, emphasizing the modifier for the pirate duo's benefit. "Thank you," he added as the other agent nodded and started trying to shepherd the couple before turning his back to them.

If he was done dealing with it, then I saw no reason to force myself to endure it too, so I shrugged pleasantly at the two and turned abruptly to follow my colleague.

"So, Dane McGinnis." I tested the name on my own tongue and decided it was a cool name. It was easy to say and easy to remember. "He's experienced, right? He knows what he's doing?" Coming off as worried or afraid wasn't what I wanted to do, but there was no way I was letting some clueless maniac take charge of Hodgins' dangerous but thrilling dive.

"I've worked with hundreds. He's the best," Hardewicke assured me sincerely, turning to the right and leading the two of us up the same very steep stairs he'd chased Branson Rose down earlier in the day. He must understand the dangers involved better than most, and he seemed to get where my need for confirmation was coming from.

Dane was already waiting on the platform, going through the motions of preparing the necessary equipment for another dive. He looked to be somewhere in his thirties, sporting a somewhat shadowed look due to an unshaven and windswept appearance that I suspected was deliberate, wearing jeans, sneakers, and a brown sweater.

"I hope this guy knows what he's doing," Dane said to Hardewicke, overlooking Booth and I almost completely. He seemed to complain like it was all-natural, so he probably did it a lot. "It's tight down there."

Hodgins' footsteps thundered with the extra weight from equipment on the stairs as he marched up from behind. I turned to see and stepped back, keeping close to the rail. Taking an accidental dip was not on my agenda today, and while there was space to move around, I didn't particularly feel like taking my chances. Luck doesn't seem to be very much on my side. He was wearing a deep blue wetsuit, cords wrapped around his shoulders from the van that he knew he'd need to bring.

"Avast, ye lubbers!" Hodgins cheered merrily. He looked happier than I'd seen him look in a long time, holding up miscellaneous gear. I had no clue what most of it would do, and if Dane's tone was anything to go by, he wouldn't be up to explaining it to me, so it was just less headache not to ask. Dane surveyed Hodgins through carefully narrowed eyes and he remained silent.

"Dane, let's get him ready," Hardewicke beckoned, walking up behind Hodgins and untangling a yellow hose that had accidentally been twisted while carried over his shoulder.

Dane made a put-upon sigh and he lifted a thick orange cord for Hodgins to see, trailing it around the ring of the clear water in the shaft as he led it to the entomologist to hook him up. "Safety line." He gestured to the hose Hardewicke was adjusting. "Air hose. Either one breaks, you ain't comin' back up."

Hodgins paused only momentarily while adjusting the blue and black wetsuit to raise his eyebrows at Dane, but he didn't seem daunted, just bemused. "You've gotta work on your bedside manner, dude."

Dane's lip curled and he approached to fasten in the safety line securely. "You know what," he said harshly. "I don't want to be responsible for some weekender who bites it down there because he thinks he's better than he is." He stared at Hodgins, several inches on the entomologist making him have to look down to meet the scientist's eyes. He was trying to scare him out of it if it was a bluff; if I wasn't so sure of Hodgins myself, then I might have actually appreciated it, even if he didn't have the same interests.

Hodgins just smirked, pleased with the miniature confrontation, even though he may not ever admit it. "You wanna go down, don't you?" He said knowingly with a sideways nod to the water.

"It's my shaft, okay?" Dane admitted grudgingly. "I've been working it ten years. The feds, they say it's a crime scene, so I can't help." He straightened, fastening in the safety line, and he stared at Hodgins again, doing his own character assessment.

This time, Hodgins knew better than to just reply smartly, and his attitude visibly changed. "You're helping me," he pointed out softly, like he knew it wasn't the same but through it was worth a shot anyway.

"Why does he need the air line?" Booth asked, interrupting the moment and scanning over Hodgins' attire carefully. "Why can't he just use the tank?"

"Because a hundred feet down, the shaft gets a little cozy." Dane peered down into the water. Though it was surprisingly clear, I don't think anyone could have seen all that far through it. Once Hodgins was ten feet under, we probably wouldn't be able to make him out on anything other than the computer monitors that would track his progress and location. "You aren't afraid of a tight squeeze, are you, Doc?"

Hodgins rolled his eyes and he held out a hand to Hardewicke expectantly. "Gloves."

Hardewicke passed over the underwater gloves – they looked thick and uncomfortable, but they should at least keep the entomologist dry. "Just take it slow, okay?" He implored. "Lot of stuff to catch your hose on on the way down."

"Yeah." At least Hodgins acknowledged the danger. "I saw the pictures Rose took."

Dane laughed harshly. "Rose," he echoed the name in distaste. I can't say I blame him, or that I'm surprised. Guys with Rose's attitude, no matter what their socioeconomic class is, just have a tendency of pissing people off. "He never went as far as you're going. No one has." And if that wasn't foreboding, then I don't know what is.

Booth shifted, and I looked to pay attention to him. He's taken it upon himself to make sure I'm always safe, and I'll be damned if I don't repay the favor. Maybe he's safe here, but he doesn't seem comfortable with the prospect of Hodgins taking this dive. Hell, everyone at the Jeffersonian unknowingly signs their names to Booth's "List of People to Protect No Matter How Fervently This List's Existence is Denied."

My suspicions were only confirmed when he shifted again. "Maybe he shouldn't try, you know?" He suggested wearily. "People have died down there. Not just Macy."

"I know." Dane crossed his arms, cocking his head at Booth with the air of someone prepared to take an offensive side. "My brother was one of them." Hodgins' reaction to this was small, but I didn't miss it – he hesitated just a minute while he was fastening the second glove onto his hand.

"I'm going all the way down," Hodgins insisted stubbornly. I think by now it's less about getting accurate samples and more about taking on the challenge. "What's at two hundred feet?" He asked Dane.

Dane shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "We just hit two hundred last week. You're gonna have to tell me."

"Well, I'm ready," Hodgins declared with certainty that almost worried me.

Dane nodded his head once in acceptance. "Okay."

Hodgins picked up the diving helmet and lowered it over his head. It was big, bulky, and looked heavy and awkward. I tried to smirk at how strange it made the scientist look, but even my mocking sense of humor couldn't ease the way my stomach was twisting in knots. The easiest way to tear me down is to go through the people I care about. I'll kill for these people. I've admitted so to Zach and Angela already, although not in so many words. The thought of Hodgins putting himself in unnecessary danger was not a welcome one, but I also understood that it wasn't my place to dissuade him from this.

Besides, Naharon was probably just as dangerous, and yet he's still breathing today.

Booth looked away from Hodgins as Hardewicke double-checked the equipment for a final time to ensure the completion of the gear, instead stepping closer to me. I didn't read too far into it, because I was standing next to the Apple laptop that would have the monitor on it. It had a radar screen up with a long display of the length of the tunnel going down, and once Hodgins was inside, he'd become a red blip on the screen.

It took longer than I was comfortable with for the divers to all decide that Hodgins was good and ready to go, and Dane circled around to the controls. His equipment was near Booth and I, so I took a step back to keep space apart. Booth stepped away to Hodgins and as the entomologist took slow, ridiculously heavy steps to the descending ladder into the shaft, Booth caught his arm lightly but firmly with one hand.

I watched them do one of those things where they talk without words. It looked to me like Booth was offering Hodgins a last opportunity to cop out without losing face, but Hodgins lifted one hand and gave the FBI agent the A.-O.K. sign and Booth let him go, stepping back.

Hodgins stepped backwards onto the top step of the ladder, his feet touching the water, and it struck me instantly how silly the gear made him look. "Dude, you look like the monster that came from the lake in Scooby Doo: Monsters Unleashed," I laughed.

Through the clear glass visor of the helmet, Hodgins stuck his tongue out at me for what he must have taken as an insult and I just laughed and gave him a thumbs-up.

I watched anxiously as he stepped further down until he was mostly submerged. When the water was up to his throat, he let go the ladder and held his arms out to his sides, letting his equipment weigh down and pull him underneath. Booth crossed one arm across his chest and the other alternated between rubbing the back of his neck and grasping tightly at his opposite sleeve. Bubbles erupted from the surface as he was completely swallowed up by the shaft.

I looked away and back to the laptop monitor. Dane stood by the side of the circular shaft, holding coils of a hose in his right arm and unwinding and feeding it into the water slowly as the scientist made his descent. "Your friend had better be as good as he says he is," Dane said across the water to me. I looked up to him, a little surprised he was talking to me without prompting.

I didn't actually know from experience how well Hodgins would do on his own, but I didn't want to think of him down there and not knowing something that he really needed to know, so I changed my stance and wrapped my arms around myself, my fingers digging into my sides protectively. "Just take care of him, got it?" I ordered fiercely.

Dane chuckled. "Hey, no need to tell me. I've lost enough guys already." He looked back down to check on the hose as he uncoiled another long section and let it be pulled loosely over his hand and into the water as it was needed. "So. What happened to you?"

I looked down at myself, confused for a moment. He's still talking to me? I'm not generally one to be stunned when people pay attention to me, but Dane's interest in human interaction with me didn't seem like the same type of attitude he'd demonstrated previously. Still, better not tick him off while Hodgins is spelunking underwater.

"Or do you normally roll out of bed and go straight to work?" He asked, quirking an eyebrow at me mockingly. The slight wasn't meant to be mean, but to maybe egg me into answering.

I looked down to the cast on my wrist, unwilling to let myself delve all the way back into the memories I tried not to remember in detail. "I was stabbed," I answered, short and blunt and honest. "And my wrist was sprained. It was only about a month ago, so I'm wearing pajamas for the elastic."

Dane hummed in a hard to interpret reaction as he unwound the rest of the hose, letting out more than was strictly necessary. It could unwind better on its own now that there was less of it. He crossed to the handheld radio next to the laptop and picked it up, holding it to his ear and twisting the frequency carefully. "Hodgins, you read me?"

"I hear you loud and clear!" Hodgins' voice was a little muffled and a bit grainy from the radio and the helmet, but he sounded happy and safe and that was really all I cared for at the moment.

Hodgins was a red dot that blinked in and out on the computer, moving slowly down a grey grid that grew narrower and wider accordingly. As the side pressed in, I stepped closer to the computer and closer to Booth – not for comfort, because I didn't need the comfort, but I thought maybe he might appreciate it. He's more tactile than I am.

Then again, most people are.

"There's some jagged edges," Dane narrated for Hodgins. "Keep clear of them."

"He's passing the first flood trap," Hardewicke reported from what he could see. Sure enough, on the grid, there was a thicker and darker strip along part of the wall like equipment and extra construction had been done. "We lost our first man there."

On another computer, there was a live feed of what Hodgins could see through a camera in the helmet. To me, it seemed like Hodgins was seeing a lot of greenish-blue water and rocks, but his gloved hand entered the screen and ran down the wall of the tunnel lightly. "There's wood here, below the limestone."

Booth had his eyes stuck on the computer. I think he might have been a bit afraid that if he looked away, he'd miss something important. It's really awesome that, despite the arguments and jesting between himself and the squints, he cares about their – our – safety so much. I hadn't seen him when I'd been kidnapped (because, duh, I had been kidnapped) but according to Brennan and Hodgins, he'd been pretty damn intense.

"Does he make any sense to you?" Booth asked, not specifying whether he was talking to Dane or Hardewicke.

Dane nodded, releasing the inside of his cheek from his teeth. "Yeah. He's passing the site of the first pit collapse."

"It's tight down here," Hodgins reported through the radio, now sounding just a little bit bothered. "There's a lot of debris. I'm not sure if I can squeeze through."

The descent of the red dot slowed significantly, beeping in the same place for a few seconds before I noticed a change in its location. Dane raised his eyebrows, admittedly now surprised by Hodgins' ability. "Hey, this guy swims like a squid!"

Booth frowned and corrected Dane under his breath. "He swims like a squint," he muttered. I nodded in agreement, but my mind wasn't entirely focused on it.

Dane frowned like he wasn't sure he'd heard right and he looked up to Booth for clarification. "What?"

Booth shook his head dismissively, not in the mood to explain or not thinking it was important that Dane understand. "Never mind."

"It's an inside joke," I said briskly to make Dane drop it. The squint joke was Booth's, Hodgins', and mine. Hardewicke and Dane may be temporarily on the same team, but they're not my people.

"Okay," Hodgins reported after a terse moment. I changed my focus over to the visual feed. The shaft was opening up around him again. "I'm clear now."

"Good picture, too," Dane commented longingly, sounding quite a bit envious to me. "We can't get resolution like that."

"Yeah, well, he's a geek who works for the government." Booth wasn't very interested in the resolution quality, and he changed the topic back to what he actually cared about fast enough to let us know that was his intention. "You ever find anything down there?"

Dane's eyes glimmered adventurously, with daring and determination. "Not yet."

"Ten years of finding nothing, and you keep trying?" I couldn't tell whether Booth was admiring the efforts or confused at why they even bothered with the same place anymore.

Dane shook his head, apparently unsurprised by Booth's response to the situation that they were in. "It's all about the search, man," he tried to explain vaguely, but something like this had to take a patience born of passion that he would never really be able to verbalize.

"He's at a hundred and seventy feet," Hardewicke reported in awe. I looked back to the radar screen quickly. He was almost to the bottom. "One-eighty… ninety…" Dane stopped moving altogether. I wasn't even sure he was breathing. He stared like a raptor at prey. It was hard to tell who was most invested. "No one's ever been this deep," Hardewicke whispered. "He's at two hundred."

Through the video, I could see the darkened, murkier ground as Hodgins' feet landed. "Touchdown!" Hodgins cheered. "I am on the bottom. Visibility is… surprisingly good." Clouds of sand puffed up around his legs from the impact, swirling like whirlpools as they slowed and calmed. "Wait a minute – there's something here."

I leaned forwards in anticipation, barely even realizing that I was moving. Hodgins' hands moved on screen to brush away big but surprisingly lightweight pieces of debris in the water. "Holy-" the entomologist cut himself off.

It looked like there was a flash of off-white, which appeared stunningly bright compared to the dark colors that were down in the shaft. He dug his hands in around the rocks and the sand.

"What is that?" Hardewicke asked unsurely, leaning forward in his chair and gripping onto the sides.

"Oh, my…"

"Is that-" Dane started, but he cut himself off as Hodgins cupped his hands underneath what he'd found and raised it up. The sand and material fell off from around it, carrying half by water flow and half by gravity away from what was quite obviously a complete human skull.

"Oh, my goodness," Hardewicke started to shout purely out of exhileration, no longer able to keep himself planted on the chair. He jumped up in thrill and high-fived Dane, who laughed and spun victoriously, reveling in the eventual success of their digging. "It's there!"

Hodgins changed how he was holding it so that he was keeping the cranium up with one hand, and he held the mandible by the back end of the jaw, positioning it directly under the cranium for show. His hands shook very slightly. If anyone was going to be excited about finding it, I would have expected it to be Hodgins, but the entomologist didn't make a sound.

Booth and I, on the other hand, shared a long look before we both looked back to the skull. Either we just found an entire pirate… or we just found another murder victim. It was only when I had to step back that I realized, while fearing for Hodgins' safety and dreading what he'd found, I'd stepped closer to Booth for comfort.