"So, do you remember anything else that could help us out?"

I shook my head, sitting on the foot of my bed in Brennan's and my hotel room. We had a place in an older hotel, so the paint wasn't as nice and furniture wasn't as elaborate, but it was more historical and it was kind of halfway between the hospital and the French Quarter. "I had nightmares last night, but I can't remember anything other than…" …running away, getting knocked down the stairs, Graham's crucified remains hung on the wall like a horrible religious tribute. I shook my head again quickly. They got the idea. "Anyway, I thought sleeping might jog some memories, but it didn't. It…" I sighed. "Harding's right, I could have killed him."

It had been bothering me since the other day. I never would have done it if I were in my right mind, but we'd never recovered the bottle from my Oxycodone and so we had no way of telling if I was high until we got the lab tests back. If I'd been high, would I really have attacked Graham and Brennan? Would I have slaughtered someone for no reason? I didn't know enough about voodoo to make a mojo bag like the one around his neck, but hadn't I been looking into those with Sam because of three sixty-one?

Booth stepped forward, standing up and pacing rather than trying to sit still like Brennan, who was sitting on the edge of her bed facing the window. "Do you remember that?" He asked tersely.

"No," I said, unable to be even a little offended that he was considering it. Still, the moment I denied it, he relaxed, shoulders dropping as he turned his back and continued pacing alongside the window. "Think about it. To me, it seems like Graham was making bad jokes and knocking things over one minute, and the next, I'm waking up bloody and he's crucified to a wall. I may or may not have been with Dr. Brennan, but that doesn't matter, because-"

"-Because neither of us can remember it," Brennan interrupted and continued slowly, her eyes looking downcast. "And Graham is dead, so he can't confirm it." I nodded sadly in agreement with her.

I swallowed. "I mean… maybe I thought she was in danger and went crazy on him. We still don't know what happened to my medicine. Maybe I was high." It seemed really unlike me, but I can't discount anything completely. "I don't want to think I killed him, but I could have."

Booth scoffed. "No, you couldn't." He disagreed steadfastly.

Brennan looked up at the FBI agent. "I don't like it any more than you do," she established, "But you can't possibly know that for certain." She sounded a bit annoyed at him for his stubbornness to believe that I really had nothing to do with Graham's crucifixion or evisceration.

"I just know, okay? I'd bet my professional career on it." Booth snapped edgily, pulling back the blinds to look out the window. As he looked out to the ground several stories below, he added under his breath, "I already did."

"What?" Brennan sat up straight and looked to him in surprise.

"Nothing," he muttered, letting the blinds fall again and pulling the certain back in place.

I stood up quickly, jumping off of my bed. "What the hell did you do?" I demanded, torn between feeling horrified (that he'd be so reckless), grateful (that he really didn't think I would kill anyone), and pissed off (again, that he'd do something so reckless).

"Stop!" Booth held his hands up and raised his voice. It was startling enough for me to pause and let him say what he wanted. "This is the last time and place that you want to be rational, okay?" He reminded me testily. "Let's just be wildly emotional, and assume that you didn't psychotically murder a coworker. You're not a killer," he added more calmly, with the same stony certainty before he looked past Brennan and nodded to the table in between our beds. "What's that?"

"What?" Brennan asked twisting around and shifting to look at her pillows, not immediately seeing what he meant. I sat back down on the edge of my mattress and set my elbows on my knees, doubling over and covering my face with my hands wearily.

"That!"

"…Ew." That garnered a reaction from me and I forced myself to pull up and turn to see. Brennan held a brown mojo bag pulled shut in her palm, picked up from the bedside table. She pulled the fabric open to see inside and shifted it in her hand, looking through the contents.

"Is it another voodoo dumpling?" Booth asked, already frowning in distaste at the cloth bag.

Brennan didn't immediately answer, sifting through the bag with an expression of disgust. "It's… some kind of flesh," she answered slowly. "And these are seashells. Oh, and leather, I think." She added as an afterthought before dipping her fingers in and pulling out a bloodstained white tooth.

"Is that a human tooth?" Booth asked, sticking his tongue out at the bag but staying a good distance away.

"It's a canine," I observed, leaning back just a bit. "It was probably Graham's."

The door to our hotel room slammed in despite that I'd made sure the chain lock was on. I almost yelled, but instead I'd gotten used to sudden action, so I jumped off of the bed, took a step back, and raised my arms in front of me for a fight. The door had been barged open by an entire team of armed police officers, led by Harding. All of them had their guns out, ready to fire at the cue from the detective in charge of them.

Fists aren't going to do anything against bullets. I put my hands up so I didn't seem like a threat and I stepped back again, trying to inconspicuously place myself in between the guns and Brennan. Booth had drawn his gun the moment that the door was kicked open, and though he wasn't about to fire, it was still a present option.

Great. It wasn't rocket science to figure out that they'd gotten their probable cause, otherwise there was no way Harding would open herself up to questioning by storming in with an entire team – and breaking the hotel's door lock in the process. I sighed softly, almost inaudibly.

"Put down your weapon, Agent Booth," Harding commanded, holding her weapon so that it was aimed at me even though her attention was elsewhere.

"Put down your weapon," the FBI agent countermanded, his own firearm trained intently on the potentially trigger-happy detective. "There's no threat from us."

"You're holding a gun on me," Harding deadpanned.

"Yeah, well, you know." Booth would have shrugged if the situation was different, and he waved the fingers of his right hand. I had my head to the side so that I could have them both in my field of vision, but I didn't really want to move any more than that. The officers with her had probably been told of what Harding was convinced I did, and they'd probably shoot if I startled them. "My finger here is not on the trigger. It's the best I can do under the circumstances."

Harding seemed to consider the position she was in. If she opened fire, then she shot at a federal agent as well as Brennan and her suspect. Maybe I was a suspect, but there's still the "innocent until proven guilty" thing. Booth was right about not having his finger on the trigger; while it was a quick fix, it made it seem more like self-defense if he did fire.

Gritting her teeth, Harding clicked the safety back onto her sidearm and tucked it back by her side. "Holster your weapons," she called over her shoulder. As the other officers put their weapons away, Brennan and Booth visibly relaxed. I let my arms lower and felt free to step closer to the adults I actually trusted, and Booth lowered his gun in cooperation.

Harding unclipped handcuffs from her belt next to her holster. Despite that she'd had to call off her dogs – um, gunmen, in this case – she still seemed cocky, which I didn't think would end well for me. "I'm here to arrest Holly Kirkland for the murder of Graham Legiere."

Booth chuckled, shaking his head and beckoning me to step behind him. I stayed near, but I didn't move to take shelter behind him. If she could arrest me, then there's no way I wanted to get him arrested for obstruction. "Whoa, that's not gonna happen."

Harding pulled her handcuffs up and dangled them from the chain link in between the cuffs. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure it is," she returned smugly.

"We told you, Booth," Brennan reminded the agent while she stood behind him.

Both of us spun around to Brennan. I gave her a what gives?! expression while Booth hissed, "Bones, please! Just once in your life, will you be quiet?!" Brennan looked apologetic. She hadn't meant to give them fuel against me, but she had wanted to prove to Booth that we had no proof in my favor.

Harding smirked but tried to cover it up with a sigh. She didn't want us to know that she was amused by the exchange. "Everything you say can and will be held against you in a court of-" she cut herself off in the middle of the Miranda rights when she saw the mojo Brennan was still holding. "What is that?" She was automatically suspicious.

"I found it on our table," Brennan answered honestly, stepping to the side of Booth to hold it out for Harding to take. The detective took it and then passed it behind her to another officer, who opened an evidence bag to put it in.

"Bones!"

"Thank you, Dr. Brennan." Harding said sincerely, bemused. I can see how from the outside Brennan's inadvertent assistance may be pretty damn hilarious, but apparently my character and innocence is in question here, so it's not making me feel too hot either way.

I looked up to the ceiling in frustration that I didn't want to take out on anyone. "You do realize that you're helping them, right?" I asked her in as calm a voice as I could manage, trying to summon patience from someplace deep… deep… in my being.

"What's the probable cause?" Booth asked Harding, also trying to stay clearheaded and calm. If either of us let our judgments get clouded, then there really was no hope of stopping them from taking me into custody. They can only hold me without evidence for seventy-two hours, but Harding used to trust me, so now that she doesn't I can only assume she has evidence – evidence enough to convince a jury, anyway.

"Traces of her blood in Legiere's home, Legiere's blood on her clothing from the clinic." Harding glared at Booth.

I scoffed, raising my shoulders defensively. "We were attacked in that house!" I yelled at her, furious for what she was doing. By that reasoning, Brennan could be guilty, too. Obviously I don't want Brennan in my position, but the fact that she's cherry-picking from the available evidence is really pissing me off. "If you look for it, you'll probably find Dr. Brennan's blood there, too, and Graham's blood on her clothes! How come I was so badly injured if I was the one doing the killing? Think about it, Graham was bigger than me and I'm still recovering from being stabbed. Your whole case is based off of selectively-chosen evidence!"

"It wouldn't be the first time someone got the jump on a stronger person." Her answer was even and, unfortunately for me, reasonable. There wasn't any way that I could think of to get out of this without making myself seem even more suspect. She looked to Booth. "Now, please, step away from my collar."

Booth shoved his hands in his pockets, agitated. "I'm afraid I can't let that happen-"

I stepped closer to Harding and held up my wrists with a long-suffering sigh.

"Kid!" Booth yelped, smacking himself in the forehead. "Geez!"

"I'd really prefer if this room didn't become an open fire zone. Paying for the damage seems like a waste of money." I glowered at Harding, who pretended not to notice while she slapped a cuff on my right wrist and let it click locked, swinging the other back up to go over my other wrist. "Watch it, lady!" It was past the point of seriously hurting, but it was still aggravating. She knew I'd been wearing a cast until the other day. "Sprained wrist!"

Harding was not being hospitable to me, but I still didn't feel very uncomfortable. Compared to the FBI interrogation rooms, the detective's office was downright homely, with colors other than grey and black, a padded chair, a desk, and actual windows that I could see out the precinct through. While I was in the reasonably comfy chair, Harding was pushed up to sit on the edge of her desk facing me with her legs to the side. Though she was higher than me, I just felt a mild buzz of aggravation.

"Where were you between the hours of eleven P.M. and three A.M. on Wednesday night and Thursday morning?" Harding drilled, picking at a loose thread on her slacks to vent her frustration. I really don't think I was supposed to pick up on her frustration when she was trying to project a cool, in control persona.

I leaned back in the chair and crossed my arms, letting myself appear totally relaxed just to piss her off. She's the one that gave me the semi-comfortable seat, and it's not like she can press charges for being at ease. With my typical snarky attitude, I looked up at her and dryly responded, "I'd say 'I plead the fifth,' but I've said it so many times it doesn't even sound like a real phrase anymore."

Harding had left the door of the office open which, as it turned out, meant anyone could barge in on a whim. I first recognized Booth, but then processed that he was being led by another woman I didn't recognize. Despite being both a little overweight and an older woman, probably around her fifties, she moved quickly and with more energy than even Booth sometimes did, and she commanded a presence and attention, having a certain sort of bossy, controlling attitude. Her hair, dark ginger and almost brown, was curly and short, and she wore long earrings. Her shirt was plain black and over it she was wearing a white jacket with bronze and salmon design sewn elaborately over the ivory.

"I hope you've kept your mouth shut," she said, levelling a glare at me that seemed more of a natural greeting than a 'you've-wronged-me' sentiment.

Still, I frowned and leaned in the opposite direction, looking her up and down and trying to figure out how to react to her overall. "I hope you brought a dictionary, because this woman has no idea what 'amnesia' means." I pointed to Harding to indicate. Being snappish always worked for me and if she was going to be rude, I had no reason not to return the favor.

"Hey…" Booth started, but then he looked between both of us and shook his head in resignation, sighing. "Holly Kirkland, Caroline Julian. She's your lawyer. She's from the U.S. Attorney's Office. She's the best there is."

Harding raised her eyebrows at Booth while Caroline pulled out another chair from the desk, angled it in my direction, and made herself comfortable without the detective's assent. "You found a prosecutor to defend her?" I swear, the detective was almost ready to laugh. I shot a questioning look at Booth. Even I know that if Harding pushes fast enough, then I can be sentenced to jail by any reasonable jury. Somehow a prosecutor seems like an unlikely choice. I need a lawyer, yeah, but why not one that actually works for the defense? Like Amy Morton, who I'd become friends with when she brought Howard Epps back to Booth's attention. "Interesting tactic."

I continued to survey Caroline uncertainly. I felt that since Booth seemed convinced she could help, I shouldn't just automatically write her off, but at the same time, her job is to work cases like this against the defendant – who is, in this case, me.

"If this is all some long-winded plan to get rid of me," I started flatly, addressing Booth without looking up at him as the FBI agent settled between Caroline and I and yet back out of the way. "You could have just told me to get lost." Then I looked up and met the prosecutor's eyes, answering the sort-of question that had been posed earlier. "For the most part of the last hour I've been sitting here, repeating 'I plead the fifth.'"

"Good, she's not a complete fool." Caroline nodded, seeming pleased with the assessment, and reached into a black handbag, opening it up and letting one of the straps slide off of her shoulder.

"I'm not a fool at all," I objected, already getting offended again. I glared at Booth. "Did you tell her I'm a fool?"

Booth held up his hands like he knew the messenger – or, more accurately, the deliverer of the lawyer – would most likely be shot unless he treaded very carefully. "Why would I do that?"

"Because I said Jesus is a zombie," I answered with the first thing that came to mind and gave a little shrug.

Booth groaned, tipping his head back and pinching the bridge of his nose like he was warding away a headache. "Jesus is not a zombie, Holly." The way he carefully emphasized every word made me think he was willing to argue this point until the universe ended. "I thought we'd been over this." Willing to, just… maybe not all that eager to.

"What's that?" Caroline interrupted, now holding a folder that she'd gotten from her back. She waved with the folder at the evidence bag next to Harding's leg. Said detective was watching the interactions curiously.

I sighed loudly so that everyone would be completely aware of how done I was with this. "It's a voodoo mojo planted in Dr. Brennan's and my hotel. It wasn't there yesterday morning, so someone must have broken in and planted it for framing."

"I stand corrected." Caroline was full of sass, and even though right now she wasn't being very nice to me, I found that it was a quality I admired. What does that say about me, huh? "Jeffersonian intern, FBI consultant, early graduate… all that and still a fool."

"Really?" I snapped. "We're going to go through this again?"

Caroline ignored my argument and she looked up at Harding dismissively. "This interview is over, Rose. I need to speak with my client alone under the sixth." The sixth amendment guaranteed legal counsel to suspects at all stages of criminal proceedings. I was never planning on being a lawyer, but I'd been sure to memorize the bill of rights as well as learn to cite important rights I might want to know.

Harding held up her hands in a surrender. "Of course," she allowed, sliding off the edge of her desk and leaving her own office. "It's nice seeing you again, Caroline," she called over her shoulder as she left.

Booth waited until she was out of earshot and then he shoved his hands in his pockets, leaning down over the back of my chair. I shifted out of the way to one side so I felt less like my personal bubble was being encroached on. "Okay, kid, what's she been asking you?"

"Mostly my whereabouts on Wednesday which, of course, I can't answer." That probably frustrated me more than anything else so far. I'm made up of my memories. Without my memories, I wouldn't have anything molding me into the person I am now, and while I admit I'm pretty screwed up in some ways, I'm also really proud of myself in others. I'm being deprived of one of the most innate rights people have – their own memories and experiences. "I've already told you, I've been citing the constitutional right not to incriminate myself."

Caroline leaned forward, slapping the file down against her thighs. "You sew those lips together, girl," she instructed sternly. "Saying that's like an absolute. Now she's even more convinced you're guilty. She just wants to close the case as quickly and easily as she can, and you are making it Christmas time for her."

"Oh, right, because I had so many other viable options!" I retorted fiercely, even more offended at the thought that I may have been doing it on purpose.

"Okay, listen!" Booth called for attention again and though both Caroline and I were irritated by him, he continued as if he wasn't in the line of fire. "There's no way that Holly could've killed Legiere. I mean, it's… it's…" He seemed to have a hard time coming up with an actual reason. I raised a single eyebrow at him impatiently, and he waved at me with both hands emphatically. "It's just not her! I mean, look at her!"

Caroline did so and I cocked my head at him, remembering exactly what I looked like. "Booth," I started, exasperated. "I look like I've gone three rounds in an underground fighting ring!"

Caroline seemed to agree. "I am doing you a favor taking this case, Booth," she reminded him wearily. "But as the lady cop says, I'm a prosecutor! As it stands now, I could try this case in my P.J.'s and still get a conviction."

I smiled sarcastically. "Thanks for the vote of confidence." I huffed and shifted, crossing one leg over the other. "Shouldn't you at least give the impression of knowing my background before you start making decisions about my case?"

"Holly!" Booth whined, looking down at me and pleading for me to just let Caroline do her thing. I wasn't willing to bend to him this time. I trusted his judgment, yes, but I wanted to know who I was trusting by extension. Nothing against him, but the last time I trusted his judgment beyond a doubt, I was kidnapped and nearly murdered horrifically, so I know better than most people that being safe is far better than being sorry and bleeding to death in an abandoned warehouse.

Caroline, however, was annoyed at having her methods challenged, and she definitely wasn't afraid to let me know that. "Fine," she said, giving me another glare and tapping one hand on the folder on her lap. Looking over it for just a moment, I saw my name on the tab. Kirkland, Holly. Oh… great. "Stop me when I get something wrong. Seventeen, graduated high school at fifteen, a long, long list of school disciplinary records-"

"Is it a crime to defend myself from idiots now?" I asked defiantly. Yeah… I'd been that kid in school, the one that got into trouble and didn't give a damn what anyone thought. It wasn't from a desire to be in trouble or not follow rules, but I really had a sort of 'take-no-abuse-but-plenty-of-names' attitude, and that went beyond just looking after myself. I hated people who victimized others no matter what the reason, and I usually got involved in whatever was going on if I wanted it to stop.

The attorney continued as if I hadn't interrupted to justify myself. "-Testified in the court case of Martin Davis's murder and ruled innocent, testified as an expert witness in the court case of Margaret Schilling, hospitalized for several weeks after being stabbed, the highest number of foster homes that I have ever seen-"

"I have my reasons," I muttered, fidgeting for a second.

"Shot an unarmed man!"

I jerked rigidly upright in the chair. "We're still on that?!" I almost yelled my protests before I remembered where I was and made myself talk quieter. In the beginning, it had been kind of funny that no one seemed willing to let it go despite the circumstances and the results; now, though, it only ever got on my nerves. "He was trying to set Dr. Brennan and I on fire!"

Booth took a deep breath and gave a loud sigh. "Alright, just… just arrange bail for us, Caroline, so we can get out of here," he requested tiredly, covering his eyes with his hand.

Caroline stood up. "Sure," she agreed quickly, "Sure. Don't want to get this one mad at me." It was meant as a jab at me. Though not cruel, I still got the point of it.

In response, I jerked forward and hissed like a cat to bother her before sinking back into the chair, giving myself a moment of not being given a hard time before having to get up and do something else stressful. The exchange wasn't mean, it just sort of was, and I had kind of enjoyed being able to vent and knowing that I'd get back whatever I gave without doing any harm.

Booth shook his head and sighed again, dragging his hand down his face and starting to pace back and forth in the office. "Should've known putting the two of you in the same room would be a bad idea," he grumbled.

Sam, the one with the voodoo knowledge, went out with us to the jambalaya restaurant for lunch. Although Booth, Brennan, and I placed orders with the intent to stay and reenergize, Sam passed when the waiter asked what he wanted. Though he was polite, he also made it clear that he was only here to help us until he returned from his break to the hospital.

We got a table sort of in the middle of the corner restaurant, but we were near enough to the doors for me to be a little more comfortable with it. Caroline had bailed me out of the office within an hour, and now we were just trying to find our killer before Harding found anything more she could use against me.

"What? A human tooth?" Sam frowned deeply, both surprised and a little bit bothered.

Booth nodded, rolling his eyes. "Yeah." It was a square-shaped table, and I was across from Sam with Booth and Brennan on either side of me, an arrangement that I found I liked. "There was some kind of… uh… some flesh, some… fabric."

"Seashells," I supplied, remembering the soft clinking of those in the mojo bag before Harding had confiscated it.

Sam hummed, his voice deep in his throat. "It sounds like… to make you forget."

Booth shook his head at Brennan across the table. "Somebody doesn't want you to know what happened to John Doe three sixty-one," he told her, and she scowled across the table at him. I half expected one of them to kick the other under the table, so I drew both of my legs further back under my own chair, hooking my ankles around the wooden front legs.

"We haven't been cursed," I objected, giving Booth a long look to communicate don't piss off Brennan, it'll only make our lives more miserable. "We're amnestic. There is a huge difference."

"Well, you forgot a whole day." That seemed like a good enough reason for Booth to make the conclusion of a spell or a bewitchment, and he smirked like he'd won the argument. Obviously I couldn't counter it, because I have no way of knowing what exactly caused the memory loss. I threw him a bitchy glare to let him know that I in no way appreciated it, and then contemplated kicking him under the table myself before deciding that I was bruised enough.

"The spirits don't need you to believe in them." I watched Sam carefully as he rose from his chair and pushed it back in. Somehow, that seemed like a caution more than a statement of faith. "They believe in you." He paused, looking us over. Booth and Brennan were having a silent exchange. "See you back at work, huh?"

When no one objected, Sam left the table. Booth only raise a hand to halfheartedly wave goodbye, but he was distracted by something else and his mind was elsewhere.

His head certainly came back into the game when the waiter brought our food out. I leaned back so that he could set Brennan's plate in front of her before I got my very own dish, a Cajun recipe for chicken with spices, breadcrumbs, and fettucine. The foster homes I lived in didn't usually have the same favorite tastes, so I learned to like a lot of different entrees. There are some things I will put my foot down on (like escargot), but I'm generally okay with trying most foods, especially if they location is known for them.

We started to eat lunch in silence that probably felt comfortable to Brennan and a little less so for Booth, who's naturally more inclined to converse when around other people. For myself, the awkwardness level was generally determined more by their attitudes, but I was hungry so I was getting over it fast.

Brennan put her fork down on her plate with no advance warning that we were going to start talking. "How'd we get away?" She asked, looking first at Booth, then to me. "Graham got killed. It takes a lot of power to stab knives all the way through a person. We got away." I shared a look with Booth, trying to decide how to answer. There was something bothering her, and figuring out which angle she was asking from would help address the issue. She'd probably been wondering about this since we found Graham's body. "How'd we do that?"

"You know, Bones, all the things you do… the martial arts, the marksmanship, the, uh, assaults…" Booth started to list them in no particular pattern that I knew of before he gestured to me with his silverware. "And can't forget that Holly shot someone…"

He was grinning slightly, so I knew he was teasing because it usually bothered me, so I played along and huffily put my fork down. It made both of the adults smile and I mock glared at Booth before leaning forward and reaching for my water glass to hide that I was about to start grinning, too.

"It's just…" Booth paused and sighed softly, looking across the table. I looked between the two of them and then leaned back as far in my chair as I could, holding my glass to me instead of putting it back on the table. I felt like they were having a moment. "You're the type of women that fight. Maybe they didn't expect it. Maybe they thought some kind of magic could hold you."

"I don't believe in magic," Brennan reminded him.

"Exactly." Booth smiled at her. "You're a surprising woman. Sometimes, that's enough for getting away." Brennan looked away from him and laughed, earning herself another grin from the FBI agent.

She looked back in time to see the expression. "Why are you so nice to me?"

Booth actually considered this to give her an accurate and honest answer instead of some joking reason. I could see him thinking through what it was he wanted to say as his attitude sobered. "Because… because they think they get away with it."

Brennan didn't get it at first, and while I didn't put myself in the middle of their conversation, I did watch Booth with a curious tip of my head. "What?" She asked.

Booth looked over the table at her in complete seriousness, no longer joking. It was an interesting transition to watch, and it was even more interesting to see them interact without the veils of sarcasm or agitation. I felt like I was glimpsing at what they might be like together if I hadn't met them and, however inadvertently, changed their dynamic.

"They burn their victim, they blow them up, they toss them in the ocean, they bury them in the desert, they… they throw them to wood chippers." That was a reference to a case we'd had right before Kenton's betrayal. "Sometimes, you know, years go by. They relax, and they start living their lives like they didn't do anything wrong. Like they didn't spend somebody else's life in order to get what they got. They think they're safe from retribution.

"But you… you make those bastards unsafe." Brennan had a look of dawning realization. "That's why I'm nice to you."

The anthropologist seemed to be only one radioactive isotope away from glowing. "I couldn't do that without you, Booth," she credited modestly, seeming surprised by the sincerity.

"Yeah," he agreed, meeting her eyes and giving her the 'look-at-me,-I'm-an-adorable-superhero-for-society' smile. "So, you should be a little nicer to me, huh?"

Brennan smiled thoughtfully. She seemed to actually be considering it, and because Booth had meant it as a joke, the degree of seriousness she'd taken it with made him laugh. "I really should," she decided.

"I walk in on something?" Caroline seemed to have come out of nowhere, but I wasn't entirely stunned that she'd found us. Booth had probably agreed to keep her updated on our location, since I was technically still under threat of prosecution. She threw a short stack of papers, some clipped and others stapled, down on the table where Sam used to be sitting and pulled out the chair for herself, holding up an arm for a waiter's attention as she was sitting down. "Beignet and a café," she ordered.

"Yes, ma'am," someone answered automatically.

Caroline brought her hand down heavily on the papers in front of her just as I dropped my eyes down to read what they were. "Hospital records," she said, answering the unspoken question from all three of us. "The tox screens were negative."

"That…" I shook my head quickly, reaching up to the sides of my head to comb my hair back with my fingers. "No, that can't be right," I denied, feeling my heart begin to beat a little bit faster. How else could we have forgotten so much? None of our functions are impaired, so any concussions either of us may have had probably weren't bad enough to cause amnesia… right? "Oxycodone? L.S.D.? Valium? G.H.B.?"

"No Rohypnol? No ketamine?" Booth asked, sounding calmer than I was although expressing distress on his face more clearly. I think at this point we were both just calling out whatever date-rape drugs we could think of.

Caroline shook her head to all of them firmly. "Nothing but a touch of alcohol-"

Booth turned back on me, suddenly seeming bigger and sterner. "Why were you drinking alcohol?"

I threw my hands up defensively. "I don't know! Dr. Brennan probably drank some wine or something with Graham, and I…" I glanced down at my plate, at a loss for where I would have consumed any, but then it hit me like an epiphany and I smiled, glad that at least that was out of the way. "I probably got it from my food. Some entrees are cooked or sautéed with wine. Most of the alcohol gets cooked out, but sometimes it's possible enough was left to be picked up on a tox screen."

Caroline cleared her throat to gather attention again. I guess she didn't like that we'd sort of interrupted her and her findings. "Bottom line is," she continued as if she hadn't been stopped. "It wasn't enough to affect a baby on either of them. A jury is never going to believe this amnesia story."

If it weren't for the plates and glasses still on the table, I'd have slammed my forehead down on the surface repeatedly. As it was, I had to content myself with letting my head drop forward and moaning pitifully at the reminder.

Booth groaned similarly. "But it's true."

"Maybe this is true, too." Caroline pulled the chair forward closer to the table and leaned over her empty placemat to Brennan. "Legiere tried to rape you," she stressed for emphasis before leaning back and adding, "He was a notorious horn dog." She waved to me with one hand, indicating that this was where I came in. "Say the female Booth tried to protect you, we claim self-defense, cop a plea, and she's out in three years."

"Sounds great!" I enthused, sounding entirely sincere until I let the grin drop off of my face and I glared at the prosecutor. "Except for the part where I'm found guilty. Also," I added more bitingly, hoping that I sounded about as prickly as a cactus to completely express my lack of appreciation. "My name is Kirkland."

Booth took a deep breath, then sighed, put-upon, resigned, and determined all at once. He shook his head once and pushed his plate forward a few inches, appetite gone. "Nah. I don't care what it looks like or how you're reading the evidence, Caroline – she didn't do it."

He was looking at my lawyer when he said it, but he just sounded so certain that I looked at him and smiled softly, immediately ducking my head and looking down before Brennan or Caroline could see. It was an indescribably great feeling to know that someone trusted me that much and that, despite all of the evidence at me, he still has total faith that I'm innocent – especially when he's been dead-set against suspects in other cases for a hell of a lot less.

"Could be that's true, Seeley." Caroline met eyes with Booth and looked away long enough to motion at me over the table, then went back to the FBI agent. "You vouch for her, that's good enough for me." She leaned back over and her sleeve accidentally hit some of the papers, sending them sliding over each other and into view. "But, cherie, this looks bad!" She told me. I didn't miss the French term – a feminine endearment – but didn't hurt myself trying to analyze it. "All you've got on your side is proof that the two of you were at the crime scene and got roughed up. These pictures from the clinic, these x-rays-"

"My wrist," Brennan interrupted, leaning pretty far over to the side to try to look at an x-ray copy that Caroline had accidentally freed. It was a close image of white on dark grey, a bit fuzzy around the edges in that half-clear way x-rays usually are, of the radius, ulna, and the lower half of the wrist. On the paper, I could see the shaded spaces in between the smaller bones. Cool. "The doctor was wrong, he said this was a Colles fracture from a fall." She was holding up her right wrist almost in question but was glued to the x-rays. Caroline got bothered by the way she was leaning so close and pushed the paper closer to the anthropologist. "This break shows surface trauma on the outside of the bone. This was either defensive or someone slammed my wrist into something."

It was pretty easy to understand – the difference in the force distribution would cause a change in how the bone fractured. I pointed to her over the table, asking, "Like I did to Epps, right?" Howard Epps had been a psychopath on death row, and after playing me as a chess piece, he made the mistake of touching me. At the slightest hint of anything that could be construed as assault, I grabbed his forearm, stood up, and wrenched his arm around to slam his wrist down onto the edge of the table. Brennan nodded in confirmation, looking at her actual wrist like she should have seen the mistake before it was even made.

Caroline propped one elbow up on the edge of the table and leaned her cheek against her closed fist. "Maybe because people were trying to stab him in the heart with a knife?" She suggested dully. I glared at her again for that and quickly defended myself.

"No, that's impossible. If I'd already stabbed him – which I didn't!" I hurried to reestablish, keeping it purely hypothetical. The if should have done that job already, but with a lawyer who was also a prosecutor, it was probably best to be extra certain she knew that I wasn't saying anything that could be mistaken for an admission. "But if I had, then he wouldn't have been able to slam her wrist on anything." I felt very proud of myself for coming to this conclusion.

Caroline's rapt attention was suddenly fixated and she let her elbow drop off the edge of the table, sitting upright. "I like this story. What else?"

I looked at Brennan. While I'm good with forensics, she's clearly better at it since she's had actual training – although I'm interning at the Jeffersonian, it's not as much for my forensics training as it is for my scores and references, the previous cases working as testaments to my usefulness rather than any class scores. Somehow, Goodman had pulled some strings and used my reputation as a bolster for the administration board to approve of the paperwork.

"There's the mojo bag," Booth tried to offer, shrugging slightly. "I mean, someone was trying to put forgetting spells on them so they didn't remember what really happened."

"Booth," Brennan started, exasperated and frustrated.

"Hey, I can work with that. This is New Orleans." Caroline shushed her. As much as it bothered Brennan, we knew that I wasn't responsible for crucifying Graham, and anything we had to sway a jury should be grabbed at, not second-guessed. Until we had more proof, we couldn't afford to be too picky. Brennan's phone started to ring in her pocket as Caroline twisted around in her seat to call, "And where is my beignet?"

"Brennan." After answering, she pulled her phone back and pressed the button to activate the speakerphone and held it to the side of the table for everyone close enough to hear.

Zach's voice was on the other end of the connection, a bit satisfied and proud. "John Doe three sixty-one is named Rene Mouton."

I picked up the fork and speared some fettucine, going back to my lunch. Might as well eat while I've got the food, right? Besides, who knows what's next – maybe I'll end up being accused of crucifying the restaurant's owner, Peter LaSalle.

"How can you be sure?" Brennan asked with a little bit of confusion. Other than that she seemed not to be second-guessing her graduate's work.

"I looked for something that wasn't there, which turned out to be a shunt channel." I know that Zach was trying to explain, but if I hadn't known what a shunt channel was, then he would have only served to confuse me even more.

"Good work," Brennan praised, while Booth made a face like 'what-the-hell-did-he-just-say.'

"You understood that?" I hadn't realized that Angela was a part of the conversation, too, although I wasn't displeased by it. After being gone for almost a week, I was starting to really feel the absence of Angela, Hodgins, and Zach. Oh, no, I'm getting codependent…

"All Zach had to do was cross-check with D.M.O.R.T.," Brennan shared with Angela, who didn't immediately respond, so I assumed that that had answered her question.

"I only thought of it because of Hodgins." Zach admitted.

"Go team, right?" I asked in between mouthfuls.

Then Hodgins joined. The other half of the team was all probably crowded around a phone, all listening and checking up. "I can discern particulates on the x-ray, but I have no way of telling what they are."

"Hm… some kind of dirt?" Brennan suggested, trying to be helpful.

Hodgins didn't take it that way. "Okay, everybody." He was tense and sounded about ready to strangle someone, if he hadn't mimed it already. "The word 'dirt' means nothing here in the lab, scientifically."

I shouldn't have found his aggravation so amusing, but really, he was getting worked up about the word 'dirt' instead of a more specific label. "Careful," I cautioned. I'd gotten a pretty good idea of how loudly I had to talk for Brennan's speakerphone to pick up my voice from different distances, and I knew that I didn't have to talk over everyone else in the restaurant. "Don't give yourself an aneurysm."

"Any progress on the design that was pressed into the pelvic bone?" While Brennan continued asking for updates, Caroline looked bored like she'd heard it all before – maybe she had, in one way or another. Aren't a lot of murder cases the same in formula, but different in who's, when's, why's, where's, and how's?

"I've tried three different computer programs." Booth whistled softly, out of range of the phone. Angela's programs were the best of the best. She had thousands and thousands of dollars' worth of equipment and software gained over the time she'd spent at the Jeffersonian, between Medico-Legal lab grants and government funding. If she'd tried three and still couldn't find it, then maybe it wasn't a good idea to bank on that particular lead. "I fed in the information to multiple impact scenarios, but this isn't going to work on x-rays. I need the actual remains."

"We're looking for them as hard as we can," Brennan vowed, wincing apologetically for not being able to just ease her friend's troubles and hand over the corpse as they talked.

"Or, better still, you can just forget the whole thing and come home." It wasn't the hopefulness in Angela's tone that struck a chord with me; it was the word home. I actually have something like a home now – living with Brennan, working with my team, and building a more familial relationship with Booth in the meantime without any one thing weighing too heavily. I do want to go back to that.

Brennan just gave her plate another little push, just done with her food, and I almost pouted that I was the only one who was actually planning on finishing my lunch. Way to make me the odd one out. "Don't worry," she assured calmly. "Booth got Holly a lawyer and she made bail."

"Bail?" Zach echoed after, in that tone of voice that, from him, I don't hear very often – stunned to the point of being unable to come up with any of those big, fancy words he likes.

"Bail?" Evidently, Angela shared Zach's sentiments. "For what?"

"Lots of not-nice things," I told them truthfully over the phone.

"I told you," Brennan tried to stress with more command. "Don't worry."

"Dr. Brennan's doctor screwed up and now we have some proof to refute the murder charge," I called cheerfully, grinning just as I imagined their reactions to that part of the story. I had let it slip on purpose just to have some fun toying with them without hurting anyone, although I'd probably be drilled about it when we got back… home.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I had only heard Hodgins use that somewhat panicky voice when he was either freaking out about something or suddenly had reason to fear for someone's safety. "Murder charge?!"

"Yeah." I confirmed nonchalantly, shrugging my shoulders like I didn't care. "Apparently Booth isn't the only person destined to arrest me for homicide charges."

There was just a moment of silence before Angela sighed so loudly that it was audible, even to us. "The next plane." She said, saying it more like a command than anything else. "Okay? The next plane, or I'm coming down to drag you back myself. By your ears, if necessary."

I made a face and reached up to tug on my ear lightly, already guessing that it would not be a very pleasant journey back if Angela managed to make good on that promise.

"Everything's fine," Brennan tried to reassure her again, but the little bit of alarm on her face was making her speak faster and prepare to hang up quickly. "We're healing up satisfactorily and we just found out that Holly wasn't high. Bye for now." She hung up on the call before Angela, Hodgins, or Zach could ask for clarifications or threaten our ears again, leaving the four of us looking around the table at each other and wondering what to do next.

"At least there is a bright side," I reminded them, trying to be the optimist for once and… not actually thinking that it suited me. Still, I threw my fist in the air victoriously and cheered, "I wasn't high!"

The restaurant quieted down again and I got a lot of funny looks from the patrons. Booth snickered quietly, Caroline surveyed me as if trying to determine whether or not I was serious, and Brennan was smirking. I swear to God, she was amused at the spectacle I'd made of myself.

I was beginning to think I got the urge to slam my head onto tables a little bit too frequently.