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“The Girl with the Curl”

Episode 2x07

Written By: Karine Rosenthal

Directed By: Thomas J. Wright

Transcribed By: Sinkwriter

Disclaimer: The characters, plotlines, quotes, etc. included here are owned by Hart Hanson, all rights reserved. This transcript is not authorized or endorsed by Hart Hanson or Fox.




(Exterior – Washington, D.C., Municipal Water Treatment Plant, Daytime. Pan across the wide area of catwalks that crisscross over the water and its filtration systems. FBI agents and plant workers are milling about the area, conversing and working together. DR. TEMPERANCE BRENNAN and SPECIAL AGENT SEELEY BOOTH walk along the bright orange metal walkway toward the site where a body has been found.)


DISPATCH: (over radio) Coroner Van Three, what’s your E.T.A.?


(Radio chatter)


BOOTH: They found the victim in the filtration system. Just, you know, some bones, and nobody knows what to make of ’em.


BRENNAN: (pulling on bright blue exam gloves) I mean, look at this. Millions of tax dollars are spent to clean and treat tap water and yet people spend billions on bottled water.


BOOTH: (holds up the commercial bottle of water he’s been carrying) Well, it’s cleaner. Look, it comes from a clean mountain stream.


BRENNAN: Yeah, which contains fecal matter from animals.


BOOTH: (peers at the contents of his water bottle) There’s no … bones in it, though, is there? Don’t want that in your water. (tosses it into a nearby garbage can)


PLANT SUPERVISOR: Excuse me. Um, do you know how long this is gonna take? Department wants to know when I can get back on line.


(Cut to a shot of the decomposed human remains, mostly skeletal, as laid out on a bright blue plastic sheet)


MAN: (voice heard in the distance) Bag that and mark it.


BRENNAN: Any way to determine where the body originated?


PLANT SUPERVISOR: Water comes here through pipelines that travel through five different states. That’s … why I -- I called the feds in.


BOOTH: Great. How many miles of pipe?


PLANT SUPERVISOR: (hesitates) About … eighteen hundred.


BOOTH: (not deterred) ’Kay, I’m gonna need a schematic of the entire system … as soon as you can.




BOOTH: Yeah. (turns back to Brennan as the supervisor exits) Bones?


BRENNAN: (examining the skeleton) Well, swirl treatment sped the rate of decomp. Death was most likely less than three months ago. (she pauses to look up at Booth with a grave expression) The sacrum is small, still developing.


BOOTH: (solemn, realizing) A kid.


BRENNAN: A little girl … about … eight to ten years old.


(Booth looks out over the expanse of the treatment plant, troubled -- how the hell did a little girl end up here?)


(Cut to: Interior – Jeffersonian – Medico Legal Lab – Platform. Brennan and her assistant ZACK ADDY are hunched over a metal table, examining the remains. DR. JACK HODGINS stands on the other side of the table, while Booth stands at the foot of the table, both men watching and waiting.)


BOOTH: Hey, any luck with the cause of death?


ZACK: Eh … Postmortem trauma makes assignation of cause difficult.


BOOTH: (makes a face) Great. “No” would have been just fine.


(Close-up of the skeleton, as Brennan studies it)


BRENNAN: There are bands of discoloration on the ribs. Cam might find out why with a tox screen.


HODGINS: I’d like those clothes as soon as I can get ’em. Lots of crusty bugs and slime.


BRENNAN: (smiles slightly at his terminology) All yours. (Hodgins smiles back, as the sound of an I.D. badge is heard being swiped in the background) Zack, spend some time with the teeth. They should be more discolored.


(DR. CAMILLE SAROYAN enters the area, coming up to the table to stand in between Hodgins and Booth)


CAM: Everything okay here?


BOOTH: (takes an immediate step away from Cam, his voice overly casual) Yeah. Sure. Hey. (Brennan frowns slightly, glancing up from her work to peer at Booth curiously) You know? How’s things?


CAM: (calmly, just as casual, with a mild smile) You know, murder and stuff. Just another day at the office. How ’bout you?


(Booth folds his arms across his chest, avoiding eye contact)


BOOTH: Same old, same old. (Cam glances at Hodgins, who is watching both Booth and Cam with mild amusement; Booth keeps talking, his gaze firmly planted on the remains) Listen, the bureau’s, ah, running location checks for registered pedophiles in the area, but we can’t do much until we, uh, you know, I.D. the girl.


CAM: (glances at Booth before turning her attention to Hodgins) I’m running DNA on the hairs I pulled from the skull. (As forensic artist ANGELA MONTENEGRO joins everyone at the table, Cam shakes her head) There’s something funky about it. The roots confirm brown hair -- the blonde is from oxidized thiols evident in the hair shaft.


(Brennan straightens from where she was hunched over, examining the body, and Hodgins looks to Cam, his expression turning serious)


HODGINS: Her hair was bleached?


BOOTH: (incredulous) Wait. Come on, what nine-year-old dyes her hair?


ANGELA: Well, that might explain why my sketch isn’t getting any hits from the missing children’s database. (she gazes sorrowfully at her sketch pad, which holds the drawing of a fresh-faced, smiling, brown-haired girl)


BRENNAN: Zack, look at the remains again with a focus on any physical anomalies that could hamper identification. (Zack nods at her)


CAM: (gestures in the direction of her office) I’ve got results cooking, so --


BOOTH: (still avoiding eye contact with Cam, as she walks away) Sure. Yeah, see you later. (Hodgins and Angela exchange amused, knowing glances until Booth glares at Hodgins) Don’t you have … work to do?


HODGINS: (not intimidated) Don’t you?


(Booth mock-laughs)


BOOTH: Right. (nodding, as the unamused smile leaves his face) Right.


(Hodgins watches with a grin, and Angela tries not to laugh, as Booth walks away)


(Cut to: Cam’s office and exam area. Cam and Hodgins are standing at a metal table, going over evidence.)


CAM: (handling a tweezers, placing bits of tissue on a tray) I should be able to run a tox screen with the tissue left on her clavicle.


HODGINS: The scrapings that I took from the cheek and eye socket contain propylene glycol, fragrance, dyes, and lanolin. (he holds a test tube containing tiny bits of the material)


CAM: (surprised) She was wearing makeup?


BRENNAN: (enters the room with a small metal tray and sets it down on a rolling cart, bringing it over for the other two scientists to see) I was going to use dentition to narrow down the age range, but look …


(Close-up on the jawbone of the skeleton. Cam and Hodgins lean in to watch as Brennan pushes against one of the teeth; an artificial tooth pops off, exposing a smaller, natural tooth underneath.)


CAM: (frowning) She has false teeth?


HODGINS: (shaking his head, disgusted) What the hell happened to this kid?


BRENNAN: The false teeth replace the missing deciduous teeth.


CAM: (nods) Baby teeth.


BRENNAN: And the other teeth … were veneered.


HODGINS: (stunned) What is she, a midget stripper?


(Hodgins and Cam exchange a baffled look)


(Cut to: Angela’s office. She sits at her computer, entering variables into her program, as the rest of the team watches her work.)


ANGELA: Okay, this is the color she would’ve had from the bleaching.


HODGINS: (leans in closer, checking out the girl’s image on the screen) I think the alkaloids would make the color brighter.


(Angela makes the appropriate modifications, and the girl’s hair turns to a lighter, brighter blonde shade)


BOOTH: Okay, so some twisted psycho killer gives this little girl a makeover before he kills her?


(He looks to Brennan, who shakes her head. Everyone in the room is grim.)


ANGELA: I hate working with kids. (pauses) Childhood should be all about swings.


(She smiles at the thought, as she continues to make adjustments to the picture on the monitor. Still crouched down near Angela, Hodgins leans back a moment and considers her curiously.)


ZACK: (dubious) Swings?


ANGELA: Yeah. (A wistful expression crosses her face) You know, how high can I go? (turns to face Hodgins now, grinning, as he leans in a little closer to listen with interest) If I twist the chains, how fast will I spin?


(Amused, Hodgins smiles at Angela momentarily before looking down, his voice gentle)


HODGINS: What if I try to jump off before the swing stops?


(He meets her eyes again, giving her a large, genuine smile, which she reflects back delightedly, nodding)


ANGELA: Exactly.


HODGINS: I miss that feeling.


ANGELA: Yeah, me too.


(At this, Brennan glances up at Booth. Seemingly on the verge of either rolling his eyes or joining in on the nostalgia, he studies her but says nothing, a slight smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.)


BRENNAN: I miss organic chemistry class. (A fond look crosses her face, as Cam glances sideways at her) Those were good times.


ZACK: (nodding, perfectly serious) I miss my first microscope.


BOOTH: (shaking his head at all of them) Great. Yeah. And I miss normal people. (he raises his eyebrows) Can we go on? (he looks to Brennan, who’s back to analyzing the portrait)


BRENNAN: Factor in the teeth.


(The illustration on Angela’s monitor changes, as she makes the revision, elongating the teeth and brightening them)


BOOTH: (mildly sarcastic) Yeah, you know? ’Cause, uh, this isn’t weird enough. (gives Brennan more grimace than smile)


ANGELA: Hodgins supplied the types of makeup. (Angela adds color to the girl’s face -- lipstick, blush and some eye shadow -- and changes her hairstyle from a girlish-looking straight cut to a dramatic up-do) And that’s what we’ve got.


BOOTH: (studying the new sketch, brows furrowed) She looks thirty.


BRENNAN: Okay, run the image against the database now.


(Angela clicks a few buttons, and the image on screen is immediately compared to a rapid scan of various children’s pictures, until at last it comes to a stop, finding its match)


CAM: (staring at the photo on the monitor) Oh, my god. That’s Brianna Swanson.




BOOTH: (quietly, to Brennan) The little beauty queen who disappeared a few months ago.


ANGELA: In the middle of a Little Miss Junior Patriot Pageant.


BRENNAN: (murmuring almost to herself, as she studies the girl on screen) Just nine years old.


(Cut to Booth as he scrutinizes the picture, then to a close-up of Brianna as the scene fades out in bright white)




(Exterior shot of the brilliant greenery surrounding the Lincoln Memorial, with the Washington Monument in the distance behind it, Washington, D.C. – Daytime – Cut to Booth’s office in the F.B.I. building. Booth sits at his desk, talking with Brianna’s mother, JACKIE SWANSON, as Brennan leans against the front of the desk.)


JACKIE SWANSON: (tear running down her cheek) What do you mean … there isn’t even enough of her for me to see?


BRENNAN: The body traveled through miles of piping. And then after three months --


(Pained, Jackie takes a moment to digest this information, looking down at a photograph of her daughter before holding it up for Booth to see)


JACKIE: She was so beautiful, wasn’t she? I always thought someday she’d come back. (shrugs) I even filled out her application to the Junior Miss Starlite competition. (cradles the picture lovingly) She would’ve won her division.


(Brennan gives Booth a look -- it’s unclear if she wants Booth to speak up because the moment has grown awkward, or if she’s incredulous at Jackie’s seemingly singular focus on Brianna’s beauty and the competitions)


BOOTH: (jumps in) We’re very sorry for your loss.


(Jackie nods at him, and returns to look at the picture)


BRENNAN: Ms. Swanson, I discovered dental work on Brianna one doesn’t … usually see on a child.


JACKIE: The veneers and the caps? Yeah. A lot of the girls had them.


BRENNAN: (carefully) Statistically, that’s -- that’s not true.


JACKIE: (calmly) Well, Brianna took some antibiotics when she was a baby that stained her teeth. She was very self-conscious about that, so -- (she looks to Booth and then back to Brennan) -- I wanted her to feel good about herself.


BRENNAN: (shaking her head) A nine-year-old is hardly mature enough to make an informed decision about --


BOOTH: (jumps in again) You were at the competition in Delaware when Brianna went missing, correct? (he gets up from his desk and comes around to sit on the edge of it, directly in front of Jackie)


JACKIE: Yeah. (sits up straighter in her chair) I never missed a pageant. I never would.


BOOTH: But you weren’t -- you weren’t with her when, ah, she disappeared?


JACKIE: No, I left her alone in our room for a minute. When I came back, she was gone. (Cut to Booth’s stern face, studying her) There’s … not a day that goes by that I don’t hate myself for that.


BOOTH: According to initial reports, you suspected your ex-husband of kidnapping Brianna?


JACKIE: Well, he was trying to get custody of her for over a year. Yeah. David was not fit to be a father. He wanted Brianna out of spite. And he tried to drown me in lawyer fees.


BOOTH: (glancing at Brennan, who returns the look) Was your ex-husband violent with you or Brianna?


JACKIE: Not physically, no. But … once when we were fighting he said that he would rather have Brianna end up in a ditch somewhere than … turn out like me.


(Booth and Brennan share another quiet glance)


(Cut to: Interior – Jeffersonian – Medico Legal Lab – Platform. Cam and Zack are working on the skeletal remains.)


CAM: It’s the “evening wear” category that gets me. My evening wear’s a ratty T-shirt and a mud mask. (she holds out a piece of jawbone and bottom teeth, gesturing to the chin area) There’s bleeding evident under the mental foramen.


ZACK: There was complete disruption of all ventral ligaments between the victim’s skull and the first and second vertebrae.


CAM: (nods, understanding) Her neck was broken.


ZACK: Dislocated fracture of the mandible suggests her death was caused by a strong blow to the chin by an object heavy enough to leave markings on her -- (points to the exact spot, as Cam nods again) -- mental foramen.


(Sound of an I.D. badge being swiped. Hodgins strides up the stairs, carrying a metal tray. He sets the tray on his desk and scans an image of its contents into his computer.)


HODGINS: I found fragments of steel in the victim’s jacket. There was also an excessive amount of polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons.


CAM: (mild smile) I assume that means something.


HODGINS: (brings up the specific image on his monitor) Polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons are found in soot, pesticides, creosotes -- (he turns to face her in order to emphasize his point) -- roofing tar.


(Cam registers the connection)


CAM: The original police report said Brianna’s father was a roofer. (Zack frowns)


HODGINS: Yeah. Interesting coincidence, huh?


CAM: I’ll call Booth.


HODGINS: (conceals a smile) About this?


(Cam doesn’t respond to or acknowledge any recognition of his teasing, except to give a very slight reflexive double take before turning her attention to Zack instead)


(Cut to: FBI Interrogation room. Booth sits on the edge of the table, questioning Brianna’s father, DAVE SWANSON. Brennan sits at the table, while Dave leans against the wall by the window.)


BOOTH: (casually) You have a roofing business?


DAVE SWANSON: Uh, yeah. I -- I -- I went out on my own when Brianna was born. (runs his hand over his forehead) Thought I could make some more money, you know?


BRENNAN: Do you use mastic asphalt in your work?


DAVE: Uh, yeah, for waterproofing. Why?


BOOTH: (shrugs, voice still casual) Were you working the day your daughter disappeared?


DAVE: No, it was the weekend. (getting irritated) What are you guys getting at?


BOOTH: We’re just trying to piece things together. That’s all.


(Dave interrupts Booth, angry now, as he steps up and presses his fingers against the tabletop for emphasis)


DAVE: Damn it! I answered all these questions when Brianna first went missing. (to Brennan) This is Jackie’s doing, right?


BOOTH: (keeping his voice low and level) You wanted your daughter back. Sometimes, in a divorce, the emotions -- they get a little high, you don’t know what you’re doing …


DAVE: No. I know exactly what happened. Jackie wasted so much time having the cops check me out, the case went cold. This is all Jackie’s fault. (sits down as he pulls out his wallet, opening it up to a picture of a happy Brianna sitting behind her father, her hands on his shoulders, obviously from pre-pageant days) Look. This was my little girl. Not what Jackie turned her into. (holds up the photo for Booth to see more clearly) This is who I wanted back. (Brennan and Booth are quiet as Dave calms down, looking mournfully at his daughter’s photograph) You, uh -- you didn’t give her the remains, did you?


BRENNAN: (shakes her head) No. We can’t release them. Not before the investigation is completed.


DAVE: I want her buried right. (looks to Booth, who seems to understand) I don’t want her funeral to be some disgusting show Jackie puts on. (studies his daughter’s picture again, upset) I-I-I -- I wanna bury her with some love, you know?


(Booth respectfully considers this information, then exchanges a quizzical “okay, now what?” look with Brennan -- if Brianna’s father didn’t do it, who did?)


(Cut to: Imaging program on Angela’s computer monitor. She’s capturing and scanning shots of various people from a recording of the pageant. Hodgins strolls into her office, carrying a tray of material scraps. He pauses to look at the pictures on her screen.)


HODGINS: How’s it going?


ANGELA: (sighs) FBI sent over the security tapes from the hotel where Brianna’s pageant was held. I’m running them through the body mass recognition program. Maybe we’ll find a shot of her leaving with somebody.


HODGINS: (sickened) Could you ever do this to your kid?


ANGELA: You know me. (smiles as she keeps working, her eyes glued to the monitor) I’m all about the swings.


(Hodgins pauses at this, his eyes delightedly following her movements -- he is amused and definitely entranced)


ANGELA: (pulling him from his reverie) You bring me something?


HODGINS: Uh, yeah, yeah. (sets the tray in front of her on the desk, back to business) This was in the zippered pocket of what was left of Brianna’s jacket. It’s treated cellulose. Can you get any details from it?


(She frowns, checking out the items on the tray)


ANGELA: I’ll give it a shot.


(Hodgins observes her for a moment, considering. His face turns resolute.)


HODGINS: Listen … Angela.


(He reaches down and moves the tray to the side, so that he can sit down next to her and face her. As he does this, Angela looks to him with a mixture of surprise, good humor, and curiosity. She shifts in her chair so that she is facing him, too. Focused, he searches for the appropriate words.)


HODGINS: We’ve been … dancing around this for months now … (the corner of his mouth curves up) … like two pieces of neodymium caught in a magnetic field.


ANGELA: (laughs lightly) Is that good?


HODGINS: Yeah. But if the field weakens, they fly apart. (Angela nods, smiling at him) Which is why I thought they should go on a date.


(He smiles at her and blinks, his eyes bright and eager. The amusement slowly slides off Angela’s face, leaving her eyes. She hesitates, taking a breath, trying to find the right words to say to him. She attempts a smile.)


ANGELA: (carefully) Hodgins --


(He immediately leans in a little bit closer, still trying, still smiling … certain this is right.)


HODGINS: You can’t say that you don’t feel it.


(Angela seems to consider this for a moment, doesn’t deny it, but her head drops and she looks down, her eyes avoiding his steady gaze.)


HODGINS: Come on, we owe it to ourselves to give it a try.


(She’s really struggling now, her eyes filling with sorrow as she looks upon his hopeful face. Clearly it hurts her to hurt him.)


ANGELA: I -- I just don’t think it -- (she stands up quickly, so he stands to join her) -- would be a good idea.


(She looks him in the eye as she says this, trying to be honest. He opens his mouth as if he has more he wants to say, but elects to remain quiet for the moment. Instead, he studies her face. Perhaps hoping to see a wavering glimpse of a chance still there, in her eyes.)


ANGELA: I mean, we work together, Jack.


(He speaks gently, unconvinced by her feeble argument)


HODGINS: Angela …


ANGELA: (genuinely, compassionately) I’m sorry.


(A light smile is still on Jack’s lips, but the joy has left his eyes. He speaks good-naturedly, but his voice trails off with a hint of disappointment underneath.)


HODGINS: You’re making a mistake …


(He stands there, but she can’t meet his eyes any longer. She stiffens, awkwardly turning away from him to sit down at her desk. As Jack watches her, she starts up her work with the security tapes again.)


ANGELA: (slowly) I’ll examine the paper after I go through the videos.


(Hodgins regards her for a long moment, silent, but finally nods)


HODGINS: (quietly) Sure.


(Angela keeps her focus on the monitor, but glances out of the corner of her eye, waiting to see if he’s left the room.)


(Cut to: Interior – Jeffersonian – Medico Legal Lab. Zack points to a chest X-ray on a monitor as Cam, Brennan and Booth look on.)


ZACK: This is the rib cage of a healthy ten-year-old girl.


BRENNAN: And this -- (Zack switches the image for her so that there are two chest X-rays on the screen, side-by-side) -- is our victim’s rib cage.


(The victim’s rib cage is compacted, squished into the shape of an hourglass)


BOOTH: Ouch.


BRENNAN: This -- (she switches the picture to another film of a rib cage, this one with a warped spine) -- is an X-ray of a teenage girl who died in 1872.


CAM: What caused the deformity? Was it genetic?


BRENNAN: It was a corset … tightened a little more each day. (Booth takes a deep breath, revolted, as Brennan keeps going) Based on the degree of misshaping, I’d say Brianna slept in one every night.


BOOTH: That’s torture.


(Zack nods in agreement, then turns his attention to his boss as she continues)


BRENNAN: I imagine it was to give her an hourglass figure, which wouldn’t be possible naturally until well into puberty.


BOOTH: (cringing) You gotta be -- you’re telling me her mom did this to her?


BRENNAN: People have done much worse for beauty -- neck stretching, foot binding …


BOOTH: Okay. (incredulous) And you’re saying that makes it okay.


BRENNAN: Well, of course not. Any major alteration of our underlying architecture demeans us. (Cam listens intently, taking an uncomfortable breath) You know, we all have aspects of ourselves we might wish were different.


ZACK: (nodding emphatically) Yes. I wanted larger biceps before I became comfortable with my mental acuity.


(At this declaration, Booth tilts his head and clears his throat, but says nothing)


BRENNAN: (going back to the X-rays, zooming in on an affected section of bone) Here, you can see … cribra orbitalia, suggesting Brianna suffered from long-term malnourishment.


ZACK: There’s no enamel erosion to indicate bulimia, so it’s more likely she’s been on a calorie-controlled diet for at least two years.


CAM: (smiles at Booth) Oh, it gets better.


BOOTH: (sardonically) Oh, how can it not?


CAM: Her tox screen came back with traces of somatropin, tetracycline, and glycopyrronium bromide.


(Brennan’s mouth drops open slightly as she realizes what those chemicals are. As Zack explains, Booth grows more and more disgusted.)


ZACK: Human growth hormone, broad-spectrum antibiotic used to treat acne, and a chemical mixture that controls perspiration. All with serious side effects.


CAM: No prescriptions were ever issued.


BOOTH: So Mom bound, starved and drugged her. (pauses to take it in) That’s heartwarming.


BRENNAN: Our society puts a premium on beauty. Common in declining cultures.


(Angela hurries into the room)


ANGELA: Hey, guys, you should take a look at this.


(Everyone turns to stare at her for a moment, then follows her out of the lab, one by one, disillusioned by what they’ve just uncovered.)


(Cut to: Angela’s office. She cues up a security tape on her computer.)


ANGELA: This was time-stamped a half-hour before Jackie Swanson reported Brianna missing. (she fast-forwards through the images until she reaches what she needs them to see) There.


(A close-up of Jackie Swanson and her daughter Brianna in a carpeted stairwell at the hotel where the event was held: Jackie is trying to pull her daughter down the stairs. Brianna is struggling, pulling back from her mother.)


JACKIE: (on video tape) Brianna, come on! Right now!


BRIANNA: (on video tape) Let go of me!


(Shouting on the tape continues, as Jackie struggles with her daughter, pulling her by the arm, arguing with her. Stunned, Brennan peeks around Angela to get a better look. Angela shakes her head, dismayed, as the fight persists. Booth watches intently.)


BOOTH: She said not a day goes by that she doesn’t hate herself. I can see why.


CAM: (shaking her head) If Jackie’s willing to risk her child’s life to win these pageants --


BRENNAN: What would happen if her daughter refused to compete?


(The security camera video freezes on Brianna’s grimace as her mother holds her firmly by the wrists, and the screen whites out)






(Pan across several pageant pictures of Brianna Swanson, laid out on a table in the interrogation room at the F.B.I. Jackie Swanson sits at one side of the table; Booth and Brennan sit together, opposite her.)


JACKIE: What you have to understand is that this was Brianna’s dream, not mine.


BRENNAN: (leans forward, speaking bluntly) You put your nine-year-old daughter in a corset, Ms. Swanson.


BOOTH: A corset.


JACKIE: (slightly defensive) Yeah. Brianna ordered that off the Internet herself. And I didn’t tighten it up very much.


BRENNAN: Did you ever think to tell Brianna that she didn’t need to alter her physical appearance in order to be loved?


BOOTH: (carefully) Did Brianna disappoint you somehow?


JACKIE: (immediately) No. She was a perfect angel. She won every competition, even her first one. And after that, it was music and dance classes. (shakes her head, impressed) She was a real competitor.


BRENNAN: And when she won, it reflected well on you. That way you wouldn’t have to deal with your own physical identity.


(Jackie looks at Brennan for one hard moment, then turns to Booth, who raises his eyebrows, curious for her response to Brennan’s accusation)


JACKIE: I don’t like her.


BOOTH: Whoa.


(Brennan doesn’t look like she cares what Jackie thinks, so Booth moves on, picking up a folder and tapping it on the table)


BOOTH: Let’s … play a little show-and-tell, shall we? (he pulls out a few of the surveillance photographs, displaying them for Jackie to see) How about this? Can you explain these? This there. And then that one -- my favorite one. (sets down the final photo of Jackie and Brianna grappling with each other)


JACKIE: Okay, these -- (she pauses to take a long look at the pictures, her voice turning gravelly with grief) -- these are right before she disappeared. We had an … disagreement.


BRENNAN: (easing up her tone a bit) About the pageant?


JACKIE: No, about her piano piece. I suggested she use her elbow to hit the last note with her head in her hands, give the audience a little smile. (she demonstrates the move) It’s called dazzle.


BOOTH: And she didn’t want to do that.


JACKIE: (nodding in agreement) No. She didn’t want dazzle. She wanted to finish it perfectly. (pauses, looking down at the photographs of their fight again) But it seems very silly now.


BRENNAN: (tiniest hint of sarcasm in her voice) Only now?


(Jackie looks up at Brennan, saying nothing at this rebuke, gratefully turning her attention back to Booth when he changes the subject)


BOOTH: What happened immediately following this?


JACKIE: (lifting her chin a bit) I sent her up to our room, and I sent myself to the hotel bar for a very large glass of rosé. (looks to Brennan defiantly) And believe me, I was not the only mother doing the exact same thing.


BOOTH: Great. (pulls out a pad of paper and a pen, pushing it toward Jackie) I’m sure you can, uh, provide me with a list of the other mothers. Hmm?


(Brennan scrutinizes Jackie as if she’s trying to understand her)


(Cut to: Interior – Jeffersonian – Medico Legal Lab. Cam and Zack are studying the bones on two X-rays.)


ZACK: Blood would’ve rushed to the injured areas that are evident on her X-rays, but there’s no evidence of blood flow -- (points to the areas on the screen) -- here or here or here.


CAM: (engrossed in examining the films) So she was beaten after she died.


ZACK: The blows appear to be consistent with kicking but the dispersal pattern is abnormal. (they turn back to the exam table where the victim’s bones rest)


CAM: Can you tell anything about the shoes? Size? Make?


ZACK: Only that they are quite rigid, possibly steel-toed.


CAM: (nodding, as another piece of the puzzle comes together) And Hodgins said he found fragments of steel in the jacket.


(Cut to: Angela sitting on the couch in Brennan’s office. She is fiddling absently with a necklace and appears upset. Brennan enters, heading straight for her desk, picking up some binders.)


ANGELA: Hodgins asked me out.


(Brennan whirls around, startled to find Angela sitting there. She gives her a look before bending back down to retrieve her paperwork.)


BRENNAN: Is that why you’re hiding in here? (she straightens and turns to face Angela)


ANGELA: I’m not hiding. (desperate, troubled face) I need advice.


BRENNAN: What -- on a personal matter?


ANGELA: (smiles slightly) Yes.


BRENNAN: (surprised) From me?


ANGELA: (nodding, insistent) Yes.


BRENNAN: But romance is sort of -- (holds up her hands, trying to find the right words, as she walks over to sit in a chair across from Angela) -- This is like me asking you advice on phylogenetic systematics.


ANGELA: Phylogenetic systematics. (she pauses) I have no idea what that is.


BRENNAN: (smiles) Exactly.


ANGELA: Well, I can’t ask Cam.


(Cam pops in the doorway of Brennan’s office)


CAM: Can’t ask Cam what?


BRENNAN: (casually) Oh, Hodgins asked Angela out on a date.


ANGELA: (eyes widening) Brennan!


BRENNAN: What? Was it a secret? (looks to Cam) It was a secret.


(Angela gives Brennan a disapproving, “thanks a lot, big mouth pal o’ mine” kind of glance)


CAM: (ignoring them both, taking a businesslike step forward) I just came to ask if you’d made any progress on the cellulose.


(She raises her eyebrows at Angela, who groans. Seems she’s been a little distracted to start that project.)




CAM: Okay. (starts to leave)


ANGELA: Wait. (Cam stops short in the doorway) You can’t pretend you didn’t hear about this.


CAM: Fine. (comes back into the room and sits down eagerly, getting comfortable) What’d you tell him?




CAM: (surprised) Why?


BRENNAN: (looking at Cam as if she is ludicrous) Because it would be a disaster.


ANGELA: (to Brennan) All of a sudden, you have an opinion on this?


BRENNAN: You should never indulge in a romantic relationship with someone you work with.


CAM: (mildly amused smile crossing her face) Why not?


BRENNAN: Well, anthropologically?


ANGELA: (looking pained) There’s an anthropological answer?


BRENNAN: An efficient workplace is predicated upon a simple hierarchy. (Angela nods slowly, absorbing the message) Romance undermines that hierarchy. (Brennan ponders a moment) This is like when I had an affair with my thesis supervisor in college.


CAM: Don’t think we have time for that. (turns to Angela) I say go.


ANGELA: What about this hierarchical-sexual … ?


CAM: (waves her hand nonchalantly) Won’t be an issue. (Angela looks worried, so Cam explains) It’s always fun to flirt in the workplace. But out there, when fantasy becomes a reality, it’s a drag.


BRENNAN: (confused) What? The date will be bad?


CAM: (certain) It will be awful. You’ll both realize it’s not meant to be. (Angela starts nodding again) There’ll be a couple of days of awkwardness, and then everything goes back to normal.


BRENNAN: If I were you, I’d go with Cam on this one.


CAM: (looks pleased yet surprised by Brennan’s admission) Why?


ANGELA: (rolling her eyes, smiling) Phylogenetic systematics. (Cam looks bewildered)


BRENNAN: (standing up) I have to go to dance class.


(As Brennan exits the office, mystified Cam looks to Angela for an explanation. Angela looks away, rubbing her forehead and sighing heavily.)


(Cut to: Pageant dance class going on in a magnificent hotel ballroom. A class of young girls dances to KC & the Sunshine Band’s “(Shake Shake Shake) Shake Your Booty.” Brennan and Booth walk-and-talk past several groups of students and a grand piano, stopping to stand and watch all the activity from the side of the room.)


BOOTH: Jackie Swanson’s alibi checks out. She was in the bar when Brianna disappeared. (lowers his voice, his jaw setting) Can’t we just prosecute her for being horrible?


(Brennan looks to a woman in a white button-down shirt, black leotard and dance skirt. The woman is slowly weaving her way through the class, directing each of the dancing girls.)


BRENNAN: That the dance teacher?


BOOTH: Yeah. That’s, uh, Charlotte Craft. She owns the studio. She also runs the -- (voice turning sarcastic now) -- Junior Miss Patriot Pageant. I mean, she’s gotta be able to give us something, right?


(Booth and Brennan make their way over to the side of the room where the teacher is)


BRENNAN: I always wanted to take dance, but I was so … gawky and uncoordinated.


BOOTH: (chuckles) What? You?


(He puts his hand on her shoulder as he gently steers her to a row of chairs against the wall, some occupied by parents watching their kids dance. Brennan keeps talking and follows where he guides her, the whole time Booth looking out for her and putting his hand on her arm to make sure she doesn’t get knocked down or disrupt the students’ dancing.)


BRENNAN: Later I understood that the gawkiness was caused by an asymmetrical development of the iliac crest.


BOOTH: (rolls his eyes) Oh, yeah. Because you know what? That’s what I would’ve guessed. (they sit) The old, uh, iliac … crest. (smirks slightly)


(A woman sitting two chairs away from them turns to introduce herself with a wide, proud smile)


KRISTEN MITCHELL: Hi. Which one’s yours?


(Both Brennan and Booth stare blankly at the woman)




BRENNAN: Which what is what? What? Mine? (glances at Booth) Ours?


BOOTH: (gesturing to Brennan, stunned) Ours? (immediately) Oh, no, no. Whoa. (gets up from his seat and moves away from Brennan, putting one empty chair between them) We’re not -- No. (Brennan gives Booth an insulted glare) That’s not -- (glances at Brennan, then quickly looks away as he pulls out his badge, whispering) F.B.I.


KRISTEN: (impressed) Oh, wow. Really?


BOOTH: (proudly) Mm-hmm.


(He glances at Brennan, who gives him another look, her mouth tight)


KRISTEN: Oh, are you here about … (lowers her voice) … Brianna Swanson?


BOOTH: (doesn’t answer the question, his voice cordial but his face impassive) Did you know Brianna?


KRISTEN: Yeah. Very well. I’m Kristen Mitchell. (leans in, pointing) That’s my daughter Ariel … by the barre, with the gray leg warmers. (Close-up on a young blonde girl as she leans into a stretch) They -- they took classes together, were in the same pageants. (Brennan’s listening in on the conversation from her place a few chairs away, so she looks over to Ariel too) Sometimes I can’t help but wonder, what if it had been Ariel who got kidnapped?


BRENNAN: (moves over to sit next to Booth and Kristen) Why do you assume she was kidnapped?


KRISTEN: Well, I can’t imagine Brianna just … running away. (she chuckles)


BOOTH: Well, these pageants are very competitive. There was a lot of pressure probably on her.


KRISTEN: (scoffs) To Brianna? Uh, no. No way. I mean, she had the face of an angel, but underneath -- (she smirks) -- let’s just say she had her sights set on winning that pageant.




KRISTEN: I don’t understand the question.


BOOTH: (leans in, speaking carefully) What’s the draw here?


KRISTEN: (excited) Oh, my God. The girls, they love it. They get to dress up all glamorous, all the attention, the lights, and the music.


(Brennan gets a confused, disturbed expression on her face like she’s studying some odd counterculture; meanwhile, Booth nods at Kristen, giving her a very fake “sure, yeah, this is interesting” smile that looks more like he’s in pain. The music stops, and the teacher claps for everyone’s attention.)


CHARLOTTE: All right, girls. That’s enough for today. Thank you very much.


BRENNAN: (annoyed) There’s enough pressure on young females without making them prematurely sexualized.


KRISTEN: (half-laughs, then gives Brennan a look dripping with disdain) I’m sorry, but that is just narrow-minded prejudice. I was in pageants my entire childhood. I loved ’em. And -- (she smiles, very pleased) -- they sent me to college on a full scholarship.


(As Brennan looks horrified at the very thought of going to school on scholarships stemming from beauty pageants, Kristen’s daughter scurries over, done with class.)


ARIEL: Hey, Mommy, I’m finished.


KRISTEN: (hugs her daughter proudly) Hey, hon. Nice job. (looks her in the eye) And good focus.


ARIEL: (delighted) Thanks.


(Kristen stands up, and turns to Booth)


KRISTEN: Well, I hope you find the man responsible. (she and her daughter exit as the teacher CHARLOTTE CRAFT walks up)


CHARLOTTE: Agent Booth? I’ve got about twenty minutes till my next class.


BOOTH: Okay.


BRENNAN: Okay. (she gets up at the same time as Booth) Okay.


(He stops her with one hand as she tries to follow him)


BOOTH: Oh, you know, why don’t, uh, why don’t you go mingle?


BRENNAN: What? Why me?


BOOTH: Because you’re a girl. (he starts to walk away but Brennan stops him)


BRENNAN: (offended) What?


BOOTH: (lowering his voice) Listen, because it’s illegal for me to question any of these kids without their parents, okay? (glances around the room) Look, you’re a civilian. Okay? So take your pick.


BRENNAN: Good point.


(Booth walks away as Brennan scans the room for someone to “interrogate”)


(Cut to: Close-up of Hodgins’ gloved hand as he places a Petrie dish below the microscope lens.)


HODGINS: Behold the keepers of mystery – the Sphecius speciosus and his trusty sidekick, the Tibicen lyricen.


CAM: (sarcastic) Ooh. Ahh. (Hodgins smirks, unaffected, so Cam leans in to peer at the “bugs” now magnified on the computer screen) What mystery?


HODGINS: If Brianna Swanson was kidnapped, they didn’t take her far. The presence of these two species together suggests that she died within a one-mile radius of the hotel where she disappeared.


CAM: (shaking her head) That whole area was thoroughly searched within hours of her disappearance.


HODGINS: (considers this, looking disappointedly at his findings) Yeah.


(He is quiet for a moment, pondering until a new possibility at last occurs to him)


HODGINS: I think her body was jammed into a storm culvert for over a month, until those thunderstorms two weeks ago --


CAM: (eyes widening as she connects with what he’s saying) Washed the remains down to the treatment plant.


HODGINS: (nodding, excited again) FBI forensics should check out the culverts and drains large enough for a nine-year-old girl around the hotel.


CAM: I’ll tell Booth. (she smiles at him, impressed, as she walks away)


(As Hodgins proudly turns back to his work, he glances over and sees Angela walking up the aisle toward him. He laughs when she smiles at him.)


HODGINS: Hey. (he sits at his desk, his tone light but his eyes on his work) Don’t come around again looking for a second chance. That was a one-time offer, baby.


ANGELA: (leans in, smirking) Really. (she teasingly considers this) Hmm.


HODGINS: (looks up at her in astonishment) No. (confused) What?


(As Angela saunters away, looking back at him with a grin on her face, Hodgins gets up and follows her, stammering along the way)


HODGINS: No. N-no, no. Not -- not really. I mean, it never occurred to me that y-you would -- (Angela stops walking and faces him head-on, her expression turning serious now; Hodgins is completely flustered) -- Okay, now you talk.


ANGELA: (pauses a moment, looking him in the eyes, confidently this time) I accept -- (she’s got his full attention now) -- going on a date -- (Hodgins starts to smile) -- with you. (she nods at him encouragingly, her smile sincere) Soon.


(Hodgins turns away momentarily, clearly pleased, then turns back to Angela, grinning)


HODGINS: Tonight?


ANGELA: (exhales a breathy laugh, surprised) Wow. That is soon.


HODGINS: (serious now) I don’t wanna give you time to change your mind. (Angela smiles at him, so he continues) What do you wanna do?


ANGELA: You asked me. (she smirks at him) Figure it out.


(Hodgins nods at her, clearly accepting the challenge. His eyes follow her as she walks away; then he exhales a relieved breath.)


HODGINS: (looks heavenward, whispering gratefully) Thank you.


(He gets an excited yet determined look on his face -- he’s got some date prep to do and he wants it to be great)


(Cut to: An image taken with a camera cell phone. In the photo, a teenaged boy dressed all in black appears to be lurking near a doorway. Charlotte Craft holds out the cell phone so Booth can see.)


CHARLOTTE: I took this at the pageant about a half an hour before Brianna disappeared.


(Booth takes the phone and studies the face in the picture)


BOOTH: Did you show it to the police?




BOOTH: (puzzled) Why not?


CHARLOTTE: (sincerely) Because … he’s not some murderous pedophile. He’s the seventeen-year-old brother of one of the contestants.


BOOTH: Then why’d you take his picture?


CHARLOTTE: Well, to show his parents how creepy he seems hanging around. He could be such a good-looking boy.


BOOTH: What’s his name?


CHARLOTTE: Jeremy Ferrell. (pauses) Look, I know he dresses in black and mopes around, but … he’s totally harmless.


BOOTH: (smiles at that) Hmm. (drops the smile) I’m gonna need a copy of this picture.


CHARLOTTE: (takes her phone back) Certainly.


(Cut to: Brennan holding up a photograph of a skeleton she unearthed at a dig. She’s sitting on the floor, chatting with a small group of young girls.)


MEGAN: Is that a real skeleton?


BRENNAN: Yes, of a twelve-year-old from the Bronze Age. These bones show she’d already had children.


MEGAN: What killed her?


BRENNAN: Having the children.


LIZA: (authoritatively) She should’ve waited to be married before she had sex.


MEGAN: (looks to her friend, whispering) You said “sex.” (Liza shrugs, grinning shyly)


BRENNAN: Were you girls in the Junior Miss Patriot Pageant?


MEGAN: (smiling proudly) I came in fourth.


LIZA: (snottily) If Brianna was there, you’d have been fifth.


BRENNAN: It must have been hard to lose your friend like that.


MEGAN: Brianna was kind of mean. She said Liza had cankles.


(Liza makes a face)


BRENNAN: What are cankles?


MEGAN: Where your calves and your ankles are the same thing. (All the girls nod knowingly)


LIZA: (crossing her arms) She took my birthday watch too. She’d take anything she liked.


BRENNAN: So you weren’t friends.


MEGAN: You had to be friends with her.


BRENNAN: (curious) Why?


LIZA: (as if it’s obvious) Because Brianna was the queen.


BRENNAN: (considers this thoughtfully) So yours was a cultural structure predicated on the equation of beauty with power. (the girls start looking at each other, confused) You instinctively align yourselves with someone who holds the greatest potential for societal supremacy. (Liza’s eyes are wide) It’s … a Darwinian pressure you’re too young to bear.


(Booth comes up behind Brennan)


BOOTH: Okay. Come on, Bones. (he reaches under her arms and helps her up from where she sits) Up you go. There you go.


MEGAN: (speaks breathlessly, staring at Booth) You have huge muscles.


BOOTH: (gives her an appreciative grin) Thanks. (looks to Brennan seriously) Learn anything?


(Liza looks up at Booth with a big smile)


BRENNAN: Yeah, I learned about cankles. How about you?


BOOTH: (whispers) I found a possible suspect. (he gestures to where Jeremy Ferrell waits for his little sister)


BRENNAN: Well, Cam and Zack said that Brianna was kicked with a steel-toed boot.


(Pan down to Jeremy’s footwear -- he’s sporting what appears to be shiny, steel-toed black boots)


BOOTH: Looks like my possible suspect just became our primary suspect.


(Jeremy smiles at his sister and takes her backpack, carrying it for her and holding the door as they both exit. Brennan and Booth watch them go.)






(Cut to: FBI Interrogation room. JEREMY FERRELL sits slouched with his arms folded defensively across his chest. His mother DONNA FERRELL sits next to him. Booth sits across from them at the table.)


JEREMY: Of course I’m at every pageant. (to his mother) Okay, you see what happens?


DONNA: (to Booth) Look, I make him come -- to -- to carry Haley’s changes and the props for her talent competition.


BOOTH: Well, you know a lot of kids his age … they’d -- they’d just refuse.


JEREMY: Okay, so what? So then I’m a -- I’m a bad kid because I’m a good kid?


BOOTH: (indulgent half-smile) Hmm. (gestures at him) What do you call this look?


JEREMY: It’s not a look.


DONNA: (weary) Emo. It’s called emo.


JEREMY: (getting annoyed) No, it’s not.


DONNA: It’s short for overly emotive.


JEREMY: (glares at her, his arms still crossed) No, Mom, no, it’s not. Okay? I like these clothes, I like this hair. It’s not emo. It’s not anything. (his mother rubs her neck in frustration)


BOOTH: (studying Jeremy for a moment) You have a girlfriend?


DONNA: He does. She looks exactly like him.


BOOTH: Are you guys, like, real boyfriend and girlfriend?


JEREMY: (sneers) What do you mean? What do we -- what -- do we have sex?


BOOTH: I don’t know. You tell me.


JEREMY: (glowering at Booth now) Why? Because if we don’t, then I’m just -- I’m some pervert who’s got a thing for little girls?


(Booth holds up a copy of the picture that Charlotte Craft took)


BOOTH: The day that this, uh, picture was taken, did you speak with Brianna Swanson?


JEREMY: (nods) Yeah.


DONNA: (seems surprised) Jeremy.


JEREMY: She was pickin’ on my little sister.


BOOTH: Oh. (carefully) And did you argue?


JEREMY: (with a touch of sarcasm) You don’t argue with a nine-year-old. You call each other names.


(Booth glances under the table)


BOOTH: Are you wearing the same shoes that you wore that day?


JEREMY: (immediately) No.


DONNA: (just as quickly) Yes. He’s worn the same thing every day for a year. (Jeremy looks irritated at that comment)


BOOTH: (directly to Jeremy) Would you be willing to give us those shoes?


JEREMY: (again, immediately) No.


DONNA: (again, just as quickly) Yes.


JEREMY: (indignant) Mom!


(His mom turns to him and yells)


DONNA: Just this once, Jeremy, do what I tell you, okay?!


(Booth winces in mild amusement at the sight of this ‘punk kid’ getting yelled at by his mom)


DONNA: (pleading now) I -- I know you didn’t do this, honey. (Jeremy rolls his eyes) I know who you are under all this. Give the F.B.I. your shoes.


(Jeremy looks at his mother for a moment, then turns to Booth)


(Cut to: Jeremy’s boots being plopped down on Brennan’s desk at the Jeffersonian.)


HODGINS: Not the shoes.


BRENNAN: (looks up from her work) How do you know?


HODGINS: First, the caps are plasticized chrome, not stainless steel.


ZACK: (standing next to Hodgins) And they’re too broad and rounded to have caused the damage to Brianna Swanson’s bones.


BRENNAN: (considers this a moment) Tell Cam and Booth.


(Hodgins and Zack turn to leave Brennan’s office. Hodgins strips off his lab coat as he and Zack walk.)


HODGINS: (to Zack) You do it.


ZACK: (stopping in the doorway of Brennan’s office to object) Why?


HODGINS: Because I … have a date. (he tosses his lab coat at Zack and leaves)


(Zack turns to Brennan, confused, but Brennan seems to be putting it all together as she cranes her neck to watch Hodgins walk away.)


(Cut to: Hodgins and Angela strolling side-by-side across a grassy yard, in a park.)


HODGINS: Here’s the thing, Angela. I know you’ve been out with a lot of guys.


ANGELA: (protesting with a grin) Hey, you have a different girlfriend twice a month.


HODGINS: (grins back) Yeah. So imagine the pressure to come up with a date that neither one of us has ever been on before.


ANGELA: (looking at him, amused and curious) So what’s up? We here to walk a dog or something?


(Hodgins stops walking and turns to face her)


HODGINS: I remember what you said … about how you used to feel on a swing.


(He turns his head; Angela’s eyes follow. There in the distance is a swing set with two swings. Angela’s eyes light up in surprise. She looks back to Hodgins, marveling at his creativity, clearly impressed. Hodgins smiles widely.)


(Cut to: Close-up of the treated cellulose. Brennan and Cam are examining the material versus the magnified image on their monitor.)


BRENNAN: It looks like colored dots, but it’s so faded.


CAM: Could this be a candy bar wrapper?


BRENNAN: (shaking her head) I don’t think Brianna was supposed to eat candy.


CAM: (looks up at Brennan with a slight smirk) Well, there were a lot of things I wasn’t supposed to do as a kid. I still did them. (pauses a moment, looking back down at the wrapper and over at the monitor) I haven’t changed much.


(Brennan gives Cam a look, as Booth comes up the stairs to join the women on the platform)


BOOTH: Bones, anything on the emo shoes?


CAM: (answering for Brennan, she glances over her shoulder at Booth as he steps up to the table) Not a match. Sorry.


(Booth spies the cellulose on the table)


BOOTH: What’s with the, uh, Milk Blast Bar wrapper?


CAM: (scrutinizes the wrapper more carefully, finally recognizing) Milk Blast Bar.


BOOTH: Yeah.


BRENNAN: What’s a Milk Blast Bar?


CAM: It’s about the cheapest, worst ice cream bar you can get. (switching her voice to sound like an announcer in a commercial) Available only at … Red Shed convenience stores.


CAM and BOOTH: (singing the jingle) “Red Shed. What you need now … and how!”


BOOTH: Yeah!


(Brennan stares at the two of them)


CAM: (laughs) I thought they stopped making them.


BOOTH: (laughing too) Yeah, I thought I just ate ’em all.


BRENNAN: Well, maybe we should determine how Brianna Swanson got ahold of one.


(At this grave reminder of a deceased little girl, Cam and Booth sober immediately)


BOOTH: (reaching into his pocket for a cell phone) Brianna Swanson?


(He dials a number)


CAM: Hodgins found the wrapper … with her remains.


BOOTH: (into his phone) Yeah, it’s Booth. Listen, I need a search for any, uh, Red Shed convenience store within a one-mile radius of the Hyperion Hotel off 171. Thanks. (hangs up and turns to Brennan, contrite) Look, I wouldn’t have laughed so hard if I knew it was Brianna Swanson.


(Cam looks from Booth to Brennan and then back down at her work, but says nothing. Brennan looks uncomfortable.)


(Cut to: A completely opposite mood, the joyous sound of Angela laughing. Close-up on the tangled chains of a swing.)


ANGELA: Oh, my God.


HODGINS: (quickly) Put your head back. Put your head back.


(Hodgins stands behind Angela as she sits on the swing; his hands guide her shoulders, as he carefully spins her around and around. The chains of the swing begin to untwist.)


ANGELA: (clinging to the chains, laughing hard) I’m gonna puke.


HODGINS: (laughing too) Head back! Head back!


(He turns her one last time; the chains finally open up and straighten, rocking Angela back and forth on her swing)


ANGELA: (still laughing) Ohhh! I’m gonna puke, I’m gonna puke.


(Jack grins widely, chuckling)


HODGINS: No, don’t. (he steadies her swing) You all right?


ANGELA: (giggling) Yes.




(His hands come to rest on her waist and start to pull her back again)


ANGELA: (grinning) Not -- don’t do it again.


HODGINS: (protests with another laugh) It was fun.


(He gives her a soft push on the swing instead, leaving room for her to move back and forth as he walks over to his own swing and hops on)


ANGELA: I never thought I’d be doing this again.


(Hodgins reaches to grasp the chain on her swing, his hand close to hers, so he can swing back and forth in rhythm with her)


HODGINS: (surprised) Really?


(Angela takes hold of the chain on Jack’s swing so they’re both connected. They look at each other, smiling, as they continue to sway and talk.)


ANGELA: (delighted) Really.


HODGINS: (casually) You know, I had a little dream about it last night.


(A hint of a wicked grin crosses his face. Angela rolls her eyes, still smiling.)


ANGELA: Did you?


HODGINS: Yeah. (smirks at her confidently) It ended well, too.


ANGELA: (indulges him) I’m sure it did.


(She grins and lets go of his chain. As he jumps up to stand on the seat of his swing, his face turns serious.)


HODGINS: But you know what? (sincerely) You look much better here.


ANGELA: Better than a dream, huh? (she shakes her head at him, smiling) You’re shameless.


(She watches him for a moment as he swings back and forth precariously from a standing position, reaching higher and higher)


ANGELA: All right, you better get -- get -- you are gonna kill yourself.


(He grins, but finally jumps off the swing)


HODGINS: I wouldn’t do that.


(Angela smiles and keeps swinging)




HODGINS: Not yet.


(She looks up at Jack expectantly as he steps in front of her swing and takes hold of its chains, bringing it to a gradual stop. Angela pushes a lock of hair away from her face, looking up at him, then glancing down shyly. Her eyes trail up his body to rest upon his face as he nudges her swing back, bit by bit, each cautious step bringing him closer to her, until at last she is standing and he is inches from her face. He smiles.)


ANGELA: (softly, as she looks into his eyes) What now?


(Jack blinks, saying nothing. Angela smiles at him and waits. His eyes drop down momentarily to her mouth, then return to look into her eyes. After a quiet moment, he tilts his head, leaning in to kiss her, his eyes falling closed. Angela kisses him back, exploring gently. In this lovely romantic moment, the park is theirs, all moonlight and shadow, and as they deepen the kiss, Jack’s swing moves next to them, swaying lightly in the night breeze.)


(Cut to: Large silver and black sign that reads “RED SHED.” Brennan and Booth are walking along the sidewalk, eating ice cream.)


BRENNAN: Well, they carry Milk Blast Bars. That’s a start. (takes another bite) These are good.


BOOTH: Are you kidding me? (gestures with his ice cream bar to the empty wrapper in his other hand) These are God’s food, right here. (casually) So the F.B.I., uh, forensic units are … sweeping the culverts near the hotel. So I figured, you know, while we were waiting, we’d just, uh, go … have a look around.


(Cut to: Booth and Brennan holding flashlights, poking around the neighborhood beyond the convenience store. Close-up on a bubbly stream, its path briefly illuminated by Brennan’s flashlight as she scans the area. Cut to a darkened industrial section of town as Booth and Brennan move through shadows, passing a stack of pallets, still searching. Cut again to Booth as he shines his light back and forth over a grassy hill, until the beam comes to a stop on a storm drain partially obscured by weeds.)


BOOTH: Right there. There it is.


(Brennan shines her light in his direction)


BRENNAN: Well hidden.


BOOTH: Yeah.


(They both head toward the culvert, their feet crunching noisily through the dry grass. At one point, there is a close-up of Brennan’s boot as it steps over a cement parking stop. Booth crouches down and peers into the tube.)


BOOTH: Well … big enough to, uh, stuff a child’s body into. (As Brennan squats down to join him, pulling on her latex gloves, Booth spots something shiny in the murky water at the base of the drain) Oh, what do we got there?


(Brennan swirls a gloved hand in the water until she is able to grasp the object and pull it out. She holds it up and shines her flashlight on it.)


BRENNAN: It’s a pageant medal.


BOOTH: Looks like we got our crime scene, huh?


(She exchanges a meaningful glance with Booth as she turns the muddy medal over in her hand)


(Cut to: A shot from the within the storm drain, as Brennan and Zack peek inside.)


BRENNAN: Crushing and scraping injuries to the scapula are congruent with Brianna Swanson being forced into a culvert this size in a prone position.


ZACK: The kicks to the back were the attacker’s attempt to force the body farther into the culvert where it couldn’t be seen.


(As the camera pulls back, we see they have brought a section of the tube to the Jeffersonian in order to test theories. Cam and Hodgins stand at a nearby table, checking out the medal, which is now shiny and readable.)


CAM: “Little Miss Raspberry Blossom, Culpepper, Virginia.”


HODGINS: There were remnants of blood on the medal before I cleaned it. I’m waiting to see if it belongs to Brianna Swanson.


CAM: It’s dated 1976.


(Medal reads “LITTLE MISS RASPBERRY BLOSSOM – CULPEPPER, VIRGINIA, 1976” and has a white and royal purple ribbon. Angela enters the lab in a hurry.)


ANGELA: I got something. (she heads straight for a computer and types in some variables) Okay. I don’t know if this helps you. (On screen, an old newspaper article pops up, and Angela reads from the caption underneath a sepia-tinged photograph) “Lisa Fisher, 1976 Raspberry Queen. Holly Walters, Raspberry Princess. Kristen Madigan, Little Miss Raspberry Blossom.”


(Brennan leans forward, recognizing)


BRENNAN: That face. Kristen Madigan. (speaks carefully, giving Angela a grave look) The mother … that I spoke with at the dance school was named Kristen. Kristen Mitchell.


CAM: (eyes widening) Oh, my God. It’s like that Texas cheerleading thing, where the mother took out her daughter’s main competitor.


(Angela cringes, looking to Brennan, as the camera closes in on the picture of young Kristen, smiling brightly as she holds a basket of raspberries and wears the very medal they found)


(Fade to FBI Interrogation room. Booth leans back casually in his chair at the table, as Kristen Mitchell paces while she talks.)


KRISTEN: Yes. My daughter did win the pageant after Brianna disappeared. That’s not a secret. The winner, Ariel, went on to a national competition.


BOOTH: And how did Ariel do in the nationals?


KRISTEN: (stops pacing to face him confidently) Very well. Finished in the top ten.


BOOTH: Top ten? Wow. (he squints at her, searching for the right button to push) That probably wouldn’t have happened if, uh, Brianna Swanson hadn’t gone missing, right?


KRISTEN: (indignant) You don’t know that. Nobody knows that.


(Booth remains silent, keeping his eyes on Kristen as he bends forward, reaching across the table, moving his hand aside to reveal Kristen’s medal)


KRISTEN: (picking it up immediately) Where’d you get this?


BOOTH: Oh, we found it … at Brianna Swanson’s crime scene. Can you explain that?


(Kristen opens her mouth but doesn’t immediately answer, choosing instead to look at Booth, then at the medal, and back to Booth again, shrugging)


KRISTEN: Brianna Swanson was a thief, Agent Booth. (Booth says nothing, but raises both eyebrows) I mean, ask anybody. She probably took it out of my bag.


BOOTH: Did you report it missing?


(She closes her mouth firmly, her eyes narrowing at Booth as he patiently waits for an answer. Finally, she takes a breath and speaks up.)


KRISTEN: I’m not saying another word until I get a lawyer.


(Booth studies her thoughtfully)


(Cut to: Zack hunched over the lab table, positioning yellow, numbered markers over each section of bone where Brianna was kicked. Brennan stands at the head of the table, watching and pondering the evidence.)


ZACK: (counting as he places each marker) One, two … three, four. And she was kicked twice in the same place here, twice as deep. So five, six.


BRENNAN: (nodding) There’s an asymmetry both of force and distance to these kicks.


ZACK: The fracture pattern suggests a slight rotation to the blows.


BRENNAN: (thinking this over) How slight?


ZACK: About thirty degrees.


BRENNAN: (immediately) Left side only?


ZACK: (nodding solemnly) Yes.


(Brennan smiles at Zack as she pulls her cell phone out of her pocket and hits speed dial. After a moment, she speaks into the phone.)


BRENNAN: Hey, it’s me. Are you with Kristen Mitchell?


(Cut to Booth still sitting in the interrogation room with Kristen, who has joined him at the table)


BOOTH: (switches his phone from one hand to the other) Yeah. Ah, we’re just, uh, sitting here, you know … (mildly sarcastic, as he looks over at Kristen) … waitin’ for a lawyer. (Kristen rolls her eyes and folds her arms across her chest) Why?


(Cut to Brennan in her lab)


BRENNAN: Okay, I need to know if her hips are even.


(Cut back to Booth in the interrogation room)


BOOTH: (lowering his voice) Is that slang, or do you really mean “even”?


BRENNAN: (voice heard over Booth’s phone) Just stand behind her; place your hands on her hips. (Booth glances over at Kristen Mitchell, who gives him an inquisitive stare; he shifts uncomfortably in his seat as Brennan continues her directions) Then, move your hands up to her ribcage, gauging if it’s an equal distance on each side.


(Cut to Brennan in her lab, looking to Zack, who nods in agreement that this is the right course of action in order to tell them what they need to know)


(Cut back to Booth)


BOOTH: (slouching in his chair, shaking his head) That’s … so not gonna happen. (he frowns)


(Cut to Brennan)


BRENNAN: Well, you’re videotaping the interview, right?


(Cut back to Booth)


BOOTH: Of course. We have to. (he glances over at Kristen, whose eyes are narrowing at him suspiciously)


BRENNAN: Okay, ah … then beam me some footage of her walking.


BOOTH: Okay. All right. (he sits up straighter in his chair) Comin’ at you, Bones.


(He hangs up his cell phone)


KRISTEN: What was that about?


(Instead of answering her, Booth gets up, walks over to the intercom on the wall by the door and pushes a button)


BOOTH: Yeah, do me a favor and, uh, beam those images of Ms. Mitchell pacing to the Jeffersonian. Thanks. (he releases the ‘talk’ button and turns back to Kristen)


KRISTEN: (irritated) What’s going on here? Where’s my attorney?


(Booth exhales a deep breath but says nothing -- he’s got to give Brennan more time)


(Cut to: Interior – Jeffersonian – Medico Legal Lab. Zack is cueing up the video footage that Booth had forwarded.)


BRENNAN: Okay, try and get a shot of her buttocks and freeze it.


ZACK: Okay.


(The recording begins with Kristen walking toward the camera. Zack pauses the image of Kristen as she turns around to pace in the opposite direction. He zooms in so the focus is on her butt.)


ZACK: I’m applying a … biometric graph … right here.


(He taps some parameters into his handheld device and a graph appears, covering the screen. He keys in more code, and the graph markers conform to the shape of Kristen’s buttocks. A bar at the top and bottom of the graph shows that the measurements are balanced.)




(Brennan shakes her head as she shares a discouraged look with him)


BRENNAN: You might as well let her go, Booth.


(Cut to Booth on his cell phone, back in the interrogation room)


BOOTH: (quietly into his phone) Why?


(Cut to Zack in the lab, as he leans over to speak into the phone)


ZACK: (enunciating carefully) She has very nice symmetrical buttocks.


(Cut to Booth in the interrogation room. At hearing Zack’s statement, his mouth drops open. Speechless, Booth snaps his mouth shut and glances sideways at Kristen, who is attentively watching Booth, waiting to hear just what the hell is going on.)


BOOTH: (shifting guiltily, trying to avoid looking directly at Kristen, he mumbles out of one side of his mouth) Well, yeah. I know that. But, um -- (he glances at Kristen again) -- what’s that gotta do with anything?


(Cut to Brennan and Zack double-checking the symmetry of Kristen’s butt)


ZACK: (speaking into the phone again) Brianna Swanson’s attacker has a thoracolumbar curve. Scoliosis.


(Cut back to Booth, shaking his head)


BOOTH: Sure. Meaning … what?


(Cut to Brennan, speaking unequivocally as she and Zack share a knowing look)


BRENNAN: Kristen Mitchell is definitely not the killer.


(Cut back one final time to Booth in his interrogation room, on his cell phone)


BOOTH: Thanks.


(He hangs up his cell and stares off into the distance, thinking)


(Cut to: Booth and Brennan as they walk across the lower level of the Jeffersonian lab. Brennan swipes her I.D. badge through the security scanner; she and Booth head up the stairs to the platform where Zack and Cam are waiting.)


BOOTH: Ariel Mitchell says that she showed Brianna her mom’s medal the day of the pageant. Now, Brianna -- she must’ve stolen it. All right? (frustrated) We’re -- we’re nowhere.


BRENNAN: Well, we might have found the murder weapon.


BOOTH: The murder weapon. Okay, well, what is it?


ZACK: (speaking up from where he sits at a desk) A fore-stop trammel.


BOOTH: A what?


CAM: (gesturing to the cement parking stop) Hello.


(Booth and Brennan walk around either side of the lab table, checking out the trammel)


ZACK: It’s from the parking lot at the Red Shed convenience store.


BRENNAN: The F.B.I. forensics team found minute traces of blood on it. We brought it in here to compare the edging with the marks on the victim’s chin. (she returns to Zack’s desk, as he cues up a magnified view of the markings from the trammel versus the markings on Brianna’s chin) And we can see here --


ZACK: It’s a match.


(Booth listens to them intently as he stares at the monitor, perplexed)


BRENNAN: (walking back over to the trammel, demonstrating) The angle and force of the blow suggest Brianna fell forward, was unable to break her fall, and caught her chin here.


(The screen whites out and flashes briefly to a dark image of a parking stop as an X-ray skeletal version of Brianna falls forward, hitting her chin roughly against the cement, the bones of her neck snapping apart, before flashing back to Brennan in the present moment)


BRENNAN: Broke her neck instantly.


HODGINS: (calling out as he hurries over) Wanna hear about the steel?


BOOTH: (holds up a hand, not even looking at Hodgins) In a minute. (to Brennan) So she was carried from the curb to the culvert?


HODGINS: Dragged. (holds up a folder) Wanna hear about the steel?


(Irritated, Booth looks over his shoulder at Hodgins)


BOOTH: How do you know she was dragged?


HODGINS: (looks to everyone on the platform) Remember the polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons I talked about?


BOOTH: Absolutely not.


HODGINS: Turns out that they weren’t from roofing tar. They were from asphalt.


(Booth squints, considering this information, trying to connect the dots)


CAM: So what you found on her jacket was from her being dragged?


HODGINS: (nodding vigorously) Exactly. (excited, raising his eyebrows) Wanna hear about the steel?


(This time no one interrupts him -- they all exchange glances as he explains)


HODGINS: It wasn’t from work boots. It is the exact same steel used in tap shoes.


(Booth looks weary)


BOOTH: It’s from another contestant.


(Cam frowns, facing Hodgins in alarm as she absorbs this news. A kid may have killed another kid. Brennan’s mouth forms a grim line as she looks to Booth.)






(Cut to: Close-up of Kristen Mitchell as she helps her daughter Ariel get dressed and made up for the latest pageant. Booth and Brennan wander through the dressing room where all the parents and young contestants are getting ready.)


BRENNAN: Okay, Booth, you’re looking for a tap-dancing beauty queen with scoliosis.


BOOTH: Right. Gotcha. (stops in his tracks) Wait. Half these kids have tap shoes.


BRENNAN: Well, we just need to examine the symmetry of their hips.


BOOTH: (uncomfortable, gesturing away from her) I’ll go with the shoes. You do your thing.


(Close-up of a contestant’s feet as she buckles up her tap shoes. Brennan steps up to a girl in a red dress, takes her by the shoulders and bends her forward, running her hands down her back, feeling her sides for asymmetry.)


PAGEANT CONTESTANT #1: (startled) Oh!


CONTESTANT’S MOTHER: Can I help you? What are you doing there?


(Not finding what she needs, Brennan walks over to the next vanity where a girl sits on a stool. She again bends the child forward, running her hands down to the girl’s hips.)


BRENNAN: Excuse me. It’s okay. I’m a scientist.


PAGEANT CONTESTANT #2: (screaming) Molester! Molester!


(Startled, Booth swivels around from where he was looking at tap shoes.)


BRENNAN: (alarmed) What?


BOOTH: Bones!


(Brennan pulls her hands away immediately, shaking her head.)




BOOTH: What are you doing?


(The offended young girl gapes at Brennan as if she’s a disgusting monster. Parents and other contestants run over, staring at Brennan accusingly.)


BRENNAN: (holding her hands up in defense) I’m -- I’m not a molester. I’m a forensic anthropologist.


BOOTH: Okay. (holds up his badge in one hand and a tap shoe in the other) FBI business. Everybody just simmer down.


PAGEANT CONTESTANT #2: (adamantly, to Booth) She touched me on my rear!


BRENNAN: (to the little girl) No, back and rear have totally different connotations. (to Booth and the rest of the people surrounding her) Point of clarification. I touched her back.


(A security guard marches up to Booth)


(Cut to: Security guard’s office at the hotel where the pageant is being held. The guard sits at his desk in front of the monitors; Booth and Brennan sit opposite him.)


SECURITY GUARD: Look, scientist or not, FBI or not, she can’t just … go around feeling little girls.


BRENNAN: (defensive) What? I wasn’t feeling like that. That makes me sound like a pervert.


BOOTH: Look, she was just -- she was just touching. That’s all. (turns to Brennan for more of an explanation)


BRENNAN: I was just … well, examining, really.


BOOTH: Examining, see? (the security guard cocks his head at both Booth and Brennan, undecided) Okay, listen, bud, we’re after a murderer here, okay? Doctor Brennan just got a little overly excited …


SECURITY GUARD: How does feeling little girls solve a murder?


BRENNAN: One of them is the murderer.


BOOTH: Okay, look, I know that’s hard to believe.


SECURITY GUARD: (holds up a hand) You know what? It’s really not.


(Brennan and Booth exchange a surprised, disturbed look)


SECURITY GUARD: So, what do you need? I mean, aside from the touching.


BRENNAN: If I could just … watch them?


(The guard looks to Booth, who shrugs, parroting Brennan)


BOOTH: Just watch.


(Cut to: A montage playing to the tune of “I’ve Got Rhythm,” as each of the pageant contestants takes her turn on stage. The performances are interspersed with shots of Booth and Brennan watching from the audience. Girls dancing, singing, twirling batons, playing instruments, even spinning hula hoops. At first they’re merely studying the girls on the stage, but after a while, Brennan looks over and sees Booth dancing in his chair, enjoying the show. He stops and gives a sheepish grin when he notices her staring at him. He watches quietly for a while until a girl in a pink dress impresses him with her dancing and spinning around.)


BOOTH: (clapping) That was good. (points her out to Brennan) That was good.


(Brennan nods, as though she empirically cannot argue with him on that. As the montage continues, Brennan looks around the room and spies Jeremy Ferrell, hunched in his chair, watching the show. She nudges Booth who takes note of Jeremy’s sullen presence. Brennan and Booth turn back to view the tap-dancing girl on stage, Jeremy’s sister HALEY FERRELL. As she wraps up her dance, she momentarily turns away from the audience, allowing Brennan to see that her hips are not in exact alignment.)


BRENNAN: That’s her.


(The smile drops off Booth’s face as he watches Haley spin back toward the audience and hold her final pose. The audience claps appreciatively, and Haley runs down from the stage into the arms of her proud mother. Booth and Brennan watch in stunned silence and dismay.)


(Cut to: FBI Conference room. Donna sits at a long table with Haley at her side, while Jeremy stands near the window, rummaging through his backpack. He turns to see Brennan and Booth walking through the door.)


JEREMY: Oh, dude. Not again.


DONNA: I thought you said Jeremy was cleared.


(Booth closes the door to the conference room and takes his place next to Brennan, standing with his hands folded in front of him.)


BOOTH: We know it’s not Jeremy. We’d like to talk to Haley for a moment.


(Haley stands and grabs her mother’s arm, looking up at her with frightened, pleading eyes)


HALEY: No, I don’t want to.


DONNA: (speaking gently, as she takes a stand next to her daughter) This is a special day, Agent Booth. You’re upsetting her.


(Brennan makes her way around the table to stand near Haley)


BRENNAN: Don’t be afraid.


BOOTH: (grave expression) No. You know, she should be afraid.


(As Brennan kneels to the child’s level, Haley sinks to her seat at the table, visibly upset)


HALEY: (facing Brennan) I didn’t do anything. I promise.


BRENNAN: (compassionately) We know you didn’t mean to, Haley.


(Haley’s mother sits down, stunned)


DONNA: Honey, what did you do?


(Haley looks to her brother, then to her mother, desperate. Booth leans forward over the back of the chair, positioning himself eye level with Haley.)


BOOTH: (serious yet cautious tone) Yeah. What did you do?


(Haley stares at Booth for a moment, then at Brennan, before turning to her mother)


HALEY: (taking a sharp breath) Brianna said she was gonna buy me an ice cream. (her eyes fill with tears as she turns back to Brennan) But she just made fun of me. She said I was ugly. (Brennan nods sympathetically) She said I’d never win anything.


BRENNAN: That must’ve hurt your feelings.


HALEY: (crying) I didn’t mean to push her so hard. Honest!


(Booth straightens, exhausted and saddened by this admission. Haley’s mother covers her mouth in disbelief, as Jeremy cringes, looking so stunned he might cry.)


DONNA: Oh, God. Why didn’t you tell me?


HALEY: (barely able to get out the words) The pageant was starting. I wanted to win.


(Haley wraps her arms around her mother, sobbing uncontrollably. Jeremy stares, horrified and upset for his little sister.)


DONNA: (clinging to her daughter in alarm) Oh … Oh, God.


(Brennan watches with great empathy as Donna tries to hug and console her daughter. From where she kneels, Brennan looks up to Booth as if she wishes there were something he could do. Booth is silent, looking back at Brennan for a significant moment before glancing down regretfully at Donna and Haley. Stars of bright white light slowly obscure the scene.)


(The white light fades away to reveal Angela carrying a book, striding down the hallway to her office. As she enters the room, her pace falters at the sight of something in front of her. She turns away, mouth tight, and heads for her desk. At the far end of the room, Hodgins sits on Angela’s couch. He’s been waiting for her. He stands up and stuffs his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.)




ANGELA: (not looking at him, her voice flat) Hi.


HODGINS: We didn’t really get a chance to talk today.


ANGELA: Yeah. (she pauses) I was avoiding you.


HODGINS: (shifts awkwardly where he stands) That whole … swing thing -- wasn’t -- good enough, right? ’Cause I can do better.


(Angela looks over her shoulder at him in surprise. Turning to face him, she leans against her desk.)


ANGELA: It was perfect.


HODGINS: It was?


ANGELA: Maybe the best date I’ve ever had.


(He smiles)


HODGINS: Really. (As she nods, he looks down, pleased) Great. That’s great. (breathes out, relieved) Thanks.


ANGELA: (quietly) Yeah.


(She looks down at the carpet, her expression sad. Hodgins notices this immediately, his smile fading.)


HODGINS: That’s not great. (As he steps forward, Angela shifts uncomfortably) How can a great date be not great?


ANGELA: (looking him squarely in the eye) Because it was supposed to fall flat. That way, we’d both know that this wasn’t meant to be …


(There is a great space between them, as they stand, facing each other)


ANGELA: … and we’d go back to the way we were before.


HODGINS: (taking another step forward) I don’t like the way it was before.


ANGELA: Look … (she pauses, searching for words) … Brennan is my best friend, and -- (she exhales) -- Zack is -- (half-laughs, shaking her head) -- whatever the hell he is, and -- (Hodgins is silent, listening) -- when this goes wrong, it -- it pulls everybody else into it. (anguished pause, as she struggles to express herself) And … what the great … date … tells us is … (she takes a deep breath) … that when it goes wrong --


HODGINS: (his voice even, his expression like stone) It’ll go really, really wrong.


(Angela nods slowly, sadly, her voice coming out in a whisper)




(Hodgins studies her, but says nothing, his mouth almost -- but not quite -- forming a smile.)


ANGELA: So … (she shakes her head and takes a breath, looking away, looking down -- she can’t seem to meet his eyes as she says these words) … we go back, right?


(Hodgins blinks. Angela takes another deep breath, and looks into his eyes, exhaling the word.)


ANGELA: Friends.


(She nods, almost to herself, her expression seemingly miserable but relatively certain. Hodgins pauses, understanding. He nods his assent.)


HODGINS: Sure, friends.


(Angela nods again, her gaze shifting from him to the floor and back to his face. She seems anxious, and melancholy, yet a little relieved.)


HODGINS: Just one question. (he takes one final tentative step forward) What if it doesn’t end that way? (smiling a little, his eyes bright and hopeful) What if it doesn’t go wrong?


(Angela looks at him a long moment, considering this. She swallows hard. Inhaling a pained breath, she glances down, gathering strength, before looking him in the eyes again, her voice rough with regret.)


ANGELA: Friends.


(Hodgins looks at her, defeated, and when he blinks this time, it’s as if a shade has been drawn, the light leaving his eyes. He nods once, acknowledging, respecting her wishes. He realizes there is nothing he can do or say to change her mind, even as she avoids his eyes, biting the corner of her mouth, already looking like she wishes she could take it all back. Hodgins drops his gaze from her face, his mouth slightly open like he can’t believe this is happening, like he had her and lost her in the blink of an eye. He turns away slowly, as if hoping she’ll stop him, and for a moment she watches him, her mouth opening as if she might. But she says nothing, so he reaches down and gathers up his messenger bag. When he turns around this time, he avoids her eyes and slips past her without another word. She turns her head in his direction, but he’s gone.)


(Fade to a heartbreakingly gorgeous sunset, the sky glowing orange, the sun’s dwindling light framing the United States Capitol. Cut to a bright orange and yellow striped plate, with one glazed doughnut being cut in pieces. Brennan, wielding a plastic knife, sits with Booth at the table in the lounge area of the Jeffersonian.)


BRENNAN: This is what happened when Rome fell.


BOOTH: (spearing a doughnut from the nearby box and holding it up with one finger) What? Uh, people ate stale doughnuts?


BRENNAN: Objectification of women, beauty as self-esteem.


(Booth returns the pastry to the box and licks the icing off his fingers)


BOOTH: Well, I think, um, you know, some of those kids actually had a good time.


BRENNAN: (nodding) The girl in the pink could really dance. (ponders some more, as she eats a piece of her snack) But then again, Nero could really play the fiddle.


BOOTH: (his voice contemplative) You know, Bones, I like to think that, um, someplace deep inside, people really know what’s important.


(He looks at her seriously)


BRENNAN: It’s hard to believe when you see women trying to disguise or change themselves.




BRENNAN: (popping another piece of doughnut into her mouth) I never understood that.


BOOTH: (smiling) Well, I mean, no, of course you wouldn’t. (he ducks his head)


(Brennan’s brow furrows)




(He lifts his head, staring forward, formulating his words, not quite looking at her, not immediately)


BOOTH: Well, it’s just, you know -- (he finally meets her eyes) -- someone who looks like … you … (Brennan pauses, looking at him attentively as he searches for words) -- well, wouldn’t -- (long pause as he looks into her eyes and nods) -- Just because of the way you look.


BRENNAN: (shakes her head) I don’t understand. What -- way do I look?


(Her face is a baffled, curious expression)


BOOTH: (faint smile) Well, you know, you’re -- you’re structured -- (he pauses, his voice low and his eyes soft) -- very well.


(Brennan looks down, considering this. She smiles back at him.)


BRENNAN: As are you.


(Booth smiles, enjoying himself, but the expression fades when he looks to the level below and sees Cam, briefcase in hand, on her way out. She lifts her head toward the platform and sees him sitting with Brennan. Booth gets an odd look on his face, his eyes shifting from Cam, down to the table, then back to beam at Brennan for a flash of a moment, before he casts his eyes down at the table again. Brennan is still smiling. Booth sits back suddenly, letting out a tired groan.)


BRENNAN: You okay?


BOOTH: (studies her a moment, the hint of a happy smile on his face) Yeah.


(However, just as quickly, the smile fades, and his body language shifts awkwardly)


BOOTH: It’s just -- (he looks away) -- whew. I just -- I remembered that I had an appointment.


(He gets up to leave, pulling his coat off the back of the chair)


BRENNAN: Oh. (nodding) So, um, I’ll see you tomorrow? (she looks up at him expectantly)


(Booth tenses his shoulders and shoots a look to where Cam has been standing in the doorway, watching him. She smiles. Booth looks to Cam for a long guilty moment, uncertain, then glances down and away. Cam says nothing; still smiling, she turns and gracefully exits the building. Booth turns back to Brennan.)


BOOTH: (deciding) No. You know, you have all the paperwork for the case, right? (he puts his coat back on the chair)


BRENNAN: No, I was -- I was gonna stay … (she reaches for the folder next to her) … do it anyway, so --


BOOTH: (nonchalant) No. No, I would -- you know, it’s our case. I wanna help.


BRENNAN: (chuckles) You don’t have to, Booth.


BOOTH: (lightly) Bones, just drop it, okay? (smiling, he lowers his voice, superhero-like) I’m here to help.


BRENNAN: Well… what about your appointment?


BOOTH: (shrugs) Uh, it’s -- you know, it’s no big deal. I’ll tell you what. (he braces himself against the edge of the table, leaning in, smirking flirtatiously) How about I, ah, order some takeout and I ditch these doughnuts?


(Brennan smiles, her eyes shining)




(Booth doesn’t move, his face still close to hers. She smiles up at him, and he tilts his head, smiling back, as they seem to read each other’s minds.)


BOOTH and BRENNAN: (at the same time) Thai food?


(They both grin widely, close to laughing. Booth takes a breath, and Brennan mirrors him, as they look into each other’s eyes intently. Neither moves for the longest moment, until finally Booth points a finger at her, grinning.)


BOOTH: This time, I’m ordering extra mee krob because you ate it last time. All of it.


BRENNAN: (laughs) What? I thought you were done.


BOOTH: Oh, right. (laughing, incredulous) I was done?


BRENNAN: (nods emphatically) Yeah.


BOOTH: You finished all of it.


(He straightens, pulling his cell phone out of the back pocket of his jeans)


BRENNAN: I did not. (grinning adamantly)You were pretty focused on the fried rice.


(Booth sits back down at the table, phone poised in his hand)


BOOTH: Can we just order? Okay?




(She pops another piece of doughnut into her mouth, watching him as he dials the number of the restaurant. They continue to talk and joke as the scene fades to black.)




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