AN: I don't own Bones. Due to the outpouring of reviews and demands that I update to end the suspense I have decided to once again set aside work and instead put my time and energy into writing this the epilogue of my little tale. Thanks again to all my readers and reviewers; perhaps I'll write something new soon.

"Time of death 2134."

The doctor pulls the cover over the bloody corpse of what once was a man.

He shrugs; he couldn't have done anything to save the man. Too much damage was done; his injuries were too severe. It was a wonder that he lived long enough to make it to the ER.

His death was painful and slow; a pity. No one should die in that much agony.

The doctor steps out to wash up and send for the ME; an orderly rolls the gurney out to the morgue.


In the rolling green fields of Arlington men and women gather around a hole in the ground to honor and mourn. Some are stoic, some cry, but all remember.


Seven rifles brought up to port arms.


Seven rifles aimed in the sky. The sky is of the purest blue.


A single crack as seven voices speak. In unison the soldiers reload.


Seven are brought up again facing the sky.


The rifles crack; sobs from the onlookers punctuate the meaning of the ceremony.


A flag-draped coffin stands alone over an empty grave.


Twenty-one times the rifles speak. Twenty-one voices of respect, honor, and mourning.

Why is the sky blue? Because God loves the infantry; as we die he cries.

The chaplain stands solemn and stoic over the casket as the victorious dead is lowered to his final rest.




So… much…

"Shhh… rest."


The pain disappears…


In an office a man panics, his phone calls to unwritten numbers go unanswered. Sweat beads down his brow.

His connections can no longer protect him, or will no longer protect him. A massive shake up is in the works because of the events of the last week; the Attorney General is talking about a full investigation to find out what is happening in this arm of the government.

A hunt the AG means; a hunt for traitors and criminals. This man is one of many, only he's the one closest to the catalyst.

Treason, that word hangs heavy in the air of this building. Treason always fails. He should have remembered that. For if it doesn't then none dare call it treason.

A knock on the door.

He turns to see armed men holding a piece of paper enter his sanctum.

They speak words that he refuses to let himself hear. Not that it matters.

He's numb as the metal clicks over his wrists. The metal feels so cold on his sweaty skin.

They escort him out.

He looks back to see men in gloves plunder his office for evidence of his perfidious crimes.

A man of power walked into that office today.

And now a broken shell shambles out.


Are you dead?

You're definitely floating… or at least it feels that way…

This isn't quite what you imagined the Hell to be like. You don't feel any pain. Only a strange nothingness.

Are you in Heaven? Purgatory?

No, you've done too much wrong in your life. You've killed. You've done evil.


What's that?


That's pain alright.

Your eyes.

You can move your eyes.

The light hurts you but you can move your eyes.

You're alive. And you're very much in pain.


The light is clearing. You can see.

But what do you see?

You see a ceiling… tiles… a hospital?

A figure obscures the light.



Aphrodite. No.


She whispers something but you can't understand the words.

A slight pressure.

The light fades…


Men in blue jump suits photograph a wooden clearing in the forests of Appalachia.

Actually they're not photographing the clearing so much as the blood and gore.

And the bones, don't forget the bones.

The stench of death, sweet in the air; a foulness that can never be described only experienced.

Death has visited here.

They all know what happened, or were at least told a story about the events. Fed on rumors each taller than the last.

They say it was one man that did all of this. One man killed all these people. One of the techs insists on this, says he knows the man who did it.

Impossible the others say. It had to have been at least two, more likely three men. How can one man have done all of this by himself? All the signs say that the deaths of almost a dozen men occurred within minutes of each other; how can one man have killed so many in such a short time?

The first man insists; the others roll their eyes but shut up. After all he's the boss of the team.

The first man takes off his glasses for a second to wipe his brow with his forearm. Utterly in awe at the scene of death before him; he makes a mental note to pay back that $10 that he borrowed for lunch last month.


Slowly light creeps into darkness; a stirring inside of you that you thought was lost. So you're really not dead. At least that's comforting because you feel more pain that you wished you had to feel.

They must be cutting back on the morphia; you've had… "dreams" is the best way to put it, of awake fullness but they were always fuzzy and ended too soon.

Pain is good; pain means that you're alive.

Your eyelids feel like lead weights but you muster the strength to open them… slowly.

The first thing you notice is that you're sporting more tubes and lines out of you than you've had for a good long time.

Ok that was a lie; the first thing you noticed was the fact that Wendell and Hodgins are both zonked out in the room with you. Suddenly a great weight that was resting on your shoulders is lifted and you let out a great sigh of relief.

Of course neither of them are in the greatest of predicaments. Wendell is sporting a brand new respirator and Hodgins has nearly as many lines going into him and tubes leaving him as you do. At least they're alive, you didn't know what happened to them before you decided to go and get shot.


You were shot…

So how the hell did you get here?


Where is she? What happened? Is she ok?

You look around the room feverishly trying to catch a glimpse of her, even the slightest hint of her presence; the sound of her voice, a whiff of her perfume, anything.

The door creaks open. Your heart leaps in anticipation.

Only to have it crushed as a nurse walks in checking the monitors. She just looks at you noticing that you're awake but doesn't even say anything like "hello." Some service this hospital has, if you have the chance you'll never return here; instead you'll take all your flesh-patching needs somewhere else.

As the nurse leaves you hear the hushed whisper of voices on the other side of the door, the next thing you know is the door being just this side of flung open by a very agitated looking Bones.

Addendum- A very hot agitated looking Bones. You're allowed to think that right? After all you did take the line and blow it out of the water with that off the cuff spur of the moment kiss right before you had to go run out in the open and get shot.

Yeah she may be sporting a mess of cuts and bruises across her alabaster skin but the well-fitting pants and blouse ensemble she has going for her makes up for damn near anything.

She walks over to you with as much indignation as she can possibly muster; dear God what did you go and do now? Hey at least you didn't pretend that you were dead this time around! Can't she give you some credit for that?

Her heavy breathing and very pissed off look seem to tell you otherwise as she positions her face inches away from yours.

"Uh… hi Bones…" She can't hit you right? You are an invalid in a hospital bed, there's a rule against that sort of thing somewhere right?

Her eyes burn with righteous fury but her voice is utterly calm.

"If you ever do that to me again I will kill you." Ok you take it that the kiss was unwell-

HOLY CHRIST!!!!! Oxygen… loosing… senses overwhelmed… Bones… lips… tongue…

The last thing you hear before you lose consciousness is the monitor beeping and the nurse yelling curses.


Max Keenan smiles as he looks through the glass of the hospital room door; about time those two finally admitted the obvious to each other. He walks down the hall and out the door to the car that's parked outside. He looks around but the section of parking lot that he's in is deserted; he pops the trunk to caress the saving grace that protected his daughter freed all those unfortunate souls. To think that so many FBI and LEOs were deemed "threats" to uncovering a crime syndicate within the halls of the Bureau. He shudders thinking of the grave pits that the forensics teams found just outside the clearing and scattered throughout the forest. He thinks on how it took his breath away to see his Tempe carrying a bloody Booth out of the caves; to think that they might have had to bag him with all the other dead there save for the efforts of his daughter... of course she made up for that Samaritan act by leaving a bloody, mangled, but still breathing pile of meat and bones down the tunnel. Max smiles knowingly and says: "That's my girl."

His eyes fix upon a word carved into the butt-stock; a fitting name for what transpired. Fate it seems was fulfilled today he muses.

"Well Temperance I don't think that Booth will mind me taking you out for a spin, after all he said that I could try shooting you sometime."

With a very charming grin he shuts the trunk and gets into the car, humming an old Poco song as he drives away.

AN:Hope you enjoyed my little epilouge! Keep a look out for new works from me because I find fanfic such a welcome distraction from my real work. A bit of clarification the funeral was for Williams, Booth's friend.