Epilogue:

From high up on the catwalk the Jeffersonian's head forensic pathologist cast an affectionate if slightly tired eye over her sprawling domain. A thinking adult's playground of glass, bright lights, and stainless steel for which she never ceased to be grateful, ever, especially after having toiled away for years at New York City's frugal central morgue.

It was good to be king-or in this case-empress, except of course on those occasions when the job required you to play crossing guard and head nurse and hall monitor, often all at once, an occurence which unfortunately happened a little more often around the lab than Cam would have liked. Still, she wouldn't trade the experience for anything.

Even less the lifelong friends that had come with the job as an unexpected perk.

The coffee cup in her hand beckoned and she raised it to her lips, inwardly bracing for the worst. There was more than good reason to be wary; the Lab's reputation when it came to a good ol' cup of joe wasn't the best, surpassing perhaps even the Royal Diner's (sorry, Booth) in infamy.

But after a careful sip Cam was prepared to decree that this, this magical, wonderful brew was absolutely superb-zippy on the tongue but not too acidic, leaving behind on the palate not the usual dusting of bitter grounds she was used to but a complex melange of chocolate goodness and comforting smoke.

Hodgin's fancy new Italian espresso maker and those farm-to-table coffee beans from Panama were most surely responsible for the welcome change.

They must have cost an arm and a leg, Cam guessed. But as long as they hadn't been purchased with funds purloined from her office's meagre budget, which last time she checked they hadn't, she would continue imbibing without a lick of guilt.

The coroner stole a quick look at her watch. Close to the official start of the weekend and yet a veritable army dressed in blue was still going at it, its individual components acting very much like frenzied electrons set in motion by some unknown heating source. Under normal circumstances she would have been another one of those speeding electrons but lately there were vistas opening up on Cam's horizon far more compelling than the end-of-the-week administrative termite mound now squatting menacingly on the landscape of her desk.

Besides, she swore to herself that this wouldn't take long-just another minute and she'd be done both drinking her Panamanian bliss and spying on the couple quietly talking on the platform, two bodies in such close proximity they could have passed for a single largish person save for the different clothes.

The only two people in the entire complex who apparently had nothing better to do with their time other than whisper and smile like goofs at each, oblivious to the juicy, oozing remains barely a yard away.

Cam's peripheral vision suddenly warned her that one of her coworkers-most likely Angela, judging by the kaleidoscopic blur of happy colors-was approaching her way fast with some gadget in hand and probably a work question in tow but still she kept gawking, physically unable to tear her openly curious gaze away from the conspiratorial pair below.

"So, what do you think?" she asked, barely giving the artist and her newest gizmo an acknowledging glance.

Angela scanned the object held fast between her fingers with a scrunched up nose and a half-snarl of disdain, looking as she so often did at the Jeffersonian during work hours, like she'd absolutely had her fill of all the incomprehensible vileness around her.

"As in every instance where one person whacks another's face into an unrecognizable lump of grossness which I then have to reconstruct, this case is absolutely awful. I still don't understand how humanity can do this to itself" she grumbled sadly, holding up the stomach-churning image on her monitor for her boss to inspect.

"No, not the case.'"

"Then what do I think about what?"

With her trademark Mona Lisa firmly in place, the coroner tipped her head knowingly in the general direction of a gibbering, tittering Dr. Lab and Mr. Hoover.

"Oh, them?" Angela scoffed. "You wanna know if Booth and Brennan are having sex. Please. Going at it day and night for weeks-and-hate to tell ya, Cam, but probably sneaking off for so-called 'interviews' during work-personal interviews. I'd bet anything that even some parts of the Jeffersonian's basement are on rotation for those two, they seem so hot-to-trot for each other. You know how much Brennan loves the Egyptian storeroom. I just hope that replica of Hatshepsut's funerary couch down there can handle Booth's weight-he's divinely ripped. It was iffy for Hodgins and me" she finished, giving Cam a playful wink.

"Oh God," Cam groaned. "I knew better than to ask. To quote Michelle, TMI."

With a quick shrug of the shoulders Angela reminded whomever needed the reminder that propriety had never been her thing.

"Just doing my duty by keeping the administration properly informed about what really goes on around here. Frankly, I'm surprised that random buttons aren't spontaneously popping off every time they make eye contact. By the way" she said, looking up at some unknown heavenly deity, "thank you gods and goddesses of the universe, although I have to say it took you long enough."

While Camille Saroyan definitely wanted more than anything to believe in miracles, and in her expert opinion Booth and Brennan knocking boots after the most convoluted mating ritual in recorded history more than qualified as one-she had to admit she was still a bit on the fence about trusting either Angela's spirited assessment of the situation or her own tingling instincts.

Just sayin', a little PDA-based confirmation would be nice.

"Are you sure? Did Dr. Brennan tell you?"

With a chimey little laugh, Angela leaned over the railing and joined her friend in what had become the Jeffersonian's staff's newest surreptitious hobby-lovebird watching. James Audubon, his lovely illustrations prominently featured in the museum's own vast natural history collection, would have been proud.

"She didn't have to. Brennan sucks at keeping secrets-the truth is her best friend and all that hooey, remember? She tries, but really, why bother? Pathetic and equally pointless."

"You sure?"

"One hundred percent. It's like when you plant a seed outside and forget all about it but one day you walk by and it's grown a foot-that's our Brennan. There were just a few little hints here and there at the beginning that made me suspicious, and then overnight it was 'whamo'; we had a tree in our backyard. You'd have to be blind not to see it."

"Interesting metaphor" Cam offered, with only middling success at tonal gravitas. "In any case, I had pretty much reached that same conclusion myself. It's not just your genius pal giving it away-Seeley isn't doing much better. If you look closely, I don't think his feet are even touching the floor right now. And that cocky grin...my God, just look at him, being all flirty-Mc-flirt on the platform with Dr. Brennan even though there's a pile of decomposing remains barely a foot away. You know how prissy Booth usually is around dead people. Talk about tunnel vision." She shook her head in wonder. "Still, I can't believe it finally happened."

The lab's unofficial den mothers turned to each other and beamed, pleased as punch by the results of their clandestine collaboration.

"It finally did."

Cam placed her elbow on the railing next to Angela's and sighed; a heavy, very audible sigh redolent of younger, more carefree days that now seemed as far removed from her hectic lifestyle as the French Revolution.

"I miss that, all that fun awkward stuff at the beginning, when it's the two of you against the world and you think you're getting away with something even though you're not. It's so..." She rolled her eyes. "And just listen to me, living through other people's relationships. I swear, this peeping-Tom hobby I've picked up working here is terrible" she said, looking squarely at Angela. "And I have nobody but you people to blame. You...you just all keep hooking up around me. It's everywhere. What in God's name are they putting in the water cooler these days?"

Angela smiled, understanding better than most the hardships of forced celibacy.

"Your time is coming Cam," she promised. "But be warned; the way things are shaping up around here, you'll probably end up dating one of the interns."

Cam stared at her subordinate as if she'd just lost her mind.

"Nope-not happening. Ever. Good lord, can you even imagine? It's all I can do to keep things running around here. I certainly don't need to complicate my life with a Wendell or a Clark-or God forbid, a Fisher."

"Or a Daisy."

"Or a Daisy," the coroner chuckled.

"Oh. I don't know, though; there's always fresh entrees rolling in if you don't have a hankering for the daily special. Besides, an office romance is certainly convenient. Who else is going to put up with the horrible hours and the dinner conversations about murder and dismembered corpses? And when the urge hits, you don't have to go very far..."

"I'm sticking to bottled water, just in case. So, do you have plans to bring up these interesting new developments anytime soon in front of Booth and Brennan?" Cam asked, guiding the conversation towards a safer topic-safer for her, at any rate. "Because I'd like to be present when you do. Consider that a polite request from the nosy person who signs your paychecks. As we've already discussed in far too much detail, my thrills are sadly lacking days."

"Got it. I was going to wait though; give them a little more rope to hang themselves with. I mean, look at them, all crazy in love and totally clueless that they're broadcasting their new, amazingly sexilicious love life to anyone with a set of eyes."

If she was thrown off by her colleague's bluntness Cam certainly didn't let it show. After all these years of being in charge at the Jeffersonian she knew she really had no business batting even a single eyelash at the content of anyone's personal observations at the lab. The place was a veritable stand-up comedy club of the Lenny Bruce variety, with a dash of Monty Python hi-jinks occasionally thrown in just to keep things interesting. Cue the frozen turkey which had bounced right onto hapless Angela's face and her own staggering collection of gooped-on, splattered and generally put-upon designer dresses that would never be worn in public ever again even after several prayerful trips to the dry cleaner.

"Oh, come on!," the artist insisted, trying to win another adherent to her point of view. "You know it just has to be amazing. All that repressed yearning, years of eye sex, of late dinners and 'guy' hugs? Besides, don't forget that Brennan is actually very passionate about the things she's into and she's definitely into Booth. As to Booth's level of enthusiasm in bed...Well, you have inside info there which I unfortunately-and probably will forever-lack" she declared with an exaggerated pout. "It's not fair, really. Just about everyone else around here got a turn."

Although Angela's prey remained steadfastly mum on the topic in question, Cam's coy smile and her unwillingness to out and out deny the allegations set before her only confirmed for the artist what she already suspected about the sexy FBI agent's record when it came to that.

Bummer about that lost turn, though...

Thoroughly enmeshed in their gossip, the two women failed to notice that Jack Hodgins had snuck up behind them. He was quietly soaking up every word they said with an expression halfway between amused interest and horror.

"Probably forever sounds good to me, Ange. Remember, life ain't fair" he joked good-naturedly, never one to take offense at his gal's healthy libido. "So, is this what they call the peanut gallery?" he queried, craning his neck to get a good look at the much talked-about duo now heading out the door.

His blue eyes suddenly grew wider and even more intensely blue, if such a thing were possible.

"Did Dr. Brennan just put her hand on Booth's...uhm...derrière?" he exclaimed, doing a pristine double-take. "Never thought I'd live to see the day."

"And that's exactly what I was waiting for, just a little bit of hard evidence" the coroner announced with a grin.

Angela snickered.

"Hard is certainly a good word for it," she let out under her breath.

Ignoring the risqué comment Cam raised her mug in the air and saluted the Jeffersonian's newest barista. "Thanks for the fabulous coffee, Dr. Hodgins. And I guess we're all about done here."

"Wait, wait" Hodgins broke in sensing his posse was about to disperse. "Before you leave I need your opinion, yours and Angela's, since I'm inevitably going to be in the direct line of fire of whatever is going on down there. Do you ladies think it's going to last?" he asked nervously. "Because if it doesn't, it's going to be baaaad. Like nuclear winter bad."

"Of course it's going to last" Angela and Cam piped up in unison, giving the cowed entomologist identical bite-your-tongue scowls.

"Okay, then. It's going to last. Can I ask what finally brought about this incredibly rare freak of nature? Or is it a state secret, like who really killed Kennedy and what's hidden away in Area 51?"

A single corner of Angela's mouth curled up to form an odd little smile.

"You've heard that quote, 'dream no small dreams for they have no power to move the hearts of men'?"

"Of course; our good friend Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. Without doubt an outstanding naturalist, writer and philosopher, but I imagine not the life of any party."

"Well, replace men for 'a woman' and you've got your answer."

The so-called answer was little better than no answer at all, Hodgins decided, as all it did was stoke his burning curiosity more. He looked from one enigmatic female face to the other in mild exasperation. All his studies, all his experiments and his fancy equipment and he still had absolutely no idea how the mind of over half the world's population worked.

If only his ridiculously expensive coffee maker were as good extracting information as it was distilling the essence of those fine Central American beans.

What he did know, though, was that a pitcher of Margaritas could do wonders for lowering inhibitions and loosening the most resolutely secretive of tongues. In his experience, even the titanium-strong bonds of sisterhood were no match for the powers of distilled blue agave topped with freshly squeezed lime juice.

Add a dash of Cointreau and a worm, and you had a wickedly potent truth serum.

"Alright Ms. 'Quote of the week'; time to clock out. I'm in the mood for Mexican, in case either of you ladies is interested."

"Mexican sounds good," Angela agreed.

"Cam, would you care to join us?"

The entomologist waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "I'm buying..."

The coroner couldn't repress the wave of laughter that came tumbling out of her mouth.

"I've got your number, Dr. Hodgins. You just want to get us properly hammered so you can get the full scoop on how Booth and Dr. Brennan finally got together. Fair enough. I guess if you're paying Angela and I can probably be bribed into revealing almost anything, including the whereabouts of Jimmy Hoffa's body. Just note that it's going to cost you-my alcohol tolerance is much greater than anyone might suspect. Don't be fooled by my BMI."

Hodgins got a quick kiss on the cheek from his girlfriend before she declared with a saucy grin "ditto, babe. I can drink most truckers right under their eighteen wheelers."

As if the scientist didn't already know. He couldn't resist one final volley as they all filed out, though.

"I already know where Jimmy is. Want me to tell you?"

Once again, thanks for the constant encouragement and support-I'm truly humbled by the kind words I've received throughout the writing of this story. And now that this pie is out of the oven, stay tuned for Poconos and Gray Suit updates! Bless you all and enjoy your Sunday!