This is the final chapter, my friends! This was a difficult endeavor, but in the end, great fun to produce! Thanks for all the positive feedback - I honestly find it very difficult to "go on" without it.

The ending is a bit, well, open-ended. And there are "shades" alluding to the 10th Doctor's impending end. Maybe the crew at the Jeffersonian can have an Eleventh Doctor adventure sometime... ;-)

Enjoy!

Chapter 12

A tall, thin man in a suit stood by a gurney and waited. He glanced at his watch. He was a busy man, and time was of the essence.

Dr. Camille Saroyan stood on the other side of the gurney with a clipboard, staring at a box, in the corner of which was printed, in tiny letters, the words, cause of death.

She sighed, and wrote, "Unknown."

She had spent the last few long, long moments contemplating whether to write "Natural," or "Unknown." Neither was true, but she couldn't very well write, "Microscopic Interplanetary Carnivores Lurking In the Shadows." As such, there was no hope of any kind of real "justice" for Charles Hasbrook, so the question became: which cause of death would incite fewer probing questions from the family, and therefore less potential for bad press for the Jeffersonian. Since they could not prove a death from any natural cause, she decided to go with the explanation that, by definition, had no explanation. It could not be disproven either, and as a bonus, was subject to change, should any new evidence surface. She rather doubted that any would, however.

She scribbled her signature at the bottom of the page, and the man in the suit thanked her, shook her hand, gave her a business card from the mortuary where he worked, and wheeled the gurney out. She watched him go, marveling at the utter unbelievable weirdness the bones inside the wooden box had brought about.

Five other crime-fighters sat at a conference table in a brightly-lit loft that overlooked the Jeffersonian's Medico-Legal lab. Each of them was cradling a cup of coffee between two hands, but no one was drinking. No one was speaking either.

When Cam reached the top of the stairs, she poured herself a cup, then took the sixth seat at the table, across from Agent Booth, beside Dr. Brennan.

"How's Mr. Hasbrook doing?" Booth asked her.

"He's dead, Booth," Brennan admonished. "He's clearly not doing well."

Cam ignored her. "He's headed home to his family," she said. "Or, at least, to a funeral home, cause of death unknown."

"It's better that way," Booth reassured her.

"But it's not the truth," Brennan pointed out, though without any of her usual truth-revering indignation.

"I know," Cam conceded. "What do you think would happen if I reported the truth?"

"Loony bin," Sweets muttered. Then he seemed to perk up, and asked, "Sorry, did I say that out loud?"

"Well," Booth said. "You might be interested to know that this morning when I checked my messages, Andrew Hacker had called to tell me that Metro Police has received reports from the meat packing plant where Hasbrook worked... about two hundred pounds of refrigerated beef has gone missing from their storage units."

Cam couldn't help but chuckle. "What?"

"Yep," Booth said, nodding. "Hacker kicked it to me because he remembered the name of the packing plant from when we pulled in the Hasbrook case. Figured it was a mighty big coincidence."

"That guy is sharp," Cam commented.

Brennan's eyes lit up. "Yes, he's very sharp. That's one of the reasons I like him. Not because of his superior height, broad shoulders or undoubted skill with a weapon."

Angela and Sweets caught each others' eye, and both suppressed a laugh.

Booth winced. "Bones, can we not?"

"So, does this mean there will be an investigation of the plant?" asked Hodgins, wearily.

Booth began to answer, but a strange, faint grinding sound reached all of their ears. They all looked at each other with varying degrees of excitement, surprise and fatigue. What's more, all of the people in blue and grey coats currently milling about in the lab below stopped and looked around for the source of the sound.

"Where's it coming from?" Sweets asked.

"I think it's the Autopsy Room," Cam answered.

When the team arrived in Dr. Saroyan's work space, the TARDIS was already there, and the Doctor was standing about, waiting.

"Blimey, this lab offers no privacy," he said, by way of hello. "Everything's glass walls and open doorways. Where's a bloke supposed to materialise a spaceship around here?" He gestured to the giant window that lined one side of Cam's office, and everyone noticed the vertical blinds swinging back and forth in the wake of the TARDIS' arrival. Behind the vertical blinds, there was a long, glass-paneled wall, affording everyone outside the opportunity to glance inside.

"So," Sweets said, stepping forward. "Nice outfit."

The Doctor smiled brightly. "Oh, thanks, do you like it?" he asked, two hands on hips, turning sideways, and jutting out a hip exaggeratedly. He was modeling an ensemble that looked very much like grey hospital scrubs, accompanied by a white apron, stained with disturbing red spots. "I call it Meat-Packer's Chic. The really stylish visor is inside the TARDIS."

"I take it you didn't just decide to work there because they're short-handed since Hasbrook's death," said Sweets.

"No, indeed, Dr. Sweets," said the Doctor.

"So you've already heard about the meat gone missing," Agent Booth assumed.

"He's always one step ahead," Hodgins said, re-adopting his old awestruck air, marveling at the Doctor's prowess.

The Doctor smirked. "The Vashta Nerada are a dangerous gang. Fortunately, in their large numbers, they usually make themselves known pretty quickly."

"Let us help you!" Hodgins offered, practically shouting.

"No," the Doctor said without hesitation. "You lot helped me before because you happened to be in the path of these things, and you also happen to be a band of bloody geniuses. This time, I'm not dragging anyone into it. I'm going to find a way to evacuate that plant before anything else happens. I just have to learn the inner-workings first. Have to make them trust me."

"Well, at least let me get you hooked up with more 'shrooms," Hodgins said.

"Thanks, I might take you up on that," the Doctor said.

"I didn't hear that," Booth said, covering his hears. "I did not hear that."

"I don't know how I would deploy them in the plant," said the Doctor. "But there's probably a way."

"Wouldn't plain old marijuana do the trick?" Angela asked. "I know a guy you could call. I mean, if you're trying to give them the munchies again..."

"People," Booth interrupted. "I'm standing right here!"

"Why don't you just put your suit back on?" Brennan wondered. "They seemed to know you in the suit, and it made them back off."

"Only temporarily," Angela pointed out. "After they hatched a plan, they came right for him."

Cam frowned. "Right, so, you be careful, Doctor. Do you hear me?"

"I hear you," he told her, with a slight smile.

"I don't want yours to be the next body we wheel in here and release with cause of death unknown, okay?" When she said unknown, she accented it with air-quotes, illustrated with her fingers.

"Yes," said Dr. Brennan. "I would find the task of examining your skeleton very unpleasant, though I have only known you for a short time."

"How the hell are you going to investigate that place without getting... you know, eaten?" Angela wanted to know.

"Carefully," the Doctor said with a shrug.

The whole room was uneasily quiet for a moment, until Sweets took two steps forward toward the Doctor. The two went toe-to-toe, a slight scowl crossing the Doctor's features.

"Do you have a death-wish?" Sweets asked him, squinting slightly, searching the Time Lord's eyes.

"What makes you say that?" the Doctor asked, scowling, barely moving his lips.

"Behavioral expert," Sweets said.

"Human behaviour," the Doctor reminded him. "I'm not human."

"You're human enough," Sweets said.

"Thanks," said the Doctor, softening his expression. "But I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"If you ever need someone to talk to..."

"I know. Thank you." He was giving Sweets a soft smile now.

Sweets nodded with concern, and took a couple steps backward, in retreat.

"Doctor, from what I understand about you," Hodgins said, rather seriously. "If you get caught by the Vashta Nerada, your death will be instantaneous, which means you won't be able to regenerate. Maybe you should..."

"What? Leave it alone? Let swarms of carnivorous microorganisms overtake a large building where people with lives dwell every day, unwittingly? People with other people who love them, and are expecting them to come home at night?" the Doctor asked.

"Maybe you should pull back a bit," Hodgins said gently. "Observe from the outside. Try to reason with the swarms - didn't you say you'd done that before? Couldn't you find a way to give them a voice for a few minutes? Long enough to dispatch them humanely like you did here?"

"Speaking of which, what did you do with them?" asked Cam.

"I took them to a planet called Viandi," he said. "It's their planet of origin, just like I promised. The humanoid population there is extict - or rather, long-since emigrated. What's left is only varying species of large and small, unintelligent mammals and reptiles. Or, at least, what pass for mammals and reptiles on planets other than Earth. For thousands of years, there has been a population and carrying capacity problem. Millions more are born than can survive, and there's no intelligent life-force left to control it."

"You would call the Vashta Nerada an intelligent life-force?" asked Hodgins.

"Well, sort of," the Doctor shrugged. "In any case, they'll thin the herd, so to speak, maybe free up some resources. And with no humanoid foes out to kill, control or otherwise wrangle them into submission, the Vashta Nerada will only feed when hungry."

"I thought you said this species was malevolent," Dr. Brennan reminded him.

He crossed his arms and pursed his lips, unsure of himself. "I did say that, didn't I? Well, I just have to believe that if they're not pursued, they'll settle down. Besides, I have no other ideas as to where to leave them."

"If you catch another giant swarm at the meat-packing plant, assuming you are successful in not having your flesh unceremoniously torn from your bones, can the planet Viandi sustain them, without excessive depletion of the other animal populations?" Brennan wondered.

"It's a whole planet, Dr. Brennan," the Doctor explained. "The swarm I deposited there was descending upon the Jeffersonian, which, formidable as it is, takes up only a speck of this planet. Same will be true for any swarms I find knocking about the meat-packing plant. Viandi will be fine."

"What if the swarms spread? What if they reproduce? Maybe you and I should try and find a humane sterilizer..." Hodgins offered.

"They will spread, Dr. Hodgins, and they will reproduce. But they will spread thin and form smaller swarms in smaller pockets - those exist everywhere in the universe. More will be born, while others die," the Doctor said. "They won't take over the planet, I promise."

Hodgins held up his hands, to show he was "disarmed."

"Doctor, what do we do if they come back?" asked Booth. "We can't count on having all the advantages we had today, and we can't just call you if we need you..."

"And we wouldn't want to anyway," Brennan added, defiantly.

The Doctor shrugged. "Get the hell out first, and ask questions later."

"What if we get surrounded again?" asked Sweets.

"What if one of you gets hit by a bus tomorrow?" the Doctor asked with a smirk.

"Right," conceded Sweets. "I get it."

"I don't know what that means," Brennan said.

Patiently, Sweets explained, "It means we can go what if, what if, what if all day long. In the end, it comes down to common sense, and... well, playing the odds."

"Right, and sometimes you can't beat the odds, and that's why life sucks," Cam shrugged. "We see that every day in this lab."

"But, if you get in a jam..." the Doctor said, contemplating. "Dr. Hodgins knows how to get my attention."

"I do?" Hodgins asked.

"Sure. Just ask for Angela's help," said the Time Lord, winking at the computer arts specialist. "Between the two of you, I'm sure you can work it out."

There was a slightly awkward silence, when Cam said, "Doctor, would you like to stay for a cup of coffee? I mean, it's institutional coffee, but it's not totally intolerable if you use some of the French Vanilla creamer."

The Doctor smiled appreciatively. "Sorry, but I'm on my break," he said. "Got to get back to the slaughterhouse."

"And you don't do family anyway, do you?" asked Hodgins with a wink.

"Not these days, no," said the Doctor, with a sigh.

And with that, he shook hands with each of the Jeffersonian's elite Medico-Legal lab crew (except for Angela, who insisted on a hug), and its auxiliary FBI staff, and shut the door to the TARDIS.

The vessel faded away in a hail of wind and grinding gears.

The End