Disclaimer: Clearly I don't do this for the money. I know I don't own Bones, nor do I own the Canterbury Tales. I'm just trying to have a little fun here.

Thanks to FauxMaven for her help on this chapter, and for the inspiration for the story in general.

This story will be seven chapters long. I already have most of it written, so I'll aim to post a new chapter every few days or so.

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In her office, Temperance Brennan leaned against her desk, fastening a dangling earring from one earlobe, then its partner from the other. Having just changed in the lab's bathroom, her lab coat hung on the coat rack and her work clothes were folded neatly in her bag. She smoothed out her shirt and adjusted the hem of her skirt while Angela waited patiently with her necklace. Turning, Brennan let her friend secure the necklace around her throat, the wood pendant resting just above the hint of cleavage peeking out from the neckline of her blouse. She faced Angela and held out her arms, seeking approval.

"You look great," Angela smiled.

"Thanks, Ange," Brennan said. "Are you going to change before we go?"

Angela nodded. "My clothes are in my office. Jack and I will probably leave here in about a half hour or so. Is Booth picking you up?"

"Yes, he should be here soon," Brennan said as she peered into a mirror, freshening her makeup. "Have you ever been to this place before?"

"The Tabard Inn? Sure. You haven't?"

Brennan shook her head, swiping lipstick across her mouth. She pressed her lips together, then checked her teeth in the mirror. Satisfied that she looked alright, Brennan glanced up at Angela.

"It'll be good to have Zack around again," she said quietly.

Nodding solemnly, Angela replied, "Yeah, it will. I hope it hasn't changed him too much—at least, not for the worse."

From out in the main part of the lab, a shout caused them to look toward the doorway. "Bones! It's time to go, come on!"

Brennan rolled her eyes at Angela, who smirked in response. "I'll tell him you'll be out in a minute," the artist offered as she headed out the door.

Shutting down her computer, she flicked off the lights and lifted her bag, slipping it easily onto her shoulder. After giving herself a quick once over, she picked up her smaller purse from on top of her desk and headed out of her office, shutting the door firmly behind her.

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The foyer of the restaurant was decorated in what would best be described as an eclectic style. A colorful statue of a laughing Buddha stood in the entryway and now Brennan examined the unusual mix of artwork adorning the walls. She understood why Angela had picked this place; between the shabby chic look of much of the furnishings and the funky decor, the place gave off a strangely welcoming feel. It seemed a popular place, as well—the parlor and bar were filled with a wide assortment of people, from politicians to tourists to artist-types. Turning away from an enormous painting of a barnyard scene with several ornately plumed turkeys in the foreground, she scowled at Booth.

"There was no need for us to get here so early," she griped. "Angela and Hodgins probably haven't even left the lab yet."

Shaking his head slightly, Booth kept his gaze on the crowd in the parlor. "I told you, I want to get a good table. That means getting here early and tipping well."

She pulled a face at him, knowing he wasn't watching.

"What are you, five?" he asked.

"How do you do that, Booth?"

She saw the corners of his mouth turn up in what she recognized as his smug smile. Before she had the chance to make a snide comment, a hostess approached them, holding an armful of menus. They followed her out onto the patio and Brennan was immediately impressed. Booth had secured them a quiet table in the corner and as they sat down, she took in her surroundings. The patio was enclosed by a tall brick wall, covered in lush green vines. The lighting was low enough to encourage a romantic air, helped along by the cozily arranged wrought iron tables and chairs.

When she glanced at Booth, she noticed that he was watching her with an expectant look. She arched an eyebrow at him.

"Well?" he said, a self-satisfied smile playing on his lips.

"Okay, fine. This is a good table," she admitted.

"I already knew that, Bones." He shook his head in mock exasperation.

After ordering drinks, a Sam Adams for Booth, and a glass of Delaporte Sancerre for herself, they talked quietly, waiting for the rest of their group to arrive. She was anxious to see Zack and kept an eye on the door, watching for him. All too clearly, she remembered her first trip to identify the remains of victims of war, and she wondered how Zack had coped. She and Booth talked about it from time to time, what it must be like for him, Brennan having the experience with what work he'd be doing, and Booth having spent time in Iraq himself.

Before long, Angela and Hodgins appeared in the doorway. As always when they went out, Angela looked gorgeous, wearing a form-fitting burgundy dress. Even Hodgins had dressed up, though it was with his usual eccentric taste. They took their seats opposite Booth and Brennan, leaving one seat left for Zack. Cam had bowed out, claiming a prior engagement, and secretly Brennan was relieved. She always had trouble socializing with her boss, though they had a grudging respect for each others' work.

"Has anyone heard from Zack?" Brennan asked.

"Yeah, he called before he flew out of Grand Rapids," Hodgins answered, glancing at his watch. "He should be here soon."

"So what do you think?" Angela asked her, gesturing to their surroundings.

"It's clearly a popular restaurant. I see why you like it, the atmosphere they've created is wonderful," Brennan replied.

Angela nodded, then indicated a sculpture along the far wall. "I absolutely love that piece," she smiled.

She turned her attention to what Angela was showing her. From this distance, she couldn't quite be sure what it was made of, though it appeared to be stone. The subject was a person submerged in what might be a bath, with overlarge thighs and knees emerging from the foreground of the surface, and a disproportionately smaller torso and head rising from the rear. She knew it was the type of art that Angela might appreciate, though she didn't particularly understand it herself.

A waitress appeared at their table to take drink orders from Angela and Hodgins. After a hurried discussion, they all agreed to order some appetizers and selected a dozen of the Glidden Point oysters as well as an order of the tempura soft shell crab and fried calamari.

The shrill ringing of a cell phone interrupted their perusal of the menu.

"That's mine, hang on," Hodgins said, reaching into his pocket for his phone. He glanced at the caller ID. "It's Zack," he told them.

"Hey, Zack," he said, answering the phone.

They listened to his end of the conversation with interest. After several minutes, he finally disconnected the call and slipped his phone back into his pocket.

"There was a problem with the luggage, apparently. He's just leaving the airport now, on his way home to drop off his things." They all groaned. "He should be here in maybe an hour."

After a good ten minutes spent soundly abusing the airline industry, their waitress reappeared with their appetizers. The oysters tasted deliciously fresh and salty, with a perfect mignonette sauce spooned into each of the half shells. They ate their fill, cracking jokes about inflaming libidos, before moving onto the tempura and calamari. Before long they felt sated and sipped idly at their drinks, the conversation lulling. The muted sounds of live jazz music being played in the sitting areas flowed out onto the patio. Brennan cast around for a topic of discussion and settled on the restaurant itself.

"Do you suppose this place is named after the legendary Tabard Inn?" she asked, mainly to Angela, assuming she would know.

Angela nodded. "It is. I read about it in the Diplomat a while ago. I didn't know there was any historical basis to the name until then."

Booth shifted in his seat, grumbling, "Leave it to you guys to find something squinty about a nice restaurant."

"Hey," Angela said, wagging a finger at him. "Just because I work with these guys, doesn't make me a squint."

Hodgins and Brennan both frowned at her. "What's wrong with being a squint?" Hodgins asked.

Cringing slightly, Angela patted Hodgins on the arm. "Nothing, Jack. That's not how I meant it."

Booth chuckled. "How did you mean it then?"

"We weren't talking about squinty stuff, we were talking about literature."

With a grin, Booth replied, "Yeah, you have to squint to read literature, you know."

"Maybe you'd benefit from squinting at something literary once in a while, Booth," Brennan commented.

"Hey, I read. Just because it's not Forensic Anthropology Today or Geeky Weekly doesn't mean it's not reading," he winked at Brennan to show he was joking, though it only served to irritate her.

Hodgins laughed, earning him glares from the two women. "Sorry, but Geeky Weekly? That's great, man."

Brennan elbowed Booth sharply in return for his smug smirk. "Alright, alright, forget it," he groused. "I suppose I'm in for a lecture about this historical relevance, aren't I?"

With an exasperated sigh, Brennan said, "We weren't going to lecture you, Booth. It's just that this restaurant—well, the inn, actually—takes its name from a similar place in England, the Tabard Inn, that Geoffrey Chaucer refers to in "The Canterbury Tales" as 'frequented by pilgrims.'

After an exaggerated pause, Booth pulled a surprised face. "Oh, is the lecture over already?" Brennan could tell he was suppressing laughter.

Brennan rolled her eyes at him and was about to respond with a good-natured jab of her own when Angela interrupted her.

"Oh, that's a good idea!" she exclaimed.

The three of them looked at her strangely. "What's a good idea?" Hodgins asked, a slightly worried look on his face.

"'The Canterbury Tales,'" she said and seemed finished with her explanation until she noticed the puzzled looks on everyone's faces. "Oh, come on," she sighed. "We have at least, what, forty-five minutes until Zack will get here?" They all nodded in agreement. "So, let's kill time by telling stories, like in The Canterbury Tales.'"

Booth gave her a clearly dubious look. "What kind of stories?"

Angela shrugged. "Any kind, I suppose. Something about you or a made-up story, I don't care."

Hodgins seemed to be on board, and Brennan was fine with the idea—after all, storytelling was right up her alley. But Booth still looked skeptical.

Groaning, Angela offered, "I'll go first, okay? You'll have time to figure out what story you want to tell."

Booth grudgingly agreed, and as Angela spent a moment gathering her thoughts in preparation to tell her story, Brennan wondered about Booth and what he might talk about. She already knew what story she'd be telling, something she had been working on for a while, though she hadn't really been planning on sharing it. It was just the kind of tale to tell in homage to the Canterbury Tales, so she decided to go for it. She just hoped that none of her coworkers would be able to perceive her inspiration for the story.