"So how's the science going?" Booth sat across the table from me, his eyes glinting in the light of the little candle which I had told the waitress was unnecessary. She'd lit it anyway, evoking a smirk from Booth. I sighed at his question, something I rarely did when science was the matter of the discussion.

"It's impossible, Booth. We must be missing something crucial. Zach and I have been over the bones countless times and we can't find anything to explain the level of damage to the soft tissue. Cam can't pull DNA and Hodgins has only found particulates to confirm what we already know about the location of the body."

"But the handprint..." Booth began. I nodded.

We had discovered what appeared to be the imprint of a hand on the victim's pelvis. A blow strong enough to leave a mark on the bone would have devastated the murderer's hand yet no such injury had been reported in Forks, Port Angeles, La Push or any of the surrounding hospitals. Without medical attention, the person who had hurt their hand so severely would be dead by now.

"I don't see how we can explain it as a handprint, Booth." I told him. "The only conclusion that Zach and I can come to is that it must have been inflicted by either a mechanical hand, a model of a hand or the hand of someone already dead. I don't see how a person could move their own arm with enough force to cause the marks on the bone."

"Was it the victim's own hand? They could have slammed it into her pelvis post-mortem?" I shook my head.

"The angle is all wrong. Even if her arm was broken, which it isn't, it would take more force than can be generated to cause micro-fractures on the bone." I had examined them myself and it had taken a long time to discern the markings as a handprint.

"Are you sure it's a hand, Bones?"

"Definitely," I replied. "Angela connected the impact points on her computer and it's a hand. I am convinced."

Booth smiled and leaned forwards.

"So how about Forks, huh? How are you enjoying this rainy little town?" I nodded.

"Despite my initial reluctance to stay here, I have found everything to be very pleasant." It was refreshing to get away from the buzz of the Jeffersonian and the FBI offices to work in a place where a few people were on duty every single day, in a town where everyone knew everyone and treated us like royalty for coming to help to solve their murders.

"Everyone has been friendly," I added. "Chief Swan was particularly amusing earlier." I suppressed a laugh as I recalled our conversation in the hospital parking lot. Booth's raised his eyebrows. I wasn't sure why, but he didn't look entirely pleased.

"Amusing? You find small town cops amusing? I thought you said they had their own warped little justice system and some other anthro-babble?" I shook my head. Booth really didn't understand anthropology.

"Yes, but that's not necessarily a disadvantage, Booth. Society was built upon the big cities and tiny little villages in remote areas are left to make a system work which was never intended for use in their kind of lifestyle. So what do they do? They twist it and warp it but as long as the fundamental principles are retained, they're only giving themselves the ability to prosper. I find it fascinating."

Booth was left looking a little confused and so I didn't continue. It was the end of a long day and he must have been quite tired after hours of interrogations with the town's population of teenagers to confirm Madeline Yorkie's story as true.

"So Chief Swan's amusing?" Booth raised his eyebrows again. I nodded.

"I find his sense of humour very refreshing. He was telling a joke about bones." Booth smirked.

"A joke about bones. I thought you hated people making jokes about your work." I sighed.

"There was no corpse on the table in front of us, Booth." I explained.

"Alright." Booth sat with his arms crossed and his eyes on me. I felt as though he was waiting for something but I couldn't discern what.

"Alright what?" He rolled his eyes.

"Tell me the joke. The joke about bones." He laughed to himself. I smiled.

"Oh. Okay. I'll have to remember it first." Booth's eyes twinkled at me as they often did and not merely due to the candlelight. I laughed softly to myself as I remembered.

"Why didn't the skeleton go to the disco?" I recited. Booth smirked again. "You're supposed to reply 'I don't know'," I reminded him.

"I don't know," Booth replied, still smiling at me. I looked at him.

"Because he had no body to go with!" Booth was still laughing. "Do you get it?" I asked. It had seemed a lot more amusing when Chief Swan had told it. Booth nodded.

"Everyone knows that joke, Bones." I looked at him, puzzled.

"Do they? I hadn't heard that before."

"No, you hadn't." Booth laughed until the waitress came over.

"Welcome to La Bella Italia. Can I get you anything?" The waitress was staring at Booth with a strange smile on her face. I wondered if she was stupid. I hadn't been looking at the menu so I just picked the first thing that I saw.

"I'll have the mushroom ravioli, please."