Sweetie...
Angela, I don't want to.
Sweetie, could you stop galloping
for, like, two seconds?
Better able to withstand peer pressure
when you can't catch me.
Call it a favor, okay?
How does me going
to a company Christmas party do you a favor?
Remember what happened last year?
I didn't go last year.
Yeah, exactly. And it took me weeks
to collect all those photocopies.
I need you. Friends don't let friends
photocopy their butts at company Christmas parties.
Hey, there's a Secret Santa.
I don't like Secret Santa.
The idea that we are forced by convention
to exchange meaningless gifts.
Yeah, yeah, I know.
If you rearranged "Secret Santa" though,
you get "Secret Satan. "
What possible meaning could that have?
I've already had an eggnog, if you can't tell.
Now how am I going to enjoy this party
knowing that my best friend in the whole world
is in the lab, eyeball to eyeball with Skeletor.
Who?
He's a cartoon villain who looks like a...
You know, his name is self-explanatory.
Would you please just come to this party?
20 minutes.
Bones.
All right.
Merry Christmas, Seeley.
What are you, an elf?
Yes. What's wrong with a little Christmas spirit?
What's the context?
Federal property on Dupont Circle
where Congress puts up visiting agricultural specialists
or something like that, they're digging to put in a solarium,
and they find a fallout shelter
with a skeleton inside.
How long was it in there?
The shelter was built in the '50s,
part of that whole A- bomb panic.
It's not a suicide.
Why not?
Hole in the head, you see the gun.
It's a suicide.
He shoots himself in the head and somehow
his arm ends up across his chest?
Bring the skeleton in,
I'll prove it wasn't a suicide.
Merry Christmas, Bones.
Come on, boys, bring it in.
Oh, no, we're going to the company Christmas party.
You go ahead, I'll do a cursory examination
and I'll meet you in a few minutes.
All right.
There you go.
Booth, will you escort Angela
to the Christmas party
and make sure she doesn't photocopy her butt?
Oh, no, I can't do that.
You see, I got some really last minute
important Christmas shopping that I got to do.
It's not last minute until tomorrow.
Come on, Bones.
Bones...
Just... I got to...
Jeez.
Stop.
Turn.
Your robot reminds me of you.
You tell it to turn, it stops.
You tell it to stop, it turns.
You ask it to take out the garbage,
it watches reruns of Firefly.
After I fix the voice recognition protocols,
this is going to blow those gomers at MIT away.
Hey, we've got about half a liter of pure alcohol here.
Dump it in the eggnog,
and we've got the best Christmas party in history.
I brought an eggnog.
I can't drink while I work.
Good thing I didn't bring it for you.
Crystal in accounting is after you, isn't she?
Oh, like Alien after Predator.
Sit.
What do you got there?
Two open tickets to Paris.
One way.
Pan Transit Airlines.
They're blank.
Pan Transit went out of business in the '60s.
I thought you were at the party.
It wasn't a party,
it was a Star Wars convention.
This was still in the skull.
.22 caliber.
It matches the gun he was holding.
Did you open up the suitcase?
- Nope. - Why not?
Could hold information that would compromise my objectivity.
Yeah, like a name and address?
I prefer to make unbiased, initial observations.
Is that pure alcohol?
Yes, Dr. Brennan.
You really think Goodman's going to let you spike the eggnog
after the Fourth of July fiasco?
We may have to rethink.
Zack, I need you to clean these bones.
Now?
Ha! Burned.
And I need you to search the clothing
for insect evidence.
Jeez, Bones, Merry Christmas.
Okay.
You people listen to me.
There is a party going on
upstairs, okay?
A Christmas party. We're going up there.
We're going to talk to some people, we're going to sing
some carols, we're going to drink some eggnog.
You are going
to kiss me under the mistletoe.
On the lips.
I might kiss you guys under the mistletoe, too.
Maybe even you.
In a festive,
non-lesbian manner.
But we are going to that party.
Put on a mask, I'm going to take a couple core samples.
Okay.
What's that?
Biological contamination.
Okay.
The doors seal automatically.
Don't worry about it.
What do you mean don't worry about it?
There's no use panicking until we know what it is.
What what is?
Uh, we might know.
I cut into the fallout shelter bones
and the biohazard alarm went off.
Were you conforming to autopsy protocol?
One of us was.
The other was drinking an eggnog.
And you didn't have your mask on?
Oh...
That pathogen is coccidioidomycosis.
Valley fever?
It was picked up in the scanner
in the discharge vent
at Mr. Addy's station.
What's valley fever?
It's a fungus that can lead
to pneumonia, meningitis, spontaneous abortion...
death.
The alarm sounded shortly after Mr. Addy
cut into a human bone. That must've been the source.
Was he following autopsy protocol?
Of course. However...
I was drinking an eggnog.
And now he's there with you breathing the same air.
Hey, I got into
the decontamination shower with Zack.
Haven't I been through enough hell?
Is he contagious?
Dr. Hodgins may have
inhaled the spores, yes.
Okay, it must suck to be Hodgins right now,
but the rest of us, we didn't inhale.
So it's okay that I go, right?
Dr. Hodgins may have exhaled the spores all over us.
We have no choice but to impose quarantine.
Valley fever can be fatal
and we can't risk a pandemic.
Just calm down and let us handle things from this side.
Anyone besides me
worried that a guy dressed like Santa is in charge?
Merry Christmas.
Okay, you know what, if this is fatal,
I will shoot both of you.
Maybe you guys
could go get dressed.
I zapped the bones with ultraviolet light
and arranged them in the isolation tables
so we won't have to worry about spores.
In addition, I found this sewn into the lining of his clothing.
A woman's wedding band.
Two tickets to Paris, a wedding band...
a picture begins to form.
We don't form pictures, we accumulate evidence.
Dental work?
Acrylic resins in the interior fillings
from the 1940s.
Childhood tibia break,
bad enough that he walked with a limp.
Also, he wore a toupee.
Doesn't seem to have degraded.
It's made of a synthetic called dynel.
It couldn't have looked good.
This is a cocktail of four anti-fungal drugs
including Amphotericin B
Orally, you'll be taking ketoconazole,
fluconazole, and itraconazole.
That's great. Then we can leave?
We won't know for a couple of days
if the fungus took hold in your system.
Whoa, whoa, you're saying that we're stuck here over Christmas?
Look, you know, I have...
places to go, you know, I have obligations.
We all have obligations.
I'm supposed to go to Quebec.
Hey, who's fault is this?
Who forced me to go the party where I drank too much
and had to hide from Crystal?
Who never should've cut into a bone
with a drunken fool in the room?
Who brought us human remains
just to ditch a little paperwork?
Oh, wait, you're saying that this is my fault?
You knew Dr. Brennan could not resist.
Well, I'd have been able to resist
if I was in Niger where I wanted to be.
You're blaming me?
Ladies and gentlemen,
we'll have sleeping bags delivered.
Please have your loved ones call me
and we'll set up some kind of safe quarantine visit
on Christmas Eve.
Oh, and be prepared for side effects.
Nausea, fever, insomnia?
In very rare cases, euphoria,
dream state, mild hallucinations.
I'll take that, please.
Early symptoms
mimic a common cold.
What if it manifests?
First treatment protocol involves
extremely painful injections into the base of the brain.
You know what?
I've never realized
how pretty all this shiny stuff is.
That is so not fair.
Tomorrow I was supposed to leave for Quebec.
Want to know the true meaning of Christmas?
It's being inside a 300-year-old inn
with a French-Canadian masseuse
when there's ten feet of snow outside.
Christmas is going home to Michigan
and heading into the woods with your brothers
to cut a 12-foot Christmas tree,
and you all decorate it together,
brothers, sisters,
nieces, nephews...
40 people who all love you and are happy to see you.
That, my friend,
is the true meaning of Christmas.
Nah, I'm going to have to go with the masseuse on this one.
What are those little tiny lights dancing on the ceiling?
For the third time, those are minute firings
of neurons on your optic nerve
due to your reaction to the antifungal cocktail.
They're beautiful.
You are stoned, Agent Booth.
Oh, good.
Let's hope it lasts long enough to keep this from being
the worst Christmas of my life.
What are you complaining about?
I don't like to boast, but
I am the spirit of Christmas in my house.
I have a wife and twin five-year-old daughters.
We have family traditions,
the most important of which is being together for Christmas.
Wow. They're beautiful.
Yeah.
I have a kid, too.
His name's Parker.
He's four years old.
His mother wouldn't marry me, so
my parental rights are totally...
Vague?
That word's just a little bit more Christmassier
than what I was thinking.
He's a fine looking boy.
Yeah, I get him part of Christmas day.
I get him an excellent present every year.
Something really cool.
But, uh... this year...
Yeah, it's... this year.
What are those little lights on the ceiling?
I know it's against your nature,
but I need your help.
For what?
To make Christmas.
Why? Because we're the girls?
Yes.
We have to decorate and we have to make our own Secret Santa.
You called it Secret Satan before.
It's all so tragic.
A cheap wedding ring sewn into a suit,
two tickets to Paris.
It makes you wonder, who was the girl?
Can you imagine what it was like for her?
Waiting and wondering?
Never knowing what happened?
I don't have to imagine.
What do you mean?
I'll tell you what I'm going to do for Christmas.
Good. Thank you.
At last you decide
to take part.
I'm going to solve a murder.
Bones.
It's after midnight. Hmm?
Christmas Eve day.
Both an eve and a day, it's a Christmas miracle.
Still enjoying your medication, I see.
Okay, so, what are we looking at.
There are traces of lead and nickel
in the dead guy's osteological profile.
You don't seem too upset about missing Christmas.
Indications are that Christ, if he existed,
was born in the late spring
and that the celebration of his birth was shifted
to coincide with the pagan rite
of the winter solstice
so that early Christians weren't persecuted.
Mmm. What are you, like, the Christmas killer?
It's the truth.
Well, it sounds like the truth cause it's so rational, right,
but, you know, the true truth is that you just...
you hate Christmas, so you just spout out
all these facts and you ruin it for everyone else.
I ruin the true truth with facts?
Yeah, and you ruin it for the squint squad, too,
by making them work on a case about a guy
who's been sealed up in a fallout shelter for 50 years.
Okay, how would you like me to spend my Christmas?
Christmas is the perfect time to reexamine your standing
with, you know...
A helicopter pilot?
Oh, right, right.
You can't measure the man upstairs in a beaker,
so he can't possibly exist.
"The man upstairs?"
Mmm. You know, you don't know if you're sick,
but you're more than willing to take drugs just in case.
Seems to me you could give the man upstairs
the same benefit of the doubt
that you do an invisible fungus.
In some cases of valley fever,
suppurating skin lesions appear.
Could someone in a position of responsibility
please order Zack to shut up?
Coffee, coffee.
Good morning, Ms. Montenegro.
Where did this come from?
Uh, hazmat team brought it over earlier this morning.
Very... appetizing.
Are you back with us?
Yeah. Think so.
Since we're going to be stuck together for Christmas,
we should make the most of it.
How?
We'll decorate this place and exchange handmade gifts.
An excellent idea, Ms. Montenegro.
I can get behind that.
I'm in. As am I.
How about Bones?
Mmm. Uh-uh.
Ah, come on. What's the deal with Bones and Christmas?
Last night,
I spun a little story
about two young lovers running off to Paris.
But the man never shows up,
and the woman is left wondering what happened to him.
And I say, "Imagine what that must have been like. "
And Brennan says, "I don't have to. "
Yeah, I-I still don't get it.
Oh, my God.
What?
Brennan's parents disappeared
just before Christmas
when she was 15.
And she never knew what happened to them.
Oh, God. That explains a lot.
Yeah. All right.
We need a way to choose our Secret Santas.
I could build a random generator.
Wouldn't it be better to match
complimentary people in a premeditated manner?
I got five numbers in my head and five letters.
You tell me the number, I tell you the matching letter.
Well, are the letters sequential,
or the numbers sequential?
Six. There's no six.
"A" through "E" and one through five?
Just pick a name,
and if you get your own, put it back in.
Oh. that could work.
Yeah. That's good.
Feds seized the house from a man
named Gil Atkins in the '60s.
Proceeds of crime from fencing,
dealing in jewels, stolen art.
Atkins built a fallout shelter in '51.
He sealed it in '58 and he died in '83.
What do you got?
Ah, nothing much special about our victim.
You know about the toupee?
Below average height, below average weight.
A little frail.
Had a bad back.
He had a hunch,
maybe from paperwork.
So basically a wimp.
Contents of his pockets.
Oh, compass, pen knife, some change.
Listen, I got Goodman for this Secret Santa thing
and I don't know what...
Anthropologically speaking, gifts are a way
of asserting dominance in a group.
Now, imagine an entire holiday
devoted to self promotion,
especially in this materialistic culture.
How can you expect me to get behind that?
How can you get behind it?
Wow. That's deep.
That's a very deep pile of crap.
You came to me with information this morning, a peace offering,
but it was to make you feel better, not me.
Proves my point.
Any idea what this is?
No.
Me neither.
Try Dr. Goodman.
You know, Bones, you make it very, very hard for me to be nice to you.
We have to be extremely creative.
Maybe string a bunch of test tubes together,
fill them with luminescent liquids.
Nice. Very festive.
They'll probably give us cancer.
That would be fitting this Christmas.
Tidings of joy, gentlemen.
Tidings of joy.
Decorations do not a Christmas make.
Family and friends make Christmas.
We're friends.
Or not friends.
We are colleagues, friends, coworkers, yes,
but for a father like myself, like Agent Booth,
a few glowing test tubes don't make up
for missing Christmas morning with the children.
Excuse me?
Be kind. Rewind.
Booth has a kid?
Ah. Well. Not common knowledge, I gather.
I, uh... see you've decided
to help Dr. Brennan with the case.
Oh. You know, if Angela's right, sure. Why not?
And... something for Bones.
Call it Christmas spirit.
My thoughts exactly.
Um... I thought I might
take a look at the contents of the suitcase with you.
Why?
It beats cobbling together Christmas decorations
out of pipettes and graduated cylinders.
No, I mean, what makes you qualified to look at clues?
Well, I'm an archaeologist.
I- I'm good with artifacts.
Do you mind?
No. Archaeologist?
I thought you were an administrator.
Yeah, didn't start out that way.
He was fastidious.
Everything neatly folded
as though by a trained valet.
This man was by no means wealthy.
All the clothing
is well used and mended.
See that? "Blackman and Ball, Fine Tailors.
Washington, D.C."
Rest of his clothes are all labeled
from Tulsa, Oklahoma.
Huh.
Female handwriting.
How'd you get that?
After cuneiform, handwriting is a snap.
"Dearest Lionel... "
No envelopes, no return address.
No signature, either. Just this drawing of a leaf.
They seem to be dated from summer of 1957
through to early winter of 1958.
With your permission, I'll read these.
Yeah.
Bones thought you might know
what this is here.
Oh. Hey, Rebecca.
Yeah, thanks for calling.
You heard what happened, right?
Seems to be some kind of a pouch.
You don't have to see me.
Sid agreed to bring him by.
Don't make me beg.
Thank you.
Everything all right?
Yeah.
Puparia show Lionel had Valley Fever.
We sort of knew that.
Wow. Was that a shot?
Because I apologized.
I mean, Goodman doesn't get to see his family.
Zack doesn't get to see his kids.
Booth doesn't get to see his son.
At least I'm an accidental Grinch.
All due respect, you're the Grinch on purpose.
I have no idea what you're saying to me.
The Grinch is the relatively well-known creation
of a children's author named Dr. Seuss.
Listen, I got Angela for my Secret Santa thing,
and what I want to do is blow up a microscopic image
of a toxic mold- Stachybotrys chartarum-
because I know she's very interested in fractal imagery.
I thought that might appeal to her aesthetically.
Do you agree?
I'm not really who you want to talk to about gifts.
Wait. Booth has a kid?
- You didn't know? - No.
I wasn't the one who told you.
Fall, 1958.
Heavy weight suit.
Kind of small, wool, black.
First name, Lionel. That's all I got.
Thanks. I appreciate it.
You know, it being Christmas Eve and all, I'll hold.
Lionel had a suit here made in town.
The tailor shop, it still exists.
His grandson owns it.
Get this- they kept the records.
We may be able to find Careful Lionel's last name.
"Careful Lionel?"
Yeah. Little guy, toupee.
Drank a vitamin tonic.
Carried his own compass, all of this stuff just so.
Careful Lionel.
What was he so worried about?
Well, considering how he ended up...
Wait, you have a son?
Yeah.
You've never mentioned that.
Well, nothing brings people together
like a Christmas lung fungus.
Yes. That's great!
When?
Great. Thank you. Merry Christmas.
Lionel Little.
Okay, he picked up his new suit
on November 7, 1958. He paid cash.
He was supposed to come back the next day
for his shirt, but get this: he never showed up.
It was his wedding shirt.
Whoa! Bless you.
Uh-oh.
Is that a cold, or Valley Fever?
Bones...?
So... so, if Lionel was a coin collector, that might explain
the levels of lead and nickel in his bones.
When do they insert the needle into your brain?
I sneezed because the air is dry.
It's not valley fever.
Any other symptoms? Headache?
Any foul-smelling pustules on your shins?
Look, she sneezed twice, that's it.
You find anything else about the letters?
Quite a lot, yes.
They are very, very passionate love letters.
Careful Lionel had a girlfriend?
A girlfriend who was in trouble.
Pregnant in trouble?
Whoa. Apparently, Careful Lionel wasn't so careful.
An unmarried pregnant girl?
In Oklahoma? In the late '50s?
Do you suppose Lionel came up here to procure an abortion?
You know what? This isn't a very Christmas-Eve-type story.
Of course it is.
The Christ myth is built upon
the travails of an unwed mother.
Okay, can we just stop bringing up the whole "Christ Myth" thing?
All right, some people believe it's more than just a myth.
Well, who besides you?
That would be me, Dr. Brennan.
I'm a deacon at my church.
I do.
Christmas and Easter, anyway.
Although I believe organized religion is just another
political movement designed to control the masses,
it doesn't mean God doesn't love me.
Hey, I'm a rational empiricist all the way.
Unless you talk to my mother,
then I'm Lutheran.
I can understand why you'd be sensitive, Booth.
You have a child out of wedlock.
Sweetie.
What?
Um, the letters display a combination
of both block and cursive.
A combination of printing and writing?
It would indicate she may have left school
some time in the second grade.
Most white children in those days
would attain at least an eighth grade education.
She was African-American?
Why, I believe so, yes.
Is there any way Lionel was African-American?
No, no, he's definitely Caucasian.
A white man and a pregnant
black girl in 1958 Oklahoma?
That was bad?
It was illegal.
In Oklahoma?
Not just Oklahoma, here in D.C.
Then why come here?
They were running away.
Lionel had two tickets to Paris.
Where else in 1958 could a white man
and a black woman
get married and live together?
Visiting hours, folks.
Who's first?
Well, as director of this institution,
I claim that right.
Okay, brief announcement.
You guys might recognize my dad,
but I don't really want to talk about it.
So, thanks.
Okay. Let's go.
You like it?
It's very beautiful.
It's not done yet.
We can put our presents under there, and we can...
You think it's stupid.
No, Ange.
What were your Christmas plans?
My Dad and I get together somewhere quiet,
exchange gifts,
just the two of us.
Since I was a kid, getting some time alone with my Dad
was always difficult.
So what is it with you and gifts anyway?
I know your parents disappeared just before Christmas.
My brother, Russ, was 19,
and we were still in the house.
That must have been strange.
Russ found our presents in my parents' room
and Christmas Eve, when I was asleep.
He snuck down
and made Christmas,
trying to do the right thing for me.
Christmas for his little sister.
But when I came down and saw the lights and the presents...
You thought your parents were back.
I just expected to see them sitting there
drinking their coffee, watching Russ and me open our presents.
Oh, my God.
I kind of lost it.
I refused to open the presents until they came back.
It was like I told Russ he wasn't enough family for me.
Before New Year's,
he went out West to work and...
I was in the foster system.
Excuse me.
We have Lionel's missing person's file.
The tree is really, really beautiful, Ange.
Really.
Lionel Little, born May 19, 1934, Tulsa, Oklahoma.
24 years old.
Fits the remains.
According to the missing person's report,
lodged by his boss in January of 1960,
Lionel Little worked as a lease inspector
for Silver Cloud Petroleum out of Tulsa, Oklahoma.
Basically an accountant.
Yeah. You know what, you were right
about Lionel's coin collection.
When Lionel vanished,
so did most of his extensive coin collection.
That was attached to the file.
Did the coins ever show up?
Yeah. Through D.C, Maryland, Virginia, Pennsylvania.
The sales were traced to
Gil Atkins.
Yeah, she made about $8,000 selling those coins.
Atkins killed Lionel for a coin collection?
$8,000 in 1958 translates to roughly $64,000.
Careful Lionel gets a young black girl pregnant.
He sells his coin collection
so he can move them to Paris and they can live together.
Hmm, he offers the coins for sale to Atkins,
who figures it'll be easier to kill
the country bumpkin and steal the coins.
Oh, also, um, the last person to see Lionel
was the woman who cleaned his office, Ivy Gillespie.
What's the significance of that?
Does, uh, does this look like an ivy leaf to you?
Ivy Gillespie.
Race: Negro.
Oh, my God.
You have to find her.
Ivy.
Ivy Gillespie may not even be alive.
And if she is, this could be a reminder of an extremely
painful time of her life.
What would we accomplish?
You have to find the girl and tell her what you know.
Don't you see?
You can give her the answer that you never got.
Angela.
I'm sorry, sweetie, but it's true.
You have a chance here.
To say what? "Merry Christmas, Ivy Gillespie.
"Your fianc? was murdered
"and your life was ruined, but hey,
at least you get to know what happened to him. "
Don't you wish somebody had said that to you?
I realize it's Christmas Eve,
but it's extremely important that I find Ms. Ivy Gillespie.
We know that she was a cleaning lady
at the Silver Cloud Petroleum in 1958 and 1959.
After that, we don't know.
I wouldn't interrupt your Christmas,
except this is very, very important to a friend of mine.
I don't want to take time from your family,
but I have extremely important news for Ms. Gillespie
regarding a loved one.
Do you have an address or a place of work
or... anything?
I've made dozens of calls this evening in an effort
to track this woman down,
and it's that important.
Assisted living?
Is her last name still Gillespie?
Yes, yes. Merry Christmas to you, too.
Hello.
Yes, I was wondering if you could tell me
if you have any guests there, first name Ivy,
born January 21, 1934?
She'd be African-American.
Yes, I apologize.
I should have started with "Merry Christmas. "
Date of birth
is January 21, 1934.
She's African-American.
Yes, Ivy.
Her name is still Gillespie.
Yes, if her granddaughter is right there.
Yes, hello, I'm Dr. Temperance Brennan
from the Jeffersonian Institution in D.C.
I have information that might be very interesting
to your grandmother.
I can be reached through the Medico Legal Lab
here at the Jeffersonian.
And tell her Merry Christmas.
You found Ivy Gillespie.
In an assisted-living facility near Bethesda.
I spoke to her granddaughter.
Thank you.
She might not get in touch with us.
She will.
Because it's Christmas?
Yes.
Did you find something?
Two things that fit together.
Angela sent me. She says it's Christmas.
Okay. You still think there's more to learn about Lionel Little
and Ivy Gillespie?
There's always more to learn.
Hey.
I'm sorry you didn't get Christmas morning
with your little boy.
Thanks.
Good.
Okay, everybody...
stand over here.
Close your eyes.
Open your eyes.
Merry Christmas.
Wow! Well done!
Merry Christmas!
Oh, my God.
It's beautiful. What is it?
It's prettier if you don't know the details.
That is beautiful. Thank you.
Oh, my.
Very impressive.
- You made this? - Yeah.
Thank you.
I'm next.
It's from me.
It's my family.
And me.
- Thank you. - You're welcome.
Scarabaeus sacer.
Sacred scarab.
That is excellently rendered, sir. Thank you.
You're very welcome.
Zack, that's a...
Self-propelled, non-autonomic unit.
It's a robot.
I thought if we get
out of here in time today, you could give it to your son.
- Thanks a lot. - You're welcome.
Listen, Bones,
here's the thing.
What if a gift goes both ways?
What's wrong with that?
Look at this.
Yeah, it's a penny.
It's not just a penny,
it's a 1943 bronze one-cent piece.
Look, all I'm saying is that maybe
the real gift is when you accept something with a little grace.
Over a billion pennies were minted in 1943,
most of them in steel
to conserve copper for World War II, but...
a handful were struck in an old-style bronze planchet.
Only about 12 of them exist today.
Wow. And this is one of them?
Yes.
Huh. How much is it worth?
Over $100,000.
Lionel never showed Gil Atkins the best part
of his collection.
Atkins murdered him,
and never knew there was a... fortune in his pocket.
Well, it looks like Careful Lionel got the last laugh.
Ready?
Time for our test results.
Green. Green. Uh, is that green as in "go,"
or green as in "stick a needle in your brain"?
Merry Christmas.
Oh.
Go. Go have Christmas.
Wish your boy
a merry Christmas from me.
I'm at Wong Foo's if you decide you want company.
Merry Christmas, Bones.
Excuse me?
Hi.
My name is Lisa Pearce,
and this is my grandmother, Ivy Gillespie.
Are you Dr. Brennan?
Yes.
I gave birth to a half-white child in Oklahoma in 1960;
Lionel's daughter.
Raised her myself.
No education.
I got her to college.
She died eight years ago.
And Grandma raised me after that.
Her mother was a nurse
and Lisa's going to be a doctor.
Grandma, I can't afford college.
So Lionel was murdered.
In 1959, yes, by a man named Gil Atkins.
And you can figure that out
all this time later?
He had these.
Tickets to... Paris.
Grandma, isn't that what he promised you?
A life in France?
I thought the worst of him.
Thank you, Dr. Brennan.
I have something even better.
What could be better?
You've given me back my life.
It's a penny.
There's something you ought to know about that penny.
Drinks?
Ah, yes.
Christmas spirits, well, they come in many a guise.
Cheers. Ah...
Ivy Gillespie came to the lab after you left
with her granddaughter.
Don't you want to know what happened?
I know what happened.
You told her about Careful Lionel.
You showed her the letters, the tickets.
She cried, but you made her happy.
Not to mention I gave her a penny
worth over a hundred thousand dollars.
She won't care about that today.
You just gave somebody the best Christmas gift
they could ever get.
Who's the secret Santa now?
Stop.
And that weirdo assistant of yours just made me
the coolest dad in the world.
Daddy!
Come on! Daddy!
Hey, look.
Look at this thing. Can it flip?
How cool. It can flip, trip, swim,
whatever you want.
Say "Merry Christmas. "
Merry Christmas.
Corrected and Resync'd by: Brainquake
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