Angela Montenegro had been on the receiving end of plenty of gifts—usually from certain males in her life. For her twelfth birthday, her father had finally given her a guitar. Emily, as she'd called it, was a beautiful acoustic guitar: mahogany and rosewood, and had served her well for years. To this day, she blushed a bit when she remembered some of the songs she'd fingered out—every one about a boy in her math class, or someone she'd run into in the hallway or, even more humiliating, her middle-aged art teacher. As she got older, she'd received several more guitars: a few electric, a few acoustic, but they had all paled in comparison to Emily.

A boy in high school had given her a ring. They weren't dating at the time—just enjoying a casual Saturday at the movie theater. The rest of the day was a little fuzzy, but Angela distinctly remembered him kneeling at some gumball machine and feeding in a quarter. The resulting trinket was surprisingly charming, and she'd worn it for most of that summer before losing it at the community pool. Sometimes she remembered it wistfully, and longed to know what had become of the boy. He was probably married now, with children and a family to occupy him.

Someone had named a star after her. One night, a current boyfriend had gathered two thermoses of hot tea and several blankets and driven her out to a field. On the drive there, she'd been somewhat leery: apparently there had been Rumors circling the school that she was rather 'easy', and they hadn't really been dating long—definitely not long enough for her to even consider getting past second base with him. She may have been 'easy,' but she acted on her own terms. Eventually, he unloaded a telescope from the back of his truck. After a bit of time fumbling with the thing, he'd finally located the star in question and showed her. Granted, when she'd bent to look through the telescope, he'd slid his hand up her skirt, but the initial gesture had been...sweet.

In college, she'd tried to break away from her high school reputation. She'd managed to stay away from physical relationships and focus more intently on her studies. In fact, she'd earned scholarships and commendations that had surprised most of her hometown friends. In fact, even though she knew he'd never admit it, even her father had been somewhat surprised at her achievements. But then, she'd fallen in love—and into bed—with her roommate. Roxie didn't know about the things she'd done in high school, and didn't care. Their relationship was dotted with wildflowers in jelly-jar vases, quickly-drawn sketches left on pillows in the mornings, and even the occasional clumsy, strangely-phrased song performed perhaps a bit too loudly, a bit too drunkenly while Emily's strings sang out over campus.

But the first and only white rose that she'd ever received from anyone was from Dr. Jack Hodgins. He'd placed the rose wordlessly, gently, on the table next to her, as she sat alone in her office after their last case. White roses, she'd read, symbolized innocence, humility, new beginnings. Everything that she hadn't been, or hadn't had, for years—that's what Jack had given to her. She'd lifted her eyes to meet his and all but marveled at him. Still completely without words, he'd turned and left. He hadn't attempted a speech, hadn't come around the table to cop a feel, hadn't even expected a thank you. In his eyes had been understanding. Patience. "I will wait for you," his eyes told her. "I believe you are worth waiting for."

Angela watched his retreating figure, then tenderly picked up the rose and touched her fingertips to the silky petals. Her heart thudded in her chest, and she raised her eyes once again to the doorway. He was going to be trouble, she realized all at once. But he was going to be the most beautiful, most perfect trouble she'd ever been in.