BONES is the property of Fox and its producers. CASTLE is the property of ABC. All characters from BONES and CASTLE are not owned by the author, and the author has no connection to said shows. All original characters are products of the author and are not based on any real life person, living or dead.

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Temperance Brennan was bored.

Booth, at a time like this, would say she was mind numbingly bored, which was just strange because the brain could not go numb because of boredom. Numbness was caused by a constriction of blood to a limb, causing the nerve endings to slowly loss sensation. If that were to happen to the brain, the heart would stop, the lungs would deflate, and the body would die.

Granted, Temperance knew that in this situation, Booth would not be bored himself. Quite the opposite, in fact. He would be moving about, bouncing around, as Angela had once stated, like a puppy on a sugar rush, his boyish grin plaster large and proudly as he took in the sights around him.

If he were in this situation. Which he wasn't. Nor would he ever be. Booth wasn't a writer. He didn't type out novels and then have to deal with publishers or agents or…this.

But Temperance was a writer. A great writer, if her reviews and her own honest opinion were considered. Thus, she found herself not in her lab, helping to identify remains or out with Booth investigating a murder. Instead she was here, in New York City in some hotel whose name she had forgotten even though she was sleeping in one of its plush rooms, surrounded by other writers, agents and publishers.

The North American Writer's Convention.

She was sitting inside a small, shed like structure that her agent referred to as a booth, which had at first confused her. Granted, it was square and large, and Booth was large and, again as Angela had said, at times a 'square'. And it had a lot of decorations, though no 'cocky' belt buckles or colorful socks and ties. Instead it was done up with a dark purple fabric stretched along the frame, adorned with printed images of bones…not true bones, as she had pointed out to her agent, but ones that appeared in her clipart folder on her laptop, or that she would find on top of those memos the PR guys at the Jeffersonian would put out when there was some gala that were suppose to look cute but instead looked silly. A stack of her two different novels sat beside her, many more in boxes in the rear of the booth. She sat in a folding chair, a pen in hand, glad that, at long last, this portion of the day was over.

This was her 7th Writcon, and Temperance had learned well how to survive its more frustrating parts, with dos ('smile, be polite, ignore body odor') and don'ts ('don't tell people they are not smart enough to be a anthropologist, don't agree to sign their breasts'). Her new agent, already skittish around her after learning her previous one had been murdered, had heard enough about her to make sure she 'behaved' during these painful periods.

The Fan Signings.

The convention did this every year, opening its doors for 2 to 3 hours to allow fans to talk to their favorite writers, get their books signs, and snap a picture. And it wasn't that Temperance disliked her fans, like some of the writers she had talked to (or could see from her booth grumbling at no-longer-smiling readers). It was that she preferred to be elsewhere, to be working in her lab, than writing her name over and over for hours on end.

But this part of the convention was over. Now she would get time to relax, to get freshened up, perhaps even, if the mood suited her, go to one of the dinners being thrown by the various publishing companies.

She smiled at that. Wouldn't Booth be startled to see her, dressed up not in a lab coat but in a evening dress, drinking champagne and chatting with fellow authors.

On second thought, he would be startled, then disappointed that the dinners were so boring.

Moving to begin packing up her things, she glanced over at some of the gifts she had received. While there was always one or two fans at these things that would give her something strange…like the one fan 3 years back that had come in a cast and presented one of his phalanges, resulting in a call to security…this time there had only be items that, while confusing to her at times, were accepted with thanks. A few photos of fans showing off her book in exotic locations, a rather nicely detailed replica of a femur done in clay that she considered actually putting in her office, and other odds and ends. She picked up the strangest of items, a teddy bear wearing a lab coat and holding a stuffed bone, with a nametake reading "Reich" upon it. This one she would give to Booth…she knew he would say he would give it to Parker, then put in his own apartment.

That made her smile.

Her smile changed when she saw who was approaching her…still a smile, but now with a new meaning.

^&^&^&^

Richard Castle was having the time of his life.

Everything was lining up perfectly to make this the best Writcon ever.

His booth, done up in black fabric with white lightning streaking across it, proclaiming the death of Derek Storm, had been packed with fans wanting autographs. While many of them complained about the death of their hero, the cut out his ex wife had gotten done was wonderful and got most of them to simmer down. It was an artist's rendering of Nikki Storm…and God, if a cut out could turn a man on, this was the one. Of course, the female fans were still upset their dreamboat was dead, but when he informed them that there was a sexy reporter love interest that would make Derek look like a Chud…well, suddenly Mr. Storm was yesterday's news.

While there weren't as many gorgeous women at his last book signing 8 months ago, but there were enough to satisfy him. Besides, he wasn't heartless…the 35 year old secretaries and 70 year old grandmothers with their reading circles made him smile almost as much as the bubbly blondes that wanted him to sign their breasts.

And to make the day complete, his contacts within the judges' pool had told him he was a favorite to win Homer's Ring.

He played with the one that currently adorned his right hand.

Named after the father storytelling, Homer's Ring was given out each year to the author of, according to the organizers, "the most vibrate, daring and engaging novel to come out this year. A piece that had the critics buzzing and every water cooler surrounded by readers discussing every minor detail of the work." The ring was gold, with a single sapphire in the center, the sides listing the year on one side and Homer's name on the other. Authors rarely wore their rings, except for major events like this, lest they be stolen. Since the Convention had begun 33 years ago, 7 rings had been stolen, with only 5 of them being recovered. The black market was full of offers for them, lovers of the arts wanting one of the coveted rings.

Castle had won his 3 years ago for Storm Break, and he just knew that he was going to win again.

"Stop looking at that ring, sweetheart." Martha Rodgers, Richard's eccentric mother proclaimed as she wisked over to him, a plastic bag full of freebies dangling from her arm. "You are not going to win this year."

He glanced up at his mother, raising an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"I know so." She stated. "You might as well get those thoughts out of your head, because it will only make you depressed, which in turn will make Alexis depressed, and that will mean I will…"

"Be depressed?" Castle questioned.

"Heavens no. It will mean I will be dealing with you too grumps and that will ruin my fun."

Castle smiled sarcastically. "I can feel the love, mother, I truly can."

Alexis, Castle's daughter and the only one in the family that held any sense of responsibility, wandered up, her own plastic bag in hand and a book tucked under her arm. "Do I need to separate you too?" She asked playfully.

"No" "Yes."

Martha glared at her son. "I am merely informing him that he isn't going to win Homer's Ring this year."

Alexis nodded. "She is so right, dad."

Castle smiled. "Thank you Alexis. Here, I got this bear, you can-" He blinked, finally hearing what she had said, his Derek Storm Teddy Bear dangling in his fingers. "Wait…what?"

"Grams is right," Alexis said, holding out the book she had been holding. "I mean, I think you are great…but dad, wow…Daniel Keyes new book…"

Castle stared at the book his daughter was holding. Entitled "East Meets West", he instantly realized he was looking at Daniel Keyes sequel to his Homer's Ring winning novel, "Western Front". Castle was still bitter that Keyes had snatched the award from him a year ago…

"wait a minute…that book doesn't come out for two weeks!" He stood up, only to tumble back when his head struck the top of his booth. "How the hell can it be in the running?"

Martha tisked. "Really, Richard, I warned you about getting emotional. If you must know, Daniel allowed for a limited reading of the book, a few key fans and fellow writers, and there is nothing in the rules stating the book has to have a full release…only that people have read it."

Castle shook his head. "Then how did you get a copy?"

Before Alexis could answer, Martha laughed. "The same way I know Daniel Keyes is going to win."

"You charmed one of the judges?"

"No, silly. I slept with him."

Alexis backed away. "I think I am too young to hear this."

"That makes two of us." Castle muttered, getting out of his Booth and tossing Alexis the Derek bear.

"Where are you going?" His mother called out.

"I need some fresh air." Castle stated, brushing past them. "I'll see you at home."

Martha shook her head, staring at her son's retreating form before turning to her granddaughter. "You see…I warned him about taking this personally."

^&^&^&^

"Richard." Temperance stated, standing up and extending her hand.

"Temperance." Castle answered, cracking a smile. "It is good to see a friendly face."

Richard Castle and Temperance Brennan were not friends. They did not hang out in the same circles, they did not e-mail each other or chat on the phone, or even exchange cards on the holidays, though that was mostly because Temperance found the idea of mailing cards foolish. They did, however, respect one another, and had found, over the last few years, that the convention went by quicker when they were together. Alexis had once referred to them as camp buddies, and Castle had to admit that it was a fair assessment. He and Temperance had developed a ritual for the convention: He would meet up with her the first day, they would chat, then go to their separate ways for the night. The next three days would hold a series of annual events: A visit to a museum, dinner at Castle's apartment, then a-

"Your stride shows you are stressed…your mother?" Temperance said, gauging him carefully.

"I hate it when you do that, Temperance…" Castle moved to the side of her booth, extending a hand to help her out. "But as always, you are right on the money."

The two of them moved to stand in front of her booth, watching as aides scurried about like mice, grabbing the presents and extra books and getting everything cleaned and ready for the next day. Temperance sighed…it was only Thursday, and the convention would run till Sunday night. Three more days of signing…

"Man…I can't believe there are only 3 days left." Castle said, pouting.

Temperance stared at him, only slightly annoyed.

"The only reason you enjoy it is because of the women with enhanced breasts who ask you to sign their flesh…which is counterproductive, as once they wash, the signature will be gone."

Castle shrugged. "This is true."

The two stood in silence for a while, watching the other authors move about, interacting with each other. Nothing too interesting was going on, other than Timothy Black, another writer who put Temperance's colleague Jack Hodgins to shame when it came to government paranoia, arguing with Will Corburn, a writer who had been to more exotic places then most sitting Presidents.

"Those two look happy." Castle commented.

Temperance frowned. "No…I think they are arguing."

Use to how Temperance was, Castle merely smiled. "I was being sarcastic."

"Oh." Temperance reached down, fiddling with her own Homer's Ring. "Any word yet on who will win this year?"

Castle groaned. "According to my loving, supportive mother…"

"That's sarcasm, correct?"

"Yes Temperance."

"Because your mother, while loving and supportive, has a tendency to-"

Castle bumped shoulders with her, laughing. "I get it Doc, thanks." He shook his head, chuckling. "According to my mother, Daniel Keyes is going to win."

"I thought is book wasn't out yet." Temperance questioned.

"Apparently he found a loophole."

"That doesn't sound fair."

"Life isn't fair."

Temperance considered that. "I suppose that is so, if life were a living being, which is isn't, than it could be considered unfair." She glanced over at him. "I would say that you had a chance at winning next year, but I would prefer not to lie."

"Why is that? Heat Wave is going to be huge."

"Perhaps, but have you forgotten Richard, that my book is coming out this year too?" Temperance didn't smile. She wasn't telling a joke or being playful. She honestly, in her mind, felt her book was better, even without reading Castle's.

"Do I hear someone wanting to make a wager?" Castle asked with a smirk.

"Do you?" Temperance asked, once again being quite literal.

Castle nodded. "I believe I do…I think the two of us should have a little bet…see who is the better author."

Temperance smiled. "Perhaps you should pay me now."

"Is that so?" Castle challenged.

Temperance nodded. "Of course. I can produce 50 critics who place me on their Top 10 lists."

"So can I."

"Mine are more accredited."

"Mine are more in touch with the common reader."

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

Temperance and Castle froze as the scream ripped through the convention hall. While other authors stood about, twisting their heads like prairie dogs, Temperance and Castle were rushing forward, pushing past workers, aides, agents and writers, following the path of the scream.

^&^&^&^

"AAAAAAAAAAAAA!" The woman screamed, hands bound tightly together, fingers twisted and knotted, knuckles white. Surrounding her were several other workers, who had come racing to her aid, now staring at the strange, morbid sight before them.

Castle and Temperance raced forward, making their way to the front.

"…" Temperance turned to Castle. "This is the part where someone yells FBI."

"Or NYPD." Castle stated.

They glanced at each other.

"Police consultant!"

"Forensic anthropologist!"

The workers and looker-ons turned, staring at them only for a moment before looked down once more at the scene before them.

"Whoa." Castle whispered.

They were standing in the loading dock of the hotel, where semis brought in fresh food, supplies and, in the case of the Writcon, pallets filled with new books. One such pallet off to one side, emptied of its contents.

Said contents were piled on top of a body.

Blood oozed along the floor, making those watching take a step back. The body was mostly hidden, only the pale and bloodied face of the victim and their outstretched arm uncovered. The head was turned to one side, jaw open and hanging at a bad angle, it clearly having been broken during death. The hand was clenched tight, a flash of gold just visible.

Temperance moved towards the body, calling for rubber gloves. One of the kitchen workers quickly passed along a pair from his pocket, Temperance putting on the overly large latex gloves before moving to exam the head.

"The back of the skull has been crushed. It appears someone grabbed the head and thrust it against the concrete again and again." She stated, forgetting for a moment that there were no FBI agents around.

Castle rolled his hands. "Keep talking, Temperance." He kneeled down and, using all his strength, managed to pry the hand open. "I got a ring."

"Victim is male…the facial features appear to be of Asian…no, Asian American descent."

"There is a difference?" One of the workers asked.

Castle moved to the pile of books. He let out a long whistle. "East Meets West…" He shook his head. "Daniel Keyes isn't going to be happy when he sees this."

"He won't see it." Temperance said, removing her gloves.

"Why?"

She gestured towards the body. "Because this is Daniel Keyes."

The two authors shared a look.

"I'm called my partner." They both stated, pulling out their cellphones.