This is a continuation of the plot-line that was started in Altered Realities, which was cut short so that I could write the sequel with enough leftover to pursue them in length. In order to know what is going on, you're going to need to read the first one.
Anywhoo, expect long chapters because I am going to attempt to write this way. Updates I am not sure about because the plot is still being developed, but I will try to keep it regular.
As usual, if you read, please comment. I am not overly familiar with this whole "fluff" thing, nor am I too skilled at the interpersonal stuff—especially the fluff. If you have any suggestions, by all means, leave them. I cannot guarantee that I will listen, but if it fits in I will certainly be inclined to do so.
The name of this story may only make sense to me, but if it does actually make sense, then that will become apparent later.
Also, writing/editing The Woman in the Woods at the same time, so...yeah. That'll be delt with for a while in addition to this.
Enjoy!
The Blind Rooster's Crow
-Chapter One-
It was snowing in the District of Columbia. On the other side of the country, the northern foothills of California were also experiencing a snow dump. The states between were mostly cold or dry, some getting the same weather as DC and some being baked by a tenacious winter sun. But that was where the similarities ended.
Temperance Brennan lugged the last of her boxes inside her new apartment in downtown DC and sighed, falling back heavily against the wall as she inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. So much had changed in so little time, and yet somehow it also felt like it had always been. After all, she had lived out of a small hotel room for several months in DC before and she was more than familiar with the local thieving rings, but to be living here permanently—it was a strange concept to her.
She was used to big cities. Growing up in Chicago, one had to get used to it. And the hustle and bustle of everyday living here was not much different then it had been in California. No, what was off was the context of her situation. Instead of being here for a deal, she was doing something very similar to settling. She had taken all of her belongings, packed them up, and shipped them across country and now here she was in an island of boxes inside an empty apartment.
Setting her jaw in a determined line, Brennan pushed off the wall and hunted through the chaos on her new floors until she found the box labeled "blankets." She pulled out her pocket knife and quickly cut through the tape, then reached inside and pulled out a bed-set and a soft throw blanket. Leaping over a few of the boxes in her way, she headed to the bedroom and sent a silent thank-you to the men who had set up the bed and furniture before taking off. For all she was independent, this would not have been a task she would have dealt with tonight, and likely would have ended up sleeping on the floor, a prospect that did not appeal to her or her back.
With a movement decidedly lacking in grace, she dumped the linens onto the mattress and plopped down beside them. Immediately, she was met with the glare of death from two large green orbs.
"Don't give me that look, Faye," Brennan muttered, slinging an arm over her forehead, "You try moving that many boxes in a single day."
The calico cat said nothing, choosing instead to roll back into a ball, looking slightly miffed.
"You know you're just going to have to move eventually."
Once again, Faye provided no insights.
"Though honestly, you're adjusting as if we've always been here."
Her tail flicked.
With a sigh, Brennan fell back into the mattress, thinking that the cat had the right idea. Though after living with Faye for over eight years, that wasn't very surprising. She had learned over the span of time that the cat was always right, and it didn't particularly matter what one said or did because this sentiment held true for all occasions. But Brennan still maintained that the gelatinous blobs that Faye consumed so readily were hardly edible. It was their one point of disagreement.
However, as of this moment, curling into a ball and sleeping the night away sounded like a terrific plan. And likely if she didn't get up right now, it would happen whether she wanted it to or not.
With a groan, she extracted herself from the mattress and picked up Faye. The cat was once again giving her a death glower, but Brennan ignored it, instead setting her on top of a nearby box. Turning, she quickly set to work with the bed linens, only having to remove the cat from the sheets twice in the process. When it was finished, she walked out of the room with great reluctance, deciding to squeeze a little more productivity out of her tired body rather than indulge in sleep, for she would have plenty of time for that later.
Haphazardly strewn between new couches and one old chair were the boxes that held everything she had owned and considered worth keeping. Her living supplies and her memories all packed up into such a small space. It was jarring.
For sentimentality's sake, she wanted to unpack her glass dolphin collection first. For practicality's sake, she wanted to unpack her kitchen supplies. After a moment of debate, she opened up the latter box, promising herself that tomorrow she would run out to the store and pick up groceries, a task that would inevitably be put off.
She was slipping the last of her pans into their new cabinet when there was a knock on the door. Her head shot up and she froze, wondering who knew she was here. A glance at Faye provided no clues, for the cat was staring in much the same manner. After a few beats, the knock was repeated and then a familiar voice drifted through, "Bones?"
Brennan exhaled and shook her head, stalking over to the door with mock irritation. She undid the locks and opened it, raising her eyebrows at the FBI agent who stood there with a few plastic bags at his feet. "What is it, Booth?" she asked.
"Aw, Bones, is that any way to greet me?" he said with a grin.
"I'm not sure yet."
"Always so direct. You're gonna break my heart one of these days."
She smiled, "Somehow I doubt that."
Special Agent Seeley Booth was wearing a collared red shirt that looked incredibly good on him, a large black trench coat and silver scarf completing the ensemble. His hands were in his pockets, and his shoulders were relaxed and loose, as was the smile on his face.
"Think I could come in?" he asked, "It's a little chilly out here."
"Of course," she grinned back at him, opening the door wide, "It's a little chaotic, but—"
"With you, Bones," he leaned forward and kissed her softly, "I never would've expected otherwise."
Her hands slid to her hips, "Is that so?"
"Yes. That is why I brought groceries." He gestured down at the plastic bags, his eyes dancing.
"Who's to say I didn't already go shopping?"
"We both know you didn't."
As one, they reached down and picked up the bags, proceeding to then set them on the kitchen counter.
"You're right," she said, "I didn't."
"As I suspected."
"Your famous intuition?"
"You got it," his eyes twinkled.
She smiled and shook her head.
Booth looked around, "Nice place by the way, Bones."
"It's in shambles," she replied, yanking open the door to her brand-new refrigerator.
"Still, you've got good taste."
"I feel so validated," she said dryly.
"You could've just said 'thanks' like a normal person."
She glanced at him, "Well, who ever said I was a normal person?"
He laughed, "Touché."
Brennan smiled at him before returning to unpacking.
"So is this stay permanent, Bones?"
She glanced back at him again, "Yes. I think so."
"Is it a business venture?"
She paused and turned, "What do you mean?"
He stepped closer to her, "You know what I mean."
"Oh..." her voice trailed off as she realized, "No. I—I think it may be over."
"Now I don't know what you mean."
She scuffed her foot and glanced down, biting her lip, "The thievery. I'm thinking about turning respectable, at least to a certain degree."
His eyebrows shot up, "Why?"
"I had a narrow window to get out. An opportunity to escape. It'll be with me for the rest of my life, but at least I no longer have to be apart of it."
"What are you going to do instead?"
"Well," she looked up and met his eyes, "I have had a PI license for several years now."
"What?"
"I obtained one a while ago as a cover and our little stint together reminded me that I liked investigative work."
"You as a private investigator?"
"On contract. And you wouldn't believe how many people in the syndicates around here want information."
"Ugh," he rubbed his face with his hands, "I thought you said you were getting out of it."
"I am. No more stealing."
"Bones, working for people who do things that are potentially worse is not exactly a step up."
"But I am no longer doing anything illegal. Unless specially contracted, of course."
"Why would you be specially contracted?"
Her hands slid back to her hips, "Well, I am a pretty good thief, if I do say so myself."
He rolled his eyes.
"Besides, most of my own jobs were contracts. I just made money off the side."
"Bones," he held a finger to her lips, "I don't want to hear anymore."
It was her turn to perform an orbital roll before returning to unpacking.
"Do you want any help?" he surprised her by offering.
She paused, "No. I don't think so."
"So you're just going to unpack all of this stuff on your own?"
"Well, I'm used to it, Booth. I'm usually alone."
"But I'm offering to help."
Once again, she turned back to him, "Why?"
"Why?" he repeated with an incredulous blink, "Hasn't anyone ever offered to help you, Bones?"
"Well, not really. It's just been me and Faye for a long time."
"That's sad, Bones."
"Why?"
He sighed, "I'm not even going to answer that."
"Why not?"
"Because it's ridiculous. No one should be alone."
"I'm not alone. I have Faye."
"You know what I mean, Bones."
She did, but they'd been through this before.
"But you know what? I'm gonna help you. Just tell me where to start."
"Isn't it pretty late?"
"Well, you obviously didn't think so." He gestured at the three-quarter empty box near the cupboard.
"But that was for me, not for you."
"Hey, if it works for you, it works for me."
She placed the last of her new groceries inside the fridge and shut the door, "That is not a philosophy I'm familiar with."
"Then get familiar with it," he grabbed her and twirled her around in a mock dance move.
She smiled and shook her head, "You're lucky I'm so adaptive."
"I am?"
It was her turn to give him a soft kiss, "Yes."
"Ugh, you'll be the death of me one day."
"Eh," she said lightly, shrugging, "We'll all die eventually."
"Such a cheery outlook on life, Bones."
"You're the one who brought it up."
"And now I regret it."
"So let's change the subject."
"To what?"
"I don't know. That's sort of your skill."
"A PI who doesn't know how to start a conversation," he shook his head.
"And an FBI agent who doesn't know how to end one."
"Touché."
"You seem to be saying that a lot."
"Well, what can I say, Bones? You have a retort to my every word."
"That's not true."
He spun her around again, "Yes it is. But don't worry," he dipped her low, "It's part of your charm."
She regained her footing and placed hands on hips, "You know, if anyone else tried to do that I'd break their wrist."
"I'm flattered."
"But for you I'll make an exception."
"Really now?"
"Yes," she smiled evilly at him, "I'll break your head instead."
He provided a mock scowl, "If my heart doesn't break first."
"Such a pansy, Booth."
"Such a sweetheart, Bones."
"Is it my turn to say 'touché' now?"
"I believe so."
"Then touché."
"Life is always an adventure with Bones at the wheel."
Her forehead creased in confusion, "Why?"
He laughed, "One day you'll understand."
She cocked her head, "That's something one says to young children. I am an adult."
"And this conversation truly exemplifies that."
Another orbital roll, "It takes two to limbo, buddy."
"Tango, Bones. It takes two to tango."
"Oh."
He patted her arm, "So much to learn."
"If that's all I have to learn, then I think I'm in pretty good shape."
"I think most psychologists would disagree."
"Ugh," she scowled, "I hate psychology."
"I know."
"And yet you continue to bring it up."
"What can I say? You're cute when you're angry."
She punched his shoulder.
He grinned at her, "So what can I do to help, Bones?"
She pursed her lips, "You're insisting on helping?"
"Jeez, when you put it that way it sounds so demanding."
"Is that a yes?"
"Yes."
She smiled, "Then if you wouldn't mind, could you unpack the rest of the pans?"
He reciprocated the smile, "Of course."
"Thanks," she said after a moment of hesitation, walking over to the box with her glass dolphins.
"You're welcome, Bones," he flashed her another blinding smile before pulling out a pan and placing it in its new home.
Brennan nodded and carefully slit the box which held her private collection. It had been in existence for as long as she could remember, a dolphin being presented to her each year on special occasions by her mother. While traveling about the country, Brennan had extended it even further with the proverbial tarnished jewels she had found with local honest vendors. It was one of the few things that had not been infected by her impulsive career choice, and she relished it immensely.
Grabbing one of the open sides, she dragged the box over to a built-in wooden shelf beside the kitchen and began to gingerly unwrap each dolphin and tuck them inside. Eventually she would stick in other things beside the dolphins—keepsakes from different times and mindsets. They were also carefully filed away, and she would be dammed if even the slightest tear or crack would develop on a single one.
Ten minutes later, the dolphins were safe and she was already starting to feel slightly more at home, despite the boxes still cluttering the space. Her breath caught in her throat when Booth came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.
"Those are beautiful, Bones," he said, staring at the crystalline sea mammals.
"Thanks," she replied.
He slowly turned her to face him, "You're sure about this?"
"About what?"
"Living here. Turning 'respectable.' "
Brennan looked at him for a while, "Yeah," she said finally, "I'm sure."
"Glad to hear it, Bones."
She tweaked his nose, "You would be."
-00000oooo00000-
Fridays at the Jeffersonian Institution's Medico-Legal Lab were generally quiet, most scientists there only to deal with last minute paperwork or catch up on projects that had been abandoned during the busier week. In winter, the number of walking lab coats dwindled even more as employees started to enjoy periods free from murder and mayhem. Some of the machines were closed down, their owners having hightailed it to a warmer climate and often any work that had to be done at this time was greatly hampered by the habitual migrations.
Because of this, Brennan was often allowed an open invitation to come in during slow days. The forensics team, as she had discovered, was comprised of four people without much of a life outside the lab. Camille Saroyan often spent her nights alone at her townhouse, occasionally planning days with friends, meals with her sister, or dates, the latter of which happened much more rarely then she cared to admit. A pathologist, she was also gifted in the ways of DNA, apparently having mastered the subtle nuances of genetics in an early stage of her career. Having taken a brief stint as a cop, she had decided that she preferred medicine to baddies and uncomfortable uniforms. And so she had traded the badge and gun for stainless steel table and scalpel and, by all appearances, had never looked back.
Zack Addy was the resident forensic anthropologist, having immediately replaced Michael Stires when he had obtained his doctorate. No one had liked Stires, for apparently by the end of a few months of working with him his charm wore out, leaving nothing but a shell of narcissism. Zack, for all he was oblivious to his own culture, cared about the work he did and was meticulous enough to rarely make mistakes. The fact that his intelligence was in the ionosphere may have also been a factor. However, he gained most of the lab's sympathy during any one of his failed relationships because he was often so sweet, unassuming, and literal that women didn't know what to make of him.
Jack Hodgins was an entomologist by trade. In fact, that was his first doctorate, his second and third being in particulates and dirt—though anyone that knew him would know to never say the word "dirt" around him for fear of being assaulted by a lecture on geology. Though quirky, paranoid, and witty, he was also a good scientist, and generally when he made a judgment, it was accepted as fact. By any standards, he was a genius—though perhaps not as idiot savant as his partner in crime, Zack Addy—and most people liked him both for his work and his personality.
Angela Montenegro was the resident forensic artist, the only one in the lab. If anyone wanted something restored or recreated, they went to her. A whiz with computers, she had also been the mastermind behind several unique and complex imaging programs, the most impressive of which being a large boxy affair that she had dubbed the "Angelator." Many an investigator had stared in awe at the holographic images as they flowed through the air with a sort of haunting grace, and it was extremely useful in working out logical scenarios from whatever evidence was provided.
She was also one of the most perceptive persons that Brennan had ever met. Just as her long-term date, Hodgins, could smell a conspiracy on a five year-old, Angela predicted relationships before they ever occurred, often times forecasting future events in couples' lives months or even years before they actually happened. She was also sensitive, and had a lot more trouble staying distant with cases then the rest of the scientists on the team.
Brennan had grown to know them all in a surprisingly brief amount of time, though she was closest to Angela. Having lived a life without any lasting friendships, she had been pleasantly surprised when she had finally gotten not one, but four, at the same time.
However, when questioning herself about her motivation for moving to DC, her subconscious went mysteriously quiet, giving Brennan the impression that it had been an impulsive decision. Though the more she thought about it, the more she didn't care. DC suited her, and a change of pace was often good. The fact that she still had connections in the city didn't hurt either.
Today, the lab was as slow as expected, but to Brennan's surprise the forensic team was up and gathered on the central platform, huddled around a table. Her first instinct was to turn and walk away, for remaining inconspicuous is one of the cornerstones of thievery, but she did not. After all, she had been present during investigative work, though most of it had more to do with entomology, particulates, or reconstructions. While working with Booth she had even been invited to an autopsy. It certainly didn't feel as if she would be escorted out in any case. And so she stayed, leaning against one of the empty workstations as she watched.
"What do we got, Zack?" Cam asked, an apron tied over her chest.
The anthropologist's face scrunched up as he picked up a pelvic wing, "Uh, the skull and pelvis shows markers consistent with a Caucasian male."
"Age?"
He nodded, "Thirties."
"You found cause of death yet?"
"This," he pointed to something that Brennan could not see, "Looks like a bullet hole; from the size and fracturing, an entrance wound."
"Yeah, that would be fatal."
"Usually; though I am familiar with a few medical cases in which the shooting victim—"
"Zack," Angela held up a hand, "Don't need to hear it."
"I was merely being exact."
"It's okay, sweetie," the artist patted his shoulder, "How long do you need the skull?"
"I believe you have time to perform a reconstruction."
"Oh, good. Then I can get started now." She smiled and picked up the sandbox in which the skull rested and clicked down the stairs to the ground level of the lab. She had gone about five steps before noticing that she was being was watched.
"Sweetie!" her usual endearment slipped from her lips as she rushed over to Brennan, "Oh, how are you? We haven't seen you in a while," she gave her a quick one-armed hug, the other hand still gripping the sandbox. "Zack and Hodgins were starting to get lonely."
"Why?" Brennan asked blankly.
She raised her eyebrows, "Oh, sweetie, they love you. Even Cam was asking."
"She was?" This was a foreign concept.
"Yes," the artist hooked her free hand around Brennan's arm and started to lead her up the stairs to the platform, "Jeez, you act like you've never had friends before." Before she had a chance to comment, Angela addressed the rest of the team, "Look who I found."
The three of them looked up from their various sources of interest with a look of confusion.
A smile broke out over Hodgins' face as he noticed her. "Brennan!"
"Brennan," Cam and Zack said together.
"Come to race beetles again?" the anthropologist asked.
"Jeff was missing you," Hodgins said.
Brennan cocked a brow, "I'm sure he did. I'm the only one to keep him company when he loses."
"Well, not everyone can be a winner."
"I'm sure that's why you pawned him off on me."
Cam smiled and shook her head, "Were you out on a contract or something?"
"No," Brennan shook her head, "I was moving."
"Ooh," Angela said, "Where to?"
"Here, actually."
"Really?" she suddenly looked excited, "That means we can make a run to all the stores and restaurants. Oh, sweetie, I know an Indian place around here that'll knock your socks off."
"I don't think that's physically possible," Zack piped up.
She rolled her eyes, "Figure of speech, Zack. Does Booth know about this?" she turned her attention back to Brennan.
"Yes. He came over last night."
"Ooh. Sounds juicy. You'll have to tell me more later."
"He was just helping me unpack."
"Uh-huh," she clucked her tongue, "I'm sure he was."
It was her turn to roll her eyes.
"Here on any business?" Cam asked.
"No," she shook her head, "I just wanted to visit."
She snorted, "I think you're one of the only people on the planet that would voluntarily come here to do that."
"Why?"
Cam paused as she made to walk down the stairs, "Usually there is only so much death any one of us can take before wanting out. And a medico-legal lab is a home-base for death." With that, she clicked away.
Angela watched her go, "I think she's ready for her vacation."
"Then why doesn't she just take one?" Brennan asked. "I know she has accumulated vacation time."
"Eh, she tries to leave but she just keeps coming back."
"I see."
"Yeah," she inhaled and paused, "Well, I should get started on this guy's face. Why don't we catch up while I do it?"
"Wouldn't I be distracting you?"
"She could hang out with us," Hodgins suggested with a winning smile, slinging an arm over Zack's shoulder.
"Girlfriends first and then she can race beetles."
"Well, we weren't going to do that immediately," he sounded a little hurt.
"You'll get to play soon," Angela steered Brennan down the stairs.
"And gather your money, boys," Brennan called over her shoulder in her best charm voice, "Because this time I'm going to win."
"That's improba—" Zack started to say, but Hodgins ribbed him hard, "I mean, okay."
They waved as the two women walked over to Angela's office.
"So when did this guy come in?" Brennan asked, gesturing at the skull.
"Yesterday; Cam did her usual flesh thing before sending it to Zack for his bone thing."
"Did one of them find the bullet?"
She shook her head, "No. I can never figure out why you care."
She shrugged, "I guess it's just the scientist in me. Is Booth involved in this?"
"Yeah; he's the one who brought it in."
She paused, "Am I asking too many questions?"
"Sweetie, you always ask questions. We're used to it by now."
"Good." She wanted to ask more, but decided that would be bad form. "So how have you been?"
It was the start to any long conversation with Angela. Invariably it would spiral off into some kind of segue after they had both agreed on being well. This time was no exception. By the end of it they had both somehow ended up on the subject of old pets, and both were recounting stories of scruffy puppies and scraggly dogs. An hour had passed and the sketch had long since been completed.
It was nice.
Their conversation was cut short by the arrival of Zack and Hodgins, the former of whom wanted the sketch, while the latter had the look of a lost puppy—much reminiscent of what Angela and Brennan had been discussing not five seconds before.
"Fine. Go," the artist had said upon a questioning look from Brennan.
She hopped up as Hodgins smiled, "I'll be back."
"Have..." she searched for a term, " 'Fun.' "
"Oh, believe me, we will," the entomologist said.
The three of them walked to Cam's office to drop off the sketch, for she would be the one to sift through the databases for a match. It always seemed to alternate between Zack, Angela, and Cam to do the facial ID, and it would seem that this time it was the pathologist's turn.
"Why do you guys enjoy having me around so much?" Brennan asked.
Cam answered for them, taking the sketch at the same time, "Because you're the only one who plays with them and their bugs."
"Hey," Hodgins said, "Jeff, Ollie, and Jack resent that."
"You named one of the beetles after yourself?" she asked.
"Eh, Zack named him."
"He did," Brennan affirmed.
She rolled her eyes. "Then I'll see you three later." They turned to walk out and she called, "But I want some work done today!"
Zack nodded while Hodgins gave another smile, "Uh-oh. Mommy's mad."
"I think she just wanted you to get some work done," Brennan said, "I can even keep you company if you wish."
"You live on the wild side, don't you?" he asked sarcastically.
"This is hardly exciting," Zack said.
"Doesn't mean it's not interesting," Brennan cut off another sarcastic reply.
"See? That's why we're glad you're around."
She smiled as they walked into the office that both scientists shared. As usual, there were bottles of formaldehyde and other chemicals spaced around the room, as well as various entomological collections. Centered in the room was a small light table with the usual drawn ring, and beside that was the beetles.
"Do we have our bets, gentlemen?" Brennan asked, for she had plenty of experience with gambling, though those she had been against bet a lot more for a lot less.
"Indeed we do," Hodgins said as all three simultaneously pulled out their wallets.
Money was thrown down, cups were raised, and beetles were run. As predicted, Brennan lost them all, her unfortunate beetle, Jeff, seemingly incapable of crossing the line first. After many rounds, they were stopped by an exhale from the doorway. Turning, they saw Booth standing there, leaning against the wall with an expression somewhere between amusement and disgust.
"Our tax dollars hard at work," he commented dryly.
"Yeah, and what's break time at the FBI? Book burning?"
"You like these people, Bones?" he directed the comment at Brennan.
"Yes, as a matter of fact," she replied.
Zack smiled shyly while Hodgins shot Booth a grin.
He exhaled again, "Angela's sketch got a hit."
"We have an ID?" Zack asked.
"Yeah," he opened a file, "John Evans, thirty-five. Investment banker for a local firm."
Something clicked in Brennan's mind, but she couldn't reach the thought.
"I need whatever you've got on time of death, Hodgins, and Zack, I need to know more about the bullet."
"We'll get right on it."
Brennan shrugged off the mental itch; whatever it was, it wasn't coming to her.
"Bones, you wanna get out of here for a while? Get some lunch?"
"Sure," she nodded and walked over to him.
"Bye," two scientists called as they walked out together.
"Bye," she replied.
"I still can't believe you actually enjoy racing beetles," Booth commented after a moment.
"And I still can't believe you like wearing those horrid socks." She saw Angela wave from her office and replicated the movement.
He snorted, "You're comparing socks to beetles?"
"Yes," she nodded.
"Bones, for someone who's seen so much contrasts in the world, you really are quite black-and-white."
"Well, I won't deny that."
He snaked an arm over her shoulders as they reached the outdoor botanical gardens, not a square inch of which had been cleared of snow. "But you're still saying the socks are like the beetles?"
"Mm-hm. If you can maintain that it's abnormal, then I can do the same for your socks."
"Then let's just call it a draw, eh?" They reached the bottom step.
"Let's."
His other arm slipped around her waist and he slowly spun her around.
"Booth," she put a palm on his chest, "This is probably not the best spot to be doing this."
"What?" he cocked a brow, "Afraid of getting caught?"
"No," she leaned forward and teased his lips with her own, "We're standing in the middle of a snow drift."
He pulled her in for another kiss, "Sounds pretty romantic."
She pushed back and delicately arched an eyebrow, "Midday in front of a forensics lab with six inches of snow? Buddy, you've got a lot to learn."
"I thought you thieves enjoyed improvising."
"Out of necessity, not pleasure," she turned and began walking again, giving him no choice but to follow, "And besides, I'm an ex-con."
"Of course you are."
"Yes," she grinned as he recovered his position on her left. "So where are we going for lunch?"
"Nolita's."
She shook her head, "The site of our first rendezvous?"
He smiled, "You got it."