Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews! Please let me know if I need to go back and update any of the factual information (I couldn't figure out the correct species for the common greenhouse rose, for example, but I do think metacarpals are the right bones for this situation.) I appreciate your comments! Also, I'm really bad at scene transitions, so any suggestions and feedback is appreciated!

Chapter Two

Temperance woke up, suddenly and completely. For a minute she stared at the ceiling, disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings, before she remembered. Booth's apartment, Booth's bed.

Booth's child jumping up and down on the mattress beside her and shouting about blueberry pancakes.

"Dad! Wake up! It's pancakes!"

The boy had amazing precision in landing, even if his eyesight, or his powers of perception, could use some work. He bounced around the bed, avoiding crushing Temperance's legs. She scooted up, drawing her legs up, just to be safe. "I'm not your father," she managed as her head throbbed.

Parker, obviously, wasn't listening. "Pancakes! Come on, Dad!"

"Dad's over here."

Temperance and Parker both turned to find Booth standing in the doorway, sleepy and scowling. His hair was mussed, and there was a deep sleep crease along his left cheek. He wore a plain gray T-shirt that showed off the muscles in his arms and a pair of checkered pajama pants that bagged around his ankles. Booth lifted an eyebrow at his son. "Off the bed, buddy, and into the kitchen. You can have some milk."

Parker looked on the verge of tears as he looked at Bones. "I'm sorry, Dr. Bones!" She braced when he rushed her, but he just threw his arms around her, locking her into a hug. "I forgot you were here!" Mortification turned instantly to joy, and Temperance had to fight back the gasp of pain as he sent fresh bruises weeping.

"Easy, champ." Booth started across the room. "Bones is hurt."

Parker's arms released her with the speed of a spring-loaded bear trap in reverse. "Sorry!" He must have seen her wince, and he whispered fervently, "Sorry, Dr. Bones, I'm sorry!"

She managed a smile, lifting an arm to tousle his hair. "It's okay." She gamely swallowed down the whimper of pain, adding, "Let me get dressed, and I'll come help with pancakes, all right?"

"Okay," Parker stage-whispered. He clambered off the bed, tucking his hand into Booth's and tugging insistently to lead his father out of the room.

Booth looked over his shoulder. "I'll get the Advil out."

She smiled at that, swinging her legs out of bed. She'd slept soundly—she supposed the common phrase "like a rock" wouldn't be out of place in this instance. She had packed her loosest, comfiest clothes, knowing her body would prefer soft materials to stiff materials and abrasive fabrics.

Booth's mention of Advil outweighed vanity, and Temperance tied her hair back into a loose ponytail without bothering to brush out the tangles. Parker stood on a kitchen chair at the counter while Booth laid out the ingredients for homemade pancakes. They both wore matching aprons, Parker's hanging down to his ankles. When Booth turned to open the refrigerator, Temperance was amused to see some cartoon character posing over Booth's abdomen.

"I'm vegan," she said, unnecessarily. She doubted Booth had anything in his apartment she could eat. "I could run down to the store and pick something up…"

He pointed to where a glass of water sat on the counter next to the open bottle of Advil. "I haven't forgotten. Remember that time I made vegan muffins for you?" He jerked his thumb at the box of flour beside the mixing bowl. "Trust me."

The muffins had been a surprise, both because the gift itself was unexpected, and because she hadn't thought Booth—Booth—would be capable of something as delicate as baking. Someone as masculine as Booth was the last person Temperance would imagine as being capable in the kitchen.

"To the lab today?" Booth kept his voice casual as he stationed himself beside Parker and guided the boy through the correct measurements to make pancake batter.

Temperance was, despite herself, impressed by Booth's obvious culinary know-how. She silently took the used dishes, washing them as Booth handed them to her. "I don't want to disrupt your day. You're going to the aquarium, right?"

"And the park!" Parker would have stirred the batter enthusiastically enough to splatter every surface within range had Booth not kept a firm grip on the spoon. "Dad's teaching me how to play football. You could come, but…" He slid Temperance a skeptical glance. "You probably won't be very good."

The patronizingly traditional remark would have been sexist coming from anyone other than Booth's son. Temperance just smiled at him. "I probably wouldn't be," she agreed, ignoring Booth's exaggerated eye roll. The same comment, coming from him, would have been the start of a prolonged argument between the two of them, and Temperance stifled a laugh at his silent complaint of the double standards. To Booth, she said, "I could take a taxi."

Booth snorted rudely and turned on the burner beneath the waiting griddle. "You pulled in the squint squad?"

"They'll be there by ten," she confirmed, glancing at the clock. "Angela said anything earlier would be classified as cruel and unusual punishment, which is strictly prohibited by law. I need Hodgins to look at particulates to determine the origins of the explosives used."

Booth handed Parker a plate to hold the finished pancakes, dripped batter onto the griddle, where it sizzled. "We'll drop you off and do the aquarium tomorrow. We talked about it, right, Parker?" He slid the first batch of cooked pancakes onto the waiting plate as Parker nodded gravely.

His face was solemn as he repeated the rehearsed lines. "The lab's closed tomorrow for ro-routine maintenance, so you'll have to pretend to be normal and take a day off. And you'll come to the aquarium with us!" Parker broke out into a glowing grin at his success. "I said it right, Dad! I told you I would!"

"Good job," Booth said, grinning. He shifted the grin to Temperance, not the least bit abashed at being outed by his son for his behavior. "We'll bring you lunch."

Angela swept Temperance into a loose hug when she stepped into the lab, mindful of injuries. "How are you, sweetie?"

A little surprised by the vehemence of the question, Temperance gave Angela a perfunctory pat on the back. "I'm fine, Ange. Just annoyed that my place was blown up—again," she added, thinking about the last bomb planted in her apartment. That one had taken out her refrigerator, and Booth with it. "I'm really more interested in seeing what Hodgins can come up with about narrowing down what kind of explosive was used. Zack and I will continue to work on the case. I doubt the two are unrelated."

Angela eased back, looked into Temperance's face, sighed. "All right. What can I do?"

"There's not much," Temperance admitted. "Once Zack and I can give you a better approximation of the depth and angle of the cut marks on the bones, you can do a work-up of a possible scenario of the attack."

"Okay. Where's Booth?" Angela couldn't help herself; the grin spread before she could hold it back. She did give herself credit for restraining the suggestive eyebrow wiggle. "He didn't come in with you today?"

The implications were lost on Brennan. "He took Parker to play football at the park." She turned into her office and frowned at the ostentatious bouquet of flowers on her desk. "What are these?"

"Roses," Angela replied, impressed despite herself. "Where they have from, I have no idea." She moved forward to sniff at one delicate pink bloom, noticed the sealed card nestled amid the baby's breath. "You have a rich secret admirer," she teased, holding the card out. "Two dozen roses don't come cheap."

Temperance laid a hand on Angela's shoulder, drew her back. "Let's find out who delivered these," she said, wary of traps. She held the card at the corner with two fingers, called over a tech and ordered for them to dust for fingerprints. She met Angela's worried eyes with her own. "Until we know for sure that everything is safe, I think it's safe to assume that nothing is."

Her phone rang, jolting her out of concentration. Temperance peeled off her glove to answer. "Brennan."

"Hungry?"

"Booth." Temperance glanced at her wristwatch. It was half past one, but she'd barely noticed the passing time. "What do you want?"

She could hear him rolling his eyes at her. "Even forensic anthropologists have to eat from time to time. Parker and I've got an extra vegan burger wasting away out here. If you don't eat it, not even the pigeons will."

"Where are you?"

"Out front." The traffic noise attested to that, and Temperance thought she heard splashing from the fountain outside the main entrance to the Jeffersonian Institute. "Parker's itching to get a look at the place, but I thought you could, you know, childproof the place up a bit before I expose my five-year-old kid to rotting corpses and eye sockets."

"Eye sockets don't rot," Temperance pointed out. "The sockets themselves are bone, which doesn't rot, as flesh does. Under the right circumstances, bone can deteriorate, given enough time, but your statement indicates a—"

"Bones." He cut her off. "Just tell Angela what I said, all right? And give me a call when it's okay for us to get in there. And—" he hastened to add before she cut him off "—make it quick, before we broil out here."

He clicked off, and Temperance frowned at the phone. "Somebody's touchy," she muttered before sticking the phone back into her pocket. Zack looked up from where he inspected the metacarpals on the backlit examination table. "I was told to 'childproof the place up.' I don't understand what that even means."

"I am not the person to reference when it comes to the vagaries of slang terms," Zack replied, returning his attention to the bone fragment. "I am seeing oddly regular striation patterns on this bone here, though. The markings seem inconsistent with damage on the rest of the skeleton."

Temperance leaned in to get a closer look. "Good work, Zack. See if you can enlarge the area and find a match with any sort of saw, circular or rotating, that may have caused those marks. Also, let's check the rest of the bones for similar markings." She tossed her gloves into a trashcan on her way out of the room. "I have to find Angela."

She didn't find Angela, but she did run into Cam coming out of the autopsy room. Cam hung her blue lab coat on a hook by the door, ready for a much-needed break from the organs she'd just weighed and measured. "Any progress?"

"Zack found striations on the metacarpals of the right hand," Temperance replied automatically. She shook her head. "Have you seen Angela?"

"I sent her down to the archives to pull some records for me and do some scene reconstruction on the Angelator. Why?"

"Booth called. I have to relay something to her."

Cam lifted an eyebrow. Booth and Angela were friendly, but she figured that Temperance had misunderstood Booth's intentions somewhere. She dipped her hands into the pockets of her slacks. "Try me."

"He said he doesn't want his son exposed to rotting eye sockets." Temperance paused, then amended, "Actually, what he said was 'rotting corpses and eye sockets,' although I fail to see how that distinction makes any negligible difference in meaning. I told him that eye sockets technically don't rot, and he said to tell Angela. I also don't understand why Angela would be interested, because she is well aware that bone does not decompose as flesh does, and she finds even the discussion of decomposition unpleasant."

Well accustomed to translating for her team of scientific geniuses, Cam prompted, "What was it he said before that?" Temperance looked blank, so Cam elaborated, "You know, before the part about rotting eye sockets."

"Oh. He says Parker wants a tour of the lab. He also used the phrase 'childproof,' which is rather unnecessary. Parker, while inquisitive, is unlikely to render much damage to the lab equipment, as I assume Booth will provide adequate supervision."

Cam had to laugh at that. "He means protect Parker from the lab," she explained, and steered Temperance to the central platform. Swiping her security card, she halted Temperance at the top of the steps. The skeleton lay on the center slab, and on the nearby computer screen, the internet browser had been left open to a time-lapse image of fish feeding on human flesh. "This isn't exactly what you'd want a five-year-old to see." She sighed at the expression on Temperance's face. "Where are they now?"

"Outside." Temperance tried to see what would be offensive to a child who played with toy trucks and wore a matching Transformers apron as his father. "He also said to hurry before they broil, which I understand is an exaggeration, as it's impossible to broil due to exposure to the sun."

"I'll take care of the childproofing." Cam shook her head and Temperance and shooed her down the steps. "You get Booth in here before he and his son decide to beat the heat by taking a dip in the fountain. That would really look good on interdepartmental memos."

Booth shared a bottle of water with Parker as they made their way through the blessedly air-conditioned lobby of the Jeffersonian. Temperance met them at the sliding glass doors to the lab. Parker's face was red-cheeked from heat, and his sandy curls lay limply on his forehead. Booth looked only mildly less overheated.

Angela greeted Parker enthusiastically while Booth handed Temperance the take-out bag. "Did you have fun at the park?"

"Uh-huh." Parker knew Angela from the handful of holiday parties he'd been to with his dad. He liked her, with her big smile and pretty hair. She also talked to him. Not just in a way that he understood, but she talked to him. Some of the other people his dad called 'squints' didn't interact with him. Then again, from what he'd seen, some of the squints didn't interact with people, period.

"Let's show you around the place, huh?" Angela was charmed when Parker willingly transferred his hand from Booth's to hers, squeezed in absolute, unquestioning trust. She sent Temperance a glance. "Maybe we can go to Bones' office first so you can put the food down there."

"Okay! Dr. Bones, do you have a big office like Dad does?" He'd been to his father's office only a couple times, on rare occasions when he'd been with his dad on the weekend and his dad had gone in to file paperwork or something. "Dad has a baseball bat and stuff in his, and a picture of me on his desk."

Temperance smiled. "I know he does." She'd seen it, countless times. She'd also gotten scolded for touching that baseball bat. "You can see for yourself."

"Wow!" Parker released Angela's hand to run in. "Your office is bigger than Dad's! You even have a couch!" He dove onto the furniture, toppling head over heels over the arm of the sofa. He popped right up. "Why don't you have a couch, Dad?"

Booth frowned at the bouquet of roses dominating the coffee table. "My office isn't for visitors to feel comfortable," he muttered, and strode forward. The look he shot Temperance was one of slit-eyed suspicion. "What are these?"

"Roses." Temperance set the bag on her desk, tucked her hands into her pockets. She knew that look on Booth's face, his hard-eyed, flint-edged interrogation face. Her own initial alarm had faded, leaving only mild irritation and the sighing tolerance for Booth's alpha-male need to 'defend' her. "Genus Rosa, probably a hybrid. These ones were likely cultivated in a greenhouse, as they are too uniform in shape and size to be of the free-growing variety or cut from a home garden."

"Bones." Booth's hands tightened into fists in his pockets. "Who sent them?" Temperance wasn't seeing anyone right now, and her father or brother weren't the type to send flowers, even after the attempt on her life the day before. She'd already spoken to them both on the phone, reassured them she was fine.

Angela cut in smoothly. "How about Parker and I take a walk around, see the place? I think Hodgins has something set up in the experiment lab that Parker would like to see." Parker's ears perked at the word 'experiment.'

Booth didn't take his eyes off Temperance's. "Nothing dangerous," he warned. "Tell Hodgins if he gets my son caught up in some crazy scheme, I'm going in there and shooting him between the eyes with my gun." He waited until he heard Angela and Parker leave, then repeated with deadly patience, "Who are the roses from, Bones?"

She sighed and, defeated, sank onto the sofa, where she could stare at the ridiculous flower arrangement with her chin propped on her hands. "We thought you could help with finding that out."

His eyes sharpened. "You think it's related to the six-fingered lady case?" Vanessa Hammond, victim, with no open leads and no prime suspects.

"I don't know. It came with a card." Temperance reached into her jacket pocket, where she'd kept the card sealed in an evidence bag as a precaution. The fingerprint team had come up with nothing. Booth winced but accepted the latex glove she handed him, begrudgingly sticking two fingers into the glove to handle the card.

His mouth went hard as he skimmed the three lines of text:

Dr. Brennan—

I'd hoped to send you these at your hospital room.

Next time, they'll find you at your funeral.

"Not very subtle," Temperance commented as Booth stared silently at the words on the card long after she was sure he'd finished reading. He transferred that stony stare to her, and she continued, unfazed, "The lack of fingerprints on the card indicates it likely was printed at home, rather than a florist's shop. Otherwise we could have found fingerprints of the florist shop's proprietor, who would have had to take the envelope. We checked for DNA on the seal of the envelope, but my mystery flower sender didn't lick it. Whoever this is, he—or she—isn't sloppy."

"They're dead." At Temperance's confused look, Booth said coldly, "Killing Vanessa Hammond, that's a crime, and I'll bust them for it. That's my job, that's what I do. But coming after you, personally? That's the mistake that's going to hang them. They're not going to get away with it."

"They won't." Interested by the vehemence of his reaction, Temperance tilted her head to watch Booth. He jammed the card back in the bag, tossed it and the used glove onto the table beside the vase. "We're working on collecting the evidence, Booth. When you find the perpetrator, we'll be ready."

He shook his head. "It's not about evidence," he muttered, ignoring her instant denial. His eyes met hers, burned. "They came after you. My partner. That's personal, and they're not getting away with it. They're dead," he repeated.

"The walking dead. They just don't know it yet."

~3.15.11