Author's Note: A lot of exposition, and my facts may not be all accurate. Sorry for all the talking in this one, it went longer than expected. Please drop me a note if I should fix anything up. Thanks also for the reviews!

Chapter Three

Monday morning found Temperance at her computer, sorting through the emails that had piled up over the weekend and a number of voicemails from her agent, her publicist, and a journalist interested in a special interview on her upcoming book. She had her office door open to the sounds of movement and voices in the lab, a familiar background hum that barely registered.

Cam paused in the doorway. If she hadn't known about the events of the weekend, she wouldn't have noticed anything different about Temperance. Even the flowers had been disposed of, after all parties had agreed that no more evidence would be gained by keeping them, and Temperance looked the same old Temperance Brennan, forensic anthropologist, hard at work in her office.

"You all right, Dr. Brennan?"

"Dr. Saroyan." Temperance sat back in her chair, startled. It wasn't like her to be startled by a visitor at her door. "I'm sorry; I was…busy."

Cam held up a hand. "No apologies, Dr. Brennan."

"Do you have something for me?"

"No." Cam sighed a little. Their relationship had started out rocky, and while it had progressed significantly, there were still times when Cam wished Temperance were more like a normal woman. It would certainly make working together less awkward at moments like these. What would be a friendly overture for anyone else was like pulling teeth with Temperance. "I just…wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Oh." Temperance had to blink and compute that. She understood, rationally, that Cam wasn't checking in on her because she doubted Temperance's abilities. While Temperance didn't understand the subtleties of human relationships with the innate sort of grasp that Angela or Booth did, she had come to understand the dynamics of her team, and that included Cam.

So she managed a weak smile. "I've got a bruise the size of a dinner plate on my left ribs, and my neck is still sore when I try to turn it too far." She rotated her shoulders warily. "Booth took me by my apartment yesterday. The FBI still has everything blocked off as a crime scene. I'd like to get the renovators in there as soon as possible, but we have to wait for proper authorization."

"I noticed he dropped you off this morning, too. You don't have your car?" Cam didn't want to pry, but, hell, she was only human after all.

"Booth says I can't drive myself." Her voice turned sulky without her noticing, and Temperance scowled at her phone on the desk, as if she could transmit her thoughts directly to Booth. "He claims that since I don't have full rotation of my neck, I can't adequately check my blind spot, and would be a danger on the road. Because that is a logically sound argument—and rather surprising, coming from him—I couldn't find rational grounds to disagree."

Cam laughed at that, shaking her head. "Dr. Brennan, you are something else." She knew Temperance wouldn't understand that, so she asked, "How long until the FBI clears your place for renovation?"

Temperance shrugged. That was another source of irritation. "Likely until the end of the week. Booth could hurry that up, if he wanted to, but he won't. He claims I'm safer with him around."

"From Booth's perspective, very sound logic," Cam agreed. "And Parker?"

"He's back with his mother during the school week."

Cam hesitated, another uncomfortable moment. "Look, Dr. Brennan—I know we're not what most would consider close, but…If it's awkward for you, staying at Booth's, I'd like you to know that you're welcome to stay at my place. I'd be the first to admit, I'm not as handy in the kitchen as he is, but…the invitation's there for you."

Touched, Temperance smiled fully, and meant it. "Thank you, Dr. Saroyan." She didn't mention that she was thinking about talking to Angela. She knew Booth wasn't sleeping well on the sofa, and without Parker there as a buffer, staying at Booth's place was just asking for the nosy gossipmongers to start.

"Well. I'll just let you get back to work." Cam headed out the door. "I'll be in my office if you need me for anything."

Temperance sat a moment, mulling over Cam's comments. She'd never placed much importance in having many friends, but Cam's offer, nonetheless, wasn't unwelcome.

Hodgins strode through the door, already talking. "Nitrogen dioxide, carbon monoxide, benzene, and formaldehyde."

She translated instantly as Zack followed Hodgins in. "Car exhaust?"

"From non-diesel engines," Zack added with a barely concealed scowl at Hodgins. Dammit, he'd never be King of the Lab at this rate, though he attributed that at least in part to Hodgins' competitive nature. Zack never let the idea of 'winning' interfere with thoroughness on the job. "In fairly low concentrations."

Hodgins gave Zack a nudge with his elbow. Whose report did the kid think this was? Serfs were not to speak without the king's permission. "Odd thing is, I found different concentrations of residue from different samples. The clothing scraps were mostly deteriorated. It's frustrating to say, but I don't entirely understand these results."

"Could she have been wearing more layers of clothing? That could account for the varying concentrations," Temperance suggested.

"Not the variations I'm seeing," Hodgins rejected. "I ran a couple tests, but nothing would account for these differences. The only solution is that our murderer put different body parts in different parking garages at some time before burying the body."

"That does not make logical sense," Zack countered. "There is no evidence that the victim was mummified or tortured, so dismemberment is not a rational conclusion."

Hodgins rolled his eyes. "But you did admit yourself there are unexplained saw marks on the bones, didn't you?"

Zack leapt to defend his findings. "Yes, but not on entire limbs, as you are suggesting had dismemberment figured into this. I have found a match for the striations on the metacarpals." He turned smartly to Temperance, ignoring Hodgins. "It was made by a handsaw, most likely a hand-powered crosscut saw blade with nine TPI."

"Teeth per inch," Temperance mused, visualizing the blade. Usually Zack had an example of the exact instrument used, but they were not in his usual milieu in the bone room, so she made do with her imagination. "To cut through a finger, you wouldn't need that much force. The injuries were incurred post-mortem?"

"Most likely." Zack refused to commit without more conclusive evidence, but he had accustomed himself to the acceptability of accurate, evidence-based conjectures when warranted.

"Just one finger?" Hodgins cut in. He didn't like Zack upstaging him. "That's weird. You sure you didn't miss any others? Toes, vertebrae? And if our guy were to cut off the victim's finger, why put it back in place for us to find?"

"I have not inspected other bones for similar anomalies," Zack said stiffly. "I have focused on identifying the weapon first." He turned to Temperance. "Dr. Brennan, if you like, I will inspect the rest of the skeleton for similar patterns. I do not feel comfortable making any intuitive conjectures about the murderer's motivations for removing any appendages from the victim."

Temperance nodded at him. "Good job identifying the weapon. Go back and check for other cut marks, and let me know if you find any," she instructed, and waited until Zack left. Temperance looked at Hodgins. "You were kind of harsh on him."

Hodgins jerked a shoulder. The kid just asked for it sometimes. "He'll be fine," he replied, then frowned at Temperance. "How are you, by the way? No leads on the mystery flower sender?"

Booth spoke from the doorway, holding up a file with the Jeffersonian's logo on the front. "None of the prime suspects were anywhere near a florist's shop this weekend. The roses are generic; you can get them at any flower shop." Frustration showed clearly as he strode forward, tossed the folder onto Bones' desk. "I hit up about a dozen local shops. You know how popular roses are this time of year? Too many sorry boyfriends."

Temperance glanced up from skimming the paperwork. "I don't understand the connection."

"Buying your way out of the doghouse," Booth explained shortly. "Jesus, Bones, really." She blinked at him, patently lost, and he blew out a breath, exchanged a glance with Hodgins. Defeated, he said, "Guys buy roses when they say they're sorry. It's a commonly accepted American cultural norm."

"Anthropologically speaking, humans have attempted bribery for centuries." Temperance spoke without looking up from the papers. "Recent studies have also shown correlations between receiving flowers, specifically, and emotional health and longevity. Serotonin, norepinephrine, and dopamine levels have been shown to be influenced by receiving flowers, which relieve feelings of depression and anxiety. It makes sense that men would try to influence a woman's perceptions of emotions in order to change her opinion based on illogical factors rather than rational, empirical evidence."

Booth rubbed a hand over his face, spoke into his palm. "Why do I bother? Why do I even bother?" His phone rang, saving him, and he turned to lever a finger at Hodgins. "Deal with her, will you?" He was shaking his head as he turned away, put the phone to his ear. "Booth."

Rebecca's voice on the other end of the phone had a frown forming between his eyebrows. "Seeley, it's Rebecca. I know you're at work, but I needed to get in contact with you."

"I dropped Parker off at school three hours ago." Booth checked his watch as alarm spurted through him. He paced away from Temperance and Hodgins, shoved his free hand in his pocket and stared at the odd array of artifacts on Temperance's bookshelf. "He okay?"

"I haven't heard otherwise." Rebecca blew out a breath, obviously irritated. "Look, this is stupid. I can't make it back home for another few days." She spoke briefly to someone else, then said to Booth, "I fell and broke my leg. They're keeping me in the hospital, just for observation, but I had to cancel my flights. They're worried about bone fragments and the bloodstream, something like that."

"Hold on." Booth covered the mouthpiece of the phone, turned and said, "Bone fragments and the bloodstream. Two sentences. Quick."

Hodgins was faster. "In a bad bone break, bone fragments can enter the bloodstream. When they get to a smaller artery, they can become lodged, blocking the blood flow, and cause and embolism. Emboli can—"

"Time's up." Booth turned back to the phone. "You need me to fly up, call your sister, something?"

He heard the amusement in her voice. "Same old Seeley," she murmured, and there was a wealth of affection in her words. "I'm fine. Really, I'm fine. They just want to monitor me for a while, make sure things are healing. I just needed to see if you could watch Parker for the rest of the week. I'll call you again when I know when I'll be headed back, but he needs to be picked up from school today, and he's got swimming lessons on Wednesday, and—"

"I'll take care of Parker," Booth interrupted. "You're sure you're okay? You don't need anything?"

"Brent's here with me." He heard the sigh, felt the instant spurt of—irrational—jealousy. "I don't want you to worry, okay? I'll let you know about Parker's schedule. He also has a doctor's appointment tomorrow afternoon—regular check-up and shots. I promised him root beer floats afterwards."

"Yeah, sure, Parker and I'll be fine." Booth ran his hand over his hair. "You call if you need anything, all right? I know we're not…we're not," he said lamely. "But I still care. About you. So you call, if there's anything."

"Thanks, Seeley." She was careful not to commit, not to his sentiments, not to his promise. "I'll let you know about Parker's schedule. School gets out at three-fifteen. He likes being picked up right on time, out front."

Booth hung up, frowning. Temperance spoke from behind him. "You okay?"

Hodgins had left. Booth stuck the phone back in his pocket and sat on the couch, slowly. "Rebecca broke her leg, can't come home, so I'm watching Parker the rest of the week." He fiddled with his tie, ill-concealed nerves. "What the hell's an embolism?"

Temperance came around her desk to sit next to him. Talking about Rebecca was always a little awkward for her. After her initial interference—meddling, she supposed some might call it—Temperance had always sensed talking about the mother of Booth's son was a touchy subject, one that even she respected. "I'm sure Rebecca's receiving fine care, so it's nothing to worry about. Like Hodgins said, bone fragments can get in the bloodstream. It can block blood flow to different parts of the body, depending on where the fragment gets lodged. That can lead to gangrene, resulting in amputation of the affected area, or, if the embolism occurs in a major artery, it can lead to death."

She anticipated Booth's next question, touched her hand to his knee. "It's highly unlikely, but there's nothing the doctors can do to prevent it. They'll just monitor her to make sure that no bone fragments entered her bloodstream. If everything heals properly, and statistically speaking, she will have no complications, she should be released by the end of the week."

Booth brooded a moment longer before making a concerted effort to shake the mood off. "Okay. I have to go get Parker in…" He glanced at his watch. "Two and a half hours. What did Hodgins and Zack find?"

Temperance brought him up to speed, suffering through his frequent interruptions and questions. It took less time than it once would have. Booth was a smart man, and he'd picked up quite a bit from his time working with them in the lab. He still didn't understand all the terminology, but he was getting there.

Hodgins would say that there was hope yet for the man. Temperance liked to think it was because Booth was Booth, and he just had it in him to get the job done, whatever it took.

"FBI forensics is still going through your apartment," Booth said. He hadn't moved from the sofa, tapping his fingers on his knee. "We might want to get Hodgins there, see if he can work his magic and find something useful." He wiggled his restless fingers in the air. "In the meantime, you'll have to stay at my place a while longer."

"I was thinking about asking Angela if I could stay with her." As soon as she said it aloud, Temperance realized her mistake. Booth turned hot eyes on her, and she hastened to say, "Not that I'm not grateful to you, but I don't want to impose for the entire week. And with Parker around, you don't want things to be…complicated."

Booth wrinkled his forehead. "Parker doesn't care," he pointed out. He stared incredulously at her. "Bones, are you embarrassed by what people in the lab might say if they found out? Are you worried about what people might think of you?"

"No, of course not," she spluttered. "Not really. I mean, okay, maybe. A little." Temperance blew out a breath. "We're professionals. You're my partner. Allowing such rumors to spread would be inadvisable. People might start questioning your reliability, our objectivity."

Skeptical, Booth pointed out, "Cam and I were involved, and I didn't hear anybody whispering behind their hands about it."

"That's because they didn't whisper when you were around." Temperance shook her head. "It's not good for you to be sleeping on the couch. Angela barely uses her place, anyway, since she spends so much time at Hodgins'. It'll be fine."

"You're forgetting one thing."

"What?"

"The part about the homicidal maniac trying to blow you up?" Booth reminded her with a shake of his head. "You're safer with me."

"And you are safer without me," Temperance countered. "Booth, some bomb psycho isn't going to be intimidated by you being around. Chances are you'd likely get caught up in it—like last time." She paused to let that sink in. "And you have Parker to think about."

The angry retort died on Booth's tongue, and he clamped his mouth shut while he thought that one over. Temperance patted his shoulder. "I'll talk to Angela, but you think on that one. I'm going to go look at the bones with Zack." She left Booth sitting there, wrestling with his own thoughts.

To her surprise, Angela wasn't thrilled with the idea of lending her unused apartment to Temperance. Angela looked up from her tablet computer, where she did her renderings for the Angelator. "Sweetie, I think you should stay at Booth's."

"That's not logical. He has to take care of Parker, and Booth has his own life to think about." Temperance shook her head. "We don't even know if that bomb was targeted at me, or if it was some random occurrence."

"Those flowers were for you," Angela countered. "That was not a random bombing. Stay at Booth's, sweetie. Booth won't let anything happen to you or Parker."

Temperance folded her arms across her chest, unconvinced. "I could stay at a motel."

Angela shook her head, set down her tablet to face Temperance. "Look. Booth has an entire FBI team shadowing you wherever you go. He'll have his own apartment staked out, so chances of anybody getting in or out to plant another bomb, or whatever, are slim. It's not every day you get the offer of no-strings-attached protection, especially from a man you're not sleeping with. Booth would step in front of you and take the bullet for you. You know he would, too."

She didn't want to think about that. "I don't want Booth to get shot for me. And there's evidence showing that guns had any role in this case."

Sighing, Angela rose and placed both hands on Temperance's shoulders. "He'd protect you from bomb blasts, too, and you know it. Don't argue, just go back and tell him thank you. Cook him dinner or something to show your appreciation. And if you're worried about people in the lab looking at you two sideways…" Angela's grin flashed. "I'm sure Hodgins and I would be happy to create enough distraction that people won't even notice."

"Thanks, Ange." The smile was crooked, but it was heartfelt. Temperance glanced down at the tablet screen. "How's it coming?"

Angela blew out a breath that ruffled the tendrils of hair curling into her eyes. "Slowly. I can't seem to find any scenario that fits the damage Zack's beamed over to me from the skeleton. What works for some bone damage doesn't explain what we see on other parts."

A call went up from down the lab. It was Zack. "Dr. Brennan! I think you'd like to come see this."

The whole team was in the bone room when Temperance and Angela got there. "What is it, Zack?"

He had magnified views of various bones on the screen. Zack slapped Booth's hand when Booth tried to pick one up. "Don't touch." To Temperance, Zack said, "Dr. Brennan, I was examining the skeleton for other saw marks, as you suggested. The other metacarpals show no signs of cutting, but I found similar striation patterns here, on the costae fluitante, left side, number eleven, and also beneath the right patella, at the top of the fibula."

"English, people, English. What do I have to do to get a translator in here?" Booth complained to no one in general.

Temperance stepped up to inspect the cut marks. "Very good, Zack. These bones have definitely been cut. But why were they then replaced?"

"Any other bones bearing cut marks?" Hodgins stepped closer to the table. Booth scowled when Zack didn't slap at Hodgins for bending over until his nose all but brushed the skeletal arm. "How about the humerus?"

"I don't see anything funny," Booth grumbled.

Temperance spared Booth a glance. "Not humorous, Booth, humerus. The long bone in your arm, from shoulder to elbow. From the Latin root, meaning upper arm, and Gothic ams, meaning shoulder. Why the humerus, Hodgins?"

"Because the left humerus shows anomalies in both car exhaust concentrations and damage patterns," Angela replied for him. She flashed a smile at Cam's raised eyebrow. "Aren't you glad we have such strong interdepartmental communication?"

Cam held up a hand. "I don't want to know," she said. "Zack?"

Zack lifted the bone under the camera with gloved hands, inspected the screen. "You're right," he proclaimed. "They're very faint. He was more careful here, only nicked the bone in a couple places. See, here, and here?" He pointed to the screen. Booth saw only bone, but Temperance nodded.

"That still doesn't explain why the bones were cut out and replaced."

"Ritualistic?" Hodgins shook his head to his own question. "Doubtful."

There was a stumped silence. Booth broke in. "What if they weren't replaced?"

Temperance turned to Booth, impatient. "These are not someone else's bones, stuck in as place holders," she told him. "Zack and I have both inspected this skeleton and agree on the conclusion. This is not a case of mixed bones."

"I'm not attacking your reputations." Booth held up his hands for peace. "Just go with me here a minute. They look like they fit—in fact, they likely do. Exactly. But what if these bones, these particular bones, don't belong to Vanessa Hammond?"

Angela was the first to make the leap. "Identical twins?"

Booth tipped his head in her direction. "Exactly."

Temperance shook her head in instant denial. "There are no records of any blood relations."

"But she was adopted." Booth held up a finger. "The adopted parents may not have been aware of a twin. What we need is the records from the hospital where Vanessa was born. No record of biological parents, no contact, right? It's a possibility." He whipped out his phone to make the call to the FBI.

Zack and Temperance exchanged a glance. "The statistical likelihood of twins is less than 3.5%, and the probability of being separated at birth much lower."

"I don't care about your statistics," Booth said as he waited for someone to pick up. "It's a possibility. Hey." He grinned. "You guys find answers in bones, slime, and dirt." Hodgins grinned in response at that. "Here, we make the impossible happen."

~3.17.11