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"Still pregnant?"

"Yes," Brennan groaned into the phone. "Very much so."

Angela sighed. "Sorry, sweetie. Wish I could help. On the bright side, now Hodgins owes me twenty bucks."

"What?"

"He bet you'd have the baby by 11:59 last night."

"And you bet against him?"

"Yeah."

"Ang, do you want to see me suffer?"

"No …"

"Then why would you bet a later date? Is there a betting pool at work?" Brennan asked.

"Nope, this is just a me and Hodgins thing."

"That twenty dollars is paying for my pedicure," Brennan grumbled.

"Deal," Angela laughed. "How about this afternoon?"

"You know I'm not free this afternoon."

"Right," Angela realized. "You're still tutoring. Speaking of which, how's it going? Aren't you there now?"

"Yes, but it's their lunch break. Sweets and I are grading."

"And hopefully eating, considering it's your lunch break?" Angela questioned.

"Yes." Brennan sighed. "I officially have three people checking to make sure I eat. What kind of person do you think I am?"

"One who forgets to eat on a fairly regular basis, especially when she's consumed with working."

"My eating schedule has improved considerably in the last few years," Brennan defended as she circled an error on one of the submitted homework assignments.

"That's true, but all thanks and credit on that goes to Booth." Angela glanced around her office. "It's too weird not having you here at work."

"I find that I miss everyone," Brennan admitted.

"Aw, we miss you, too. You're not planning on coming back to the Jeffersonian after you finish tutoring tomorrow, are you?"

"I plan on being there Friday."

"Bren, why?"

"Why not?"

"Maybe because you're nine months pregnant?" Angela suggested.

"I'd rather take my full maternity leave after I deliver to give me more time with the baby."

"But you need some time to rest beforehand," Angela argued. "You'll be exhausted."

"You sound like Booth and Sweets." Brennan glanced at Sweets, who looked up from his stack of papers with a curious "who, me?" expression on his face.

"You know, they've got a point. But hey, you know best."

"Thank you. I knew you'd understand." She sighed. "Want to grab dinner tonight?"

"Pedicures and dinner? What's gotten into you?" Angela teased. "Booth working late?"

"Yes, he has another long shift today. Hopefully he'll be home by eight." Brennan paused. "Actually, I'll have Christine with me, so let's just do dinner."

"Oh no," Angela quickly insisted. "We're getting pedicures. She can get her nails done."

"Ang, she's not even four years old."

"Doesn't matter. She loves having her nails painted." Angela grinned, knowing full well that the only time her goddaughter and namesake ever had her nails painted was after visits to Aunt Angie's house or office. "This is perfect. Hodgins will likely be late getting home, too."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, he and Cam are struggling a little bit on a case. He offered to explain it to me, but I declined."

"Anything I can help with?"

"No," Angela replied firmly, immediately regretting that she had mentioned a case to Brennan. "The last thing you need is more work."

"I miss it."

"I'm sure you do. But unless you can identify some sort of rare sediment or want to watch maggots hatch, I don't think you'll be much help."

"Perhaps Cam …"

"Uh uh," Angela cut her off. "It's a fleshy one. And Cam has already determined cause of death."

"Oh."

"You sound disappointed. Of course. Why would you not be?" Angela muttered, jumping at the sudden groan she heard over the phone. "Bren! You OK?"

"I'm fine. That was Sweets."

"Really?"

"Yes. Sweets, is something wrong?"

The young psychologist was shaking his head, staring dismayed at a page full of red ink. "This is pathetic. Or sad. Maybe just sad."

"Angela, Sweets is sad," Brennan stated. "It appears that someone didn't do well on the assignment he's grading."

"Ah. Passing on your enthusiasm and goals to Sweets, huh? That's kind of adorable."

"I don't know what you mean."

"You want all of your little convicts to pass their test. You've imparted that desire to Sweets," Angela explained.

"Yes, that might be true." Brennan glanced at her watch. "Angela, I've got to go. I still need to finish grading, and they'll be back soon."

"OK. Call me when you're finished and I'll give you the plans for tonight."

The Wednesday tutoring session had gone well, minus a few minor outbursts about remembering and memorizing so much information, and several not-so-subtle protests when Sweets handed out more homework and practice sections. Brennan had a few minutes remaining and was orally quizzing the group about the cell structure when Trey politely raised his hand to interrupt.

"Dr. B? We talked at lunch, and we want to ask you something."

She nodded. "Go ahead."

"Can we get some real talk?"

She gave Trey a puzzled look. "I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"Look, Dr. B." Reggie waved, garnering the room's attention. "They — we — want to know what the odds are."

Brennan looked to Sweets, confusion still written across her face. "I don't …"

"Who's gonna pass?" Franklin bluntly questioned.

"You want me to predict how each of you will do on Saturday's test?" Brennan clarified. At the sight of every head in the room nodding, she sighed, "I couldn't possibly do that."

"Sure you can," Reggie argued. "Shoot it straight."

She shook her head. "I can't."

"That ain't true." DeAndre looked directly at Brennan. "You been straight with us since day one."

"What Dr. Brennan means is that she isn't comfortable guessing how each of you will perform on the GED," Sweets piped in from the back. "She's a scientist. She doesn't guess."

Rashid turned to give Sweets a wry smile. "Ah, but she has facts and evidence on each of us — homework, practice tests, grades, notes."

"That's true," Brennan admitted. "But Dr. Sweets is right. I never guess."

"We can handle it," Ben assured her. "Just try."

"Dr. B, this is prison, not grade school. Ain't gonna hurt our feelings." DeAndre looked around the room. "Right?"

The group nodded again, and Brennan hesitated, torn over what to do. "Why do you want to know?"

"Cause we don't think we're going to pass," Wade admitted, sounding almost ashamed.

"But I've talked to you about this before. I feel certain that everyone can pass the math portion," she stated.

"We want to know more than that," Carlos said. "At least I do."

"How about we compromise?" Sweets suggested. "What if Dr. Brennan gives you her honest opinion tomorrow? That would allow her a little time tonight to better formulate her ideas."

Eyes blazing, Brennan looked at Sweets in disbelief. "Dr. Sweets, I'm the one running this classroom, not you. It's my program, and I determine what is done here."

"Trust me on this." He looked almost pleased with himself, and Brennan quickly realized he must have some psychology behind his suggestion. She shrugged. "Fine. I'll have evaluations for each of you tomorrow."

"I find it hilarious that Sweets had the balls to stand up to you in front of a bunch of prisoners." Angela shook her head with a grin as she and Brennan discussed the day's events from their chairs at the nail salon.

"Mommy!" Christine appeared around the corner with her nail technician, grinning as she held up one hand. "Look!"

"Let me see." Brennan leaned to look at her daughter's extended right hand, seeing her thumb painted. "Ooh, an orchid."

"A flower," Christine corrected.

"An orchid is a type of flower. It looks very pretty on your fingernail," Brennan complemented.

"Are you getting the same kind of flower on every fingernail?" Angela asked. "Because Bae can do different ones on each nail."

Christine's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Yep." Angela looked at the woman behind Christine. "Bae, tell her what you can do."

"I'll show her the pictures," the woman offered.

"Perfect. Christine, Bae has a big book full of designs. You can pick out the flowers you want on your fingernails," Angela explained. "Just be sure to get a daffodil. That's your mom's favorite."

"OK. What's your favorite?"

"Right now … probably hydrangeas."

Turning to Bae, Christine requested, "I want that, too, please. Mom, what's Daddy's?"

"Your dad's favorite flower? I'm not sure he has one." Brennan smiled mischievously. "But he likes mistletoe."

"Hey, that's not a flower," Angela objected.

"It's still pretty, and it's a plant."

"True. But Booth doesn't have a favorite flower? Hodgins has a favorite."

"Hodgins has a doctorate in botany. I'd expect him to have a favorite." Brennan mused for a moment. "Actually, I'd expect him not to have a favorite. He probably can't pick one."

"Yeah, it'd be like picking a favorite child. Speaking of child …" Angela leaned out of her chair, trying to peer into the next room. "My child is being very quiet."

"Don't worry." Bae grinned. "He's picking out his paints."

"Oh good." Angela nodded. "Thank you."

"Come on, let's go finish your nails," Bae said, reaching for Christine's left hand.

"K." She waved at Brennan and Angela, who waved back. "See ya."

"Man, she is the perfect combo of you and Booth," Angela said. "Hope the next one is just like her."

"They're more likely to fight if they're too similar," Brennan remarked. "And what is Michael doing with paints?"

"Oh, June is painting something he wanted on his cast," Angela explained. "And she's putting some sort of lacquer over it to keep the artwork sealed."

"You couldn't paint it?"

"I could, but hey, whatever it takes to keep him entertained at the nail salon. And I told him June has cooler paints than I do."

"Right." Brennan gently rubbed her stomach. "I need your opinion."

"Of course."

"Booth and I cannot decide on a name."

"Oh dear." Angela sighed. "How'd you come up with Christine's name?"

"My mother's name and your name — you know that. It was quite simple."

Angela laughed. "No, I mean how did you two agree on it?"

"I don't know — it just made sense."

"OK." Angela nodded. "What about a name from Booth's side of the family?"

Brennan frowned. "We don't have very good options."

"Let's hear them. Can't be worse than my middle name."

"Beulah and Doris were his grandmothers."

Angela winced. "Yikes, those are terrible. Perhaps you could change Doris to Dora?"

"When Christine was young, we once watched several cartoon episodes where the female protagonist named Dora attempted to be bilingual." She wrinkled her nose. "I can't say that I'm particularly fond of it."

"You absolutely can't name a kid after Dora the Explorer … or Dory, for that matter. Poor kid would think you'd named her after a giddy fish with amnesia."

"Oh, right. Definitely can't use any variation of Doris," Brennan agreed.

Angela paused, thinking for a moment. "Who was married to Hank, Doris or Beulah?"

"Doris."

"Too bad. I love Hank."

"We do, too." Brennan sighed. "If we have a boy, I suspect Booth will want to use part of Hank's name."

Angela nearly shot out of her chair. "A boy!? You're thinking about another?"

"No," Brennan quickly corrected. "I mean, if it happened, then yes."

"Hah." Angela grinned. "Look at you softening about kids in your old age."

"I am not old."

"Booth would love a boy. Parker's getting so old." Angela smiled. "Look at us having real girl talk over pedicures. I'm so proud of you, sweetie. All my hard work has finally paid off."

Brennan rolled her eyes. "You're catching me at a very weak moment." Hearing her phone, she reached in the seat's spare cup holder.

"No, let it ring," Angela urged. "You're off work."

"I'm not sure who it is," Brennan said, looking at the number on the screen.

"Then absolutely don't pick up … or fine, completely ignore my advice." Angela sighed as Brennan answered the phone. She stared curiously as Brennan was quiet for a minute.

"Tomorrow? Well, I'm there from eight until five. They take their lunch at noon for an hour." Brennan was silent again for a moment. "I'm sorry, was my report not adequate?" She nodded as she listened to the voice at the other end of the line. "Yes, I understand his rationale. That makes sense."

"Guess that's not Booth," Angela muttered to Brennan, who shook her head.

"Yes, that's fine. Thank you." Brennan hung up and sighed.

"Who was it?"

"You're not going to like it."

"Doesn't matter. Tell me."

"That was Judge Andrews' secretary."

Angela let out a low litany of French words, rapidly strung together, and Brennan smirked. "You do realize I understand exactly what you're saying, right?"

"I prefer not to curse in English when young children are nearby." Angela let her head fall back against the headrest with a groan. "Why on earth did she call you?"

"The judge wants me to present my findings to the prison board. They're considering starting a permanent tutoring program."

"Absolutely not."

"Well, their meeting is tomorrow, so it won't work. I have my final tutoring session."

"Wait. Would he let you do this presentation instead of tutoring? Because that sounds like a good deal."

"No. He was hoping the prison's lunch break might coincide with the meeting."

"You've got to be kidding me. The man wanted to take your lunch break? He is evil! Can't wait 'til Booth hears about this."

"Please don't tell him," Brennan urged. "There's no reason to do that."

"He's going to find out. He always does."

"He's so tired and worked up with all these long shifts. He's slept like a rock the past few nights."

"Even though you haven't?" Angela raised an eyebrow. "Oh, don't look so surprised. I can tell you haven't been sleeping well."

"It's hard to when she won't be still."

"Dancer or a gymnast, huh?"

"Do you like salire?"

"What?" Angela gave Brennan a clueless look at the abrupt subject change. "What is it?"

"It indicates movement," answered the technician working on Brennan's feet.

"Yes." She glanced at the girl. "Do you know Latin?"

"Italian, actually."

"Ah." Brennan nodded. "I believe it means 'climb' in Italian?"

The girl nodded. "Or 'rise.'"

"It means 'to jump' in Latin," Brennan explained to Angela.

"You're considering naming your beautiful daughter a Latin word? Bren, really?"

"What's wrong with Latin? Your name is Greek and literally means 'messenger of God!'" Brennan exclaimed.

"And yet you still gave it to your daughter." Angela grinned.

"Because it's a kind gesture and beautiful representation of my best friend."

"Aww, Brennan, that's sweet! Wait." Angela eyed her best friend suspiciously. "You're sucking up to me. You must really like that crazy Latin word."

Brennan nodded.

"And Booth doesn't?"

"How'd you know?"

Angela shrugged. "Just a crazy stab in the dark."

"So you dislike salire for a name?"

"No, it's a beautiful word. Sounds great rolling off the tongue — salire," Angela exaggerated as she rolled the 'r' with a grin. "I'm just not convinced that's what you want to name a child. Why not use part of your name?"

"Temperance? Absolutely not."

"Good, because I don't want you taking it anyway. It's going to be my currently non-existent daughter's middle name."

Brennan shook her head. "I can't believe you like it."

"It's a kind gesture and beautiful representation of my best friend," Angela quoted impishly with a grin. "You wouldn't use 'Joy,' would you?" She watched as Brennan shook her head again. "Yeah, didn't think so. Let's keep thinking. There have to be other names on Booth's side of the family, right?"

I (sort of) resisted my muse's twisted, psycho urge to bring back the judge. I figured there would be cries of outrage if I did it this late in the story.

Think Brennan will get her crazy Latin name for the baby, or will Angela talk her out of it? (Then again, Angela might talk her into something more crazy … after all, her middle name came to her in a dream.)

Bored this week? Consider rewatching "Intern the Incinerator" (season 3, episode 6) — that's where we find out Booth knows all about Brennan, including her favorite flowers. There's also the fun side story about how Booth is no longer dating Cam. :)