A/N: I'm sorry that this chapter is short – RL is crazy busy at the moment, so there was hardly any time left for writing this week...

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"Hello?"

Booth takes a deep breath. He's been trying to get a hold of Bones' publisher for almost an hour, but now that the man is finally answering his phone, Booth suddenly isn't sure what to say. How often do you need to come up with a polite way to ask Care to tell me why you sent me a shitload of money?

"Hi – my name is Seeley Booth, and I'm calling because –"

That's as far as he gets. "Mr. Booth, it's a pleasure to hear from you!"

The enthusiastic greeting throws Booth for a loop – he's pretty certain he has never heard of this guy (Andrew Whatshisface, Booth has already forgotten the name again) until today, but it's not out of the question that his memory is still playing tricks on him. "Have we met?"

"Not to my knowledge, but I daresay I've heard a lot about you."

Booth makes a face; he really isn't in the mood for any smartass remarks about his possible role in the creation of Special Agent Andy Lister. Besides, who says 'I daresay' in normal conversation?

"Look, you sent me this check, and –"

"I know, you probably expected it sooner, and I apologize for the delay – but this is a bit more complicated than a normal royalty payout, and there were some additional questions about the latest batch of medical bills. Contractually we have six weeks from the time the advance evens out, and as you can see from the figures I sent you, we're still within that timeframe."

Booth eyes the letter on the coffee table in front of him. It consists almost entirely of numbers that make no more sense to him than anything Mr. Whatshisface just said.

"Look, Mister –"

"Please, call me Andrew." Oh great, one of those guys.

"Fine, Andrew." Booth rolls his eyes. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about. What royalty payout?"

"For Dr. Brennan's book, of course." The guy sounds puzzled, which at least makes him drop the cheerful act. "Aren't you familiar with the terms of the trust?"

"What?" Booth has no idea what to think any more. "Which trust? And which book, while we're at it?"

"Dr. Brennan didn't tell you?" Andrew seems completely baffled, and it does nothing for Booth's rapidly deteriorating mood.

"Do you really think I'd be asking you if she had?"

"That… complicates matters a little." There's a pause, and then the hasty addition, "You see, as per Dr. Brennan's stipulations, we're working under a non-disclosure agreement here, so I'm not sure whether I'm allowed to tell you."

"You can leave almost thirty thousand dollars in my mailbox, but you can't tell me why? Are you kidding me?" Booth's tone must alert Andrew to the fact that he's reaching the end of his patience, because he relents.

"I suppose you have a point – as the beneficiary, you probably don't count as a third party since you're directly involved. You see, our company has enjoyed a long and successful collaboration with Dr. Brennan, but when she approached us with this project, she asked for a different kind of contract – her advance and all future royalties were to go into a trust created with the purpose to cover all costs caused by a medical emergency that you'd had shortly before. I understand that at the time, you were in a coma?"

Booth's head is beginning to spin. "When was that?"

"That would have been, let me see… ah yes, we started negotiating on May 26, and she handed in the finished manuscript at the beginning of July."

Booth tries to remember the timeline Bones drew up for him. Late May would have been… two weeks after his surgery, and early July was three weeks before he woke up. "Yeah, I was out during that time."

"I'm very glad to hear that you're doing better. Dr. Brennan didn't share any details about your condition, but she seemed extremely concerned."

Booth doesn't let himself consider the implications. "She wrote another Kathy Reichs novel to pay for my medical bills?" It doesn't make sense – Bones is already loaded, so why would she need to write another book for that?

"No, she came to us with a different project – something that deviates significantly from her usual style. I admit we were a little reluctant at first." Andrew lets out a tittering laugh that grates on Booth's nerves. "You see, Dr. Brennan is a highly successful author, and even though trying one's hand at a completely different genre is always risky, we would have been happy to go along with the idea if it hadn't been for the fact that she didn't want her name attached to it. I'm sure you're aware how important an author's popularity is for the marketability of their books, so it's counterproductive for a high-profile author like Dr. Brennan to publish under a pseudonym. She was insistent, though, and since we were already in contract negotiations for two additional Kathy Reichs novels…"

For the first time since he opened that letter, Booth has to smile. "She blackmailed you?" I'm fairly certain you're not supposed to like it…

Andrew titters again. "Oh, I wouldn't put it like that. Her monetary demands were reasonable, so we were finally able to reach an agreement. Instead of paying royalties like we usually would, that money goes into a trust which is administered by our company; for the duration of your disability, Dr. Brennan, as your medical proxy, forwards us any medical bills your insurance doesn't cover, and any other costs that might accrue." He doesn't sound quite as accountant-like any more when he adds, "It is my understanding that Dr. Brennan wanted to make sure your financial needs would be taken care of in case something should happen to her before you were fully recovered."

He pauses, as if expecting Booth to say something; at Booth's stunned silence, he continues. "Initially, those costs were deducted from the sum of the advance that Dr. Brennan would have gotten for the book, but now that sales are well underway and the advance has evened out, under the terms of the trust instrument we were obliged to pay out the remaining sum to you."

That finally brings Booth out of his stupor. "But this – this is twenty-seven thousand dollars!"

"Well, you need to understand that we were taking a big risk with the publication of this book, so we weren't able to offer Dr. Brennan the same terms she would have gotten for another Kathy Reichs book or a similar work published under her name, and if you factor in the costs for your medical treatment, which have been considerable…"

It takes Booth a while to cotton on to the fact that Andrew thinks he expected more money than what they sent him – the idea just seems too surreal, but before Booth can interrupt the guy's diatribe to set him straight, Andrew drops the next bombshell.

"Based on the latest sales figures, it's safe to assume that you can expect a significantly higher payout at the end of the current sales period, especially if there's a decrease in medical expenses now that your health is improving. I –"

"Wait – what? Are you saying there'll be more?"

"Yes, of course." Andrew sounds honestly baffled. "The book only came out two months ago, after all. Our PR department had the idea to plant the online rumor that it was the 'secret work of a world-famous author' – only within the boundaries of our agreement with Dr. Brennan, of course – to create some initial buzz, and I daresay that the results surpass our most optimistic expectations."

"But – I mean… are you saying you'll just keep sending me money?" Booth still has trouble wrapping his mind around the whole idea. "What if I don't want it?"

I'm sick and tired of being your charity project…

Judging by the sound Andrew makes, Booth has just said something very stupid or totally shocking. "The money is yours, Mr. Booth; costs for accounting and taxation are paid out of the trust's assets, and as the beneficiary, you're free to do whatever you wish with the payments you receive. In the case of your death, your son is listed as the next beneficiary, but while you're alive it's entirely up to you to decide what happens with the money."

Booth feels like wheels are turning in his head as his brain tries to follow several lines of thought at the same time. "Andrew, listen – does Dr. Brennan know I got that check?"

He can tell that the guy is beginning to get a little weirded out, but thankfully he still answers. "Dr. Brennan isn't involved in administrative matters, so she wasn't notified, no. However, considering her experience in this field, I guess she should be able to estimate when the first payment is due." He doesn't ask why it's an issue for Booth, but he's obviously wondering what exactly is going on here.

Booth is beginning to think that it's a question he would like to ask too – if it weren't for the fact that the only person who could answer it is no longer speaking with him.

His prolonged silence seems to make Andrew nervous, because he tries to cover it by starting to babble. "The book really surprised us, you know – I mean, we knew that Dr. Brennan is a very good writer, but we wouldn't have thought that she had it in her to completely switch genres and styles and still come across as authentic. I –"

"I wouldn't know, I haven't read it." Booth is aware that he's being rude, but he really has no interest in small talk right now.

"Oh." From the sound of it, Andrew is now convinced that Booth is a total nutcase. "Would you like me to send you a copy?"

"Yeah, sure, thanks." Booth just wants this conversation to be over; he desperately needs to think. "I'd give you my address, but it looks like you already have it."

"Hah, yes, of course…"

Andrew is still tittering when Booth hangs up.

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"I know. You wrote a book."

He should focus on the present, but he can't help it that his thoughts keep wandering back to that moment shortly after he woke up, when Bones first tried to tell him what had happened to him. He remembers what he said to her, but he doesn't seem able to recall why he said it – no matter how hard he concentrates, he can't remember anything about a book that she might have written during his coma, although her spooked reaction should have told him that he had been spot on with his assessment. Did she actually write it sitting by his hospital bed, or was it just one of the things she told him about while he was out?

Funny how she only ever seems to talk to him when he's unconscious.

Booth eyes the check on the coffee table and realizes that he has no idea what to do with it. For once, he gets what she was thinking when she came up with the idea of a trust for him – no matter how determined she was to keep hoping, Bones has always been a realist when it comes to scientific facts, and if the doctors told her that there was a chance he would spend the rest of his life in a hospital bed…

Dr. Brennan wanted to make sure that your financial needs would be taken care of in case something should happen to her before you were fully recovered.

Oh man. Booth runs a hand through his hair and tries very hard not to remember the look on her face when she accused him of resenting her for trying to help him. Was she already freaking out because she knew it was only a matter of time until he found out that she'd done much more than just the stuff he knew about? But why hadn't she just told him about the whole thing right away?

Maybe because you were already throwing tantrums over the stuff you did know, a sneering voice that sounds a little like Jared speaks up at the back of his mind. He does his best to shush it; seriously, Bones should have known that she couldn't just hand him a ton of money, no matter what her intentions were. Did she think that the book thing would make it easier for him to swallow his pride? Is that why she didn't publish it under her name – so that nobody else would have to know? Booth cringes at the thought; somehow, the idea that she might have tried to help him save face manages to make the whole thing more humiliating.

Why the damn book, though? It's the question he keeps coming back to – who the hell thinks of writing a book while they're sitting by their partner's hospital bed, and why does a part of his brain insist that he knew all along that she'd written it? Booth belatedly realizes that he didn't even ask Andrew about the title, or about her pseudonym, and suddenly he has to know.

Glad of the chance to focus on something else than the check on the table, Booth retrieves his laptop from the gun safe and starts googling. He isn't sure what he's looking for, but he figures there probably aren't that many 'secret works by world-famous authors' out there. He checks a few popular book discussion boards – he learned more than he ever wanted to know about the online activities of literature geeks during that case with the three guys who copied the murders from one of Bones' novels – and quickly hits pay dirt.

Lab Rats, by Joy Scallion.

He wouldn't have expected Bones to ever willingly use her old first name for anything, but combined with the book title, it makes the whole thing a no-brainer. The last name she used rings a bell too; he can't place it right now, but at least it looks like it did the trick of hiding Bones' identity from everyone else – there's plenty of speculation about the "real" author of the book, but he can't find a single mention of her name in any of these discussions. What he does find, however, is a link to a pirated online copy.

Booth struggles with his conscience for all of two seconds. He doesn't usually do this (he's with the FBI, for crying out loud, their seal gets slapped on every DVD and CD case to prevent this kind of thing, and for a moment he remembers a smarmy young agent from the Prada Police who's probably a hospital clerk or something in real life and didn't deserve Booth's comatose mind casting him as a killer), but he wants to know what kind of story Bones wrote during those weeks she spent at the hospital waiting for him to wake up, and he isn't going to wait for his copy to arrive in the mail, or to waste time going out and finding a bookstore because even the few seconds it takes for the PDF file to download feel like an eternity.

Ignoring the nervous knot in the pit of his stomach, Booth opens the file and begins to read.