At the club, a bartender and an author watched two employees being led out in handcuffs. The author turned to the bartender.

"No Vincent, no deejay. No deejay, no entertainment. Time to carpe your diem, bub," Hodgins commented.

Sweets handed the author his drink. "You mean the band?"

"Get the girl to smack the tambourine, and maybe you've got a shot," Hodgins advised.

Sweets looked around the lab before leaning closer to the writer. "You mean Angela?" he asked, his voice rising slightly, hopeful.

"Of course I don't mean Angela!" the author responded. "You don't stand a chance with Angela." He pointed towards one of the two waitresses that worked at The Lab. "Pansy, or Buttercup…" he guessed, unable to remember her name.

"Daisy?" Sweets asked, looking back at the pretty waitress before nodding at Hodgins.

At that time, a good looking, middle-eastern man approached the bar and set his glass down, ready for a refill.

"The mysterious Persian real-estate mogul who's been trying to buy our home away from home. What nefarious reasons does he have?"

Vaziri sighed. "I want this club because I know how to turn it into a gold mine."

"Boring," Hodgins sighed, slumping over.

"Good business, like a good marriage, is outwardly boring," Vaziri responded. Hodgins looked up at him incredulously, mouth open in disbelief at what he had just said. "Sorry." Arastoo apologized, but it was obvious he didn't regret what he said.


Outside, Seeley Booth sat with his daughter on the hood of his car, which was parked in the alleyway behind the club. Their head of security, Wendell, stood in the back entrance.

"Last night, I go home a little before 3. I check to make sure Bren has locked up the safe. I wonder, did somebody tape the door after I checked it?" Wendell pulls the toothpick out of his mouth while posing his question. "'Cause this guy got in somehow."

"You mean the dead guy, or, uh, whoever killed him."

Wendell crouched down and fiddled with the lock on the door. "There's nothing tacky on the bolt here, so it wasn't taped," Wendell concluded. He stood back up and looked at the door frame. "That means that either the dead guy hid in the club after closing, or Bren let him in after my sweep."

"Nah, she didn't," Booth denied.

"Whoever killed this guy had a key or was also already in the club," Wendell pressed.

"Bren was the only one inside the club," Booth insisted.

The two men locked eyes, daring the other to continue.

"You seem pretty sure this is the way it played out," Booth commented.

Wendell looked at Darcy for a moment, their eyes meeting before Wendell finally responds. "The dead guy, chats me up last night."

"Ok, why didn't you tell the police?"

"Creepy old guy, trespassing around our club during the night. I know what I'd do if I caught him," Wendell locked eyes with his boss and rubbed the stubble on his chin.

Booth paused. "Did you catch him?"

More silence between the two men. "Nope, did you? 'Cause until I get the specific answer to that question, my loyalty is with you."

Booth thought for a moment before answering his bouncer. "I didn't catch him, but I appreciate your loyalty."

Wendell nodded, holding a finger to his lips to let Booth know that he'll keep quiet, and then beat his fist over his heart before going back inside.

Darcy turned to look at her father. "Do you think it's possible that Wendell killed him?"

"I don't know, do you?"

"No, I don't." Darcy shook her head.

Seeley met his daughter's eyes. "What time did you leave last night?"

"Same time as Wendell."

"Why did you stay so late?" he questioned.

"I stayed behind to get things prepared for inventory and waited for Wendell so he could walk me to my car."

Booth nodded. "When Bren got home this morning, she said you weren't there, so where did you go after work?"

Darcy leaned her head back, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. "I went to Wendell's," she replied, truthfully.

"Why?"

"Dad, I'm twenty years old! I wanted to decompress, especially because Daisy was no help last night and I was annoyed and frustrated," she explained.

Booth nodded. "Since when are you friends with Wendell?" he wondered.

"Since we met at school and I helped him get his job here, remember?" she sighed. Booth narrowed his eyes and nodded, but he was still suspicious that perhaps there was a little bit more to the story. But, for the time being, he let the issue go.

After their conversation, Darcy left to go home and change for work that evening. Booth, meanwhile, decided to bring in a box of wine from the back. There, he spotted his wife and Arastoo Vaziri conversing, yet again.

"Hey, Arastoo, how're you doing?" he called from behind the bar.

"He's making me another offer on the nightclub," Brennan informed her husband.

"How big of a bump do we get for murder?" he asked as he cleaned the bottles and set them on the bar to be put away.

"The offer is lower."

"The place is under a cloud," Vaziri reasoned. "Things like this occur when people are not reasonable."

"Implying that you're behind the murder, trying to scare me to sell," Booth deducted, setting down yet another bottle. "Ballsy move, pal."

"Behind it? No," he denied. "Merely taking advantage. It's good business."

Booth had had enough. "Right, well, my club's not for sale, but my booze is, so either get a drink or get the hell out of here."

Brennan and Vaziri exchanged glances as Booth stared the other man down. Then came their bartender.

"Hey, Booth, Bren, heard about Vincent being arrested. Can my band audition?" Sweets implored.

"No," Bren deadpanned.

"Come on, what's the harm?" Booth asked. "Be ready in one hour, pal," he told his bartender.

The young man pumped his fists into the air. "Yes!" he cried. "You won't be disappointed," he informed the owners as he left to go call his bandmates.

"Why?" she asked incredulously.

"I've got a soft spot for the kid," Booth explained, shrugging.

"You're made of soft spots." Bren leaned in closer. "You're still going to make the call, right?"

"Of course, I'm going to make the call, I'm not soft in the head!"

"What is 'the call'?" Arastoo interjected.

"It's why I own this place, and you never will, ok? So, drink? Or are you going to leave?"


After Mr. Vaziri's departure, Bren entered her office, with her hostess, Angela, coming in behind her.

"Hey! Awkward, very awkward, awkward!" Angela repeated as she entered further into the office.

"Angela, what is awkward?"

Angela pulled a folded napkin from her pocket and gave it to Bren. The woman examined the paper, before looking back at Angela. "It's a floor plan, for the nightclub."

"Yeah, I drew it," Angela admitted. "For the murder victim, last night." Angela then moved over to the couch. She then started to ramble, as she tended to do at times. "You know how what I really wanted to do was interior decorating, right? I mean, I'm very good, I sort of have a knack." She picked up a decorative pillow from the couch and ruffled it. "And he told me that he owned a nightclub, and that he'd hire me to…and I figured that he was probably hitting on me, but then Jared showed and asked me out for like, the hundredth time…"

Brennan interrupted her hostess. "Why are you showing this to me?"

"Because if I show it to Mr. B, his head will explode. You're a cooler customer."

"I'm not a cold fish, I'm Iceland," Bren defended.

Angela scoffed. "Okay," she replied as she sat down in front of Bren's desk. "If I had a better grasp of geography, I might know what you mean."

"Why would his head explode?"

"Well, note the X. At this office. Traditionally, X marks the spot," Angela explained.

"The safe? You think he wanted to rob us?"

"Well, yeah, maybe, or it's possible that the X marks a whole other objective. The only thing left is…" Angela trailed off, hoping Bren would put together the pieces.

"Me," Bren concluded.

Angela impersonated Booth's head exploding before sitting back in the chair.


Darcy yawned as she stretched, slowly coming back to the land of the living as she awoke from the best sleep that she'd gotten since Dr. Brennan first called her and told her to come to the hospital. She felt something heavy on her waist and looking down, recognizing her boyfriend's arm wrapped around her. She smiled – he had stayed.

The small TV on the dresser played a rerun of "Friends," the theme song instantly recognizable, although she couldn't see the screen from her current angle. She kept her breathing steady, trying to gauge if Wendell was awake or not. His breaths were short, very quiet snores coming from him.

Slightly turning, Darcy spied an alarm clock on the nightstand – 5:28 PM. She had slept the entire afternoon. She turned onto her back, Wendell unconsciously readjusting his arm as she moved.

As she began to become fully conscious, she realized that she had tried to get her boyfriend to have sex with her – for the first time – in the shower that he had graciously offered her because she didn't want to go home. And he had said no! Because he would've felt like he was taking advantage of her!

She didn't know what was more mortifying, that she had been rejected by her boyfriend, or that she had tried to get him to have sex with her because she felt the need to do something crazy to feel normal again.

She sighed and put one hand over her face. He was so kind, refusing to indulge her irrational thoughts while in a bad place, not saying another word about it, cooking her food and allowing her to sleep in his bed. Getting her clothes and toiletries from her house because she was too scared to walk in. She was unbelievably embarrassed about what had happened. And very grateful that he hadn't acted strange about it.

She wondered – should she say anything about it? Or leave it unsaid? As she felt him move beside her, she realized she didn't have much time to make a choice. He leaned farther into her, pressing his lips to her shoulder as he awoke. She turned her head to look at him and saw him slowly opening his eyes, the room coming into focus. As his eyes met hers, he gave her a sleepy smile. Even half asleep, it dazzled her.

As he sat up and started to stretch, Darcy watched him, supporting herself on her elbows. "You should probably get back to the hospital soon," he suggested. Darcy nodded, sitting up further.

"Thank you for staying with me," she smiled.

"Of course, Darce."

"Also, I'm sorry for…coming on to you so suddenly earlier, I wasn't in the right frame of mind, and I don't know what happened…" Darcy trailed off.

Wendell nodded. "It's not like I don't want to…Darcy, you're absolutely gorgeous, and it just…wasn't the right time. Ok?"

Darcy smiled slightly and nodded, leaning closer as he leaned in, giving her a gentle kiss.

"C'mon, let's get you back to the hospital," Wendell said, grabbing Darcy's arm and pulling her out of the comfort of the warm bed. She groaned but left the warm embrace of Wendell's bed, padding towards the living room to collect her things.


The seconds ticked closer to 48 hours since Booth had entered his coma. As Wendell pulled into a parking spot, he turned and willed Darcy to look at him. She had been staring out the window the entire drive, mind on other things.

"What are you thinking?"

"That I should try to convince Dr. Brennan to get out for a little while. I don't think it's fair that I left for hours, and she hasn't left in 48 hours."

Wendell nodded. "It makes sense."

"But I just…don't want to be alone, you know?" Darcy secretly wished that he would offer to stay with her, but she didn't want to ask that of him. Especially since he had work to do, research to conduct.

Wendell nodded. "I understand, Darce, maybe we can call Angela or Dr. Saroyan? I wish I could stay, but you know I have a lot of work to get done." Wendell watched her face, hoping that he wouldn't upset her.

Darcy turned and looked him in the eye before nodding. "I understand." She then opened the car door. "Best not keep them waiting."

Wendell walked with her up to Booth's room. "If Dr. Brennan wants to go, I'll stay with you for a little while, okay?"

Darcy nodded and gave him a small smile. "Thank you, really." She then sighed and entered her father's hospital room once again.