HODGINS

Anyone who thinks a man can get a good night's sleep when his wife is pregnant is wrong, let me tell you – especially by the time said wife reaches the third trimester. Ange gets up three, four, six times a night because the baby is kicking her bladder, tap dancing on it or just laying on it. Each time she climbs out of bed, I wake up; each time she gets back into bed, I wake up. Then there are the middle of the night cravings…

"Honey, the baby wants mint chocolate chip ice cream… oh, and hot dog with the works: Ketchup, mustard, relish, onions, cheese, chili and jalapenos."

Half the time her cravings mean a trip to the all night grocery store, followed by me standing at the stove cooking to make those cravings happen. A couple of times, I thought I'd be slick, stocking the fridge, freezer and pantry with all her midnight cravings: Hotdogs, microwave burritos, lasagna, pickles, peppers of every kind, eggs for omelets and French toast, broccoli, cheese sauce, cookies, every type of dip I could find and the chips to go with the, oatmeal, grits, bacon… I mean every conceivable thing she'd ever asked for. There was no way I was going to find myself on the road to the store at two in the morning.

I'd slept the sleep of the smug, until four A.M. rolled around, on the very night I'd stocked all that food, and found Angela perched on an elbow, shaking me awake.

"Jack, the baby really wants hot donuts from Krispy Kreme. If you hurry, you can get in line before they open…"

So, out of bed I climbed.

Then there's the other impediments to a sound sleep, such as the baby turning Angela into a living boiler at night. First, the blankets and sheets go, winter and early spring or not. This is followed twenty-minutes later by…

"Honey, I'm just so hot. Can you open the windows?"

Ever the dutiful husband, I climb out of bed and raise the windows, instantly dropping the temperature in the room by fifteen degrees. I collapse into bed, just to doze off and find an elbow in my back.

"Jack, the heat. You didn't turn it off."

Heat off and back in bed again, I drag the blanket and sheet off the floor and carefully wrap it around myself, so not a single fiber touches Ange. Curling up to maintain my body heat, I at last close my eyes and fall to sleep. Only minutes later, a pair of ice blocks Angela calls feet, wedge themselves between my calves. Although I'm sure it's only a matter of minutes, it feels like hours before they warm and I can try to grab a short nap before the alarm goes off.

God, I love every minute of it.

In the last month, Angela has spent half the night tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable, which inevitably means I take an elbow in my back or a hand in the face, or foot in the calf or shin. I don't know how we're not both delirious from sleep deprivation after two months of this. Fortunate for her, she can stretch out on the couch in her office and get some sleep during the day. Not so much me. No complaints from me though. I mean, she's busy making our kid. The lack of a few z's means nothing in comparison.

Last night was different. I couldn't get the sight of that little girl, wrapped in a blanket and dumped into a grave in the middle of nowhere, out of my mind. Like Cam and Dr. B, I hadn't been able to wait until morning to go into the lab. The quicker we got answers, the quicker we identified her, the quicker we could get justice for her.

I hope it is swift… and very, very painful. As Dr. B and Cam uncovered more and more evidence of the… the… torture someone had put this little girl through, I couldn't help think of Ange and our child.

An eye-for-an-eye, that's what I wanted. Set them loose in gen pop after announcing what they'd done to the kid and only after they'd had a sufficient number of bones broken, toss them into a cell and let them starve.

It was only when Angela sighed and flopped to her back well before dawn, that I realized there was more to her tossing-and-turning than the normal discomfort.

"Would you mind if we just went in? The sooner I start, the sooner we'll know who she is."

"Do I mind? No, I don't mind." Rolling to my side, I propped myself on an elbow and leaned down to give her a kiss. "You're amazing."

Which is how we find ourselves in the Jeffersonian, at 5:23 A.M.

"I need my camera," she announces, shrugging off her jacket.

"Dr. B said she had some particulates for me. I'm just going to grab them."

We parted company, me heading towards the bones room, her heading to her office. I can't help taking a peek back over my shoulder. She's so cute when she waddles. My death would be imminent, of course, if I said that aloud.

I have to admit, I'm befuddled when I walk into the bones room. Dr. B must have been here half the night because the remains have already been fully cleaned and laid out on the exam table. The site of that little body sickens me, my thoughts immediately going to the baby Angela is carrying.

I search the room but find no trace of the particulates Dr. B said she set aside for me. My next stop is the platform, which is equally devoid of what I am in search of. I make a full turn on my heel, as though that will make the containers I'm in search of appear, then it's back down the stairs of the platform.

There's only one other place I can think she might have left them, but that's just… weird. Dr. B is a creature of habit. Any other day and I'd find those particulates sitting on a tray in the bones room waiting on me. The last time she'd gone against habit, we'd watched her crack up before us, acting as though we'd accused her of being the heroin user instead of the victim and wanting us to go with her gut.

Her gut!

She filets people with that sharp tongue of hers when anyone even hints at going with their gut. I still have no clue what happened to her, although, as I'd told Sweets, I was pretty sure it had to do with Booth. I suspect Ange got the truth out of her at some point, but Ange can be pretty skimpy on the details when it comes to Brennan.

God, I hope it's not happening again. Could the kid have shaken her that much? I don't know, which is scary in its own right. Something's different about her since she's come back from the Maluku Islands. She's more… sensitive. More… vulnerable, somehow. I think we'd all hoped she'd open up more, but if opening up meant watching her fall apart, I'd rather work with the old Dr. B who was oblivious to the people around her and their feelings.

I push open the door to her office and am halfway to her desk, when I stop cold.

I swear to you, I think my eyes are going to pop right out of my head.

I've never been more thankful that I have such a strong sense of self-preservation. I'm out of Dr. B's office and halfway to Ange's office before my tongue can work.

"Ange…" I call hoarsely then clear my throat, as I pick up speed and double-step it towards her office. "Angela!" I sound a little bit more normal before I reach her doorway, but my ability to formulate a full sentence has fled. She steps out of her office, alarmed.

"Dr. B… Booth…" I croak. So much for my voice. "Booth!... Dr. B!..."

"Jack! Oh my god, has something happened to—" I'm scaring her, but even knowing that doesn't restore coherent speech.

"Dr. Brennan… Booth…" I point towards her office. "Naked… Dr. B and Booth… Her office… Naked!" Her eyes widen. Grabbing my hand, she yanks me into her office and swings closed her door.

"Shhhhh!" she hushes me.

"Booth!... Brennan!" Okay, my brain has been shorted out by what I saw.

"Jack! Pull yourself together… Unless you want Booth to kill you, that is." My mouth clamps shut, and I blink my eyes several time. A healthy-sense of self-preservation, I've mentioned that, right? Booth's a big guy, with big fists and a big temper when his privacy's invaded. "They're in her office?" I nod, stupidly. "Did Brennan or Booth see you?" I shake my head.

"Booth. Brennan. Naked." It's all I can muster.

"Yeah, I know." That earns a few more blinks of my eyes… and the sudden sense of betrayal kicks my brain back in gear. I mean, isn't a wife supposed to tell her husband these things?

"You knew?!" Hey, I'm getting somewhere. I've moved up to two-word sentences. It even makes sense.

"Yeah, of course. Brennan's my best friend." Her tone suggests I should have known the answer without asking.

"You knew and you didn't tell me?!"

"Forgive me for wanting the father of my kid to be alive when it's born," she shoots back. "You'd be taking bets within ten seconds of knowing, you know you would, then Booth would kill you and I'd be a single mother." I find I'm offended, restoring a little more of my intelligence.

"I would never—" I don't bother finishing the sentence, when she crosses her arms and levels me with thatlook, the one that dares me to contradict her. I shut my mouth. Okay, I would.

"Listen close, Jack." I gulp, visibly. Booth might be able to beat me to a pulp, but I sleep in the bed next to Ange and I'd prefer not to do it with one eye open. "One word… to anyone… and you'll still be sleeping on the couch when this kid graduates high school. Do you understand me? One. Word." I nod my head a bit frantically. A couple decades of celibacy isn't something I'm willing to roll the dice on. "Then go… feed your snake, and I'll deal with Booth and Brennan before someone else walks in on them." My feet are rooted to the spot. She points an imperious finger towards her office door. "Go…" Nope, my feet still won't move "Now…." She draws out the word. Nothing doing until… "Unless—"

Then, I'm all motion, flying out her door and making a beeline for my room. I have no idea what might follow that 'unless,' and no desire to find out.

Booth and Brennan. I mean… Wow. Just… Wow.

Damn, I can already think of a half dozen pools I could have run….