Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, Fox does.
Notes: Sorry that it's been so long! I actually wrote half of this, scrapped it, and then started over. Hopefully the extra time was worth it! Please let me know what you like, what you don't, what you'd like to see happen, what made you laugh, what should have but didn't… or anything else!

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Booth was dead.

He had died and gone to heaven. There was no other explanation for the divine taste of the meal he and Brennan were sharing. He was tearing into it like there was no tomorrow, lost in the bliss that only an authentic Mexican dish could provide.

Once the edge was taken off of Booth's hunger, he was able to take in the 'south of the border' atmosphere, with stucco walls, rustic candles, and a live band playing quietly at the other end of the restaurant. The traditional Mexican dancing song filled the place with a softly festive mood. No wonder Bones had picked the place, he thought. It was thoroughly fantastic.

Brennan was munching on a tortilla chip and looking at her partner bemusedly, with a smile that she couldn't quite help. He hadn't been kidding when he'd said he was hungry.

"Bones," he said, finally stopping eating long enough to talk, "You were absolutely right. For once. This is great."

She rolled her eyes. "You forget that I'm usually right, Booth. It's in my nature." She grinned at him teasingly, then loaded a tortilla chip with salsa and ate it in two bites.

Booth snorted, and, not to be outdone, took a chip of his own, scooped up some salsa, and popped it into his mouth. He smirked as he chewed.

And then his mouth was on fire.

He sputtered and grabbed the nearest drink on the table (which happened to be Brennan's, she noted ruefully) and downed half of it at once. When he set it back down, his eyes were watering, and Brennan was laughing. Hard.

"How the hell did that not affect you? At all?" he demanded, wiping the corner of his eye with the back of his hand.

She grinned. "I spent a while in Guatemala. And I've always loved spicy foods."

"That was more than just spicy. That was…" he searched for a word, "that was some kind of culinary torture device. It tastes good at first, and then you realize you've just swallowed fire."

Brennan rolled her eyes and pointed to the dish of offending salsa. "That is salsa picante de chile chipolte y tomate." She moved her finger to another dish. "This is salsa fresca, and this…" she pointed to the remaining container, "…is salsa verde. In descending order of heat. I would stick with the salsa verde if I were you."

"Harsh, Bones. Harsh." He liked the way the Spanish rolled off of her tongue.

She ignored him and took a sip of her drink, which she'd snatched back from Booth. "Do you need me to do anything else with the case tonight? I have to meet with my publisher in a few hours." She didn't look enthused.

"No, we're done for tonight." He paused to take a bite of sweet potato. "What, still got writer's block?"

"I told you, Booth, it's not writer's block. I know what I have to write, I just-"

"-can't write it, yeah, you've said. What's got you so tied up?"

Her gaze shifted from his face to the salsa, which she swirled around absentmindedly with a chip. "My main character, Kathy, is supposed to be meeting up with her parents for the first time in a while. They're not supposed to get along." She looked up and met his eyes with hers again, an ironic little smile on her face.

"Oh." He paused a moment, unsure of what to say. She didn't know what it was like to have parents after childhood. Having to write about it must be a painful reminder of that for her, he thought. "And there's no getting around it?"

A frustrated sigh escaped her lips. "I wish there was. I've started to write it too many times to count, but it never ends up right. It's not the right… interaction. Dialogue. Thoughts. Something always goes wrong. And it's important to the plot."

He looked at her thoughtfully. "Anything I could do to help?" he offered.

Her brown hair caught the light as she shook her head. "No, not really." A moment of silence. "Thanks, though."

They were silent for another minute, and then talk turned to other things- easily, naturally. Parker. Her cat. A dog he'd once had. The people he worked with. The squints. What to get for dessert. Who would pay the bill. If she was going to be late.

The answer to that was yes, if they didn't leave soon.

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Brennan slid into her publisher's office only a few minutes late. She smelled like Mexican food- but she supposed that was better than other things she'd walked in smelling of.

"Tempe, please, have a seat." Tracy Cambrais was heavyset, with blonde hair pulled back into a severe bun and a 'my way or the highway' attitude about her. She was the kind of woman who got things done, even if no one could quite figure out how she'd managed it.

Brennan sat as told.

"We're going to have to finalize the release date for your book soon. That's what we need to talk about today. Is everything coming along according to plan?"
The moment of truth. The guilty author squirmed uncomfortably. "I'm a bit… stuck. I've basically skipped a chapter, gone ahead, and written a few more, but I'm wary of continuing until I'm sure exactly how that scene is going to play out."

Cambrais shot her a look. "What's holding you up, hon?"

"I can't seem to get the… family dynamics right."

The publisher stood up. She was tall, in an imposing sort of way. "I'd like you to have that completed soon. I don't want to have to push the original date back any, or it won't be on the shelves in time for Christmas." She straightened her blouse. "Tell you what. Why don't I lend you a few books that have a lot of interaction in families with grown children? That way, you can get a feel for how others have written it."

Brennan nodded, relieved. "Yes, that'd be excellent. I wouldn't want to have to push the date back, either."

Cambrais was already gathering a stack of books from the enormous bookshelf behind her desk. "Good." She pointed to the book on top, a novel with a picture of a tall tree and 'From the Nest' printed across the cover. "That one was written by Jeff Harryl. He's out in the lobby, waiting for one of the publicity guys to get here. See if you can catch him." Harryl's books had done extremely well, and he was now one of the more prolific writers in the country. Brennan usually saw at least one of his books on display when she went to the bookstore, but she'd never read any.

Nodding her thanks, Tempe took the stack of books and backed out of the office. It could have been much worse, she told herself. But God forbid she didn't get that chapter written soon, she knew she would see a less benevolent side of Tracy Cambrais.

As she walked through the lobby, she heard a cheerful voice from her left. "Oi, that one's mine!"

She spun to see a polished-looking man, probably in his forties with too much gel in his hair, but a charming smile plastered across his face.

"You're Jeff Harryl, then?" she asked, trying to put her frustration to the side and be friendly. He hadn't done anything to deserve her annoyance, she rationalized.

"Yes, that's me!" he winked at her. "You're Tempe Brennan, correct? Haven't read your book yet, but I've heard it's great."

"Oh… thanks." She wasn't quite sure if that was a compliment or not.

"So, why is my book at the top of your reading list, miss?" He rose to speak with her.

She shifted the weight of the books to her hip. "I'm trying to refine the relationships between my character and her parents. Tracy told me yours would be helpful."

He let out a pleased hiss of air from between his teeth. "Well, if you ever want to chat about it, give me a call." He pulled a business card out of his pocket with a flourish and scrawled what she assumed was his cell phone number onto the back of it. "You're a pretty lady, I wouldn't mind sharing a coffee or two with you, miss." He flashed a charming grin again. It reminded her of the way Booth flipped his badge out. He took another step towards her, staring at her.

"I've got to be going, but I'll call you if I need anything." If she needed a creep breathing down her neck, maybe. She smiled briefly at him, and then strode out into the parking lot.

She had just put the books in her back seat when her phone chirped.

"Brennan," she answered automatically.

"Guess what, Bones?" Booth's voice replied. "The man we're looking for apparently liked to chew on toothpicks. Left one behind, even."

She laughed. "Who would be stupid enough to do that?" Her voice was incredulous.

"These people can think of lots to hide what they've done, but a lot of homicides aren't what you'd call well pre-meditated. It won't be the first or last time. Anyways, we've sent it for DNA testing. Hopefully we'll get something."

"Thanks for the update, then. See you tomorrow."

"Back atcha, Bones."

She couldn't explain even to herself why she smiled all the way home.

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AN: You know what would make ME smile? Lots of you letting me know what you think! I can't get any better without your feedback.

I guess I could give you guys another little teaser for next chapter, which will include some early-morning coffee, an interrogation, and a visit to the apartment of a dead man.