Disclaimer: Bones isn't mine, and Aria Trattoria is real (ergo: not mine).

Notes: This chapter was a ton of fun to write, and I think it shows! Thanks to all of you who took the time to review, you're all lovely! This chapter is a tad longer, and it's up a day early. (Hint: I may be bribing you to review.)

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"Bones, what the hell possessed you to do that?" Booth snapped, glaring at her. It was, of course, a stroke of pure genius on her part, and he knew it.

Brennan rolled her eyes. "You know perfectly well that it's an excellent idea, so cut the act so we can work out the details. I'm meeting Harryl there at seven. You should get to the restaurant a few minutes earlier than that, and I'll make sure we're seated where you have a plain view and can hear us. Bring your laptop," she suggested, "it will make your presence seem more logical to Harryl. You'll be just another workaholic businessman."

He stared at her for a minute. "Fine, Bones, but if he starts getting suspicious I want you out of there, and we can do things by the book." His voice had that warning, no-nonsense edge.

Their eyes met and they held each other's gaze for a moment before Brennan nodded. "Fine." She knew better than to argue with him on this point, and she knew she owed him her trust.

Her trust, and so much more, when it came down to it, she thought. Her life, even. Several times over.

Tempe inhaled sharply and turned to survey the apartment. A glass of water rested on an end table. A book lay open on the couch, complete with a gum-wrapper bookmark. 'Call Tara' was scrawled on a red Post-It note stuck onto the TV remote. Little remnants of someone's life, little testaments to the man who had once lived and walked and talked and loved, little reminders that he would never again have a cool drink or find out what happened at the end of the book or call his girlfriend.

Booth's hands twitched. These kinds of scenes were one of the many downsides to working homicide. He glanced at Brennan, who had a vaguely analytical expression on her face, as if she was trying to figure out what kind of person created these empty rooms.

He wondered what she would think if she knew how many of them he'd created. The fact that he'd done it to protect his country, to save his own life, other lives, didn't bring him much comfort when he thought of grieving widows and fatherless children, or despondent lovers and despairing mothers.

Booth caught Brennan's eye again, and nodded. They didn't need anything else here. He dropped her off at her apartment and promised to be at the restaurant when she arrived, and talked to her about how they were going to make this whole restaurant charade work. Brennan paid careful attention for once; Booth was the expert where these kinds of things were concerned. She'd be a fool not to do it the way he wanted. After he dropped Brennan off, Booth drove back to his office to start some paperwork.

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The simple truth was that being around Brennan was torture for Booth sometimes. The way she didn't know so much about her own generation, because who can have friends when they get shuffled from foster home to foster home for their last two and a half years of high school? The way she was so confused about how to reach out to people after years of shutting everyone out. The way she couldn't write that damn chapter in her book.

She thought she could handle hearing what he'd done all those years ago, but the fact was, he'd created too many Temperance Brennans.

Booth sighed as he pulled into the parking lot of Aria Trattoria and killed the engine.

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Brennan was glad to see Booth already seated when she arrived. His laptop was out, the shiny screen provided him with some ability to see behind him, she guessed, while still being close enough to hear. She was glad at least one of them knew what to do.

Harryl was waiting for her when she arrived. He was wearing khaki pants and a green dress shirt, and his hair looked as if it was wet from all of the gel, but his face lit up when he saw her.

"Temperance. You look lovely tonight."

Booth had to agree. She was wearing a low-cut sleeveless black dress, with some sort of silver and turquoise confection hanging elegantly from her neck and silver bangles on one wrist.

"Thank-you, Jeff." She smiled and turned to the waiter seating them. "Could we please sit at that table, please? I'd like to be able to see outside." She motioned to the large glass window across from the table for two, and the waiter nodded, sat them, and handed them their menus.

"So, Temperance, has my book been helping you with your writing?" Harryl questioned, cocking an eyebrow. Booth was glad he could only see the back of Harryl's head on the screen. He'd bet good money the sleaze was drooling.

Tempe grinned at him flirtatiously. "Of course it has, don't be silly. It's very insightful, and brilliantly written. But please, call me Tempe."

Booth bit into his bruschetta with a vengeance.

" Tempe it is, then. Waiter, two glasses of red wine." Brennan noted with a tinge of annoyance that he'd ordered her drink for her. Even Booth wouldn't presume to do that.

"You're taller than I remembered, Jeff," she said, playing with a bangle and crossing her legs.

"Six two," he confessed, grinning.

"Six foot two, eyes of blue," Tempe replied in a sing-song voice that grated on Booth's nerves. And how did she know that saying, anyways?

Jeff laughed as the waiter arrived with their wine and asked their order. "The roasted mushroom cannelloni, please," he requested.

"I'll have the rockfish salmoriglio." Booth noted with glee that Brennan had chosen the most expensive item on the menu.

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An hour later, Tempe felt like her head was about to burst from the headache she'd been developing. Harryl had talked through most of the meal, mostly about himself, but he'd said nothing incriminating. Tempe had tried to encourage things out of him, but she couldn't do much without seeming too obvious. There had been a dark flicker in his eyes when she'd mentioned her problems with the press, though, she was almost certain.

Booth was very, very tempted to order a second glass of wine. He'd been listening to Harryl's egotistical ranting for the past hour, and was glad he didn't have to appear interested, unlike Brennan.

The waiter cleared Brennan and Harryl's plates, and the two declined dessert.

"Can I offer you a ride home?" Harryl asked, taking Tempe's hand in his over the table and leaning in. Booth gritted his teeth together.

"No, I'm sorry; I have to stop in at work before I go home. But I had a lovely evening." He was looking for action, she noted with scorn. Her mind flashed to the toothpick that Booth mentioned had been found at the crime scene. Well, if Harryl wanted action…

Brennan leaned in closer, till her face was next to Harryl's. "A very lovely evening," she murmured.

Booth almost choked on his biscotti in surprise. Brennan and Harryl were kissing, and he was pretty sure it'd been Brennan's idea. He loudly clacked a few lines into the nonsensical spreadsheet he'd been "working" on the whole night long, as if to remind her that he was sitting right there.

Brennan pulled back and laughed. "You have something in your teeth, Jeff."

Harryl just grinned and pulled something out of his pocket- a toothpick, Brennan noted with ecstasy. "Want to get that for me, sweetheart?" he asked, handing it to her.
She took the toothpick from him and proceeded to pick the nonexistent food from his teeth, managing to lightly scrape his cheek as well without being blatant, then stood up, toothpick in hand, and grabbed her purse. "I'm going to go to the restroom and then head out," she said, and Harryl stood as well.

"I guess I'll see ya later, eh, sweetheart?" he asked, obviously feeling suave and smooth.

"Of course you will," she assured him, giving him a teasing peck on the cheek and then slipping off to the restroom.

Booth let out a sigh as she disappeared. Finally, it was over. Harryl was paying the check and leaving. He was gone. A moment later, Brennan was sliding into the chair opposite Booth.

She held up a plastic evidence bag with a toothpick inside. "How's that for your evidence?"

"Great, Bones." Booth's mouth twitched in annoyance, and he paused a moment. "Did you really have to drool all over him, though?" he shot, unable to hold himself back.

Tempe shot him a look. "You think I enjoyed spending the night flirting with a murder suspect?" she asked, annoyed, but then sat back. A smile started to creep across her face. "You're jealous, Booth. Face it."

Booth snorted. "Of what, the fact that he's going to be facing the death sentence if this DNA matches?" he retorted, then slammed his laptop shut and left a twenty on the table.

She ignored his statement and stood. "We shouldn't talk here, just in case. I'll meet you at the lab."

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An hour later, Brennan and Booth had sent the toothpick for DNA testing, and were filling out the necessary paperwork for the comparison.

"Did you hear him say anything useful, Bones?" Booth asked as he checked off a box on the form in front of him.

"You heard him say everything I did, Booth," she replied, shivering slightly in the cool air conditioning of the lab. "None of which was incriminating."

"Unless he plans to go on trial for what, three counts of reckless self-promotion and a count of hair gel abuse?" Booth quipped in reply as he swirled his signature onto the last form.

Brennan looked at him hard for a moment. "You should go home and get some sleep, Booth. The brain's efficiency and ability to reason is decreased by-"

"-you know, Bones, that's a good idea," he replied, standing up and cutting the lecture short. "Make sure you're alert for anything suspicious. It didn't seem as if he'd caught on, and he's certainly not the brightest bulb in the box, but you never know." He held her gaze for a second, just to make his point clear.
She nodded in response. "What time will the DNA test results be in?" she asked, gathering her things.

" Six o'clock tomorrow morning," he replied.

"See you then, Booth. Good night."

"Good night," her partner echoed as she slung her bag over her shoulder and walked to the parking lot.

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The streets of DC were quiet and relatively empty as Brennan drove home, exhausted and ready to climb into bed and sleep for hours and hours. She glanced at the clock. She'd probably get around five hours.

After parking, she climbed out of the car and stared at it for a moment. Her words to Hodgins came echoing back- now I feel like I have to earn it. Maybe she'd write just a little before bed.

Yawning, she entered the building and ascended the stairs to her apartment. The key slid into the lock, turned. Brennan pushed the door open, took a step inside, locked the door behind her, and flipped on the lights.

The room was trashed.

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AN: Only two more chapters left to go, plus the epilogue! A perfect time to drop me a line and let me know what you think, isn't it? If you can't think of anything to say, pick your favorite line or something, just keep in touch!

As far as next chapter goes, there's an angry cat, a broken picture frame, and a lot of other stuff that you're going to have to wait for or else I'll give too much away.