A/N: Thank you for your continued interest in my story. If you have time to leave a review, I appreciate it. Only a few chapters left after this one.

~OOOOO~

After stopping at the hospital to check on his agents and returning to his office to rearrange schedules and deal with the headache this incident would generate, Booth couldn't fully focus on his work. The last twenty-four hours were a confusing jumble of conversations and emotions and he struggled to sort memory from nightmare.

Something Bones said to him, outside of their conversations about the gifts and his agents, was trying to make itself known. But the more he thought about it, the further away the memory moved.

It wasn't until after lunch that it finally popped into his head. She'd mentioned having information about their unidentified remains. So, close to the end of the day, he headed for her office.

Traffic in the afternoon was a nightmare. Moving at a crawl gave him time to think.

Bones was too forgiving sometimes, that big heart she worked so hard to hide overlooking entirely too much when it came to him. He thanked God she was willing to give him another chance after the debacle over the record player.

Telling her he was in love with her hadn't been anything he'd planned out. There was no doubt about his own feelings, but he wasn't surprised she hadn't returned the words. Even now, he was sure he wouldn't hear them anytime soon. The words would come when the time was right.

Still, it was obvious to him how she felt. Last night, when she stayed at his side and was the voice he followed out of haunting nightmares, told him everything he needed to know.

Fingers drumming on the steering wheel, he slowly made his way toward the Jeffersonian.

And the woman he always known was his destiny.

When he arrived at her office, he was greeted by a closed door festively decorated with elves. They were dressed in red and green, dancing in holiday glee. One held a sign wishing whoever was looking at it a Merry Christmas.

It was so unlike the logical scientist he was in love with, he froze halfway to the door and just stared. It felt like the world had suddenly tilted a little sideways on its axis.

She didn't believe in any of the trappings that came this time of year. Barely decorated for the holidays. But now there was a living pine tree in her apartment and elves with written greetings on her door.

Maybe it wasn't her work. More than likely, it wasn't. But she'd allowed it to remain when a colleague hung it there.

Tired, emotions a little too close to the surface, he took a shaky breath. He couldn't explain to anyone, even her, why this door and those foolish elves drew such an intense reaction. But they had.

The moment was broken when Angela came up and punched him in the shoulder. He turned, one eyebrow raised, and waited for an explanation.

"That was a mean trick to play," she grumbled, ruining the complaint with a happy smile. They were dating and Angela's faith in love and fate was restored. These two people, who she'd always known would be amazing together, were finally going to prove her right. "After the perfect opportunity I gave the two of you. Pencils and highlighters? Seriously?"

"Yeah. Not really sorry about that. Besides, I thought you didn't have anything to do with it." he said. His mind bounced to the gifts they'd exchanged away from prying eyes, and was annoyed with himself all over again. "Some things aren't meant to be shared." His eyes drifted back toward the door. Why was it closed? She rarely closed her door during the work day.

For a moment, he worried that maybe he shouldn't have shared his feelings, then pushed the doubt away. He was done hiding.

Angela followed his eyes. "She closed it an hour ago. Honestly, I think she might be taking a nap. Not that she'd admit to doing such a thing. She looked tired."

He jolted slightly. Of course, she was tired. He'd barely managed any sleep and if she'd spent the same amount of time watching over him, Booth was surprised she made it this long. "Maybe I shouldn't bother her then," he said, though walking away was the last thing he wanted to do.

"She said you were dating now. A closed door never stopped you before. I can't believe it will stop you now." She touched his arm gently before walking away. "Sorry about your people. It was a long day yesterday. Brennan bullied Cam into using her connections and calling the hospital a couple of times for updates. I hope they're okay."

Why wasn't he surprised to hear that? If it was important to him, and she would have known just how much this would impact him, she would make sure to know exactly what was going on. But, as usual, she kept that to herself.

Watching Angela walk away, Booth turned and approached the festive elves. Then stepped back slightly. In his surprise to see the decorations on her door, he hadn't looked closely enough at the faces.

One was Brennan and the other, he was pretty sure, was him. It seemed Angela, assuming she was the creator, wasn't quite done with her less than subtle hints about the two of them.

The door was unlocked when he turned the handle. Booth stepped in and closed it softly behind him. It didn't appear she was even in there until he stepped around the couch.

She was tucked in a corner, one hand under her cheek. Breathing even and slow, she slept soundly. Booth knew he wasn't going to wake her. Neither was anyone else.

Returning to the door, he turned the lock. And turned off the lights, the only illumination now coming from a lamp on her desk.

After what she'd done for him last night, giving her some peace and quiet was the least he could do.

Pulling out the chair at her desk, Booth sat down gratefully. While not as tired as she was, the previous day still left its mark. His feet hurt from pacing the floor of the hospital most of the afternoon. It felt good to get off of them.

There were files on the desk Booth slid to the side, not wanting to mess up her work. But it didn't take long for boredom to set in. Afraid that moving around the room would wake her, he noted one of the files was labeled anthropological articles. Hoping she wouldn't mind, he pulled it from the stack and flipped it open.

Searching the page, he found her name almost immediately, not surprised to see this was an article she was writing and not one sent to her to review. Those would be found in some other file labeled in her neat handwriting. No fancy flourishes in her professional work.

First, the title tripped him up and he almost gave up before really starting. But he'd never been one to quit easily and in his head he sounded out the word until it sounded like something he'd heard her say.

Meaning was a different problem. While he'd probably listened to her speak the word, Booth didn't have any idea what it was, even after all the time he'd spent with her.

Opening the folder was bad enough, but he was already pushing his luck. He considered tucking it away again, but there wasn't much else to do. Instead, he found a highlighter and a pen, coloring the word in bright yellow before writing a question mark next to it.

The next several sentences weren't much better and those lines were more yellow than not. But not everything he wrote next to those words was a question mark. Using the knowledge he gained from listening to Bones, he was at least able to determine what some of the words related to.

After getting through the first couple of sentences, he managed to figure out she was writing an article analyzing projectile damage to an unidentified skeleton.

Fascinated, he kept working. Another word highlighted here and a question written there. Soon, lost in the article, it looked like some of the textbooks from his academy days. Writing questions and highlighting things he needed to look up was always the way he learned best.

He was stuck on the work pedicle, trying to sound it out under his breath, when her voice repeating the word with him brought his eyes up from the article. Surprised, he looked at the clock to see more than an hour had passed.

"Don't be mad," he said. Holding up the pages, he showed her where he'd spent that hour writing all over her work. "I just wanted to give you time to sleep."

Rising slowly, she rubbed her eyes and walked toward him. Removing the pages from his hand, she looked at his effort, before returning them to him. "You've been working hard. Would you like me to explain this to you? Or add you as a contributor to another one of my papers?"

"Some other time," he said. Then the rest of her words penetrated. "What? Contributor? To another paper?" He looked at the article in his hands and back to her. "What are you talking about?"

There was a guilty look in her eyes and she stepped away from him and toward the bookshelf in her office. Running her finger over the spines of several magazines, she pulled one and then a second free and brought them back with her. "I should have told you before now," she admitted, opening the first to place in front of him. "But I was afraid of your reaction."

Tapping a finger in the pertinent area, she gave him time to look before opening the second magazine and doing the same. In both, her name was featured prominently as the author. But beneath in slightly smaller letters was a second line, listing him as a contributor. Along with his job title and place of employment.

Stunned, he leaned back in her chair and looked up at her. "They are a few years old now," she said to fill what felt like awkward silence. "I haven't added you to anything, until just recently."

Still not speaking, he leaned forward again to glance at both articles. He recognized the cases they were based on and recalled discussing or arguing with her conclusions over takeout. Not that he disagreed, but forcing the explanations was always good practice for when she appeared in court.

But to have her give him credit was so far outside of what he expected, Booth wasn't sure how to react. "I didn't do anything," he argued. "Not enough to ever deserve something like this."

"I disagree," she said simply. "And just so you are aware, I also added your name as a contributor to my Scotland presentation."

Her tone of voice was clinical and Booth knew she feared his reaction. "I'm not mad," he said, "though I don't understand why you didn't tell me. Scotland hasn't happened yet, so maybe we could talk about that one."

"We can talk," she agreed, but it was clear she was going to be stubborn about it. "As for not telling you about the others…" she paced away and back again. "You always said the Jeffersonian was my place and you didn't like it. You didn't want to be a Squint." She caught the cringe as she used his own words against him. "Except for Halloween. So I concluded you wouldn't be happy with something like this. I hoped, maybe someday, you would see it as something positive." She shrugged. "Angela helped with my books, you helped with these. Rationally, if she deserves credit then so do you."

Credit from Dr. Temperance Brennan was a huge honor. He wasn't sure he'd done enough to deserve it. "This is your place," he agreed, looking around the room. But to be angry about the articles was to reject everything she was. And after what happened with the record player, he wasn't going to make the same mistake again. "Thank you," he said softly. "It means a lot. Next time, just let me know, okay. Maybe I can get these framed or something," he said with a disbelieving laugh.

"I'm sure that could be arranged," she said before yawning. Booth took a closer look at her. Hair sleep tousled hair from her nap, shadows under her eyes, it was clear to him she was exhausted. "Why didn't you stay home today, Bones?"

"It's not the first time I was up most of the night, Booth." Though the idea of just going home and falling into bed sounded like a great one. "Are you here about the skeletal remains?"

"It can wait until the morning. Let me drive you home." Hating the idea of her staying at work when she was so tired, Booth wanted to bundle her up and get her out of there. "Sixteen more hours won't make a difference."

Shaking her head, she reached into the pile of folders he'd flipped through and pulled one free. "Everything you need is in here. Bone damage indicated the victim fell from a significant height. I cannot determine if that was by accident or someone helped that happen."

Knowing he wasn't going to get her to leave until she was done, he took the file and opened it to flip through the report she'd written.

"Thanks to Hodgins," she continued to explain, "and some photographs, we feel the victim was out there approximately three years before the bones were located. We also determined estimated height and weight and Angela created a rendering of what the person may have looked like."

"She didn't run it?" Booth asked. Usually the Jeffersonian did things like that whether they were supposed to or not.

Brennan shook her head. "I had other places I needed to be yesterday. And I figured you had enough to deal with without me doing something I probably wasn't supposed to do."

"You didn't want me to get in trouble? That's sweet, Bones." The other place she needed to be was his apartment. "Now can I take you home?" He wanted to ask her about the phone calls, but didn't. If she wanted him to know, eventually she'd tell him.

Otherwise, he'd just consider it another reason she was amazing.

"I can drive myself," she argued automatically.

"You could," he agreed smoothly, knowing he was pushing against her stubborn independence. "But I'll feel better, after yesterday, if you let me take you."

Sighing, Brennan considered the offer. She knew what he was trying to do. It didn't seem worth it to fight him over something so trivial.

"Fine," she agreed. "Let me get my coat."