Disclaimer: Don't own it

Author's Note: Thanks for all your reviews! I was so psyched that so many of you read the first chapter. I hope that you all like this one, sorry if there are any typos in it. Hope you enjoy it!

Booth left the Jeffersonian around 3:45 that afternoon. Although he and Temperance had been done talking about the case around 2:45 or 3:00, the truth was he hadn't wanted to leave. When the time finally had come for him to go, he did so with great reluctance. The simple fact of the matter was that he liked spending time with Temperance. She was his friend, someone who he simply enjoyed talking to. He had noticed that she was dragging her feet in the conversation as well, doing her best to prolong his stay. He smiled slightly. It was strange to think of how far they had come; they had gone from hardly wanting to work together to doing their best to extend their time in one another's company.

The chilled air struck Booth's cheeks as he stepped outside. In truth, he had known why both he and Temperance had been unwilling to part company and dive headlong into the case. It was the same reason they both felt a slight hesitation at the beginning of every case, though they never spoke of it out loud. Cases were draining, both physically and emotionally. No matter how good a person's shields were, the reality of death always crept through, rushing through the brain like water rushing through a crack in a glass. There was something to be said for the simplicity that came with just talking—spending time in meaningless conversation that was not tinged with murderers and victims. There was peace in small talk, relaxation. Booth and Temperance both understood that each time a new case started the simplicity was lost, at least for a while.

Booth smiled again. The short times that came between the realization of a new case and the actual working on it were something that had developed into a kind of ritual between Booth and Temperance, an unspoken tradition. The new case would come to their attention, and then they would both just talk—sometimes for ten minutes, sometimes for an hour—each pretending that, even if just for a short while, the world was simple. They both knew that they were grasping, that in the end they had to face the death in order to find justice, but that didn't stop them from relishing those short minutes of innocence, the sort of faux virginity that they experienced in those times of avoidance.

Booth swung his SUV onto the main road and glanced in his rearview mirror. Hodgins was following him to the site so that he could gather samples to start analyzing for the new body. Booth absentmindedly cracked his knuckles. The innocence was over. The case had begun. He reached over, increasing the volume on the radio. Through the speakers he heard a man's voice singing that he was in over his head. Booth shook his head, his thoughts drifting to the new case, and then muttered under his breath, "you and me both, man."

The song was catchy, and before long Booth was drumming his thumb on the steering wheel in time with the beat. But then, just as Booth was contemplating doing a little air guitar, the radio became filled with static. Booth groaned a little, pushing the tune buttons, hoping to clear the noise, but was no use. The station wouldn't come through clearly, and although Booth occasionally caught a lyric or two from the song, the majority of the sounds coming from the radio were simply—what had they been called in college?—white noise.

Eventually, when the site was only a few minutes away, Booth gave up the radio and pushed a CD into the player. He glanced behind him again and nearly laughed when he saw Hodgins singing along to whatever he was listening to in his car, though he was trying to hide the fact that he was doing so. Booth shook his head. "Squints," he mumbled to himself. "Gotta love em'."

Back at the Jeffersonian, Temperance was sitting at her desk, staring at the computer screen, which was half filled with words. As her eyes scanned over them, rereading what as typed, she mentally edited in her head, and a few minutes later she highlighted the entire text and hit 'backspace' on the keyboard. She sighed heavily. There were things she could be doing right now—working with remains from limbo, organizing files, making phone calls—but she knew that it wasn't wise to start any of these tasks. The body from Booth's new case would be arriving shortly, and she needed to make progress on her book. Her editor was already breathing down her neck over it.

Temperance groaned. Ordinarily, writing came easily to her. It was so much simpler to deal with the lives of imagined people. It was easier to understand to the rational of people if you had created their back story. Normally, writing was even a release for her; she enjoyed expressing herself on paper, she liked the feeling of her tension melting away with the stroke of each key. But, with a sigh, she realized that lately this had not been the case. She was suffering from writer's block, and it was driving her crazy. And now, whenever she thought about the prospect of working on her new book, instead of feeling excitement, she only felt dread. The book wasn't working. It wouldn't be good. With another groan, she pushed up for her chair, resolving that she would find something to do before the new body arrived—something that didn't involve her book.

The new remains arrived at the Jeffersonian later that day, and Temperance, who had been quite successful in avoiding her book, began working on them immediately. Hodgins began work quickly as well, sifting through the find pieces of dirt and staring at them under the microscope mutely, his silence only broken when he occasionally mumbled something to himself.

Zach stood beside Temperance, looking over the remains. Unlike Temperance, however, Zach's brain was not registering anything his eyes took in. A short while later Angela walked in the room.

"Victim was female," Temperance said as she rounded the table. She moved a bone so that she could study it under a microscope. "Not sure about age yet."

"Caucasian descent?" Zach mumbled, his comment coming out as a question.

Angela cut in then. "You look awful, Zach." Leave it to Angela to be blunt.

Zach regarded her with tired eyes. "I think I might be getting sick," he answered weakly.

Angela rolled her eyes. "Well gee, if only someone could have told you that this morning, you might have been able to go home for some rest."

Zach nodded, agreeing for a moment before he realized what Angela had said. When her words sunk in, it seemed that he was confused. "Huh?" he said, blankly.

"Victim appears to have been an average size. No obvious skeletal deformities," Temperance said, seemingly oblivious to Angela and Zach's conversation.

"Just go home! You're sick, you should be asleep!" Angela insisted.

Zach shook his head, his strength seeming to return slightly after he did so. "I'm fine. I can stay."

"Scratches on the bone, but it seems that most of them came from being dug up," Temperance said.

"Please, Zach, just go home. Make tea and soup. Get some sleep," Angela pleaded.

Zach sighed, his resolve crumbling under the weight of his tiredness. "Alright." He stripped off his lab coat, gathered his things, and few minutes later, after another brief exchange with Angela he left. Angela turned her attention back to Temperance, who was still engrossed in the remains.

"These bones are adult, fusing suggests 29-35." She glanced up for a moment and looked around. "Where did Zach go?"

Temperance got home around 10:30 that night. She was tired, but she felt as though she had accomplished something, so she was in a fairly good mood. She hunted through her refrigerator and located some leftovers which she zapped in the microwave and then ate while standing over her sink. Who said the life of a forensic anthropologist wasn't glamorous?

After finishing her dinner, she grabbed the phone and dialed Booth's number.

"Booth," he said when he answered.

"Hey," she answered. "I have the preliminaries on your remains."

"What's it look like?" Booth asked, ignoring the small skip his heart had taken when he heard her voice on the phone.

"Female, 29-35, 5'4"-5'6". Caucasian," Temperance said.

Booth was quiet for a beat. "That doesn't narrow it down much, does it?"

"Cuts out at least half of the population," Temperance pointed out.

Booth smiled. "Yeah, I guess that's true. Thanks, Bones."

Temperance smiled at the sound of her nickname. "Anything for the FBI." They were both quiet for a second, searching for something else to say. "So," Temperance said a few moments later, "do you have Parker this weekend?"

At the thought of his son, it seemed that Booth's voice lifted. It was as though Temperance could see his eyes light up through the phone line. "Yeah, I'm picking him up on Friday and then I have him til' Sunday night," Booth answered.

Temperance began absently cleaning up her kitchen as she talked to Booth, the phone cradled between her ear and shoulder. "What are you guys planning to do?"

"Well, you know Parker," Booth chuckled as he leaned back in the chair he had been sitting in, ignoring the now muted program that flittered and flashed across the screen. "He's just going to want to cruise the bars and pick up women."

Temperance almost laughed. Almost. "So, you're taking him to the zoo then?"

Booth chuckled. "Yeah, probably. I promised him we would play catch, too. He decided a few days ago that he wants to be a baseball player when he grows up."

Temperance smiled at the idea of a miniature version of Booth running the bases of a baseball diamond. "That sounds good, but you might want to have him think up a backup career option of the athlete thing doesn't work out. Maybe you should suggest that he become a rock star."

Booth smiled. Was Temperance Brennan making jokes with him? "That's a good idea, but why stop there? Music and sports are unstable career paths. I think I'll get him in some acting classes, too."

Temperance laughed, shaking her head. She wasn't really sure what was so funny, they weren't really even talking about anything. And yet, at the same time, she realized that that was precisely why she was laughing; because it was blissfully…pointless.

Temperance and Booth chatted for a few more minutes, but when Temperance started yawning, she said her goodnights to Booth and headed into the bathroom to get ready for bed. She was smiling again. She shook her head. As much as she denied it, she liked that Booth had this effect on her.

Outside, she vaguely heard the crickets and bugs warming up for their evening symphony. In a few weeks the cold weather would make this nightly ritual stop, but for now Temperance enjoyed the sound. She nestled in bed and dropped her eyes closed, pretending that death wasn't real. When a siren shrieked in the distance, she sighed. Tomorrow she would work some more on the remains that Booth had given her. And she would do some actual work on her novel. She rolled over. Tomorrow; for now, all she wanted was rest.

Temperance Brennan dropped asleep at the exact same moment that Booth, in his own bed, after his own nightly ritual had ended, began snoring, his dreams tinged with images of Parker playing rock music, the song about being in over his head, in a baseball uniform as he and Temperance danced to the beat.

Temperance walked into her office at the Jeffersonian at 8:00 the next morning. Hodgins and Angela arrived a few minutes later. Zach called in sick, opting to stay home and sleep.

By 9:30, Hodgins approached Temperance to tell her about his findings.

"The body was buried in that spot for around one year," Hodgins said, his hands resting comfortably in his pockets as he spoke.

Temperance, who was looking over the remains, looked up at him. "You're saying that the body was buried on top of the coffin at the same time that the coffin was put in the ground?"

"No, I'm saying the body had been there for about a year. How or who put it there isn't for me to say."

"You don't have a theory?" Temperance asked, arching an eyebrow as she did so.

"Of course I do. I think that this body is someone the government offed and was trying to hide."

"It's probably best if you don't speculate," Temperance said, her head dropping again to look at the bones.

Hodgins nodded. "You'll be sorry when I'm right. Do we know the cause of death?"

Temperance picked up a bone and began to study it. "Markings on the bone indicate that she was stabbed, but the markings have different features. Either the weapon was being broken as she was being stabbed, or there were multiple weapons."

"Any theories?" Hodgins asked, rocking back on his heels.

Temperance smiled at him. "It's not my place to speculate."

Hodgins chuckled slightly, and then began to cough. He sniffled slightly when he stopped, and then froze. He looked at Temperance and then mumbled, "I'm going to kill Zach," as he turned and walked out of the room.

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