Author's Note: Sorry this took so long to post! Thanks for all the reviews I got on the last chapter. My work schedule has been insane, and on top of that I had a hard time writing the beginning of this chapter. I have no idea why...I knew what I wanted to say, but getting it out proved difficult. Anyway, hope it makes some sense, let me know if it doesn't. Anyway, if you hate it, just tell me. Go ahead and read now, sorry for typos

Ophelia Stone was not an identical copy of Temperance Brennan; although the two women were the same height and close to the same weight, Ophelia's figure was more emaciated with age. Her reddish-brown locks were prematurely flooded with grey and her face bore the lines that marked the passage of time. Booth noted the numerous faint lines around the woman's mouth; apparently Ophelia Stone was, or once had been, a smoker. Their eyes were slightly different as well; where Temperance's were clear, Ophelia were slightly more vague and clouded, jaded by years of life. Both women shared a similar face shape and jaw line, and Booth noted that both women held themselves in a similar way—with an air of dignity and confidence, though with the subtlest hunch of their shoulders that gave away the fact that they weren't as sure of themselves as they pretended to be.

It was perhaps the stance more than anything that first caught Booth's eye. As strange as it sounded, the way Temperance held herself was something that Booth had always noticed. He liked the way she stood. She silently called for respect, her body always projecting an air of dignity and poise. She moved with grace, and in some odd way, this always made him feel proud of her, proud to be associated with her.

After a few more moments of subtle surveillance, Booth realized that Ophelia Stone looked vaguely like what he could imagine Temperance looking like when she reached age 60. It was obvious that Ophelia had lived a hard life, aging her far beyond her years, but she had quiet dignity and a fire in her eyes that time hadn't touched. Actually, Booth realized, Ophelia perhaps looked more like she could have been Temperance's mother than Temperance herself. While he knew that this was impossible, or at least highly unlikely, he couldn't deny that the resemblance was there.

Temperance, however, failed to notice the resemblance between herself and the older woman. She was instead focused on the living room of the house in which they now stood. The room, which was small to begin with, was made to seem smaller by the fact that it was filled with too much furniture, and hardly a clear surface could be found. Everywhere Temperance's eyes fell she saw stacks of books, papers, and sketches. Also scattered about were quite a few lamps—Temperance counted five in the small space—and small items such as clocks, plants, and a small fish tank. A closer inspection puzzled Temperance further as she noted that, although the bowl had water in it, there were no fish to be found.

As Temperance continued to scan the room, she noted the wallpaper. It had a busy design, and the constant curves and changes in the pattern were almost enough to make Temperance's head sore. The paper also appeared to have been hung poorly, and the seams between the strips of paper were evident. Then, as Temperance traced the straight cut lines with her eyes, she made a strange discovery. The paper had been cut into squares of varying size before it had been hung, and then arranged so that the pattern was disrupted. The boxes varied in size. Scanning the room, it seemed that no particular combination repeated itself more than once.

Perplexed, Temperance continued to drag her eyes around the room until they fell on the only break in the wild papering. This came from the space of the wall around a small desk that sat in the back corner of the room. In this space the wallpaper was covered over with sheets of paper, all of which had been typed and written on, their markings showing that they were works in progress. Parts of a next book, no doubt, Temperance realized.

"I hate to be rude—Agent Booth, is it?—but I'm afraid you've caught me on my way out the door," Ophelia said.

Booth gave her a warm smile. "I understand, Ms. Stone. We won't hold you up. We just came by to ask you about your…" Booth was suddenly cut off by the impatient ringing of his cell phone. He mumbled something under his breath as he pulled it out and checked the ID. He flicked a quick look to Temperance, and then to Ophelia. "I'm sorry, I have to take this. Excuse me." And with that, he stepped back outside.

Temperance gave Ophelia a smile, which was returned. "I'm sorry we caught you at a bad time," Temperance said, stepping in for Booth. "We just came by in hopes of asking you about your books, more specifically about your book The Darkness Beneath."

Ophelia was quiet for a moment, thinking, and then her eyes lighted with remembrance. "Oh yes, the woman in someone else's grave. Wrote it a while ago." Ophelia was quiet for a beat. "Why would an FBI agent and a doctor be interested in that?"

"I'm a doctor of forensic anthropology," Temperance explained. "My work is primarily with ancient remains, though I often confer with the FBI on cases in which the victims are difficult to identify by conventional means."

"Conventional?"

"When a simple autopsy will no longer suffice." An oversimplification, Temperance knew, but it seemed the easiest way to explain.

"So am I to assume this means that my book is now somehow involved in a murder case?"

"It would seem so. We were hoping to talk to you to find out…" What? Temperance quite suddenly realized that she had no idea what information she was hoping to get from this woman. "…anything that you know which could aid in our investigation of this case." When in doubt, be vague.

Before Ophelia could answer, Booth stuck his head back in the doorway. "Bones, we need to go."

Temperance turned to Ophelia. "I'm sorry, Ms. Stone." She pulled a card from her pocket. "If you think of anything that could possibly help us, please call me."

Ophelia nodded, accepting the card as Temperance and Booth offered one last apology and left.

Booth climbed into the driver's seat of Temperance's car, and within moments the two pulled away.

"You know, this is my car, Booth. I could drive," Temperance stated as they pulled away.

"And break the tradition? Never," Booth said. Although his comment was meant to be light, his face was laced with tension. Temperance quirked an eyebrow at him, and he answered her question before she asked it. "We have another body."

"Where?"

"Buried, or at least partially buried, in the woods in a garbage bag."

Temperance nodded silently. After a few moments of silence, Booth blurted out, "the remains are small. It might be a kid."

Temperance felt her chest constrict slightly at this news, and she glanced at Booth's hands the steering wheel. His grip was tight enough to make his knuckles go white. Unsure of what to say, Temperance tentatively reached out and rested her hand on Booth's leg. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, though still full of anger. "A kid. Some bastard murdered a kid."

Hours later, after a brutally slow recovery and hours of examination, Temperance determined that the remains were not those of a child. Although the remains were small, Temperance's study revealed that this was because the bones were those of petite woman. On top of her small stature, the body had also been curled into a fetal position, the elements locking it into its pose. These factors had combined to make the remains appear childlike.

The fact that the remains had not been those of a child did little to ease the ache that was growing in Temperance's chest. She stared at the broken body on her table. The bones were small and fragile; the woman had been unusually small. 'So vulnerable,' Temperance thought. Although her study had told her that the woman had been older than she, Temperance, was, she still felt a maternal urge to protect when she saw the small fragments of bone.

Temperance glanced at the clock, and, realizing that it was past 11:00, decided that it was time to head home. She repackaged the remains, put them away, and snapped off her gloves, dropping them in the bio-waste bin as she walked past.

Booth was asleep in her office when she walked in and hung up her lab coat. Since they were sharing a car, he had come by to pick her up after work. She had assured him that she would only be a few more minutes with the remains; that had been two hours ago.

She woke him gently and the two locked up Temperance's office and headed to the car. Booth woke up bit by bit as they walked, but when Temperance slid into the driver's seat, he made no protest.

"Did the mechanic get to your SUV?" Temperance asked as they rolled down the street. Booth had told her earlier that he had had his SUV towed into a shop that was run by a friend of his.

"Yeah," he said. "But he said it's going to be a few days before he can fix it. Is it okay if we carpool for a while longer?"

"Sure," Temperance answered without a thought. "What was wrong with it?"

Booth told her what had broken on the car. "He said that it won't take long to fix once the part comes in," Booth said. He purposely neglected to mention that she had been right earlier—among the problems with the car, he had been out of gas.

Temperance pulled up at her apartment building and then realized that Booth was still in the car. She sighed; the thought of driving to Booth's house and back was not appealing. She was tired from the long day. "Do you just want to take the car and come pick me up in the morning?" she asked.

Booth sighed. "Yeah, sure." He ran a hand over his face, and Temperance saw the drowsy weight of his lids. Suddenly she didn't feel too good about the idea of him driving home.

She glanced in the backseat and saw a small duffle bag. She smiled slightly. Booth had prepared. "Why don't you just stay here tonight?" Temperance blurted out. "You shouldn't be driving home when you're this tired."

Booth stopped in mid-yawn and gave her a quizzical glance. "Are you sure, Bones?"

Temperance shrugged. "Sure." She smiled slightly. "Plus, I see that you came prepared."

Booth gave her a sheepish look. "Thanks, Bones."

And so, the two made their way inside. Temperance took a quick shower and after wrapping herself into a towel and stepping into her bedroom, she yelled to Booth and let him know that it was all his. After dressing in sweatpants and a tee shirt, Temperance stepped into the kitchen to get some water.

Booth stepped out of the bathroom a few minutes later, his face and hair slightly damp, wearing a pair of FBI gym shorts and a tee shirt. Dropping his bag at the end of the couch, he glanced around. "Do you have a pillow and a blanket I could use?" he asked.

"Sure," Temperance answered. She headed to her bedroom and grabbed the items. Walking back out, she placed them on the couch. "Do you need anything else?" She asked, suddenly not quite sure what to do.

He surveyed the couch. "No, I think I've got everything." He smiled, tiredly. "Thanks, Bones. You should get some sleep."

She smiled back, though she felt the same touch of sadness that Booth did. "Yeah," she agreed. They paused for a moment, neither eager to be alone, but when they realized that they were out of things to say, they retreated to their separate spaces.

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