Author's Note: Thanks for all the reviews! Okay...this chapter. First of all, I've been pretty much assuming that everyone has the case figured out. If you don't, this chapter will help you along. I'm not totally in love with the way I wrote it, but I think it's effective enough to tell this chapter of the story. Feel free to let me know what you think of it. I'm thinking I had something else to say, but I can't remember it right now. I'm sure it'll come to me as soon as I post this...oh well, if I think of it, I'll just tell you later on. :-) Okay, I'm done, go ahead and see what happens now...

Angela woke up slowly the next morning, her mind wrapped in slight foggy haze. She took a deep breath, and immediately found that her air was infused with the smell of Jack Hodgins. She lazily opened one eye, her mind instantly recalling the night before, and found that her gaze landed on the sonogram picture, which had been propped on the coffee table, directly in front of Hodgins and herself. She smiled slightly as she realized the position Hodgins was in: he had one arm wrapped around her shoulders, holding her close to him. His other hand was carefully resting on her stomach, the ends of his fingers curving ever so slightly, as if he were possessively protecting his baby. She could feel his short bursts of breath when he exhaled, the air making her hair move slightly when he did so. She snuggled slightly closer and took another deep breath.

Something about waking up this way made her feel comfortable. Safe. She knew their relationship had shifted the night before. They were in a better place now. But she hadn't been prepared for the relief she would feel when she and Hodgins finally started dealing with what was going on. It was as though someone had released the pressure from her body. She felt euphorically relaxed.

Hodgins began to rouse slightly. Angela tilted her head and looked up at him, meeting his eyes when he opened them.

"Morning," he mumbled, his voice deep and sleepy.

"Morning," she said back.

He yawned slightly. "What time is it?"

She shifted slightly and looked at her watch. "6:15."

"I guess we have to get up."

She groaned her protest in response, snuggling closer. "But I want to sleep."

He yawned again and moved slightly, stretching. "You should get the shower first. It's your house." He nestled back against the couch cushions.

"No way, you get the first shower. I insist. You're the guest."

He re-wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer as he gave her stomach a soft rub. "Why don't we just both sleep for ten more minutes?"

Angela didn't answer. She had already drifted back to sleep.

Booth woke up far less gracefully.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! The alarm he had set the night before began going off in his ear at 6:35am, the noise of which caused him to awake with a start, and in the process fall off the couch.

With a frustrated swipe, he hit the button to turn off the offending alarm. He then hauled himself up off the floor, feeling already irritated by the fact that he had had such a rude awakening.

He shuffled to the kitchen and started the coffee. He then headed back out to wake Temperance up. As he passed through the living room, a small white note caught his eye.

Booth:

Decided to get an early start at work. Thanks for letting me stay over.

B

He read the note twice before crumpling it up and tossing it toward the couch. He then began to shuffle toward the bathroom, mentally berating himself as he went. Well done, Superman, you couldn't even get her through a night.

At the Jeffersonian, Temperance was working on some of the back paperwork that had accumulated while she had been working on the Ophelia Stone case. She absentmindedly signed her name to the forms, her consciousness glazing over from lack of sleep and from frustration at the fact that, despite the hour she had spent trying, she hadn't been able to make any progress on her book. She wanted to crumple in the floor and cry. Well, actually she wanted to curl up on the couch and sleep, but she knew that if she did, she would be mentally tormented. She signed another paper. What was going on with her? She thought back to the night before with Booth. He had been right; this wasn't healthy. She was supposed to be stronger than this.

Her thoughts drifted. Why had she left Booth's this morning? Why hadn't she woken him up and told him what happened. Because they're just dreams she answered herself. She sighed. She knew intellectually that dreams were just dreams; they couldn't hurt you, they didn't mean anything, they were just dreams. However, in spite of her cognitive understanding of this, she was terrified whenever she closed her eyes. She knew that the moment she drifted off, she would be transported back to those scenes, those sounds, the images of death, the people she loved…why couldn't she shake this?

She signed another form.

Angela and Hodgins made it the Jeffersonian at 8:30 that morning. When they arrived, they split up and went their separate ways, Hodgins heading to his workstation, and Angela heading to Temperance's office. She made it to the door and gave a slight knock as she pushed it open.

"Morning, Sweetie."

"Morning." The response was given flatly, and Angela took a moment to look at her best friend. There was a slight glow on Temperance's face from the computer screen, and Angela noted that she looked tired—very tired.

"Are you okay?"

Temperance glanced up. The look in her eyes was irritated frustration, but when she spoke her voice was even and calm. "I'm fine."

Angela nodded and sat down on the couch. "Did you stay with Booth last night?"

"For a while," Temperance answered, her attention back on her computer screen.

"A while? What happened?"

"Nothing, I just woke up and wasn't really that tired anymore, so…plus I have a lot to catch up on…"

"Sweetie…"

"What's up, Ange? What did you need?"

Angela sighed, conceding defeat. "I talked to Hodgins."

Temperance gave Angela her full attention.

"We're going to try to do this together."

"Together as in…?"

"We aren't dating, but…we're in a good place."

"So, you feel better about everything?"

"Much." Temperance nodded. Angela decided to tactfully breech the subject of Booth again. "I talked to Booth about it, too, and he helped a lot. He's a good listener."

Temperance glanced over at Angela.

"I'm just saying…he's nice to talk to."

Temperance didn't respond.

"Sweetie, don't take this the wrong way, but you look exhausted."

"I'm fine, Ange."

"Yeah, I know your 'fine,' but I'm just saying I think you should take today off. Go back to my apartment and get some sleep."

"I don't need to go to sleep."

"Bren, you need to." She hesitated. "And, maybe if you sleep during the day, you won't have any…"

"I'm fine, Angela." Her tone was forceful now, her calm breaking.

"Tempe…"

"Listen, I know that you want to take care of me, and that's really nice and everything, but I don't have time to just take a day off right now. I have work to do, I'm supposed to have a draft of my book, and…" she sighed. "I appreciate the concern. But I'm fine. I'll get plenty of sleep when the case is over. Okay?"

"No. Not okay. But…" Angela shrugged. "I guess there's nothing I can do about it." Angela stood up from the couch and headed back out Temperance's door. She turned around to say something else, but Temperance's focus was back to the papers on her desk, so Angela just sighed and headed back to her own office.

Seeley Booth was not in a good mood. By 9:30 that morning, he had already spent an hour and a half in interviews with suspects. And he hadn't made much progress.

"Have you had any contact with your mother in the last ten years?"

Haley just rolled her eyes. "Yeah, we all sit around and sing Barney songs. What the hell do you think?"

"When was the last time you saw or spoke with your mother?"

"She was hauled off in a straight jacket when I was two. Does that count?"

Booth had spent an hour with Haley before letting her leave. She was trouble, and it was more than likely that she would end up getting arrested at some point in the near future, but Booth felt confident that she wasn't guilty of this crime.

Booth cracked his neck and headed into the next interview. Daniel Roslynn, Ophelia's editor.

"Good morning, Mr. Roslynn."

"Agent Booth."

Booth tossed a file onto the table and sat down in the chair across from Danny.

"How long have you been an editor for Ms. Stone?"

Danny shifted in his chair and scratched behind his ear. "Um, I'm not sure of the year, exactly. A while."

"And in that time has your relationship with Ms. Stone been purely professional?"

"Ophe…Ms. Stone is my friend. We talk to one another often. Our relationship does not extend beyond friendship."

"So, you'll talk, maybe throw her a book idea here or there…"

"She's a friend who happens to be a writer. And I'm her editor. It's only natural that the subject of her books comes up in our conversations." He straightened the sleeves on his shirt.

"Are you currently working as an editor for any other authors?"

Danny cleared his through. "Not as an editor, per se. I'm technically retired."

"But you still work with Ms. Stone."

"Ms. Stone is a friend. I was acting as her editor before I retired, and when I decided that I was ready to retire, I decided that I would still work with her as a courtesy. I've been her editor on all of her works, starting with her first book." He ran a hand through his hair.

Booth whistled. "Retired book editor. Bet that doesn't give much of a pension."

"I get by," Danny answered somewhat forcefully.

"And being retired, you probably have quite a bit of free time on your hands."

"I lead a very active life."

"I don't doubt it." Booth shuffled through the envelope. "What can you tell me about a young woman by the name of Cindy Osman?"

"Cindy Osman…" Danny scratched his cheek. "The name doesn't ring a bell."

"What about Jensen Bright? Debra Grey?"

Danny cleared his throat. "Never heard of them. Are they writers?"

"We're finding they're more like characters. So, you talk to Ophelia often?"

Danny rested his chin on his hand awkwardly. "Fairly often. I told you, she's a good friend."

"And have you recently suggested and new book ideas to her?"

Danny hesitated. "A few months ago I mentioned an idea. She gave me a draft a week or so ago."

"And how did you come up with this idea?"

"I don't know, it just came to me."

"Do you often fantasize about ways in which to kill people?"

"I don't 'fantasize' about killing people, alright? I work in this business. When you get an idea, you tell someone who can write it down. It forms a community."

"A community based on death?"

"The death of a fictional character."

"Did you also 'fantasize' about the manner in which to kill Debra Grey, Jensen Bright, and Cindy Osman? Or did that just come to you on the spot as well?"

"What? I…"

"Or maybe, you know, you just wanted to try out this new 'plot idea' before you passed it along to Ms. Stone, huh? Maybe find out what it was like, develop a little descriptive imagery?"

Danny sat back in his seat, his arms folded across his chest. "I want a lawyer."

"I'd highly recommend that you get a good one."

Angela was in her office, working on the facial reconstruction of the man from Temperance's apartment, when Temperance walked into the room at 11:30.

"Got anything yet?"

Angela shook her head. "Not yet."

"We need that face, Angela," Temperance's tone was agitated.

Angela glanced up. "I'm working as fast as I can, Sweetie. We'll get it."

"Hey, Angela," Hodgins said as he walked into the room. He saw Temperance. "Hey, Dr. Brennan."

"Have you been able to determine time of death?" Temperance asked, her arms crossed over her chest.

"The insect life in the soil around the remains suggests roughly three weeks, but the soil seems to be overly fertile."

"Which means what?"

Hodgins shook his head. "I'm not sure yet. It could just be a fluke, the body was found in the woods so there a definite possibility that some weather condition simply enriched this portion of the ground more. My theory, though, is that the body was covered over with leaves. When they broke down with the body, extra minerals were deposited in the soil."

"Which helps us how?"

Hodgins gave a quizzical look at her sharp tone. "It tells us that whoever left the body took time with it. It wasn't just a dumping."

"Sweetie, calm down, we're doing everything that we can."

Temperance sighed. "I'm going out for a while. I'll be back later."

Hodgins and Angela gave her a confused look. "Alright. We'll keep working."

"Try to have the face done by the time I get back."

"Sure, Bren."

Temperance gave a quick nod and walked out of the office, missing Angela and Hodgins' exchange of confused looks.

"She needs to get some sleep," Angela commented.

Hodgins nodded in bewildered agreement.

Temperance made it to Ophelia's house by 12:45. She twisted the keys in the ignition, turning the car off, and climbed out. She knocked twice on the front door. Ophelia answered quickly.

"Temperance, hello, come on in, I'd almost forgotten you were coming today."

Temperance stepped out of the chilled outside air into the warm living room.

"I just have to print the manuscript off my computer." She took Temperance's coat and draped it across the back of a nearby chair.

"Sure, take your time," Temperance answered, secretly happy that this gave her an excuse to avoid working.

"Why don't I make you some tea?" Ophelia offered.

Temperance smiled. "Thanks," she said. "That sounds good."

Temperance walked to the coach and sat down while Ophelia worked on the tea in the kitchen. Temperance paid little attention to what the other woman was doing, choosing instead to rub her fingers over her eyes, feeling the pulse in her temples.

Ophelia reappeared a few minutes later with a mug of tea. "Here you go. I'll go start printing out the manuscript."

Temperance accepted the mug as Ophelia headed to the computer. She could hear Ophelia clicking the keyboard and mouse, telling the document to begin printing.

"I've actually been thinking of an idea for a new story," Ophelia said.

"About what?" Temperance queried.

"Actually about what I was talking to you about the other day. About the white noise. I think I could work it into an interesting case, and my therapist thinks it would be cathartic."

Temperance took a deep drink of the tea. "That sounds like a good idea. It could be made into an interesting case."

Ophelia murmured her agreement. "Hmmm…" Temperance heard her say from the corner. "Sorry, the printer isn't cooperating. I'll be back with you in a second.

"Sure." Temperance continued to drink her tea, draining a large portion of the cup. The warm liquid spilled down her throat, warming her from the inside out. The nights of sleeplessness began to creep up on her, the hot tea making her feel drowsy. She could still hear Ophelia's soft speaking in the corner as she tried to work out the problem with the printer. I'll just close my eyes for a second Temperance thought, not quite willing to admit that she was having a hard time keeping them open. Just until she fixes the printer…

Almost before she had time to finish the thought, Temperance Brennan drifted to sleep.

Zach found Angela and Hodgins in Angela's office at 3:30 that afternoon. "Where's Dr. Brennan?" he asked without preamble.

Hodgins looked up at him. "You know, most people come into a room and start by saying 'hello!' or, if you're a fat guy, by giving a jolly, 'top o' the mornin' to ya!"

Angela gave Hodgins a quizzical look. "Why do you have to be fat to say 'top of the morning'?"

Hodgins paused for a moment. "I don't know. Now that you say it, it sounds more Irish. Although, I did say 'jolly.'"

"Thin people can be jolly," Angela pointed out.

"Where's Dr. Brennan?" Zach asked again, louder this time.

Hodgins pointed at Zach with his thumb. "See? So not jolly…"

Angela just shook her head, laughing slightly under her breath before answering Zach. "She left for a while. Why, what do you need her for?"

"It's an anagram. They all are."

Angela and Hodgins both gave Zach their full attention. "What's an anagram?" Hodgins asked.

"The notes. At first I thought it was some sort of code or cipher, but statistically the patterns were to random and erratic to make a coherent system. Then I noticed that the overall choices in word usage in conjunction with the capitalization scheme were indicative of an anagram. If they were operating under mere code, the notes wouldn't have made sense to the naked eye. They wouldn't have necessarily formed understandable word and sentence patterns because there would have been no need to present them as understandable phrases. In fact, real letters wouldn't have even needed to be used. So, I did a cross search on the letters, using the notes themselves as guides for the criteria of sound quality and syllabic structure…"

"Time to get to the point, Zach," Hodgins cut in.

"The first is a cry for help. The second gives the name of a victim. And the one from Dr. Brennan's apartment is a warning." Zach pulled out the three notes and spread them on Angela's desk. He pointed to the first one. "This one could be read two ways. It either says 'help me, save them' or 'help them, save me.' I found that the bolded letter was in bold because it was the only single letter to be used twice. The second," he pointed to it, "says 'her name is Cindy Osman.' And the last one," he pointed to the photograph from Temperance's apartment, "says 'you aren't safe.'"

Angela and Hodgins stared at the notes as they took in what Zach had said.

"You're sure?" Angela asked.

"No, wait," Hodgins said, pointing to the first letter. "That can't be right. There's an 'o' capitalized, but there's no 'o' in the message you found."

"Yes, that is an anomaly that I found in all three notes. In each, the word 'so' appears, but I can't find an apparent place for it to fit into the messages.

They looked at the notes for a moment longer, and suddenly Angela froze. "Oh, my God," she whispered. "A signature. It isn't 'so,' it's 'O.S.' It's a signature. It's Ophelia Stone."

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