Brennan's still awake, sitting at her computer and staring at a blank screen that ought to be page 279 of her current novel, when the knock comes. She doesn't jump, doesn't catch her breath, doesn't do anything typical of a woman who's recently spent twelve hours buried alive.
Booth is fidgeting on her when she peers through the peephole, fingering the thin gold chain at his neck.
"The Gravedigger's in custody," he says the instant she opens the door.
"Cam called me."
"Did I wake you?" He seems not to notice that she's still fully dressed, the apartment lit by the glow of her computer monitor. "I was going to stop by the diner, bring some food, but—"
"It's three o'clock in the morning," she finishes for him.
"Yeah." He drops the chain and shifts his hands to his pockets. "I just figured I'd check in, you know, make sure you're okay."
"I'm fine, Booth." Brennan narrows her eyes suspiciously. "If you were worried, you could have just called."
Booth shrugs. "I was on my way home, thought you might need some company. You were buried alive, Bones."
"That was almost a week ago," she counters, the fact that her apartment is by no means on his way not lost on her. "Are you here to reassure me, or yourself?"
"Psychology, Bones." But he hasn't actually answered her question.
"Do you want to come in?"