"Bones!" his voice called, the first sound she heard as the doors slid open to admit her to the lab. She turned he head to see him coming towards her at a light jog from the direction of Cam's office. She stopped and let him catch up before she started towards the platform again, this time with him by her side.

"So... how'd it go?" he asked awkwardly as she slid her card through the reader and they both went up the steps and made their way over to her station.

"Fine," she answered easily, "Sweets was frustrating, though, does that count?"

"Sure, if you want it to," he said, smiling now. "What did he do this time?"

She hesitated, snapping on rubber gloves, then sighed and answered the question. "He kept bringing up marriage," she muttered. "I swear, Ange must have paid him before she left, with how insistent he is."

She cast him a worried look, suddenly realizing that he might be offended since he believed in marriage. He didn't look offended though. It was more... concerned. Oh god, he wasn't planning on marriage in their future, was he? Surely he understood that she wouldn't want that. That she'd rather they just stayed together, with love being the only thing holding them to each other. That was how it should be.

"And he asked if he could call me Bones," she added, suddenly desperate to get his mind off of the other topic.

"Seriously?" he asked, his eyebrows shooting up. "How dumb is he? I mean... um, you don't want him to call you that, do you?"

"Of course not," she said, barely giving him time to finish his question before she answered it. "I told him no, naturally. I think he got the wrong idea because I told him to call me Brennan."

"You did?"

"Well, he's been calling you Booth, so there seemed no reason for him to continue calling me Dr. Brennan. I've been telling him for a while now, actually, but he still defers back to it constantly. Mr. Nigel-Murray, what do you have for me?"

She switched gears, turning away from him and towards her assistant. She needed to get back to work on this case, or they'd never solve it.

"Dr. Thomson and I were able to calculate that you were indeed correct about the fiber coming from the weapon... it isn't standard thread from clothing or really anything we can identify... it appears to be some type of twine, very old and worn from our analysis of it so far. His analysis, I mean," he corrected at an annoyed snort coming from the replacement entomologist's station.

"Any identification on the type of weapon yet?"

"It's an old, rusting, kitchen knife," Thomson spoke up, standing and coming around the desk to face all of them directly while he spoke. "Either the twine came from it, or it came from something the murderer was wearing, maybe a type of woven bracelet."

She nodded, frowning slightly as her eyes roved over the body. "Have you gotten any suspects yet?" she asked, turning her gaze back to Booth again.

"We don't have an ID... so no, I don't."

"Dentals?" she questioned Nigel-Murray.

"Damaged, and from what we did have... not a match for anything in the database." She scowled slightly in irritation. This was proving far more challenging without Angela. The skull was in reasonable condition; by now her friend could have had a sketch running through her facial recognition software.

"Any damage to the bones that suggests a childhood break or fracture?"

He shook his head apologetically, and she sighed.

"Okay... go over everything again and focus specifically on details that might give us identification. I'll help."

The grad-student nodded and the two of them got to work, leaving Booth and Thomson to occupy themselves however they could. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Booth head to his typical railing and lean back against it. She could feel his eyes on her, but after a while the sensation faded as her mind spun through terms and data while she scanned each bone, studying every marking in extreme detail.

"Dr. Brennan," Nigel-Murray spoke up from the other end of the table a short while later. She pulled her attention away from the sternum.

"Yes?"

He waved her over and she stepped around to his side, leaning closer to study the small bone he was pointing at with a gloved finger.

"Oh..." she said, a small smile spreading across her face. "Excellent work, Mr. Nigel-Murray."

He nodded his thanks, grinning at the compliment. Meanwhile, she picked up the entire skeleton foot that was in question and held it up carefully, staring at the portion that her grad-student had pointed out.

"What is it, Bones?" Booth asked, and she turned, having not noticed that he'd come right up to the table again.

"We didn't notice during out original examination, but the... um, the pinky toe, as you'd call it, was broken. Probably recently, too, only a few months before her death. It was close to the..." she trailed off again, choosing to speak in terms he'd understand rather than making him ask her to repeat, "The rest of the foot, and you can see that it was beginning to heal, when it was broken again, assumably during decomposition or animal scavenging... maybe something stepped on it, from the way it splintered... but it was definitely broken at some point before she was murdered. I'll have Hodg-" she stopped short, frowning in irritation as she realized what she'd said. "I'll run a search for recent toe breaks in the area, and see what comes up. Then we can go off of skeletal markers to determine the victim... although I doubt there will be too many of them to go through."

"You'd be surprised how many people can break their pinky toe, Bones."

"Have you?"

"Um, no. But, you know, people could get stepped on, like you said, or slam it into some damn wall that got in the way..."

"Walls don't get in the way," she corrected with a frown.

"Yeah, I know, Bones. But sometimes... I really wonder."

She frowned until she realized he was being somewhat sarcastic. She smiled, and he laughed lightly as he saw that it had dawned on her. Then she turned and headed to the computer that Ange or Hodgins usually accessed for a scan like this. She wasn't used to having to do the entirety of the work on her own... with only an assistant to aid her. It was rather a pain to not have Hodgins around supplying information and conversation when it was needed, and Angela showing up to point out the obvious when even Booth wasn't able to see it, or coming up with the answer all on her own when none of them had thought to ask her...

She really missed those two, she admitted to herself sadly.

"Danielle Anderson," Booth called to her, coming back in the doors of the Jeffersonian, holding a file over his head. "And she had a record!" he added triumphantly.

"We already knew it was Danielle Anderson," she said, making a move to snatch the file out of his hands as he came up onto the platform. He pulled his hand back with annoyingly quick reflexes, keeping it just out of reach. She made another grab, and he evaded her once more.

"Yeah, I know. But... I was just, you know, shouting it out there 'cuz I got the file."

She couldn't help but laugh at his almost abashed tone, and she finally succeeded in getting the file out of his hands as he laughed too.

She flipped through it, turning her body quickly as he made to snatch it back.

"Armed robbery?" she read, raising an eyebrow.

"Yup, Bones. And she had a partner." He pulled out another folder, which he'd kept well-concealed so that she hadn't even realized there were two originally.

She slid to the side and swiftly plucked it from his fingers before he could say another word or even react.

"Gotcha," she teased, dropping the file on the victim onto an empty evidence table as she scanned through the other one.

"Alex Lemaire. Armed robbery, attempted murder, three DUIs..."

"We're tracking him down now... shouldn't be hard, as he's on parole and all, but you know, that doesn't necessarily mean he hasn't fled the district, especially if it is him who killed her."

"I wouldn't doubt it..." she muttered, flipping through the other pages of the file. "There's stuff going back all the way to when he was eighteen in here..."

"There was probably more before that, but his juvenile record is sealed."

"He threw his whole life away," she said, shaking her head.

"Probably didn't have any positive parental influence... there's some drug charges in there too, I think."

"Yeah," she said with a nod, finding two pages dedicated to it. She closed the file with a snap. "A person's parental influence doesn't totally determine if they'll turn out as a criminal." she added.

"I wasn't referring to you," he said carefully. "You had positive influence till you were fifteen, Bones, even if they were... criminals. And not to mention you were a genius even then, and you didn't break the rules, because that was who you were. This guy... well he probably hung with the wrong crowd, his parents probably didn't care where he was or what he was doing... headed into drugs... all the things to turn him into a total rebel. Or he was just always bad. But you don't believe in that. Society shaping us and all that?"

She managed to smile at that, "Okay, fine, yes. Parental roles play a large part of who we become. But part of how our brains work shows how the information is stored and how it is perceived and used later on."

"Right. Anyways, they'll give us a call when they locate him and bring him in. In the meantime... how about lunch? It's already way past my normal eating time, and I know you don't have a normal time to eat, but this is me trying to tell you that you need one. And it has to be earlier than this."

She laughed, "Fine. I'll even pay for us both. Where do you want to go?"

"Founding Fathers?" he suggested, "Oh, and you aren't paying. I am."

"Why shouldn't I pay?" she argued as she pulled off her gloves and walked past him to drop them in the bin next to her station. "I have more money than you do."

"Doesn't matter," he answered, shaking his head, "I'm still paying. You're my girlfriend; I'm not letting you pay for my meal. I got it covered."

She stared at him in disbelief. Okay, she had handled the opening of the doors for her reasonably well, but when he refused to be rational about the dating rituals when it was clear that it made far more sense for her to pay... she wasn't going to let it slide.

"Then I'm not going," she stated, her hands sliding down to her hips as she set her jaw defiantly.

He groaned, "Bones, come on!" Then he sighed, looking away and shaking his head. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and attempted to replicate the smile he'd given her that day that she'd dubbed it his 'charm smile.' It didn't work though, same as it hadn't then.

"Nope," she answered firmly, her icy blue eyes boring into his brown ones. She ignored the pleading look she saw there. She wasn't giving in on this.

"I'll let you drive..." he offered, wiggling his eyebrows. He even held up the keys and jingled them.

She shook her head. "Not gunna work."

He tilted his head back in defeat. "Fine, we pay our own, then," he said, as though this was what she wanted and he was giving in. She had to admit, it was a very good attempt on his part, and he was incredibly convincing. Too bad she wasn't budging from her original terms. Not a chance.

"No. Either I pay for both or we don't go. Simple as that."

"For God's sake, why, Bones?"

"Because I want to."

His face was blank for a moment, and then he chuckled suddenly, apparently finding what she'd said amusing.

"You are unbelievable," he sighed. "Fine."

Instantly her entire demeanor transformed, and her hands dropped to her sides. She smiled as she walked past him down the steps, bumping into him, and she almost ran to the parking garage as a voice shouted loudly behind her.

"Bones, how the hell did you get my keys!?"

"Temperance Brennan, you are a thief."

She crunched on the French fry that she'd just snatched and smiled teasingly at him; He rolled his eyes and started eating again. She grabbed another one when he wasn't looking, but he noticed.

"Hey, I am paying," she defended herself. "Technically, they are my-"

"Now that is not fair, and you know it! First you demand to pay, which I protest very strongly, then you snatch my keys and insist on driving, and now you steal my fries and use the first one against me! That's like..." he trailed off, apparently unable to come up with a good analogy or whatever it was he'd been attempting to do.

He scowled at her when she laughed at him.

"So are there any other suspects to interrogate?" she said, pulling the conversation back to the case and away from her. She resisted the urge to grab the fry that was hanging off the side of his plate.

"I figured we could head over to her apartment after we finish up here, and see if we can find any neighbors to talk to about her."

"She lived in DC, right?"

"Yup. Pretty close to here, too. It won't be a long drive." He flipped the file open on the table and read off the address. "Ten minutes," he estimated with a shrug. She nodded and turned back to picking at the few bits of onion left over from her salad.

"All set?" the rather perky waitress asked with a wide smile. She glanced back and forth between them questioningly.

"I'm good, thanks," she said, lifting the plate and handing it to her. "Leave his, though, we aren't done with the fries."

"You mean I'm not done with the fries," Booth corrected. She stuck her tongue out at him childishly and he laughed.

The waitress smirked at their antics. "Pie?" she questioned, pointing her pen at Booth. She recognized them from their other times in here, apparently.

"What do you have today?" he asked, his eyes brightening at the prospect of pastry.

"Raspberry is the special, but we have apple as well, and there might be a few slices of blueberry still available."

"Apple it is, then."

"You know, I think they only started serving pie because you complained," she pointed out as the waitress left with her plate, off to go get the pie for him.

"So? Every place that serves food should have pie. Without pie... I mean, they're nothing. They'd lose business. They should thank me."

"I'm sure they do," she said with a half-shrug. She pointed to a table in the corner where a blonde waitress was serving a family a slice each.

He grinned, "Glad to see I've done some good. Everyone loves pie." She raised an eyebrow. "Well, everyone besides you."

She laughed and shook her head at him.

The waitress returned, setting a dish with a large slice of apple pie on it down in front of him. He nodded his thanks to her and then picked up his fork and cut off a piece. He hesitated instead of lifting it up to his mouth, and then pointed it at her almost accusingly.

"Come on, Bones, just try it. I think it's the least you can do, given how unfair you've been so far today."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine, Booth," she reached to cut off a bit with her own fork, but he swatted her hand away, grinning, and held up his fork to eye level. She rolled her eyes again.

"Open up," he said teasingly.

"Booth, I don't need to be fed. I'm perfectly capable of eating off of my own fork, thank you."

"You didn't object with the ice cream."

She frowned. Right. She'd forgotten about that. She gave him a glare to show she wasn't exactly pleased with it, but she opened her mouth anyways, feeling like an idiot.

He grinned and slid his fork into her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully on the pastry as he pulled his fork back and cut off some for himself.

"Not bad," she commented reluctantly. It was actually pretty good... the fruit was soft and warm, and the cinnamon sort of cut down on the usual taste she associated with it being cooked, and why she usually disliked it so much. It wasn't bad tasting, but she wasn't enthusiastic about it either, and certainly far from the way Booth was.

"You want some more?" he suggested eagerly, clearly enjoying that she hadn't said it was horrible.

She shook her head. "No, that was enough. You enjoy your pie."

He shrugged and went back to eating while she helped herself to his forgotten French fries.

The waitress came back with the check, and she quickly snatched it before Booth could. His hand landed where it had been a split second before, and he grimaced irritably.

"Nice try, Booth."

She had some cash on her, so she paid with that rather than her credit card, Booth watching her the whole time. She gave him a smug smile as the waitress came back to collect it, and he rolled his eyes, popping the last bit of crust into his mouth.

"Okay, let's head out, Bones," he said, stretching as he climbed off of his seat and pulled his jacket back on. It was raining outside once more, she noticed as she glanced towards the front of the restaurant.

She got out of her seat and grabbed her coat as well.

They arrived at the apartment building just as the rain started to come down in sheets. Booth groaned, leaning forward to stare upwards through the windshield. "Why?" he implored to the sky.

She just opened her door without a word and ran up the steps to stand under the safety area in front of the door, which was barely sheltered enough. The rain drops on the ground splashed in a puddle which had formed in the damaged cement of the top step. Booth joined her a moment later, shaking out his hair distastefully.

"Ever notice that it always get worse right when you're about to go out in it?" he commented irritably.

She furrowed her brow, "No, I didn't."

He sighed and then turned away and hit the buzzer to be let in, informing the man that asked him what he needed that he was FBI.

They stepped into the building and were met by what was assumably whoever was in charge of the building. "This is about Danielle, isn't it?" he asked. He was an overweight man with a large chin, ears that stuck out on the side, small beady eyes, and very little hair, which was a dull brown nearing gray in color.

Booth nodded, "Yes it is, sir." He held up his badge. "Special Agent Seeley Booth, this here is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan. We'd like to ask some questions of you and any of her neighbors." He tucked the badge back in his belt. "When was the last time you saw Ms. Anderson?"

He ran a hand over the back of his head, the thin bits of his hair sliding back and forth under the movement. "Well, that would have been..." he seemed to be counting in his head as he stared at the ceiling. "Probably two weeks ago... I think it was a Sunday... But you've gotta understand, I don't really see much of my clients unless there's an issue; you know, leaky pipe and the like. Danielle never had an issue with that sorta thing."

"Is it common to have issues with that 'sorta thing' here?"

"Hey, it's an old building, not my fault. We have complaints every week or so from somebody, and Mrs. Maple over in 1C is a really pain with her creaky floorboards, I mean, for God's sake, everyone else puts up with them, I don't get how the woman thinks-"

"Sir, let's stick to Ms. Anderson, got it?"

"Oh, right. Sorry. The name's Rich Hashly by the way."

"Okay, Mr. Hashly, why did you refer to Ms. Anderson by her first name if you didn't know her that well?"

"Hey, I know their names, I collect rent... stuff like that. She was just less of a complainer than all the rest, so I never saw too much of her. Perfect client, I'm telling you. Not like that Mrs. Maple, or Don Tilley on the top floor, with his cracked bathtub. How is that my fault, if he's been living there for two years and only now he notices the issue? It couldn't have been there before, now could it? No. It had to have been his fault, and yet he wants me to pay for some fancy repair people instead of the usual ones that I-"

"Mr. Hashly!"

"Right. Sorry."

"If you didn't know Ms. Anderson very well, could you at least direct us to her apartment so we can question her neighbors, who might have more to tell us?"

"Yeah, sure. Some of your people were here earlier, going through it and all that..."

"Yes, I know. But we're here for the neighbors. They were just a search team."

"Made a real scene, I'll tell you. Maple was complaining all morning about people traipsing past her apartment, took forever to calm that woman down, I'll tell you..."

He trailed off and stood there for a moment. "Oh. Sorry," he said, realizing he'd been asked to take them there. Booth shot her a look with his eyebrows raised, rolling his eyes towards the man as he turned his back and began to slowly climb the stairs, his pants hanging rather low on his behind.

She wrinkled her nose, and Booth went in front of her so she wouldn't have to walk behind that.

"She was in 2D," he said over his shoulder as they climbed. "I'm gunna have to put an ad up for an open apartment now... haven't had to do that in years."

They reached the door, and he gestured to it.

"Well, here's where she lived... you're welcome to question any of the other occupants of the building. Here's a key..." he pulled out a chain and miraculously found the correct one in under a minute. He unhooked it and handed it to Booth. "That'll get you into her room if you want to look around or anything... I'll be downstairs in my room. 1A."

Booth nodded. "Thank you; you've been very... helpful, Mr. Hashly."

The man nodded and made his slow way back to the steps and down them, vanishing from view.

"Do you think he had anything to do with it?" she asked curiously.

"Not so loud," he hissed. "And it's possible, but not likely. I've still got our friend Lemaire pegged as our guy. For now... why don't you see if you can find anything in her apartment of interest that the FBI team might not have realized the significance of, and I'll work on the neighbors." He tossed her the key as he headed up the hall to the next door.

She eyed the little key and then shrugged and slid it into the lock, letting herself into the apartment.

It was rather small, but overall it seemed to be pretty neatly organized. The FBI team had apparently not torn it to shreds in their search. She snapped on a pair of rubber gloves that she pulled from her pocket, and then began to look around, flipping through stacks of magazines and opening cabinets.

"Neighbor across the hall knew her pretty well," Booth's voice came from the doorway around ten minutes later. She glanced up from the bookshelf.

"She had my books," she commented, pointing to the familiar titles on the top shelf.

"A criminal who reads crime novels. Not a first."

"Kind of ironic though, isn't it?" she murmured, scanning the shelf in search of other similar titles. She found some Agatha Christie on the bottom shelf, and then came across the Harry Potter collection in the middle. "Have you read these?" she questioned Booth.

"What? Oh, those? Yeah."

"Are they any good?"

He gave her an incredulous look. "This is why I told you to get a tv years ago. It was all over the news when the last book came out. Probably the best selling series of all time, though I heard there was some teenage romance series that was rivaling it or something."

"Twilight," she said with a nod.

He just gave her a look of disbelief. "Please tell me you haven't read that when you don't even know if Harry Potter is 'any good'."

"No, I haven't, but now I have a tv. I saw it on the news."

"Where was I?"

"In the shower."

"Oh. Wow, you watch tv without me forcing you to?"

She laughed, "Yes, Booth, I do. I gotta admit, I actually missed having a tv a little bit, and I only realized it once we went out and bought me another one."

"Now we just have to get you to decorate your apartment with things other than artifacts and skulls, and you'll be completely normal."

"They're decorative and I like them," she defended herself, feeling a bit hurt that he disliked them so much... and that he wanted her to be normal. She'd thought he liked that she was so individualistic and the way she decorated...

"I was kidding, Bones," he said, his smile faltering as he saw the look on her face. Then it came back on brightly as he stepped towards her and flicked a finger under the edge of her shirt on her shoulder, giving a quick but gentle yank. The necklace jerked out from under her shirt and fell on top of the fabric. The tiny golden hexagon of bones reflected the overhead light. He smiled at her. "I know that they're decorative. And if you were normal... well, you wouldn't be my Bones, now would you?"

She smiled again, and he kissed her. "Please tell me you didn't really think I was serious, Bones."

"A little bit," she admitted.

He sighed. "Come on, Bones, when are you gunna figure it out?" he pulled her up against him and slid a strand of hair behind her ear, his forehead resting against hers. "I love everything about you, skulls and all. You should know that by now."

She smiled at him and then pulled away, knowing they had to finish up here if they were ever going to get back to the lab.

"Did you question all the neighbors?" she asked suddenly, realizing he'd come back awfully quick.

"Nah, just the ones across the hall and the ones down to the right... I checked upstairs and most of the people weren't around. Working, probably. It is the middle of the day, and anyone who lives here... well they need to work, I'm sure. Otherwise they'd be bunking somewhere a lot nicer."

She nodded, "Very good point."

"So... you wear that often?" he questioned, nodding towards the gold necklace.

She felt herself blush slightly, and saw his grin widen enormously.

"Every day," she muttered.

"Thanks, Bones," he told her, all teasing gone from his tone. He looked at her, his chocolate eyes filled with sincerity. "You know, I really wasn't sure you'd wear it at all."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"All that talk about gifts and jewelry being claims and such... like wearing a necklace is my way of marking you as my property or something."

She shrugged. "That's true." It was, too. All gifts like this were ways of claiming the woman as belonging to them, and by wearing the gift it was pretty much consent to that idea. She was no exception. "Ever consider that maybe I didn't mind this time?"

"Are you serious?" he asked, obviously baffled that she'd suddenly dropped that belief. She hastened to correct his assumption.

"All things like that are marks of claiming territory," she told him, "And I resent it, usually. But seeing as you're always with me, and you have a way of... showing possession by way of glaring at anyone who shows any interest... it probably doesn't matter as much. And besides..." she reached up to twist the little hexagon gently between her fingers. "I really like this. But," she cut him off before he could speak, "I have another way of looking at it as well. While it is a marking of possession, it is also a token of... love. So I wear it without anyone seeing it, because they don't need to see it. I know it's there. That's what I think is important."

He stared at her for a moment, and then he slid a hand around her head and pulled her in for another, longer kiss.

"I really love you, you know that?" he whispered, still holding her close.

"I know," she murmured back. "I love you too."

There was a cough from the doorway and they immediately jumped away from each other in alarm. Mr. Hashly stood there, looking confused about whether he should be embarrassed or amused by the scene he'd walked in on.

"Um... the woman who lives in the apartment above this one said she might have something you'd be interested in. She just got back from picking up groceries."

"Thanks," Booth said gruffly, and he led the way to the door, shoving past Hashly, who stepped back quickly to let her go past after him, apparently choosing embarrassed as his prime emotion as he rubbed his nose and stared at the floor. He stayed where he was as they made their way to the steps and headed up to find this new possible witness.

"You the FBI agents?" an elderly woman asked them, standing in front of a slightly open door. She'd clearly come out to wait for them, Temperance noted, seeing the bags of groceries which were in her line of sight through the opening in the door, sitting on the counter. From what she could observe from out in the hall, the apartment was identical to that of Danielle Anderson.

"I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth, and this is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan. Yes, I'm FBI. Do you have information pertaining to Ms. Anderson that might help our investigation?"

"So terrible; she was such a nice young lady..." the woman said with a sigh, shaking her head. "The way things are today..."

She opened her mouth to point out that the 'nice young lady' was a criminal, but a glance from Booth stopped her. This was one of those times when certain facts should be left out, she realized. She let him continue speaking unimpeded.

"Right, um, Miss..?"

"Jane. Jane Sickle. Oh, sorry, do come in! Come in!" she shuffled through the door, holding it open for them.

Booth nodded graciously and stepped through the door. She followed closely behind him.

"Tea?" Jane offered eagerly, smiling at the two of them. "It's not every day I have the FBI in my living room."

"Generally having the FBI in your home is a negative turn on life," she commented.

Booth shot her a look, but the woman laughed good naturedly. "Very true, very true... But when you're my age... oh nothing like this worries you much any more. Just take it as it comes, and I can tell my book club I helped solve a murder... we read murder mysteries, you see."

"Something you had in common with Ms. Anderson," she noted with a slight frown.

"I had no idea she was a mystery fan!" exclaimed Miss Sickle. "Oh dear, how sad..."

So it was more of tragedy that someone she knew was dead because they like the same genre of books? How on earth did this woman justify that thinking pattern in her head?

Booth was staring at her in that 'don't say what you're thinking,' way, though, so she complied and bit her lip, looking around the apartment as though she was interested in it so that Booth would see she wasn't going to get in the way or interrupt. He moved on to questioning, trying to keep the woman on topic this time.

"Okay, Miss Sickle, do you have any information that might help us? How well did you know your neighbor?"

"Danielle was a sweet girl; always said hi to me in the morning... helped me with my groceries a few times..."

"Right. Anything specific though, Miss Sickle. Did she have any boys around recently?"

"Oh, yes..." Jane said, shaking her head and wagging her finger, "This one young man... not the type for her to hang out with, no, not at all... He was trouble, I'll tell you..."

"...Do you have a name?"

"Alexander. Sorry, I don't have a last name... but he had a lot of tattoos... very rude, too. Spoke something awful with all those terrible words... can't for the life of me see why a girl like her would be interested in something like him."

Booth waited for more, while Temperance absentmindedly walked further into the apartment, looking around. She spotted a bookshelf and began scanning through the titles.

"But he stopped coming around a while ago, and I thought she told him to skedaddle. Then I see him knocking on her door a few weeks ago, and she lets him in. I heard arguing through the floor while I was making my supper that night."

"So they didn't get along?"

"From what I heard... that's what it seemed."

Booth glanced meaningfully in her direction, but she didn't respond, instead pointing at the books to get his attention.

"You have quite a collection," she said quickly as the old lady turned and saw her standing next to the bookcase. She pulled out one and held it up. "Did you like this one?" she questioned.

"Oh, one of my absolute..." she trailed off, frowning suddenly. "Brennan..." she muttered, "What did you say her name was?" she asked suddenly, spinning to look at Booth with a sudden sparkle of excitement in her eyes, gesturing towards Temperance. She didn't give him a chance to answer though, instead hurrying forward faster than she would have thought possible for someone who appeared so frail, and grabbed her hand firmly, shaking it with a fervor. "You are her..." she whispered. "I had all of your books, you know, but I was robbed a while ago and they took some of my books. Can you imagine? The signed one, too..." she said with a sigh. "I had my niece go to a book signing for me..."

"I'd be happy to sign the one you still have," she said, pulling her hand carefully out of the woman's grasp and giving Booth a look that asked him to help her out. The woman was suddenly very excited and she wasn't exactly sure how to handle it.

"Would you?" she gasped. "My stars... to think... oh the ladies are never going to believe me when I tell them... oh, but if I show them the signed book... thank you, sweetheart!" she beamed.

"Okay, Miss Sickle," Booth cut in, "Dr. Brennan will sign your book for you... and why don't you tell me more about Ms. Anderson and Alex?"

"Right, of course... my this is exciting though..." Temperance grabbed a pen from a cup on the counter and opened the book, writing a quick message: Jane, thank you very much for your help. It was greatly appreciated. She had a feeling that the elderly woman and her book club friends would just love that. She quickly signed under it, and then left the book on the counter and moved back to stand next to Booth, who was just finishing.

"Well, that will be all, Miss Sickle, thank you for your time."

"Oh, it was a pleasure," she answered with relish, "The FBI and my favorite author... oh what a day..." She reached eagerly forward to shake hands with both of them, and then insisted on a hug from Temperance, which she awkwardly agreed to. Booth smirked at her, and she glared over the old lady's hunched back at him.

"Well that was productive," Booth said once they were seated back in the SUV.

"What did you learn?" she asked, not fully catching onto the sarcasm.

He snorted, "That people get distracted easily by their own interests and problems. But besides that, Miss Sickle informed us that our partners in crime were dating, and that things were not smooth sailing between them. He's definitely looking guiltier, and it will give me something else to go off of once we get him in the interrogation room."

She nodded thoughtfully, but her mind wasn't on the elderly woman. It was on the fact that somebody had stolen her books from the elderly woman. What on earth could they want with them? One had been signed, yes, but she wasn't sure if that was even valuable; she didn't exactly sit at home on eBay looking to see how much things she'd signed went for. She'd never even thought about it before. And besides, something made her think that whoever had robbed Miss Sickle hadn't known about the signature. After all, they hadn't taken just the signed one, they'd taken the other one too. And they'd left one behind. Something seemed off about that whole thing, but she wasn't going to bring it up. It wasn't a logical collection of evidence and proof that had gotten her to that conclusion, but rather a feeling. Feelings shouldn't be used by her in these situations.

Booth's phone rang as they pulled into the parking garage at the Jeffersonian.

"Yeah, Booth... great! Thanks, Don. Yup. We'll be over. Yes, she's coming with me." A pause, then, "That's none of your business." He snapped the phone shut without saying goodbye and turned to her. "They've found Lemaire; they're bringing him in for interrogation now."

Yes, I updated early :) I might update early again for the next one. Maybe.

Oh, and sorry for the Twilight reference. I just thought it would be amusing if Brennan knew what it was but had to ask if Harry Potter was 'any good.' Just something I thought she would do. :)