TITLE

Bones has a secret. A secret that her latest case with Booth will uncover. Crossover.

A gust of wind flew through the unit, a twinkle ringing through as it touched each chime in turn. A child, no older than five, with auburn hair and green eyes leaped up to try and hit the doorbell, missing it just slightly. Her older brother lifted her and she pressed it, a smile spreading over her features at the simple action. The girl and her brother waited patiently for a few moments.

The door creaked open, revealing a room filled with hanging plants and the musky scent of the old. Standing in the doorway was a wrinkled old man. A grin cracked his face wide open, and his eyes, like the girl's, shone. "Joy," he said warmly. There was a pause. "Kyle," he said the brother's name with much less enthusiasm, not that Joy noticed.

The boy wandered off into one of the other room, while his sister greeted the old man eagerly. "Gramps!" he sat down in a patched old chair, and she scampered onto his lap. "You wouldn't believe what I did!" she wriggled around until she was comfortable, her head rested on his shoulder. He beamed at his great-granddaughter lovingly. "What did you do, sweetheart?" a hand reached out to smooth down her vibrant hair.

Joy launched into her story happily, as he clung to her every word. She spread her arms wide and small, emphasising every minor point exaggeratedly.

Temperance Brennan sighed as the memory faded away, slipping through her fingers as a silvery liquid. A quick glance at the clock revealed it was midnight. Grabbing a pen, she scribbled two names on a piece of paper and left it on her bedside table, along with the time. Then she wrote two words, underlining them several times. Then she slipped back into bed, her auburn hair splayed wildly around her face as her green eyes stared up at the ceiling, refusing to stay closed despite weighing far more than they normally would. Eventually, eyes heavy with fatigue, she slipped into a deep sleep.

The next morning, Tempe woke to the screeching of her alarm clock. A hand slammed down on it, giving her momentary peace. Then she heard birds chirping outside her window. A pillow slammed over her face, smothering the sound. But a loud horn honked her out of her calm. It was just one of those mornings that you didn't want to get up, she groaned.

She sat up in bed, and immediately felt her stomach sink with foreboding for a reason she didn't know. She pushed it away as irrationality, and rubbed sleep from her eyes. She poured her cereal in a daze, putting it away in the fridge before snapping back to reality, the knowledge that something was not quite right nagging at her conscience.

She stopped a moment to think. It was only logical to think that there was a reason for this way of thinking, this feeling that she was having. Her mind ran over the events of the previous night – she'd finished work late, gotten home and fixed a bite to eat. She'd settled on the couch with a good book, and gone to bed a few hours later. She couldn't remember anything after that.

Tempe went back to her bedroom, noticing all of a sudden a sheet of paper on her bedside table. She picked it up, reading what was written: Joy, Gramps, 12.05am, RING RUSS.

It would have to wait, she decided, glancing at her watch. She didn't want to be late for work. Not giving herself a chance to think about her choice, she shoved the piece of paper into her pocket.

She paused. There was that feeling… she grabbed an object out of her drawer, and stuck it in with her work before she had enough time to change her mind. She left the apartment, locking it behind her and giving it a wary look as she left. She couldn't shake that feeling.

Tempe shook herself and told herself off. "Nothing is wrong – there's nothing to suggest that there would be anything wrong. It's an irrational thought."

By the time she got to work, the 'irrational thought' still hadn't gone away, and was apparently manifesting itself physically The first words from Angela's mouth were, "Sweetie, what's wrong?"

Tempe sighed. "Just a bad feeling is all," she began, trying to pas it off as less than it was, but Angela wasn't buying it.

"You don't have bad feelings, Bren. What happened?"

Tempe couldn't help it. She found herself sitting in her office, telling Angela exactly what had happened the night before and that morning, before she even knew she was doing it. "The strangest thing though, Ange, was that I don't remember Gramps – I remember Grandpa, but I tried to call him Gramps once and he didn't like it. So why did I write Gramps on that sheet of paper?"

Angela shrugged. "Maybe it was your other grandfather?"

Tempe shook her head. "I don't think so. I just can't seem to shake the feeling that I know exactly who he is."

"Who who is?" a voice drifted in, entering their conversation. The two women looked up, and saw Booth leaning casually against the doorframe. His gaze focused on Tempe as he waited for an answer.

Tempe shook her head, shrugging it off. "Just a name I wrote on a bit of paper last night and I can't remember why. I also wrote to ring Russ, so once I do that I'll probably know what I'm talking about. Have we got a case?" she turned the conversation around to work almost instantly.

Not wanting to pry any further, and figuring he'd get the full story later, Booth nodded. "Coming?" he asked, indicating that he'd explain on the way.

She smiled, and followed him out the door. Angela heaved a sigh and stared wistfully after the two of them.

Kyle had, in the meantime, gone into the spare bedroom. He'd started by looking for a book he'd left behind last time he was at Grampa's house, opening dusty drawers and cupboards. He reached into the back of the cupboard, under a heap of grimy coats. It revealed a long wooden box, like you'd find at the foot of a bed. Kyle puffed as he heaved it out of the cupboard. It landed with a thud, sending a plume of dust into the air.

He wiped grime off it with his shirt, and sat back to admire his handiwork. He sighed in frustration, noticing the lock that was obviously lacking in a key. Giving a sigh, Kyle tried to open it anyway, with no luck.

He reluctantly slid the box back into the cupboard with effort, and closed the door behind it, searching once again for his book, something niggling in the back of his mind told him that the box was important.

Author's notes: The italic sections at the start and end of each chapter relate to each other, and tell a story. I haven't decided if it will be the same story continuous over each chapter, or a singular memory to a singular chapter. First person (aside from you, Tammy) who guesses what it's a crossover with can have the next chapter early. There's a hint in here somewhere if you look carefully. Be warned, it's very vague.