Brennan walked through the Jeffersonian doors and entered the lab. She had her bag near her side and a cup of coffee in her left hand. She sipped it before Angela joined her on her walk to her office.

"So, how's Booth?" Angela asked, walking next to her best friend.

"He's okay – a little bummed that he didn't get discharged today." Brennan responded.

"Well of course he's bummed. He just wants to make sure you're okay. If I had a dream that you got murdered by some deranged killer, that's still being chased by the FBI, I'd buy ten German Shepherds and train them to attack serial killers and partner-beaters." She responded with a wide smile. Brennan glanced over at her and chuckled.

"You realize it would take at least half a year to successfully train all ten German Shepherds?"

Angela nodded and started to muffle a laugh. She liked how she was so rational about that scenario. "I do realize that, Brennan."

"Wait—how did you know about that dream?"

"Hodgins texted me." Angela said, getting her phone out, showing her the text. Brennan glanced over at the phone and read the message.

"Booth told Hodgins?" Brennan furrowed her eyebrows and glanced at her best friend. Angela shrugged and tucked her phone back into her lab coat pocket.

"Do you want a rational guess?" Angela raised an eyebrow at her.

"A rational guess would be nice in this situation." She responded.

They turned the corner of the forensic lab and towards her office. Her office was dark and locked. No one had been in there since she left the other night. Brennan dug deep in her messenger bag and grabbed her keys.

"A rational guess would be that Booth didn't want you to feel unprotected so he told Hodgins about the dream so that he could hint to Hodgins that he wants him to protect you. Hodgins then told me so I'd look out for you, too." She told her, watching Brennan open her office door.

"Booth knows the Jeffersonian is heavily guarded. I don't see why he thinks I need protection." Brenan responded, walking into her office and setting her bag down near her desk.

"It's Booth, hun. He's the type of guy that'd care about your life twenty-four seven." Angela leaned against the threshold, still talking to her. Brennan looked up at her, rolling her eyes, a bit. "And he loves you, so…" A wide smile crept onto Angela's face.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Angela." She responded quite fast.

"Uh-huh. Right, well when you do know what I'm talking about, don't run away. Booth is a great guy." Angela folded her arms across her chest.

"Angela, can you tell Cam to give me the case file? I also need her notes from the autopsy." Brennan avoided the subject.

"Sure but don't think you've weaseled your way out of this conversation." Angela darted her index finger at her and eventually turned around, making her way towards Cam's office.

Brennan sat there, watching her best friend exit her office. She let out a huge sigh and immediately drowned herself in her work. It was the only thing that'd make her not think about Booth and the whole entire situation although, Booth in the hospital, in pain, always troubled her mind. It wasn't something she wanted to forget. It was just something she wanted to go away so she wouldn't feel the guilt rest on her shoulders. And then there was the whole entire incident with Booth's picture.

"Ugh…" Brennan let out one huge sigh and banged her head against her desk, like in the movie she saw. "Ow… that did not feel right."

"Are the FBI still after us?" Kamp asked, walking out of the hall. He and his henchmen were inside an old apartment that had been rent to him under a fake name.

Maxwell sat on the couch with Fred. Roy stood near the bar covered window, looking down at all the people, making sure that no one looked suspicious. Maxwell was on his computer and Fred peered at his monitor every other minute or two. Jim sat at the kitchen table, reloading and checking out all their guns weapons. He basically had to make sure no evidence of blood was left on their tools.

"The FBI are still tracking us. A van is driving around 5th street and Calmic Avenue." Maxwell responded.

"It's a good thing we bugged their van." Kamp responded, grazing his hand against the gun Jim was reloading.

"What do we do now? The FBI will start to get suspicious if we take our regular vehicle." Fred asked his boss.

"We can always cause a scene and just blow their heads off." Roy glared at them, still reloading all of their guns.

"Shut up, Roy. You blood thirsty little—" Jim snapped at him.

"Fuck you!" Roy screamed. "You do nothing! I was the one trying to kill him. You were all scared of killing an FBI Agent. You realize we could've taken the damn girl and held her as prisoner. It would only drag that damn agent into our hands!"

"You little bitch—" Maxwell screamed at him. He was about to get up and walk over to knock some sense into him but Kamp intervened.

"I think Roy has a good point." Kamp looked over at Roy and saw his devilish expression. He then looked over at Maxwell with a slight smile.

"Pack everything up and don't say a word to anyone. Fred, get our car ready and give it a nice new paint job down in the garage. We're going to give the doctor a little visit." Kamp widened his smile and went back into the hallway.

Once Maxwell heard the door close after Kamp, he walked up to Roy and grabbed his collar. "You fucking little bitch. When Kamp is out of our sight, I'm going to skin you alive." He shoved him and made his hip bump into the table.

"You're just a little pussy, Maxwell." Roy chuckled. "There's no way you could do the things I've done. You're just the lackey. Kamp hired me to do the dirty work. If you want to kill me, you're going to have to become a murderer."

"I don't need to become you to kill you." Maxwell got into his face again.

"I killed my father." Roy told him with the worst smile in history. "Have you killed anyone that you loved?"

"You're sick." Maxwell growled at him.

"Stop it you two." Fred yelled. He got up and separated them. He pushed them apart with his hands on their chests. Jim eventually got up and helped Fred. "We're supposed to have the same goals as Kamp. Killing his brother was only the beginning."

"You guys can kill each other after Kamp is dead." Jim said, standing next to Fred.

Maxwell and Roy looked at each other. Roy was a heartless human. All he could do was think about the action and the pleasure of killing his other half. Maxwell frowned at the sight of his ugly face. He stepped away and towards the couch. Once he sat down, he watched the others disperse from the area. Jim went back to cleaning their tools. Fred walked towards the bathroom. Maxwell glanced over at Roy and saw him still smiling like a clown. Once he shook his head at him, Roy went back to standing next to the door, just itching for some real action.

Booth sat there, looking down at his cup of coffee that balanced in his lap. He saw the swirls of brown and then the little marshmallows that swirled with it. He felt someone come into his room. He looked up and saw a big figure standing at the threshold. Booth furrowed his eyebrows and let out a sigh.

"What are you doing here, Jared?" He pressed his lips together.

Jared walked into his room from the doorway and had his arms crossed against his chest. "Tempe called me last night. She said you got beat up. She then said you ended up in the hospital—and that's when I decided to come here and see you—because you rarely go to hospitals." He looked over at the tray that was set on Booth's stand. He saw a dozen pudding cups there. "I guess they really treat you here, may I have one?" Jared was about to reach for one but Booth stretched his arm out to block him.

Booth felt his shoulder give out a jolt of pain. He winced and angrily looked up at his baby brother.

"Tell me what you're doing here. You usually call first." He said, still guarding his pudding.

Jared held up his hands in defense and nodded. "Okay, okay. I get it. I'll just get my own pudding from the cafeteria." He pulled up a chair and sat next to Booth's bed.

"Tempe didn't call you." Booth let his right arm relax next to his side. Once he left his pudding unguarded, Jared quickly snatched one and a plastic spoon. He quickly took a bite and groaned.

"Oh god, that is the best pudding – I've ever tasted. Mmm!" He looked at the cup and took another bite. "Dang, I think I'll stay here too."

"Jared." Booth sternly called his name. Jared looked up at him and saw that serious face. He crooked the side of his mouth and put down the pudding cup. He cleaned the spoon and held it in his hand. He pointed at him with it.

"You're in deep trouble."

"What?" Booth furrowed his eyebrows. "What are you talking about?"

"I went to a random club with some of my pals the other night and these five people in a booth were talking about you and Tempe." Jared told him, lowering the spoon.

"What'd they talk about?" Booth's mouth was ajar. He was ready for the worst. Just by looking at Jared's serious expression, he could tell something bad was about to happen.

"They were talking about Tempe and how they were going to kill her."

Booth widened his eyes in shock. His mouth opened wider. He felt his palms begin to sweat. His shoulder began to hurt and his left arm began to fidget. He wanted to get out of the hospital so badly. He looked over at Jared and pressed his lips together.

"You're going to help me out of this damn hospital." Booth unplugged himself from all of the machines that were attached to him. He slowly swung his legs off the bed. He heavily breathed, feeling all of the pain spread throughout his body.

Jared got out of his char and widened his eyes. "Are you sure—"

"Jared, you came over here to tell me that those bastards are planning to kill my partner. Do you seriously expect me to do nothing!?" He almost yelled at him.

"Okay, okay." Jared tried to help is brother off the hospital bed.

"Ouch—Crap!" Booth muffled a scream. He felt his ribs throb in pain. He grasped his side with his right and doubled over.

"Booth?" Jared asked. "If you're not up to it—"

"Get me my clothes and help me get changed." Booth let the pain subside. Jared walked over to the corner of the room and got his clothes.

"You better be wearing boxers under that hospital gown."