She didn't answer. Greg thought about calling again, but realized it was pointless. Either she'd left her communicator, or she didn't want to talk.

So that meant he needed to find her. The guys wouldn't let him leave, and he wasn't exactly able to pull a Casey and sneak out a window, even on a good day. He briefly spun out a list of possibilities, each shut down before he could finish thinking of them. He was a hopeless case, and even if he had a way to find her, there was the fact that she may well just not want to be found.

If he wasn't going to find Rose, then he had to figure out what he'd do next. He didn't necessarily want to be around anyone else, but he didn't want to be alone, either. There was a bed here, awfully inviting, and ready to lure him in to whatever nasty surprises his unconscious had waiting for him. Not yet. Bones had been making food. Food might be good. With a little luck, they'd find a subject to get his mind off this, at least a little.

They were talking about aliens. Aliens and their rough relations with humanity, and how they messed with human history and misunderstood the culture.

Greg didn't say anything. He just went to the couch.