Howdie, folks. Welcome to my world of randomness. I will go where the muse takes me, hopefully about once a week. Some of these, I fear, will be more successful than others, but whatcha gonna do? I will be happy to take prompts, challenges, etc. and as always, I love reviews. They make me all warm and gooey inside. ;)

This is somewhere after 6X22, I guess, although it could also just be AU...

Don't own Bones.

"You want to go where?"

"To the opera, Booth. That seems to me to be an appropriate activity for this 'date' you keep talking about."

This wasn't happening to him. He absolutely refused to believe this was happening to him. It was like some sort of karmic comeuppance for not keeping his mouth shut.

For three weeks, they'd been practically inseparable, enjoying the fact that they could just be together. There had been no big conversation, no big declarations, just a few murmured words before falling asleep in each other's arms that first night. They were all talked out. There had been so many pained exchanges and near misses over the years. Now was the time for stolen kisses and midday rendezvouses. They weren't putting a label on it. They weren't telling anyone about it––Angela excepted. They were just being.

Booth had been exceptionally happy with this arrangement. Somehow they had made it to this place, where there was no more pressure or fear or doubt. He wasn't pushing; she wasn't running. It was good. Hell, it was fantastic.

And then he had gone and opened his damn mouth.

"Thai tonight?"

"Hey, Bones, maybe we should try some place new. You know, get gussied up and go out."

"Booth, are you asking me out on a date?"

Shit. Shit shit shit. Shit. "Yeah, Bones. I guess I am."

She shrugged, turning away from him to get her purse. "I think I'd rather stay in tonight."

They had gone back to her apartment, worked up an appetite by christening her kitchen counter, and ordered Thai food after all. He'd only gotten halfway through his pad kee mao before being seriously distracted by the way the edge of his shirt, which she had put on for dinner, brushed against her thigh. Round two ensued.

It had been a great night.

In fact, Booth told himself, 'staying in' with Bones these days was a hell of a lot more enjoyable than dealing with all the crap involved in going out. This way he always had a parking spot, and there was a definite charm to not having to worry about dress codes…or clothes, for that matter. Who needed to get 'gussied up' anyway? Who even says that?

But he couldn't let it go. She hadn't said 'no,' exactly, but she hadn't said 'yes' either. And suddenly all the voices in his head that had stayed mercifully silent since they'd started doing…this…sprang to life. The most damnable among them kept repeating two words: biological urges.

He knew this wasn't just about sex for either one of them; he would have staked his life on it. He loved her. She loved him. He knew it as surely as he loved his son. They were playing for keeps; he could feel it in his bones.

But he also knew that really being a couple––the kind of couple he had always dreamed of being––meant doing couple-y things, like going out. Like PDA. He didn't need to make out with her in the halls of the Jeffersonian (not that he would have minded), but he did like the idea of holding her hand or kissing her for all the world to see. He liked the idea of everyone knowing, at a glance, that she was his. Bones would've said he was being very 'alpha male' and maybe he was. But part of him also felt like maybe if people saw them together, if people, strangers even, knew, then it would be that much more real.

So he kept thinking about it. He hadn't quite found the courage to ask her again, but he had started not so subtly dropping the word 'date' into conversation after conversation. He wasn't exactly sure when she had caught on, but clearly she had, because he now found himself rooted to her office floor, mouth agape, getting roped into going to the freaking opera.

God clearly had a sense of humor. Booth hated musicals, but he positively loathed opera. Here was Bones offering to do the thing he'd been obsessing over for days: to go out with him in the real world. It just so happened that she was also asking him to sit through a whole mess of excruciating boredom in the process. This was not the date he had envisioned. Not by a long shot.

He couldn't say 'no;' he didn't really want to 'yes.' He was stuck. Be careful what you wish for, schmuck.

"Do you or do you not want to go on a date with me?" Brennan asked pointedly, appearing increasingly frustrated by the dumbstruck look on Booth's face.

"Of course I do, Bones. I just…opera? Seriously? It's not really my thing."

She cocked her head to the side at that. "I thought it might appeal to your sentimental side. Epic love stories and all that. You have a penchant for the romantic, do you not?"

He groaned as he moved towards the couch. "Yeah, Bones. But––"

"Grand gestures, Booth. You like grand gestures. And opera is all about grand gestures, about emotions so strong they must be given voice in song!" she declared with a certain flourish. She had him; she could tell by the way he slouched his shoulders in defeat.

He wasn't about to give in just yet, though. "Bones," he whined in a tone reminiscent of Parker, "the singing is, you know, beautiful, but I like my singing to be in a more, you know, music-focused setting. Like a club or an arena."

She raised an eyebrow. "It seems to me that arenas would be less 'music-focused' than, say, the Kennedy Center."

"I don't like my music to have plot."

"That's ridiculous. Almost all the music you listen to involves some sort of narrative."

He was running out of options. "I just thought we'd go to dinner and maybe a movie or something. The opera isn't really a first-date destination."

"Well, this isn't really a first date, now, is it?"

"How do you figure?"

"In my experience, first dates typically involve activities which allow for a determination concerning compatibility. As a result, they are also normally accompanied by a certain amount of anxiety and/or excitement, particularly concerning the possibility of engaging in sexual inter––"

"Bones!" He couldn't stand to think back to all the dates she'd been on over the years, all the guys who had shown up at her door hoping they were going to wind up in her bed. No more first dates for you, Bones. "I get it. We know each other. We know we're compatible." He gave her a sultry onceover. "So how do you get from that to opera?"

She shrugged, ignoring the flutter in her stomach at his heated gaze. "My publisher gave me tickets. I wanted to go." She paused dramatically for effect. "I wanted to go with you."

Shit, Bones. He was putty in her hands. "Alright," he finally sighed, moving towards her. "But there better be screens with the words and stuff. I'm not up on my French or Italian or whatever."

"Opera-titles? Yes, of course. The audience can't all be expected to know Chinese," she answered matter-of-factly.

"Chinese!? You have tickets to a Chinese opera!"

"Did I not mention that?"

"No, Bones, you didn't." There was a line, only so much a man could put up with.

"It's kunqu to be exact. Peony Pavillion. Perhaps you've heard of it?"

As far as Booth was concerned, this date scenario was quickly devolving into cruel and unusual punishment. And then he saw it: a familiar glint in her eye. She wouldn't…

"Can't say that I have, Bones," he responded dryly. "How long is this thing anyway?"

He saw it again before she answered. Her feigned obliviousness was starting to wear around the edges. She's toying with you. But why?

"Fifty-five acts. But they are only doing excerpts."

"Fifty-five acts," he repeated. "Wow."

As he took a step forward and another and another, she walked backward until she felt her desk against the back of her thighs. He effectively trapped her between his arms, gripping the edge of the table on either side of her hips.

"Tell me, Bones. Have I ever, ever, given you any reason to believe that I would actually enjoy sitting through one act of Chinese opera, let alone fifty-five?"

A sly grin crept across her face. He had figured it out. "No, I suppose not."

"What are you playing at here, Bones?" he whispered into her ear, sending a shiver down her spine.

"I don't know what that means."

"You know exactly what it means."

She sighed, leaning back so she could look into his eyes. She brushed his cheek with her fingertips and held his gaze earnestly for a moment. "You want to take me out, right?" There was no playfulness in her voice, no flash in her eyes. She was serious.

He swallowed. "Yeah. I do."

"Then I suggest you stop moping around and do it, before I really do make you sit through four hours of torture."

Oh, Bones. He could only smile ruefully at that. "I thought…maybe you didn't want…I dunno what I thought."

"I don't know either. But when 'date' became your new favorite word…"

"You and me. Tomorrow night."

"Okay. What about tonight?" His lips were so close to hers she could practically taste them.

"Tonight, we are very much staying in." He gave her his crooked smile, the one that made her stomach clench in anticipation.

"That sounds like an excellent plan."

When she was ready to leave, he put his hand at the small of her back and led her out towards the exit.

"Would you have done it?"

"What?"

"Gone with me?"

"Yeah, Bones. I would've sat through the whole damn thing. For you."

"Seeing a Chinese opera. Now that's love," she mumbled to herself.

"What did you just say?"

"Just something Angela told me today."

Angela. Of course. That explains a lot.

"I think I may still go, you know."

"By yourself?"

"Maybe I'll ask Andrew…"

Hacker! "Funny, Bones. Real funny."

Lest I get angry PMs from kunqu fans, let me say this: 其实，我比较喜欢中国戏剧，尤其是《牡丹亭》之类的传奇，可是在我看来，Booth是并不会喜欢的。你觉得呢？

Look at that shiny, blue review button. It's calling to you. I know it is. ;)