"To each his own," Brennan parroted Booth's response to the argument that while one's gut couldn't think, one's brain couldn't digest a breakfast burrito. It was notions like this, the ones that would be shot down in any real house of logic that made their partnership work. She, the rational empiricist and he the emotional idealist made an unlikely pair as they walked down the street arm in arm, but simply judging from their outward appearances, no one would know that at all.

"So, back to the Jeffersonian?" Booth asked as they approached the corner on which they'd have to turn right to return to her house of reason. Brennan pondered a moment, and smiled.

"No. I'm feeling rather energized, as Sweets was just before," she answered.

"Sweets wasn't energized Bones, he was delirious. I'm sure if we go look he'll be in his car, fast asleep with his head on the steering wheel."

His reply didn't cause the smile to fade from her face; instead it grew wider, a sight, which coupled with the fact that she began pulling him in the opposite direction, made him smile in return.

"Where are we going Bones?" he asked, knowing that she always had a plan of attack. He was surprised yet again, when she shrugged her shoulders in response.

"It's a nice day out Booth. I'd just like to walk around a bit. Get some fresh air, enjoy the city," she answered and when she caught his suspicious glare, she questioned him. "What?"

"No, nothing," Booth replied, trying to tone down the grin that was attempting to spread across his face into a slight smirk. "You just don't do this, that's all." He added.

"I don't do what? Enjoy the city where I live? Take walks?" she questioned, debatably. She'd begun to notice recently that in comparison to their earlier dealings with each other, 'defensively' was hardly an appropriate way of describing the way she regarded him, or he her.

"Relax. I meant, you don't relax Bones," he answered and before she could refute with comments about how she took martial arts classes and worked on Yoga routines, he gave a slight yank on her arm that was linked through his, effectively causing their bodies to bump. "It's nice to see you out of your head for a bit."

"You do realize that statement doesn't logically make sense, right? I mean a person cannot physically be out of one's head. I'd liken it to the superlative of being out of one's mind, it's simply a popular linguistic that doesn't possess any truth to the actual implication behind it."

"Right, well, it was nice while it lasted," Booth quipped. "Come on, Bones, we've got a city to enjoy."

And so they did. They walked around DC, not once stopping to grab the metro or hop in a cab, but instead to enjoy the city by foot, each with their own specific agenda. Brennan's being that she remain obtuse about the destinations that they were headed to, not letting Booth know that she did in fact have a plan. Booth's mission was simply to not let on that he could read her as well as he could read any one of her New York Times best sellers; to not let on that he knew exactly what she was up to.

She hadn't dragged him along; they'd simply walked and happened upon nearly every great national monument in the process. They passed the Capitol building and they walked along the National Mall. They detoured off the easier route and walked down Pennsylvania Avenue, passing the White House.

"You know," Booth commented wagging his eyebrows and pointing past the wrought iron fence. "I could get us in there."

"How? Flashing your badge?" Brennan asked. Her arm had been linked with his for little over an hour and she admitted to herself that it was pleasantly reassuring to walk arm in arm with him.

"Yep," he answered decidedly. "I show this to the man at the gate right there and we get an all access pass,"

Brennan laughed at his bravado, knowing that he was exaggerating. "Booth, your badge is not a pass. Besides, any visitor has to be fully vetted, usually weeks in advance, even if they're invited personally. I was when I went," she commented, letting the last part roll off her tongue quietly, hoping he wouldn't make anything out of the situation.

"Wait, when?"

"When, what?"

"When were you invited to the White House?"

"Which time?"

"You were invited to the White House multiple times?!"

"Yes, by more than one administration. My first time was after my work identifying remains of 9/11 victims and my second was just a few months ago. The First lady is a fan of my novels, it seems."

"Unbelievable. But…I could still get us in there you know."

"Right," Brennan said rolling her eyes. "By flashing your badge."

"Nope. By flashing yours," he replied, grinning.

Their impromptu tour of national landmarks ended at a place that held great significance for Booth. As they sat on the cool stone steps of the Lincoln Memorial, looking out at the vast expanse before them, neither said a word. Brennan kept the promise that she had frantically uttered mere hours beforehand and made no mention of Booth's relation to perhaps, the most famous assassin in history.

As far as she was concerned, it didn't matter. His desire to be a sniper hadn't been caused some allele of DNA that linked him to the man that had been at the Ford Theatre that night. His desire had been to serve his country, the country that he was proud to call home. However, Brennan knew that Booth did have something in common with his ancestor: they both paid a price. The former Booth's price being the life that he gave up twelve days after the life that he took. The latter Booth, the Booth that sat beside her just admiring the sights before him, the Booth that taken a bullet for her and put his life in danger to save hers more times than she could count…his price was far heavier. He had to live knowing what he did.

She knew that Cam had been right; that Booth's faith in the government he served, in the country that he had been proud to serve, was unwavering until last night. That was why she had done what she had. That was why, when he, the emotional idealist had needed to believe the truth that he had always believed, she, the rational empiricist chose to stop before reaching a conclusion. In essence, they'd switched places. She knew that the scarlet fever that JFK suffered from as a child could have caused osteomyelitis, even if it had never been officially documented on any medical records. She knew that the facts before her spoke volumes and if given a voice, those facts would change history, as the world knew it.

But as she stood in front of two massive containers of pudding, she found herself not thinking about the radiuses that were before her or about the truth that had always been her original pursuit. Instead, she found herself focusing on a completely different facet of the human body: eyes. She reflected on the look in Booth's eyes as he'd sat on the couch in her office, and resigned himself to the fact that substantial evidence was beginning to prove that the government had lied. It hadn't been until Cam had brought up the fact that the lives he'd taken had been sanctioned by the government that Brennan began to understand. Missions that haunted him had been accomplished because he'd been following their orders. As she thought about his eyes, filled with regret, sadness and doubt in everything he'd ever known to be true, she'd known in an instant what she had to do.

And as she sat on the cool stone steps of a monument of a man that Booth would forever be linked to, with her arm still linked through his, Temperance Brennan realized one thing.

Sometimes, going with your gut is the right thing to do after all.

Thus ends part one of my very late foray into one of my favorite fandoms. I've got a little plan for part 2 of this little story, and it may involve B/B cuddling but I make no promises. I can, of course, have my mind steered in that direction by reviews. :)