Au note: I liked the title so well that I decided to recycle it into a second fic. Not really related to the previous fic of the same title except they both involve beer drinking; the title being adapted from the Latin phrase"in vino veritas, meaning "In wine there is truth" and modified to translate "In beer there is truth".

Summary: Celebrating six weeks of partnership

Trying to ignore the empty bottles standing scattered before her, Lynn Bishop glanced at her watch and then gestured to the bartender. Vaguely, she remembered that she had once had a rule against consuming more than one drink an hour and yet, here she'd just polished off her third in a little under 90 minutes. It was amazing how 42 days of experience could so easily alter habits you had cultivated your entire adult life.

As the new bottle joined its brothers, she regretfully noted the labels that proclaimed them to contain Molson Lager. While far superior to most American products, Bishop had never found Canadian beers to be as enjoyable as their British or German counterparts.

But they were less likely to remind her of what she was drinking to forget.

Meanwhile, in a bar across town

Sternly eyeing the six bottles of Spaten Munich Special Dark standing in an accusingly crooked row in front of him, Bobby belched as he considered the evidence. Not only had someone removed their caps and drained their contents, but they had apparently done so under the very nose of one of New York's finest detectives!

Obviously, this was a crime begging for the application of his unique talents.

Bobby raised his head and nodded as he caught the bartender's eye. Bill, his name was. Bobby knew ALL the bartenders here since this was one of his favorite watering holes.

Forcing himself to focus, he returned to contemplating those six bottles and the mystery of their missing contents. As he was forever reminding his temporary partner, maintaining your focus was one of a good investigator's most important skills.

In an effort to move this investigation along, he gave the offending bottles his fiercest, most intimidating glare. He was initially disappointed by their failure to respond but upon reflection, decided it was probably for the best. With his mother's medical history, holding an actual conversation with beer bottles might be misconstrued.

Besides, the growing pressure on his bladder was suggesting a pretty good theory about where the missing beer had ended up.

As he swallowed the remainder of bottle number seven, Bobby offered a silent toast to German brewers and their products. Forced to consume American beer, he feared that the stress of dealing with this temporary partnership might have completely overwhelmed him.

Pushing himself off his bar stool he rose unsteadily to his feet and proceeded to stagger to the washroom, once again cursing Eames and her unreasonableness in putting him through this torture.

And in an obstetrics ward on Long Island

Alex reached into the weekender sitting underneath her bed, groping her way through its contents. Nine months, give or take, and it was finally over. If you ignored the last few weeks, it hadn't been that bad.

But those last weeks had been so horrible that she had welcomed the seventeen hours of contractions immediately proceeding the birth of her niece. They had allowed her to focus on something other than what had been bothering her.

Now, without the distraction of labor, it all came back. Six weeks. She'd been forced to spend six weeks watching and listening as Goren and Bishop had stumbled awkwardly over each other and their cases. It was a hundred times worse than the morning sickness had been.

She'd wanted to kill them. First her and then him.

And then her AGAIN!

Thinking back to that first day, she realized that she "shoulda figaad".

The three of them had gone out for a few drinks after work. While Bobby and Lynn had tasted and argued over the relative merits of various ales, for the sake of her unborn fetus, she had stuck to sipping soda water all evening. Her sobriety had afforded her the unique privilege of witnessing what was probably the only agreement that her partner and her temporary replacement would reach in their entire time together. They'd called her a Philistine!

With a furtive glance to ensure no one was watching, she withdrew a slim silver colored flask from her bag and savored a slow sip.

To hell with what Bishop and Goren thought! How could anyone prefer that foreign dreck to good old American Stroh's?