Disclaimer: I do not own or lay claim to anything even tenuously associated with Bones; it belongs to various individuals and corporations who are considerably more talented and well-off than myself. I am only playing with the aforesaid characters, situations, settings, etc. for my own amusement and am making no profit whatsoever from this (other than the bettering of my writing skills and my own amusement). No copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A/N: Because let's face it – we could all use a little bit more fluff in our lives.
"I don't know what you were so worried about, Booth," Brennan says. "Clearly, practicing has helped to restore your shooting capabilities."
He gives her a half-smile, and says, "Yeah. And… thanks, Bones."
"For what?" She looks genuinely puzzled.
"For coming here with me," he says seriously. "For being here for me."
"I… fail to see the difference between those two statements," Brennan says. "Nonetheless, I accept your thanks."
Nodding, he rubs his hands together and says, "So, Bones… diner? My treat."
"Well, when you put it like that…"
"C'mon," he says, eagerly ushering her out to the car. "This time, you're going to try some pie."
She wears an indulgently amused expression as she reminds him, "I don't like my fruit cooked."
"How do you know?"
"I have had pie before, Booth," she tells him, slightly exasperated.
"Ah, but you haven't had diner pie," Booth says triumphantly.
"It makes no difference," she protests. "Cooked fruit is cooked fruit."
"That's what you say now…"
"That's what I always say!"
"One of these days, Bones, one of these days – "
" – you are going to stop trying to get me to eat pie?" she asks hopefully.
" – you are going to realize what you've been missing," he finishes.
"An unhealthy pastry containing mushy, overly-sugared fruit?"
"Y'know what, let's just agree to disagree for now, OK?"
"You're the one who brought it up."
"And I regret it now, alright? Lesson learned."
— — —
Later, as they sit in the diner eating their food, Brennan shifts slightly in her seat.
"Booth?" she says quietly.
"Yeah?"
"I… don't really mind your attempts to convince me to consume confectionary."
He smiles softly. "I know, Bones."
"It's just… it's routine," she mutters defensively. "I like routine."
"Uh huh," he smirks. "Just admit it, you like it when I bug you."
She opens her mouth indignantly. "I do not!"
"Do too."
"Do not."
"Do too."
"Do – this is childish," she sniffs, leaning back. "I refuse to perpetuate such behavior."
He grins.
"Don't look at me like that," she mutters.
"Like what?"
"You know," she retorts. "Like you won the argument or something. Which you didn't."
He raises an eyebrow.
"I find you very condescending sometimes," she huffs, but it's without rancor.
"Me?" he asks faux-incredulously. "Ms. I-have-a-doctorate-and-you-don't?"
"Well, I do," she retorts. Then, grudgingly, "But you're the one with the badge and the gun."
He beams. "Hah, so you do remember!"
"Of course I remember," she says matter-of-factly. "I have an excellent memory. Besides, that was the day that we became partners."
"We've come a long ways, huh?" he says reminiscently.
Her brow wrinkles slightly, then she says, "I assume you mean that in a metaphorical sense, as our physical location has not changed significantly."
He nods.
"Then yes, I would have to agree. Our partnership has most definitely evolved."
Raising his glass, he says, "To partners."
"To friends," she returns, smiling.
They clink glasses and drink.