Disclaimer: Don't own Bones or any of the characters. Just borrowing them for a bit of good and mostly clean fun…

A/N 1: This was started way back when for the Writing Bones July Forum challenge…Didn't quite manage the deadline but figured I'd post it anyway now that it's finally done…A very random one-shot…Set after Stargazer…Thanks to A for taking a gander...

The reception for the wedding that wasn't was not the maudlin affair one would have expected given that the bride and groom were absent and hadn't actually managed to get married. Perhaps it was because Hodgins and Angela were…well, Hodgins and Angela. Eccentric, unique, free-spirited---any of the above would be applicable. However, maybe the biggest reason people were dancing like it was 1999 and the possible end of the world loomed large causing people to shed their inhibitions was the open bar. Hodgins had spared no expense. The bartenders were stocked and, while not as fully loaded as when the evening began, were armed with an arsenal of scotches, rums, vodkas, and the other necessary accoutrements to make whatever cocktail struck a guest's fancy. From apple martini to zipper shooter, they were ready, willing, and able to help one and all find some sort of solace in the bottom of a glass.

Booth opted for a Sam Adams instead of some frothy concoction served with an umbrella. With a smirk he noticed Zach sipping one such cocktail. It was no wonder the young genius had such a hard time with the ladies. He glanced around the room, taking in all of the revelers. Eighties music blasted from the speakers and the dance floor was a mass of writhing bodies, some moving in time, but most just moving and singing along with abandon. Culture Club's Karma Chameleon was being slaughtered by many a guest. He couldn't keep the smile off his face as watched people make complete idiots of themselves. Not that he was above making an idiot of himself, he just preferred do it without an audience.

He continued his sweep of the room until he found the person he hadn't realized he was looking for. Brennan was at one of the three bars set up. She wore a slightly bemused look as she watched the bartender pour her wine. Booth chuckled to himself. Bones probably didn't even realize she was getting hit on. Sometimes he wondered what it would be like to be in that head of hers. He figured it was probably best left to idle speculation since he would need a dictionary and set of encyclopedias just to decipher her to do list. He watched the bartender continue to attempt to chat up his partner. He almost felt obligated to tell the guy that it was futile, when she abruptly turned and walked away leaving the bartender to talk to himself.

Brennan moved purposefully through the throng of partiers. Booth tracked her with his eyes, curious about her destination. He realized she was approaching him and was somewhat surprised given how awkward things had been since they had been left standing at the altar. At least it had been awkward for him. He wasn't about to attempt to put a label on it for Brennan. Maybe because she didn't put much stock in the institution of marriage and the sanctity of the church the moment had been lost on her. But while he wouldn't label himself a traditionalist, he would admit if only to himself that for the briefest instant standing up there with her had felt right. He didn't want to give it too much thought. It was what it was…or so he kept telling himself. Luckily, Zach had stepped in completely oblivious to the undertones and answered Brennan's inquiry about what they were supposed to do next, which is how they all ended up at the reception.

Booth took a pull from his beer as she joined him at the head table. "Do I look like I would be interested in wrestling?"

"Wrestling?" He wasn't sure he had her correctly.

"The bartender seemed to think I would enjoy it." She waved her glass in the direction she had come from.

With a grin he asked, "Watching it or doing it, Bones?"

She looked slightly confused by his question when it struck her what he was implying. Smiling, she responded, "He wasn't clear. Perhaps when I go back for a refill I can ask."

"You'll only encourage him."

"Who says I don't want to?" Her question made Booth realize she was slightly tipsy.

Shaking his head with amusement, Booth muttered, "Poor guy doesn't stand a chance."

Resting her chin in her hand, she leaned towards Booth. "So what do you think Hodgins and Angela are doing right now?"

"Probably something X-rated that I really don't want to think about..." He grabbed a piece of bread from the basket on the table and started picking at the crust. "I don't know though, can you still do the honeymoon thing, if you didn't actually get married?"

"I'm pretty sure they've been doing the honeymoon thing for quite some time now."

"Thanks for that, but I wasn't talking about…um…consummating their relationship. I meant the whole go off to some tropical paradise and forget that anyone else exists."

"You don't have to be married to do that, Booth. That's what vacations are for." She emphasized her point by wagging her finger in his direction.

"How would you know, Bones?" He was curious about her answer. Since he had known her, the only vacations she took were to remote locales around the world, but they had more to do with the dead than the living.

"I know how to have a good time, Booth. Just because I choose to also be productive while doing it, doesn't mean I don't." She took another lazy sip of wine.

Booth turned his now empty beer bottle in his hands. He was torn between letting the subject drop and goading her. Unable to resist giving her a hard time, he said, "Whatever you say, Bones."

As expected her eyes flashed with annoyance, although it was slightly dimmed by the alcohol she had consumed. "Just because I don't advertise my sexual escapades, doesn't mean I live like a nun on location."

Holding both hands in front of him as though to shield himself, he said, "Easy, Bones. That was quite the jump from having a good time to sexual escapades."

"Why? Sex provides a physical release that stimulates the brain's production of serotonin, which contributes to feelings of euphoria and relaxation. Wouldn't that be conducive to having a good time or as you put it 'forgetting anyone exists'?"

Reluctantly, he agreed with her reasoning. He hated when she used his own words against him. "Yeah, I guess."

"Don't get all prudish on me, Booth. We both know you like a good roll in the grass the much as the next person."

"Hay, Bones. Hay---roll in the hay. And we weren't talking about me."

"Maybe not, but you didn't deny it." Brennan looked very pleased with her retort.

Booth wasn't sure what to make of his partner. He knew she wasn't drunk, but buzzed was definitely applicable. This was a side of Brennan he rarely got to see. He would characterize her as outspoken on a good day, but under the influence she was downright blunt and seemingly willing to offer an opinion on anything. Under normal circumstance he would let the subject drop. He was infamous for taking two steps back whenever the s-word came up. Brennan blamed his Catholic upbringing and maybe she was right. However, Booth was willing to admit, if only to himself, that he only clamed up around his partner. Like the moment at the altar, he consciously chose not to pursue that line of thought. Instead, he said, "Guess it depends, Bones."

Even through her alcohol-induced fog, she was caught off guard by his response. He normally sidestepped any and all questions that remotely orbited the topic of sex. Curious, she asked, "Depends on what?"

With a slight smirk, he answered matter-of-factly, "Who's rolling with me." The look on her face was worth the slight discomfort in his stomach at such a blatantly sexist answer.

Taking another sip of her wine before responding, she decided to ask another question. Though she was sure he was just goading her, this was one of the longer discussions they had ever had about this particular subject. "Interesting. I seem to recall you saying there are just some people you can't sleep with. Are there certain identifying characteristics for those with whom you would consider 'rolling'?"

Booth was glad he didn't have any beer left, otherwise he was sure he would have choked on it. Only Brennan could ask a question like that with a straight face. To buy some time, he repeated, "Characteristics?"

"Yes. For instance, there are a lot of available women in this room. Any number of whom would gladly consent to 'rolling' with you, if the number of appreciative looks you have been receiving are any indication. So anyone jump out that you want to jump?" Once again she looked pleased with what she considered witty banter.

Booth barely managed to contain a groan at her words. He was going to kill Hodgins for adding that particular phrase to her vocabulary. He knew it was his fault for pursuing this line of questioning. Glancing around the room, he realized with some surprise that despite the attractive women in the room, who were in fact blatantly making their interest known, none of them tempted him. "Not really."

Brennan looked at him, her disbelief evident. She turned her gaze from him and let it sweep across the room. Standing at the same bar with the wrestling aficionado bartender was a tall blonde woman with certain assets that would interest most men, especially considering the skintight black cocktail dress she was wearing. With a wide gesture towards the blonde, she asked Booth pointedly, "Not even her?"

Curious, at the type of woman Brennan would pick out for him, he followed her gaze until it found the Tessa-clone she had identified. "Why her?"

"Why not her? Blonde? Check. Beautiful? Check. Leggy? Check. Busty? Check."

"Busty?" Booth repeated, his amusement at her word choice evident.

"You know, big…"

She started to gesture, but Booth cut her off before she could finish. "I know, Bones. Got it. Sounds like you think I have a type."

"Well, I did, but Cam didn't fit, so now I'm not so sure. But then again, she wasn't just a 'rolling' partner, so I can't really say definitively." She waited for him to clarify whether or not he did in fact have a type.

Booth had no idea how they had ended up here, but he wanted to extricate himself as quickly as possible. He chose not to elaborate, although he knew she wouldn't let it go. "I don't have a type."

She waved a dismissive hand at him. "Of course, you do. Maybe not consciously, but all of us are attracted to certain features which pique our interest, sexual or otherwise."

"The outside package is important, but it's not the only thing that attracts my attention. Frankly, I'm a bit offended that you think I'm that shallow."

"I'm not saying the outside is the only thing that matters, but it does make you more amenable to finding out what's on the inside."

Her tone was slightly condescending, but given her now empty wine glass, he was willing to overlook it. Deciding to turn the focus of the conversation onto her, he asked, "So what's your type, Bones?"

She seemed to give the question due diligence before answering. "I guess I like a man who takes care of his body. It's a good indication that he is conscientiousness in other aspects of his life."

Booth scanned the crowded dance floor and pointed to a friend of Angela's who looked like a younger version of Sylvester Stallone. "Like him?"

Brennan practically snorted when she saw whom Booth had picked out. Emphatically, she said, "No. He looks like a walking ad about the dangers of steroids. Plus he's short and quite possibly balding."

Her quick appraisal and subsequent dismissal made Booth smile. Brennan was nothing if not precise, even when slightly tipsy. "Ok. Then point out someone that's your 'type'." His air quotes made her smile as he knew she would. He scanned the room as curious to see whom she would pick for herself, as he had been when she had been choosing for him.

"That's easy," she responded immediately. He turned his attention from the dance floor back to her. She wasn't pointing at anyone. He waited for her to continue. Without missing a beat, she continued, "You don't have to look out there, Booth. Just look in the mirror. You're my type." Her answer was so guileless, he didn't know what to say. "I'm not sure why you're so surprised. You've seen the men I've dated. Michael, David, Sully…Tall, dark, and handsome. Trite, I know, but I like what I like and you fit the bill."

The simplicity of her answer made him chuckle. If anyone other than Brennan had told him he was her type, the words would have been laced with innuendo and invitation. However, coming from her, it was simply a statement of fact---possibly one she wouldn't have been so forthcoming with had she been completely sober, but a fact none-the-less. "Fair enough. I just haven't been paying enough attention."

"Exactly." She nudged him with her elbow to emphasize her point. "And don't think you are getting off that easy, Booth. I told you mine, now it's only fair that you tell me yours." She waited expectantly.

Sighing, he decided it was easier just to answer. Sober she was persistent, buzzed was downright tenacious. "You were pretty much on the mark."

Though he had hoped she would let his vague answer pass, he wasn't surprised when she immediately asked, "Pretty much?"

"Well, you missed the boat with hair color."

Her incredulous tone amplified by the alcohol she had consumed, she asked, "Really? I would have thought you would be a firm believer in the old adage 'blondes have more fun'."

"They might have more fun, but I'm finding brunettes are more fun these days, especially tonight." He tossed a wink her way and they shared a smile. After a moment, he stood and nodded at her glass. "I'm going to get another beer, you want another?"

Returning his wink, she answered, "Maybe later…I'm still trying to decide if I like wrestling or not."

A/N 2: The challenge topic was "things we never knew"…