Legal disclaimer: I don't own anything Bones-related, except for my skeletal system. : )

Angela had been waiting at the bar over half an hour when Brennan finally showed up—not that she minded, or was surprised. Angela was well-acquainted with her friend's lack of interest in socializing and expected a certain amount of foot-dragging from the brilliant scientist. She had long ago realized that the best way to be friends with Brennan was to simply relax, ignore the unintentional rudenesses, celebrate her best qualities, and order an extra drink while inevitably waiting.

It was this extra drink that Angela extended to Brennan as soon as she sat down at the bar, looking more irritated than usual.

"What is this?" Brennan asked suspiciously, eying the magenta-colored liquid.

"You know, I drank half of it and I'm not completely sure. But it's very good. I've been using it as a chaser for my vodka neat," Angela replied, sloshing a small tumbler of liquor towards Brennan.

"Since when do you drink vodka straight up?" Brennan asked.

"New Year's resolution: be more efficient," the artist grinned.

Brennan rolled her eyes and took a tentative sip of the fruity concoction, finding it pungently reminiscent of strawberry lip gloss. Scowling, she set the glass down and caught the bartender's attention, pointing to Angela's vodka and nodding. "I think I'll join you in that vodka and let this drink ferment a little bit more," she said with her nose wrinkled in distaste.

"So what's with the giant frown, Bren?"

"It's nothing," Brennan replied, accepting her new drink from the bartender. "On my way over here, I just... you know, nevermind. Maybe my New Year's resolution should be to... I don't know, to just let things be the way they are and not... I don't know..."

Brennan looked up to find an amused expression in Angela's warm brown eyes. "You really do have a succinct way with words. Good thing you're a writer."

Brennan smiled at her friend's gentle teasing and slugged back a large portion of her drink, allowing the searing liquid to singe the back of her throat.

"I saw Booth," she rephrased carefully. "On my way here, in the diner, on a date. He didn't see me, I was just walking past."

Angela's eyes widened in surprise. She felt an immediate surge of anger on behalf of her friend's feelings, and an all-too-familiar sense of frustration at her favorite would-be couple for their continued romantic failings. "Are you sure?" she asked sensibly.

"I saw them through the window, Ange. I'm not an expert on... reading people the way you are, but even I know a date when I see one. He looked... happy, and... very engaged in the conversation. I only saw her from the back but she was blonde," Brennan spat bitterly.

Angela subtly flagged the bartender down to keep the drinks coming and pulled her chair closer to Bren's. "But, you can't jump to conclusions, Bren. Maybe it was something else."

"It doesn't even matter, Angela," she continued angrily. "There's no reason it should bother me that he's on a date. I mean, yes, I would think that friends should keep each other informed of their personal lives to some extent. But... I shouldn't even care."

Angela took a deep breath and searched for patience. It seemed that she and Brennan had had this conversation a thousand times, in a thousand different settings, with very little progress in the dialogue. If self-awareness was a class, Brennan would be failing.

"Sweetie, if we're going to talk about this, I need you to do me a favor and ignore that idea for now, okay? Just take that idea that you shouldn't care about Booth's personal life and just... just table it. Throw it aside, just for now."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not a saint, Bren, and I have my limits. You two are exhausting, you know that?"

Brennan peered at her curiously, clearly not understanding Angela's veiled criticism.

"Okay, it's like in rhetoric. You've presented an argument and I fail to concede the point, so we'll table it for later and continue on to the next supposition of your argument," Angela explained.

Brennan brightened immediately. "Of course, if you prefer."

"So whether or not you should care, the point is that you saw Booth in the diner with another woman, and for whatever reason, it's put you in an unhappy mood," Angela prompted.

"Yes, precisely. And I've been thinking that maybe what upsets me is how much he's always poked his nose into my personal life, but then I just catch him running around town, dating--" she waved her hand irritably, just missing Angela's drink, "--as if, as if it's a double standard."

Angela nodded slowly, the alcohol in her bloodstream encouraging her to bait her friend more than was perfectly ethical. "I think you're onto something here, Bren. It's not fair how he sabotages your dates and then sneaks around behind your back dating whoever he wants."

"Sabotage!" Brennan shouted triumphantly. "Sneaking! Yes, that's exactly it, Angela! I knew you would understand!"

Angela fought the urge to roll her eyes. But so be it. If being purposefully misleading was the only way to get Brennan to open up, she had no moral qualms doing it. Besides, venting was healthy.

So she pressed even further. "And just think of all the times he showed up at crashed one of your dates. God, it must have been so embarrassingfor you. I can't even imagine. And now here he is..."

"You know what, Ange? You're right!" Brennan exclaimed, polishing off her drink a tad too quickly. "This isn't about feelings, this is about fairness."

"Fair's fair!" Angela echoed, sliding the next round in front of her friend.

They drank in silence for a few moments while Brennan mused. Angela was elated to have gotten even this far; it wasn't often that Brennan cracked the seal on her carefully bottled self-control enough to complain about anything veering towards emotional territory. Angela shook her head in sympathy and watched the play of emotions flitting across Brennan's face. Anger, frustration, sadness, and then something that looked dangerously like determination settling in her clear eyes.

"I should just go over there and storm his date."

Angela's surprised laughter bubbled over at the mental image this conjured. "You should, Bren! You should just go in there all commando and flip the table over."

Brennan laughed then too, at the absurd idea of throwing a tantrum because her partner had the temerity to enjoy an unsanctioned dinner. "I've always wanted to throw a glass of water in a man's face, like in old movies," she admitted.

Dabbing the tears from her eyes, Angela giggled. "Well if you're going to do that, you might need another round of fortification first. Liquid courage and all that..."

"Damn right," Brennan growled, throwing back her drink. "Where is that bartender?"

Angela laughed gleefully. "You might want to slow it down there, datecrasher. You'll need your coordination if you plan to karate chop his date in the throat."

"It's hardly rational to blame her," Brennan reasoned. "If anyone deserves a karate chop to his perfectly formed throat, it's Booth."

Smiling, Angela let her friend's slip-up pass unmentioned. "Doesn't this feel good, hon? To vent? You know, get it all out there?"

Brennan shrugged, but couldn't erase the small smile from her face. "I do feel a little bit better, but I think it's mostly from imagining the look on his face when I would sweep all the dishes onto the floor, including his pie."

Angela threw her head back in laughter. "Not the pie!"

"Fruit, all over the floor, like a massacre," Brennan laughed. "Cherry filling dripping off the table edge... Paula would be so mad."

"Paula?"

"The night manager at the diner," Brennan explained. "And that's the other thing. If he has to go on a date with some flowzy--"

"Floozy," Angela interrupted.

"--floozy, he should have the decency to take her somewhere else." Brennan shook her head quickly, as if being chased by a pesky mosquito. "Nevermind, that's irrational. The diner isn't a territory. It's not as if..."

"As if you peed in the corner?"

"What?" Brennan asked. "For what possible reason would I... oh." Smiling, she shook her head at Angela's occasional vulgarity.

"Listen, Bren. You need to let some steam off tonight. We'll just sit here, relax, have some more medicine, and you can keep venting. By the time you leave for home, they'll probably have left the diner, so you won't have to see them again."

Angela's point hit Brennan like a snowball to the neck. As awful as catching Booth on a date was, she hadn't even stopped to ponder what might happen after the date. She felt cold shudders creeping up her spine as the realization sunk in. Interrupting Booth's date suddenly seemed not only plausible, but necessary. There was no real reason why, she decided, but the thought of Booth taking another woman home left her feeling unbearably bleak, and the situation must be avoided at all cost.

"I'm going to do it," she announced, staring straight ahead with a pugilistic tilt to her chin.

"What?!" Angela squealed.

"I'm going over there," Brennan clarified, digging through her purse for her wallet. "You're right. Fair's fair. And I need to go now."

"Woah, Bren," Angela cautioned, laying a hand on her friend's arm. "I was helping you vent, not actually suggesting... You need to think this through. This isn't necessarily a good plan."

Brennan dropped a fold of bills onto the bar and drained the remnants of her third vodka. "The drinks are on me tonight, Ange," she said. "As usual, you should know that I value and appreciate your counsel."

Angela shook her head in concern. "Sweetie, you've had too much to drink and--"

"--I'm not driving, and it's just a few blocks walk."

"--and, and an eye for an eye isn't a good personal philosophy. Remember our talk about the golden rule?"

"I've got to hurry, Ange. I've decided this is the optimal course of action."

Hurrying from the bar, Brennan left her friend sputtering helplessly in protest. Just before the exit, she had second thoughts and returned quickly to Angela.

"Thanks for listening," she said quietly, pressing a quick kiss to the artist's cheek.

Angela could only watch in indecision as her friend once again left the bar. "Call me tomorrow!" she shouted at Brennan's departing, and far too determined, shoulders.