A/N Erm, I was bored. No internet = idle hands & me feeling snarky.

(btw I really didn't hate the ending)

"I had the strangest dream last night."

"Yeah? Couldn't have been any weirder than mine," said Booth flipping through a magazine as they waited outside Sweets' office. "What was it about?"

"It's complicated."

"Am I too stupid to understand?"

"Of course not Booth."

"So tell me." He threw the dog-eared copy of Modern Women back onto the table and looked at her expectantly.

"Well, from what I remember of it, we were a married couple."

"Us. Married?" He sounded sceptical. "I don't think so."

"Dreams are inherently illogical Booth."

"No kidding."

"Anyway, I'd just found out I was pregnant."

"Hey, way to go me!" he grinned.

"Do you want to hear this or not?"

"Sorry."

"We owned a nightclub called The Lab. Most of our colleagues worked there too, only in different capacities of course. Angela, for example, was the hostess, Sweets tended bar."

"Kinda makes sense."

"Wendell was the bouncer and Clark was a rap star."

Booth laughed. "Ok, I take it back. Those two make decidedly less sense."

"I agree. Anyway, Jared who was a cop, killed some guy to save my life. I can't remember why exactly, the details have become a little hazy since I woke up, but everyone was trying to cover for us because they thought you were the murderer."

"Me?"

Brennan shrugged. "Why not? You've killed people."

Booth didn't reply.

"Oh, and you were wearing this silly flat cap and a short-sleeved shirt for most of the dream, which I have to say, Booth, is not really the best look for you. It seemed to show up your bad posture even more than usual."

"Hey, I don't have bad posture."

"Sometimes you look like a tortoise. I'm well above average height, there's really no need for you to stoop."

"Fine, from now on I will make an effort to stand up straighter." He folded his arms across his chest defensively. "But you can't blame me for the clothing choice Bones, it was your mind doing the conjuring. I refuse to be held accountable for any fashion faux pas that came from your imagination."

She ignored him and continued. "Then the next thing I was sitting typing on my laptop and you were in lying in a hospital bed having just had surgery for a brain tumour. It was truly bizarre."

"I hate when dreams hop around randomly like that."

"And when you woke up, you said you'd had the weirdest dream, so I think that maybe I was dreaming what you were supposed to be dreaming while you were in your coma."

"You were wrong, I am too stupid for this."

Brennan didn't bother to try and clarify. "And then you asked me 'Who are you?'."

"Amnesia following brain surgery? That's pretty trite don't you think, Bones? Way too soap opera for a genius brain like yours."

"I agree."

"I was kidding about the memory loss though, right? Hit you with a 'Psych!' straight after?"

"No."

"Pity, it might have made for a funny joke."

"Why?"

"Never mind. You'd probably have smacked me upside the head for it if I had."

She frowned slightly at him. "You'd just had brain surgery Booth. That would hardly have been helpful."

"Right."

"Anyway, that's when I woke up."

"One of the convenient little side effects of sleep."

"I was distressed, Booth. It felt so real, like I'd just lost my best friend. It was so incredibly vivid, it took several minutes for me to shake the feeling." Brennan shivered slightly at the memory. "Anyway, what was yours about?"

"Mine?"

"You said you also dreamt something strange last night."

"Oh. Yeah." He cleared his throat.

"Well?" she prodded. "Was I in it? Was it a sex dream? Was it weirder than your pony play dream?"

"I thought we agreed never to mention that again."

"Just tell me, Booth."

"It's silly." He shifted uncomfortably on the couch.

"And mine wasn't? Come on, this is how partnership is supposed to work. I told you mine, now it's your turn to share. I'll tell on you to Sweets if you don't."

"Fine," he began begrudgingly. "I dreamt that you asked me to father your baby."

"No way!" Brennan laughed.

"Yeah, apparently we're on the same ridiculous unconscious wavelength. And worse than that, I agreed to help you. Just like that!" Booth snapped his fingers. "I mean how crazy am I?"

"Very crazy," she agreed. "So, did we, you know… 'do it'?"

"Don't Bones," he groaned with a pained expression on his face. "You, with the colloquialisms and the air quotes - it's just wrong on too many levels."

"Fine, did we engage in sexual intercourse? Or would you prefer I use the term 'copulate'?

"Neither." Booth choked slightly. "And no, I went to a sperm bank."

"That makes it a sex dream."

"No it doesn't."

"Masturbation counts, Booth, even Bill Clinton would acknowledge that to be true." He could feel her eyes on him. "So, were you fantasizing about me while you were-"

"No!" he interrupted quickly. "Stewie from the Family Guy showed up before I could do anything."

"I don't know who that is."

Of course she didn't.

"It's not important. Can we talk about something else now please?"

"Approximately ten percent of our dreams are of a sexual nature, Booth. There's no shame in it."

"There was no sex, Bones! And this isn't changing the subject."

"Mine was a sex dream. In fact you made for a very satisfying dream lover." Just thinking about that five am booty call made her insides start to unravel. And he'd looked pretty darn hot in that three piece suit too.

"Thanks, but if you don't drop it, I'm taking myself off your imaginary 'Baby Daddy' list."

"Sorry. I sometimes forget how uncomfortable this sort of conversation can make you."

"I'm not uncomfortable."

"If you say so," she said mildly.

"I do. Anyway," Booth smoothed his tie, "they're just stupid dreams."

"Not to mention wildly out of character. I don't want to get married or have children. With you or anyone else."

"I know." He sounded slightly deflated. "Still, you don't think that maybe they're some sort of indication of our unconscious desires, do you?"

"No." Her tone was definitive.

"Of course not. I mean why do dreams have to mean anything anyway? Only someone like Sweets would think they did." His twelve year old imagination would have a field day with these.

"Exactly. They're purely the result of a random firing of synapses during the night."

"Yeah. The brain has to amuse itself somehow while the conscious mind is switched off, right?" Booth rationalised. "Why not pass the time by making up nonsense."

"Precisely."

"And it's not as if we have any desire to have sex with each other either."

"Of course not."

Booth clasped his hands in his lap and stared straight ahead. "Still, what say we don't mention any of this to Sweets."

"Agreed."

FIN.