"What did you mean by 'going commando'?" Brennan asked as they sat in Founding Fathers, drinking beer and discussing untold truths. "The term 'commando' originated from special forces soldiers in the British military."
Booth reddened. He was gonna kill Sweets for that damn clown crap.
"Yeah, it's uh, it's a military thing," he explained.
"Why would your underwear have anything to do with the military?" she tried to make the connection.
"It doesn't. It's a metaphor about bein' tough, Bones . . . It means not wearin' any," he said, clearing his throat nervously.
"Oh . . ." she said, and hid a curious smile. "How often does your 'going commando' occur?"
"Bones, can we not talk about this?" he groaned.
"Why? You were the one who brought it up at the meeting," she pointed out.
"Well, yeah. But I was only tryin' to distract people from focusin' on the whole clown thing," he excused.
"And that was what came to your mind?" she questioned, amused.
"What happened to the whole 'exceptional partner' thing, huh?" he teased.
Brennan gave him an annoyed expression and they drank silently, yet contentedly, for a while before she spoke again.
"I . . . have lied by omission as well," she confessed, nervously. "I . . . was not entirely unhappy when Hannah exited your life."
Booth stiffened a little. He shouldn't have been surprised, though. That night he found her in the rain, she'd all but told him she was in love with him. Of course she'd be glad Hannah was out of the picture.
"Not because I did not enjoy her friendship or your happiness - I want you to be happy, Booth," she assured him. "But I found I missed our time together – literally and metaphorically speaking."
He started to open his mouth when she stopped him.
"Before you speak, know that I do not blame you or Hannah for our reduced time. You had more important obligations and I respect that . . . However, I believe that you have the right to know that while I never expressed it, I enjoyed our personal friendship," she admitted.
Booth gave a bittersweet smile.
"You were important, too, Bones – you still are," he told her, putting his hand over hers.
They caught each other's eyes for a moment.
"Do you want another beer?" he offered, clearing his throat.
Brennan shook her head.
"I think I've had too many without sustenance. We could order some fried mozzarella and artichoke dip?" she suggested.
"Or we could go to my place and get a pizza?" Booth offered.
"Half-vegetarian?" she asked.
"Like always," he promised.
"Okay," she agreed, grabbing her coat and heading for the door.
He followed, after paying the tab, and smiled as she hailed them a cab in her buzzed state. He thought about the nights when she'd gotten in one and left him behind, looking back at him through the window as she faded away. This time was different, though. This time they were going somewhere together.
"Booth? What are you staring at? The cab driver won't wait much longer!" Brennan complained.
"What? Oh, nothin', Bones. I just – never mind," he said.
He helped her in the cab and got in beside her.
"Antonio's?" he suggested, whipping out his phone.
"The last time we ordered from there I had to use multiple napkins to absorb all of the excessive grease from my pizza," Brennan objected.
"That's why they're the best, Bones. All the little pepperonis are filled with greasy goodness – it adds to the flavor," he argued.
"Yes, but as I recall, we've ordered it and then the next day you complain about intestinal discomfort," she countered. "I'd prefer not to hear your cantankerous moaning tomorrow."
"Hey – I do not moan!" he protested.
She looked at him with disbelief.
"Marro's?" she suggested.
"Their pizza tastes like cardboard!" he argued.
"You've eaten cardboard before?" she asked, skeptically.
"Of course not, Bones! It's an expression – means it's dry and has no taste," he said.
"Marro's pizza has plenty of taste – fresh vegetables, fresh tomato sauce, goat cheese . . ." she said. "And it's much healthier than Antonio's."
"Health food tastes like cardboard, Bones," Booth insisted.
"Not all health food. Vegetables are healthy and have very satisfying flavors. Tofu, when cooked properly with the correct ingredients can taste similar to a lot of meat products," she argued.
"Can we just pick a pizza place?" he groaned, knowing the current fight could go on forever.
"I still think we should order from Marro's," Brennan replied.
"Bones, you know Antonio's is better," he claimed.
"Not better for you . . . How about Romalotti's?" she suggested.
"That, uh, that place we went to after we first became partners?" he remembered and smiled, shyly. "Yeah . . . Ya think they're still around?"
"Let's see," Brennan said, smiling, as she scooted next to him and searched on his phone. "Yes – right there – off of 4th Street."
"Great! Think they still have those breadsticks?" he wondered, taking the phone back.
"With mozzarella cheese and extra marinara sauce?" she said, lighting up.
"I remember you had one with so much cheese that when ya tried to bite into it, it stretched like a mile long!" he chuckled.
"It was not a mile long, Booth. That's physically impossible," Brennan corrected him.
"It was too, Bones!" he insisted.
"It was not, Booth! I will use my measuring tape to prove it," she replied.
"We might not get one like that again," he argued.
"I know we won't," she agreed. "It was never that long in the first place and -"
"Hey! Sorry to interrupt you two lovebirds, but are ya gonna go home and order your pizza or just sit here and bicker all night?" the driver asked, stopped in front of Booth's apartment.
Booth and Brennan awkwardly caught each other's eyes and got out of the cab. Booth paid the driver and led Brennan to the door, his hand instinctively on the small of her back.
"I'll, uh, I'll order the pizza," Booth said as they got in the elevator.
"With extra cheese on the breadsticks?" Brennan smiled.
"And extra marinara," he smiled back and dialed the number, returning his brown eyes to her blue.
They both knew what they were feeling, but at that moment, some things really were better left unsaid.
