A/N: Thank you for all the wonderful reviews! This was intended to be a one-shot, but I'm developing it into my first actual story - with something of a plot and everything! This is a bit less humorous, but I think you'll survive. All mistakes are my own!
Disclaimer: If I owned Bones, I would probably ruin it, so let's all be thankful that I don't.
After the meal was brought to its conclusion, Brennan remained at the restaurant's bar for a bit of self-pity. With a sort of dark smirk, she ordered a shot of tequila. The golden liquid caught the overhead lamp's light and cast streaks of yellow onto the bar. With gentle fingers the anthropologist lifted her shot glass and observed as the play of the refracted electrons on the worn wooden surface shifted. *Skole*.
The third shot didn't burn nearly as much as her first, and the fourth even less. In fact, Brennan noted as the bartender moved to refill her glass, she was getting pleasantly ignorant of her surroundings.
"Doctor Brennan? What are you doing here?" The scientist turned unsteadily on her bar stool to face the speaker, someone she most certainly hadn't expected to see - two someones, in fact.
Standing to her left was Doctor Lance Sweets, and to her right was the irksome Daisy Wick. The seated woman gave a clumsy incline of her head, which the pair seemed to take as their cue to join her.
"I am becoming intoxicated - hic - through the consumption of - hic - alcoholic bev- hic - beverages. " Sweets opened his mouth to interject, likely some sort of psychological analysis of her current state, "And don't try to tell me - hic - what I'm feeling and why with that - hic - pseudo science of yours - hic - either! "
The young man's eyebrows were raised in mild surprise at the sharp undertone her voice held. She found herself absentally wondering just how far upwards the black streaks would climb if her 'baby duck' were aware of just how many times she had deceived him, psychological acting lessons be damned.
A stray notion flickered across the edge of her vast intellect, and she metaphorically went scrambling after it. I could tell him - them - every thing. He'd know, then the truth. Right? Because that's what matters; the truth. But the reason they don't know, nobody knows, is to protect them. From the truth. Remember, when early in our partnership, on one of our first cases, Booth said, "They deserve the kindness of the lie..." You remember that, because you have an excellent memory, and a steep learning curve, and a high alcohol tolerance, and a cold, empty apartment, and no child or close family that remembers your existence. But you do. You remember.
"I remember."
An astounded psychologist coughed a couple of times before hesitantly asking with a slightly quivering voice, "What truth? What do you remember?"
Brennan glanced in his direction, then at her 'squintern', and came to the conclusion that she had said her entire thought process out loud, then promptly lost consciousness, head falling to the counter.
A/N: I'm not going to use posting (or not ) as a means of getting what I want but a bit of feed back would be great! ~Mar