Disclaimer: I still don't own Bones; life is cruel that way. ;-)

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VII. Booth's Apartment (3x06)

The seventh time they dance together, they're both a little tipsy. Not out-of-their-heads hammered or anything, but definitely drunk enough that everything seems a lot funnier than it normally would.

"So then," Booth says hooting with laughter, "he says, 'Do you want some fries with that?'"

Bones laughs, and it's one of those silly giggly laughs of hers that he loves so much. They're his second favorite type of Bones Laughs.

"That makes no sense!" she says, gesturing wildly with the hand holding her beer bottle.

"Then why are you laughing, huh?" Booth asks, grinning idiotically.

"I don't know," Bones says, continuing to giggle.

Gently punching her on the shoulder, Booth leans closer and says, "I know why. You think it's funny. That's right! Doctor Temperance Brennan thinks my stories are funny."

"You are very amusing at times," she concedes, a smile still bright on her face. "Where is the coaster, Booth? I need to have a coaster to put this down on. You should have a coaster, too. The moisture from these bottles is detrimental to a finished wood table."

"Dunno," Booth says. "Just stick it on the floor."

She shakes her head pityingly at him and says, "If I put this bottle on the floor, it will get knocked over. Then you will have to clean your carpet. I don't like cleaning my carpet."

"Neither do I," Booth says.

"I usually hire someone to do it for me," she admits, before adding, "There are better uses for my time than attempting to remove stains from a floor. I am very much in demand in other capacities, after all."

"Geez, way to be humble, Bones."

"It's the truth," Bones protests.

The song on the radio has just changed, and Booth instantly recognizes its opening chords.

"Hey, it's our song!" he tells her eagerly, cranking it up.

Bones blinks.

"The last time we listened to this song together, you got blown up," she states quietly.

"But I was fine," Booth reminds her, patting her hand. "I'm indestructible."

"It is irrational," Bones continues, "but this song reminds me that I got you injured."

Booth frowns and turns off the radio. "Hey, it wasn't your fault, OK?" he says.

"Logically, I am cognizant of the fact that I was not the one to plant the bomb. Nonetheless, you would not have been blown up had it not been for me."

The childish glee that was on her face just a few minutes ago is gone now, replaced by a fragile vulnerability.

"It wasn't your fault," he repeats firmly. "Besides, given the choice between you being in that hospital bed and me? I'd do the same thing again in a heartbeat."

She glares at him. "I don't want you to take stupid risks for my sake, Booth."

"It's my job, Bones," he says. "You can't stop me from trying to protect you."

"I can try," she mutters stubbornly. After a few seconds, she sighs. "It was not my intention to fight with you just now."

"I get it," Booth tells her. "Really. But you can't stop listening to Foreigner just because some jerk put a bomb in your refrigerator. I mean, it's Hot-Blooded."

He emphasizes the song's name as though that should mean something.

As though half-against her will, Bones' lips quirk up in a smile.

"You're right," she says.

"I am?" he asks, surprised that she's given in so easily. "I mean, yeah, I am."

"I shouldn't let an event from the past have such an irrational hold over me."

She goes over to the radio and switches it back on. After a second of thought, she turns the volume up even louder.

"Dance with me?" she asks, a determined look on her face.

Hell yeah.

And soon they're rocking out in an apartment again. She's playing air guitar, and he's doing the imaginary drums, and they're having a blast.

Then there's a strange crunching sound.

"Shit!"

Bones laughs.