Note: A companion piece to "Not His First Choice"

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

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He knows he's not her usual type.

She likes intellectual guys, the kind of guy who's more at home in a classroom than a barroom, the kind of guy who would rather go to an art gallery or a lecture than a hockey game.

He's not that type of guy.

He's never felt so out of place. He sips from the glass of wine in his hand and wishes it were a beer. Across the room, Bones is having an animated conversation about the painting in front of her.

He's pretty sure Parker painted something similar when he was in kindergarten.

He'll never know what she saw in Peter. Hell, the word through the grapevine – by which he means Angela, of course – was that they were practically living together. Bones deserves way more than a wuss who trips over his own shoelaces.

Then there was Michael, the ex who slept with her and then betrayed her. And David, who was trying to recruit her to a cult Over the years they worked together, he's watched as a parade of smart, successful men entered his partner's life then disappeared, leaving her hurt and alone.

The guy she's talking too seems enthralled by whatever she's saying. Maybe he's just enthralled by her. God knows he can relate to that.

The thing is, he knows she deserves more than he can offer her. He was an abused child. He's been to war. He's taken lives. He has a son he doesn't get to see often enough.

When they first met, he didn't understand half the things she said. He's learned a lot from her – now he understands at least two-thirds – but he'll never be her intellectual equal.

Their eyes meet over the shoulder of the guy she's talking to and she smiles in invitation. He nods in response, abandons his wine glass on a passing waiter's tray, and weaves his way through the crowd.

The first time he saw her, he felt a shift inside himself – a sense of a missing puzzle piece snapping into place. He felt complete in a way he never had before.

In the years that followed, he tried to believe he'd imagined it. They were too different, and they had too much at stake. They both dated other people and denied they'd ever considered dating each other.

He finally reaches her and his hand finds its home on the small of her back. "Booth", she says, "I'd like you to meet Steven. Steven, this is my partner, Booth." It's the first time she's said it and not meant it in a strictly professional way.

Now, though, they're spending most of their time together. They're expecting a child. They're talking about living together.

They never were ones to do things the usual way.

She smiles up at him – the open, loving smile he's only started seeing recently – and he forgets about the bad wine and the incomprehensible art. He holds out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Steven."

No, he knows he's not her usual type.

But he's starting to think he might be the right type for her.

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Comments? Questions? Suggestions?