A/N: Just a couple of quick FYIs on this one before you get to it. There's a brief reference to the Beltway in the begining, which is an interstate highway that runs all the way around Washington, DC (like a belt--hence the name) and is notorious for traffic jams and construction backups. I also borrowed from one of my favorite childhood songs, which those of you over the age of 23 might remember, and it does not belong to me (no matter how nicely I ask). Every time I hear it lately, I envision poor Bren completely mystified by the lyrics and it was too good not to share :-P

I had fun writing this one, so have fun reading it!

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They had been sitting in traffic for half an hour, creeping along a few feet then halting unceremoniously at the taillights in front of them. Booth sat in the driver's seat, trying desperately to keep himself calm, his hands gripping the steering wheel with so much force the knuckles began to turn white.

"Why did we take the Beltway?" he asked aloud.

Brennan sighed from the passenger seat. "Because you said it would be faster. You said it was the middle of the afternoon, and there wouldn't be much traffic…"

"There's always traffic on the Beltway," he replied through gritted teeth.

Silence fell over them and traffic continued to inch forward. Booth began tapping his foot restlessly, a part of his brain screaming at him that the speed limit was sixty-five miles per hour not five, while the other part commanded him to suppress the building road rage.

Brennan's attention drifted out the window past her partner to the car in the next lane, with its radio blaring and its driver obviously enjoying the music despite the traffic conditions. It was the "'80's Flashback Lunch" the DJ proclaimed, rattling off the list of songs to come. She smiled as she recognized the name of a few of the singers: Bon Jovi, Madonna, John Cougar Mellencamp, Billy Idol. The song that began the set, though, was wholly unfamiliar to her.

All the old paintings on the tomb
They do the sand dance, don'cha know?
If they move too quick (Oh-Way-Oh)
They're falling down like a domino

Brennan's forehead wrinkled in concentration as she listened to the words. "Booth, did you hear that?" she asked, straining to hear the next verse. "That song sounds like it's supposed to be about archaeology and Egyptian culture, but it's all wrong!"

And the bazaar man by the Nile
He got the money on a bet
For the crocodiles (Oh-Way-Oh)
They snap their teeth on a cigarette

Booth cocked his head slightly to one side and listened to the music, a smile spreading over his face as he recognized the tune.

Foreign types with their hookah pipes sing
Way-oh-way-oh-way-ooo-aaa-ooo
Walk like an Egyptian.

"That isn't about archaeology or Egyptian culture," he grinned. "It's the Bangles."

"Bangles? You mean like bracelets?"

He chuckled. "No, Bones, The Bangles. They're a band. 'Walk Like an Egyptian' was one of their biggest songs—from 1986, I think. There was a dance that went with it and everything."

"'Walk Like an Egyptian'?" she repeated skeptically. "People from Egypt don't walk any differently than anyone else…"

He stifled another laugh and managed not to roll his eyes. "It's just a song. Geez, Bones, you gotta get more pop culture exposure."

"And how do you suggest I do that?"

The question was meant to be flung back at him, but it shook loose an idea in his mind. "I'm taking you on a field trip," he decided. "Just as soon as we get out of this traffic, you are gonna have a pop culture lesson."

●●●

An hour later the pair pulled into the parking structure at the Jeffersonain, Booth's enthusiasm for his "field trip" kicking in again as they climbed out of the SUV.

"Come on, Bones," he grinned, gently grasping her elbow and leading her out of the structure.

Brennan turned sideways to look at him, perplexed. "I thought you said I was getting a pop culture lesson."

"You are," he replied simply.

"But…we're at the Jeffersonian."

He smiled knowingly. "Yes."

Where the hell is he taking me? she wondered, her curiosity and trust in her partner outweighing her misgivings toward the unknown.

They moved quickly out of the structure, heading toward the National Mall where many of DC's tourist attractions were located. When they stopped walking, Brennan found herself staring up at the National Museum of American History.

"The American History Museum?" she questioned.

Booth nodded. "You need pop culture. They have pop culture—a whole wing of it and them some."

His hand came to rest on the small of her back, and he led her up the stone steps to the security checkpoint inside the building. Whispering something to one of the guards as they passed through, he brought his eyes back to his partner and winked.

"Come on, it's this way."

He once again took the lead, his hand returning casually to the small of her back as they wove their way through packs of tourists. Around the corner, down a corridor, and up the escalator they traveled, then around another corner and down a second corridor before Booth came to a stop.

"Here we are," he grinned. "The pop culture displays. They have everything here…"

He went straight to the case containing sports memorabilia and began a systematic tour of the exhibits, explaining the items she didn't recognize and congratulating her with a teasing twinkle in his eyes on the ones she did. They saw Dorothy's ruby slippers from The Wizard of Oz, an extraterrestrial egg prop from the movie Alien, a signpost from the set of the TV show MASH, Bill Baker's hockey jersey from the 1980 Olympics, the original Kermit the Frog puppet, and even Evel Knievel's Harley Davidson motorcycle. When they had studied every artifact in public view, a security guard found them and escorted them to the depths of the museum, where other items the museum owned sat waiting their turn for display.

"How are we allowed to go down here?" Brennan whispered incredulously, following close behind the security guard.

Booth flashed her a sly grin. "You aren't the only one with museum connections."

They were quiet the rest of the walk before Brennan spoke again, smiling shyly at her partner as she surveyed the massive collection. "This was a nice thing you did for me today."

He returned her smile, pleased at her reaction to his spur-of-the-moment trip. "It was my pleasure."

She hesitated a beat before asking her next question. "You said there was a dance?"

"Huh?"

"That song this afternoon…The Bangers…"

"Bangles," he corrected gently.

She pressed her lips together briefly, chastising herself for the mix up. "The Bangles. You said there was a dance that went with the song."

Booth immediately became suspicious. "Yeah…"

Tentatively, she continued, "Will you show it to me?"

"What? No way. It was a really stupid dance, Bones."

"Come on, Booth! Please?"

He glanced around the room and, finding no one within visual range, frowned. "Okay," he sighed resignedly, sliding off his suit jacket, "but just this once. And no one better find out."

Brennan laughed with delight, quickly clamping a hand over her mouth to stifle the noise when he cocked his arms and bent his knees, strutting around the room in time to the music in his mind.

Walk like an Egyptian