"There is nothing so annoying as to have two people talking when you're busy interrupting." –Mark Twain

Organized

"Let's talk organization," Sweets announced, crossing his leg and looking expectantly at the two people in front of him.

"Well," Dr. Brennan looked thoughtful and slightly confused, "I work for the Jeffersonian and Booth for the FBI, but I'm unsure as to what there is to discuss about that aspect of our partnership."

"No, no, Dr. Brennan," Sweets corrected with a chuckle, "I was referring to 'organization' as in the manner in which the two of you arrange the things in your lives into a coherent form. How we structure our lives says volumes about who we really are."

"While I find that last statement utterly preposterous, there is still little to discuss," Brennan shrugged, "I am organized and Booth is not."

"Hey!" Booth chimed in for the first time, with a well-aimed glare at his partner.

"You can't deny it, Booth," she shifted to face him, "The state of your apartment, not to mention the Moosejaw trailer are evidence-"

"I've been meaning to ask about the time you spent in that trailer-" Sweets cut in.

"I told you my clothes fell on the floor," Booth ignored Sweets completely, addressing his partner.

"Once again," her tone was stern, "Don't blame gravity for a-"

"I'm not messy," Booth insisted, looking to Sweets to back him up, "I'm not."

"Perhaps the tumor is to blame," Brennan contemplated.

"WHAT?!?" both men exclaimed simultaneously.

"It's possible," she continued calmly, "After all I can clearly recall you keeping a rather neat and well-organized apartment in years past. In fact it is only since you relocated to this new apartment that I've noticed the clutter accumulating to the point it is at now."

"Tessa," Booth mumbled so low Sweets almost missed it.

"I'm sorry, Agent Booth?" the psychologist asked innocently.

"Tessa was the neat one," Booth muttered again with a glare in Sweets' direction, "And since when is it a crime for a guy to spread out in his own place?"

"There's no need to get defensive," Sweets interjected.

"I mean, yeah," Booth ignored Sweets and looked right at his partner, arms waving expressively, "Sure, it's not the cleanest, but it's my place and I like it just the way it is, thank you very much!"

"I wasn't passing judgment on you," Brennan said quickly, "Merely stating a fact: my apartment is, by comparison, much neater and well-kept than yours, thereby suggesting that I am the more organized person."

Sweets opened his mouth to say something but was cut off.

"You live in a museum," Booth accused his partner.

"I do not!" his partner retorted, "In fact I don't spend nearly as much time at the Jeffersonian as I used to thanks to you."

"Hey, you need a curfew, Bones, trust me," Booth pointed a finger at her, "But I was talking about your apartment, not the Jeffersonian."

Sweets stepped in to clarify at Brennan's confused look, "Agent Booth was using sarcasm to convey-"

"My apartment is nothing like the museum," she told Booth.

"It's too clean," her partner grumbled.

"How can something be too clean?" she asked, "A room is either clean, or it is not, there is no middle ground, nor is there a superlative form."

Booth shook his head, "An apartment should at least look like somebody lived in it."

"I do live in my apartment, Booth," Brennan rolled her eyes, "My standards of cleanliness are merely higher than yours."

Sweets, realizing that he was getting nowhere fast with the two of them, decided to sit back and enjoy the verbal ping-pong match instead. He listened carefully, noting that while they picked at each other's faults, they weren't attacking one another. In fact, the whole thing was playing out as one convoluted game of one-upmanship; though the psychologist could tell that Booth was holding back at times in deference to Dr. Brennan's inability to pick up on certain nuances.

They were evenly matched though, because where she could not fully discount his more emotional perspective, he couldn't refute the majority of her logic. That by no means stopped Booth from trying and a few times, Sweets could tell by Brennan's body language that she was flustered with Booth, but determined not to let him get to her.

"Hey, Sweets!" a voice broke his reverie, "Earth to Sweets."

"He's sitting right in front of us, Booth," Brennan corrected, "I believe that is proof enough that he still physically resides on the earth."

"Agent Booth meant it as a figure of speech, Dr. Brennan," Sweets began, "Now, let's discuss-"

"Hey, look!" Booth cried, jumping up and offering Brennan his hand, "Time's up. See ya next time, Sweetcheeks!"

"But guys-" Sweets whined.

"You know," Brennan said, swatting Booth's hand aside and rising on her own, "If you have certain goals for these sessions, you should better organize your time so as to meet them. That would say a lot of you as a person."

"Heh, heh," Booth chuckled, "Bones made a funny."

She opened her mouth to retort, but he firmly placed his hand on the small of her lower back and escorted her out of the room, with one last, small wave in Sweets' direction.

Sweets sat back in his chair and grumbled, once again foiled by the unlikely duo.

"That was totally, not cool."