Disclaimer: See part 1

2] How to Lose a Shrink in Ten Days

By the time they're in Sweets's office, Booth's all finished shaking his head at her because Brennan is Brennan and no amount of hopeless gesturing is going to change that. Right?

"What mistake?" Sweets asks and he's kind of amused because he's used to them saying he's wrong (Lord, is he used to it!). But they've never managed to convince him. My proof is this: he wrote a book. Even though he knew they'd tell him he was wrong—he's been waiting for it since he brought it up to Gordon Wyatt (and wasn't that something? I could have helped there too, you know. With Wyatt, you need guts. And Shakespeare. But no one asks the artist). Even though they've told him to his face they don't take him seriously and his profession's a sham.

Because what do they know? He's a prodigal and a prodigy and maybe a prophet. He's already gotten the girl. He's already written the book.

And now they're saying it's wrong. Of course.

"It's not what you think," says Booth and he's already waiting for Sweets to say:

"You disagree with my conclusion that the two of you are in love and the sublimating energies of that connection are responsible for the energy (he grins), vigor (cocks an eyebrow) and rigor (and now he's just blatantly being sexy) that you bring to your homicide investigation."

Booth is not distracted for a second even though it's totally clear that Sweets has been rehearsing for interviews, or conferences, or maybe just for them. He was waiting for it and right on point he quips, "I just told you it's not what you think and you immediately say what you think."

Points to Booth. I mean that's just hilarious and he knows it. Anticipating the analyst? Poor Sweets. The only real solution, like it always is with these two, would have been to say nothing and let them tell the story on their terms. Because they're never wrong. Just, sometimes they don't have enough information.

Right.

So Sweets totally shuts down the sexy and looks very, very nonplussed while Brennan rehashes her tired old denial of psychology (one day she's going to use psychology to denounce psychology and I hope I'm there for it). And brings up the typos. And then gives him the green light to publish. Of course.

And I hope you've noticed that we've already changed directions.

Keep up with me, kids.

They came in to talk about Cleo Eller and instead they've talked about everything else. They're almost doing it right without realizing it.

Here's how you know: Brennan says it in an offhand manner, it takes second place to typos, "The Cleo Eller case was not our first case."

Sweets suddenly decides to play word association. "Woah," he says. "Woah, woah, woah-woah. Whoa." Sweets! For Heaven's sake! Haven't you learned to be careful with that word? A person might think Brennan's asked you for sperm or something.

But I'll forgive it because it really is a magical game. Now, once again, we're getting to the heart of things. They keep trying for a disconnect. They're trying to deny Sweets's end without giving him the beginning. But, in this story, all the parts matter. It says so in the title.

And Sweets … well, Brennan was right before. And so was Booth, literally and figuratively, though he didn't know it. Sweets looks like he's run into a wall. He has. Them.

So they stand a little awkwardly like they're trying to dig up sympathy. And they're really terrible at it. But can you blame them? They run into this same wall every single day. Them. They've built it themselves from all the pieces lying about. It's a good wall and a strong wall and a high wall. And that's all fan-freaking-tastic until you need to see what's on the other side.

Sweets scrabbles for a handhold, talks about how his entire conclusion is based upon their first case. (I'm going to call bullshit here, boy genius. I may not have been deemed worthy of a peek at one of those nice red binders, but seriously? If your whole conclusion is based on that one case, what have you been doing for, like, the past three years?)

"It wasn't our first time," Oops. Even narrators are subject to Freudian slips. Case, he said, not time. But same difference really because he says it while looking between Sweets and Brennan like he's checking to make sure this is okay. We're not talking about dead girls at this point, we're talking about Booth and Brennan and the loss of their own weird brand of virginity.

Sweets gawks like a flabbergasted father. He's Merlin, living life in reverse so the end is crystal clear but the beginning is a constant surprise.

Don't worry darling, they make me feel like that too. Confused and magical.

"Please," he says. "Tell me about that real first case to see if my conclusions are still valid." (Honey, you're not fooling anyone. We all know your conclusions are valid. But thanks for the segue.)

Booth and Brennan share a look. There's uncertainty and trust there in equal measure. So they sit, never thinking twice about fighting gravity.

And this is a good place to follow their lead. Seriously. Sit down. Because things are about to get amazing. We're about to look at God's list of favorite movies (or maybe the list of the guy who wrote this saga but for our purposes, same diff). And somewhere near the top of that list is "When Harry Met Sally." Really. It is. You're about to see it and if you don't quite get it, that's okay. We'll come back to it later. But for now, think of those end credits, Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan interviewing amongst the old people when all is said and done. Think about that and watch:

"A girl was murdered and her remains …."

"Her name was Gemma …."

Nostalgically, they talk almost on top of each other, asserting who they used to be.

We first see Booth staking money on a game of pool. In the present, she calls his gambling a problem and, even now, his addiction peeks out to say it wasn't much of a problem since he won. And that's important, we'll come back to that. But something else that's important that Booth didn't point out (which is why I'm here, obviously) is Booth's gambling on pool. It's not really what you picture, is it, when you think gambling addiction. You think cards and casinos and off the track betting. And really, this is DC. It's not like Pimlico requires a major road trip.

So the pool thing? Important.

Well, not pool itself. It doesn't matter that Booth's all pool hall slang and too slick hair (Even though, ick. Who would have thought Booth would be the one to be an acquired taste?). It matters that Booth's betting on a game he can play. He's betting on himself.

He wins.

Then he gets a call. He meets the victim's mother and even with the ick-slick hair and the fact that he smells like booze and cigarettes, she cries on his shoulder. And we weren't sure until right now but, yep, under the dive-bar aroma and the G-man suit, he's still, already, Booth.

Booth does my job for a while and in that delightful piece of exposition we hear some legal jargon the leads from New York to coroner to Cam. And I'm just going to let his narration stand because if I do it, you know I'm going to get distracted by that little grin she's wearing and then I'm going to wonder what exactly took place during the rest of their "meeting" and then I might not adequately stress what Cam has to say. Which is huge. She can get him the paperwork he wants. But. "You know the definition of insanity is to do the same thing over and over, expecting a different outcome."

Yeah, that's the huge I was talking about. She says it quickly but don't worry, someone will remind us again later.

"How's about you get another point of view?" And while it's natural to assume that this is when Cam brilliantly asks for my input and this whole narrator gig kicks off, this is actually when we find out that Camille Saroyan suggested Booth seek Brennan out.

So, not about me. But still kind of a big deal. And in a much bigger way than the expression you're wearing which is a cutesy, "gee whiz, it was Cam?" Because in a few seconds we're going to talk about fate and who believes what but before that happens we have Cam, who will show up in her boss-shoes two years down the road, but right now, in the past, she's telling him to go find that forensic anthropologist. And that tastes a lot like fate.

She calls him out on his sharking, he complains about the difference between cops and squints. By the time Cam walks away, I'm good to go with the narrating because that was a perfect little scene. You can get everything about the two of them, together, from that scene. It's in the way she knows he's been up all night, knows his bad habits. It's in the way he argues with her in axioms and he'll catch her later. They're old friends and (sometimes) itch-scratching lovers. And that's just fine. They have the kind of sex you're expected to walk away from when something better comes along. The kind your best man can joke comfortably about when you marry the one you walked away for.

When Booth stops her at the elevator, Cam turns back, already giving him away with a grin, "Temerance Brennan," she says.

And in the present, Brennan says, "Me." And she's sweet, smiling and innocent as a bride in white. Sweets can't help smiling with her even though he's still so totally annoyed.

We zoom over to the Time and Place they first met. She's lecturing about de-fleshing and preserving and patience. She is not what he expects. So much so that he … walks right down the aisle toward her in the middle of a lecture? Booth! Manners much?

So he asks her a question to draw attention to himself because, I guess, he's so far into the throes of love at first sight (or something) that it's totally escaped him that the aforementioned walking down the aisle in the middle of her lecture probably already did the trick. So he asks his question and she answers that destroying flesh does not destroy but reveals evidence. Then the bell rings because this college may not come equipped with a laugh track to let you know when something's funny but it does have a bell to clue you in when something important has just been said. Seriously, that's the only reason I can think of for it to be there because what the heck kind of college has a bell?

Booth asks another question. And really, both his questions are totally rude. He's the kid that comes into a lecture late and tries to score participation points by stupidly questioning the professor on issues he only thinks are valid because he was late and missed the first half of the lecture.

But she's not annoyed then because she's the best in the world and thus used to stupid people. And she's not annoyed now because he's no longer one of the guys who ask stupid questions. Okay, sometimes he's still one of those guys. But he's also the guy, the only guy, who anticipates her sentences and shares her inside jokes. Hell, she may be the best in the world at bones but she only knows what an inside joke is because of him.

In fact, she tells him she's the best in the world and, poor Booth, there's no laugh track to help him out.

She says, laughing: He thought I was being humorous.

He defers: But it turns out to be true.

She grants: But you didn't know that yet.

He's the guy she makes excuses for.

In the past they exchange titles and there's a kind of sizzle already. They both might as well be wearing cocky belt buckles. Or, the way they look at each other, removing cocky belt buckles.

"Do you believe in fate?" He asks and it's so totally a line. Like, he might as well ask her if it hurt when she fell from heaven. Or, better yet, ask her how much a polar bear weighs. Granted, she'd probably know the answer and that would ruin everything.

But she says, "Absolutely not. Ludicrous." And something changes.

Back in the present it's still changed. He's not so slimy and she's not so stilted. He still believes in fate. She still doesn't.

Sweets still believes they're completely insane. But he believes that because he still believes they're totally in love. So we'll forgive him.

And then it's time for the credits.