Jane emerged from the Dirty Robber's bathroom to see Maura animatedly chatting with Angela. She tried to suppress a grin and shot a look at Booth, who groaned, "They're talking art stuff. Please shoot me."

"Jane! You didn't tell me your partner was Constance Isles' daughter!" Angela laughed.

"Well you didn't tell me your dad was the front man of ZZ Top!" countered Jane.

"Ah, you got me there," Angela conceded with a chuckle. "But come on, Constance Isles? That is so much cooler. I mean, oh my gosh. When I was twenty-one, my roommates and I took this massive road trip to see an exhibit of hers in Philadelphia. I think we went through it about eight times; it was so inspiring! I've always wished I had the talent to express myself through more modern techniques."

Jane gave her a crooked smile. "Hey, don't dis yourself on that front. Constance is a nice lady and all, but her art drives me up the wall."

"What? I'm telling her you said that," Maura said, feigning annoyance and slapping Jane's shoulder.

"Whatever, you know she'll love me forever for re-introducing her to the magic of milkshakes," Jane teased back before ordering a beer. "Angela, you're dry. Can I get you something to drink?"

"Oh, that's—"

"I'm gonna guess…Cabernet," Jane said, nodding her head at the bartender.

Angela's hesitant grin grew wider. Feeling flustered, she said to Maura, "You know, you really look a lot like your mom!"

Maura laughed. "I get that quite a bit, which is a tad strange because she's not my biological mother."

"Oh! Really?" Angela said, showing no sign of embarrassment.

Brennan, who had been half-listening to Booth and Hodgins' reminiscences of the times they had been dragged to art museums by various family members, turned suddenly to look at Maura. "Dr. Isles, I have to say I'm starting to get a bit surprised by the amount of things we share in common—I myself was a foster child. Have you ever met your biological parents?"

Shooting a glance at Jane, Maura said, "My father, yes."

"Same with me. Does yours have criminal tendencies?"

"Excuse me?"

"My father is an ex-convict. I was just thinking how amusing it would be if our similarities ran that closely!"

"Yeah, Bones, criminal fathers are really something to laugh about," Booth stuck in, failing to notice Jane putting a consoling hand on Maura's shoulder. "Can we please change the subject to something a little more pleasant? Like the murder?"

Angela sighed. "Yes. A much better conversation topic, Booth."

"Let's not talk shop right now," Jane begged. "Please?"

"Really, Booth," Hodgins said, hopping onto the stool next to Maura that Brennan had just vacated. "We had Jane up in D.C., but we haven't yet had the pleasure of getting to know the Boston version of Dr. Brennan." (Had Brennan not been en route to the bathroom at that moment and thus out of earshot, she would likely have taken Hodgins to task for this analogy).

Maura smiled and said, "Well, Dr—Hodgins, was it?"

"Sure, just call me Hodgins. Or Jack. Whichever!"

"Right—Hodgins. What about me would you like to know?"

"Are you from Boston?"

Jane let out a laugh at that. "Couldn't be farther off there. Miss Maura Isles, a Bostonian? Why, she was educated at the finest academies all over Europe—"

"—before coming to BCU for university," Maura cut in.

"Well, of course the daughter of Dr. Isles would've been raised in Europe," Angela chuckled. "Do you ever miss it?"

With a furtive glance at Jane, Maura took a sip of her drink and answered, "Now and then, yes, I do. The museums and the mere history there are both peerless and priceless, but I do get to visit and that's enough for me. My work is here, and my family is here." She reached out and touched Jane's arm, not realizing that by so doing, she almost caused Jane to choke on her beer. Fortunately she was able to keep it together, limiting herself to grinning back at Maura.

Hodgins looked from one to the other. "You have family here?"

"Well, not literal family," Maura said. "But the Rizzoli's have always treated me like an adopted member of theirs! So I never feel alone."

"Aw, how sweet!" Angela said with a smile.

Jane shrugged. "Ah, well. We figured it was about time we got someone classy and intelligent in the family, so it was only a matter of time before Maura became an honorary Rizzoli."

"Oh Jane, stop putting yourself down. You're very intelligent," Maura said.

"You'll notice she didn't fight me on the whole classy thing," Jane said to the rest of them, garnering some appreciative laughter.

Giving Jane's arm a light slap, Maura said, "That's only because the definition of class so widely depends on who you're speaking with. While one person might say, objectively, that class requires a certain amount of wealth, education, or appearance, I would have to argue with anyone who said you lacked class."

"It was certainly classy of you not to take advantage of me when I was slobbering drunk and threw myself at you," Angela pointed out.

"See?" Maura chirped.

Clearly uncomfortable, Jane shrugged again. "That's very kind of you all, but—"

"Are you turning red, Jane?" Hodgins laughed.

"We used to have a game in our unit to see who could make Jane blush the fastest with the least amount of effort," Booth said, earning himself a hard if good-humored shove to the shoulder. "No really, it's easy. She'd get redder in the face than that ginger kid we had for a while—no easy feat."

"Poor Ryan," Jane sighed.

"I've discovered that there are a quite a few qualities unfairly and rudely attributed to redheads," Maura said, "but they are prone to more visible blushing due to the lower concentration of melanin in their skin."

"Wow," Hodgins said. "I think we need a Trivial Pursuit face-off between you and Dr. Brennan!"

Angela scoffed. "No way, Brennan would lose hard in the pop culture questions."

"Then maybe we should team up," Jane suggested. "FBI vs. BPD. You know, after this whole, uh, murder thing blows over."

Brennan came back just then, and Booth said, "Geez, Bones, you have trouble in there?"

"Pardon?"

"You were gone for a while."

"Oh. No offense Detective Rizzoli, but the Dirty Robber has a filthy bathroom," Brennan said, badgering Hodgins off her seat.

As she went on discussing the meticulous methods she had used to ensure as clean a bathroom encounter as possible (with Jane and Maura being her most attentive listeners), Angela motioned for Booth to come over. Under her breath, she said, "Level with me, Seeley. Are you sure those two aren't together?"

"Who, Jane and Maura?" He barely suppressed a grin when Angela nodded. "Nope, they're not."

"Bull," Angela chuckled. "Have you been watching them, or listening to them?"

Booth put his hands up. "Hey, I'm just telling you what Jane told me. Maura's straight."

Angela raised one eyebrow, and both Booth and Hodgins recognized it as her I'm-going-to-take-this-as-a-personal-challenge face. "Oh, I'm skeptical about that."

Despite himself, Hodgins said, "So. Ange. Which one do you think is hotter?"

"Ooh, I don't know. They're both pretty hot."

Their objectification of women was interrupted when the bartender came over and looking at Booth, said, "Hey pal. Do you think you could ask your friend to stop talking about bowel movements? She's scaring people away from the bar."

Booth sighed and walked over to Brennan, interrupting her with a "Bones! You're making people sick, please stop."

"What? Our topic of discussion is perfectly normal." Facing Jane and Maura, she asked, "Were either of you disturbed?"

Maura was quick to reply, "Oh no, I was quite fascinated!"

"I'm sorry; I was watching the game behind your head," Jane apologized, nodding at the television behind Brennan.

"Atta lesbian!" Booth laughed, high-fiving Jane.

"Booth, don't jump to such crass conclusions," Brennan chastised him. "Not every lesbian has a proclivity for sports. That's just a stereotype."

"Yeah, but she likes sports," Booth said.

"It was just a joke, Dr. Brennan, I'm not offended," Jane said. "But to be fair, you do have a point. A couple years back I had a girlfriend who loathed sports. We probably would've broken up sooner, but the sex was so damn good." An admission she most likely would not have been so quick to share without alcohol's loosening-up influence.

"What do you look for in a woman, Jane?" Angela asked. The way she put it, she was able to make the question sound matter-of-fact and merely curious, not desperate, which Maura filed away as rather impressive.

Jane considered the question before responding, taking a long draw of beer and eying Angela closely. "Let's see. I was sort of kidding about the sports thing—I mean it's a plus if she enjoys watching them with me, but it's not a necessity. My ideal woman is smart, and she can take a joke. She'll make me a better person; she'll …call me out for my faults, but be able to love me in spite of them." It sounded as if she were done here, but then as a last-minute add-on, she threw in, "And I'd be lying if I didn't say I admire objective class in a woman. I think a person should aim to be with someone who's better than her, and I admit that—especially in the past—I was pretty self-conscious about my family's lack of it. Of class. So I can't help appreciating it when I see it in other women."

She just described me, Maura thought, her heart racing. Angela's heart was also racing, as was her imagination.

A meditative silence had followed Jane's words, and when nobody said anything to break it, Jane took it upon herself to do so, and deflect. "Why, Angela, what do you? Or are you the type who only finds herself attracted to women while inebriated?"

The question was honest, not an accusation, so Angela didn't hesitate to reply: "Oh, honey, I find women and men attractive any time of the day in any state of mind."

"Do you look for the same qualities regardless of gender?"

Angela bit her cheek, knowing the cliché response to this question and wondering how much it'd be worth it to subvert Jane's expectations. "Not necessarily, if I may be frank. I prefer men who are gentler and softer; a little goofy. Being smart definitely helps, too. But I totally like being on equal footing with them, whereas with women…" She crossed her legs. "Okay. I hate when men are dicks about, well, the size of their dicks, but I have to say I'm really attracted to women who act like they have a big penis."

Booth choked on his beer, almost spitting onto Maura, who curiously asked, "You mean women who like wearing large, phallic objects?" And Booth choked again.

"Nah, she's talking about swagger," Jane said with a smirk, cuing a simultaneous "I don't know what that means" from Maura and Brennan.

"It's the way she carries herself," Angela explained. "Confident. Sexy. Badass."

"So just to clarify," Hodgins said, "You like cocky women, but guys have to be self-deprecating?"

Angela shrugged. "More or less."

"Well this has been a fine discussion on romantic love, but romance is at best indefinable and flighty," Brennan stated. "All either of you have done is shown how you've bought into society's pressure to romanticize the most ordinary of biological—or shall we say chemical—processes."

Jane prompted her: "Whereas you would…"

"Merely acknowledge the existence of a natural impulse common to all human beings. I don't deny taking pleasure in sexual activities, but I would be rather concerned if I were to suddenly start attaching emotional responses to intercourse."

"And sweetie, that is what concerns the rest of us," Angela said, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, Bones, don't rag on us for attaching an emotion like love to something as intimate as sex," Booth said.

"It wasn't my intention to offend anyone, Booth; I was just pointing out the difference in how we all approach the subject. For example, while I'm sure that intercourse with you would be extremely pleasurable on a physical level, I feel confident in asserting that afterwards we would desire two diametrically opposing outcomes. It wouldn't be worth the ensuing argument."

Maura tipped her glass at Brennan. "Sounds like staying away is a smart decision, then, Dr. Brennan."

Jane's phone rang just then, but before she answered it, she chided her friend: "Maura, stay out of their business!" It was too loud in the bar to hear, so she excused herself and stepped outside for her phone call. The conversation was quick, but apparently a good one, because Jane was smirking when she strode back inside.

"Look, Dr. Isles, swagger!" Brennan exclaimed, pointing excitedly at Jane. "Is that a fair assessment, Angela? Does Detective Rizzoli possess 'swagger'?"

"Hell yes," Angela said with a catlike grin.

"Thank you ladies," Jane said, playing off the compliments much smoother than she felt, mostly to avoid blushing. She quickly changed the subject: "That was Frost. ZZ Top's crew is going to start setting up around ten a.m. tomorrow, Booth. We can try and talk to Brock then." Jane raised an eyebrow when Maura let out a little giggle. "Something amusing about that, Maura?"

"Not really," Maura chuckled. "But you just made an inadvertent rhyme! You said 'talk to Brock!'"

"And you find this humorous?" Brennan asked. "How much have you had to drink?"

"No—it's just that when I was a kid, my classmates used to tease me by calling me 'Maura the bore-a,' because it was as close as they could come to making a rhyme. Ever since then, I've gotten admittedly disproportionate pleasure out of hearing people make legitimate rhymes."

"Looks like Jane was a poet and didn't realize it," Angela joked, eliciting laughter from Jane, Booth, and Hodgins.

"Wait. Why was that funny?" Brennan queried.

As per usual, the responsibility to explain the joke fell to Angela: "When someone accidentally makes a rhyme, you usually say 'you're a poet and didn't know it.'"

Understanding dawned on Brennan's face. "Ah! Thereby creating a rhyme within itself."

"Exactly."

"Well, I much prefer your statement, Angela. Rhyming does not necessarily a poem make, and people who believe such a simplification to be true are sadly mistaken."

"Tragically, irredeemably mistaken," sighed Hodgins, who had penned enough rhyming love letters to Angela to make the hacks at greeting card companies feel good about themselves.

Shortly thereafter, the group finally called it quits. Angela and Hodgins were tired from the drive, and the others from a long day of work. Booth, who'd had the least to drink that night, offered to drive his team back to the hotel in Hodgins' car, and Hodgins was happy to oblige. He was a tad less pleased once they had reached the hotel and Angela asked to share the room with Brennan. While Hodgins and Angela brought their luggage up from the car, Booth pulled Brennan aside for a quick talk in the stairwell.

"Listen, Bones. I know you're a very frank kind of person, and that you don't mean anything by it when you talk about our potential sex life in front of other people. But I do feel like I need to argue a point you brought up. It just wouldn't have been tactful to do it in a group setting."

"All right, Booth, what is it?"

"You don't think it'd be worth it to sleep with me because you dread having an argument afterwards. You think all of our irreconcilable differences would keep us apart, but I do think that's true. Not if you put in your best effort, which I know would be damn good. We're perfect for each other, Bones. Everybody sees that, and I wish you would."

"Booth, I…"

She was almost as surprised as he was to find herself stumped for a ready comeback, and when none came, Booth went in for a kiss. Again surprised, Brennan allowed herself to fall back against the wall, and after a few moments, she began returning the kiss. The conceited part of him wanted to try and change her mind with sex alone, but deep down he knew that was impossible. She wasn't initiating anything now, just responding.

He broke abruptly away, staring into Brennan's shocked eyes as he slowly pulled himself out of her arms. "You don't think that'd be worth fighting for?" he whispered.

Again getting no response, he ducked out of the stairwell to move his things from his and Brennan's room down the hall to the one he'd be sharing with Hodgins. He got there to see his roommate lying face-down on one of the twin beds, groaning into a pillow. Figuring all the alcohol had finally gotten to his friend, Booth said, "Don't worry, Hodgins, you'll feel better tomorrow. By the evening, at least."

But that wasn't it. Hodgins moaned: "Booth! How am I supposed to compete with a really hot lesbian and a really hot ambiguously gay woman?"

And Brennan could hear Booth's uproarious laughter from down the hall.