A/N: I wanted to thank everyone who has reviewed this story. Your reviews are the only reason I picked this story back up, as I seriously lost my way at the end. So to get myself back on track, I revamped each chapter to flow better and lead me towards an ending. Thank you again for your support and encouragement, it really means a lot.

PROLOGUE (This scene is taken directly from the Season 3 teaser)

Tuesday, a few minutes before 7pm

Booth and Brennan sat in the waiting room of a psychiatrist, who was contracted by the F.B.I. Both were anxiously awaiting the start of the mandated appointment and were trying to keep their minds off of the upcoming meeting. Brennan busied herself with a scientific journal found in the waiting lounge, while Booth fussed with his tie and let his eyes wander. Both were trying not to let the anticipation get the better of their nerves.

"Did you know that there's a credible theory that singing came before language?" questioned Brennan while perusing an article.

"Yeah, it's called humming," Booth replied sarcastically. "What do you think this is really all about?"

"Well, I'd say that language is about cooperative tasking, while singing is about the celebration of existence."

"No, not that this, I mean this. Why are they sending us to a shrink?"

"What did the letter say?"

Booth reached inside his jacket to pull an envelope from his pocket. Pulling the letter out and unfolding it, he had just begun to read when Brennan snatched it from his hands. Booth rolled his eyes at her controlling nature. "And she talks about my alpha traits," he thought.

Brennan scanned the letter and read out loud. "Please report for an ongoing psychological evaluation of your effectiveness as a team?" Brennan turned towards Booth, "Did we do something wrong?"

"Not that I know," assured Booth.

"Huh, maybe it's because you keep hitting people."

"Who'd I hit?"

"My father."

"Your father hit me first."

"Well you could've pulled out your gun and said 'Stop! In the name of the law.'"

"What am I? A Mounty? Maybe it's because they think I need a rest from working with you," Booth suggested as he took the letter back, folding it into its envelope and returning it safely inside his jacket.

"What, physically or intellectually?"

"Huh, ha ha! No, neither of those, I can totally keep up with you. All right? You're not what you'd call an easy woman."

Looking at Booth strangely, Brennan replied, "Thank you. Obviously."

"Nah, I didn't mean... You see? Do you see? Do you see how much effort this is?"

"You shouldn't have taken out your frustrations with me not being easy on my father."

"Look, I'm sorry that I hit your father. All right? But to be fair, he resisted arrest and I thought hitting him was better than shooting." Obviously irritated, Booth decided to switch to a more neutral topic for their bickering. "And if singing came before speech, then what did they do? Just go, 'La, la, la'?"

"No, because 'La' is speech."

"La's not a word, it's a sound. You can't use it in Scrabble."

"In France, 'la' means 'the'. You can use it in French Scrabble."

"This is the U.S.A., 'la' is not a word and this will never be France."

They fell silent at the end of their latest round of ongoing debates. Both now keenly felt the uncomfortable tension of waiting.

She stole quick glances at Booth while thinking of a way to smooth things over. After releasing a deep sigh, Brennan relented, "Thank you for not shooting my father."

Booth smirked slightly at Brennan's apology. "You're welcome, Bones." Nodding his head in agreement to their truce.

"I hope they don't split us up," confided Brennan in a very worried tone.

"Yeah, we work great together, right?"

"We're awesome. We're the two best murder investigators in…this room," gestured Brennan to their surroundings.

Booth started smiling broadly before giving in to deep chuckles. "Don't think I don't know what you did just then."

Brennan chewed gently on her bottom lip, trying to hide the smile over her joke.