Thanks for the feedback and support! I am still working on the next chapter(s) of 'X Marks the Spot.' I didn't forget about it, I'm just not quite happy with what I've written so far. Until then, on with this fic. The first part of this references Michael Jackson's death, however no disrespect is meant.

Enjoy!

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"I've been meaning to ask you," Brennan mused, her arm still linked through Booth's as they strolled down the sidewalk away from the Royal Diner.

"What's up?"

"That Michael Jordan guy you were talking about yesterday, is he really popular?"

"Jordan was one of the greatest basketball players ever, Bones. I don't remember talking about him though."

"Basketball? No, the musician. The one whose dance moves you imitated."

Booth, now understanding, noted Brennan's smirk as she seemed to replay Booth's dance routine from the night before. "Jackson. The musician is Michael Jackson."

"Oh. And he's popular, I take it?"

Booth glanced at her and nodded vigorously. "Well, he died last year, but he's still one of the best-selling artists of all time. And you're really never heard of him? Not even the Jackson 5?"

Brennan shook her head.

"Wow," Booth uttered disbelievingly. "Did you ever listen to any music?"

"Of course I did, Booth. You've seen my music collection."

"What, Tibetan Throat Singers?" Booth smirked.

"There's other stuff," she insisted. "Foreigner, Cyndi Lauper, Coldplay."

"Okay, I'll give you the first two, but Coldplay doesn't count."

"Why not?"

"They just don't."

"That's not a valid argument, Booth," she declared, tightening her grip on his arm.

"It's just not normal to know Coldplay and not M.J."

"I'm content with my music choices, an example of 'to each their own,' if you will, however in this instance, I will allow you to educate me on his music."

Booth grinned. "Just name the time and place."

"What are you doing the rest of the day?" she asked uncharacteristically.

"Seriously?" Booth questioned, pace slowing even more.

"Yeah. Convince me his music is as good as you say it is."

"Game on, Bones," he finished with a definitive nod. "You're really not going to work today?"

"Nah," Brennan told him, wrinkling her nose. "We worked all night. Besides, it's Saturday. The weekend is supposed to be work-free and fun," she said, bumping against him playfully. "I learned that from you."

His grin matched hers as they continued walking.

The tone shifting to a more serious one, Brennan spoke. "I'm sorry about earlier, Booth. I know I upset you by bringing up John Wilkes Booth…"

"Bones…"

"Just let me finish," she pleaded, taking his ensuing silence as a cue to continue. "Our ancestors influence who we are and what we do." Sensing he was ready to interrupt again and knowing what his argument would be, she quickly continued. "We learn from what our ancestors did right, as well as from their mistakes." Brennan paused for a moment, letting her words sink in. "You're a good man, Booth," she told him, pulling him to a stop and forcing him to look at her. "I know you love this country, and you'll do anything to protect it. So, as a proud citizen of this country--and as a friend--thank you."

Booth glanced down, embarrassed, yet utterly flattered by his partner's compliment. "Thank you, Bones. I can't tell you what that means to me."

Smiles were exchanged, a cherished relationship strengthening in the course of only a few moments.

Eventually a smirk crept onto Booth's face. "Come on, Bones," he insisted, pulling him after her. "We have to make a quick stop. I'm in the mood for pudding."

"But we just ate breakfast!"

"Doesn't matter, there's always room for pudding! Though I prefer mine without bones."

Brennan glanced at him, trying to gauge his response.

Booth chuckled and jokingly bumped against her as she had done minutes before. "I'll gladly have pudding with Bones, just not with bones."

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Thanks for reading! Guess I can scrap that half-written 'Is-Booth-A-Descendant-Of-John-Wilkes-Booth?' fic…*curses muse for only producing only half of a fic*