A/N: I really missed writing these two. Thankfully, I needed a breather for one of my fics in another fandom, so I had no reason to resist. Timeline could be anywhere from season two to early season five, I guess.

Oh, and before I forget...I own nothing. *sadface*

Brennan had only taken a few steps inside the bar – five, to be exact – when one of its more satisfied customers staggered towards her, blocking her path.

"What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?" he asked her, placing one hand on his hip and the other against what he thought was a post. Problem was, there was no post; nothing but empty space lay beside him, which caused him to nearly tumble down the floor.

"Girl is a term that pertains to pre-adolescent females, which obviously I am not. Woman would be the correct word," she explained as she watched him get back up on his unsteady feet. He nodded slowly, a dopey grin still in place, before leaning forward.

"All right then, woman," he said, putting emphasis on the last word. Brennan took a step back, her hands instinctively positioned in front of her in case he got too close for comfort. She was already a good distance away and yet the smell of vodka in his breath lingered.

"As for your question, I'm here to pick-up my friend Angela. She seemed to have consumed too much alcohol again and therefore requires my assistance in getting back to her apartment without any untoward incidents," she told him as she tried, rather unsuccessfully, to peer over his shoulder. The guy was rather tall- he obstructed her view of the rest of the place pretty easily.

"Oh, Angela eh? It kinda sounds like angel…" He trailed off for effect before continuing on. "Speaking of angels, am I dead? 'Cause this must be heaven!"

"Hypothetically speaking, this tavern would be more of a representation of hell rather than heaven. Heavy drinking is a deplorable activity in the religious context and thus would be found in hell," she reasoned in the same definitive tone. He didn't seem to be all that interested, though, and his response confirmed that.

"Whee-woo, whee-woo, whee-woo!"

"I'm sorry?"

"That's the sound the ambulance would make when they come to pick me up 'cause my heart stopped when I laid my eyes on you," the guy explained, determined to start a non-scientific conversation. Unfortunately for him, this was the last chance he would get.

"Whoa, whoa. Hold up there buddy," Booth warned, standing in between them. He casually slung his arm on the drunken man's shoulder and led him towards a corner. "That's my partner you're getting yourself all up on. If you dare as much as to lay a single finger on her I will not hesitate to pull out my gun and shoot you square in the head. Did I make myself clear?"

"Ok, ok. Chill out, man. I won't hurt your girl," the guy stammered, clearly afraid. Almost immediately after he said this, Brennan's earlier words came to his mind. "I mean woman! Whatever!"

"I am not his girlfriend. We're work partners," Brennan clarified, overhearing a bit of their exchange.

"Well it sure seems like it. I mean, who gets all worked up when they see someone hitting on their co-workers?" he challenged, his words slightly slurred. She was about to answer him back, probably with some scientific mumbo-jumbo as he called them, but Booth decided to save her the trouble.

"I thought I made myself clear? Now unless you want to spend the rest of your life eating blended food from a catheter, I suggest you move along quietly," he threatened again, looking at him straight in the eye with the same scathing look he had for murderers.

"All right, I'll leave! Just please don't shoot me!" the man promised, hurriedly running away the moment he let go of him. The two watched him as he disappeared into the crowd.

"I told you to wait for me outside," Booth reminded her, his tone an odd mix of firmness and concern.

"That was completely uncalled for, Booth. I'm perfectly capable of defending myself," she told him, ignoring his reminder. She knew that he was concerned about her safety but even she had to admit that he had crossed the line.

"He was looking at you like a starved vulture!"

"His narrowed eyes were most likely caused by his inebriation. In his state, it takes double the effort to see one's surroundings as they truly are," she quickly countered back. He stared at her for a moment, unsure of what to say next; she did have a point, after all. She was right. He was being too rash.

"And besides, he was only using some stick-up lines on me. Terribly unoriginal ones, at that," she tried to offer as consolation, noting his distress.

Booth smiled, amused at her choice of words. "It's pick-up lines, Bones. They're called pick-up lines. If a snatcher used one of those on their victims, I don't think it'll work out well," he corrected her, his anger now gone.

Brennan only shook her head. "I don't get it," she began.

"Don't get what?"

"Why do men use them in the first place when they actually repel women instead of attract them as they were intended for?" she asked, completely serious.

Booth only laughed, much to her confusion. "I beg to differ Bones. It all depends on the delivery of the line," he disagreed with her. Before she could even reply, he leaned towards her, almost closing the distance between them. He placed a hand on her arm, holding her with a firm yet gentle grip. She froze when she felt his breath on her face.

"If you thought falling out of heaven was one heck of a ride, then wait 'til you fall in love with me," he purred seductively, whispering the latter part in her ear. He stayed in this position when he asked her what she thought about his attempt. "How's that?"

Save for her eyes widening, her mouth gaping, and her heart beating a mile a minute, Brennan hadn't moved a muscle. She was only able to do so when he finally moved back. But even then, she was still far from being at ease. She thought it was irrational, being overwhelmed by mere proximity. That was the least of her concerns, though, as he was still waiting for her answer.

"That was…" She trailed off, searching her wide-as-the-Pacific vocabulary for the perfect adjective – "…great. You have certainly proved me wrong." – and failed.

Brennan smiled. The look he had on his face as her words sunk in was simply priceless. It wasn't everyday, after all, that he was able to disprove her argument. He felt so accomplished and it showed. As much as he'd love to wallow in his victory, though, they still had some unfinished business. "So, uh, I guess we better find An-"

"Hey everyone! Look who's here! This here is Special Agent Sexy Booth and my bestest friend in the world, Brennan," a familiar voice called out, cutting him off. They turned towards the far end of the room and true enough, Angela was there. She was clearly drunk- she stood on top of a table with a half-full mug of beer in hand.

"Found her," Brennan said before they made their way over towards their inebriated friend.

"All right, party's over girl," Booth told her, helping her down and, much to her objection, taking her unfinished bottle of booze and setting it back on the counter.

As they walked out of the bar, Brennan turned to Angela, a question that bothered her in mind. "You do know that there's no such word as bestest right?"

As I've said, I haven't been writing them in a quite a while, so I hope I did them justice. The last pick-up line was made by yours truly btw. (which would explain its fail-ness.) Do tell me what you think. Reviews are like crack to me. ;))