I don't own the characters. I just like the fluff & banter. I imagine this to be sometime before season 3.
"I'll tell you what," Booth declared, his eyes focused on the traffic ahead of them. "If I never have to see another fashion show, I'll be OK with that."
Booth and Brennan had just wrapped a case of an overzealous assistant who'd attempted to take out half of a competitor's models via poisoning. The poisoning agent made it appear as though the girls had heart failure while simultaneously stripping their body of nutrients, which made it appear as though the heart failure was a result of starvation. It was not their typical case, but Hodgins and Angela were invaluable to figuring out the compounds used. The case put Booth & Brennan smack dab in the middle of Fashion Week, where Booth nearly gave himself whiplash simultaneously ogling the outrageous outfits and then turning away as the models stripped down for their next fittings.
"You do have to admit, some of those outfits were stunning. In fact, I noticed a great deal of cultural influence in Sinead's designs, including some from a tribe in-"
Booth cut her off. "Stunning? I don't think so. Confusing, I'll give you. Things no one would wear on the street? Yes. But I don't think I would say stunning."
"But Booth," she started with a grin. She knew this case had pushed him to his limits of modesty, and had alternately been annoyed and charmed by his averted eyes and blush as the week wore on. "The point of fashion is to express an artistic vision, just as a painter or sculpture would do, but in a medium of fabric."
"And chicken wire, apparently," Booth grumbled. "But what's the point in making art that literally makes people bleed to show the world? Some of those 'works of art' weighed a ton! And," he said, his voice gaining in volume and confidence, "who in the world would choose to be strapped into those torture devices anyway? That's some stuff straight out of the Spanish Inquisition!"
"Actually, it's a common misconception that the Spanish Inquisition employed torture as a punitive measure. In fact, they were only allowed to use it to gather information, and utilized it far less frequently than many of the other tribunals during the Christian Inquisition."
Booth rolled his eyes, "Bones…"
Brennan continued, "I'm only pointing out that as part of the set rules of the Inquisition, they were not allowed to draw blood, so they preferred other methods, such as stretching on the racks. Many of the pieces we saw this week would have been considered too restrictive, given the amount of padding that was required to wear them and the number of scratches they produced." Booth grinned and Brennan grinned in response.
"Although, you do have to admit, some of those models had excellent bone structure," she mused.
"Eh, maybe," Booth replied, "but it was hard to look at some of them. They were just like bean poles. Not exactly my type." Booth hoped his partner was truly focused on whatever had caught her attention to their right.
"Type?" she immediately asked, her eyebrow cocked as she turned to him.
Booth groaned internally. "I just mean physically. I like a little more curve to my women. More, you know," he started and then let trail off. He didn't need to dig himself any deeper.
"Oh, I understand," Brennan said as she nodded. "You prefer a lower waist to hip ratio. Well, that does make sense."
"Excuse me," Booth said, his confusion evident in his voice.
"There are theories that our preferences in the opposite sex are all evolutionarily based. Our brain is hardwired to find attractive the secondary sex characteristics that suggest fertility so that we may choose a partner with which we may extend our genetic line. For example, women prefer a man with a square face and larger nose, because those are indicators of increased testosterone production." Brennan grinned as she watched Booth take one hand from the steering wheel and touch his nose before he could stop himself.
"And in women, studies have proven that a woman with a waist to hip ratio of .7 not only have the ideal amount of estrogen production for fertilization, but are considered more attractive to heterosexual males past the age of puberty. It is a branch of psychology, and you know how I feel about that. But I must say, some of the research I have read does make excellent dinner party conversation fodder."
"Well thanks for taking all of the charm out of the dating world, Bones," Booth responded dryly. "Now I'm gonna have to bring a tape measure to all first dates."
"Given your desire to procreate, it would not be a bad idea. Although the studies suggest that you shouldn't need to do that, based on your ingrained neural responses. You will automatically find attractive a woman with the appropriate ratio."
"Boy, am I glad men don't have to deal with the same arbitrary rules. I couldn't imagine having to deal with that. And I'm not sure there's much we can do about the size of our schnoz."
"Actually, the ideal waist-to-hip ratio for men is .9," Brennan explained. "But don't worry Booth, I would estimate that you are within two hundredths of that ratio, which is within the acceptable range. Your overall build, nose size and shape, and structure are all indicative of virility." Booth's cheeks colored slightly.
"Gosh, Bones, you sure know how to make a guy feel good," he said in an attempt to cover his embarrassment. He fiddled with the controls and clicked the air up a bit. "You know, uh, you're not so bad yourself, even if I don't have a tape measure handy."
"Well, you're right," Brennan stated bluntly, "my waist-to-hip ratio is very close to the ideal range, and I display many of the sex characteristics that are considered the most reliable indicators of attractiveness, such as big eyes, full lips and adequate breast size."
Booth cleared his throat and turned up the AC again. "Yea," he squeaked out. There was a moment of absolute silence in his SUV as he felt something pass between them. He swallowed hard.
Brennan was the first to speak, and Booth couldn't tell if she'd felt the moment, too. "It seems we are both quite the quiche."
"Quiche?! Catch, Bones. We are both quite the catch, like a fish" he corrected.
"Oh, that makes more sense," she responded. "I've always wondered why it was desirable to be compared to a French egg dish."
Booth smiled as he turned in to the employee parking garage. "I'm gonna head back to the office and get the report started. Founding Fathers at eight?"
"Yes," she said. She leaned over to give him a kiss on the cheek. "See you then."
Booth stammered for a moment before he managed to get out, "yea, OK." She was already halfway out the door already. "Yea, OK, see you then Bones," he tried again, and she smiled as the door closed. Booth took a few deep breaths and tried to temper the butterflies that appeared with her kiss. It was a boundary they hadn't really crossed in years, and never so casually as she'd just done it. Partners, Booth reminded himself. They were just partners.