"You don't."

Brennan shrugged, leaning over her microscope thing again. "Believe it or not," she told Booth, "it's true."

Booth shook his head, grinning. No way, no way did she. "I don't," he said, as she continued to make enlargements of the x-rays in the computer, occasionally stopping to press a button, or write something down. "Now Angela," he continued, "I believe. She'd do it in public, depending on the place. But not you."

Brennan finally stood straight, frowning at him in that indignant way she did almost well enough to be patented by now. "Why don't you believe I'd burp when I'm at home?"

"You're just." Booth waved his hand. "You're just not."

"I'm not what?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

Booth shrugged. The phrase he was not going to finish that sentence was 'not relaxed enough', because it was likely to get him at least two days of icy silence, and he really needed her willing to speak to him if they were going to finish this identification before the director started getting up Booth's ass. "You just never struck me as the type," he said.

Brennen pursed her lips, but then the computer flashed a new view of the skull x-ray and she turned around to study it. He sighed in relief, and then looked completely innocent when she whipped around to stare at him again. Sometimes it was a blessing she missed the more subtle body language cues. How anyone could when they could examine a bone fragment and tell you what blade was used to chop the body up, he couldn't fathom, but it came in handy nonetheless.

Booth looked upwards and mouthed 'thank you' when, after a few seconds, Brennan just turned around again and went back to his partial skull.