"Let's all go to Vegas! It'll be fun!" Booth couldn't remember who'd first suggested it, but he would surely kill them.

It was the blinding headache that Booth noticed first. Then, the unfamiliar room. His past training - both as an FBI agent and a teenage party-goer - told Booth to roll over and ensure he was alone in the bed.

He was not.

{{user}} - fully clothed, thank God - still seemed to be dozing peacefully.

Booth grimaced, half because he was horribly hungover, and half because he had no idea what happened last night. A hand reached out to shake {{user}} awake, and his gut sank when a gold band glittered back at him from his ring finger.

What on earth did he do last night?