Work Text:
Brennan is never hard to find. The entire lab gravitates towards her as soon as she leaves her office. Either looking for guidance or awaiting instructions on their next task. She is the conductor of their little orchestra and all sections know to look to her. The lab may be emptier than usual but the effect is still in place. You can trace her by the movement of the rest of the team and Angela does from her vantage point high above them at the sofas. She wants time with her best friend but she wants it alone, and she knows that she will only get that once the woman heads to her office.
That is Brennan's safe space. Where she goes if she wants peace. A place to concentrate without interruptions and the team in general respects that, only ever choosing to knock on the door if they have urgent updates. There is one exception, Booth, who for someone so obsessed with psychology, doesn't seem to understand his partner's boundaries particularly well. He is the only one who will walk right in, announcing his presence at the same time as stating his purpose. Loudly. It drives Brennan to distraction.
Angela's business isn't exactly what you would call urgent. If anything it is an issue that has been with her for a long time. Probably as long an Brennan has called her best friend. She wears the moniker proudly, but it stings. The pin of the badge on her front sticking her with every breath. It isn't the friendship, Brennan's friendship is rare and beautiful, much like the woman herself. It is limitations of it. The boundaries it puts in place for the both of them, though Angela is fairly sure she is the only one bounded by them as it is only her that wants more.
But she has lied to Brennan today and she never lies to Brennan. It doesn't sit well with her, it makes that pin badge draw blood. Just a bead, but enough to stain the cloth it’s pinned to. The problem is that correcting the lie could result in the badge being removed entirely, then all that would be left is the needle prick and Angela thinks it might go as deep as her heart.
She reminds herself that her best friend is nothing if not brilliant and rational. Rational people don't throw away years of friendship over one-sided attraction. Angela has been crushing on her for years and it hasn't stopped them thus far. It is that rationality she clings to as she watches the woman stride towards her office, unleashing her hair from the ponytail she had it held back in, an act that tells Angela that she is unlikely to return to the lab soon. There is no way she would be hunched over bones with her hair getting in her face.
Time to take her chance.
Half an hour later she returns to the same spot. It wasn't that Brennan wasn't in the mood to talk, quite the opposite, but once she had started there was no stopping her and there had been no good time to drop in an admittance of longing to a heart-breaking recount of the day Brennan's parents had disappeared. It was not the time, so Angela had done what a best friend should do in that situation, put her own matters aside and comforted Brennan the best way she could.
She can still see her through the glass walls of her office, pouring over paperwork that no doubt contains complex analysis and endless data that might as well be double Dutch to the artist. All signs of the vulnerability that her best friend was showing only minutes ago gone. Brennan is doing what she always does to cope, she's turned to the facts and Angela has given her the space she needs to do that.
Angela is fairly sure her moss green top will be crimson by the time she admits her truth.
She draws in a deep breath, forces herself to look away from her best-friend as she uses her ridiculous intelligence to solve yet another mystery and heads down to her own work space. She is the festive one and despite her own funk, she is fully aware that if anyone is going to bring the festive cheer it is her. The team are relying on that, all already bummed about the fact they are here instead of elsewhere.
Bloody stupid virus.
If it wasn't for that Angela would likely be too drunk to think about anything serious right now. Possibly dancing with her best friend. Her friend drunk too. The two of them close. The excuse of alcohol easy.
Happy fucking Christmas.
Doesn't stop her from spending the next hour or so digitising a Christmas tree and running it through the Angelator.
She is, inherently, someone who wants to make people smile and she cares for those lab rats, more than she ever thought she would.
When evening comes it’s natural that the two women share Brennan's office. After all, they are close friends, so what could be the problem? Angela is relieved, far too sober to want to sleep in a space with any of the others. It isn't like this is a new occurrence between her and Brennan, though granted her office sofa cushions are a novelty, they do usually have a bed each even when sharing a room. Apart from that one time, but they were so drunk they had fallen asleep where they sat down, still in their clothes from the night out. Angela doesn’t cherish that night, she cherishes the morning that followed. Waking up with Brennan’s face only inches from her own, seeing her eyes flicker open, taking on a hue she had never seen before, a soft powder blue, an easy smile forming soon after. One that was for her and her alone.
It is a memory she recalls often, then tries not because of the hopelessness of it.
Angela having just finished arranging the cushions on the floor, stands to see Brennan only a metre or so away, looking at her as if she is a puzzle that needs solving.
“What is it Sweetie?”
“You wanted to tell me something earlier,” she states, those piercing eyes, unflinching.
“Oh it doesn’t matter,” Angela tries to shrug off, grabs the blanket and finds herself folding it despite being about to use it.
“You sure?” Brennan from when they first met would have taken Angela’s first response without question and she finds herself regretting having influenced the woman to pay a little more attention to the feeling of others.
“I just said something to you earlier and it wasn’t quite accurate,” Angela drops the blanket, knowing that if she continues to hold it she will just keep messing with it, “and well I know how you hate inaccuracies.”
“Would you like to correct yourself?” asks Brennan, business-like, arms folded across her chest. Angela has to raise her eyes not to stare at the way her breasts push together unsupported due to them having already changed into their makeshift sleepwear. In Brennan’s case some tracksuit bottoms kept in a drawer for one of the anthropologist’s martial art workouts, with a simple tank top and it makes Angela’s mouth go dry and palms sweat.
“If I was to kiss you it would be in a lesbian way,” says Angela drawing all her strength from somewhere to get the words out without shaking and meet those intense, observing eyes.
“Are you suggesting that because the act of two women kissing is intrinsically lesbian or is it because you figure that at least one participant must be lesbian, or at least non-straight, for the kiss to occur?” asks Brennan, her head tilting to the side.
“What?” Angela asks more because the fear has gripped her rather than the question. If she had been able to think through the fog in her brain she would have guessed that her friend could only ever treat that comment as some sort of hypothesis to be unpicked. Unwoven with care, each step meticulously noted and then sorted into the individual strands so each could be inspected individually before being rewoven and understood as a braided vibrant thread. A thread that Angela feels pulling her towards the wonder woman in front of her, features tensed in thought.
That one word is enough invitation for Brennan to voice her logic, “Well a kiss is generally instigated by one person, but the sexual preference of both parties isn’t always known exactly. I think it can be fair to assume that in the case of homosexual sex, the one instigating is at least non-straight. Though I suppose they could be curious but I am led to believe that not everyone has the same drive for experimentation that I do, even if that would provide conclusive evidence.”
Just because this approach of analysis makes sense with Brennan, does not mean that Angela is on the same page, “You need to be clearer Sweetie.”
“I am suggesting,” says Brennan labouring the word in the way she can’t help when someone isn’t keeping up with her ridiculously fast brain, “that if one was not certain of their sexuality kissing someone of the same gender they find attractive would provide an indicator but not necessarily a conclusion. For that I would suggest intercourse, and to be statistically significant, with multiple partners. After all the variables of a kiss between a man and a woman are not as distinct as the variables during sex.”
“I think we are getting ahead of ourselves,” says Angela, her mind reeling from the fact that Brennan has said sex a number of times. Granted her friend has never felt the need to shy away from such discussions and as usual it is being discussed as clinically as possible, but just because Brennan is talking about it scientifically does not stop Angela from imagining it artistically. Her and Brennan. Glorious and vivid.
“I am told that skipping the kissing part is socially abnormal and it is proven that endorphins are released when salvia is exchanged, though personally I have never found it to be particularly pleasurable and do not consider it requirement as a precursor to sex.”
“It is Sweetie, trust me on this one.”
“Past experience tells me it is not gratifying.”
“That’s… sad.” Angela wants to punch every person that had ever kissed Brennan, how could they not have realised the magnificence of the opportunity they had and committed every cell in their being to making Brennan feel beautiful and desired. Things she most definitely is.
“Is it?” replies Brennan honestly, “I hadn’t really considered it.” The moment of self-reflection passes and her best friend returns to full scientific enquiry. “Back to the original statement you posed though… did you say that it would be lesbian because we are both women or because you are leaving the possibility open that one of us might be lesbian therefore correcting your previous statement but in a manner that lacks clarity?”
“Well I was amending my statement,” Angela offers trying to follow Brennan’s train of thought without tripping herself up.
“But you didn’t lack clarity which leaves only one option and means that you have already assessed me as non-straight.”
That is certainly not what she has done, quite the opposite, so she doesn’t manage to filter her response, “What?!”
“You said earlier that it wouldn’t be lesbian and Booth says that normally people’s initial statements are the ones that reflect their gut instincts, which makes sense because they normally haven’t had chance to think their answer through fully. So you changing your statement suggests that over the passage of time you have considered more variables and feel it is necessary.”
“Sweetie for someone who talks a hell-a-lot of sense you are making none of it,” Angela isn’t sure if her statement is correct or if she just can’t quite compute what her friend is saying. All she knows is that the look on Brennan’s face is not one of repulsion, it is one of intense focus.
“Which suggests to me,” Brennan continues, steamrollering over Angela’s input, “that you stated it wouldn’t be lesbian because from your perspective you are not attracted to women or at least to me. That was your initial position. You have now had time to think about it and have amended your statement so I can only assume that having thought on the scenario of us kissing longer that you have assumed that I am not straight.”
This if the first thing that Angela hears with perfect clarity. “Are you not straight?” she asks, her heartbeat so loud she can hear it in her ears.
“I think I am,” says Brennan with such ease. As if she had been asked if she was ready to go home after a night out. Angela can only blink at her, sure that she must have caught up with too many double negatives, because if she hasn’t then Brennan has just told her that she might be interested in women and that cannot be possible. “I have not done the required experimentation to be conclusive, women tend to find me intimidating. Or at least that is what I assume they mean by prickly.”
“Not all of them,” says Angela, kicking herself for how keen she sounds to her own ears, “I don’t.”
“No, you don’t,” Brennan’s voice is as soft as she has ever heard it, her eyes the same powder blue as that morning that Angela treasures in her heart.
It is this that gives Angela the courage she needs. She takes another look and meets Brennan’s gaze, the intensity is still there, but there is a tenderness that is unusual in her best friend. “Thank you for telling me.”
“It is not a secret, but even if it was, I would tell you before anyone, you are the most important person in my life Ange.”
“Your logic is flawed though.”
Her head cocks again, her brow furrowing in confusion and Angela longs to reach out and smooth it gently but doesn’t. “I didn’t assume you weren’t straight.”
“Then why?”
“I changed my statement because I am not straight not because I thought you were.”
“Why not?”
“Too much hope.” Those three words seem to confuse Brennan more, not less so Angela takes pity. “I am always careful not to suggest attraction to women round you because I never wanted to risk our relationship.”
“I don’t understand.” The words were redundant, Angela could have extrapolated as much from the look on her face.
“I was worried that if you knew I found you attractive that it would cause issues between us.”
“Why? I find you very attractive.”
“You do?!”
“Yes, you have excellent bone structure, the formation of the zygomatic bones is particularly pleas-,” her words peter out as Angela steps forward, pulled by that reassembled thread, stopping close enough that they are breathing each other’s air.
“Brennan?”
“Yes?”
“If I kiss you,” says Angela, very deliberately, “it will be lesbian and you will be able to tell.”
“Ok.”
“Ok as in I can kiss you?” asks Angela, needing to be sure that this is what her best friend wants.
“I would like that,” the words are steady but so very quiet, just enough to fill a moment just between the two of them.
It starts soft, Angela not wanting to overwhelm her friend, to come on too strong after so many years of build up to his, but she cannot help but let her fingertips trace the edge of Brennan’s jaw as their lips meet each other’s again and again. As soon as she runs her tongue over the seam of Brennan’s mouth whatever has been stilling the anthropologist breaks. Brennan surges forward, a force to be reckoned with and Angela can only just hold her ground. The fight is wonderful, makes her feel desperate and challenged. As if Brennan is trying to prove that she is the one who wants her more. Her hands now in Angela’s hair, the way her tongue moves against hers, the noises she pours into her mouth. Totally uninhibited and blissfully untamed. As if for the first time she is able to express herself fully. Or maybe Angela is projecting, because that is every bit how she feels as she clings to the other woman and revels in finally learning the taste of her kiss.
This is undoubtedly the best Christmas present Brennen could have given her.
When they part, their mouths are the only bits of them to separate, as if they cannot bear to release their hold. Intertwined by that invisible but undeniable thread and unable to let go. One of Brennan’s hands is on the small of her back having slipped underneath the hem of her top, the other resting on the shoulder strap, her thumb sweeping idly over Angela’s collarbone. Brennan is the first to talk, her eyes closed, a surprisingly peaceful expression on her face, “It has proven one theory and disproved another.”
“Oh?”
“I am definitely not straight,” confirms Brennan, her eyes opening and fixing Angela who cannot stop beaming at her, “and I was wrong about kissing, it is just as good as sex.” Her pupils are dilated, leaving the thinnest rim of soft blue round the edge and Angela doesn’t need to be a scientist to know that is a sign of arousal.
That confidence that Angela normally has, the confidence that has been robbed of her due to this connection between them meaning far more than any of her previous, returns full pelt. She smirks at Brennan, curls her fingers on one hand into the Anthropologists hips, her other threads into her hair, pulls gently to position her head, extending her neck so she can dip her head and run the tip of her nose up the column of her throat. “Or think of it another way, if I can kiss you this good, imagine how I can make you feel when we make love.”
Brennan makes a groaning noise, catches herself, still argues, “Sex is a physical act.”
Angela wouldn’t have her any other way, it is more challenge and she welcomes it, smiles against her skin. “You will feel the love, Sweetie.” It is a promise to both of them. One she demonstrates with a sensuality she naturally possesses as she licks her ear lobe into her mouth, biting gently and making Brennan’s breath hitch. “I was right about the kissing; I’ll be right about the sex too,” she purrs directly into her ear.
The shiver that goes through Brennan tells her she will be.
Maybe this Christmas isn’t so bad after all.