A/N: Again, the drabble takes place while Wren and John are flatmates, but not an item. Bri, Wynni's OC is Phil's bride, a lovely bubbly American, and the drabble of how her and Wren have become mates will be posted soon :D

{Co-written with Wynni}

Wren has finished watching The Wrath of Khan half an hour ago, but she is still bedraggled by Spock's death, and then her mobile telephone rings.

"Heyas Wren, how're you this evening?" Bri's voice is gleeful, but then she notices Wren's stuffy nose and scratchy voice, "What's wrong? Did Big'n'Buff screw up? Tell me he did and I'll come kick his ass from here to glory."

"Oh, no, of course not. John is on a night shift today. And Bri, he would never! I have been watching a film and a character passed away, and..." Wren's voice breaks, and she delicately sniffs into a tissue.

"Oh chick, I get it, you can't know how I bawled like a baby over Old Yeller, Obi Wan, Mercutio, and twentyleven dozen others. It can hurt like a sonovagun. I know what you need! A PJ party!" Bri's voice is a squeal, and Wren squirms on the li-lo. She really isn't cordial towards the idea of a crowd at the moment, and also she is certain under no circumstances she wants to show other people her night garments. She emits a pensive 'um,' but then Bri remembered whom she is conversing with, "Oh, it ain't a real party. It's just us hanging out together in our PJ's, eatin' pizza and popcorn, and drinkin' enough co-cola to float the Titanic, and singing karaoke."

Wren doesn't know what karaoke is and she is planning to let Bri know once she arrives that Wren has no talent for singing, but spending time in Bri's company is a very exciting idea. They quickly arrange time, and Wren rushes in the kitchen to prepare refreshments. She also pulls out a new set she purchased last week. A girl assisting her in the lingerie shop explained to her that the material was called flannel, and Wren immediately took fancy to the pair of red and white checkered shorts, as well as the white sleeveless shirt that the girl called a vest. The vest is slightly too narrow for Wren's taste, it clings to her skin, but she reminds herself she is to spend the evening in the female company. The flat is warm, John keeps the temperature high for Wren's sake, and Wren changes twisting in front the tall mirror in her room. John brought in from a place called Eye Key Ya, and then laughed for a long time at Wren's confusion when she tried to google it. She turns her back to the mirror, and with pleasure she sees a playful bow on her waist above her buttocks. It is red and has a festive feel to it. The shop assistant winked to Wren and said, "I bet he'll enjoy unwrapping this gift, love." Wren blushed heavily of course, but even the insinuations of the girl did not stop her from purchasing it. The fabric is soft, and Wren feels warm and free in this attire. She has developed quite a taste to the garments of this world. They are less restricting than anything she has ever worn home.

Bri arrives like a gust of stormy wind, carrying myriads of bags, her gorgeous soft hair in a halo around her head, bright emerald scarf around her neck. She sheds her jacket, untangles out of her outer garments, and soon enough she is standing in front of Wren in a rather remarkable attire. It is a one piece garment, made of what Wren now knows is called fleece, it has buttons up front and covers Bri's legs and feet. Overall, Wren has seen such garments of babes. Bri's one is bright purple, and Wren thinks that Bri looks charming. But Wren is concerned.

"Bri, you might be overdressed. The flat is rather warm. Do you have a spare garment?"

"No worries! I got it covered," Bri announces merrily and pulls out a tee and much lighter trousers out of another of her numerous packages. She quickly changes in the bathroom and hopping out of it, she proclaims, "Alright, Wren, first things first. Food goes on the table, we turn on the funkiest music there is and dance our butts off." The bags are pushed into Wren's hands, and the hurricane that is Bri Davis, soon to be Durinson picks Wren up and twirls her.

An hour later Harleys & Indians is blaring from John's Mac plugged into loudspeakers, and the girls are dancing in the middle of the living room. It took Bri about half an hour to breach Wren's defense lines and now the redhead is twirling and hopping, and Bri squeals, "Woooohoooo Wren! You are smokin! Daaang girl can you dance! With that perky little luscious backside, you should be able to shake it like a maraca."

Wren is laughing, this is such a strange world! She has realised after a while that her unassuming appearance seems to be favoured here, and although she is not the person to build her sense of self-worth on male attentions, she finds living in this bizarre place has its benefits. It is pleasant to not stand out or be looked down at.

"Wren, check this out. This here's a belly dancer's move. Watch my hips! Shakira, eat your heart out." Wren watches Bri with widened eyes.

"Bri, I could never replicate that! Unlike you," Wren looks at Bri's enticing curves, "I do not possess the right..." Wren trails away and vaguely gestured around her hips.

"Equipment?" Wren giggles bashfully, Bri is grinning widely, "And don't be ridiculous, it's not about the size of your Schwartz, it's about how well you can handle it." Wren giggles again.

"I know this line, Bri, John showed me the film last week."

"Good for him. Man's got good taste." Bri rushes to the laptop, and a new song starts. "It's called I like to Move It and it's perfect for you to shake your little tailfeathers the best way possible." Wren decides to enjoy life in all its extraordinary facets and obliges. They spend another half an hour 'shaking their tailfeathers' and at some point Bri points at the dark screen of John's telly. Wren can see her reflection, and she starts laughing loudly. The bow is red and bright and its cadence is rather sensual. Wren blushes but again, no one will see it but Bri.

They are sitting on John's li-lo eating icecream from the small pails Bri brought it in. Wren would assume the dish is to be served in bowls but Bri explains that "it don't taste right on a plate, it goes flat or some such." Wren likes ice cream, the ones she tried before were excessively sweet, but Green Tea Frozen Yogurt turns out just perfect, and the coldness is exciting. She shortly thinks that just for this treat she wouldn't want to leave this world.

"So, Wren," Bri drawls out, "Just presactly how does our dear darling Dark 'n' Dangerous strike you?" Wren freezes with a full spoon of ice cream in her mouth. She clenches the handle and gives Bri a questioning look. Bri is staring at her expectantly, and Wren swallows with difficulty.

"What do you mean, Bri?"

"I mean, Sugarbelle, if'n you crooked your littlest finger the right way, it'd be wearin' a ring in no time." At this moment Wren regrets that instead of classes of Spanish that she is taking in the rehab, they do not offer any Bri tongue education. Crooked fingers remind Wren of rheumatism, and she does not understand the significance of a ring. To gain some time she stuffs another spoonful of Green Tea Yogurt in her mouth and cringes from excruciating pain between her brows.

"Bri," Wren's voice is tortured, "Could you please be more clear? What are you asking me about?"

"Oh for pity's sake. John likes you like horses like clover, Shug. How do you feel about him?" Little became clearer to Wren, but at least now she understands the topic of their conversation.

"I do think John is cordial towards me too, Bri," Wren smiles softly, "And I am endlessly grateful to him for everything he has done for me. I still cannot believe my fortune, to encounter him the moment I..." Wren's speech is interrupted by a loud thud of Bri's head making contact with the table surface. Wren freezes with her mouth half-open, and Bri straightens up and gives her a glare.

"Wren, do you mean to tell me all you feel is grateful towards that man?"

"Of course not!" Wren's hands fly up in the air in an energetic gesture, "I am happy to say I consider us friends. We spend such lovely time together, and we share many pursuits, and..." Wren's voice trails away under a sardonically cocked brow of her friend.

Wren pretends to be very interested in the Nutrition Value notice on the ice cream pail as she herself knows her answer was hardly all truth. No, she is not allowing herself think about how dear John is to her, and how fragile her current bliss is. If she doesn't confess even to herself what she feels, he will never find out, and her unrequited feelings for him will not cause awkwardness and she won't have to leave his flat and his life. Wren decides they should find something else to entertain themselves with, instead of repeatedly stabbing her heart with a dull knife.

"I think we should dance some more, Bri!" She feigns a cheerful disposition.

"I have a better idea!" Bri rushes to the parlour and comes back with two odd objects. They are circles, colourful, large, and Bri hands one to Wren. "Time to hula hoop til you droop! Uh, slang for 'tuckered out,' 'tired' that is."

And then Bri suddenly puts one of the hoops around herself, and all Wren can do is stare at her in complete shock. Wren has seen all sorts of street performers in her youth but that is magnificent! Colourful lights blink in the circle, and Bri's gorgeous hips move confidently and enticingly, the hoop travels from her neck down to her knees, and up again. She is wearing a happy, slightly smug grin, and Wren can't help but start clapping to her friend. Bri swings her hips one more time, somehow makes the hoop jump up, catches it with her hand and merrily bows to Wren. More applause follows.

"Your turn, Wren!" No amount of mumbling and backing to the door helps, Bri struggles Wren into her hoop, and education starts. Twenty minutes later Wren feels less humiliated since the hoops seems to stay longer in the air, and after a while she starts thinking that might become her favourite pastime. At some point Bri points at the telly again, laughing loudly, and Wren is twisting her head trying to see how her bow is faring.

A burning piece of ceiling hits John's shoulder, the pain is sharp, and he swears. That's a dislocated shoulder alright. He tumbles out of the building, Dwalinson tries to help and haul his 'eejit malkied chufter' to the ladder, and John scowls at him. Been there, done that. He heavily drops on the bench outside and lets Phil patch him up. The kid is their medic and a wizard. John's appreciation for his nephew ebbs a bit when in one forceful move Phil nonchalantly puts the shoulder where it belongs, causing John grind his teeth. He can't mention Phil's mother since that would be insulting his own kin, but there clearly was a gentler way to do it! Phil smacks his healthy shoulder and walks back to the pumper to get him a sling. John leans back on the bench heavily. At least he can go home and have some peace there. Wren is probably studying, she'll make him a cuppa and will fuss around him. He feels immediately chuffed and doesn't even object to Phil's long bossy instructions. He is nodding and just wants to go to his ginger.

Bri's POV:

Standing in the door, is the poster child for the expression "deer in the headlights." The first thing Bri notices is the wide vacant eyes and the hanging jaw. It takes a minute for the sling, soot, and thoroughly bedraggled appearance to register. Nope, the very first thing the inveterate matchmaker sees is how very, very much John Thorington likes what he sees of his hula hooping houseguest.

The statue of the station officer starts to come to life as a muscle ticks furiously in his jaw, either grinding teeth now, or trying to force words out. Sweat on his brow could have been from the fire, but Bri'd lay odds it has more to do with the bouncing butt bow. For a second, Bri wonders if there is a train track near the house, but no, THAT particular huffing and puffing is poor John trying to catch his breath. Time to put the poor man out of his misery.

"Welcome home, John, what happened?" The ensuing squeak from Wren is totally worth it. Now Bri wonders who ordered the game of statues, because Wren's gone stone still, the hoop's on the floor, and her eyes are about to swallow her face. Well, she knows one way to wake Wrennielove up.

"Wren, somethin's happened to John's shoulder." Bri sits back to watch the mayhem unfold.

Gone is the squeaky, mild, and slightly childlike waif afraid of herself and the world around her. In her place is a self assured medical professional. Her touches are deft, soft, and thorough. The questions are to the point and no prevaricating, please. More than once, John finds himself facing an eyebrow lift that would do Bri proud at one dodged question or another.

Bri also gleefully takes in the rising color on John's cheeks. His eyes just keep cutting to the bouncing butt bow. Bri has to cough into her hand to hide her rising laughter. These two are already so in love, she doubts it'd take more than a few months for them to straighten themselves out. Not that it would stop her, of course.

"Wren, Wren, it's just a scratch," John is mumbling, only to get shushed. Careful fingers probe at his ribs, eliciting a hysterical guffaw he can't suppress. Bri chokes on her laughter, both hands covering her mouth. Ticklish ribs must be a family thing. Maybe it'll solve itself sooner than she thinks, if this keeps up.

Wren grabs John by his wrist, who is very purposefully NOT looking at her pert little backside, and leads him to the li-lo, pushing him down on it. However, all his hard won self control is out the door the minute Wren picks up the empty ice cream tubs, because that bloomin' bow is right there in front of him. He rubs his face with his good hand. The fingers are slightly trembling. Bri's pretty sure that it's not from the fire or dislocated shoulder, but face full of bouncing butt bow.

At this point, the similarities between Uncle and nephew are becoming a little too uncomfortable for her. Phil has those same half lidded sultry eyes and now John is openly gritting his teeth, and time for Bri to go!

"And three's a crowd! I'll see you crazy kids later, tomaters!" Bri makes a hasty round up of her bags, heck, she can come get the rest in the morning, and hauls out of there at ludicrous speed wearing nothing but her PJ's and fuzzy slippers. She is so glad she insisted on driving her car tonight.