Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. No infringement intended.
Spoilers/Warnings: Everything is fair game.
A/N: I doubt I'll be posting the next chapter to this any time soon, what with school and the new girlfriend *wink* and new ideas for different fandoms I've come up with lately. Hope you guys understand! 3
The blaring ring of a cell phone sliced through the eerie silence that had settled itself in the air around the two women, over the course of the past few hours. Temperance was the first to wake, inhaling through her nostrils and rubbing her face with both hands at once to try and shake off the feeling of discomfort. She reached over and grabbed her bag, shuffling sleepily through it and grabbing hold of her portable communication device; it read upon the unblemished screen the numerical values: 7:43AM. Bleary and irritable, Temperance flipping it open and pressed the appliance to her ear.
"Hullo..?" The anthropologist sounded like a frog in labour, but didn't care. There was a gnawing ache in each and every one of her limbs, a strange soreness that could not be explained in the haze of her wake.
"Bones!" A masculine voice boomed against her eardrum in the most unpleasant of ways, and Temperance pulled the phone away from her ear to diminish the racing of sound waves to penetrating her skull. "Rise and shine, buttercup; we have a ca-a-a-ase!"
"Booth?" Her groggy voice irritated even herself as she heard it crawl out from between her lips and into the speaker piece of the apparatus. For some reason, her partner seemed particularly happy to inform her of a new case he'd acquired, but simply by flexing her bicep did Temperance come to terms with just how battered her body was. "I'm not, uhh…this hasn't been the best night's sleep for me, Booth. Can I call you later?"
He seemed disappointed…and suspicious. "The Bones I know would come to work even if her two legs were broken and she were missing a lung."
Temperance hung up, not so keen on explaining the various reasons that statement was irrational and seriously implausible. She threw her phone on the floor beside her, not bothering to neatly place it back into her bag so that it be at the exact same spot next time she'd search for it. The scientist let out an irked sigh and allowed her body to slump backwards into a horizontal position, only realizing that it wasn't the best of ideas when the back of her head smashed painfully against the hardwood of a living room floor.
Temperance let a pained groan escape her throat and sat up, rubbing the back of her head in a consistent manner to dissipate the newfound soreness. In the process, the anthropologist distinctly felt the inside of her bicep brush up against her naked breast, and, in shock, gazed down at herself to find that garments had apparently been thrown to the bottom of her priorities. Oh…sweet Jesus.
The generally calm, collected woman gasped and jumped upon hearing a guttural, feminine groan emerge from beside her. She glanced over, breathless to find Angela Montenegro—trusted employee and best friend—naked, eyes open, and limbs strewn every which way to create a beautiful painting of confusion and perhaps a hint of distress. Without cerebral authority, Temperance's pupils fixed themselves upon the dark, tempting nipples that accentuated each of her best friend's firm, creamy breasts. Her eyes wandered downwards to a perfect stomach, ripe hips, and enticing triangle of black curls that seemed to beckon to her; to call to the animal leashed within with that soothing tone of detachment.
Brennan's first instinct was to snatch the nearest object and hide her nudity with it; so she grabbed the jacket strewn across the floor and placed it over her chest to drape down and cover her closed thighs; legs bent at the knee—effectively preventing anyone from a frontal perspective to see anything she didn't want them to. Angela was still groaning and waking from slumber when Temperance began to bite the insides of her cheeks in rising anxiety, waiting for her best friend to tell her what exactly had occurred the previous night.
"Bren…?" Angela blinked a few times, trying to make sense of her surroundings. "What are…when did we—"
"I don't know."
"Oh my God!" Angela had to pause and catch her breath upon realizing the way she'd chosen to clothe herself to go to bed the night before. She brought her knees up to rest against her chest and brought her feet together as to prevent anything inappropriate to be shown unwillingly. "Do you not have any clothes on, either, Bren? Lord, what did…how am I—like, we…how did you even get to be…"
"I don't know, Ange."
Temperance's voice rose in irritation as her best friend trailed off in a nervous, incoherent stutters. Given, Angela likely wasn't the person to blame this entire mess of a situation on, but the anthropologist had no clue what was going on; facts weren't here to help her in the comprehension of such a context, and the only living being in sight was the naked figure of her employee—brows furrowed and lips pursed quizzically.
"How do you feel?" For the first time since waking, Angela posed a question that Temperance could answer.
"Sore." She answered earnestly, a bit uncomfortable with being in such a position that depicted physical vulnerability; even to this woman whom she deeply cared for. "I have no clue what happened, but whatever it was, wasn't a typical walk in the park."
The artist smiled a small smile at her friend's bitter attempt to improve the situation with humour. Temperance had never been the best when it came to a sense of humour, but the simple knowledge that she was trying made Angela grin. She sobered up faster than the feeling of blissful folly had occurred, however, and eyed Brennan with a serious allure; "Do you remember, uhh…anything at all? From last night?"
"No." Temperance pulled the jacket up closer to her neck and shifted her weight uncomfortably, trying to remember the denouement of events. "I remember drinking a bit of champagne, we talked and laughed…your intake of alcoholic substances increased dramatically over the course of the evening. You fell. I sat down beside you after checking your pulse…I think I fell asleep. And that's the last thing I remember."
"Where does the loss of clothes come in?"
"Don't know," Angela finished the sentence for an increasingly frustrated anthropologist. "Fair enough, because neither do I."
Both women were lying.
At least, in theory, they were both hiding the truth from each other. Neither Temperance nor Angela would ever divulge the rawness of their true emotions—each for different reasons, of course—in any way, shape or form. What had occurred had not been intentional, nor even perhaps initiated, but it had happened. They merely weren't aware.
They sat there for many moments, Temperance counting the seconds as they leisurely dripped away, and Angela digging the nails of her right hand into the palm of her left; she found that if pain was the focal direction of her thoughts, the ideology of pleasure would not have the opportunity to seep into her system. The term "awkward silence" had never been one which Temperance Brennan was otherwise familiar with; but as she sat a few feet away from the naked friend she proudly claimed her best, fingers grasping the hem of a leather jacket to hide the extent of her own nudity, the concept became known to her.
"Could you, uhh…pass me my pants?" Temperance was the first to break the heavy silence, gesturing towards the heap of clothing across the room that vaguely resembled my lower garments. "Please?"
She shifted uncomfortably, bringing her legs closer together. "Seriously, Bren?"
The anthropologist eyed her friend quizzically. "What's wrong?"
"I'm naked!" Angela practically shrieked the words. "That's what's wrong. You have my jacket to cover up your lady bits; I have my legs. If I get up, I have nothing. You get up and grab your pants."
"Fine." Temperance stood, clutching the jacket to her front. "I will."
The scientist didn't want to admit the fact that she felt the slightest bit insulted by the way that her best friend seemed impatient and a bit displeased at the situation they were currently in. She wasn't alone in the matter, but Brennan didn't want to throw it in the artist's face, either. It was strange that even though they both belonged to the same gender, neither of the women wished to simply stand and show the bluntness of their naked bodies; neither of the women wished to divulge the extent of their vulnerability towards the other. Because in the end, that's what it all came down to. Naked, raw exposure.
Angela's heart was pounding with what some would call anticipation mingled in with anxiety; the strangest of concoctions ever to swirl within her core. What had happened the night before was still fresh in her mind, she could still feel the fleshy tips of Temperance's fingers running ever-so-smoothly over her skin. The bits and pieces of the past evening were shattered, fragmented throughout her mind in distinct patterns of an incoherent slush. Reality and ideology clashed with her memories, and it was difficult for her to distinguish between the two.
"Bren?" Angela's voice softened, and she looked up at her best friend with curiosity twinkling within her irises.
The anthropologist recognized this soft, apologetic tone and softened her own voice to a minimalistic hum, interested in this sudden change of atmosphere. "Hmm?"
"Do you really not remember anything from last night?"
Angela's voice cracked in the middle of her sentence, making Temperance's heart leap within her rib cage. The artist had murmured in a voice that was quite similar to this throughout her interesting dream, and the preconscious memory of it had an urge begging to be unleashed plead within her core. She cleared her throat. "No, Ange. I don't."