AN: Long time, no see one-shot fans! In my defense, I was publishing a book, working three other jobs and posting a multi fic (which is well underway, so if you're not reading The Bard In The Bodycount, now's a great time to start!).

So... Billy Gibbons. He can be pretty naughty, can't he? In my little universe here, he's been extra naughty (although Brennan does a great job sorting him out). Several people, FaithInBones being one, have insisted Billy should get a taste of his own Texas moonshine, so to speak. I deliver.

Disclaimer: I disclaim!

TITLE: Revenge, Texas Style!
TAG TO: Post 8X1; ties in with The Brand On The Bullish Agent and The Truth In The Tattoo
PROMPT: "Hodgins and now Booth have had enough of Billy Gibbons' antics. Angela has a plan..."
RATING: A strong T/Bordering on M briefly...

"Are we sure about this?"

Of course it was Hodgins looking for a way out. Booth should have expected as much. He does have the most to fear, he reminded himself. Before he could reply, Angela stepped in.

"This is long overdue, Jack. A little Texas justice, so to speak."

"Angie, he loves you. He'll probably kill the rest of us."

"That's not true," Brennan interjected. I'm fairly certain that Mister Gibbons is petrified of me now."

"And, by proxy, he's afraid of me," Booth added with a smirk.

"So you're going to have your fun and make me the sacrificial lamb? No thank you!"

Hodgins pushed away from the table and headed for the cooler loaded with beer, ignoring Angela's calls to return. This wouldn't work without Hodgins on deck. Convince him, Booth. Think fast.

"C'mon Hodgins! If anything, Billy will admire you for standing up to him."

"Like the grand theft auto caper!" Angela enthused.

"Exactly." For the first time ever, Booth was wishing his so-called charm smile worked on men. "Can't do it without you, buddy!"

Downing half of his beer, Hodgins stomped back towards the table. "Fine. But if he gets pissed, I'm telling him you had me at gunpoint and Angela was being held hostage and a million other reasons why I let it go down. I may possibly insist you shoot me in the leg to emphasize my innocence."

Ever helpful, Brennan added, "I could calculate the best angle for shooting him while minimizing lasting damage."

Booth chuckled. "I got it, Bones. Now, let's go over this one last time..."

"There's my future rock star!"

Billy's voice boomed through the house, sending a shiver up Jack's spine. Crap. Here we go. Adjusting his belt needlessly, he drew a deep breath to steady himself. How had he been talked into this again? Oh, right: Angie had woken him with morning fellatio before announcing that she and Dr. B had a wonderful revenge idea for his crazy father-in-law's ink-happy ways. He'd said yes before blood flow was restored to the wiser of his heads and now, he was screwed by peer pressure! Him! Jack Hodgins, free thinker!

I'm whipped. I'm so whipped.

If whipping was the worst repercussion doled out by one Billy Gibbons, he'd consider himself lucky.

"Jack! Dad and I need to get going!"

And there was his cue. Heading downstairs, he smiled at his wife and held that genuine loving expression for his father-in-law. "Good to see you again!"

Michael tugged happily on his grandfather's beard as the guitar guru smiled. "He's feisty! Gonna need an equally fierce ax to shred. I'm thinking something custom. Randy Parsons."

"Isn't he that guy who puts animal bones inside for bracing and as frets?" Angela asked.

"Exactly. Might kill the animal myself for a personal touch."

Hodgins and Angela exchanged a look. Her father was a music legend, but his tastes veered frequently into "what the fuck?" territory.

"I'm sure he'd love that," Jack lied, knowing full well that Michael loved anything he could throw or gnaw on, regardless of material.

"Pa! Pa!" Michael happily shouted, tugging harder on Billy's beard.

"Smart young man. But I have to give you to your Daddy. I owe your Mama a night on the town for her birthday."

Angela took Michael from her father, gently nudging his tiny fists open. Without hesitation, he clamped onto Angela's long curls with one hand, blowing her a kiss with the other.

"You be a good boy for Daddy, Michael."

A shower of kisses and an expert tickle to release her tresses later, Michael was safely in Jack's arms. He clung to his son, wondering if this would be the last time he saw him before Billy buried him. Angela kissed him chastely, mindful of her father's presence.

"See you later," she murmured.

"Make it sunrise," Billy corrected. "We haven't had a night out in a long time."

"Good call, Dad. I don't know if Bren will make it the whole night, though."

"Nonsense! She needs to let her hair down more often. Remember that time we got her drunk after you made that crime job of yours permanent and took her to Vegas for a night?"

Hodgins raised an eyebrow. Why haven't I heard this story before?

"Barely, and Bren remembers none of it, including the strippers, so please don't remind her," Angela pleaded.

"Strippers?" Jack asked.

"Female. Her request," Billy whispered with a grin.


"Jack, shut up. Dad, let's go!"

"But... strippers!"

Angela planted a firm kiss on him to silence him and he took that as a cue to give up. For now. Waving to their departing limo, Jack sauntered back into the house and called Booth.

"Phase one has begun," he told him.

Booth chuckled. "Good. Bones will signal us for phase two."


"Got here five minutes ago and we're on our way over to you now with Christine."

"Alright. You brought your gun, right?"

"Hodgins – "

"No gun, no bug guy."

He heard Booth laugh. "I'm not an idiot. Of course I brought my gun. Now go grab a beer and your balls and wait for me."

Hodgins hung up and scowled. Self-preservation was wise, not cowardly. If this went south, he was hanging Booth out to dry. Then they'd see who still had balls by the end of the night.

"Strippers?" Booth asked.

"Yes, strippers. Female. In Vegas."


"I know, right? Angie totally owes me this story!" Hodgins exclaimed.

"She owes me this story!" Booth agreed, signaling for his turn. "But she doesn't remember it?"

"That's what Ange said."

Booth shook his head. "Nah, Hodgins. Ange likes to think she holds her booze, but Bones can definitely hold her liquor. She's lying about not remembering it."

"Maybe Dr. B. didn't have the same tolerance back then?"

"No, she did. Trust me."

Hodgins shook his head. "My wife is a lying harlot... and it is so hot."

Booth grinned. "Well, would you look at where our women ended up?"

They'd arrived at the address Brennan had texted them and were highly amused to find it was a strip club. Female strippers. That cheeky, lying, beautiful woman of mine... Booth pulled around back, as directed, and found an anxious Angela and Brennan beside a slurring, slumped over Billy Gibbons.

"How is he conscious?" Hodgins asked. "That's the strongest lab brew I've ever made!"

"Texan," Booth replied simply. "Besides, isn't it better for phase three if he's at least semi-conscious?"

"Good point."

Parking the SUV, Booth stepped out with a cocky smirk. "Well well, look where you are!"

Angela glared at Hodgins. "You told him."

"Told him what?" Brennan asked.

"Nothing. Nothing at all," Hodgins insisted.

"Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey, son-in-law! You come to party? Deese girls, they ain't the partiers they used to be."

Booth stifled a chuckle at the teetering man Angela was struggling to keep upright. "I know. Must be something in the hormone cocktail of pregnancy."

"Hey!" Angela protested.

"I could go several more rounds," Brennan began, quickly halting as Booth made a throat-cutting gesture. "But Booth and Hodgins insisted I care for Angela," she recovered nicely.

"Well ladies, we'll take it from here," Booth said. "Let the limo drop you at home and we'll keep this party going, won't we Hodgins?"

"Absolutely!" Tugging Angela over to him, he whispered, "If I never see you again, remember how much I love you."

"You remember your big blabbermouth when you come home looking for a place to hide," she grumbled before kissing his cheek.

With Booth's assistance, they load the Texan into the backseat, where Brennan hands him a flask.

"Don't forget your present, Mr. Gibbons!" she cheerily reminds him.

"Billy, Temperance. Yer like... the other kid I didn't have." With a goofy grin, he fumbled with the flask.

"Thank you, Billy. Drive safe, Booth."

The women disappeared into the waiting limo and Hodgins swallowed hard at the lump forming in his throat. It was time for payback. Well, a few drinks and then payback.

"Hurry up! The night's young!" Billy shouted from behind him.

"You heard the man," Booth said. "Let's do this."

The next morning...

A headache. From drinking. Billy didn't understand it. He was immune to the wicked side of alcohol, having built decades of tolerance. His left eye squinted open and he immediately cursed, clamping a hand over his eyes. And how the hell was I stupid enough to leave the curtains open?

It then occurred to him that he didn't recognize the curtains as his, nor Angela's, nor the Washington Court Hotel. This place was more of a dive, what with the nasty brown shade of the curtains, meant to hide the grime. His eye squinted open again to his left and settled on the flask Angie's friend gave him. The one filled with "D.C. Moonshine", as she'd called it.

He's been had.

Billy felt his way around the room, stumbling blindly towards the shitstain-coloured curtains. He closed them with a vicious yank, his eyes relaxing and assessing his accommodations. Yep. No-Tell Motel. Obviously, there's something that people don't want told to him. People who poisoned him with booze from hell.

"Goddamn scientists," he muttered.

A shower. That's what he needed to loose the knots all over his body. Rolling his shoulders back, he cranked the crappy shower up to scalding and stripped out of his clothes. He'd set himself right with a shower and then call his daughter and ask what the hell happened.

The water pressure was decent for a crappy dive and Billy thrust his head beneath the spray, rolling his neck to loosen it. Maybe he'd ditched the ladies and kept partying. Did he lose the limo in poker again? That would be a pain in the ass. Reaching down for the tiny wrapped soap on the side of the tub, Billy felt something slide down his back and hit the tub with a wet plop.

"What the hell?"

Glancing down, the white gauze stained in blood made his aching back understandable. It also made his blood boil. He stepped out of the shower in a huff, the water still cascading down, as he swept his hand across the foggy mirror and turned his back towards it. With a little craning of his neck, he caught sight of the offender: a strange hexagonal figure with some weird man inside it.

"Son of a bitch!"

This was revenge! Calculated, dirty, Texas-style revenge! And he knew exactly who was to blame for it. The question now was how to respond.

But first, the shower. Stepping back inside, Billy kept his back away from the direct spray. Why destroy the art, after all? It would serve a useful testament to the audacity of his son-in-law and his science buddies. A memorial. In memoriam. Billy liked the sound of that.

"Hodgins again?" Booth asked.

Brennan nodded, letting her cell phone ring. "That's three calls. Two from Angela. One from an unknown number that I assume is Mr. Gibbons."

"Should we be worried?"

She shook her head. "I assume he will chase Hodgins with a shotgun for show and Angela will successfully manipulate him with their familial bond into not murdering her husband. Billy knows you are an expert marksman and that I, too, am licenced."

"So we can continue to hide in bed all day?"

She grinned. "I was thinking we could do more than hide."

As she kissed her way down his body, Booth couldn't resist asking any longer. It was probably the surge of testosterone as she began to handle a growing problem.

"How come you never told me about the Vegas stripper adventure with Angela and Billy?"

She slid back up his body, smirking. "What Vegas adventure?" she asked coyly.

"I knew you remembered it!" Booth crowed triumphantly. "Angela told Jack you were too wasted."

"Hardly. Angela, on the other hand, cannot hold her 'woo woo', as she puts it, nearly as well." Licking her lips, she added, "You really didn't think I was that oblivious to what my $60 was for on that case years ago, did you?"

Booth gasped. "You bought me a lap dance on purpose?" She ignored him, shimmying her way back down his body and he fought his more primal needs off, struggling to speak. "You bought me a lap dance. On purpose," he repeated.

"She did have excellent control of her hips," was her only explanation.

And then, she gave him another reason to gasp, and the conversation was dropped... for a few hours, anyway.

Randy Parsons is indeed a renowned American luthier (that's fancyspeak for guitar-making god)... And his unique use of animal bones and other materials seems like it would be right up Billy's alley.

I have no idea where the stripper story came from, but once it started, I had to tie in to The Bones That Foam, because that episode was amazing.

Stay tuned for more, check out The Bard In The Bodycount and follow me as an author, because I have a fluffier multi posting next week! Also keep sending me prompts. I can't promise to do all of them, but I do try!