This is just a oneshot, but I hope you like it anyway. I know I still have my other fic to finish but I've been swamped recently, and this is all my muse is up to. Please review. Thanks for reading.

Right Epiphany, Wrong Place.

The anger was building steadily in his chest, like a tsunami of rage being held back only by the dam of his ribs. His fingers shook as he picked up the shot glass and knocked another one back. His glare didn't even flicker as the sharp taste burned his throat, and he motioned to the barman to pour him another.

After refilling his glass, the barman began to draw the bottle back but instead a hand clamped down on his forearm and he looked up to see a fierce glare stare back at him.

"Leave the bottle."

The barman nodded, taking the crumpled bill that the man offered.

Another hour passed, and he continued to drink. Shot after shot, until soon the anger had stopped building. Now it just felt like a dead weight; solid, unmoving, unstoppable. His vision went white for a moment and he didn't know whether it was the alcohol or the emotion. He swayed slightly on his stool, before laying his head on the bar with an ugly 'thump'.

"Ugh."

Suddenly he felt a presence behind him; sleek, beautiful and definitely feminine. A warm hand slid across his shoulder and a soft voice purred, "I've known you for years and I don't think I've ever seen you this drunk before... What happened to you?"

"I'm not drunk." He replied, offering a lazy, inebriated charm smile. "Takes more than this, let me tell you."

She slid down onto the stool next to him, all sensuous movement and fluid laughter. "Well, almost an entire bottle of Jack's. I'm impressed." She pursed her lips as she studied him, watching his face, his eyes, searching for something; she just didn't know what. And she hated not knowing. "Why are you here tonight? We just wrapped a case. It's our night off."

He glowered at the table even more and threw back a shot. When he didn't answer, she bit her lip. After a moment's thought she called over the barman and asked for a second glass and a fresh shot for herself. Without a word, she grabbed the other bottle of Jack's and walked away from the bar.

"Hey!" He spun round on his stool, nearly falling off in the process and called to her as she carried away his drink. "Wait, where you goin'?"

She glanced back over her shoulder and smiled at him. "Follow, and find out."

He grinned to himself and rose from the stool, following in her footsteps, watching her like a predator as she glided further into the bar. She stopped in a small corner, darker, and richer in colour because of it. The low light cast shadows across the red seats, and as she slid into the booth her face too, became swathed in a mysterious mixture of darkness and faded orange glow. "If you're going to get drunk, I suggest that a stool is not the place to do it. I was a bit scared that you were going to fall off at any moment."

He smirked and slid into the seat next to her. "Couldn't have that."

"Hmmm." She swirled her drink before knocking it back, eyes closed, lips licking together as she savoured the taste. He watched and licked his own lips unconsciously.

"So..." he started. "Why are you here tonight?" At her pause, he hastily said, "Well, you asked me so-"

"No I understand. I mean, you expect me to be-"

"I don't expect anything of you anymore. I know it's just a waste of time, because just as I think I've got you figured out, you do something different." He grinned. "Keeps me guessing."

She laughed, and drank some more. This wasn't her first drink of the night and she could feel it buzzing pleasantly around her head. "How do you mean?"

"Well, I didn't use to think much of what you and the other squints did, when we first met." He smiled as he remembered. "Crackpot scientists. Well," he grinned at her offended look, "maybe not you. I've never thought you were a crackpot."

"Thank you. I never thought you were a second-rate FBI agent either."

The grin spread further across his face, until a thought struck him, which lead to another, and suddenly the anger was back, full force. She noticed the change immediately. Concerned, she put a hand over his, which suddenly were gripping the edge of the table in a death-like grip, his knuckles turning white. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"I just..." He clenched his jaw and fought the anger behind his eyes. Suddenly it burst through and he shouted, "I just hate this!"

Hurt and confused, she looked up at him, through her own blurry eyes and saw something snap in him. She moved closer to him, not wanting to see him in pain, and lay a comforting hand over his other fist, so that now she was stroking soothing circles over both his hands. "Wh- what do you hate?"

"You even have to ask? You've known for years. So have I. But I haven't done anything. And now it's too late." Suddenly she saw it, the tidal wave, where all his anger was sourced from; it was directed at himself. It was obvious in the pained lines of his frowning face, the tension held in his shoulders, his jaw shut so tightly that she could see the muscles in his neck straining under the pressure of all that self-loathing. Her heart went out to him.

Because she knew what it was like. To love someone, but to have run away from it. To hate yourself every day, knowing that the person you love would always be out of reach because you were scared. Terrified of the strength of the love, hiding from it.

She had never known love like this before. Her family loved her. She liked to think that the squints loved her. But all her life, no one had ever touched her as tenderly as he had before. Every night with a man before was something pleasant at the time, but meaningless 6 months later, when it was someone new, someone who, like her, wasn't looking for anything serious. But he made her feel like the world was only the two of them, and when they were together, nothing else mattered.

The dead people they saw everyday in the lab, their past, their different wealth, their sins. None of it mattered. It was just them. And she loved him more than she had ever told him.

Suddenly she realised. She was living out of fear, terrified by a love so deep and meaningful that she couldn't really comprehend. But in that moment, she saw it. What scared her most was not the love itself.

No. She was terrified not to act on that love. To never know what could have been between them, to throw away her life out of something as pathetic as fear? As rejection? That was the most horrifying notion she had ever come across, regardless of what she did for a living.

Neither knew when their lips had met, but suddenly they were crashing together like cymbals. She ran a hand up his chest and he moaned, before running his fingers through her hair. He drew her neck back and she arched up under him so he could kiss down her throat. She let out a growl and drew him back up so he could kiss her lips again.

Tongues danced, hands roamed, throats moaned.

It was passion. An explosion of emotion that had been held back so long, flooding out and drowning the other in raw, unmistakeable need. A lust so strong that it burnt to touch.

They flew away from each other, panting heavily.

He touched his lower lip and jerked it back like he'd been shocked by a bolt of electricity.

She stared at him, eyes wide.

"You're not Bones."

"You're not Jack."

They stared at each other, flushed and breathless. "I know."

Suddenly they stood up, each leaping to their feet and facing each other. One look in each other's eyes and they didn't need to speak a word to know what the other was going to do. Or who they were about to run to.

He smiled at her and said, "Thank you, Angela. And promise me, you won't let him go."

She grinned back at him and replied, "Never."

He turned to leave, ready to run desperately into the arms of the woman he loved.

"Booth?"

He spun round and glanced at her.

"Say the words to her. Make sure she knows."

"I'll prove it to her. Always."

*

Hope you liked my little twist. Review = cuddles. =] Thanks for reading.