A/N:

A word of CAUTION: This is different from the other stories I've published here so far. This is a Brennan and Angela story. So if that isn't your thing, don't read it! The first chapter is dark and emotional; the second chapter is where the M rating comes in. (There is also a window for a third chapter, which would also be M.)

Consider yourself warned about both the rating and the pairing!

This wasn't the story I intended to write when I first got the idea. Well it is, and it wasn't, at the same time! I had no intention of making it so dark, but it just sort of happened! The overall idea is the same.

Setting: Starts of in present day, flashback to Pre-pilot. Immediately after Brennan and Pete have broken up. Because I'd like to think that even the great Dr Brennan needs somebody, sometimes.

Disclaimer: Not mine, unfortunately.

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"Women tend not to be as rigid in their sexual identities as men," she'd told Booth once.

And it was true. It wasn't just that she was … well … justifying her own actions. Brennan's thoughts could help but wander back to that one night, years ago. It was only a few weeks since Pete had left, and Brennan had taken the break-up unusually hard.

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Knock Knock

Brennan heard the knocking at the door, but chose to ignore it. Instead she lay on her couch, staring mindlessly at the News channel on the TV. An empty bottle of wine lay discarded on the on the floor, an upturned glass along side it. She knew she shouldn't have drunk the whole bottle, especially on an empty stomach, and the voice inside her kept saying she'd regret it tomorrow, but right now, damn it felt good to be drunk. All of Pete's shit was melting away into oblivion and she could almost feel that tonight she would sleep longer than just the hour or two she had been getting since he'd left. As much as she hated to admit it, Brennan liked sleeping with somebody, feeling that warmth beside her, hearing their breathing in the stillness of night, knowing that someone was there with her. Pete may have been a jackass, but at least he was there at night. Now she was alone.

The urge to open another bottle sprang into her mind, and with her blood alcohol level already through the roof, she had little energy left to resist it.

Knock Knock

There went the door again. And again she ignored it. Assuming it was just Pete once more, she rose from the couch and staggered towards the kitchen. Bumping into the coffee table, she let out a cuss.

"I know you're home, I can hear you." A voice rang through her apartment, and to her surprise it wasn't Pete. It was a female voice that took Brennan several beats to place.

"Angela?" Her voice came out horse, the effect of wine and days alone.

"Open the door, sweetie."

"I want to be alone. Go away." It was a barefaced lie; 'I don't want to be seen like this' would have been closer to the truth. For all her social awkwardness, she was still human and knew that other people would judge her for her apparent weaknesses.

"No you don't. If you don't let me in I'm going to get Jack to break this door down."

Brennan stood in her lounge, and let her face fall into her hands, wishing that (however improbable) the earth would just swallow her up.

"I'm not leaving until you let me in."

Resigning to the fact that Angela was not going to leave her to wallow in peace, Brennan unlocked the door, leaving it to Angela to open it and let herself in. Brennan returned to the couch and waited for the judgement to begin.

Angela opened the door slowly with a sweeping glance across the apartment. Her best friend sat perched on the edge of the couch in scruffy sweat pants and a dirty t-shirt. Her hair was a mess and she could smell alcohol in the air. Angela knew she'd been taking Pete's departure hard, but found herself shocked at the shell of a woman sat in front of her. Looking painfully thin, there were deep bags beneath her eyes. Angela knew in an instant that her friend had been neither eating nor sleeping properly since the break up. She tried desperately not to let the shock show on her face as she sat beside her on the couch.

The pair didn't exchange words; there was little that needed saying. Instead, Brennan curled her legs up beneath her, laying her head across Angela's lap. She stroked at her hair and felt as Brennan began to shake, silent sobs wracking through her.

In silence, the minutes passed. Five, turned into ten, turned into fifteen before the sobbing began to subside. Her breathing grew slow and even as Angela continued stroking her hair.

"Are you ready to quit pretending that everything is okay now?"

"Oh Ange …" Her voice was frail from the outpouring of tears she kept contained. And if she was completely honest with herself (something she'd been trying desperately not to do) they weren't just tears over Pete. No, she'd finally released tears dating back years (or, it might have been more accurate to say: they'd finally escaped.)

Tears of confusion after realising her parents weren't coming back.

Tears loneliness she'd refused to yield to as foster home after foster home had kicked her back into the system.

Tears of pain as she'd struggled to find her way through college and university alone.

Tears of frustration over that wiseass cop Goodman had insisted she worked with.

And now, tears of hurt, of anger, of uncertainty, that Pete had betrayed her so profoundly.

But, she'd told herself over and over these past weeks, it was her own fault, she should have seen it coming: everybody left, it was only a matter of time before, gradually, everyone around her would leave.

"Please talk to me, Sweetie." Angela's voice cut through her self-flagellation. She thought she heard something in her voice – pity, sympathy, concern maybe? She didn't know. Just as that cop had taken such pleasure in telling her, she was no good with people. It couldn't be concern though. Angela would leave too, she knew it already. Okay, not 'knew', since she had no empirical data to back up her theory, but she strongly suspected that day would come.

Brennan pulled herself upright, away from Angela's touch. Eyes locked on the clenched fingers in her own lap, she uttered a single word.

"Go."

"What? No. Why?" Shocked and hurt, Angela reached a hand towards her but Brennan turned away.

"Go." She repeated, still not looking up.

"No. I won't." Angela spoke with determination, resting a hand on Brennan's back, the only part of her friend she was being shown. She felt Brennan stiffen beneath her touch.

"Fine. I'll go." She rose from the couch, trying to appear steadier on her feet than she felt. Stumbling into her bedroom, Brennan slammed the door behind her before curling up into a ball in the middle of her bed.

She lay in silence; the only sound around her was her own muffled breathing.

She assumed Angela had left. Of course Angela had left. Everybody always did: her parents, Russ, every boyfriend she'd ever had, and now, Angela.

The thought made her stomach lurch suddenly and bile rose in her throat. Whimpering, she staggered into the bathroom, the room spinning uncontrollably as she moved.

Reaching the toilet with seconds to spare, she wretched. Sweat prickled across her brow as she vomited time and time again, until there couldn't possibly be anything left to come out of her.

She felt a warmth on the small of her back. It rose up her spine and began rubbing gentle circles across her torso. Fingers gathered her hair and pulled it back from her sweat soaked face, curling it around until it stayed in a ponytail by itself. The alien hand reached forward and flushed the toilet before arms wrapped around her, hugging Brennan tightly as a chin came to rest on her shoulder.

"I won't leave." Angela's voice seemed loud in the small bathroom. "Not now. Not ever. You hear me?"

Turning, her legs glided smoothly across the laminate floor, Brennan moved to face Angela. Her face was red and blotchy from crying, and still damp with sweat. She pulled Angela in tight; conceding that maybe, just this once, a hug felt good and didn't imply weakness.

"I'm not leaving." Angela repeated, seeming to know the nightmares that plagued Brennan's thoughts without needing to be told.

No tears left in her to cry, Brennan simply closed her eyes and held on tight. She breathed in Angela's familiar scent and a part of her began to believe the words Angela spoke. Her rational mind screamed at her – Angela couldn't know she'd always be there, it simply wasn't possible. But, as she sank deeper into her friend's embrace, her emotional side began to win the ongoing battle.

Brennan felt Angela begin to pull away and instantly felt hollow inside again.

"I'm not leaving," she stated again, qualifying it this time. "Just stay here a minute. I'll be back, Sweetie."

And with that, she rose from the floor and walked quickly from the bathroom, leaving a confused Brennan in her wake. She felt overcome by the urge to run, but to where, she didn't know. She was in her own apartment after all, where would she go? There was no one she could turn to.

Angela. The emotional side of her piped up again, she could run to Angela. It was quickly shot down once by more rational thoughts. She didn't need anyone to run to. She was just fine alone. She'd been fine on her own before Pete. She'd be fine after.

Anger seeming to course through her veins out of no where, she dragged herself up off the floor, flipped down the toiler lid and sat in the still bathroom. Closing her eyes, her head fell into her hands. She rubbed at her temples firmly, in an attempt to push all thoughts from her mind. Brennan could feel herself beginning to sober up now that the alcohol had been purged from her stomach, and yet her hands shook.

Once again, she didn't notice Angela enter the bathroom. Pulled suddenly from her reverie, she grasped at the glass being held out in front of her. She sipped slowly at the water, feeling its coolness trickle down her sore throat and settle her stomach.

Brennan watched as Angela moved around her bathroom, pulling a fresh towel from the linen closet and draping it over the rail so it would grow warm. She continued to watch as she leaned into the shower and adjusted until the water was the right temperature.

She turned back to face Brennan, holding out a hand towards her.

"You'll feel better, Sweetie. I promise."

"You can't know that." Her words were defiant but Brennan rose to her feet all the same.

"Yes, I can." Angela smiled, conviction in her voice that Brennan almost allowed herself to believe. "Shower. Sleep. Eat. And you'll feel better."

"Angela, no, I don't know." She could feel her resolve disappearing: the steam rising from the shower did look inviting and it would feel good to sleep…

Crossing the bathroom towards Angela, she took her outstretched hand. She felt a squeeze around her fingers and Angela smiled at her, nodding slightly.

"I'll be right outside." She pulled Brennan in for another tight hug before stepping away.

"No. Wait." Brennan bit down on her lip nervously. "Would you stay in … I don't want to …" She couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence. To admit out loud her vulnerability, her sudden (irrational) fear to be alone. Her head dropped and she stared down at the floor. "Please."

Angela moved in and hugged her once again. "Okay." She smiled and ran a hand over Brennan's hair. "Whatever you want, Sweetie."

Angela perched on top of the closed toilet lid, looking away respectfully as Brennan shed her clothing and stepped into the shower. She heard a soft sigh drift out over the sound of the flowing water and smiled to herself. Things were going to be okay.

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Love it or hate it? Let me know what you think!