A/N: I miss you all. This little one-shot is my holiday gift to you. *Kisses*.
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"So I think I might need to have sex with Booth."
Angela looked up from her perusal of the diner breakfast menu, her eyebrow raised. "Oh?"
"Yes. Have you ever had the egg white omelet here?"
"I have. It's fantastic. Highly recommended," she nodded.
"Hmm," Brennan replied, considering.
"So why do you 'might need to' have sex with Booth?"
Brennan herself was still fully engrossed in the large, laminated list. "Oh. We were having a therapy session, and Sweets was talking about the different varieties of work partnerships that exist in the world. And he mentioned colleagues that become sexually involved. And I said… 'Ew'."
"Ooooh. That's a bad response, Sweetie." Angela gave a knowing look.
"Apparently. I was thinking of the whole Michael Stires fiasco. But I guess I offended Booth. He thinks I view him as some sort of hideous beast now, or something."
"Poor guy," the artist replied sympathetically, pausing a moment to wave over their waitress. "Can I have an orange juice?"
"Yeah. He's acting all dejected and pouty. It's not conducive to our working relationship. So I'm thinking I might need to have sex with him, so he realizes that insulting him was not my intention."
"I dunno. It sort of sounds like a bad idea. Are you sure you could handle it?" Ripping the tip of the paper covering, Angela blew into the end of her straw, sending the paper sleeve flying across the table to hit Brennan in the chest.
Brennan gave her an annoyed look. "We've been undercover together. Been on stake-outs together. Faced down criminals together. I'm pretty sure we could handle having sex together."
"Maybe. But there are two possibilities here. One is that the sex is awful, and then you have to deal with post-bad-sex awkwardness forever. The other is that the sex is great, and then you are always going to be thinking about it, distracted by it, and wanting to have sex again. Neither is any more conducive to your work than Booth's pouting."
The waitress came over with Angela's drink. They put in their orders for an egg white omelet and a breakfast burrito, and she was on her way.
"Why does it have to be awful or amazing? Why can't it just be normal sex?" Brennan pressed, sipping at the coffee she ordered when she first got here. She winced at the bitterness of it.
"But first-time sex is never just normal. You always have some kind of reaction…whether or not it was worth it, whether or not you want to do it again. That's just the way things go. Besides, sex to save a friendship is never a good. I think there was a Seinfeld episode about that."
Brennan was carefully parceling out half a packet of artificial sweetener. "I guess," she said doubtfully. "I never watched that show."
"You probably wouldn't like it. The humor is a little subtle for you."
"I wasn't planning on watching it."
Angela sat down her glass on the table, crossed her arms, and looked her friend in the eye. "Sweetie."
"Yes?"
"Do you want to have sex with Booth?"
It was the first time anyone had asked Brennan that question this simply…no insinuations, no assumptions made. Just a question.
The anthropologist gave Angela a look that implied she was surprised her friend has made it past the third grade. "Of course I want to have sex with Booth, Angela. Who wouldn't want to have sex with Booth?" Shaking her head at the artist's ignorance, she turned her attention back to her coffee and was surprised when her friend stood, reached across the table, and wrapped her arms around her.
"I knew it, Sweetie. I knew you were a normal living, breathing woman with a pulse. People didn't believe me…but I had faith."
"Oooookay," she responded uncertainly, awkwardly patting her friend on the back before Angela returned to her seat. "I find that questions of what you want are usually irrelevant. More important is what you need."
"Eh. Not in my world," disagreed the brunette.
"I'm pretty sure we live in the same world, Ange."
Their breakfasts arrived quickly. Brennan took a taste of her omelet and made a face. "This is awful. I thought you said it was good."
Angela reached over and took a forkful off Brennan's plate, tasting it. "Huh. I still say it's good. I guess perception is everything."
The anthropologist frowned down at her food.
"Hey," Angela said suddenly. "I'm feeling the need for a facial after all this greasy food. Wanna come with me after breakfast?"
"Sure," Brennan said agreeably, picking at her omelet.
Angela smiled. Maybe her perceptions of "want" and "need" would rub off on her friend after all.
Someday.