Hello, everyone! This is my new project—"First Encounters." You probably got that already, but shut up, I'm trying to do an introduction here.
The whole point of this is to try to map out some of the first encounters that our favorite characters had with one another—this particular one is Brennan meeting Angela. The later ones may be a bit shippier—Brennan/Booth and Hodgela, to be exact. Not this one, though.
Disclaimer: what do you think? Do you honestly think that I own a show on the FOX network? If you do, I hope that there is someone with you who takes care of you and makes sure that you take your medicine regularly.
I hope you like it! And I hope that you review!
"What the hell is this?" asked Dr. Temperance Brennan, brandishing a sketchpad. "Were you physically impaired when you drew this? This looks nothing like a human being, much less a Revolutionary soldier!"
The target of her disdain, a cowering sketch artist named John Anderson, protested. "Dr. Brennan, I followed your instructions exactly. It's how you described it to me!"
"So how did you come out with a Picasso?" Brennan asked with a rare display of sarcasm. "I have never seen such a display of artistic ineptitude since—"
"Dr. Brennan!" A deep voice cut across her diatribe. Brennan's head whipped around and she saw that the director of the Jeffersonian Institute, Dr. Goodman, approaching her.
"Dr. Goodman, I was just—" she began to say, but Goodman cut her off.
"A word, please, Dr. Brennan," he said, gripping her elbow and steering her forcibly away from the shaken artist.
"He mangled that man's face in his drawing," Brennan told the director irritatedly as they marched through the Jeffersonian's hallways together. "He took my description and the skull and went the complete other direction. His work is completely subjective, and he has absolutely no idea what he is doing!"
"Dr. Brennan!" exclaimed Goodman as the two halted before his office. "I had heard reports that you were terrorizing the artists here, and now I see that those reports were not exaggerated. But I can't have you should down every artist that you work with!"
"I'm sorry, sir, but my work is very painstaking, and I need someone who knows what he is doing," protested Brennan. "I need someone who knows how to take information from bare bones and translate it into a face. I can't just have any old street caricaturist coming in and claiming that he knows what he is doing while he butchers one of the most important aspects of this process!"
"And that, Dr. Brennan, is why I've called you to my office," said Dr. Goodman patiently. "There's somewhere in there who I want you to meet."
"An artist?" asked Brennan skeptically, one eyebrow raised. "What makes you think that he's cut out for this kind of work?"
"She has performed admirably on all tests that I have set for her thus far," Goodman sighed. "The final test is you."
Brennan wasn't sure how she felt about the man's implication with his final statement, but after careful deliberation, Brennan determined that there could be no harm in simply meeting the candidate. Rolling her eyes, she grasped the handle and pushed the door open.
There, in Dr. Goodman's dimly-lit office, sat a woman of approximately Brennan's age, with wavy brown hair, slanted eyes and high cheekbones. Her fashion sense was obviously that of the typical artist, but instead of looking eccentric and slightly insane, this woman made the eclectic and distinctly bohemian collection of clothes work. On her, they looked natural and beautiful, and Brennan found herself slightly envying the woman's quiet confidence.
"Dr. Brennan, this is Angela Montenegro," said Goodman, who had entered behind her. "Miss Montenegro, this is Dr. Temperance Brennan."
The artist stood and stepped forward with an outstretched hand and gave a slightly nervous smile. "Hi," she said in a slightly melodic voice. "I guess that you're my last test, huh?"
Brennan shook the woman's hand without a smile. "I guess so," she said. "Do you have a sketchpad with you?"
"Always." Angela smiled brightly, pointing at the pad resting against the chair where she had been sitting. Brennan swiftly crossed the room and picked up a skull that Goodman had had resting on a shelf.
"Male," said Brennan, inspecting the bone. "Middle-aged. Probably Asian." She looked up at Angela. "You take it from there." Brennan stepped forward towards the woman, holding the skull out in her hand.
She did not miss the look of fleeting panic and disgust that crossed the woman's face as she regarded the skull. "Do remains bother you?" asked Brennan, curious. Angela stared fixedly into the skull's eye sockets, paling a little. Then, jut when Brennan thought that she was either going to throw up or run away, she reached out a hand that trembled only a little, and took the skull from her. Brennan looked up at the artist inquisitively.
"I got used to the sounds of cows and rickshaws outside my window in India," Angela explained with a curious definitiveness. "I can get used to this."
Brennan found herself smiling in spite of herself. Giving the other woman a nod, she walked toward the door. "Take all the time you need," she told her. "Send someone to get me when you're done."
"You count on it, sweetie," said Angela, more absorbed in studying the skull than in her actual words. Goodman followed Brennan out of his office and the last glimpse that Brennan got of the artist before the door swung closed was of her tapping her pencil against her lips and beginning to draw.
So there you go. I wish that it would have been a little better. And I wish that I could have gotten into the characters' heads more. But such is life. And I just didn't think that Angela and Brennan would immediately become BFFs, friendship bracelets and all.
Review, please!