This is...well, I'm not sure what this is...
We learned in Season 7 that Brennan didn't have any lingerie before Booth's oh-so-thoughtful gift. Now imagine that we lived in a world where HH hadn't tortured us for quite so long and B&B had gotten together secretly sometime in Season 5. Now think of Angela.
Okay. That's how you get this.
Don't own Bones.
Angela Montenegro was on a mission. Her spidey senses had been tingling for a few days now; Booth and Brennan seemed to be almost cautious around each other, like they didn't want to let something slip, like they didn't trust themselves in each other's presence. They were hiding something, and it was time to figure out exactly what it was.
She hoped it meant her best friend had finally seen the light and promptly thrown herself into Booth's arms. She hoped it meant she would soon be able to supplement her own fantasies of the Very Special Agent in question with a few new, juicy details.
But she had to admit that the more likely scenario involved some sort of fight. Maybe Booth had offered himself to his partner and she had turned him down. Maybe he was pissed at some very Brennan-esque thing she had said. Or maybe Booth had just decided to be an ass.
Typical.
Whatever it was, both Brennan and Booth were playing it close to the vest. Angela's usual poking around hadn't yielded a scrap of information. Everything was "fine," they said. Brennan was just "tired." Booth was "worried about the case."
Angela wasn't buying any of it. She started upping her game, crashing their lunches at the diner and calling at all hours just to 'check in.' Once, she even showed up at her friend's apartment unannounced on the off-chance that she would catch Booth half-naked, hiding in Brennan's bedroom closet. Or naked. That would've worked, too.
But she had gotten nothing. Nada. Zilch. Rien du tout.
It was time to break out the big guns. It was time to take Brennan shopping.
Booth had the interrogation room; priests had confessionals; and Angela had the changing-room stall.
In Angela's experience, the truth had a nasty way of popping out when hopped up on mocha frappucinos and trying on clothes. Something about the combination of caffeine and the vulnerability of placing yourself in front of a mirror over and over again was more effective than any truth serum Hodgins had ever ranted to her about.
Even so, Angela wasn't taking any chances. She wasn't just taking Brennan on your everyday try-on-something-you-like shopping blitz. No, they were going in search of two very specific items: a new pair of jeans and a push-'em-up bra. It would involve hours of trying to find the perfect fit for their unique curves, hours filled with the frustration and self-doubt that would inevitably be part of that process. Enhanced interrogation techniques, my ass. This is every woman's nightmare.
Not surprisingly, Brennan wasn't exactly enthusiastic about Angela's excursion. She had "work to do," she said. A likely story. But after having been duly informed of the importance of girl-bonding time, especially when engaging in activities so damaging to one's self-esteem, Brennan relented. They met at the mall and Angela's plan was soon underway.
.
.
.
Fourteen pairs of jeans and two iced coffees later, Brennan did not seem to be any closer to divulging her well-kept secret––whatever it was––and Angela was starting to get impatient. She would just have to trust that the bras would make Bren crack.
"What kind of brassiere are you looking for, Angela? I am quite satisfied with my undergarments."
"Oh, sweetie. You can never have too many bras."
"I'm sure that is, in fact, not the case, Ang." She shrugged, even as she followed her friend toward their next destination. "I have a number of options for everyday use and a few strapless for the odd gown that requires it. I don't need any more."
"Come on, Bren. Don't you have a stash of sexy underwear in a drawer somewhere? You can always add to that."
"No, I have never seen the need to adorn myself like that for a man."
Angela stopped in her tracks. Suddenly, this wasn't about information retrieval so much as imparting critical Girl 101 wisdom. "Not for a man, sweetie. For you."
"I don't know what that means."
"It means sometimes, when you're down and you feel bleeh––"
"That is not a very pleasant sound, Ang…"
"Exactly. Sometimes, when you feel like that, you put on a frilly bra and you feel better about yourself. It makes you feel sexy."
"That doesn't make any sense."
"I know. But it's true. And because you happen to have enough money to buy all the lingerie in the world, we are going to that La Perla. Now."
Before Brennan could grumble about how much she hated psychology, Angela was dragging her into the store by the arm. Once inside, a by-now very excited Angela went over to consult with a saleswoman for several minutes. After scanning Brennan intently, the woman started flitting around from rack to rack, pulling down all manner of bra, panty, and negligee as well as a few garter belts. Several minutes later, Angela motioned to Brennan to follow her into the changing-room area.
"Tada!" Angela intoned happily, gesturing to a huge pile of lace, silk, and satin.
"Ang…" It was almost a whine.
"Just try them on. It'll be good for you."
With only a halfhearted attempt at refusing, Brennan disappeared into the little room that had been prepared for her.
Angela was practically giddy with excitement, thoughts of torturing her friend momentarily forgotten. Brennan needed help with the finer points of being a girl on occasion, and Angela believed it was her responsibility to show her the ropes. Truth be told, she loved doing it, and now this golden opportunity had fallen into her lap. She would still get her information, but happily, now she could give her BFF something worthwhile in return.
Every woman needs a little spice in her underwear drawer.
As Angela had originally foreseen, it took Brennan some time to find something in the large mound of garments that fit properly. Some cups were too big; some were too small; and some fit snugly on one side but not on the other. Then there was the whole issue of comfort. Just when she was about to start cursing her natural asymmetry, Brennan came upon an essentially sheer bra with red lace detailing that finally seemed to hug her body the way it was supposed to.
"How ya doin' in there, sweetie?"
"I think this may be satisfactory." She slipped the matching panties over the cotton pair she was wearing and came out to look at herself in the full-length mirrors next to where Angela was stationed. "What do you think? Acceptable?"
"Oh my God, Brennan. You look incredible!" Angela was practically jumping up and down. "Are you seeing this! You're like the sexiest thing ever!"
"Well, I am very attractive, Ang, but you can in no way corroborate that statement." Brennan shook her head slightly, but she had to admit that Angela had a point. The ensemble she was wearing was basically useless––nothing was left to the imagination––but somehow, that fact only made her look and feel all the more decadent. It was an exercise in luxury, not utility.
"Okay, but knowing you're hot and feeling hot are two different things. So how do you feel, Bren?"
"Like I'm a little crazy for wearing this…and maybe a little…empowered?" Brennan seemed strangely bemused by this confession. She was not a woman who lacked self-confidence.
Meanwhile, Angela was doing a rather extravagant happy dance on the inside. Now we're getting somewhere. "I told you."
A few minutes passed as the two women continued to inspect Brennan's reflection in the mirrors.
"You should try something in blue," Angela finally said. "It'll bring out your eyes…I say go for the whole package. Baby doll, garters. The works."
"Angela, I thought this wasn't for a man. I doubt very much that I will start parading around my apartment in a negligee just to feel hot, as you put it."
"Just work with me here, okay? Besides, you never know. Some day you might end up with a guy you actually want to parade around in a negligee for. Always be prepared. That's what I say."
At that, Brennan quickly moved to barricade herself in the small room once again, but she didn't quite succeed in closing the door before Angela spotted her blush.
What the…
And that's all it took for the artist to catch the scent.
Brennan wasn't a blusher. Very, very few topics of conversation made her uncomfortable. Sex was not one of them. But strong emotions were.
As far as Angela was concerned, this could only mean one thing: Brennan already had a guy she'd happily sport lingerie for, whether she'd cop to the feeling or not. And there was only one reason she wouldn't share this new development: that guy was Booth.
Oh. My. God.
Angela's internal happy dance had reached a new level by the time Brennan came back out, this time in several layers of blue lace and chiffon. She looked even more stunning.
"Ang, I think…I think perhaps a pair of high heels…"
Angela grinned. "I think you're right. Hang on." She disappeared, only to return a few moments later with two black pumps dangling from her fingers. "Turns out, you're not alone. Here, try these on."
As Brennan did as she was instructed, Angela fished a hairclip out of her purse and proceeded to pile the anthropologist's long brown locks atop her head.
Their eyes met in the mirror.
It was time for Angela to test out her theory. "You're gonna drive Booth crazy looking like this. He's gonna forget his own freakin' name."
Brennan's eyes went wide as she blushed again. "Angela, you know Booth and I don't…There will be no opportunity for him to…"
Bingo, baby.
"Now you listen to me, Temperance Brennan. Something happened, and I want details. I'm your best friend. I'm the person you tell." She put her hands on her hips. "Spill."
"Angela…I don't think Booth would want me to…"
"Well, Booth can shove it." Desperate times call for desperate measures. "This is girl time. What Booth wants doesn't matter."
"Is that a rule?"
"Yes. Spill," she said again.
"It just sort of happened." Brennan looked down at the floor, rolling her ankle slightly and playing with her borrowed shoes. She suddenly seemed very young. "A man came up to me at the Founding Fathers, clearly hoping to engage in intercourse with me later that evening. I wasn't interested, but when Booth came back from the restroom, he saw that the man had taken his seat and he…he became very agitated."
"He was jealous." It was a statement, not a question.
"Apparently. He was being very possessive. I did not appreciate it. Words were exchanged outside the bar. And then he…he kissed me."
"And?"
"Booth is a very private person, Angela. I will not divulge the details of his sex life. Girl time or no girl time."
So there had been sex. YES!
"Fine, fine. I can use my imagination," she smirked. "But it was good?"
A radiant smile stretched across Brennan's face. "It was significantly better than 'good,' Angela." She added more quietly, "It still is."
A matching smile found its way to Angela's lips, and with a "Hallelujah!" she pulled Brennan into an enthusiastic hug. "I'm so happy for you. You have no idea!"
Angela was truly ecstatic. But just as she was about to pull away from their embrace to reiterate that fact, Brennan whispered, "I'm scared, Ang."
"Of what, sweetie?"
"Of disappointing him…not in bed, obviously…in life…Booth…he has certain expectations…I just…How do I give him what he wants but still be…me?"
"That, Brennan, is the age-old question." Angela grabbed her squarely by the shoulders. "Look, this isn't going to be easy, but you have two very important things going for you. First, Booth is about as in love with you as a man can get––"
"But I'm not even sure I believe in love the way Booth does!"
"Let me finish." She wasn't about to let Brennan psych herself out of this. "Booth loves you. He knows you––maybe even better than I do––and he loves you. And unless he has suddenly morphed into a Grade-A douchebag, he doesn't want you to change for him. Not now and not ever. Okay?"
"Okay." She didn't sound convinced. "And the second thing?"
"That said," Angela sighed, "Booth will have his douchebag moments. All men do. They can't help it. And with Booth, that means that one day he'll ask you for something that you're not sure you're ready to give."
Brennan nodded, seeing the wisdom in her friend's words.
"That's where I come in. You tell me how angry and hurt and confused you are. And I tell you just how much of an unreasonable prick Booth is being. I help you figure it out."
"Yeah?"
"It's my job, Bren. I promise, I will not let you lose yourself in this." Angela looked into her best friend's eyes with all the determination she could muster. "I will not let you screw this up. For your sake. Not his."
Brennan's "Okay" was inaudible, as Angela swept her back into her arms.
.
.
.
When they disentangled themselves several minutes later, Brennan's smile and composure were back. "Thanks, Ang. That means a lot."
Crisis averted. Eyes on the prize, Montenegro.
"It's what I do. But I will require payment for my best-friend services, you know," she replied playfully.
"What kind of payment?" Brennan furrowed her brow in confusion.
"Well, for starters, you're gonna buy this choice little number, along with a few others, and make sure to wear it. Soon. And when Booth does lose his mind, I'm gonna want details. Lots and lots of details."
"Angela!"
"It's the price you gotta pay, Bren. Besides, it's not like you're not getting anything out of this for yourself."
She thought for a moment and smiled a mischievous grin. "You have no idea, Ang. You have no idea."
Damn straight.
Mission accomplished.
So what are we thinking? Good, bad, god-awful?
