Chapter Two

"Andrew?" She tried to register the familiar face, but he was out of place here. He was very out of place because instead of his FBI-issued black suit and tie or weekend polo and slacks, he was wearing green plaid pajama pants and a blue FBI t-shirt under a red knit sweater, unzipped in the front. His entire ensemble contrasted and clashed against each other. His hair was messy like he'd just climbed out of bed. "What-" she had so many questions, but his kind face just smiled at her as he removed his strange sweater and draped it over her shoulders. It was itchy and she wanted to throw it off, but she thought it might be rude.

"I think you may have misdialed when you sent me that text, but I wanted to make sure you weren't standing here waiting for a ride that wasn't coming." He told her, but none of his words made any sense. What text? The only person she had texted tonight had been Angela.

She could feel him ushering her somewhere, and she focused her eyes on his sporty BMW parked at the curb.

"Hey!" A voice called and she turned her head toward it. The bartender. He was coming out of the club now, probably finished with his cleaning routine by now. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" He asked; he sounded aggressive, and she leaned into Andrew's warm body as he supported her.

"No, no, nooo… this is not what it looks like." Andrew was saying. He sounded nervous and he was fumbling around his pockets with one hand while he held her up with his other around her waist. She thought she should be more helpful and maybe stand up straight but her feet were aching, and her legs felt like jelly. "I'm the Assistant Deputy Director of the FBI. My badge is on my front seat there. This is my friend and a valued colleague. She- she texted me for a ride. You are welcome to check my phone. Do I look like a date rapist? I am in pajamas. I just got out of bed to pick her up." He sounded desperate for the bartender to believe him. Again, she felt like she should help.

"Andrew is a good boy." She said, trying to reassure the bartender, but even she could tell her words were slurred. "He's never even tried to fuck me." She said, looking up at Andrew's face, trying to brush her numb hand across his cheek in an affectionate caress, but she felt disoriented and was quite certain she'd just slapped him. "Why haven't you ever tried to fuck me?" She asked, suddenly very curious. An expression crossed his features… Like indigestion or… her thoughts were confusing as she squinted at his face, trying to study him. Where was Sweets with his facial expressions when you needed him?

"It didn't seem like something you wanted." He told her, though he seemed a bit exasperated, probably because the bartender was examining his FBI ID and phone message. It seemed the other man had satisfied his concerns about letting Andrew put the drunk woman into his car because now he was being helpful, holding the door open. Someone's hand brushed her hair out of her eyes. "I'm going to put your seatbelt on." He murmured quietly, and she thought it was such an odd thing to say before she felt his body invade her personal space.

She sighed contentedly at the feeling of his body against hers. That's exactly what she wanted right now. A hard body, pressing her against just about any surface. She hadn't trusted herself to make sound judgment about the stranger, but this wasn't a stranger. She inhaled deeply when his hair tickled her cheek, but he smelled wrong. No hair gel… of course not, though; Andrew didn't wear hair gel; Booth did. He didn't smell bad. He just smelled wrong.

"How did we get here again?" She asked, as she realized that she now stood in front of Andrew, leaning against his chest with her arms linked around his neck. His hands were respectfully placed on her waist, she noted, not low on her hips like Mr. Blue Eyes' had been, and he kept pulling his body back a little. Leaving room for the Holy Spirit. That's what Booth had called it. "Do you even believe in the Holy Spirit?" She mused. "Or are you more intelligent than that?"

"I drove us here." He chuckled, and she smiled up at him. She didn't remember the car ride or how they got into the elevator. It was like when you're dreaming, and you're just suddenly in a new location because you thought of it. "You slept most of the ride and the walk to the elevator." He told her, and she wondered if she'd said any of that out loud.

As the elevator moved upwards, she felt like inertia was taking control and leaving her stomach on the ground floor. She moaned against the wave of nausea and leaned her face against the softness of his t-shirt. "D–did you know when a corpse is going down in an elevator it sometimes groans?" She asked him, being reminded of the fun factoid from her undergrad days.

"I'm glad you're not a corpse." He laughed, and his chest rumbled against her cheek. That felt nice.

"I was going to have sex with a stranger tonight because Booth loves Hannah." She told him, smiling when he blushed a little. "But… tequila. I almost had sex with Booth once because of tequila…" She shrugged, pressing closer to him again. He was so warm and soft. "You're strange, but you're not a stranger." She mused. "We could have sex."

Andrew seemed nervous when he laughed and smiled back down at her. The elevator pinged, and he tried to walk, but she stood still in front of him, arms around his neck and her stance wide to keep her balance on her heels. "This is your floor." He told her, speaking quietly, and she couldn't stop giggling as she remained firmly planted in his arms, forcing him to shuffle down the hall, walking her backwards towards her door as she pressed her body against his in what she could only hope was somewhat seductive. "You're making this a lot harder than it needs to be, and I sense you're doing it on purpose." He told her, and she laughed even more, pressing herself closer to him and brushing her lips across his throat. "Just as I suspected." He teased her. "Can I get your keys out of your bag?" He asked, and she reached on her shoulder to get it, feeling a slight panic when it wasn't there. He must have sensed it because he stepped back and lifted it off of his own shoulder. What a gentleman. Like the rest of his outfit, his purse did not match.

She felt herself overcome with a fit of giggles at the sight of his ensemble again and leaned against the wall for balance before she relented and slid down onto the floor. She watched him open the tiny sequin clutch and pull out her keys, unlocking her door and swinging it open. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the wall, hearing the loud thud more than she'd felt it. She felt like she was floating and vaguely heard the door close. Something soft was beneath her, and she opened her eyes to find out what it was. She was met with the top of Andrew's head as he knelt next to her bed where her legs were dangling off the edge. He was removing her shoes, and she smiled, wondering what his hair felt like. It was curly and unkempt and Booth's was always firmly in place. He froze when her fingers got tangled in his hair, and he carefully helped her extricate them, an expression of mild discomfort crossing his features.

"How did we get here?" She asked again, staring down into his kind brown eyes. They were the wrong eyes.

"I drove, and I assure you, these are the only eyes I've got." He told her with a laugh, misunderstanding her meaning, though she didn't know how to explain that she meant how had she and Booth gotten to this place. How had they grown so far apart that instead of calling him, she'd called his boss, who'd she'd gone on a handful of dates with over a year ago, and who was now in her bedroom undressing her. Maybe undressing was the wrong word. He'd helped her take off her shoes and now he was just kneeling there on her floor, looking up at her with concerned eyes. "I don't think undressing you would be appropriate while you're this intoxicated, Temperance, but I'll admit, you'd probably test the nerves of a Saint at this point." He said, and she didn't understand how he kept reading her thoughts. He laughed, and she tilted her head, studying him.

He was so perfectly kind. It was overwhelming, as was the sudden sensation rising up from her stomach. She felt like she was in a stop-motion film, watching as Andrew was suddenly covered in vomit; vomit that had come out of her and was dripping down her chin. She cringed as he stood up from the floor and looked down at his clothes. Covering her mouth with her fingers, her eyes traveled up to the hair she'd recently toyed with; hair that now also housed the contents of her stomach.

"I'm sorry…" she whispered, and she knew under normal circumstances she'd probably be mortified, but she was feeling very few emotions at the moment, and a giggle escaped her lips. "I have… towels…" she felt her lips moving and heard her voice speaking, but she felt as though any intelligent thoughts were getting roadblocked inside of her head and only idiotic monosyllabic words were making it out of her mouth. She pointed at the linen closet just outside her bedroom door and watched as he nodded silently and walked toward it.

Brennan heard the shower turn on and she got up from the bed, picking up random objects that she'd left out of place before going to the club. She padded barefoot out to her living room in search of her cell phone, belatedly remembering it was in her purse. It took her a moment to locate the tiny clutch, and she felt quite accomplished by the time she liberated her phone from within it.

Wandering back into her bedroom, she scrolled through her contacts. Remembering Angela had stopped by looking for her, she dialed her friend's number and listened as it rang several times.

"Bren?" Ange answered, sounding sleepy. "You home now, Sweetie?" She asked. Angela knew her so well. "Of course I know you, Bren." Ange replied, and Brennan wondered if she was speaking out loud again. "Yea, Bren, you're saying all of this out loud." Angela answered dryly.

"AndrewHackerIsInMyShower" Brennan whispered, cupping her hand around her mouth and the phone receiver in an attempt to muffle her voice from her guest.

"Say that one more time." Ange said, her voice suddenly sounding very alert. "Andrew Hacker, as in Assistant Deputy Director of the FBI? As in Booth's boss…?" Angela asked, her voice rising with every word.

"Shhh, he might hear you." Brennan scolded her, giggling. "Actually, he's Booth's boss' boss' bossy boss…. Or something." Brennan corrected her, losing track of how many bosses were necessary. "But he is also my friend… sort of, and we dated… sort of… it's not all about Booth, you know." she added, feeling a little bit defensive.

"And he's… in your shower." Angela confirmed, and Brennan giggled again. "Do you need him to get out of your shower and leave, or…"

"Does she need us to go over there?" Brennan heard Hodgins ask from somewhere beyond the phone line. He was such a good friend, and she knew it wasn't just because he was married to her best friend.

"No. I'm… fine." Brennan assured them, and herself. "I'm tot-ly fine." She slurred. "Booth… loves Hannah, and I am fine." She told her friend, though she didn't exactly feel fine. "I love Booth. Booth loves Hannah.. It's… it's all fine. It's all saucy, baby." She said, hoping she sounded convincing.

"Gravy. It's all gravy, baby." Angela corrected her softly. "Are you sure you don't want us to come over? I bet I could convince Jack to let you drunk make out with him a bit." She asked and Brennan could hear Hodgins' indignant response. "Like you wouldn't enjoy it?" Ange muttered, and she assumed she was speaking to Hodgins.

Laughing, she assured Ange she was fine again and that Hodgins would most definitely enjoy it. "I'm an excellent kisser. You know that, Ange." She reminded her friend before saying goodbye and dropping her phone on the bed.

"Why is it so hot in here?" She muttered, reaching behind her to unzip her dress and letting it fall to the floor in a pool of satin before she flopped back onto her bed. "It's too bright in here." she whined, throwing her arm over her eyes to block out the glare of the overhead light. It seemed the most effective method that did not involve having to move across the now spinning bedroom. She vaguely remembered that she was supposed to be doing something, but she couldn't recall what it was. It was probably not all that important.


Booth strode purposefully down the hall toward Bones' door. She hadn't answered her phone all morning, and he was starting to get worried. Angela had told him that Bones had called her around 4:00 in the morning to say she had made it back home, but Angela had seemed cagey about details, and he wondered if there was something, or someone, Angela wasn't telling him about. He'd planned on following both Angela's and Hannah's advice and giving Bones space for a few days, but the murder line decided their fate for them.

Booth rapped gently on her door, knowing she was probably hungover, either from alcohol or emotions or any combination of the two. He waited, listening for movement inside the apartment when he heard the chain lock unhook and the deadbolt click open. She didn't even look through the peephole first, for which he'd remember to lecture her about later. He took a breath and schooled his features to the professional setting, knowing she'd appreciate the distraction.

"Agent Booth, hello."

Booth felt the oxygen leave his body like some invisible force had just slammed into him, crushing his lungs and stealing his breath away. Standing in Bones' doorway was Hacker – fucking Hacker – wearing a short satin robe covered in a pink floral design that barely covered the necessities on Bones when he'd seen her in it and was leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination on Hacker's larger form.

"Sir." Booth choked out around the massive lump in his throat, looking anywhere but the man himself.

"You were probably expecting Temperance." Hacker said with a stupid grin and dumb fucking chuckle. Obviously he'd been expecting Bones to answer the goddamn door at her own goddamn apartment. He had maybe – maybe expected some nameless, faceless, topless dunce with rock hard abs, having overstayed his one night stand welcome and was in need of removal, but he had not, in any world, expected half naked Andrew fucking Hacker to open the door.

"Yea, uh, it is her place, so…" Booth trailed off, trying to find a safe place to look. If he looked at Hacker's face, he was afraid he'd knock the clown's teeth down his throat, and if he looked anywhere else, he'd be scarred for life, probably spending every staff meeting with the disturbing visual of Hacker's one-eyed swamp monster staring him down.

"Of course!" Hacker said, clapping his hands firmly together and looking about as excited as a man who just spent the night with Temperance 'I-like-uninhibited-sex' Brennan should be, as he opened the door a little wider. "She's actually still in bed." He explained, and Booth took a deep cleansing breath. Still in bed, probably smelling like sex and Hacker…

He'd known that Bones had dated Hacker briefly before going to Indonesia, but this was definitely a shock to the system. There are some things you can know or think and keep in the deep recesses of your mind, as long as you don't have to see them or hear about them. This was one of those things he'd have preferred to leave buried somewhere deep in his subconscious on a dark shelf next to the sex talk Pops had given him when he was 13.

"Right." Booth nodded. He had opened his mouth to explain why he was there, as if he owed Hacker any explanations for showing up at his partner's apartment in the middle of the day. He wondered if he should fill the awkward silence by mentioning that there was a case, and she hadn't been picking up her phone, when the woman of the hour stumbled out of her bedroom in nothing but a black thong, her hair messy and her smoky eye makeup smudged across her face.

"Whoa." Booth exclaimed, turning his head away and snapping his eyes shut.

"Horse." Bones mumbled, and he could almost see the confused expression she'd be wearing from behind his closed eyes.

"Hell-o" Hacker said awkwardly. The fucking idiot.

"Hello…" Bones replied in confusion before entering her bathroom and closing the door.

"Listen, uh, just tell Bones I'll call her later." Booth said, reaching for the door and leaving as quickly as he could. He hadn't even given Hacker time to confirm or ask any questions. He was probably aware of the case details, or would be as soon as he pried his smarmy hands off of Bones' perfect tits long enough to check his damn phone. He cursed silently at himself for even thinking about how he'd just seen her breasts on full, uninhibited display and had enjoyed the view, however brief. He rationalized that as a guy, he was going to notice these things. It's not like he hadn't ever noticed her body before. He'd just never seen her topless. It was a novelty thing, not a cheating thing.

He took the stairs down to the first floor two at a time, unable to get out of there fast enough. As soon as the cool air of the street hit his face, he inhaled deeply, filling his lungs and trying to comprehend what he'd just witnessed. Twelve hours ago Bones had been confessing her deepest feelings for him and sobbing in the passenger seat of his car because he told her he'd moved on. How long did she wait before hopping onto Hacker's dick? That was a visual he wished he'd never thought of.

He climbed into his car, reminding himself that he had no right to be jealous– he wasn't jealous; he was just shocked was all. It was shocking to see his boss half naked in his equally naked partner's apartment. Anyone would be shocked and appalled at seeing Hacker's nutsack peeking out from under a woman's silky robe. Well, anyone but Bones apparently. Apparently, she liked Hacker's dick just fine.