Ch3- Just Late
She was late.
She was never late. Not so much as an hour. Like clockwork. Never, never, never.
Ohhhh shit.
Brennan rushes to and retches into the toilet in one of the bathrooms in the Jeffersonian, feeling sick. Ever so gently, Angela holds the locks of dark hair away from her friend's face, rubbing her back with her free hand. After what seems like an hour, Bones' head comes up, her face drained of all colour. "Oh god."
Ange continues rubbing her back. "Sweetie… you gonna tell me what's going on?"
"I think I have the flu," the anthropologist lies, fighting the urge to hurl again. Her stomach feels hollow, empty, and like something is rolling around inside of it. Or like she has just ridden five rollercoasters.
Or like she is pregnant.
Brennan immediately dismisses the thought. There is no way she could be pregnant. None. End of story.
Angela regards her with a half-smile. "I'm not stupid, hon," she said softly.
Bones sighs. "Maybe I am. I don't know. I don't want to be." Uncharacteristically, she buries her face in her hands with a small sob. "I'm so confused, Ange. I don't know what to do, I don't know what-"
"Hey, hey," Angela interrupts, "none of that. I'll help you out, sweetie, guaranteed. I'll be with you every step of the way, alright?"
Brennan nods slowly. "Okay." Her voice is hesitant, and Ange pulls her into a hug.
"But…" she draws back, serious, but eventually breaks into a grin. "I can't take it any longer. Please, pretty please, tell me it's Booth's!"
Brennan sighs again. "It is." Suddenly it hits her. "I can't stay here. He can't ever know. Ange, I have to go." Without a word, she escapes her friend's embrace and bolts out the door.
Never before would she have ever considered doing what was running through her mind, but it was different now. There was no way she could continue working at the Jeffersonian.
"I can't."