~o~ Chapter Seven - This is My Truth, Now Tell Me Yours ~o~

Brennan spent the rest of the week working as much as possible in order to clear her schedule for the week they would spend away. By Friday she had tied up the loose ends of three closed cases by signing off on paperwork, worked on several bodies from Limbo and supervised her intern – and this particular week she was blessed by the presence and unique charm of Mrs Daisy Sweets, nee Wick. On top of all this, she contributed to a paper a colleague from Northwestern was writing and briefly assisted Cam with a case she was working for DC Metro PD. A productive week by anyone's standards, but still she berates herself in quiet moments when she finds her thoughts straying uncontrollably to her partner.

It's his fault, she reasons with herself on her drive home, for putting the idea in my head. He may be looking forward to seeing her in 'the skimpiest bikini known to man' but she can't deny that she is now equally excited by the prospect of seeing him in nothing but swim trunks, laying on the beach – or emerging from the surf, his skin glistening, tanned…

Once they had decided on a beach holiday, Booth had wasted no time in running to fetch her laptop, moving through her apartment naked and unabashed before crawling back beneath the covers beside her and propping the machine on his knees.

There had been some healthy debate regarding the cost of a spontaneous vacation versus the limits of Booth's salary – Booth, of course, had wanted to split the cost down the middle which she understood as his need to assert his rights as a man, and a gentleman at that, not to be kept. However, the cost of the hotel and flights was a drop in the sea for her, and she'd told him so.

She smiles as she remembers how she won the argument. She's found he is easily persuaded to her point of view during sex, so that was the deal clincher. Plus she'd promised to let him pay for anything they needed while they were away.

They have booked a modest room (his choice) in an excellent hotel (hers) that is made up of individual dwellings strung along a private beach. If the pictures on the website were anything to go by Brennan feels sure they will enjoy their stay, and now that her working week is over she can allow her thoughts to focus on only that. On sun, sand, sea and Seeley Booth. She rolls her eyes at herself, as she unlocks her apartment. Apparently he's rubbing off on her.

She puts her jacket and purse away and sorts her mail before a package on her kitchen table catches her eye. Curious, she pulls colored tissue paper from the top of the gift bag, finding a bottle of suntan lotion inside. Smiling, she lifts it and pops the cap, inhaling the fresh scent of summer. There is a small card inside the bag, Booth's familiar scrawl upon it: 'You rub my back, I'll rub yours, partner. See you Sunday – can't wait!'

She can't fight a grin, stroking a thumb over his words a moment. He is staying at his place the next two nights to see Parker before they leave. She is a little dismayed to find that she misses him already.

"Time to pack," she says aloud, hoping to distract herself, but slips the card into the back pocket of her jeans, feeling foolish.

~o~

She isn't sure it will all fit in her suitcase.

She is used to traveling light. Hiking boots, a jacket, a couple of changes of clothes and her field kit are all she usually needs. Now her bed looks like she's decided to have a yard sale. She hadn't been sure what to buy for the trip and had so little time that she had panic bought nearly every summer item in a small boutique Angela once showed her across town. Getting away from work at lunchtime to complete this mission without the artist accompanying her had been a feat in itself but, for a moment, she wishes her friend to be in on the secret, so that she could ask her advice. Does she need three pairs of sandals? Is this bikini skimpier, even, than Booth has in mind? How many sarongs are too many sarongs?

She stands and stares at the neat piles of brightly colored linen and cotton and frowns. Of course, if Angela were in on the secret, then the secret would be as good as gone. She loves her dearly, but she has the feeling that if she looked up the word 'gossip' in the dictionary, she'd find a photograph of her friend in lieu of a definition. She feels a little guilty for the thought as soon as she has it. Angela has been a good friend to her, especially lately, and she knows she would be very glad to hear the news that she and Booth have entered a relationship. But still, not yet.

She is startled from her reverie by a sharp knock at the door and her stomach gives a small flip as she assumes (hopes?) it is Booth. Could he not keep away?

She is secretly relieved that he is as hopeless at the whole 'being apart' thing as she is. But halfway through her apartment she remembers that he has a key.

It is enough to make her check the peep hole as she reaches the door, her eyes widening as she does. It's Angela. Of all the times for her to conjure her up with a wish, she thinks fancifully, as she races back to her bedroom and scoops all the summer clothes up in her top sheet, stuffing them beneath the bed in a messy pile. She kicks at a pair of sandals to make them fit and drags the soft blue comforter down to trail on the floor. She steps back to check everything is hidden and turns at her friend's second knock on the door. Her open suitcase mocks her from its position on the floor, however, and she wrenches open her closet, flinging sensible button down blouses and dress pants at the bed, wondering what on earth has come over her. Angela has grown insistent now and she finally moves through the apartment to let her in.

"There you are!" her friend exclaims, breezing past her.

"Yes," Brennan agrees.

"Where were you? I've been knocking forever."

She ignores her friend's tendency to hyperbole and leads the way back through to her bedroom. "I was packing."

"Something good I hope, not all… oh." Angela regards the pile of clothes on her bed and props a hand on her hip. "Boring work shirts," she finishes, lifting a blouse between two fingers like she's found it at a crime scene.

"Work is why we're going," Brennan informs her, continuing her ridiculous charade by trying to decide between pumps and boots, holding both pairs up. "Which do you think?"

"Neither," Angela decides, with a grimace. "Come on, sweetie. A week. Alone. With Booth. Please tell me you are planning on taking something a little more…" She shakes her shoulders and snaps her fingers. "Snazzy."

"Snazzy? Angela, we will be-"

"Yes, yes. Doing deadly boring work things all day, but the nights, sweetie, think about the nights! This is the perfect chance for you to put everything we've been talking about into action." Angela watches her for a moment, her dark eyes turning sad. "You haven't changed your mind, have you?"

This is ridiculous. "About what?"

"About Booth."

Brennan looks away, clearing her throat. "No."

"So you're still going to tell him how you feel?"

She finds herself seriously contemplating this, as though it has any relevance given the fact that Booth is well aware how she feels. She is not sure how she would have answered before, so she tries to appeal to Angela in her own language. "I could take a dress."

Angela claps her hands. "Two! Maybe three! I'll choose." She dives into Brennan's closet without further ado.

Brennan laughs softly at her friend's antics. "I'll go make us some coffee," she offers.

"Screw the coffee, open a bottle of wine!" Angela calls after her.

~o~

A bottle of wine was a bad idea, Brennan has decided, some time later. She has a suitcase packed full of unsuitable clothing, which will need re-packing once Angela leaves, the prospect of a hangover to face in the morning and is steadily losing her grip on why, exactly, it is so important that her friend not know their secret.

Angela has been bombarding her with many versions of her favored topic of conversation – namely certain revelations that Brennan has recently shared with her regarding her feelings for her partner. Brennan has become adept at ignoring, or else side-stepping, her friend's well-meant attempts at matchmaking over the years. But now Angela believes she is planning to approach Booth while all the time she already has, and she's with him and the urge to say to hell with it and tell her the truth is almost unbearable by the time Angela is pouring their last glasses from the bottle.

"Ooh! There'll be dancing!" the artist croons, as she leans her head back on the couch, a dreamy look on her face. "Don't you think? Some kind of wrap party."

"I highly doubt it," Brennan counters. "From what I understand these gatherings are strictly professional in nature. Besides, it is more usual for both members of a partnership to be male, so I am not sure who they would dance with." Again, she has no idea why she is participating in this ridiculous conversation when she and Booth are going nowhere near a partner's retreat. She closes her eyes and takes a steady breath in, and she is so close to admitting the truth.

And then she isn't. Because Angela says: "You've thought about it though, right? Dancing with Booth? I saw you at the wedding."

Brennan sits up straight, her stomach lurching. She sets her wine glass on the table in front of them to buy precious seconds to compose herself. She is no good at this, none at all. This is why Booth's silly plan was never going to work.

"Saw us?" she asks, trying to effect nonchalance.

Angela nods, her eyes twinkling. "Dancing."

Oh. Thank god. "Oh, yes," she breathes. "We did – briefly."

Angela narrows her eyes and Brennan feels a sharp prick of fear, as though she is a fox, and Angela – Angela is the hounds of love. Brennan glares at the bottle of wine on the table a moment, sure it is responsible for her poeticism.

"That was right before the two of you took off," Angela says.

"Was it? I – guess it was. I had a headache."

"And Booth took you home?"

"Yes."

"Without breathing a word to anyone?"

"What do you mean?"

"No one knew what happened to the two of you. Sweets was looking for Booth during the toasts."

Brennan shifts on the couch, avoiding Angela's knowing gaze. "I didn't really realize," she tries, thinking of the warm pool of sunlight she lay in that next morning, as she listened to Booth calling Parker in the next room. Remembering how she stretched limbs heavy with pleasure and too-little sleep as his voice carried through with the song on the radio, with the burble of his coffee machine and the waking-city sounds drifting through the open window. Remembering her stomach fizzing with a pleasant, physiological response she could only label as emotionally-induced, as Booth apologized for missing his baseball game, telling him he had the best kind of excuse. That one day he'd be old enough to hear all about it.

Angela raises an eyebrow. "It must have been some headache."

Brennan blinks, wrenching her thoughts to the present. "It was." She nods and stands. "And I think I'm working on another one." She tugs Angela to her feet.

"Ooh!" Angela giggles. "Am I being dismissed?"

"Yes," Brennan replies bluntly. "I have to get some sleep."

At the door she asks, "You're not driving are you?"

"No I caught a cab. I'll get that cute doorman of yours to call me another."

"Good."

Angela squeezes her hand as she prepares to leave. "Just promise me, Bren, that amid all the deadly boring lectures and assault courses you'll make time for some fun."

"I promise," she assures her, trying to imagine for a moment what kind of assault course one might find on a long, white-sand beach. She pictures Booth gamely leaping logs and scrambling beneath netting, all while bringing her cocktails on a little tray. She smirks, and Angela seems to take this as proof of her words.

"Good," she tells her, sweeping her into a fragrant hug. "I just know it is going to work out for you guys. He's just waiting for a sign from you, Bren - I know it. Call me when you…" And there her words trail off as her arms tighten about Brennan's shoulders.

"What?" Brennan asks, pulling away.

Angela is moving back into the apartment, her interest caught by something on the table.

Oh no! Brennan rushes after her but her friend has lifted the incriminating evidence and is fixing her with a skeptical look.

"Suntan lotion? I thought you were going to West Virginia?"

Brennan shrugs. "It's been sunny."

Angela lifts the gift bag in her other hand, noting with delight the blush now painting her friend's cheeks. "Gift-wrapped?"

Brennan stutters. "Uh-"

Angela stares. "You're not going on a partner's retreat at all!" she realizes.

"Angela." Brennan holds her hand out and her friend slaps the lotion bottle into it, watching her as she replaces it in the bag and puts the whole thing to the side on the kitchen counter.

"Where are you going?" Angela asks. Her face falls momentarily. "And with whom?"

Brennan feels her face flush, mainly with panic that Angela should misunderstand the situation and think there is another man involved. Somehow even the thought feels like cheating on her partner.

But a moment later it doesn't matter because Angela has apparently spotted the color on her face and her eyes light up. "Oh – oh!"

"Angela."

"Oh no, that's too delicious."

"Angela."

"Bren-nan."

"Please promise not to scream."

"Brennan!"

"Booth and I are in a newly-established romantic relationship and we are – Angela-aaa. You promised not to scream."

~o~

"We were attempting to keep it a secret, just for a little while."

"Oh, sweetie, I will be the soul of discretion."

"That's what Sweets said."

"You told Sweets?"

"We knew he would find out."

"Daisy."

"Yes."

"I'm so sorry I ruined your secret."

"No you're not."

"No I'm not! Oh my God, sweetie – this is huge!"

"Angela-"

"OK, OK, I'm sorry – I just…"

"What?"

"You know I have to ask?"

Brennan sighs wistfully. "Yes, it's fantastic."

"Not the sex, though wow, who didn't know that would be the case, right?" She grins. "But I'm talking about how you feel, Brennan. Are you happy?"

"It's early yet, Angela. We only just got together at the wedding."

"I knew it!"

Brennan chuckles. "It's early. But yes, I'm happy."

Angela crushes her in another hug. "I'm happy for you. Both of you."

"Thank you," Brennan murmurs, into her friend's hair. "Now please, can I have some help re-packing my suitcase? I need you to tell me what to take."

Angela pulls away and smirks. "Practically nothing, sweetie. Practically nothing."

"I don't understand."

"As in the less fabric, the better."

"Ah. Yes, I believe Booth would concur."

~o~

Sometime later, after being forced to agree to lunch and "girl time" the next day, Brennan closes her front door and makes her way back to her bedroom to close her suitcase, trying to work out how she is going to tell Booth their secret is out before they've even left. After interrogating her for over an hour, Angela has promised to keep quiet, but her previous observance of her friend's inability to avoid the urge to gossip still stands.

Despite this minor setback, Brennan acknowledges that, maybe even moreso than with Sweets, it was quite thrilling to tell Angela the truth. Their plan may be becoming more complicated by the day and maybe she ought to be getting cold feet by now (Brennan 101), but she's not.

It's worth it, she whispers aloud, making no attempt to fight her smile.

TBC…