Botany.
Bones for a long time disliked Victorian literature but was coming around to it. Angela scoffed. It was in the early phases of their friendship when they were still learning each other's idiosyncrasies that quickly became second nature.
The weather was a little too cold for Bones to be reading outside, but she persevered, her breath making little clouds that the wind blew onwards. Angela sat shivering next to her. She vigorously rubbed her arms, trying to heat her skin under her numerous layers. Eventually, she took the long end of Brennan's scarf and draped it across her own shoulders. At this, Brennan looked up and fixed a questioning gaze on her chilled friend. Angela put on an anticipatory expression.
"Why?" she asked with exaggerated annoyance.
"I don't understand the question," Bones replied.
"Why the hell are we doing this outside when we could be perfectly warm and perfectly happy doing the same thing indoors. What are you reading, anyway?"
"It's a book on Victorian floriography, and I like the sunshine."
"What?"
"What?"
"Something to do with flowers?"
"Oh Angela, it's an entire language."
"That you intend to learn overnight."
"It's not that complicated."
Angela sighed.
"Tell me more," she said, adjusting her hat. "Take my mind off the cold."
"Well anything you want to say, you can apparently say in flowers. Which granted is a limited vocabulary but not many literary characters seem to mind," Brennan answered.
"I have a question."
"Yes."
"The guy from last week dumped me. How do you say 'fuck you' in flowers?"
Brennan flipped to the glossary and started running her finger down the terms.
"It's not in here," she deadpanned. "We'll have to extrapolate."
Which is how that night, Angela found herself in Bones's kitchen tying together a bunch of stems with an obnoxiously bright ribbon.