fic: now we see into a glass darkly.

[girlyevil]

now we see into a glass darkly

bones, booth; angela (implied booth/brennan, angela/hodgins) 399 words, pg- two birds, one stone and her logic befuddles him.

notes: for vinniebolzano

 

 

“She’s never going to do it, you know?”

He’s been staring into his tumbler for approximately ten minutes, shoulders hunched in the universal sign for leave me alone.

Angela, for all her worldly wisdom, has little respect for body language. Or personal space, it seems since she’s currently hovering over him. Close enough that he can smell her breath.

And yes, she’s drunk.

It’s funny.

Drunk or sober- Angela always sounds exactly the same.

 He lets out a tired breath and it drags in the air between them.

“What are you talking about, Angela?”

She frowns like she’s trying to collect scattered thoughts in the furrow of her brow.

“I’m talking about Brennan,”- frowning and smiling at the same time, perfect teeth on generous display-

“You think that maybe someday she’ll make the first move- let you know. She won’t.”

It’s a woman’s prerogative, he supposes

-hopelessly cryptic one moment, and shamelessly chatty the next.

Her hand slides on to his arm.

“Sooner or later, Booth, you’re going to have to do something about it.”

 He considers ignoring her, but she’s Angela and so he glares at her instead.

 Her face softens.

 “I wish the two of you would quit denying it.”

 He moves to shake his head but her hand clamps down on his arm.

 Her breath hovers over his ear, heavy and harsh.

 “Sometimes, if you want something- you just have to ask for it.”

He doesn’t get a chance to reply, her lips moving closer till she finds his.

 It’s a bit of a shock- kissing Angela.

She slips her tongue into his mouth, tastes sickly sweet from one too many cocktails and he doesn’t fight her off, one hand wrapped around her wrist- holding her body away from his own.

 Neither of them turn when she pulls back, they don’t glance over shoulders to see swiveling heads or glares or anything of the sort.

 “Two birds, one stone,” she intones, half holy, lips still too close to his mouth and he doesn’t quite know what to do.

 She stalks out like the beautiful gazelle, she is. Never glancing back at him.

 Two birds, one stone and he doesn’t understand her logic.

 Seeley Booth understands women.

 Just not tall ones.