Who: Booth and Angela What: more bar hopping. When: backdated to sunday night after Buffy's announcements Where: Random McLocal Bar Warnings: BEING ADULTS
Booth didn't want to think about the boards, or the murders, or that psychotic vampire anymore for the rest of the night. He'd had enough. It made him sick to see the things she posted and ranted about. The boasting she did made his stomach churn and his heart break. She was killing kids. Most of them probably barely older than his young son Parker. All of them unsuspecting and innocent and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. He'd met Dru in that abandoned Orphanage, faced off with her and couldn't stop her from killing even still. He shot her and still she didn't hardly waver in her killing spree. He couldn't sense fear, or see any kind of sign that she had a care in the world that she'd taken innocent lives. She had no soul. Her hands were ice cold, he remembered them against his skin and the memory alone brought a phantom chill and made him look back down at his mug of beer as the two of them sat at the bar.
He was mostly quiet, not sure what to do with these kinds of situations. Bones was the best friend, not him. Booth was the awkward co-worker who had fixing magic on a needed basis. But his tactical timing with women and fixing wasn't so hot, so he sat there wondering what to say. How to make things better. Then it dawned on him, Angela was the normal one. It shouldn't be to hard to say something comforting. Swirling the caramel colored liquid in his clear mug he frowned. "We're going to stop her. " She used to take solace when Booth went bad guy hunting, he hoped it would work just as well this time. He wouldn't mention that he had no idea how, or when, or that he'd tried already. But they would.