A/N: Just another quick, cute little one-shot for CBPC this month that popped out of my head this afternoon. And thank goodness for midterms, too--my apologies to all of you still in school!--or I would have never had the time to write it :-)

Enjoy!

I can't believe I'm dong this.

Brannan laid on the couch in her office in a prone position, her hands covering her face as she wracked her brain for a solution to her problem. Her thought process was continually interrupted, though, by the waves of embarrassment that kept springing up.

I should have given this up when I was a child.

It had started innocently enough when she was little, watching cartoons on Saturday mornings with Russ. Her favorite had been The Smurfs, her young mind fixating on Smurfette and what it must be like to be her.

I really should never have even started.

By junior high, she had discovered the Anne of Green Gables series of books and threw herself into them wholeheartedly. Her imagination took off, too, as she became more involved and began imagining the characters in situations Lucy Maud Montgomery never dreamed of.

I'm a respected, published author now! I don't have time for this!

When her parents disappeared and she was placed in her first foster home, she retreated even further into the world of fiction, reading anything and everything she could get her hands on in an attempt to shield herself from reality. It was then that she began writing her own stories, borrowing the characters from her favorite books that she had come to know so well.

She had become a fanfiction writer.

And I'm still doing it!

She was usually busy enough with her duties at the Jeffersonian, working on cases with Booth, and writing her own original fiction in the form of her widely publicized novels. But every now and then, often in times of particular stress or loneliness, she turned back to her writing roots the way other people turn to comfort foods. Lying on the couch now, she was wrestling with a particularly difficult character, knowing what she wanted to come next in the story but unable to make it happen.

"Why are you so stubborn?!" she demanded into the cushions.

"Talking to Booth again?" Angela quipped, strolling into the office. "It's really more effective when he's here to listen to you."

Brennan sprung to a sitting position and gaped at her friend. "Angela…what are you doing here?"

"Uh, I work here?" the artist responded. "And Zack was looking for the digital photos he took for the Sparelli case. Are they here on your flash drive?"

She moved toward Brennan's computer, stopping in surprise at her friend's reaction.

"No!" Brennan almost shouted, jumping off the couch. Halfway to the desk she regained control of herself and tried again. "I mean, yes, the pictures are on my flash drive. But let me get them for you…"

A puzzled Angela took a seat at the desk. "That's alright, Bren. I'll just…" She paused and studied the computer screen, reading the name of the file that sat open. "Baby Steps…a CSI:NY fanfic? Sweetie, what's this?"

"Angela, don't," Brennan pleaded. "It's nothing. Just take the flash drive to Zack so he has the pictures…"

"'He set the wallet down on the desk and shifted his gaze to the wedding band on his left hand, twisting it they way he sometimes did when he was thinking,'" she read out loud. "'Stella had asked him once why he still wore it. All he had managed to tell her was that he didn't want to take it off. What he couldn't tell her was that he wasn't ready to. Taking off his wedding band meant letting go of Claire forever, admitting that she was no longer his, and he had been unable to do that.' Wow, this is really good…"

The flaming red in Brennan's cheeks matched the red of her favorite wine. "You think so?" she asked meekly.

Angela was more enthusiastic. "I do, yeah. Can I read the rest?"

Brennan thought that over. "On one condition," she decided. "That you promise not to tell anyone else about this—or about anything else you might find that I've written."

"Okay," Angela smiled.

"Swear, Angela. Swear that you'll never mention to anyone that I write…" Brennan's voice dropped to a harsh whisper as she spoke the last word. "…fanfiction."

"Anyone meaning Booth?" Angela teased. Then, catching the look on Brennan's face, she became serious again. "Okay, Bren, I swear. Besides," she continued, shifting her eyes back to the computer screen, "it's nothing to be ashamed of. I do it too."

"You're a writer?"

Angela shook her head slightly. "I use with pictures and sketches. It's called fanart—been doin' it since I was a kid. Gave all my friends drawings of their favorite actors with them for each of their birthdays when I was in school. Then I discovered digital photography manipulations…whew! You should see some of my stuff!"

"Can I?" Brennan asked, smiling now. It was good to know she wasn't the only adult that induldged in such pastimes.

"Absolutely," Angela replied. "I've got this awsome Gilmore Girls collage I've been working on."

"Does Hodgins know?" Brennan wondered.

Angela whipped around to face her friend. "No," she said sternly, "and he's not going to find out." Her voice softened and a small smile formed on her lips when she spoke again. "This'll be our little secret, okay?"

Brennan grinned back. It's nice to have a friend to share secrets with. "Okay."