Temperance Brennan awoke to sunlight streaming through the crack in her curtains and the sounds of birds chirping outside her window; a perfect spring morning. She made a small, appreciative noise of contentment, then rolled over to go back to sleep until her alarm sounded. She only just stopped herself from screaming when she came face to face with a very familiar figure. Oddly, her first thought, instead of being 'why the fuck is Booth in my bed?', was 'how on earth did that awful snoring not wake me up?'.

She hastily rolled over and off the bed, taking the sheets with her in an effort to protect her herself both against the biting cold of exiting the snug bed and any curtain-crack voyeurs that might happen to be hovering outside her fifth-floor apartment. The sight of a very real and very naked Booth momentarily distracted her, but the shock of him being in her bed overrode the pleasant surprise of him actually being in her bed. He twitched and rolled over, but didn't wake up. Thank God.

Glancing at the clock on her bedside table, she realised with shock that her alarm had already gone off - hours ago, in fact. It was now 10:30am. She groaned loudly; despite the pounding headache that was now bringing itself to her attention, Brennan's memory was as sharp as ever. Angela would be knocking on her front door at any minute, demanding that she get her ass into gear so that they could go on one of their increasingly rare shopping trips, and as of now, she was wearing a bed sheet and had an asleep (and very much unexplained) man in her bed. Angela would be delighted, she thought dryly.

Before she had time to even think about doing something to sort out the rather unfortunate situation she was burdened with, a muffled knock on the front door alerted her to Angela's unwelcome presence on her doorstep and aggravated her headache even further. She groaned again and pinched herself, just to wake sure she wasn't dreaming. Having ascertained that she was fully awake, she rubbed her eyes blearily, pulled the sheet tighter around herself and made her way to the front door, yanking the bedroom door to behind her and stumbling slightly on the sheet. She threw open the door and snapped, "What?" bluntly at a rather stunned looking Angela.

"Uh... hey, sweetie. FYI, the toga is not a good look," she advised lightly, side-stepping the sheet-clad Brennan in the doorway and the apartment.

"I wasn't planning to wear it," said Brennan irritably, slamming the door shut and immediately regretting her decision, the sound going straight through her head and ringing in her ears.

"And I wasn't planning for you to take me seriously, but you did, so no surprises there," joked Angela, regarding her friend with clear suspicion. Her eyes swept the apartment with skepticism. Suddenly, they came to rest on the unbuttoned white shirt lying carelessly on the floor just outside Brennan's bedroom. Her face lit up with barely contained glee. "Bren!" she squealed excitedly. "I am so proud of you... who is he? Where is he? Is he hot?" she questioned.

"What? No, Angela. There's nobody here. What are you talking about?" exclaimed Brennan, her voice half an octave higher than usual, backing up to stand in front of her bedroom door as if guarding it. Angela raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Whatever you say, honey. If there's no one here, why are you blocking the doorway?"

"Um... your birthday present is in there," explained Brennan unconvincingly. "I was wrapping it last night, but I fell asleep."

"Bren," said Angela in an admonishing tone. "My birthday's in November."

"It is? I, um... must've confused you... with someone else?" faltered Brennan, desperately grasping at any excuse to keep Angela out of her bedroom and well away from the man currently asleep in her bed. She tried frantically to pull the door fully shut behind her, but looked down to find her bra stuck in between the door and the frame. She was frenetically attempting to flick it back inside her bedroom with her toe when Angela spoke again.

"Is that snoring I can hear? Sweetie, you know this is a good thing, right? I have only ever encouraged you to sleep with hot guys," Angela assured her joyfully, tilting her ear towards the door.

"No! The neighbours are... re-decorating!" she invented wildly, finally managing to yank the door shut.

"Then why is there a guy's shirt on the floor?" asked Angela exasperatedly. "And don't think I didn't just notice you toeing your underwear back into your boudoir," she added.

"It's Russ's," said Brennan calmly, trying futilely to slow her ragged breathing and convince Angela of her utmost honesty, however fake that might be.

"There are just so many jokes..." sighed Angela in amusement. "Okay, if there's nobody in there, then prove it: let me in," she challenged.

"Okay. Sure. Fine," agreed Brennan, her voice becoming more high-pitched by the second. "Just let me hide your present first."

"Ugh, whatever," replied Angela wearily, throwing herself down on the couch with a pout. Brennan silently cursed herself for leaving a trail of discarded clothes strewn around her apartment. There were bigger things for her to be cursing about in the current situation, but this was definitely the most incriminating right now. Cracking the door open to make sure Angela couldn't see in, she hastily slipped inside and slammed the door behind her. Unbelievably, Booth was still asleep. Rolling her eyes at his apparent ability to sleep through absolutely anything, she knotted the sheet firmly around her chest and marched over to the bed. She clamped her hand tightly over his mouth, then shook his arm to wake him, hoping to stifle any reactions like the one she had just managed to keep in. He awoke with a start, bolting upright and spluttering into her hand.

"Bones! What the hell?" he choked out in shock.

"Ssh!" she warned him, taking advantage of his sleepy state to drag him from the bed and unceremoniously stuff him into her closet.

"Jesus Christ! What the fuck are you doing?" he whispered urgently, desperately trying to preserve his modesty with the first thing that came to hand.

"We'll discuss this later! I have Angela out there, wanting me to prove I don't have a guy in here," she explained hurriedly, quickly closing the door and shoving a box of files up against it to prevent it opening. She grabbed a robe from the back of the door and did a quick swap, leaving the sheet back on the bed where it belonged.

"Ready yet?" called Angela, her voice tinged with annoyance and anticipation.

"Yes," she replied, shoving her feet into a pair of slippers and throwing open the door for Angela to inspect. She looked almost disappointed at the sight of Brennan's empty bed. That is, until she spotted the two distinct impressions left in the mattress.

"I know he's in here somewhere," warned Angela seriously, her eyes boring into Brennan's with almost comically austere menace. The discovery of Booth's boxers poking out from beneath the bed served only to support her argument further.

"There's nobody in here!" insisted Brennan. "Where could they possibly--" Her resolute assertion was cut short by a monumentally rambunctious sneeze from the closet.

"Maybe I'll check the closet," remarked Angela cheerfully, a sly smile spreading over her face.