Apocalyptothon: Aim For The Head (Bones, Angela-Centric)
Title: Aim For The Head
Author: missmara
Recipient: danniisupernova
Prompt: Angela-centric. Angela/Zack. Angela is leading a caravan across country (ala Resident Evil Extinction). Zombies. Emphasis on Z/Aplease
Fandom: Bones
Rating: R
Spoilers (if applicable): Everything up until the end of Season 4.
Warnings (if applicable): Violence and death, of course.
Summary: Angela Montenegro had always been of the 'make love not war' type, but that didn't mean she wasn't ready and willing to make a couple head shots to protect her people.
Notes: Many thanks to my wonderful beta, garnigal
Angela Montenegro had always been of the 'Make Love, Not War' type, but that didn't mean she wasn't ready and willing to make a couple head shots to protect her people.
Her people.
She still wasn't entirely sure, almost two years after the fact, how she wound up in charge of the caravan. She'd been at an artist's retreat, enjoying sunny California and delibrately grossing out some of the uppity 'artists' who thought money equalled talent with stories of working at the Jeffersonian. She'd been thinking about giving things with Hodgins another try when she got back; not marriage, she didn't want to start the whole cycle all over again, but... something.
Then people started dying around her, and not in the usual shot, stabbed, bludgeoned, shoved off a building kinda way. The news said it was some sort of flu with a very high mortality rate, and it was everywhere. She'd talked to Brennan on the phone, and heard the tell tale cough in the background that her friend said came from Booth. Within a week, no one was answering either at home, on cells, or at the Jeffersonian.
Angela had just decided she would get a truck, stock it full of supplies, and go back to DC, no matter how long it took, when the dead bodies started getting up again and coming after the living. She'd had to use the emergency shovel she'd grabbed to smash three heads in, and for some reason the other survivors of the retreat had suddenly decided that heading back East wasn't such a bad idea and she found herself in the lead vehicle of a caravan. Along the way she picked up more survivors and vehicles, eventually moving herself into a military humvee. It had been driven by a former Air Force pilot who had the decency not to try to get in her pants constantly, though they did come to a silent agreement to let people think they were sleeping together. It was easier that way for both of them.
The going had been slow, taking two years to make the journey because of the need to stop and barricade themselves in during most of the summer as hoardes of the creatures descended on them as if called by some silent signal. They could move freely during the winter, but it was slow going, getting stuck in blizzards and snowdrifts along the way. But, after those two very long years, she had finally gotten home and led the caravan to the Jeffersonian, which looked to be in surprisingly good shape.
"Stay here," she ordered as she zipped up her jacket and made sure all skin was covered before donning a motorcyle helmet to protect her head.
"But what if..." someone began.
"If I'm not back in two hours, get the hell out of here and go back to the college we spent last summer at," Angela said firmly, glancing over at her co-leader to make sure he nodded in agreement. "Take care of them," she told him before opening the door and jumping out, rifle in hand and two hand guns tucked into her thigh holsters, which made her feel distinctly Lara Croft-ish.
She approached slowly, cautiously, and pushed open the door, wondering if the outside hid a massacre inside. But as she worked her way through the building, heading for the labs, there were only occasional dried bloodstains and bullet holes to mark that anything had happened. Finally, she reached the lab and found the doors sealed in quarantine. She knocked heavily on the glass and waited, because the computers were on and they would have long ago shut down if no one was there.
Finally, she saw movement on the upper levels and stared for a moment before grinning and yanking off the helmet. "Zack!" she called through the glass, banging it again.
Zack approached warily, eyes narrowed slightly. "How do I know you're not infected?" he called back.
"I know I haven't had a shower in a while, but I didn't think I looked like the walking dead!" Angela replied, laughing as Zack's eyes widened.
"I didn't mean..." he hurriedly began, going to the console to unlock the doors long enough for her to come in, then locking them again. "Things have been very bad here for a long time," he continued. "It's hard to tell sometimes, some people are slow burns after infect..." He cut off as Angela pulled him into a hug, tight and crushing.
"I missed you so much," she said, laughing. When she pulled back, she looked past him, eyes skimming the empty lab. "The others?" she asked.
Zack shook his head. "Agent Booth came and got me from the hospital when he saw how bad things were. No one tried to stop him when he said it was official business that required my presence. By the time we returned, Dr. Saroyan was dead, and then Agent Booth had to shoot her. But she'd already bitten Dr. Brennan. It got very bad, very fast."
"He was sick when I called," Angela said.
"He was coughing when he came to get me," Zack agreed. "I think that's the other reason they released me, so he would leave quickly. He didn't last very long after we got back. I think the adrenaline release may have been too much for him in his weakened condition."
"What... what about..." Anglea began, unable to bring herself to ask.
Zack shook his head again. "We didn't think to use the quarantine lock down until several broke in. I'm sorry."
Angela felt her face crumble, but nodded, trying to keep it together. "I've got people with me, survivors I picked up along the way. Do you have supplies?"
"We built quite a stockpile," Zack said, nodidng. "And once it was just me, it has gone very slowly. There's a lot left."
"I'll go get them," Angela said. "We watch each other closely, no one's infected."
"Good," Zack agreed.
~~~
Once she made sure everyone was accounted for and settled in, giving instructions that no one touch any of the equipment that Zack had clearly been running experiments on, some dealing with trying to find a 'cure' for the infection, Angela grabbed Zack and pulled him through the Jeffersonian to the storage area and the large bed there, waiting to be put on display. She knew that grief sex wasn't healthy for either of them, but... they'd both lost everyone they had ever loved. Except, now they had each other again. Angela needed to have a connection, and she suspected Zack did, too, so... they did the unhealthy thing.
She was only half surprised that Zack was actually pretty good in bed. A bit tentative at first, hesitant, she suspected that was because of Hodgins, but he was good, touching her in all the right places. And making her have the ill-timed thought of whether he had experience or it was all from books and porno mags. She started laughing, shaking her head as a flicker of confusion, maybe hurt, came across Zack's face, then kissed him, deep and full of emotion. "I'm not laughing at you," she promised. "Just myself."
"Good?" Zack said, still a little confused, but smiling brightly when she laughed and kissed him again.
~~~
"You cheating slut," the pilot said with a smirk as Angela and Zack returned to the main lab a few hours later.
"Watch it, you don't want to let Zack hear you say that about me."
He looked over at the scientist, raising skeptical eyebrow. "Oh really?" he asked, amused.
"He was a serial killer's apprentice," Angela said, patting her friend's shoulder when he snorted in disbelief like she'd expected, before going to join Zack at the computers and see what he had, her hand automatically going to rest on his back, just a little lower than was simply 'friendly'.
~~~
There was no answer, no cure, Zack knew that, but he'd had nothing else to do and Angela couldn't help but love him for trying, just in case. He'd tried in honor of Booth and Brennan, of Cam and Hodgins, using tissue samples from them to analyze the infection, trying to make their deaths count for something. But as much as she loved him for trying, she was worried by his obsession with it and made it a point to take him back to the bed at least once a day.
At first, she didn't even realize that it had stopped being about their mutual losses, or about distracting Zack so she didn't lose him, too. It had become about actually loving, actually being in love with, Zack Addy. It was strange and new, not something she had ever expected, but... she liked it. Even if she did practically have to hogtie him and drag him out of the Jeffersonian to go take refuge somewhere else for the long summer as the creatures began to flood the city. There were too many windows at the Jeffersonian to make it safe for the small army of nearly 50 people.
Maybe next winter they'd come back and do something about that, mortar the windows to about halfway up, brick them over both inside and outside, so they could have the light and see the sun, but without the worry about a creature crashing through the glass, or the disgust of seeing the smears left by bodies that had pressed against them. Maybe the caravan could find somewhere in DC to settle down once and for all. Somewhere to be safe.
Somewhere to call home.
The End
Author: missmara
Recipient: danniisupernova
Prompt: Angela-centric. Angela/Zack. Angela is leading a caravan across country (ala Resident Evil Extinction). Zombies. Emphasis on Z/Aplease
Fandom: Bones
Rating: R
Spoilers (if applicable): Everything up until the end of Season 4.
Warnings (if applicable): Violence and death, of course.
Summary: Angela Montenegro had always been of the 'make love not war' type, but that didn't mean she wasn't ready and willing to make a couple head shots to protect her people.
Notes: Many thanks to my wonderful beta, garnigal
Angela Montenegro had always been of the 'Make Love, Not War' type, but that didn't mean she wasn't ready and willing to make a couple head shots to protect her people.
Her people.
She still wasn't entirely sure, almost two years after the fact, how she wound up in charge of the caravan. She'd been at an artist's retreat, enjoying sunny California and delibrately grossing out some of the uppity 'artists' who thought money equalled talent with stories of working at the Jeffersonian. She'd been thinking about giving things with Hodgins another try when she got back; not marriage, she didn't want to start the whole cycle all over again, but... something.
Then people started dying around her, and not in the usual shot, stabbed, bludgeoned, shoved off a building kinda way. The news said it was some sort of flu with a very high mortality rate, and it was everywhere. She'd talked to Brennan on the phone, and heard the tell tale cough in the background that her friend said came from Booth. Within a week, no one was answering either at home, on cells, or at the Jeffersonian.
Angela had just decided she would get a truck, stock it full of supplies, and go back to DC, no matter how long it took, when the dead bodies started getting up again and coming after the living. She'd had to use the emergency shovel she'd grabbed to smash three heads in, and for some reason the other survivors of the retreat had suddenly decided that heading back East wasn't such a bad idea and she found herself in the lead vehicle of a caravan. Along the way she picked up more survivors and vehicles, eventually moving herself into a military humvee. It had been driven by a former Air Force pilot who had the decency not to try to get in her pants constantly, though they did come to a silent agreement to let people think they were sleeping together. It was easier that way for both of them.
The going had been slow, taking two years to make the journey because of the need to stop and barricade themselves in during most of the summer as hoardes of the creatures descended on them as if called by some silent signal. They could move freely during the winter, but it was slow going, getting stuck in blizzards and snowdrifts along the way. But, after those two very long years, she had finally gotten home and led the caravan to the Jeffersonian, which looked to be in surprisingly good shape.
"Stay here," she ordered as she zipped up her jacket and made sure all skin was covered before donning a motorcyle helmet to protect her head.
"But what if..." someone began.
"If I'm not back in two hours, get the hell out of here and go back to the college we spent last summer at," Angela said firmly, glancing over at her co-leader to make sure he nodded in agreement. "Take care of them," she told him before opening the door and jumping out, rifle in hand and two hand guns tucked into her thigh holsters, which made her feel distinctly Lara Croft-ish.
She approached slowly, cautiously, and pushed open the door, wondering if the outside hid a massacre inside. But as she worked her way through the building, heading for the labs, there were only occasional dried bloodstains and bullet holes to mark that anything had happened. Finally, she reached the lab and found the doors sealed in quarantine. She knocked heavily on the glass and waited, because the computers were on and they would have long ago shut down if no one was there.
Finally, she saw movement on the upper levels and stared for a moment before grinning and yanking off the helmet. "Zack!" she called through the glass, banging it again.
Zack approached warily, eyes narrowed slightly. "How do I know you're not infected?" he called back.
"I know I haven't had a shower in a while, but I didn't think I looked like the walking dead!" Angela replied, laughing as Zack's eyes widened.
"I didn't mean..." he hurriedly began, going to the console to unlock the doors long enough for her to come in, then locking them again. "Things have been very bad here for a long time," he continued. "It's hard to tell sometimes, some people are slow burns after infect..." He cut off as Angela pulled him into a hug, tight and crushing.
"I missed you so much," she said, laughing. When she pulled back, she looked past him, eyes skimming the empty lab. "The others?" she asked.
Zack shook his head. "Agent Booth came and got me from the hospital when he saw how bad things were. No one tried to stop him when he said it was official business that required my presence. By the time we returned, Dr. Saroyan was dead, and then Agent Booth had to shoot her. But she'd already bitten Dr. Brennan. It got very bad, very fast."
"He was sick when I called," Angela said.
"He was coughing when he came to get me," Zack agreed. "I think that's the other reason they released me, so he would leave quickly. He didn't last very long after we got back. I think the adrenaline release may have been too much for him in his weakened condition."
"What... what about..." Anglea began, unable to bring herself to ask.
Zack shook his head again. "We didn't think to use the quarantine lock down until several broke in. I'm sorry."
Angela felt her face crumble, but nodded, trying to keep it together. "I've got people with me, survivors I picked up along the way. Do you have supplies?"
"We built quite a stockpile," Zack said, nodidng. "And once it was just me, it has gone very slowly. There's a lot left."
"I'll go get them," Angela said. "We watch each other closely, no one's infected."
"Good," Zack agreed.
~~~
Once she made sure everyone was accounted for and settled in, giving instructions that no one touch any of the equipment that Zack had clearly been running experiments on, some dealing with trying to find a 'cure' for the infection, Angela grabbed Zack and pulled him through the Jeffersonian to the storage area and the large bed there, waiting to be put on display. She knew that grief sex wasn't healthy for either of them, but... they'd both lost everyone they had ever loved. Except, now they had each other again. Angela needed to have a connection, and she suspected Zack did, too, so... they did the unhealthy thing.
She was only half surprised that Zack was actually pretty good in bed. A bit tentative at first, hesitant, she suspected that was because of Hodgins, but he was good, touching her in all the right places. And making her have the ill-timed thought of whether he had experience or it was all from books and porno mags. She started laughing, shaking her head as a flicker of confusion, maybe hurt, came across Zack's face, then kissed him, deep and full of emotion. "I'm not laughing at you," she promised. "Just myself."
"Good?" Zack said, still a little confused, but smiling brightly when she laughed and kissed him again.
~~~
"You cheating slut," the pilot said with a smirk as Angela and Zack returned to the main lab a few hours later.
"Watch it, you don't want to let Zack hear you say that about me."
He looked over at the scientist, raising skeptical eyebrow. "Oh really?" he asked, amused.
"He was a serial killer's apprentice," Angela said, patting her friend's shoulder when he snorted in disbelief like she'd expected, before going to join Zack at the computers and see what he had, her hand automatically going to rest on his back, just a little lower than was simply 'friendly'.
~~~
There was no answer, no cure, Zack knew that, but he'd had nothing else to do and Angela couldn't help but love him for trying, just in case. He'd tried in honor of Booth and Brennan, of Cam and Hodgins, using tissue samples from them to analyze the infection, trying to make their deaths count for something. But as much as she loved him for trying, she was worried by his obsession with it and made it a point to take him back to the bed at least once a day.
At first, she didn't even realize that it had stopped being about their mutual losses, or about distracting Zack so she didn't lose him, too. It had become about actually loving, actually being in love with, Zack Addy. It was strange and new, not something she had ever expected, but... she liked it. Even if she did practically have to hogtie him and drag him out of the Jeffersonian to go take refuge somewhere else for the long summer as the creatures began to flood the city. There were too many windows at the Jeffersonian to make it safe for the small army of nearly 50 people.
Maybe next winter they'd come back and do something about that, mortar the windows to about halfway up, brick them over both inside and outside, so they could have the light and see the sun, but without the worry about a creature crashing through the glass, or the disgust of seeing the smears left by bodies that had pressed against them. Maybe the caravan could find somewhere in DC to settle down once and for all. Somewhere to be safe.
Somewhere to call home.
The End