AN: This takes place a few weeks after Angela and Hodgins's "moment" in the Egyptian room, after her break-up with Roxy. I woke up with this idea this morning and typed it this evening and had the urge to post it, so it may not have yet reached its full potential. Conceptually, this piece is not at all original. It's simply my own interpretation, primarily for entertainment and exploration purposes. I haven't exactly edited extensively (for content, I mean), so I apologize if it's completely weird and out of line. Still, it is my sincerest hope that you enjoy it.

Stylistic Warnings: Written in strange, omniscient third-person; contains unconventional outbursts of quirky dialogue; parentheses and italics are used a bit excessively.

Disclaimer: Gee, well, if I owned Bones, then that whole Angela/Hodgins breaking up thing wouldn't have happened, obviously.

It would have been difficult to tell just by looking at her, but Angela Montenegro's distress was not primarily physical.

Not that she didn't feel like shit. Because she totally did. That part was easy to communicate, what with her frequent emesis and all.

Anyone could have seen that. (Even Brennan.)

But Jack could tell, just by looking at her, that she had bigger issues than feeling sick. Of course, it had taken him lots of practice to get where he was; reading her wasn't something that came naturally to anyone. He was actually sort of proud of the progress he'd made. It had taken a lot to get this far.

(And very little for it to have been for nothing.)

Well, not nothing. Because there she was, lying miserably on the couch in her office (she probably shouldn't have even come into work today). And there he was, delivering a file for a case that didn't really matter to him anymore. Not after seeing her.

"Angie?" he asked softly, sitting down in her nearby chair, rolling it toward her, and then skillfully creating the distance he deemed necessary by extending his legs so that his feet came into contact with the edge of her couch. A good three feet away seemed a safe enough distance. "You okay?"

"I'm fantastic, Hodgins," she said weakly. Her tone was not scathing, but it was sarcastic.

"What's up?" He made what he thought was an impulsive mistake by reaching out to touch her face, under the guise of moving hair out of her eyes.

She gave in. She was only human. "Would you just . . . come here?" She gestured to a space she'd made next to her on the couch. She knew how selfish (and inappropriate) it was, but she wanted to feel his arms around her again. She needed to feel like he loved her again. She wanted them to be close, especially if this could be the last time. Besides, it was in that position that she felt safest and most comfortable. She'd probably have better luck telling him if they were like that.

So basically, they were on the exact same page, in terms of the guilt they were forcing upon themselves.

He was completely powerless. "Sure, baby." She winced at the term (though she really had come to enjoy it a bit when they were together).

She'd thought about it (a lot) but she was still unsure of the best way to tell him. Because, as he'd pointed out oh-so-clearly, the moment was over. Apparently, though, even moments could have lasting consequences. (At the time, his words had seemed comforting. For Hodgins, they'd actually been incredibly self-sacrificing.)

Once he succumbed, he moved quickly and eagerly to lie beside her on the couch. He put his arm around her waist and let his hand rest on her stomach. He began to stroke her exposed skin lazily where her shirt had ridden up. His hand was warm and gentle and her physical pain was immediately alleviated. Emotionally, however . . .

"Jack," she whispered carefully, sounding smaller and weaker than she was. Her preventative efforts against her inevitable tears were making her throat ache.

He was beginning to feel worried about her; Angela was not the type to get upset and cry over things, even important things; it wasn't that she was emotionally unhealthy, but that she was too emotionally healthy for her own good. Or for his own good. He elevated himself slightly to better see her face and caught a tear with his thumb. He kissed her forehead. "Yeah?"

His voice was so soft.

Even after everything she'd done to hurt him (because she definitely thought the breaking up was her fault), he was so soft to her.

Why the hell did they break up?

And why the hell was that moment a few weeks ago in the Egyptian room just a moment?

What the hell had they been thinking?

Hodgins shook her shoulder lightly. "Ange?"

She knew she could trust him; she knew he was golden. She took a leap.

"999,999."

"Huh?"

She sighed. She cringed. She tried to smile, but it came out like a semi-hopeful grimace. "999,999, Jack," she said, articulating each syllable carefully. "More," she added, for clarity.

His hand paused and flattened on her stomach. He understood easily. Her words hadn't been that clever.

I want, like, a million of these, she'd said.

If you want a million, we'll have a million, he'd responded optimistically.

And, you know what, he'd gotten used to the idea over the period of their engagement. So used to the idea that when he and Angela had broken up, he'd felt he'd lost even more than just her; he'd lost an entire family. He'd lost the chance at having absolutely everything that could possibly matter in life. He'd had so much fun, lying in bed at night while she was asleep, envisioning the children they'd have in just a few years. He'd even picked out some names, like a twelve-year-old girl would.

It took every morsel of strength he could gather not to break into a grin and kiss her deeply and yell ecstatically to the world. (He'd been lying and stupid when he'd brushed off their foray the other week as a moment. Angela Montenegro and Jack Hodgins didn't do moments. Not with each other.)

"And you sure it's . . . are you sure I'm . . . the father?" he asked warily, but not in the way most guys in his position would. No, quite the opposite; he wasn't trying to get out of anything, but he was making sure things were happening in his favor. He was suspicious of the way all of his dreams were coming true.

She nodded. "Roxy and I had a lot of sex, but it wasn't exactly of the reproductive type."

And he could no longer contain himself. His face became an explosion of joy. "This is amazing!"

"Jack!" she chastised with a strange mixture of shock, sternness, and relief. "This is not a good thing. This is a bad thing."

He laughed.

He laughed!

"Angela, I know we fucking broke up, but tell me this isn't the most wonderful thing in the world." He had sat up now because some sort of hormone suddenly being secreted in his system had made him suddenly energized and a little jittery. How could he be lying down at a time like this?

"What?" she said, smiling just a little. "What?" she repeated, sitting up, cross-legged to face him and thinking that the atmosphere in the room had just changed drastically.

She laughed too. Because she had seen it too, obviously, the visions of their family. And she'd loved it.

But they'd broken up. They'd broken up. And people were not supposed to start families on the basis of a casual, in-the-moment sex.

But since when were they conventional, anyway?

She vocalized. "But, Jack, we aren't together anymore."

"Why not?"

"Seriously?"

"Seriously." Well, he sounded pretty serious.

She sighed. "We can't . . . we can't just get together because I'm pregnant. That's what stupid people do."

"Angela, you have no idea how willing I am to use this as a vehicle to get back together with you."

"What?" she said disgustedly, yet again.

"I am so happy right now. And I want to do whatever you want to do." He did look extremely happy.

"What do you think I want to do?" she said accusatorily.

"Get back together with me?"

"Where is this coming from?"

"I've never stopped loving you."

"You know, I really go for the whole sensitive boy thing, but sometimes you are just too much."

"Too much love?"

Despite herself, she burst out laughing. "Jack, I . . . I've never stopped loving you either, but . . ."

"But what, Angie? We're gonna have a kid. We can get married now. Really."

"Oh, my God . . ."

"What?" He seemed a little defensive, but she hardly thought he was in a position to be so.

"Seriously? We're gonna do this again?"

"No, no . . . not again. Just . . . just think of it as another part of the journey. The best part."

AN: So, um, please review! Thanks for reading.