Twelve Months In Paris
Summary: Paris is two dreams with one stone and an infinite number of possibilities. Snapshots of what Hodgins and Angela have been up to during the team's year apart, one story for every month.
May: The Long Way Home
A dreary Thursday morning marks their first week in Paris, rain beating down on the windows in Angela's makeshift studio, windows through which an eerie glow of sunlight filtered through suffocatingly grey skies softly lights the room.
It's different from her first time in the city, when she stayed in basement flats on streets teeming with illicit hotspots frequented by hookers and rich French daughters, spending her nights with boys who practically spoke fire, and days walking the back streets of Montrepasse, calling her dad twice a month from different pay phone every time, staying up with the one special girl, painting the wild nights with cheap colors until time and faces blurred together, and she finally drifted away.
Today, she's fast asleep, her head down on the tablet of her easel, which holds a canvas trapping an blue-eyed angel in mid-flight, rising from the dirt with blue-tinted wings, stretching wiry, strong, arms to the sky as the sunlight catching on his dull gold hair. She dreamt of him on the plane, and like some of the other dreams she's had, this one just won't let her go.
It's the first thing Angela's painted in Paris, so it's sort of a beginning.
A symbol of rebirth?
Maybe.
Yawning slightly, Jack passes by the open door of her studio, formerly the apartment's second bedroom, on his way to get a drink. The place suits both their needs, it's low-key enough, tucked into a mostly overlooked, though still quaint, middle-class district, for them to live anonymously, yet has enough small, luxurious touches for them to feel accomplished.
Two dreams with one stone, he thinks, absently switching on the coffee maker.
The kitchen is mostly bare, since they've left behind everything they couldn't pack, save for the car, which he sent for almost as soon as he signed the lease.
From what he's heard, the "car" has miles and miles to go on it. Of course, that was interspersed with chilling blues guitar riffs, but Jack's pretty sure he has the gist of it. There'd been things about maintenance, insurance, and liabilities that Angela's dad had mentioned on their way back from the biker's lot, more specifically, if he ever hurt his girl again, the meaning of the afterlife would be personally redefined for him. The man had also asked for Wendell's address, then set off back on the road, a satisfied smile on his face.
He doesn't need the threats to keep him in line anymore, not now. Losing Angela the first time was bad enough. The second time? Anyone stupid enough to chance the second time deserved all he had to give
and more. He twists the ring around his finger and pours a second cup of coffee, stirring in cream and three packets of sugar, just how she likes it.
It's definitely different. A whole new beginning that can't be broken down into any purer form.
A symbol of rebirth?
Maybe.
Angela's awake now, on her way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. The rain is making her feel drowsier, if that were possible, and after spending the night thinking of warzones and jungles, broken hearts and broken chances while sweeping slashes of paint across her canvas, she thinks maybe she could use a pick-me-up. Maybe when they get more settled, she'll persuade him to add some color to the whitewashed walls. Maybe, he'll even agree. Halfway there, they bump into each other, sending Jack's coffee to the floor, and little splashes of a dull gold that matches his hair to the wall.
"Oh, God. I'm sorry. I am so not a morning person."
He just shrugs. "You don't say. Here, Ange."
Jack hands her the cup of coffee and she takes a sip. It's perfect.
"When'd you learn how I like my coffee?"
"I do have a memory. Besides, Brennan always orders for you. She takes hazelnut cream, so logically, you take one cream, three sugars."
In spite of herself, she laughs. "You can take the squint outta town..."
"Hey, it's not like you're any better. You spent yesterday watching subtitles CSI reruns trying to solve the cases!"
"You bought an ant farm!"
He leads Angela back to the studio, and they sit on a sofa pushed into the corner of the room, both laughing, not exactly sure why. They watch early morning shadows play across the floor, and she feels like she'd out on her own for the first time again, young and free and a little bit scared, the girl with anew name and a guitar pick hanging around her neck at the Houston bus depot. He just thinks it couldn't get any better.
"What were you doing up so late anyway?", he asks, raking a hand through her dark curls.
"Mostly...trying to figure out what the hell we're doing here.", she chuckles, leaving an empty cup of coffee in his lap to go get her painting.
"Okay?"
"No, I mean, I'm not having second thoughts. It's just, we've been here for a whole week. It's like I'm in withdrawal."
"From what?", he jokes. "Trying to get Booth and Brennan together?"
"Uh-uh, don't even go there, Jack. He's in a warzone and she's in the middle of nowhere with Daisy of all people. If I was the magic eight ball, I'd say outlook not good. What if...it's a year!"
"Yeah, it is a year."
"Oh, and I finished this last night.", she says, laying the painting on the sofa, facing him. Jack's jaw drops.
"Wow, Ange. Um, you're better than I thought.", he replies hesitantly.
"Yeah, thanks for that."
For her sake, he bites his tongue and doesn't point out he's seen man in the portrait before.
In a mirror.
"Hey, Angela? It's a year. Twelve moths until we go home. Just think of it as the long road back.
She holds up a hand to stop him. "If we're gonna be married, no "car" and "road" analogies. My dad had one fore everything, and I'm kinda scarred for life."
She studies him in the wispy light, wiry and strong, a teasing grin on his face. No shirt, green plaid boxers. Electric blue eyes.
"Sweet of you to say, though.", she tells him, biting her tongue as she takes the painting back.
For his sake, Angela won't even mention the tattoo.
AN: Yeah, kinda a long set-up chapter. Next time, the table-stealing commences when jack and Angie needs to get a quick restaurant reservation for Father's Day.
PLEASE R/R!
