Disclaimer: If it looks familiar, it's probably not mine, but I have grown rather fond of a few of these OCs...
A/N: I suddenly realize that this is of a calibre I'm not used to writing, so any feedback would be appreciated. ;)
"Only For You"
(1/5)
"It all happened so fast. We had just left the club and he was going to get his car from the parking lot over there. He wouldn't let me go with him because he didn't want me to have to step over the snow banks, so I was teasing him about being the perfect gentleman, even though I really think he's sweet. Anyway, he was just about to step off the curb when I said this, so he was still kind of walking when he turned back to me and said, 'Only for you.' That's when the... it happened."
Detective Joseph Prentice felt sympathy for the woman opposite him. She was the type of witness he hated to interview, the ones close to the victim who were calm, in a brittle way, as if they could break into hysterics at any moment. They always fought so hard to keep themselves composed. Usually, they lost, but Prentice had a feeling this particular woman was stronger than others.
"Ms. Montenegro -"
"Please, call me Angela," she said, looking not at Prentice, but just past him. "I only go by Ms. Montenegro when I have to say how someone died. And Jack's not dead." The word 'yet' hung unsaid in the air after her small outburst.
Prentice nodded. "Okay, Angela. Can you describe the vehicle that hit your boyfriend?"
"It was a SUV. A Jeep Cherokee, maybe. It had that type of front grill. But I think it must have been modified, with it's high ground clearance. That's why Jack's hurt as bad as he is." She must have noticed Prentice's inquiring look, because she added: "It's my job to see stuff like that. I have to reconstruct a lot of crime scenes."
"Do you work at the crime lab?" Prentice asked, knowing he would've remembered seeing her around.
"No, at the Jeffersonian. In Anthropology. Jack and me... we both do."
"You guys work with the FBI, right?"
She nodded. "Yes."
"Thought so. Back to the matter at hand, did you see the driver of the SUV?"
"It might have been a tall male, but I wouldn't say that's concrete."
"How about a licence plate?"
"Not even a partial, sorry."
While Prentice made notes on a pad of paper, he noticed Angela hugging herself, the first indication that she felt the chill in the air. Then again, he thought, maybe it has nothing to do with weather.
"Do you know what's ironic, detective?" Angela said suddenly, making Prentice look up at her. "I'd probably still be avoiding my feelings for Hodgins if he hadn't been hit by a car once before. A few months ago, he almost died after being run down, and I didn't realize I loved him until I saw his blood on the ground. Now he's probably dying because he was trying to romance me one more time. It's like some twisted, never-ending cycle." She was still hugging herself, but now she looked closer to the breaking point, ready to cry.
He put a gloved hand on her shoulder. "You got him back once, you'll get him back again," he said. "Do you want me to drive you to the hospital so you can wait for news?"
"They don't need you here?"
"They can manage for a few minutes on their own."
"Then a drive would be nice; thank you," she said, giving him the ghost of what was probably a beautiful smile on any other day.
Prentice led Angela to his personal car, which he'd driven to the crime scene warily a few minutes past one in the morning. Detectives weren't always called out to a hit-and-run.
Neither of them said a word while he started the car and pulled away, letting the blue and red flashing lights fade behind them. A few blocks later, he asked: "Do you want to call anyone to meet you at the hospital?"
"Ya, I guess," she said, pulling a cellular phone from the pocket of her peacoat and dialling a number. "Hey, Brennan, it's Angela. Sorry to call so late, but I need you. Can you meet me at the hospital? Washington Gen. No, I'm fine, it's Hodgins. He was hit by a car." She took a deep breath, as if she didn't want the person on the other end to know how distressed she was. "No, it wasn't him. Just a hit-and-run. Gosh, I can't believe how thankful I am for that," she gushed, letting out a breath of laughter. "I don't know, Bren, he lost a lot of blood before the ambulance showed up. I think it's pretty bad." She swiped at her cheek with her free hand. "Okay, thanks, sweetie." With that, she ended the call and put the phone back into her pocket with a shaking hand.
"I don't mean to pry, but -" Prentice paused. "Isn't Jack Hodgins the guy who was kidnapped by the Grave Digger?" When he'd first heard the victim's name, it had sounded familiar, but couldn't place it until he heard Angela's phone conversation.
"Ya," she answered, looking out the side window.
"And the Brennan you just called was that author buried with him?"
"She's an anthropologist first, an author second."
"Either way, if Dr. Hodgins could outwit the Gravedigger, I'm sure he'll be fine."
Angela took a deep breath, still not looking at Prentice. "There's a lot more the their rescue that the newspapers reported," she said.
He took the hint. Don't talk about what you don't know. "I'm sorry."
"That's okay."
The rest of the drive to the hospital occurred in silence. Prentice parked the car in front of the Emergency Room, ignoring an 'Emergencies Only' sign.
"Seeing as I'm here, I might as well check for myself to see if there's any news," he said. Never mind the fact that a nurse would likely be instructed to call him if anything major occurred with the victim.
"It's probably just as well," Angela said absently as they got out of the car. "I've never been in this door before." She seemed to have iced herself over; if Prentice hadn't noticed her hands, still trembling slightly, he wouldn't have thought she was at all upset.
"Right this way, ma'am," Prentice said, letting the brisk night air cool his embarrassment at using a cop cliché. He led Angela into the hospital, where he asked about the victim at the registration desk, only to be told he'd been rushed into the OR; they could wait in the lounge down the hall. The OR waiting room, unlike the ER's, was fairly empty. Prentice saw Angela scan the room, passing over each face. He figured her friend had yet to arrive. He chose a chair and sat down. She remained standing.
There was really no reason for Prentice to still be there. He would be called if there was a development with the victim and he should technically be at the scene of the crime. But he didn't want to leave Angela Montenegro alone right now. He didn't want her to have nobody to comfort her when she inevitably started crying.
After close to ten minutes, Angela suddenly changed the direction of her pacing and strode quickly to the doorway, where she threw her arms around a woman who had just entered. The two of them hugged for a moment, the pulled back and exchanged words Prentice couldn't hear. Then Angela led the other woman back to where he was sitting and they each claimed a chair.
"Bren, this is -" Angela cleared her throat, obviously choked up. "Detective Prentice. He's on Jack's case. Detective, this is my best friend, Dr. Temperance Brennan."
Brennan nodded in acknowledgement, while Prentice said a curt, "Pleasure."
There were a few seconds of motionless silence until he stood up, pulling a business card from inside his jacket. "I should get back to the scene, but you can call me if you need to, or remember anything else you think I should know," he said, handing Angela the card.
"Thank you, detective, I will," she said primly.
Prentice nodded in farewell at both women, the started to leave the waiting room just as his cell phone rang. Ignoring the dirty looks a nurse was sending him, he took the call.
"Prentice."
"Hey, it's Kelly, with CSU." He recognized the voice of a young, but surprisingly efficient crime scene technician.
"This is about the hit-and-run?"
"I'm not sure that's what it is any more."
"What?"
"We found fresh acceleration marks a block before the accident. They match the witness's description of the vehicle."
"Damn," Prentice muttered.
"Tell me about it," Kelly said with a sigh.
"Thanks for the info, Kelly." He didn't wait to hear her answer as he ended the call. Inwardly cursing, he turned around, heading back where he'd only just came from.
Angela's head was reeling. Fragments of thoughts rushed through her consciousness, but she couldn't focus on any of them. She almost didn't want to focus on them, for fear of what she would find when she started putting them together.
She muttered some sort of excuse to Brennan and Prentice - who's voice provided most of the fragments - and somehow managed to find her way to the women's washroom. She slid into the first stall and fumbled to slide the latch shut. Not until the door was locked did she lean back against the wall and let her tears fall.
The fragments started to connect, whether she wanted them to or not. Jack wasn't just dying, someone had tried to kill him. For whatever reason, someone wanted him dead and wasn't giving anyone the chance to do anything about it.
Her chest heaved with a silent sob as her trembling fingers fought to undo the buttons on her coat. Finally getting it off, she let it drop to the floor, then slid down the wall to sit beside it, crying silently.
Some time later - it could have been ten seconds or ten minutes, for all she knew - she heard a tentative voice call her name.
"Yeah?" The first time she said it, no sound came out, so she cleared her throat and tried again, louder. "Yeah?"
"Booth and Zack just showed up," Brennan said slowly, and Angela saw a pair of boots stop just outside her stall. "I thought you might like to know."
"Okay. Thanks." Her voice still sounded like she was crying, which she hated. She'd worked hard to never let anyone see her cry, never let anyone know just how vulnerable she could be.
"Ange, are you all right?"
"Don't worry, I'm fine," Angela lied, wiping tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. "Bren, just go wait with others for news. I'll be right out."
There was a long pause before the boots retreated. Angela took a couple of deep breaths and then grabbed her jacket, preparing to stand up. That's when she noticed the sticky, reddish patches covering her peacoat. Blood. Jack's blood.
Her stomach suddenly rebelled against her solitary beer of the evening and she retched, just narrowly throwing herself over the toilet in time. She waited a few minutes before attempting to stand again, holding her jacket by the hook at the back of the collar as she left the stall.
How could she not have noticed that she was covered in her boyfriend's blood all the while she was with Prentice? Why hadn't someone pointed it out to her? Hadn't she gotten it all over Brennan, too, when they'd hugged?
She draped the jacket over a sink while she cleaned her hands at another one - they were covered with blood, too. When her hands were scrubbed raw, she splashed water on her face, wishing her puffy-rimmed eyes were as easy to get rid of as the mascara streaks.
When she left the bathroom, she was as outwardly composed as she was going to get. This meant she wasn't crying, wasn't going to cry again any time soon. Besides, she told herself, it's entirely possible that Hodgins is fine and you're just over-reacting. She kept up a barrage of like-minded thoughts as she made her way back to the OR waiting room. Prentice was gone, and Booth was in his seat, Zack opposite him and Brennan. Angela sat her coat down in one chair and herself in another, beside Zack and facing Booth.
"How are you holding up, Angela?" Booth asked her, his expression unreadable.
"I... I'm just worried, that's all." It was so much of an understatement that it almost felt like a lie. "You haven't heard any news yet, have you?" Three heads shook in negative response. Angela slumped back in her seat, ready to wait.
As the minutes ticked by, she couldn't help but replay the evening over in her mind. When he'd been hit, Hodgins was looking at Angela, giving her a grin. If only she hadn't teased him. Maybe mothers were right and you had to look both ways before crossing the street. But then again, Prentice had said it wasn't an accident, that somebody was aiming to hit Hodgins. Could he possibly have anticipated it?
In her mind's eye, she saw how the SUV's headlights had lit up his eyes, just before the impact, how it never even slowed down as he flew over it's roof, landing with a sickening thud on the ground. The thud had been his skull hitting the pavement. Angela didn't think she screamed, but she might have, maybe his name, as she dashed to the centre of the road and kneeled at his side. Blood was flowing steadily from the wound to his head, his left shoulder was angled odd, his left leg looked definitely broken. She'd been afraid to touch him, but afraid to not. She'd cradled his head in one arm as she dialled 911 and requested an EMT to the scene with a voice so calm it scared her. Then she'd ignored the operator's attempt to keep her on the line and dropped the phone to her side, whispering Jack's name urgently, trying to wake him up, while she found a weak, but still there, pulse in his neck. Before long, it was a whirl of flashing lights and assurances that they would take good care of him and cops calling her ma'am. Then it was questions from Prentice and breaking down in the hospital washroom.
Now it was a woman in scrubs coming into the waiting room and making a beeline for their silent group.
"You're with Mr. Hodgins, aren't you?" the woman asked, directing her question mostly to Angela, who snapped upright in her plastic seat.
"Yes. Is he alright?"
"For the time being. We've managed to stop the bleeding, but with the amount of internal injuries he received, another surgery's been scheduled for the morning."
"And then what?" Booth cut in.
The woman looked like she was having a difficult time choosing her words. "I'm going to be honest with you. It's not looking good."
Angela swallowed. "You don't think he's going to make it?"
"All we can do is hope for the best," the woman said, giving a strained smile.
"Can we see him?"
"He's being transferred to ICU now. I'll warn you though, with the drugs we gave him for the surgery, he probably won't be awake at least until after the surgery."
"Oh," Angela said. "Thank you." The woman in scrubs forced another smile before she turned and walked away.
Amongst the four of them, there was silence. Finally, it was Brennan who asked if they were making the trip to the intensive care unit. Three pairs of eyes fell upon Angela. Her 'yes' was barely audible.
Booth led the way through the hospital, the others trailing after him in silence. He asked the desk nurse for direction to Hodgins's room with one hand poised on his hip, as if he were ready to show his badge to get information if he had to. Luckily, he didn't have to.
The four of them stopped outside his semi-private room, of which he was the only current occupant, and exchanged looks. It seemed to Angela that she wasn't the only one reluctant to see him in his current state - what ever that was. It was the same kind of fear that seized her at the quarry the Grave Digger had buried Brennan and Hodgins at. She didn't want to see only the remains of the man she loved, didn't want him to wind up dead with her last memory of him with him in limbo between life and death. She was scared that she would take one look at the man in the hospital room, no doubt attached to IV's and monitors, and forget why he had so often made her smile, laugh, fall in love.
It was Zack who finally opened the door and stepped inside. For a few paces, Angela couldn't see what lay beyond him, but then he moved to the side of the bed and she saw exactly what she hadn't wanted to.
She knew Booth and Brennan were both looking at her uncertainly, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from the figure on the bed. It couldn't possibly be the same man who'd twirled her around the dance floor only a few hours earlier. There was no way that the small, battered, fragile body belonged to the same man who kissed her at every available opportunity. But it was. She could pretend it wasn't him, but her eyes still registered that it was him. His slim, but built shoulders. His beard, contrasting sharply with the deathly pallor of his skin. His curly hair, hidden by bandages in one place and matted with blood in all others.
Angela didn't want to see any more. She turned and walked away, not saying a word to her co-workers. Faintly, she heard Brennan call her name, but she kept walking. She needed to be alone.
Eventually, she found her way to the main entrance and hailed a cab. Fifteen minutes later, she was alone in her apartment bedroom, something that had happened so rarely in the past few months, she forgot how it felt. With trembling hands and teary eyes, she dropped her coat, which was still hanging limply in her hand, into the trash can. Then she undressed and turned the shower on. It wasn't until she stepped inside that she let herself start to cry again.
