"I can't sleep, Angela."
"I – I thought that they gave you something for that."
"No. I mean – I'm afraid. That if I close my eyes, when I open them again, I'm going to be back in that car. Buried. Running out of air."
"Okay. Then – then you should come home with me."
"What?"
"When you open your eyes, I'll be there."
***
He couldn't breathe. Just being in Angela's car – or any car, for that matter, threw his mind back six hours – back underground, back with Brennan, back running low on air and not being able to get oxygen into his lungs and suffocating and –
"Angela," he said, breathing deeply in an effort to remind himself that he was okay, that there was a ready supply of air – "Angela?"
She looked over at him, obviously concerned. "Yeah?"
"Would you mind--" he gestured to the windows, trying to convey the irrational dread that was rapidly overcoming him.
"Oh," she said, eyes widening, and he knew that she understood. That to her, it didn't matter that the air outside was frigid and opening the windows flooded the car with a blast of wind, but that he could think properly again. "Sorry," he said. "If you're cold, I mean, you can close them-"
She shot him a look. "Jack. I'm alright."
"Thank you," he said, and from the look on her face he knew that she understood – thank you for being there. Thank you for not giving up. Thank you for pulling me out.
He closed his eyes. He was tired – really, honest to God tired, and yet for some reason, wasn't sure he could sleep. He was suddenly flooded with appreciation for what she was doing for him – and the bittersweet knowledge that she only wanted to be friends.
And yet…
She had kissed him. Right after getting out of that godforsaken hole, she'd – she'd been there, waiting, pulling, making sure he was okay – and he couldn't have been hallucinating, because she had leaned down and he had felt it – her lips on his, and the word had faded out, as it always did when Angela was there.
He was vaguely aware of the car coming to a gentle stop, and Angela's hand on his shoulder – questioning, tentative. "Hey…are you okay?"
He opened his eyes and clambered out of the car, into the wide open space of Angela's front yard. "I think," he said quite wryly, "I am going to be majorly claustrophobic for the rest of my life."
Angela laughed softly. She unlocked the front door and motioned him in. "The shower's upstairs, fir--"
He raised an eyebrow at her. "I've been here before, Ange. The Gravedigger buried me underground, but didn't quite finish wiping my brains."
She smiled, but he could see that underneath, she was straining not to cry.
"Okay, too soon for jokes," he said. "Sorry."
She shook her head. "No, no – I'm fine. Go ahead and shower. There are guys' clothes in the closet, they're pretty easy to find, as they're like five times bigger than everything else."
He raised his eyebrows as a hint of his trademark smirk began to form on his face. "You keep guys' clothes in your house? God, Angela, what've you been--"
"Just in case!" she protested, throwing a towel at him. "Now go shower."
He caught it easily. "Alright," he said, "but I'm not letting this drop."
Only after he had walked upstairs and grabbed a shirt and boxers did he realize that he was completely alone in the dark, and that a shower was a very, very small, claustrophobia-inducing place.
He took a deep breath and tried to think about Angela instead of the gravedigger. Angela, and that ridiculous, unreasonably priced perfume.
Who, he thought, turning on the shower, spends three grand on a quarter ounce of perfume?
Wait.
He stepped into the shower, shaking his head. The warm water rained down on him, soothing, calm, and he let himself close his eyes as thoughts and emotions and memories flooded his mind -
…I'm nuts about Angela. Over the moon. Stupid in love with her. That's why I bought her that ... that crazy, expensive perfume...
...I can't sleep, Angela...
…A man gives you a bottle of perfume like that, it says 'I love you'…
…I'm afraid. That if I close my eyes, when I open them again …
His eyes flew open, heart thudding.
I need to get out of here.
He shut the shower off and climbed out, drying himself quickly and throwing on his clothes. Angela was already in bed, flicking through TV channels. Every single one seemed to be broadcasting his and Brennan's escape from what seemed like certain death. It was a fact that he hardly needed reminding of, but as he climbed under the covers, he couldn't help but hear a few snippets—
"Dr. Jack Hodgins and Dr. Temperance Brennan, the latest victims of the infamous Gravedigger, were rescued earlier today by members of the Jeffersonian and Seeley Booth in a remote area in--"
"—half an hour past the deadline. It seems they may have found a way to extend the given air supply. Well, they're called brilliant for a reason--"
"--released a statement saying that they are following leads that may have relevance to the identity of the--"
Angela turned the TV off, rolling her eyes. "There is nothing good on. It's like you and Brennan have suddenly become the most important people on Earth."
He grinned boyishly at her. "Well."
She laughed and reached over to turn off the lamp. The room was suddenly cast into darkness, and he winced, reminding himself that Angela was there.
"That was a fast shower," she said. She was lying on her side and facing him, and he was all too aware of the way she smelled, of their sudden proximity… He shifted onto his side and draped an arm around her side.
Just friends, he told himself. Just. Friends – oh, God. She pressed herself into him, closing her eyes. He tried to remember what he was supposed to be replying to – something about me showering quickly?
"Yeah," he said. "Turns out that showers definitely fit the list of 'small enclosed spaces'."
She cringed and rolled onto her back, leaving him feeling all-too-empty. "Sorry."
"It's fine," he said, and took a deep breath, trying to figure out how exactly Angela felt about him. They'd gone on a great date, which Angela had acknowledged, only to say that she only wanted to be friends, only to then kiss him and invite him to sleep over her house. Which was, then again, only because he was way too freaked out to sleep alone.
"Angela?" he said.
She looked at him in that gorgeous way of hers, and he tried to bring himself to ask what he needed to know. "Yeah?"
"Ange…I…I know you said you only wanted to be friends. And you're probably only doing this because – you know – I couldn't – couldn't sleep and everything. So…if you want this to be, you know, a purely – purely platonic thing, and nothing more, then--"
She leaned over and kissed him, and if he hadn't been thinking before then he was now utterly incapable of coherence – and if his leg hadn't been majorly hurt, if he hadn't been sore from the explosion – he probably would've ripped her clothes off right then.
"Well," he said, once she'd pulled away. "That clears that up."
She laughed softly. "Well that's good. Feeling better?"
He raised an eyebrow at her. "You have no idea," he said suggestively, and she rolled her eyes.
A gentle silence fell, then, neither of them sleeping or speaking – but the air was pensive, and when she spoke again, her voice was hesitant, unsure of whether or not she was ripping open fresh wounds. "What…what happened?"
"What?" he said.
"Well – I just meant – if you want to talk about it – because no one's really filled me in – what happened down there?"
He winced and rolled onto his stomach, propping his head up on his arms. She followed suit. "I…I woke up," he started. He wasn't really sure why he was sharing this, but it made him feel better, in a strange way, and Angela was there – Angela was always there – which certainly helped matters. And he trusted her, and she seemed to trust him, and before he knew it, he was talking.
"I woke up, and it was dark, and we were in Brennan's car. And she was on her way to karate so we had, like, a camera, ridiculous amounts of water, and…my leg hurt like a bitch. Apparently I had compartment syndrome or something ridiculously medical like that. And I asked Brennan what the hell was going on, and…and she said…she said that we were buried alive, and that…and that the Gravedigger got us."
He stopped and closed his eyes. It was at once surreal and completely real – he found himself in the car again, realization dawning. He became vaguely aware of Angela's hand on his shoulder.
"And I couldn't remember anything. I was really groggy, you know? And Brennan told me that the compartment syndrome could make me 'slip into shock and die', I think were the words she used."
"Very comforting," Angela said without a trace of amusement in her voice.
Jack let a smile flit across his face. "Typical Brennan. And the only way to fix it was to do something to my fascia. Involving a knife. And – I don't actually remember what happened except there was pain – lots of pain - and I blacked out."
Angela exhaled heavily.
The words were coming faster now, too many for him to stop – it was as if they were suddenly flooding out of his system. "And the next thing I know, I've woken up and … Brennan was hotwiring the phone to the horn. And I figured out that we had about five seconds to write and send a text. Only question was – what message? So I figured out the composition of the soil--"
"—Genius--" Angela said, smiling at him.
"—Using the camera and the perfume--"
"Perfume? Brennan carries perfume with her?"
He cringed. "Actually, I bought it for you."
The expression on her face was unreadable. "You bought me perfume."
"Deep Rhapsody, actually." He couldn't help but add, "3,000 dollars per quarter ounce."
Angela took a deep breath. "Wow. That's…that's a lot of dollars per quarter ounce."
"Yeah. But I had to pour the perfume on the soil to figure out its composition, so it's not really going anywhere now."
"And I was complaining about the crutches," she said, leaning up to kiss him again. He chuckled.
"So after I figured out the soil, I managed to send the text message – which you guys've all seen - using my magical finger skills."
Angela raised her eyebrows at him and giggled. "Magical finger skills?"
"I could teach you, if you'd like," he said evocatively.
She laughed. "Continue, Jack."
"So then the phone exploded, so we had no way of knowing whether it actually got out or not."
"Oh, it got out alright," Angela said. "Booth spent about five minutes yelling at us, trying to get us to figure out. I'm pretty sure Zack is never going to recover."
"So while you guys were getting your verbal abuse, we managed to get to one of the tires and pop it, which got us some more air. Oh," he added, somewhat smug, "I managed to make a carbon dioxide scrubber."
She laughed. "Congratulations – were you hoping for a medal?"
"Yes, but you can repay me in other ways."
She laughed and punched him lightly on the arm. "I hope you're talking about your food and lodging for the night, Jack."
He grinned. "And that oxygen lasted long enough for us to use the airbags to rig an explosion, and the rest…the rest is pretty obvious."
"Wow."
He nodded. "Wow."
"I thought…" she said, biting her lip and falling back onto her back. Her voice tightened. "I thought I was never going to--"
"Ange," Jack said, cutting her off. He let her fall into him, let her cry as she'd let him cry, and then held her chin in his hand and tilted her head upward. He kissed her softly. "It's alright. You know Brennan. She doesn't let people bury her alive and then walk away. We are going to find and possibly bury alive that son of a--"
Angela chuckled. "Alright."
"You're clearly in no better of an emotional state than I am. So until then …" he said, and grinned mischievously at her, "I think we should stay at my place."
She laughed. "Really, now?"
"Yeah. But you don't have to bring your own clothes."
He watched her eyebrows shoot up with a sort of inner glee that everything was back to normal between them. "You have women's clothing at your house? Is there something Zack isn't telling us?"
He grinned. "Not quite."
"But then I wouldn't have anything--" her eyes widened with realization. "Hey!"
He laughed, wrapped her in his arms. "Good night, Ange."
She rolled her eyes, but couldn't help but smile to herself. "Night, Jack."