Dirt. Ironic that in seconds, the thing that he had lived by would choke him. Choke him stone cold dead until there was nothing left for either of them to do. Even if they were discovered, it would be too late.
Perhaps she still had her faith but for one minute, one fleeting moment, he had lost his. He didn't believe that they were coming for him. The message hadn't been received and even if it had, it had been too difficult to decipher. He had overestimated them, through the lack of oxygen, in the rising panic as the second hand on her watch ticked away menacingly, counting his life into hours, minutes and less.
He had felt the fear washing over him as everything went black. Inside his head, he was still there but all else had vanished. The world before his eyes swam in a muddy blur until he squeezed his eyelids shut in one final, frantic feat to stay conscious. Breathing wasn't a problem, not yet at least. He wasn't even thinking about oxygen, not for a few more seconds. Expert diver, remember. He'd been in tight spots before, been forced to hold his breath for up to a minute and a half. Aside from the slight dizziness, he'd managed very well. The crew had been impressed and he'd loved the praise for staying calm in such a dangerous situation.
Now, it was entirely different. In the gloom, he lost her hand and without the energy or means to grope around looking for it, he wanted to cry out in terror. He scrabbled with his fingernails, trying in vain to raise his arms above his head, to dig for the surface.
Without thinking, he opened his mouth to shout, scream, cry. Dirt filled his throat; rough and clumped it scratched the inside of his mouth and tongue, threatening to fill him down to his toes.
Choking, eyes shut tightly but streaming with silent tears under layers of gravel. He couldn't feel his companion but he prayed that she would survive. It wouldn't be long for him now. He had lived by dirt, he would die by dirt. Slightly appropriate but less heroic than anything he had ever wanted.
So much to do and so little time. He was glad of the letter, at least. It was tucked into his trouser pocket and he hoped that she would find it. If he couldn't say all those things to her in person, he would give her the next best thing.
That lightheaded feeling swam over him suddenly, causing him to splutter even more, inhaling nothing but particles of dust and tiny seeds. It occurred to him that soon, he would have a last thought. What memory would he take into oblivion with him?
Coughing in vain, heart and lungs aching from the pain, brain slowing. Coherent thought rapidly left him. With all of his remaining willpower, strength, breath and life, he forced that memory to the forefront of his mind.
Two swings danced gently in the night breeze, his arms enveloped a beautiful woman who was rocking back and forth calmly. Their lips met in a tender but spirited ecstasy.
The Earth reclaimed her own as he faded out of body, out of mind. He committed himself to the dust. Ashes to ashes…
Hodgins awoke, palms sweating, body freezing cold and heart pounding, as if he'd been suffocating in his sleep. His sharp intake of breath brought a slight movement beside him but he dared not open his eyes. It had seemed so real, so lifelike. If he opened his eyes and he was surrounded by black, choking and dying, he wouldn't be able to face the reality.
He felt the soft touch of a hand on his shoulder but still, his eyes remained forced shut.
"Hodgins," he heard her voice. A hallucination. He couldn't summon up the courage to open his eyes and find himself dying in the dark.
"It's okay, Hodgins…"
She was quiet. Perhaps she had been a hallucination, sent to comfort him in his last moments. There was no one else that he'd rather hear from.
Eyes closed. He'd die oblivious, anything opposed to the petrifying alternative.
"Jack, when you open your eyes, I'll be there. I'm here. I'm always going to be here."
The memory sent him snapping back into his mind. Angela had promised him but he remembered only vaguely the circumstances of that conversation. He almost didn't believe it enough to obey her but after a few seconds of pondering, he knew that she was worth the risk.
Very slowly, very carefully, he opened his eyes, terrified but swayed by the idea of seeing her face before he lost consciousness. And he was faced with the truth, with life.
Angela really was resting beside him, delicately caressing his palm with her fingers. He couldn't do anything but nod in absolute relief, in thanks and allow the tears to stream down his face and soak into the white fabric of the pillow. She smiled at him.
"I told you I'd be here when you woke up."
"I thought that I was back...back in the dirt," he croaked, hardly able to get the words out. She nodded and continued smiling softly.
"You hate the term 'dirt'. You always tell me that it means nothing." He smiled back, the first smile that his face had seen in what seemed like days. Angela stroked the side of his face gently.
"You should sleep. You've been awake for the past two days nearly."
She saw the hesitance in his face and kissed his forehead once, resting her head against his.
"Jack," she murmured into his skin. "When you open your eyes, I'll be there."
And he trusted her so implicitly that he knew she would. Angela's would always be the last face that he saw at night and the first that he glimpsed every morning.
That was how he wanted it to be forever.