This is for tazm1956. She wrote me a wonderful email about this subject and I felt I would answer her with a story.

A/N: this story makes me very nervous. I hope I did it justice. It takes place after "The Murder of the Meninist".

I don't own Bones.

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He stood by and watched Hodgins as the man struggled with what he was going through. Booth wasn't sure if he should say something to his friend or not. He was afraid that anything he said would sound glib or preachy and yet he wanted to help his friend and to do that he was going to have to take a risk.

As he approached Hodgins' office, Booth glanced around to make sure he wasn't being observed. He wanted to have a private conversation with his friend and it was important that it be uninterrupted.

After he entered the office, Booth closed the door softly behind him. "Hodgins I'd like to talk to you if you have the time."

Wary, Hodgins noticed that the door was closed behind the agent and that meant that Booth wanted their meeting to be private. "Come to tell me I'm being an asshole? . . . might as well since that's what everyone thinks. At least you have the guts to tell me to my face."

Not betraying what he thought, Booth moved across the room and sat down on a chair next to the desk. "Would it do any good?"

Hodgins wanted Booth to go away and soon. "No so you might as well save your breath. I'm not interested in being lectured to by you. When you've been where I've been then maybe you'll have something to say that might interest me."

He hadn't really known what he was going to say to his friend when he'd driven over to the Jeffersonian, but now maybe he did. It might help and it might not, but it certainly wouldn't hurt. "I joined the Army after I lost my scholarship at Penn State. I was a pretty good basketball player, but I knew I wasn't great and being a poor kid from Philly, that scholarship was my only hope for a higher education."

Shrugging his shoulders, Hodgins sneered. "I don't need a lecture from you about poor versus rich and how . . ."

His hand up, Booth interrupted him. "Look . . . why don't you let me talk and you listen for once. You're my friend and you should at least have the courtesy of listening to me before you condemn me."

Sullenly, Hodgins folded his arms across his chest and glared at Booth. "Oh by all means, give me the benefit of your wisdom."

Almost ready to give up, Booth decided that this was too important. "Thank you . . . I was twenty years old when I served in Desert Storm. I was filled with pride and I was eager to do my job. I was the best sniper in my unit and . . . anyway, I was twenty years old when I was captured by the Republican Guard. When they found me they beat the shit out me and tried to find out why I was where I was and where the rest of my unit was. They wanted a lot of information from me and I wasn't going to give it to them . . . After I was knocked unconscious they took me back to some nearby town and I was handed over to someone that specialized in making people talk."

Uncomfortable, Hodgins shifted in his chair. "Okay, I get it. You don't have to tell me anymore. You were a kid and you were almost killed so life is sacred blah blah blah."

Furious, Booth stood up and loomed over his friend. "You don't know shit. Why don't you let me tell you my story and then you can tell me to go to hell?"

A little alarmed at the look on his friend's face, Hodgins leaned back. "Alright . . . go ahead. I'm not stopping you."

Ashamed that he'd let his temper spike like that, Booth sat back down. "I was tied to a chair and the guy . . . the torturer tried to beat the information out of me . . . I knew that if I told him what I knew I was going to be killed and if I could just hang on long enough, my guys would find me and rescue me. There was no way I was going to tell that man anything."

His nerves on edge, Booth ran his hand through his hair. "After a while the guy realized that I wasn't going to talk and that his punches didn't scare me . . . he laughed at me and he said he'd be back after lunch and that's when the fun would begin . . . I knew it was going to be bad, but I didn't know just how bad."

Swallowing, Booth turned his gaze away from Hodgins momentarily and tried to tell himself that it was necessary to share what he had to say. "The guy came back after a few hours and . . . and my chair was tipped back and he took my boots and socks off and . . ."

Hodgins knew that Booth was struggling and he felt bad for his friend. "Look just stop . . . you were tortured . . ."

"He beat the bottoms of my feet with a plastic pipe." Booth bulldozed over Hodgins interruption and kept talking. "I've never felt so much pain in my life . . . I know you know I was abused as a kid and my Dad had hurt me a few times badly enough that it required me to be hospitalized, but this . . . I wasn't prepared for what that sadist did to me in that room. He broke my feet . . . he broke my right leg and I screamed . . . Oh man did I scream . . . I screamed until I passed out . . . and I woke up I wasn't a prisoner of war anymore . . . my guys had found me and they . . . and they took me to a field hospital. I barely remember anything after that until I woke up in a hospital in Germany . . . They had to operate on me. Not just once either. They did what they could in Germany and then they flew me home to Walter Reed and I had more surgeries."

The memories still raw even after twenty five years, Booth sniffed and looked at the floor. He'd only ever talked to one other person about those experiences and he felt unsure if what he was doing was going to help or not. Determined, he clasped his hands together and brought his emotions under control. Once he was ready he turned his gaze back towards Hodgins. "They weren't sure I was ever going to walk again and I was angry . . . I was twenty years old and the thought of being in a wheelchair for the rest of my life scared the hell out of me . . . I was so damn afraid and I was so fucking angry . . . Even after the second surgery, they still couldn't tell me if I'd ever walk again . . . I didn't want to give up and I told them that they needed to fix what they could and . . . and I prayed . . . God I prayed so much . . . I know God loves me, but I didn't know if that was his plan for me or not and I didn't want it to be and I was . . . I was mean to everyone that helped me . . . I . . ."

The thought of the verbal abuse he'd rained down on the nurses and orderlies made him squirm. "I had a revelation after my third surgery . . . I ran into a guy with no legs and he had one arm missing. That guy had been blown up by an IED and . . . he was the most . . . he heard me bitching to one of the nurses and he laughed at me . . . He thought I was being ridiculous and acting like a . . . well I won't tell you what he said. I learned a couple of new curse words that day . . . anyway, he reminded me that I had hope that I might walk again someday and I had two good strong arms that I could use . . . It's perspective man. He had one arm and he was in that gym every day working to strengthen that arm and he was learning to use prosthetics so he might walk someday. He was so . . . he was so determined not to let anyone tell him no . . . He became my hero really . . . and really he was right . . . after I had some more surgery I had to learn how to walk again. It took a while and it took a lot of sweat and pain to do it but I did it . . . My feet hurt all the time and I've learned to ignore it. I have to if I want to walk."

Booth sighed and tried to get his point across. "Yes, I know it's possible you may never walk again, but you have two strong arms, you're a genius and that brain of yours still works. You have a great job, a purpose in life . . . a wife and a kid that loves you so much, but if you keep pushing them away, if you keep treating people like shit because you're mad at the world then you'll end up in this world alone. Maybe not now, but eventually you will be alone and is that what you want? If it is then fine, that's up to you, but think about it. You have a lot of people that care for you and . . . we want you to fight. We want you to fight to stay healthy . . . to grow stronger and to be who you are . . . Jack Hodgins . . . Bug Boy . . . King of the Lab. You can still be those things, but you have to want to be . . . I'm not telling you you have to be happy or smile or anything like that . . . that's not what I'm talking about. What I'm trying to say is let your friends be your friends . . . let Angela be your partner and your wife . . . don't push everyone away because you hate that you may not walk again and we can . . . some of us walk, but we do it with pain. It's all relative . . . it's all perspective."

Standing, Booth shook his head. "I'm not trying to be a Pollyanna, Hodgins. I know you were given a raw deal, but you're strong inside and I know you can be you if you want to be . . . you just have to want to be."

As he stared at his friend, Booth smiled. "I know you want to throw my ass out of here because I just gave you a bunch of advice you weren't looking for . . . I've been there and I know and yeah, my situation wasn't the same as yours, but it could have been. If I hadn't worked my ass off I would have remained in my chair but I fought the odds and I won a victory . . . not a complete victory, but close enough. You may never get that, but you're a rich man, Jack Hodgins . . . . I don't mean money . . . I mean that you have a lot of people that love you and are on your side. Just think about what I said. You need to join a support group . . . you need to talk to people that are in the same boat as you are. There is no magic that is going to fix this, but you do have people that are on your side and that's a start."

After Hodgins watched Booth leave the room, he sat in his chair and watched the empty hallway for a while.

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Let me know what you think of my story. Thank you.