Still Waters
Summary: She watches in helpless fascination as his chest ebbs and flows like the tide, the gentle rhythm bringing her a sort of peace she can't quite understand. She longs to bathe in that mystery every day, for as long as they both draw breath. Angela/Hodgins. Post-2x09. Standalone or companion piece to "Guardian Angel."
Disclaimer: I wish I owned Hodgins, but sadly I do not. Nor do I own anything else Bones-related.
A/N: I couldn't resist doing Angela's take on things this time around. Enjoy!
Angela Montenegro never remains still for long. Still means stuck, not moving forward, never realizing the world's full potential. Never embracing all the beauty it has to offer. And a life in pursuit of anything else is a regret she cannot abide.
To circumvent such a fate, she never lamented the roads not taken, but rather forged ahead and explored new ones. She lived in the moment, always. As an artist, she knows the value of such transiency, the inherent beauty of something not meant to last, and understands that life and art are one. People, emotions, relationships—all fleeting. They change, evolve, sometimes end, but she firmly maintains that those connections are not at all diminished for their brevity. Their success and their significance are not measured by their constancy, but by the depth of their love and commitment. And it is for those moments that she lives.
Except—
Recently she ran from one. From him.
She expected the moment to pass without ceremony—a ship in the night. It didn't. That first kiss stayed with her like a masterpiece immortalized on canvas, one she couldn't burn from her mind no matter how hard she tried.
And she did try. There was too much at stake. Too much potential fallout that would scorch everyone in the vicinity. So for the first time she could remember, she rejected the beauty of now. They went back. Living a lie. Friends.
Then the unthinkable happened. He was taken, buried alive, treated as a bargaining chip for an impossible ransom. Suddenly the fear of a few wounded hearts compared to the very real, very permanent alternative seemed utterly ridiculous.
The instant her team freed him from an early grave, she laid a kiss on him to shame the works of Michelangelo.
Then she went to make up for lost time; wound up paying for stolen hospital crutches—a small price to pay for a second chance.
That night she doesn't move from his side, determined to keep the nightmares at bay, fully aware that it's as much for her own sake as it is his. She watches in helpless fascination as his chest ebbs and flows like the tide, the gentle rhythm bringing her a sort of peace she can't quite understand. Masking the turmoil beneath.
The image shatters when he gives a sudden jerk—and a gasp fills the room. A sound like choking on daggers.
Instinctively she reaches for his heart. It feels as erratic as hers and when she fills the void with soothing sounds, she isn't sure for which of them it's intended.
Wild eyes finally anchor on hers; twin storms over a turbulent sea. So much fear. Pain. Then a hint of budding warmth, with just enough light to lead ships to shore, growing stronger the longer they maintain the connection. She could paint those eyes for years and never capture all the shades of blue, never discover all the stories hidden in those ocean depths. Never tire of trying.
He whispers her name in the dark, sounding hollow but not broken. Hope tinged with disbelief. Like she is heaven-sent, a goddess personified overflowing with answers, and her heart trips at the sight. She feels a fraud; feels human, as lost as he is.
And he is so much stronger than he knows.
He swallows thickly, grappling for purchase; falters, his face crumbling again. Her attempt to bolster it feels like a grimace.
"You don't have to stay," he tells her softly. His pulse is still wild beneath her palm.
Smiling isn't a struggle this time. Strangely, his words pull her out of the moment and thrust her into a kaleidoscope of recent memory: a man asking her not to give up, never swerving from a bright future he cannot possibly know exists; and a girl, for once thinking only of the collision, swerving to avoid some hypothetical tragedy.
She doesn't want to be that girl. She doesn't want to live with doubts over the road not traveled. She wants the trouble, the crash, the beauty, all of it. She wants an endless series of moments. With him.
She certainly doesn't want the out he's giving her.
"Don't worry. I'm right here for you," she promises, knowing it goes far beyond a nightly vigil.
It isn't long before she's watching his chest rise and fall again, her palm still connected to a heart beating in tandem with her own. It is the first time that she truly appreciates the beauty of stillness, of letting her head catch up to what her heart knew all along, and not rushing forth to seek adventure elsewhere. She has plenty right in front of her. Still waters run deep, as they say, and she longs to bathe in that mystery every day, for as long as they both draw breath.
When the morning comes, she doesn't let him pay her back for the crutches.
A/N: Not going to lie, I struggled with this a bit. I think the companion fic reads better, so if you're feeling generous, please consider giving "Guardian Angel" a read. Thanks.