It would always start out rough, hasty—Brennan and Cam would be out to lunch or consulting Angela, or maybe it would be late at night after everyone else had gone home and they didn't have to fret about the noise. But it was always the same.
Hodgins would be sitting alone on some stool in the forensics lab, sadly glancing over the mass spectrometer or a blank computer screen, and he would approach him. Vincent. Somehow he would always sift through the awkward tension with one of his impertinent facts, something about the current case or in his encyclopedia of a mind: sports, geography, the nominees for best supporting actress in a TV miniseries for the past twenty years, anything. As soon as Hodgins would turn around, they both would know but neither would understand.
From where Hodgins always glued himself, the janitor's closet was closest. And the janitor's closet always gave them room to press each other up against the walls without being doused in ratty mops or crusted chemicals.
There would be nothing preceding the fierce attack of their mouths save for their breath that would always seem too loud. They would muffle it with their tongues down throats, with the quiet moans echoing in their ears.
Always, Hodgins would grasp at Vincent's lab uniform, his messy hair, the back of his neck; running his hand down the intern's scrawny frame would always be an unconscious fascination. And always, Nigel would kindly caress Hodgins' bearded cheek as if he understood, to try to convince himself that he did. It would always feel right, and Hodgins would grab him tighter and taste the trivia like it were a panacea to the embers of memories that burned far too long.
And, as always, after both had scraped the back of their heads on the concrete walls, after Hodgins had finally released the younger man, he would collapse into Vincent's arms and lightly set on the dusty floor, sadly glancing at his own glazed pupils.
This time was different. This time, Hodgins' frame was shuddering. This time, Vincent spotted the glistening gems rolling down his face and wondered if they had always been there.
"I can't replace her," he muttered, surprised that Hodgins met his eye so quickly, though he said nothing as the tears continued to spill. "I cannot replace her," he repeats. "Or him."