Luckily for Angela, no one came around for the rest of the day. She couldn't decide if it was more likely that they were consciously giving her space, or that no one wanted to be around her at the moment, but couldn't bring herself to care. She would be the first to admit (though never out loud) that she was being a little touchy lately—ever since Olivia Briggs had been brought into the lab, almost—but the rest of them didn't know about...well, they just didn't know. When she had gotten back to her office, the tears had disappeared—a fortunate thing, if only because tears would have blurred her vision. Angela had work to do, and she needed her vision to be as clear as it could be. She loaded the photo of the wound into her computer and set out on the daunting task of trying to turn it into an image of the weapon. Sure, Zack was down the hall doing the exact same thing, but if Angela didn't do something, she was going to go crazy.
Sure enough, she managed to find work for herself for most of the day—and well into the night. She was so engrossed in her work that she didn't even realize how long she'd been working until she heard a light tapping on her door. Hodgins stepped through warily, and Angela twirled in her chair to face him. "Hey," he said, raising his hand in an endearingly-awkward wave. Angela lowered her eyes for a moment, sheepishly.
"Hey yourself," she replied. "You can...come in. I promise not to bite your head off or anything."
He just smiled gently and approached her, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head. Angela could tell that he wanted to ask her something—probably about her little blowup—but she shut off her computer and rose to her feet before he could say anything. "Look, I'm just about done here, and...I'm getting nowhere. I might have better luck in the morning. Can I come home with you tonight? I don't really...feel like going home alone."
Hodgins looked surprised, but they both knew that neither of them would be able to turn the other down. Of course, Angela wouldn't really have blamed him if he had, in fact, rejected her. "Sure, yeah." He reached and took her hand, bringing her fingertips to his lips. "Wanna go out for dinner first, or should we just order in?"
Angela smiled, and slung her purse over her shoulder. "I could go for some Chinese food, if it's okay with you."
His only answer was one of his patented Hodgins grins and a soft but meaningful kiss pressed to her lips. "It is definitely okay with me," he answered with a quick nod. He extended his hand, wiggled his fingers in invitation, and Angela slipped her hand into his with gratitude.
A little while later, after the pair had eaten their fill of General's chicken and peppersteak, they had settled against each other on Hodgins's sofa. A solitary lamp lit the darkness of the room, not because he couldn't afford more but because it was cozier this way. Angela suppressed a yawn and stretched, arching her entire body as she relished the feeling deep in her every muscle. Hodgins took advantage of the moment, wrapping his arms around her waist and pushing her backwards onto the cushions. She just grinned up at him until their lips touched. Then there was fire.
A fierce, intense bond of need and understanding stretched tenuously between them even as his lips crashed against hers. Her hands roamed his body, territory that was at once familiar and unexplored. This was, by far, her favorite way to leave work behind. The sounds he made and the way her body reacted to his touch—nothing could be better, and she could feel her spirits lifting even as...well, other things lifted. She smirked at him, and he met her gaze without shame.
"Should we take this somewhere a little more comfortable?" He asked as he slid gracefully off of the couch and to his feet.
"I thought you'd never ask," Angela teased, rising as well and brushing past him with just enough swing in her hips to entice. She knew her body, and therefore the effects that it had on men, well: she was fully comfortable with it now. Jack followed at a rather close distance, but still she kept herself out of his reach, and when he stretched out on the bed, she knelt at the foot. He arched an eyebrow at her suggestively, but she ignored it, picking imaginary lint off of the comforter.
"What are you planning on doing down there?" Hodgins asked, crossing his arms up behind his head and giving her still another grin. Angela felt the blood rise to her face. In the past, she'd gotten out of this sort of situation without much hassle, especially from Hodgins, but she got the feeling she wouldn't be as lucky this time.
"Nothing," Angela answered, trying to dismiss his question with a smile. She crawled towards him, trying to be as seductive as her rattled nerves would allow her. "Why, were you...hoping for something?" She bit her lip—something she didn't often do—and kissed him, softly and quickly. She felt him move beneath her in frustration, felt his hand press urgently on the back of her neck. He moaned softly, just before she pulled away.
"Come on, Ange..." he gritted out, catching her eyes. Angela lowered her eyes as she straddled him, hoping she could maybe distract him. He wouldn't be deterred, though, and raised his hips to press against her. "It's been...it's been months now." He rested her hands on her hips and squeezed lightly. It was a tender gesture, but it still somehow reminded her of something she'd rather forget. "What's the problem? I mean, we've made love. Hell, we've made love all over the place." He paused, probably trying to make sure she understood his words were true. "I love you, Angela. You love me. You can't do this one thing, just once?" His hands tightened around her hips, but still she broke free and slid off of him.
"Because I don't want to. What's so hard to understand about that?"
Hodgins sat up and reached for Angela, but she pulled away—and nearly fell off of the bed in the process. She caught herself, perhaps not as gracefully as she could have, and stood with her hands on her hips as she studied Jack's face. He looked genuinely confused, but mostly irritated. Angela took several steps backward, just as he slid off the bed and advanced toward her with arms slightly outstretched.
She was fourteen years old again, at one of her father's summer concerts. It was hot and loud and dusty, but she wouldn't have it any other way. Her hair was back in a bun, though strands had escaped and were plastered to the back of her neck. She had just finished using one of the disgusting porta-johns, but then someone grabbed her arm. She couldn't even scream—a hand was pressed against her mouth. He pulled her behind a divider, forced her onto her knees in the dirt. No one heard her scream for help—most people were too far away, and her father's band mostly drowned her out anyway. Instead, her cry got her a smack: one that left her blinded with pain for a moment as he unfastened his stupid acid-washed jeans.
She still remembered every detail of those moments—the sick smell of his body mixed with that of the porta-johns clogging her nose, the taste from his skin that turned her stomach and brought helpless tears to her eyes. She had fought him, clawed at his hands and hips, but it had all been futile. He had held her tightly, uttered oaths and groans: he had either been completely oblivious or wholly devoid of care. When he finished, she had choked, and had been truly afraid for several very long minutes that she would die right here in the dirt, and that no one would find her. But then her throat had cleared, admitting the sweet, cool air, and she spat in the dirt. By the time she had recovered—so to speak—the man had gone.
"Angela, what's wrong?" She was in Hodgins's bedroom again, cowering in a corner while he looked on in utter bewilderment. Jack took her hand, covering it with both of his and stroking gently. "Ange, talk to me." When she neither moved nor spoke, he moved closer and tried to pull her into his arms.
It was too much. Angela tore out of his arms with a wordless cry. "Don't touch me," she whispered hoarsely—it was then that she realized she was crying again. "Please just leave me alone." She pushed past him, all but running from the room. She needed to get out of this place. She would take a cab home, lock herself in the bathroom, and try to forget all of this. And so she ran, trying to put as much distance as she could between herself and Hodgins, who was calling her name out the door.