Author's Note 1: I have revised a short section of the previous chapter, which you might want to look at before reading this installment. Although I like to present as spotless a story as possible, I felt it was necessary, after hearing comments from my discerning reader and friend, la mome. I no longer thought it was right for Brennan to slap Booth in the waiting room, so I have her pushing his arms away and escaping. As my friend pointed out, why is it okay for women to hit men and not vice versa? If it had been the other way around, we would be telling Brennan to get OUT of that relationship.
My excuse might be that I let myself be overly influenced by that scene from Booth's fake funeral. She might've slapped him then, and at the "you're a bully" confrontation in ep 100, but she would not do so now. Not when they're in a real relationship, and she knows his family history.
Therefore, I hope my revision preserves Bren's feisty nature and the emotional overload of the scene, while being more about self protection, not actually causing pain.
A/N #2: Big thanks to jsq this week, for listening to me agonize over many topics both in fiction and real life. And to doctorsuez, for brainstorming about medical things, and, oh yeah, Booth getting a good scrub in the decontamination shower. (That happens next chapter. Off camera. Sorry.)
Part 34
Fuck, Hodgins thought for the fourth time.
Brennan sat on the passenger side of his tiny car, crying. What was Angela thinking, setting him up like this? What the hell should he do?
Once they'd pulled out of the hospital lot, he saw that Brennan had her arms wrapped around herself like she was in pain. "Uh, Dr. B? Are you hurt? Or sick? Should I—?"
"It's okay." Her voice trembled. "I went up the stairs too fast. I shouldn't have done that."
No, he thought, please don't tear open your injury on my watch. But it should be healed enough by now, right?
"So, you went up to see Booth… Did he say what happened?"
She shook her head, then ducked her face away from him.
Definitely crying. Fuck.
He drove back through the city, slower than the first time. It would've made far more sense for him to stay with Booth. To sit in the waiting room and make bad jokes about… something. Because Booth wouldn't be crying. Would he?
At a stoplight, Hodgins glanced at Brennan again. She kept silent, but he could hear her congested breathing. She'd found a Kleenex in her bag and was wiping her face. If she didn't have an audience, he thought, she'd really let go.
The light turned green, so he pulled away, then changed lanes in preparation for the exit toward his house.
"So, Dr. B… Angela thought we'd go to my place, and try to chill out until she and Booth get there. Then you could all stay for dinner. You know, to make sure everybody's okay, Angie said. Wait, did you have lunch yet?"
She nodded.
"Right." He checked the clock. "It's kind of late. But dinner, what do you say? We have some great Indian dishes from this little restaurant…" He wasn't sure if he should keep talking or shut up, but decided to chatter like Angela would. Brennan would nod periodically. He didn't ask her any more questions.
Finally they were heading up the long drive of his estate. When they went inside, he tried to offer Brennan a drink, but she brushed him off. Dropping her bag and coat in the entryway, she disappeared down the hall toward the back of the house. He heard the door to the guest room close.
Well, shit.
Don't leave her alone, Angela had said. But if she needed to go cry in there…
Hodgins took off his shoes and lined them up on the rug. He hung his jacket, and Brennan's, in the closet.
Then he checked his phone for missed calls or texts. Nothing.
He considered going down the hall and listening at the guest room door.
Instead he walked into the living room and fiddled with the sound system. Maybe some NPR news. The announcers were talking about the stock market. Hell, maybe they would tell him something about the shooting. No one else had.
He flopped down on the couch.
This was ridiculous.
He would give Brennan thirty minutes by herself, and then he was coming in. Right now, he would call Cam. Angela probably hadn't had a chance to check in yet.
"You all what?" Cam yelled. "Booth was—what?"
"He's okay," Hodgins repeated. He told her what little he knew, and that none of them, him, Angela, or Brennan, would be getting back to work today. "But I'll call you," he promised, "or someone will, as soon as we know more."
Cam was still trying to get her head around it. "Some kind of gang-related shooting? Oh my God." She paused as if to collect herself. "Do you need me to do anything? What can I do? I mean, is Booth—? Is Brennan—?"
"Um, I think we're okay. For now."
She sighed. "I swear, those two will be the death of us."
-.-.-.-.
Hodgins didn't have to wait those thirty minutes. Brennan came out after about fifteen.
He'd been pacing around the living room, but had given up and collapsed on the couch again. He sat up straight when he heard her coming down the hall.
She hadn't tried very hard to conceal that she'd been crying. Her eyes were all red and wet. She did tuck a strand of hair behind her ear when she saw him, but didn't quite meet his gaze.
"I…" She gestured at the foyer and her voice sounded scratchy. "I need to call Booth."
He made a motion like, 'Of course, go ahead.'
She retrieved her phone, and lingered near the door for the call. Hodgins wasn't really eavesdropping. The radio was on, after all. But he could hear what she said.
"Booth, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left. And I'm sorry you went through that. You and Agent Luckett."
Now Hodgins wished he could hear the other side of the conversation.
After a moment Brennan said, "Lucky? Oh, is that one of the ironic nicknames that cops give each other? It was an obvious choice, given the sound of Agent Luckett's name. But now… Yes. He'll never live it down. So, are you…?"
She listened for a while.
"It's necessary, Booth. You got someone's blood on your skin. Therefore, you have to go the clinic and fill out forms and undergo tests. Yes, even if your vaccines are up to date.
"Do you want me to meet you there? …Well, yes. Okay. At Hodgins' place."
Then her voice got a little shrill, in reaction to what he'd said. "I know. But I need to hear what happened."
Booth's answer—or was it a question?—must've been brief. When they ended the call, she sounded hoarse, though calm. "I'll be here. I wouldn't run away, Booth. Not anymore."
Brennan stayed in the foyer for a minute after that. Just as Hodgins got up to check on her, she came in to summarize what had happened.
"Agent Luckett has to have minor surgery. To remove the bullet and repair a vein in his upper arm. Booth says his new nickname is Lucky, which is either ironic or sincere, depending on your outlook."
Hodgins opened his mouth to say something, but she was reaching into the closet to get her coat. "I need to go out. Just to walk around the grounds, if that's okay. Booth will still be a while. Angela said to tell you she didn't pick up any hospital germs, although how she could know that for certain…" She trailed off, and Hodgins could swear her eyes were watering again.
"I'll be back." She opened his front door and was gone.
-.-.-.-.
Jack still felt ridiculous.
He didn't have anything to do. He could make sure there was enough food for dinner, and that the guest room looked nice. He could text Angela. And he could watch for Brennan out the window.
She must have walked around the entire estate twice, which took half an hour. When he saw her passing the front of the house for the third round, he went out to meet her.
Pulling on his jacket, he crossed the driveway. "Could you use some company? Or some water?" He offered her a bottle, and she stopped by a tree, thanking him.
"My first thought was hard liquor," he said. "But this is a little better for you."
"Yes. It is."
She started walking again, and he fell into step next to her.
"Angie sent me a couple texts. She said everything was taking a long time, at whatever Bureau-appointed clinic Booth had to go to. And I think he talked to Agent Luckett's mom on the phone, too."
She shook her head, voice very soft. "He feels guilty. He's so hard on himself."
Hodgins couldn't think of anything to say to that. They walked across the grass in the direction of the tennis courts, and he asked, "Did Booth sound mad, that you left?"
"No… Lonely, maybe. And glad for Angela. She's good with emotional things. I… I'm going to be better."
"Hey," he said, and waited until she looked at him. "You already are."
She smiled a little, her eyes solemn.
Now the pond came into view, and past it, Zack's old apartment. Brennan gazed at it for a long time, but didn't say anything.
She'd left her hair down, rather than the ponytail she wore at the lab. Hodgins liked how her bangs curved on the side of her face. It reminded him of the way Angie used to have her hair.
"So…" He cleared his throat. He wasn't going to bring up Zack, but was this topic any better?
"We were alone in the car, coming here… and I couldn't help thinking of the Gravedigger. I, um… I wrote that letter to Angie. Because even if I didn't have enough time to act on my feelings, at least I was telling her about them." Glancing over, he couldn't tell what Dr. B was thinking. "I figured, you wrote yours to Booth."
"I did. And to Angela. And my brother." Her voice sounded strange, and he realized she was crying again. He pretended not to see when she swiped at her eyes.
They walked along thick hedges now, and the sound of traffic came through from the street.
"Telling people how you feel," Jack said, "isn't it better than letting them wonder? No matter how bad the situation."
She gave him a wry glance. "If that's some kind of commentary about today's events… You can't say I didn't express my feelings. Rather strongly, too."
"Angie did say something… about hugging and then—self defense moves?"
She winced and nodded. "It would probably help to clarify that. With words."
He had to laugh, and she smiled, sniffing at the same time.
They walked over a little rise and onto a gravel path that wound through some flower gardens.
Hodgins took a breath and released it loudly. "Man, if someone's going to get injured or die, there's just no good way to go about it."
Brennan raised an eyebrow.
"Okay, that sounded really stupid. What I mean is, if you could know how and when you're going to die, would you want to? Because… when we were in that car, buried… It was awful, and I would never want to go through something like that again. But at least… we had a little time. To write notes to people. To think about our life.
"Whereas, something like what you and Booth just went through? How he almost got shot, and you actually did? There's just no time. It's like… your heart gets run over by a bus. Metaphorically."
Brennan didn't say anything. Didn't criticize his description. She pulled her jacket more tightly around herself, like she was cold.
Now they passed a gazebo where Angela loved to sit. She had painted the sunset from there.
"Do you think," Brennan asked, "Booth is happy, working for the FBI?"
"Whoa." He glanced at her. "I guess so, yeah. Do you think he is?"
"He has seemed more happy recently. But…"
"But that's because of you."
She smiled. "That's not what I was going to say."
When she didn't go on, Hodgins thought about it. "He has seemed a little… different, since his coma. But if I had a dream that gave me a glimpse of another life, it'd make me stop and think, too. I guess it's just hard to see Booth as anything else. He's been in that position for so long—the Army, then law enforcement—I'm not sure what he'd do with himself."
"I might have some ideas. But I don't know how he'll react. And first, I need to know what happened today. And just... hug him."
Her voice was very low, and Hodgins felt like he'd overheard something intimate. Not the words, but the tone. Simple, vulnerable, tough.
"So, no shoving him and fleeing, this time?" If in doubt, he thought, joke.
"I'm holding off judgment and decisions until I hear what actually occurred. But no. No fleeing."
"Well, better you than me. I mean, to hug Booth. Because I thought it'd be better," he explained, "if Angie was here with you, and I was hanging out with Booth. But… I'm sort of glad it worked out this way."
Her eyes glimmered, in the afternoon sunlight. "Thanks, Hodgins. Me too."
-.-.-.-.
A/N #3: I just realized I am working nine days in a row, to cover for people on vacation. Most are half days, but most are also closing shifts (#&%$!). So, if I'm forced to skip an update next week, you'll know why.