"Whoa, Ange…."

Hodgins woke abruptly, jumping out of his seat next to Angela's bed to pull back her hair. She was leaning over, retching into an emesis bin which he quickly took from her shaking hands. Tears streamed from her bloodshot, exhausted eyes.

"W-...what's wrong with me," she asked pitifully. Her voice, hitching when she spoke, caused her to gag once more.

"I don't know, Babe," Hodgins sighed as he checked to make sure she was done. He set down the bin on the bedside table and gently took a hair band from her wrist. "We'll know soon, though," he comforted as he pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail (A trick he learned from Christine a long time ago. Who knew it would come in handy?). "Your test results should be back any day now," he winked, trying to cheer her up. Her lips parted into a small smile and he sat down beside her, slipping a comforting arm behind her back. Angela nodded and leaned back against his chest, pressing their foreheads together. Her face burned against his and he kissed her gently. He checked his watch….4:30 in the morning.

XXX

In the twelve hours that had passed since they called Angela's name, she'd only gotten worse. Hodgins had asked nurse after nurse, and at least three different doctors, "What is wrong with my wife," but no one had any answers to give.

Within an hour of leaving their friends behind, Angela had changed, with few complaints, into a standard hospital gown and was settling into the pristine, bed sheets. He knew that she still felt terrible, her lack of words gave that away, but as she drifted off to sleep she offered him a small smile. It was her way of comforting him, despite her own fears. It worked. It always worked.

By 6:30 that night, several nurses had visited their room. Angela slept through them all. Numerous tests were run and Hodgins had answered the same questions so many times that his lines were thoroughly memorized. Angela, who was usually never, ever sick, had been fighting a virus on and off for the past three months. He let them know that they had been to the doctor and it was nothing to worry about. She was probably exhausted he told them. She works too hard he informed them, but they only nodded while giving him the approximate time of the returning test results, leaving Hodgins to his thoughts while his wife slept restlessly.

Seven-thirty came and went with very little change. Hodgins propped himself uncomfortably in the Poaceae-colored, bedside chair that looked like it belonged in his grandmother's garage. He closed his eyes, listening intently to the sound of their breathing until it fell together in sync. Sleep followed quickly.

The next seven hours ran together in a painful blur. Angela had woken him up, calling his name and complaining of stomach pains. Stomach pains led to nausea, nausea led to vomiting, and the vomiting wouldn't stop. She was in pain, doubled over in a cold sweat and clinging to his hand. Over several hours, IV's were inserted along with doses of heavy-duty fever reducers, pain killers, and anti-nausea medicines, but her body rejected them all and her fever rose higher. Eventually, a strong sedative was administered and Angela's tensed muscles were allowed to relax, but she was still awake, still in pain.

"Angie….," Hodgins tried, but Angela's eyes were glassy and distant like she didn't hear him.

"She'll be out for a while, at least a few hours," a tall, muscular nurse said as he checked her vitals. "We're giving her some fluids while she sleeps so she can rehydrate tonight."

Hodgins nodded and brushed a strand of hair out of Angela's closing eyes.

"Did her fever come down at all," Hodgins asked, his voice strained with exhaustion.

"It's back to 103.1 and still dropping," the nurse said much too cheerfully for that time of night. "We finally found a medicine that did the trick. She's stable," he said with a smile. "Try to get some sleep."

Hodgins nodded his thanks and as the nurse left the room, he ran a cool rag over Angela's face. She sighed contentedly and Hodgins knew that the medicine had kicked in. He leaned back, curling up, once more, in his favorite hospital chair. After a few moments his eyes closed and he breathed deeply, letting the beep of hospital machines sing him a lullaby until sleep overcame him.

XXX

Now it was 4:30, though, and they were back where they'd started. Angela was leaning against him and he held her shaking body. He couldn't see her eyes, but he hoped, as improbable as it seemed, that she was dozing.

He must have drifted off as well. It couldn't have been for more than half an hour! Regardless, he woke for what seemed the tenth time that night to Angela sitting up suddenly.

"You alright?" Hodgins asked, his voice cracking unexpectedly.

Any other time, Angela would have laughed. But now she scrambled desperately, pushing him away and grabbing for the bin on her bedside table, but she missed. She gagged harshly and grabbed her stomach in pain before vomiting on the sheets.

"Shi-...," he whispered, jumping out of the way.

"Jack," she gasped before the pain took her breath away and she doubled over, moaning into her knees.

"It's okay. I'm right here," he soothed, rubbing her back. But as he leaned over her shivering body to grab a glass of water, something caught his attention. Angela had noticed too and was staring, transfixed.

Blood.

Angela coughed again, this time, trying cover her mouth. But it was to no avail and more blood covered the sheets and her gown. A moment of stunned silence passed between them as they sat stunned. Hodgins shifted his gaze to Angela. The tint of color that remained in her cheeks had evaporated and she looked at him desperately.

"What….what's wrong with m-me….," she sobbed once more.

Hodgins, at a loss for words, hit the button on the wall that called for a nurse and leaned his sick wife back against her pillows. He pulled away the bloody sheets and piled them at the end of the bed before wrapping his arms around her. Angela, confused and exhausted, sobbed into Hodgins' chest while he whispered soothingly in her ear. He held a wrist against her forehead and cursed under his breath. The fever was back.

"It's okay, Angie. I've got you," he whispered. "You're going to be just fine."

But even as he soothed her, rocking back and forth, talking about their future, their son, anything to take her mind off the pain, Hodgins' could not ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach that something terrible was happening before his eyes. Unfortunately, he could neither identify the truth nor do anything to prevent its coming. The world he and Angela had created and worked so hard to protect was about to crash down on top of them, waking them both to the harsh reality that all too often surprises its victims: Their lives, from that moment on, were never going to be the same.