Solidarity

A/N: This brief story idea popped into my head while I re-watched some of Season 2 yesterday.

Dr. Jack Hodgins was an angry, frustrated man. He craved activity he could no longer achieve.

A sports enthusiast who reveled in all forms of physical exertion, he was accustomed to an active lifestyle, engaging in all manner of exercise. As a youth attending exclusive schools, he'd learned the art of fencing and spent hours practicing his techniques during lonely weekends and summers when his parents travelled the globe. During college, he'd excelled on the tennis team, and enjoyed vigorous racquetball matches with other doctoral students.

When he first joined the Jeffersonian staff, his therapist recommended two methods of dealing with his anger management issues; snapping a rubber band on his wrist, and taekwondo. The intricate patterns and poses, precise strikes and moves of this ancient martial art calmed his fiery spells. Resentment of his short stature was replaced by quiet confidence. But a bomb undid all that.

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The explosion of Officer Thomas Gallo's body and subsequent epidural hematoma compressing his spine had left Hodgins in a wheelchair and a snit, no longer able to pursue the sports he loved. To say he was adjusting poorly to his new situation would be a monumental understatement. His angst was driving a wedge between him and the exhausted love of his life striving to care for his diverse medical and mental needs. Arriving at the lab after a particularly turbulent morning with her husband, Angela was at her wits' end. Brennan found her sobbing quietly. The anthropologist set aside the file in her hand and leaned over to embrace her best friend.

"Let's get out of here for some fresh air. Can I take you to the diner for coffee?" she asked gently. The artist wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and nodded silently.

"Let me get my jacket and alert Cam we'll be out for a while."

Brennan left Angela's office and walked across the lab to Cam's doorway.

"Do you have a moment, Dr. Saroyan? Angela needs a break; Dr. Hodgins' poorly vented frustration is wearing her down. I'm walking with her to the diner for coffee and donuts. That always seems to calm Booth when he's aggravated."

"Good idea, Dr. Brennan. Let me know if I can help once you return."

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Slowly Brennan and Angela walked the few blocks between the Jeffersonian and the Royal Diner talking quietly. Having tried all the calming techniques she could think of or read about, Angela was intensely worried and completely stress by her husband's smoldering anger which seethed between them like a pot ready to boil over and scald the pair.

"I know he's hurting inside; but nothing I try comforts him. . ."

"This job has taken a toll on each of us in some way, Angela. Hodgins suffered a permanent debilitation, but he's not the only one who bears aches and scars from our work. Booth is the most obvious, but the rest of us have more subtle injuries."

"I know that, and he does intellectually, but it doesn't help our situation. Just knowing you're here and care helps more than you know, Bren. I need to finish that skull identification sketch; let's get back to the lab. Thank you for listening."

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Later that afternoon, Brennan re-entered Cam's office. The pathologist looked up from her computer.

"Cam, I have an idea. I'd like your opinion."

"Sure, what is it?"

"May I sit a moment?"

"Surely."

"What if some of us wrote Hodgins a note of empathy and support, encouraging him, but also describing how our work has affected us personally? I'm not suggesting we discuss the matter with him, just leave these for him to read privately. Perhaps the realization that all of us bear marks from our pursuit of justice will alleviate his lonely frustration in some small way."

"Dr. Brennan, that might just work. If we avoid preaching or blaming him, and just commiserate a bit, it might bring him some resolution. I still have breathing issues from inhaling that methyl bromide when I cut open Carolyn Epps' skull," Cam disclosed.

"Whenever I do yoga poses or martial arts, my upper arm still aches from the knife Dr. Leacock plunged into my posterior cutaneous nerve," Brennan admitted.

"I have aches and pains on damp cold days from injured muscles when clear back I was a cop in New York," Cam replied.

"Ms. Warren confided in me that Agent Aubrey's back bears scar tissue from that same explosions which pulls uncomfortably when he works out. But neither he nor Booth would likely agree to our plan. Perhaps a letter of solidarity from just the two of us would benefit Dr. Hodgins sufficiently. I feel this matter is too private to discuss with everyone," Brennan mused aloud.

"It's worth a try, Brennan. I don't think we should ever mention it to Hodgins or Angela, however. Just put it out there and see what happens."

"Thanks, Cam. I hope it helps him. I don't read people well, but both of them are hurting badly."

"Dr. Brennan, you're a good person, and more insightful than you give yourself credit for. The same as when you used the pudding osteomyelitis test during the Kennedy autopsy for Booth," Cam reminded her with a smile.

"You, too, Cam. You hold this place together more than people realize. I acknowledged long ago the wisdom Dr. Goodman showed in hiring you."

"Thanks, Dr. Brennan, that means a lot, coming from you."

Brennan cleared her throat and stood up. "I have a skull to reconstruct; I should get back to work."

"Me, too. Only I'm dealing with a budget report for the Board meeting next week. Want to grab lunch at Wong Fu's?"

"Yes, I'd enjoy that, Cam. Text me when you're ready to go."