Morose
"Dr. Brennan, do you have a minute?" Cam stood in the doorway of Brennan's office. "Oh, hi, Hodgins. I need to talk to you, too."
"I believe I have time to talk now, Dr. Saroyan. How can I help you?" Brennan looked up from her computer.
"I got an email from Fisher. Remember him? He was wondering if we could supply him with some letters of recommendation. He's applying for a forensic anthropology position in Las Vegas."
Hodgins laughed. "It's hard to imagine that morose bastard living in America's playground. I mean, I know he likes to stay up all night, but still…"
Cam put on her kindergarten teacher face. "You know it isn't his fault that he's depressed. He said he's been working with the psychology department at UNLV on some experimental treatments involving vitamin replacement, sun exposure, and drug therapy. He says he feels great."
Hodgins snorted. "Great is sort of a relative term. He could feel great and still be depressing."
"Nevertheless", said Brennan, "when he felt well his work was exceptional. Remember how he was able to figure how far the office manager fell down the elevator shaft? I noticed his leadership skills when the interns were identifying those unknown remains from limbo. Hodgins, he was very empathetic when you discovered you had a brother with a mental illness. If Fisher is able to manage his depression, I would see no problem in recommending him for a position. What do you think, Cam?"
"It sounds like you've already written your letter, Dr. Brennan. Yes, I think I could recommend him also. You can make up your own mind, Dr. Hodgins. He said he would like the letters sent directly to the organization, so if you write a letter, send it to me, and I'll forward it. Thanks, guys."