Sorry I don't have a Hodgins/Angela icon...
Title: Moments of Rare and Fragile Grace
Author: fluffernutter8
Pairing: Angela/Hodgins
Spoilers: Nothing after S2
Rating: PG
Word Count: 510
Summary: How do you know? he said & the answers fell like feathers, or the first snowflakes of November, light & without words. I looked in his eyes & smiled. You just know, I said.
Authors notes: Continuations of my Hodgela fic from Love Day at bones_ga, Moments of Rare and Fragile Grace.
Hodgins’s house is far too big for him. Angela stands uncomfortably by his front door as he goes up the stairs to pack a bag. He waves for her to follow him up, but she ignores him, choosing instead to get whatever glimpse of his darkened house is afforded her from the foyer. She understands why he spends as much time at the lab as he does. Half of the furniture in his living room is shrouded in dust covers and either Hodgins has an alternate personality, or the visible, form-over-function pieces were picked by someone who was decidedly not him.
Halfway up to the landing, though, he sways a little, and Angela takes the steps in twos to reach him. They walk the rest of the way together. He doesn’t stumble again, but she keeps a hand on his arm, just in case.
Hodgins’s bedroom is the second door on the left. He opens the door and goes in first. “This is definitely not the way I imagined showing you my bedroom for the first time.” Even as he says it in that wry, Hodgins tone, she can see his eyes darting around. She is fairly certain that he is unaware of the muscle twitching erratically under the skin in the side of his neck, but Angela needs to remind herself that staring isn’t polite, and tear her eyes away.
Her facial muscles feel stiff and her voice alien as she tries to answer lightly. “I get the feeling that in your imagination, I was mostly interested in the bed.”
“Yeah, and the underwear was in a totally different context,” he replies, holding up a handful before tossing it into a small duffle along with rolled up balls of socks. There are at least four pairs of each, and she wonders how long he is planning on staying. Somehow, when she invited him, she didn’t think up a time frame, even for herself.
Angela moves from the doorframe to sit on his bed. She suddenly feels exhausted. The metallic flavor that signals adrenaline is gone from her mouth. “Before this all started, all I was worried about was that I needed to do laundry so I wouldn’t run out of clean underwear.”
“And all I was worried about was that Zack would come up with more interesting evidence than I did.” He zips up the bag and sits down beside her. They lean against each other.
“King of the Lab, huh?” She starts to cry as she says it, a blurry, silent rush of tears.
“Yeah,” he tells her, unashamed. He is so purely himself that she cries a little harder. She turns her face into his shoulder, presses her lips dryly against his shirt. She sits there, and Hodgins sits beside her. His body shudders every so often, disturbing her, but not enough to make her move. She knows that if she looks up, she will see the tears on his face, but what matters is his body next to her, warmly breathing and talking and being alive.
Author: fluffernutter8
Pairing: Angela/Hodgins
Spoilers: Nothing after S2
Rating: PG
Word Count: 510
Summary: How do you know? he said & the answers fell like feathers, or the first snowflakes of November, light & without words. I looked in his eyes & smiled. You just know, I said.
Authors notes: Continuations of my Hodgela fic from Love Day at bones_ga, Moments of Rare and Fragile Grace.
Hodgins’s house is far too big for him. Angela stands uncomfortably by his front door as he goes up the stairs to pack a bag. He waves for her to follow him up, but she ignores him, choosing instead to get whatever glimpse of his darkened house is afforded her from the foyer. She understands why he spends as much time at the lab as he does. Half of the furniture in his living room is shrouded in dust covers and either Hodgins has an alternate personality, or the visible, form-over-function pieces were picked by someone who was decidedly not him.
Halfway up to the landing, though, he sways a little, and Angela takes the steps in twos to reach him. They walk the rest of the way together. He doesn’t stumble again, but she keeps a hand on his arm, just in case.
Hodgins’s bedroom is the second door on the left. He opens the door and goes in first. “This is definitely not the way I imagined showing you my bedroom for the first time.” Even as he says it in that wry, Hodgins tone, she can see his eyes darting around. She is fairly certain that he is unaware of the muscle twitching erratically under the skin in the side of his neck, but Angela needs to remind herself that staring isn’t polite, and tear her eyes away.
Her facial muscles feel stiff and her voice alien as she tries to answer lightly. “I get the feeling that in your imagination, I was mostly interested in the bed.”
“Yeah, and the underwear was in a totally different context,” he replies, holding up a handful before tossing it into a small duffle along with rolled up balls of socks. There are at least four pairs of each, and she wonders how long he is planning on staying. Somehow, when she invited him, she didn’t think up a time frame, even for herself.
Angela moves from the doorframe to sit on his bed. She suddenly feels exhausted. The metallic flavor that signals adrenaline is gone from her mouth. “Before this all started, all I was worried about was that I needed to do laundry so I wouldn’t run out of clean underwear.”
“And all I was worried about was that Zack would come up with more interesting evidence than I did.” He zips up the bag and sits down beside her. They lean against each other.
“King of the Lab, huh?” She starts to cry as she says it, a blurry, silent rush of tears.
“Yeah,” he tells her, unashamed. He is so purely himself that she cries a little harder. She turns her face into his shoulder, presses her lips dryly against his shirt. She sits there, and Hodgins sits beside her. His body shudders every so often, disturbing her, but not enough to make her move. She knows that if she looks up, she will see the tears on his face, but what matters is his body next to her, warmly breathing and talking and being alive.