Author: fluffernutter8 —
Spoilers: Nothing after S3
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.
It might seem a little disrespectful because of the proximity to dead people, but they do it in Angela’s office at least once a week.
“Much like Roger and his geeky teenage buddies, that is something I never got to do in high school,” Hodgins remarks, grinning, as he pulls on his t-shirt.
Angela grins back as she readjusts the slipcover on the couch. She teases, “Rich boy like you couldn’t get some?”
“Well, I went to a rich boy school, so I wasn’t exactly Prince Charming. My money was as good as anyone else’s.” His voice is still light and uninsulted as he sits down in her desk chair, spinning himself slightly with his foot.
“It’s okay,” she tells him fondly, “you can be my Prince Charming. I think your money is very special.” He snorts, sliding onto the couch to sit next to her instead. She leans over to kiss his cheek briefly. “What were you like in high school?”
Immediately he says, “Oh, I was a bad boy.” She snorts. “No seriously. I knew I didn’t want to take over the Group from my dad so I wouldn’t make nice with the Future Business Leaders of America and the only other people who were rebelling against their destinies weren’t interested in science as much as they were interested in toking. So instead of the chem lab where I wanted to hang out, I ended up in the alley by the dumpsters.” He sees her looking at him in disbelief and shrugs expansively. “What, you can’t picture me with the druggies high on Daddy’s money?” He sighs reminiscently. “They set me straight about the Lone Gunman. They were the first ones to call me Doc. Although that was less because they thought I would make a good doctor and more because I wouldn’t shut up about the vine weevil attacking cannabis plants while they were trying to smoke those cannabis plants.”
“Oh, my God,” she laughs. “You’d better have a gang jacket or some secret tattoos to balance out the ancient crush you have on these guys.”
He mutters something against her temple about letting her check for secret tattoos as he starts pushing her back on the couch. Once a week is about to become twice when Zack walks by carrying a tray of instruments far past the time when he should be gone. He’s focused on whatever he is doing (and it’s not like Zack is number one aware of his surroundings guy) but the two of them make a hasty nonverbal agreement to wait until they get home.
“What were you like,” he asks, readjusting himself on the couch, “back in your side ponytail days?”
“Well,” she says, teasing, “I went through a surprisingly long Goth phase.” He looks at her in disbelief and she nods. “Yeah. I gave up my hippie girl skirts for my last two years of high school.”
“Why’d you stop?”
“I got to UT, and Texas was just too hot for black leather and ten pounds of makeup.”
“Why’d you start?
Her face becomes sadder in phases, a slow shadow falling. She continues to look at him, but seems as if she wants to look away at her hands or her lap. “My dad was away more often than he was home, and when I was a kid, I had a nanny, Kathy, who stayed with me and took care of the house when he was gone. She stayed around until I finished eighth grade, but then she got pregnant and my dad decided to let her go and just have me live with my Aunt Bev in Pennsylvania.”
“You didn’t get along?” He turns over so he is facing her more directly.
“She was fine,” Angela says, somehow managing to sound both firm and vague at the same time. “She just didn’t really get me. I mean, I built a computer in the garage the first summer I was there and she didn’t understand why I would do that. Aunt Bev was very… pragmatic and technology didn’t seem like a sensible career choice at the time.”
She laughs, dropping her head back against the couch. “Oh, God, don’t even get me started on my art. Did you know I worked in a hardware store so I could pay for paint and brushes?”
His voice has a ripple of laughter running through it as he says, “You do know your screws.”
“Hodgins!” She pushes him away from her, laughing.
“What?!” Hodgins pulls himself up, gesturing helplessly. “I meant that you built your own computer. You have technical skills! It’s not my fault your mind leaped somewhere it was not supposed to go.”
She adopts a tone of dignity and says, “Hey, my mind is supposed to go everywhere.” They laugh for a good, solid minute. When they calm down, he looks at her.
“I wish you could have had a better childhood.”
“There are worse ones to have,” Angela tells him, shrugging. “And, hey, it got me here, and here is pretty great.”
“Yeah,” Hodgins says quietly, “It is.” He slides an arm around her shoulders and lets her lean against him. He is tired, and bed sounds like an amazing idea, but right now he is just happy to be here too.