A/N: This is a Hodgela (Jack Hodgins/Angela Montenegro) fan fic. It's all purely made up, and does not really follow any specific episode. It may contain spoilers up to 2x12 The Man in the Cell. It's classified as an ANGST fic, but it's not nearly as angsty as some of my stuff, so you probably won't end up in tears by the end. This story was supposed to be fluffier, but I couldn't stop myself once I got going, so it ended up lengthier than expected.

Ownership: As always, the characters themselves (except for those I may have added) belong to Hart Hanson and Fox TV. I just borrow their names, personalities, sexy eyes, luxurious curls, dimples, and rubber bands for the purpose of writing fan fiction, and will return them in good condition when I'm finished.

All That I'm Living For

Angela Montenegro loved her job. Sometimes. Most of the time. There had been a point in her career as a forensic artist when she dreaded whatever decomposed, burned, crushed, or otherwise obliterated skull would find its way to her office, and onto her Angelator.

But then her boss at the time had broken through all the horrors of the job, summing up her duties as being the member of the team to help give victims back their identities. He stated that she was the best of them, and nobody on the team within earshot had argued.

Not to mention that Hodgins had called her the "heart of the operation" in a recent newspaper article. She grinned at this memory, a warm sensation flowing through her body.

Hodgins. He had been so good to her lately – ever since they had hooked up a few months back. Last year she had watched him flirt mercilessly with every woman who had walked into the lab, and she had never thought of him as anything other than a friend. As someone who proclaimed himself "good with the ladies", Dr. Jack Hodgins obviously thought highly of himself. And that was so definitely not Angela's cup of tea.

She enjoyed the guys who were only interested in her for one reason – a reason that revolved around a three-lettered word that could be found in nearly every adult couple's bedroom. But that was how she liked it. She liked to be in short term relationships, one night stands. It was easy, and hassle free that way – no commitment meant no drama.

Usually. That had all changed with Kirk. He had truly loved her, and she'd known that. Yet she had still only been able to give him 3 weeks out of her year – giving just a little, but always leaving him wanting more.

Until Kirk had ended up dead, and she had ended up broken hearted. She'd always just assumed that they had their entire lives to work the details out, so there was no reason to rush the 3 weeks into anything more.

It had taken her a long time to move on after Kirk's death. In fact, she hadn't really had much in terms of solid relationships until Jack Hodgins had asked her out in the lab one day. And she was eternally happy that she had agreed to that initial date – eternally grateful that Jack had persisted even after she'd turned him away. Twice.

She stared down at the skull in her hands, and up at the screen of her Angelator. A sigh escaped her lips.

"Is that her?"

Angela turned to see her best friend, Dr. Temperance Brennan enter the room, eyes fixed on the 3D image before them. She placed the skull carefully down on the table, and picked up the pad to control her Angelator.

"Yeah," she said, softly. She pressed a few buttons and the image before them shifted. Eyes filled the once hollow sockets, flesh covered the bone and features began to take shape.

"She was young," Angela began.

"Fourteen," Brennan stated.

"Just a kid." Angela answered. "What was she doing hanging out with this type of crowd? Why wasn't she at home with her parents, dreaming of a life, of growing up and falling in love? When I was fourteen..." she trailed off. "Well, when I was fourteen I sure wasn't out consorting with the local street gangs."

"I don't think any consorting took place, or that she knew them. Booth says these guys are more than just a local street gang, Ang. He says they're bad reviews."

"Bad news, sweetie," Angela corrected. "And Booth would know."

The bodies had begun surfacing two weeks earlier. A couple of kids had literally tripped over the first body, but had decided to show all of their friends before informing the local police, who then called in the FBI. The area was in the dingiest part of DC, near the slums, where gang wars were a part of everyday life.

No gang had taken responsibility for the 3 bodies that had been recovered, but Booth had told them that he was personally "putting the squeeze" on the kingpins, and working every angle.

The girl whose smiling face stared out at Brennan and Angela now had been the first one recovered. She had also been the only complete, undamaged skull among the three. The other two skeletons, also female and young, contained skulls that were crushed beyond recognition, and would require more extensive work before they found their way into Angela's talented hands.

"Well," Angela picked up a piece of paper that was shooting out of her printer. She handed the rendition to Brennan. "Here. Now Booth can figure out who she is."

"Might not be so easy," Brennan answered. "Booth says there are rumours of the two top gangs holding some type of initiation competition that involves selecting a victim – usually a runaway or a street kid – and executing them in the most gruesome manner possible."

"Ugh." Angela squeezed her eyes tightly closed, willing her stomach to settle. "So ... why are these goons still on the streets if the FBI knows all of this?"

"We don't know it, we speculate it." Booth, who had just walked into the room, walked up to Brennan and grabbed the piece of paper from her hand.

"Hey!" Brennan protested.

"This her?" He asked Angela.

Angela nodded.

"Great, let's go Bones." Booth took hold of Brennan's arm and half dragged her from the room.

"Have fun!" Angela called, as she heard Brennan muttering to Booth about his methods of apprehending her. She spotted the image on her screen, and her smile faded. "Though you sure didn't get to have any fun yourself..."

------------

Jack Hodgins stormed into the break room at the Jeffersonian, his eyes blazing. When he spotted her sitting at a table, a bowl of strawberries and a paperback novel before her, he raced over.

"Angela!" He cried.

She looked up at him, her deep brown eyes meeting his clear blue ones. "Yeah?"

He took a deep breath, and sat across from her. "Brennan says you got a letter this morning."

"Yeah?" Angela asked again.

Jack sighed. "She also said it contained a threat relating to the case we're working. And that it was directed at you."

"Oh, Hodgins," she put the book down. "It was nothing."

"Nothing? Nothing!? Angela, somebody directly threatens your life and you're sitting there calmly telling me that it's 'nothing'?"

"That's because it is nothing." She leaned forward and put her hand over his. "Relax. Booth took the note, okay? He'll have it checked out, and ... whatever else he's going to do. But as far as we know, it was either just an empty threat or a prank."

"A prank? What exactly did it say?"

"I don't know ... something along the lines of 'stop identifying the bodies, or else'. I mean, c'mon – who actually uses that phrase? 'Or else'? Was the letter written by a 5 year old?"

Jack pulled his hand from beneath Angela's, and began absentmindedly snapping at the blue rubberband around his wrist. "I don't see how you can be so calm about this. You're working a case that involves a bunch of hoodlums who kill kids for fun, and then smash in their skulls so nobody can identify them. They really don't strike me as the type of people who make 'empty threats'."

Angela reached out again, placing her palm on Jack's now swollen wrist. "Stop, okay? Jack, I'm not worried." She shook her head. "Booth will check this out, and he'll let me know what he finds out. Then I can decide whether I need to be worried or not."

"But, you..."

"No." She silenced him with a look. "I'm not going to get all worked up over this yet – and I don't want you to either. It was just a little note, slipped into the mail and addressed to "the lady who IDs the bones. That's not something to freak out about. Besides, it could have easily been meant for Brennan too, or any of the other "ladies" who work here."

"No, Angela. It was for you. Brennan figures out how they died, and who they were in a general sense – age, sex, race. But you – you provide the ID. You give the dead a face."

"My, my," Angela arched her left eyebrow. "Do I sense another rah-rah Angela speech coming on?"

Jack laughed at this. They stood and Angela let him envelop her in a hug. "I just ... I just want to keep you safe," he said softly into her hair. "Please let me do that."

"Alright," she agreed begrudgingly.

"So tell me that tonight, after our dinner you'll come home with me."

"Ooh, to the fortress?" She teased, and catching the sight of seriousness on his face, she sighed. "Oh, alright. I'll let you play bodyguard for tonight. But once we know what's going on, and that there is no serious threat, that's it. You are not my knight in shining armour, and I don't like playing the damsel in distress."

"Oh, but you make such a hot damsel," he countered, a mischievous grin seeping across his face. He reached out to caress her face.

She had to laugh, as she playfully slapped his hand away. "Alright, enough. Now let me get to work. I've got one more thing to do before we check out for the evening..."

------------

The dinner was perfect. Jack had made the reservations at his favourite place – a French restaurant that just screamed 'high class'. He had arranged for them to sit out on the patio all alone. Angela didn't want to know how he had arranged for that – or how much he had paid. Since the beginning of their relationship, Angela had learned not to question the extravagant gifts he gave her – the outings he provided for her with such little effort. She knew that he came from money, and had the cash to spend as he saw fit. She felt honoured that he chose to spend some of it on her.

She had never really been cared for by a boyfriend like that before. Most guys were only interested in one thing from her – and she was more than happy to provide. They hadn't been required to wine and dine her, to put actual effort into gaining and keeping her attention.

Although, Jack didn't really need the effort either – not that she would ever tell him this, mind you. Plain and simple – Angela enjoyed being pampered. Jack enjoyed pampering her. Both were more than happy with the arrangement they had.

Once dinner had come to an end, and they had enjoyed a glass of wine with their dessert – chocolate cherry cheesecake (her favourite) – Angela got up to leave.

"No, no, no..." Jack said, jumping out of his chair, and motioning for her to sit.

She sat.

"Let me be your gentleman," he began. He stood behind her and gently pulled her chair out, offering his hand to help her up.

"Jack..." she began.

He shook his head and gave her his lopsided grin. "You promised, Angela. Let me be your knight in shining armour."

She scrunched up her nose as she stood. "I promised no such thing. I said you could play my bodyguard ... not my knight."

He helped her into her coat, then threw his own on. "It's a beautiful night, what do you say we top the evening off with a stroll?"

"'A stroll'? Okay..."

They left the restaurant, heading down the sidewalk away from downtown. Jack put his arm around her shoulder, and pulled her in close. The night air had a cold nip to it, and she snuggled into him.

"So..." he began.

"So." She finished. "Where are we headed?"

"With us?" He inquired.

She shook her head. "No, I mean literally. Now. Where are we going?"

"Oh." A mischevious grin took over his face. "You'll see."

"Alright," she replied, hesitantly. A moment of silence stretched out between them before she broke it by saying, "Okay. With us – where are we headed?"

"I guess that depends," he said. "Where you want us to be headed."

"Jack," she playfully smacked his shoulder. "I'm serious."

"So am I." He leaned over and planted a soft kiss on her lips. "You know I love you, Angela."

She studied him. His bright blue eyes seemed to twinkle beneath the street lamps. A twinkle that she only saw when he was with one of two things – his equipment back at the lab, or with her. Or when he was talking conspiracies – so maybe three things. But he hadn't talked conspiracies for quite some time. He still made the odd quip about corruption in the Bush administration, or how he thought flu shots were "the man's" way of keeping tabs on the average American citizen. But he seemed less angry in the last little while.

As Zack had so blatantly summed it up, "Hodgins yells less since you started noticing him." And maybe it was true.

She saw him study her, and she stopped walking.

"What?" She asked. "Why are you looking at me like that? Where are we?"

"Well," he began. "We're not here to walk a dog..."

She turned around and instantly spotted the two vacant swings in the dark paddocks. A grin spread across her lips, and the dimples creased her cheeks.

"Jack..."

He moved to stand before her, extending both hands. "Would you care to join me for an evening swing?"

She allowed herself to be led towards the swing set, and settled into the seat. He gave her a push, and jumped onto the second swing.

This time when she grabbed his swing chains, he put his hand over hers, and looked across at her.

"This is where it all began," she said, softly.

"Well, technically the purified and ionized air in the lab is where it all began, but ... yeah. We began here."

They swung in silence for a few seconds, both seemingly lost in their own thoughts.

"Remember how you kept spinning me, even though I asked you to stop?" She asked.

He laughed. "And then I thought you were going to vomit that expensive meal we'd just enjoyed all over me."

"Yeah, well you're lucky I didn't, mister. Wouldn't that have made for a special first date?"

"Hey, it would have been something to tell the grandkids about one day," he said.

Another silence lapsed between them. This time, he was the one to break it.

"I meant what I said, Angela. I'm madly in love with you."

"I know you are, Jack," she replied. "And you're such a gentleman about it. I knew after our first date that you'd fallen for me."

"I fell hard, baby," he said. "Long before that date. But the date only confirmed for me what I already knew."

"And what was that?" She asked, coyly.

He stopped his swing, and pulled hers over towards him.

"That I loved you," he said again. "And that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you."

She laughed. "Same old shameless Jack." She allowed him to take another long kiss.

He stood up off the swing, and came to stand before her. "Do you love me, Angela?" His face had grown serious, and she could see an uncertainty in his eyes.

"Jack," she began. "You know I do, don't you?"

He smiled. "I do. But sometimes I just need to hear you say it out loud."

"Okay," she too stood up, and came to stand directly in front of him, her face inches from his. "I love you, Jack Hodgins." She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and at the top of her lungs, shouted, "I love Jack Hodgins!!"

He grinned. "Whoa. Now who's being completely shameless?"

She tapped his shoulder playfully with her elbow. "Alright. Just take me home."

"To 'the fortress'?"

"Yeah, 'the fortress' it is. But just for tonight. Tomorrow I'm staying at my own place. I've got a cat, Jack, and she needs some attention too."

"Bring her over then," he said, throwing his arm around her shoulders. "Because I already told you that you're staying with me until Booth has those gang bangers in custody."

"Hey!" She said, as they began to walk back in the direction of downtown. "I already told you there is no need to be worried. I'm just giving you the peace of mind tonight."

"Whoa, Angela. Do we really need to go into this again? You had your life threatened by one of many notorious gang leaders. Now, no offence meant here, but you're no Brennan with the kung fu moves, or the big gun."

"I don't like guns, you know that. And besides, it wasn't even that specific of a threat."

"A threat is a threat, descriptive or not, Angela."

"Oh, come on, Jack. Howard Epps sent me a dead man's heart in a box. Now that's a threat. Not some little letter with first grade penmanship and grammar."

"Angela..."

"No. I'm good at what I do. Those victims deserve to be acknowledged. They deserve to be recognized. I'm the only one who can do that for them, and I'm not going to stop just because you're overreacting..."

"Overreacting? I am not overreacting! I just..."

His sentence trails off when he notices that Angela's shoulders are no longer beneath his arm. A sequence of events that seems almost slow motion begins to take shape.

He hears a loud noise, a popping sound that radiates through the still night air. Then is a flash of light, and Angela is completely slipping away from him. He wants to reach out for her, but his arms are useless, and all he can do is watch and listen.

He hears the sickening crack of her skull hitting the pavement, and watches as her body collapses onto itself.

After a century seems to pass, he finds his voice.

"Oh. My god, Angela! Help! Please, somebody help her!"

His limb function returns next, and he bends down to her crumpled form. He can see a pool of blood on the pavement, but he can't tell where it is coming from. Basic CPR training tells him that he shouldn't move her, but he sweeps her into his arms and holds her body against him, rocking her gently.

He glances down into her pale face. Her bright eyes are dull, and seem empty. Her lips are slightly parted.

"Oh, please, no ... Angela. C'mon, please..." He sobs. He can hear sirens in the distance; can see the forms of people running towards them.

But his focus is only on the limp body of the woman he holds in his arms.

------------

Jack sat in the waiting room, head in his hands. He tried to remember every detail of the last few hours, to remember how he had ended up where he is. But his mind is drawing a blank, offering up only minor details one bit at a time.

It was just a date, an innocent date where he had meant to show off his love for her. And he'd promised to keep her safe - given her his word that he would keep her from the harm she didn't believe was imminent.

But he had failed miserably. He had taken her out into the open, to a public place where anybody could have gotten to her. And they had.

"Hodgins! What the hell..."

He looked up and saw Booth running down the corridor towards him. His face displayed a mix of anger and fear, his brows deeply knitted above wide eyes.

Before he can stop himself, Jack is out of his chair and hugging the man. He's never been one to hug another man just because, but he knows that he's offered hugs to the macho male FBI agent in the past. And as the first – at least somewhat – friendly face that he knows, Jack figures it warrants the hug. A total "guy hug", of course.

Booth seemed taken aback, but he allowed the shorter man to embrace him for a moment. Once he heard Brennan's voice, he quickly pulled out of Jack's grasp.

"Jack!" Brennan approached them, her blue eyes panicked, her lips trembling slightly. "What happened? Where is she?"

Jack let out a deep sigh. "I don't know much. She ... she..."

Cam and Zack are next to join the cavalry, and they storm off the elevator towards the group. Cam's face shows more concern and worry than Jack has ever seen from her, and Zack's expression is more confusion than normal. He opened his mouth to speak, but Booth silenced him with a glare.

"Hodgins," Booth began slowly. "What the hell happened tonight."

"I ... I'm not even sure." He paused. "We were leaving the park, and then all of a sudden ... I don't know how it happened. One minute she was standing there beside me, arguing, and then the next she was..." He trailed off. "She was gone – lying on the ground. She hit her head on the concrete – hard. I remember that," he squinted as the memory came back to him. "The sound of it ... and the blood. There was all this blood..."

Jack studied his friends as they all stared back at him blankly. He then realized that all they knew is what he told Brennan in his cryptic phone message that he'd left on her cell when Angela had been admitted into surgery.

"Come. Now," he had pleaded, his voice high and rushed. "It's Angela." He had left the name of the hospital, the time, and had gone back to worrying.

"Oh, god. You don't know," he suddenly realized. "You have no idea. God, I'm so stupid!" He ran his fingers through his short curly hair, and took a deep breath. "Angela was shot. She was shot, and that's why she fell."

Something has changed in Booth's face. He swore under his breath and raced off, cell phone in his hand.

"What?" Brennan asked, her face has lost some of its colour. "She was ... shot? By who?"

"I have no idea," Jack answered. "I didn't see anything, I just heard the sound, saw the flash, and then..."

Zack came to stand beside him then. He pursed his lips together, and placed an open palm on Jack's shoulder. He began to slowly pat in a slow, awkward rhythm.

All Jack can do is smile at him, too upset to make a wisecrack.

"Okay, Hodgins," Cam spoke up, her voice calm. "What else do you know?"

"Uh..." He shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts. "They rushed her into emergency surgery and ... uh ... I think she's out now, but I have no idea how she's doing. I haven't seen her doctor since we first came in."

As if on cue, a tall doctor with curly dark hair emerged from a set of swinging doors. She spotted Jack, and she hastily walked over in their direction.

"Are you ... all here for Ms. Montenegro?"

They all nodded, and Jack stepped forward. "Please ... Dr..." he squints at her nametag. "Dr. O'Malley. How is she?"

"Well, she sustained quite a serious injury to her right shoulder," Dr. O'Malley began. She smiles gently, "The bullet entered her back, just below the clavicle, and it made a clean exit through the anterior upper arm. As far as we can tell, the bullet missed the subclavian vein, but there is some damage to the brachial plexus nerve. At this point, we can't tell the full extent of the injury, but..."

"...she's sustained brachioplegia," Brennan said, shortly. Everybody else turned to her, and she laughed uncomfortably. "Paralysis of her arm," she explained.

Dr. O'Malley nodded. "Well yes, at this point she has no function in the right arm. But it could be temporary, due to the surgery itself, or the excessive swelling in the area. She also took a pretty serious hit to her head, and we've go to keep an eye on that. Preliminary MRIs show no damage or bleeding at the moment, but these things can appear suddenly and without warning."

"I want to see her." Jack said, more of a statement than a request.

"I'm afraid that's not possible," Dr. O'Malley replied.

"No, not an option," Jack countered. He stood to his full height before the doctor. "If she's out of surgery and awake, then I need to be with her."

The doctor shook her head. "Ms. Montenegro is awake. She's still groggy from the anesethesia, but she's conscious."

"Then what is the problem."

"She doesn't want to see anybody right now. She made her wishes clear when she ... hey! Hey!!"

Jack didn't wait for her permission, or listen to her shouts of displeasure. He barged through the doors the doctor emerged from, and took off running down the hallway.

------------

Things are starting to make sense to Angela now. Her mind seems fuzzy around the edges, but if she can manage to focus on the images that keep flashing before her, scenes begin to take shape.

She feels uncomfortable, and tries to shift in the bed, but once she begins she realizes it is a mistake. Pain shoots up her body, and into her head.

She winces against its sharpness, and closes her eyes. When she opens them again, she surveys her surroundings. White walls, loud, beeping machine, tubes, and little plastic baggies filled with fluid and hanging above her head.

Without moving her head – which she knows will cause the sharp pain to return – she tries to look down. She can see her left hand lying open beside her thigh. She concentrates, and manages to lift the arm up slightly, before she feels the pain begin its upward journey.

As she lowers her arm, she shifts her eyes to the right hand. It is closer to her body; a blue sling holds it tightly to her chest. She cannot see the rest of the arm, but can feel a tingling sensation running throughout it.

Knowing already what the outcome will be, she decides she has to try. She wills her arm to budge – to shift, even the slightest bit. But nothing happens. She can still see her right hand, open, the fingers reaching out towards her left elbow, and motionless. She tries again. And then again.

She can feel her eyes well up with tears, but she won't let herself cry. The pressure sends another round of pain coursing through her body, ending in the top of her skull. She closes her eyes in an effort to make the pain disappear.

When she opens them again, Jack is standing at the foot of her bed. His blue eyes are wide and rimmed in red. His cheeks are wet, and his bottom lip trembles slightly.

Just seeing him like that, she loses whatever composure she had just built up within.

Jack hurries to the side of her bed, and reaches his right arm out to her. But he seems unsure of a good place to settle the hand, and he draws it back towards his side.

Behind him, the doctor and two security guards rush in through the doorway.

"Ms. Montenegro," one of the guards begins. "Do you want us to remove him?"

Angela sighs. "No," she whispers, the first words she's said since waking up. "He can stay."

They leave then, and Angela shifts her eyes back to Jack's face. "I didn't want to see anybody just yet."

"I know," he says, and smiles. "But I figured that excluded me."

"Jack..." she starts, but her sentence falls flat.

Neither is sure what to say, and a silence falls between them. Angela averts her eyes, and her mouth begins to turn down at the corners.

Jack gathers the strength to reach out again, and this time he softly caresses her cheek with his fingers.

"Angela, I ... I'm so sorry."

"For what?"

"For not keeping my promise," he says, his voice catching in his throat. "I was supposed to keep you safe, and I failed. Miserably."

"No, don't say that," Angela replies. "It's not your fault."

"It is," he says, his voice growing hard. "I took you out tonight, and you were shot, Angela. You could have been killed, and..." his voice cracks, and he has to stop, in an effort to tame the tears welling up in his eyes again.

"I can't move my arm, Jack." She says to him, suddenly.

He studies her, unsure of how to reply at first. "I know," he finally says.

"I can't move it. I mean, I can feel something there, some type of sensation, but ... my brain can't seem to get it to move."

"Angela, you took a bullet to your shoulder. The doctor said it was a clean shot, but ... it sliced through a major nerve in your arm, and..."

"It's gone," she says, her voice sounds thick with emotion. "I'm done, aren't I?"

"What? No, don't talk like that. We can't be sure of anything at this point. It's still too early to tell, Angela. Your body needs time to recover and heal, and the doctor even says that anything could happen. The sensation could return, and you could be..."

"Okay?" She finishes for him. "No." She sounds resigned, and it breaks Jack's heart to hear her talk this way. "It's over. I'm over, Jack. I can feel it, it's gone. Art is my life – you know that. It's my job, but it's also my passion. If I can't do it anymore, if this doesn't heal and 'recover', then what ... what have I got to live for?"

"Hey." His voice is stern. He stands as close to her as is possible in the tiny space they occupy. "Don't talk like that. You've got a lot of things to live for."

"What, Jack?" She averts her eyes again, and shakes her head slowly. "If I can't do what I love, then what is so important?"

"Me." Jack reaches out his hands and cups her face between them. He tenderly strokes her cheeks with his thumbs. "You've got me to live for, Angela, and you'll always have me. And us. I love you, and I'm going to get you through this if you'll just trust me to do that."

And she lets herself cry.