All disclaimed.

I'm Your Guy.

I'm your guy.

It stayed with her. All day. All night. That face, his eyes.

Wendell reached out for her. And Wendell was impossibly sweet, in his way; gentle like a child. Yet the blue in his eyes was close enough to Hodgins' that his ghost pushed through Wendell's features as he leaned in to kiss her. She pushed him back with her fingers on his mostly-smooth cheeks. Hodgins had been rough against her skin. Hodgins abraded her. Hodgins sanded her down to dust.

Ange.

She blinked. A short, bright moment of transcendence passed through her, and she felt sadness and loss as if they were painless, saw them as if someone else had felt them. She stopped trying to move herself and let herself be moved, and suddenly there was only one way she could go.

"Wendell," she said quietly, looking across the table at him. Her eyes gentle, open, kind but already gone.

I'm your guy.

Wendell would mend. He had many friends; he was easily understood. Angela did not, was not.

She knocked at the door.

She wondered if he would hear. The house was too big.

She knocked again. He was her friend.

When he opened the door she was vindicated; he missed her. He missed her with his body, leaning toward her, with his face, open and never hidden, and with the way he said nothing, waiting with her in his eyes. She hesitated. She felt time tick by and accumulate in dunes behind her. Knew it would never be this way again, that this would be the last minute of this uncertainty, this anticipation.

She took time to see the moon, reflected on his face. Her heartbeats went uncounted but savored. His breath would have clouded in the air, but he was barely breathing. His face changed in subtle slow motion.

I'm your guy.

"Hodgins," she said. By the end of his name she was smiling.