A/N: This summer I spent watching "Bones" from seasons 1-5. Following my first viewing of "Aliens in a Spaceship" I knew there was more to be seen, especially with regards to Hodgins' last words. And this fic was what was birthed. I hope you enjoy and leave reviews!

She was courting disaster wasn't she? Her head had screamed at her to remove her hand, but her heart bled for him, pained at the raw emotion that stained his face. Almost instantly she knew she was in trouble. She'd told herself a thousand times that she had to stay cold, to stay aloof around him. The banter was easy; it allowed her to keep a distance, to avoid what could only end disastrously.

She'd be lying if she denied that her heart had leapt into her throat when she'd offered Hodgins to stay at her apartment. He needed her. His open vulnerability and the very real fear she saw overcome his tearstained face said as much.

And now he was lying in her bedroom, just a few feet away.

Angela picked up Hodgins' jacket from her sofa where she'd tossed it in a rush to make sure her bedroom looked semi-presentable. Thankfully, there weren't any discarded unmentionables littering the floor. As she lifted his jacket a tightly folded piece of paper fell to the ground.

"Huh. Where'd that come from?" She wondered aloud. Unfolding the paper, she noticed immediately that it was the title page torn from Brennan's book; Hodgins' impossible scribble was littered across it.

Angela turned the page, putting it at an angle. She was certainly used to reading his messy penmanship, but this was damn near ridiculous.

"Angie." She recognized her name first, having seen the unmistakable double looped "g" countless times from the messages he'd leave on her desk about this bug or that piece of slime.

The page was dirty and her fingers instinctively brushed at it, flecks of dirt sticking to her fingers. Her breath hitched in her throat. She was by no means an expert, but the sandy texture of the quarry dirt was hauntingly familiar. It had been lodged in her fingernails and in the creases of her clothes. It had been in Jack's hair, her hair, in her shoes… She remembered even its taste, the sediments having been kicked up into the air as they'd dragged him to freedom.

It wasn't just the cover page of Brennan's book that she was looking at. It was a letter. A letter written by Hodgins for her while he'd been in the car, buried.

Stunned, she leaned against the armrest of the sofa, her hands falling at her side, the note gripped between her fingers. Conflicted, she was unsure if she should read the letter. It had been written during what must have been Jack's darkest moments when hours must've felt like minutes and death was certainly imminent. She knew from Brennan that if they hadn't used the tire and that battery dust they may not have survived the additional hours that they did. Angela shuddered to think what could have happened if Booth hadn't spotted the disturbance in the sand.

Pushing the thought from her mind, she returned to the torn paper. The words became a jumbled mess as her eyes began to water. A part of her was curious, wanting to know what had happened in that car and to understand the fear that seemed to swallow Hodgins whole.

She took a laboured breath and squared her shoulders. He'd probably hate her for being nosy, but she didn't care. She needed to know, wanted to understand and ached for insight.

"Angie, weirdness is overrated. Love is too. But I'm weird and I'm certifiably in love with you. Too many regrets and none that I want to hold on to anymore. Promise me that we'll have that second date on the other side? X Jack."

A tear fell from her face and landed squarely on the paper, spreading the inked lines of her name into a puddle. She cursed and batted at her eyes, willing the tears away. It was stupid to cry, Hodgins was sleeping in the room next-door, very much alive. She fanned at the paper, willing the wetness to dry. In reality she knew it was an attempt to focus on something else, anything else than the thought of Hodgins in that car—

Angela shook her head, willing the thought away. She'd promised Jack she'd stay by his side and she always kept her promises. She folded up the paper and returned it to the pocket she'd found it in.

Carefully, she tip-toed to her room, worried that she'd wake Hodgins. Every creak and even the turn of the handle seemed to be thunderous within the apartment.

"There's no point trying to be quiet, Ange," Hodgins' voice spoke out from within the darkness. "I'm awake."

Angela turned the bedside lamp on, illuminating the room. "I'm sorry. I hope I didn't wake you. I swear I was trying to be stealth."

Hodgins laughed. "I guess you'll need to get a refund from those Ninjas you took classes from."

Angela smiled. "Seriously though. I'm sorry I woke you. How're you feeling?" She placed her hand onto his forehead, checking his temperature. She wasn't sure what it accomplished, she didn't believe for a second that the back of her hand could gauge anything, much less a fever. But it reassured her to note that he felt cool to the touch.

"Leg's feeling a bit better, but I think it's cause you're in the room," he said teasingly.

"I see you haven't lost any of your flirting abilities."

"None. In fact I may have gained a few more." Hodgins pointed to the wall that faced the bed. "You wanna explain that…?" Angela followed his line of vision, it was the artwork that he'd given her the Christmas they'd spent locked up at the lab.

"What?" She laughed and swatted at his arm. "I liked it. Plus it goes with the decor." In truth, it didn't match the colours of her room at all. What she wasn't about to tell Hodgins was that she'd moved it from an obscure corner of her apartment to her bedroom after their first date.

"Ange, I'm not an artist and even I know that the colours don't match." Hodgins grinned wildly. "You like me. Admit it! You do!"

Angela blushed and swatted him lightly. "You need to rest, Casanova," she said, ignoring his demands. "Behave yourself and you might just get that second date."

A smile swept across his face. "Taking pity on a hobbled man, are we?"

Angela's face grew serious, the sudden shift in the room sent Jack's heart pounding in his chest. His humour was an obvious deflection, but it kept his mind off of what had happened so few hours ago. She reached for his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "No," she said simply.

With no further words, she turned the light off, filling the room with darkness. Still stunned by her response, his heart leaped against his chest. If anything, he took chances. "How's Tuesday work for you?"

He knew it probably wasn't possible, but it was as though he could hear her smile through the thick darkness of the room. "Tuesday would be perfect."

Maybe love wasn't so overrated after all.

.:FIN:.