bringonthewonder | (no subject)

Angela's had a few calls and text messages from Jack this week.

They were all short and can all be summed up, "I'm fine, everything's okay, I can't go into it yet, I miss you, I love you, I'll be home soon."

His plane is landing "around seven" he says. Angela tries to narrow down where he might be coming from, but there's simply too much traffic through Dulles for that imprecise a time to be much help. And that's before she factors in connections.

(She has also considered recording his phone calls and trying to isolate background noises to try to figure things out. But it made her feel insane and ridiculous, so she didn't get any further than setting up the digital recorder.)

She's done a lot of painting this week -- canvases covered in dark, angry, confused whirls and slashes of color. She's pretty sure she'll wind up painting over all of them, but at least they give her something to do when she can't sleep.

At 7:00 on Saturday, she sits down on the couch nearest the front door to wait for Jack. (Cell phone, land line, and digital recorder all on the coffee table. Just in case.)

By 7:14, she's asleep.

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Hodgins shrugs. A little helplessly.

"I didn't want to say anything. In case I couldn't persuade him to sign."

The worst thing is getting your hopes up, and then getting them dropped from a very great height.

"And now it's done. It's over. We don't ever have to worry about him again."

"And by 'persuade' you mean 'buy off'?"

Call it a hunch.

"What did it cost?"

A girl likes to know what she's worth.

"Two million."

For no more marriage, no more contact, no turning up in five years, nada.

"That's all, huh?"

Angela almost smiles.

"Bastard's not much of a negotiator, is he?"

Hodgins grins.

"Oh, he sucks."

"He only countered once. I expected him to go up to at least five."

George had still had kittens. But George will get over it.

Angela doesn't smile.

"Jack, I need you to promise that you won't ever do anything like that again. I know you meant well, I know you have a hell of a vested interest in getting this taken care of, but I need my life to be my life."

It can't be something he steps in and fixes.

She's not a kitchen sink.

"You mean....going off and just leaving a note?"

They had both wanted to get this divorce pushed through as soon as the possibly could. And they had let Barassa leave them hanging more than long enough.

Was it that wrong to just take the most efficient shortcut?

"Well, that, too," she says.

"But, no. I mean you can't solve my problems without involving me."

And, frankly, she's pretty sure that if he didn't know that, he would have told her where he was going.

Hodgins frowns.

"But...you have been. Every step of the way."

Through everything. The search, the negotiations carried out by the private investigation firm, the string of failures to resolve the issue.

"Just not this last one."

Hodgins glances down at his hands, then back up again.

"Did you not want to get the divorce?" he asks quietly.

Was she secretly relieved that Barassa kept refusing to sign the papers?

"God, no, Jack, of course I wanted the divorce. The only man I want to be married to is you. Ever. Always.

"But there was a loop on this, and I needed to be in it. Through all the steps. Even the last one."

Especially the last one.

Hodgins shoulders relax again.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"I'm sorry I left you out of the last step."

"But...are we okay? Now that it's done?"

That's all he wants. For things to be okay.

"Yeah, we're okay."

Probably.

"Just . . . do it again and I will do a hell of a lot more than slap you."

"You've got a deal."

Hodgins leans in. But doesn't kiss her yet.

He's clearly waiting for permission.

Just in case.

Permission granted.

And, maybe, just maybe, they really are okay now.

She can hope, right?