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Hodgins watched Brennan fidget in the small waiting area. He’d taken a seat, knowing it could be some time before Zack was ready to see them. He didn’t know if Brennan had ever visited Zack before, and he’d been a little surprised when she’d offered to accompany him.
Brennan began to pace, then stopped to read the notice and rules posted on the wall, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.
“Sit down, Dr. Brennan,” Hodgins advised. “It could be awhile.”
She eyed the chair next to him as though she didn’t quite trust it to take her weight. “I’m fine.”
“Yeah, sure.” Hodgins didn’t buy it for a minute, but he wasn’t going to sit there and argue either.
When the orderly came by to get them, Hodgins followed, his hands shoved in his pockets. Visiting Zack was getting easier, at least to a certain extent. Seeing Zack in a secure mental facility no longer shocked him, but these visits always took a toll. It was probably a good thing that he lived alone; Hodgins suspected that he wasn’t pleasant company afterwards.
Brennan followed him, instead of taking the lead as she usually did, and she trailed behind, clearly reluctant.
Zack rose as the orderly let them into the visiting room, his expression reflecting surprise and pleasure. “Dr. Brennan. I didn’t know you were coming.”
“We wrapped up our case earlier than I expected,” Brennan replied, coming to stand behind one of the empty chairs across from Zack.
That was a bald-faced lie, Hodgins knew. But then again, telling Zack that they were having trouble solving their current case was a recipe for disaster. Zack had already proven that he could break out any time he wanted.
“How is your new assistant working out?” Zack asked.
Hodgins took a seat, hoping that Brennan would do the same. “Assistants, as in more than one, Zack,” he said. “Your shoes were too big to fill by just one person.”
Zack glanced at Brennan, as though seeking confirmation. “Really?”
“Yes, really,” Brennan managed.
“I wanted to say thank you for the files you sent, Dr. Brennan,” Zack said. “The pictures of the Atacama remains were fascinating.”
Hodgins could see the sorrow in her eyes. “I just wish you could be at the Jeffersonian to look at them in person,” she said.
An awkward silence fell over the room, and Hodgins watched as Brennan looked anywhere but at Zack, and Zack stared down at his hands, still encased in cotton gloves.
“Hey, did I tell you what happened to Chuck from Egyptology?” Hodgins began, launching into a story about one of the other grad students at the Jeffersonian, someone with whom Zack had never gotten along. Since the story involved Chuck getting spectacularly shot down in the employee cafeteria, Hodgins knew Zack would appreciate the tale.
Brennan stayed silent for most of it, although she joined the discussion when the topic turned to a recent archaeological dig, and some of the work that Brennan and Hodgins were both doing.
When the guard notified them that their time was up, they all stood. It was easy for Hodgins; he and Zack never hugged, and Zack’s injuries made a handshake imprudent. Brennan, however, made a half-hearted movement towards Zack, then backed off again immediately.
“It was good to see you, Dr. Brennan,” Zack said. “I’ve really appreciated everything you’ve sent me.”
“Take care of yourself, buddy,” Hodgins advised gently, hoping that Zack’s usual cluelessness about human interaction would hide Brennan’s obvious discomfort.
They were out of the building, back at Hodgins’ car, when Brennan stopped. Just before she pressed her hands against the hood of the Austin Mini, Hodgins saw a violent tremor shake her.
“I hate seeing him in there.” Her admission was made in a low, controlled voice, and if they hadn’t been trapped together, buried alive—if Hodgins hadn’t known her as well as he did—he might have missed how absolutely shattered she was. “It’s easier to send letters, and I know I should come more often, but—”
Hodgins leaned up against the car next to her, his shoulder pressed up against hers companionably, offering comfort in the only way he knew how. “I hate seeing him in there, too.”
“I know you visit him a lot,” Brennan offered.
“It’s—it’s a way to make up for, you know, not noticing what was going on with him.” Hodgins hadn’t even told Angela that much, although he suspected she’d known. “He was my best friend. I should have noticed.”
“I was his advisor, his supervisor,” Brennan countered.
Hodgins had nothing to say to that, so he pressed a little closer—and maybe it made him a selfish bastard, but he was grateful to have someone there to share his misery. But Brennan leaned back, and they stood there like that, supporting the other’s weight, until they both felt ready to pick up the threads of their unraveled lives again.