Author's Notes

A closer look at "Aliens in a Spaceship."

The Truth in the Goodbye

"Anyone you want to say goodbye to?"

Brennan's eyes flickered from Hodgins's weary face to the torn page he was offering her. Her lips pressed together in a thin line as she hesitated for a bare second, but then her hand crept up and accepted it practically of its own accord.

Leaning across the front seat, she felt Hodgins's gaze linger on her a moment before the scritch-scratch of his pencil began to murmur softly into the quiet. Brennan let the tip of her pen dangle frozen over the paper. He had given her the last page of the fourth chapter in her book, and the block of text only filled a quarter of the sheet.

…led Kathy to suspect there was more happening here than a standard homicide case. Where was the motive? Where was the logic behind the victim's death? There was something far too methodical about this killing, too calculated and precise—too ritualistic. The evidence suggested that they had stumbled upon only a part of a much bigger mystery.

The rest was blank. Crisp and white. A space for her to say goodbye. Brennan took a deep breath of stale, thinning air and began to write.

Booth—

If you're reading this, I'm dead. Of course if you've found this letter, you already know because you'll have found me and Hodgins too. The Gravedigger was behind this, but I can't prove it. There's not enough time.

We were running out of air, but before that happens, we're attempting an escape. If it doesn't work, if this letter ends up in your hands after all, I need you to do something for me. A few things, actually.

She bit her lip. There was too much to say and not enough words to say them in, but she had to try. Not the least disturbing of which was the consideration of whether she should be talking about herself in the present tense or past; she kept slipping back and forth.

Keep an eye out on Angela. You know how she lets her emotions dictate everything, so don't let her lose herself to them. Zach should be allowed to finish his graduate studies with the Jeffersonian. My letter of recommendation for him is on my office computer if he wants to seek employment elsewhere afterwards, but make sure Cam knows I think he would be the only qualified forensic anthropologist to replace me.

Booth, can you be the one to tell my brother? I only just started to get to know him again, but I think it will be less of a shock coming from someone he already knows.

Also, I'd like you to pass on the enclosed sheet of paper to my lawyer and my agent.

Carefully, Brennan ripped the bottom two inches of the page and mechanically dashed off the other note.

I, Temperance Brennan, being of sound mind—

A mirthless laugh escaped her before she could stop it. Sound mind? The idea of not living to see another day was a very real possibility and fogging her brain. She wouldn't exactly call that sound just now.

"Are you telling knock-knock jokes in yours?" came drifting from the backseat.

Brennan pushed herself up to see Hodgins eyeing her warily, the concern she might be cracking plain on his face. A half-whispered 'sorry,' was the only explanation she offered as she sank behind the seat cushion and out of his sight.

—and body, do hereby leave everything in my possession and any future profits proceeding from my books to my brother, Russ Brennan.

Before turning back to the larger scrap, Brennan paused. This was not coming out the way she wanted. It sounded so indifferent, so coldly detached, and on the inside she was a far cry from either. Everything else was silent in the car now, meaning Hodgins had finished his letter. This was it. Seized by a fever of impulse, Brennan started to scribble again, faster and less guardedly than before.

You need to know that becoming your partner was one of the best things that ever happened to me. I wouldn't give up one moment of it, you have to believe that. If you're feeling guilty, please don't. I know that you did everything you could. And now there's nothing left for me to say except goodbye.

There was actually much more for her to say, but no time to do it in—and no space. The uneven edge of the page had snuck up on her even though her writing had been small and close. The words became fainter as she went on.

Goodbye, Booth.

And fainter still.

I love you.

Brennan stared down at what she had written and the last line bluntly confronted her. Her expression was sharp with disbelief as she regarded those last three words, as though a stranger's hand had written them and not her own. It was a coward's confession, admitted out of fear and at the last possible second. It was abrupt, unapologetic, selfish, but it was the truth, and so there it was.

Part of Brennan was immune to the shock enveloping her; that one small part, which seemed to have known all along and had been biding its time until the rest of her came to realize what she had been able to acknowledge to no one, not even herself. Still, that same part knew she never could have told him. It was better this way, left unsaid until it was too late and there was nothing to be done about it, because that was the kind of man Booth was—he would have tried to do something about it. She would not have that on her conscience. He was her partner, definitively and exclusively her partner, and blurring that line went against…everything. Whatever her feelings were, whatever they could have been, she couldn't let him know because his open heart deserved more and better than what she had to give. This was the only way Brennan could ever have let him know.

Folding the page into thirds so it could contain her will, she surrendered it to the glove compartment along with Hodgins's.

For the next few minutes after that, she devoted all her attention to setting up the jumper cable across the dashboard. When everything was prepared to her satisfaction, Brennan turned to meet Hodgins's eye.

"Can this possibly work?"

"I'm not really an explosives expert, but the dash might shape the charge enough to blow out the windshield. If we're less than four feet beneath the surface, this charge could blow us to freedom."

"…and if we're buried more than four feet deep?"

Brennan didn't miss a beat. "Then the concussion will turn our brains into jelly."

"Well, then we can run for Congress, so it's a win-win," Hodgins quipped, wearing his sardonic, half-hearted smirk as a mask.

"We should get as far away from the explosion as possible."

"I already am." He held out his hand to her. "Care to join me?"

Brennan curled her fingers around his and climbed into the backseat. They sat next to each other, not talking, not moving, as if they were waiting for something. After a minute, she broke their silence. "Ready?"

"Yeah." Hodgins choked out, "Dr. Brennan—it's been a privilege."

She couldn't keep her lower lip from trembling, and without thinking about it, without caring, she threw her arms around his neck, hugging him fiercely as she fought back the sting of tears that threatened to spill over. One of them was shaking, but she couldn't tell who. What did it matter?

Eventually, they let go. They had to.

As Hodgins brought the two wires closer together, time seemed to stand still, and all Brennan could think of was how, despite what she kept telling herself, she wished she had not been so afraid to say aloud what was written in the letter while she still had the chance.

[][][][][]

Hodgins wrenched up in bed, the sheets twisted tightly around his sweat-soaked body. It was too dark. He needed some light. He needed—

To his right, a lamp snapped on, instantly dispersing the suffocating blanket of pitch-black nothingness.

"Jack?" Angela, her hair tumbling every which way, brought her palm to his cheek. "You're okay. I'm right here. You're safe."

Safe. If anything was going to convince him of that in this moment, it was the big, gentle brown eyes that were holding his with such tenderness.

Letting his eyelids drift closed in relief, he leaned into her touch, releasing a shuddering breath. Gently, Hodgins felt Angela coax him back down until his body was flush against hers. He clutched at her, his lifeline in a churning sea that threatened to drown him.

That was how he fell asleep again, with the lamplight flooding her bedroom and one of Angela's hands stroking his face.

[][][][][]

The dwindling oxygen had clearly affected Brennan more than she first believed. How could she have been so irrational? As she read over the last few lines she had impetuously scrawled while buried for the half-dozenth time, her cheeks grew warm.

Late last night, after everyone but security had gone home, Brennan used her clearance to gain access into the FBI crime lab where what remained of her car was being stored as evidence in the Gravedigger case. With difficulty, she had wedged opened the mangled glove compartment and extracted the thing she had come for: her letter. She couldn't risk anyone finding and reading it. As a second thought, she also took the copy of her novel from under the seat.

Against her will, her eyes were again drawn to the last words.

I love you.

A knock at her front door startled her out of her reverie.

"Bones?" It was Booth.

"Just a minute!"

Quickly, Brennan tucked the torn page back where it belonged in her book and slid it into the recesses of a shelf. In a few brisk steps, she was at the door and pulling it open to reveal Booth with a cup of coffee in each hand.

"Hey," he said softly, extending one of the cups in her direction. "You sleep okay?"

"Fine," she said dismissively. Self-consciously, she saw Booth studying her as she took a long sip of coffee, no doubt noting the dark circles under her eyes because, in all honesty, last night had been far from fine. Her sleep had been fitful and haunted with nightmares of being buried again, of Hodgins dying and leaving her alone, of slowly succumbing to unconsciousness as the air ran out. More to distract him than anything, she asked, "What are you doing here?"

"We're going to church."

Brennan frowned.

"What? You wanted to come, remember?"

"I know. I just…" Her reluctance surprised even her. She had wanted to go, but now…. Unsure how she intended to end that sentence, she left it hanging unfinished.

"Please, Bones? You don't have to do anything except sit there. Just come with me."

His sudden eagerness for her to go was almost as equally unexpected. Hadn't he said no before? She was about bring it up when she caught his gaze. His eyes were pleading her in that way she could not bring herself to refuse.

"Let me get my jacket."

Locking her apartment door, Brennan decided that at least this would be an opportunity to finally see for herself as an impartial anthropological observer what drew people to church like so many moths to the flame.

As she turned to Booth, a smile accompanied by deep, boyish dimples stole over his mouth.

And if it made him happy, where could be the harm in it?

End Author's Notes

Though random in the extreme, I have to ask: does Hodgins remind anyone else of Gaeton Moliere from Atlantis: The Lost Empire?