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Ship: Jack/Angela
Spoilers: 2x09 - "Aliens In A Spaceship"
Prompt: "It's strong people who have the courage to show their vulnerability." Pleasure, the almanac for the heart by Nikki Gemmell
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Reading Jack's emotions is like reading the newspaper. They're all laid out in stark black and white, and even a quick glance is enough to skim the headlines. He wears his heart on his sleeve for anyone who cares to look, because, like he always says, it's better to know the truth than be a government pawn.. or something like that.
I, on the other hand, am much more like a book of poetry: hard to read and written that way on purpose so that no one really knows what it's about, but they're too embarrassed to ask. For someone who preaches emotional openness and honest communication I'm really just a big phony. Sure, I'm good at telling other people about their emotions, and I'll even spout a story from my own bag of tricks when it suits my purpose, but when it comes down to the here and now, I barely admit my feelings to myself, much less those around me.
Working at the Jeffersonian has been both a blessing and a curse. I love my work, despite its dark corners, but the job effects me more than I let on. From day one I've been building up a persona, a facade I wear when I'm in the office, to help me deal with the day-to-day occurrences of death, hopelessness, and pure, outright evil. Some nights I cry myself to sleep over what I've seen, but in the lab I swallow it all down with a shudder and a sigh and busy my mind by delving into the psyche of others.
I wish I could be more like Jack, confident and unashamed to show myself to the world, but the truth is I'm terrified. Maybe facing the world wouldn't be such a problem, but it's the thought of sharing myself with Jack that has me so afraid.
When I said we needed to be 'just friends' and made that stupid excuse about working together, what I really should have told him is that I'm afraid we might screw up our friendship, I'm afraid when he gets to know me.. really know me, I won't be who he thinks I am, and most of all, I'm afraid because being with him means letting down my carefully constructed barriers, and without that extra layer of protection I don't know that I'd be able to hold myself together.
But when he looks at me it's like someone's turned on the radio and they're playing a symphony. He makes me want to shed all pretense and lay my proverbial cards on the table. I want to be myself with him, and he makes me feel like that might be ok. But then again, it might not, and that thought makes me panic.
"Hey Ange."
I turn to find him leaning against the doorframe, hands tucked into the pockets of his blue lab coat, and looking completely at ease with himself. I can't help but wonder how long he's been standing there openly watching me.
"Hi Hodgins." I flash him a brief smile.
"Is everything ok? You seem a little down today."
"What? No. I'm fine." His eyes follow me around the room and even with my back turned I can feel them boring into me.
I hear him approach, but I still stiffen when he gently takes me by the arm and spins me around to face him. He's standing much closer than I anticipated, a worried frown expressing a depth of concern that should be reserved for kittens stuck in trees, not emotionally distant, mixed-signal-sending train wrecks like me.
"C'mon Angela, I can read you like a book, what's up?"
I'm tempted to tell him he's been reading the abridged version, but lately he's seemed so in tune with me that I wonder if maybe he's speaking the truth. And that both terrifies and excites me. I'm skeptical that it's really possible, but I know it's not like he hasn't been paying attention.
I suddenly see an image of him sitting down to read 'Angela For Dummies' and the absurdity of the idea makes me smile. I let out a strange little giggle, and it's definitely not the reaction he was expecting. He let's go of my arm and I can't decide if it's a look of confusion or hurt on his face, so I settle for both and make an effort at straightening my expression.
"What's so funny?" The corner of his mouth lifts a little, wanting badly to share in my humour, but I can't tell him I'm laughing because it's better than crying. Or maybe I can. But I'm afraid, so I don't.
"Nothing. I'm fine. Really, Jack."
He looks uncertain and leans a bit closer, staring hard into my eyes as if maybe he'll learn something there, and I kind of hope he does, because if he just magically cracks my code then I won't have to make the conscious decision to let him in. It would be so much easier if the decision was out of my hands, but I know that's just wishful thinking and me trying to avoid the inevitable.
"Ok. Well, good then." He hesitates. "Do you want to get a coffee or something? I could really use a break."
He's not ready to give up, and that makes it harder, because maybe if he weren't so damn sincere I could just build my walls a little stronger and get on with my life. But every time I turn around he's there, just outside, and it makes me all the more aware that walls work both ways; if I don't let him in then I can't get out to him either. And even through all my fears and pretense I truly believe that being with him could be something wonderful.
He's watching me intently and I realize he's offering me the chance to take a break without blaming my own perceived weakness. I glance back at the photos on my desk of our latest victim. She was 14, just a child really, and someone left her in pieces in a public dumpster. It makes my heart break every time I think about it, and it strikes me that I am only human and I shouldn't look upon my compassion as a weakness. A part of me feels like I'm being strong by facing it alone, but somewhere in the back of my mind I know that hiding behind my makeshift battlements is really the coward's way out.
I'm beginning to realize that my one real fault is that I'm faced, everyday, with the one thing that might make sense of this otherwise asinine existence and I've been blocking it off at every turn in a desperate attempt to maintain my poker-faced facade. When I first started playing this game of pretend I never meant to get so carried away, but now it's just so easy to slip into character.. But I want out, I want to be myself again, I want to connect with the world on every level, painful though it may be, because it's the pain that lets you know you're really alive. And most of all I want to explore this connection I feel with Jack and see where it might lead.
And so I take a steadying breath and agree that coffee might be a good idea.
When we leave the office we don't talk about it but we make a conscious effort to bypass Zack. There are a lot of things we don't talk about lately, like the kiss in the park and the night after he was buried alive, but despite our lack of verbal communication there is an ongoing dialogue of subtext, and when our shoulders brush as we walk out into the sunlight I suddenly feel an urge to cry because it's coming across loud and clear that, despite our close physical proximity, there is still an emotional barrier between us and I know I'm the only one who can fix this.
As nonchalantly as I can I slip my hand into his. He looks at me with questioning eyes, but laces his fingers through mine nonetheless. His hand is cool and dry, and a little bit rough from days of sifting through dirt. His hands are like the rest of him; they don't hide any secrets.
"I'm having a really crappy day." I say. I feel him squeeze my hand gently and suddenly everything doesn't seem so scary.
As we sit, cradling the warm mugs between nervous hands, our knees bumping together under the table, I slowly begin to dismantle the wall. It's not going to happen all at once, but he's a good listener and willing to give me all the time I need.
I know that one day soon I'm going to wake up and realize the wall is completely gone. And I feel like if, when that day comes, I fall apart, he might just be able to put me back together.