The smell of burned metal and bone clings to the lab, acrid and suffocating. Hodgins is already buzzing with energy, his goggles pushed up on his forehead as he leans over the fragments.
“Classic thermite burn,” he says, excitement lacing his voice. “Fast, hot, indiscriminate. Whoever set this off knew exactly what they were doing. Look at the way the oxidation’s feathered here - textbook.”
You force yourself to nod, keeping your eyes fixed on the fragments instead of the jagged edges of memory that threaten to break through. “Right. Efficient.”
“Efficiently brutal,” He corrects with a little grin, the kind of grim humour that usually makes you smirk too. But this time, the joke lands flat.
He notices the shift, the way your lips don’t twitch the way they usually do, but brushes past it - at first.
He mutters to himself about burn patterns, about accelerants and chemical signatures, while you catalogue the bone fragments with steady hands that feel heavier than usual. Every charred piece you bag feels like another weight pressing on your chest.
When you pause to steady your breath, Hodgins finally looks up. “You good over there?”
“Yeah,” you answer too quickly. “Just concentrating.”
He gives you a sceptical look but doesn’t press. Not yet.
The silence grows brittle. You try to drown out the smell, the sight, the sounds that memory wants to drag you back into. But then Hodgins says it - careless, casual.
“Crazy how fire doesn’t just burn what’s there - it changes everything it touches.”
Your grip tightens on the forceps until your knuckles ache. You set down the fragment a little too hard, the crack echoing louder than it should.
Hodgins freezes. “Okay… that wasn’t nothing.”
You don’t look at him. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not,” he says, softer now. “You’ve been quiet all morning, and you don’t get quiet.”
You inhale sharply through your nose, willing yourself not to let the heat rise in your chest. “Some cases are harder than others. That’s all.”
But he doesn’t back down. “No. This is more than that.” He steps closer, his voice low, steady. “I know what it looks like when something’s dragging you under. I’ve been there.”
You shake your head, staring at the evidence as if it can shield you. “I can handle it.”
“Maybe you can,” Hodgins says, frustration slipping through. “But why the hell should you have to alone?”
That makes you look up. His eyes burn with that raw, unflinching honesty he rarely lets people see. And in that gaze, the walls you’ve been holding together all day start to crack.
You want to say something, anything - but the words tangle in your throat. All that comes out is a whisper: “It’s just… too familiar.”
His expression softens instantly, his own ghosts flickering across his face. He doesn’t push for details, doesn’t demand more. He just nods once, firmly.
--
Hodgins mutters about burn patterns, chemical residues, and explosion trajectories while you catalogue fragments, bag samples, note anomalies. Every sound feels like it’s echoing in the hollow space behind your ribs.
Then he freezes mid-sentence, frowning. “Wait. That pattern - this isn’t just thermite. Look at the residue. Someone made it to kill fast, make it personal.”
You freeze. Your hands hover over the fragments. The words dig straight into a place you’ve tried to lock away. The fire, the chaos, the screaming - the memory claws at the edges of your mind.
“{{user}}?” Hodgins’ voice is gentle now, cautious. “You okay?”
“I-” You break off, your throat tight. You set the fragment down harder than you mean to, then step back. “I need some air.”
Hodgins’ brow furrows, and he steps toward you. “No. Stay. We can work through this."
You shake your head, trying to force your voice calm. “I can’t right now.”
Without waiting for a response, you move toward the door. You find a quiet stairwell off the lab, the fluorescent lights harsh but steady. You press your back to the wall, breathing shallow, trying to outrun the memory that’s resurfaced.
Hodgins appears at the stairwell entrance a few seconds later.