Chapter Text
In all honesty, perhaps they should have seen it coming, in all of its unlikely nature.
Lance Sweets had said it himself, his advice fake forgotten and folded into origami paper napkins on abandoned bar tables: without the possibility of pain, there could be no joy, no real love. The risk of pain was a part of not just adulthood, but humanity – its eventual presence as certain to come as death, a bitter aftertaste to all goodness in the world. To live a life that avoided all danger was to not live at all. To live a life filled with nothing but pain was to live simply too much.
Their careers, as different as they were, all were centered in finding patterns that would have otherwise gone unseen in the universe. Sweets’ career finding answers in the psychological, in understanding human nature with the goal to try and slowly make a difference on via the individuals who would go on to help more people. A ripple effect of sorts, making Sweets a solitary pebble in the grand scheme of things.
Zack had always hated metaphors, especially convoluted ones.
People were rarely kind enough to simply get to the point of what they meant. He did often suppose, in their attempts to seem anything other than ordinary, people used overly complicated ramblings to confuse others into thinking they were simply… more than they were.
Humans were confusing even with their daemons often being far too revealing of things going unsaid.
Booth had often stated that the universe, or by his beliefs God, never made mistakes. There were challenges in place for people to overcome, there was a greater picture being created. Every moment, every high and low, was part of something bigger.
Whilst Zack found the belief overly simplistic and relatively naïve, there was a small part of him that vaguely understood why Booth found it so necessary to cling to the belief: it would be to any simpler mind, comforting. Over his time in the asylum Sweets had told him time and time again the psychology of coping mechanisms, ignoring his protests that because of his intelligence he simply didn’t require them. Zack Addy, regardless of his mistakes, was a genius. He didn’t require coping mechanisms to deal with reality.
Well, Sweets had hummed, well-meaning smugness clinging to him like a familiar cologne, Someday you might surprise yourself with all you don’t know about yourself.
Unlike the others, whose visits had slowly decreased as time continued, Sweets was as regular as any clock. Visiting once a week, venturing into the cold walls and bringing with him just the smallest flicker of the vibrancy of the outside world. Brennan didn’t believe in psychology, so neither could Zack, but some days he found himself wondering if it’d be comforting to believe in anything outside of himself.
Any control he’d once had over his own life was lost, he’d used his power over himself badly and it had caused death. A lack of understanding social queues didn’t quite offer the blindness he would have liked: the change in his friend, how they looked at him, was both deserved and painful all at once. Though all the same, their absence hurt more than their disappointed presence, the illogical nature of loneliness doing little to remove the feelings the young scientist – no. No, that wasn’t right. Criminal, perhaps. The young accessory tried to bury in himself.
So perhaps they all should have seen it coming, prolonged exposure to someone in such circumstances was bound to have an effect on any human.
Prolonged vulnerability was just as likely to leave a mark.
Hodgins’ daemon, Terpsichore, took her time in shifting on the back of the cold metal chair. The monkey’s dark fur moving with each of her breaths – little dark eyes constantly scanning the room, on edge and just about balanced on the thin back, either refusing or incapable of getting comfortable in the setting.
Out of the original team, few would have guessed it’d be Hodgins to spot it first.
There was a game being played, one to which the rules were not yet quite clear. Even with his unusual presence in the room it was a familiar setting for both of the dark haired men. Sat on opposite sides of the table, opposite to each other in every way, wits battling even in their apparently mindless small talk.
“It’s cold.” Sweets’ observation came lightly, brown eyes bright and studios as his elbows rested on the table, fingers entwining his hands together. Breaking the silence without really saying anything, head tilting slightly as his soft tone carried too easily in the emptiness.
Over the years working with Zack, his daemon had always been the exact opposite to everything Sweets’ could be described as. Just as the two men were created by different experiences, different traumas and mistakes, their daemons showed all the parts of themselves that could be misinterpreted. Perhaps it was why Zack’s was so rarely seen: hidden away in lab coat pockets and the back of slightly large collars, anywhere she could slip into where she could watch without being seen. Zafirah delicate and tiny, smart and industrious, the little sparrow rarely more than a blur in the very corner of even their closest friends’ visions.
Sweets’ daemon wasn’t hidden. Instead he – she – it was unignorably. The golden furred Chihuahua was a joyful little thing, always running, bouncing from point a to point b as if running out of time. Galian’s long fur and swishing tail was the image of youthful enthusiasm, the few times it stilled, stilling beneath the nearest surface. There, always present, always eager, but also hidden away just enough to have multiple possible directions for when it needed to find a new spot.
A chihuahua and a sparrow.
Hodgins was, approximately, seventy percent certain he’d never heard either make a single noise.
It was odd, he would later realize. By all accounts both animals were extremely verbal ones: chihuahuas with their reputation for being the yappiest of dogs and sparrows always eager to chirp their song to the world. But both men relied on facts, on knowledge, above having to reveal the parts of themselves their daemons contained.
“It is.” Zack didn’t seem to look up from his fiddling with the dark gloves on his hands, Zafirah likely tucked in his sleeve. “Lower temperatures cause tissues to contract, putting pressure on nerves. Since different tissues contract at different rates, for example scar tissue, it can cause varying degrees of discomfort.”
Terpsichore’s little paw gripped Hodgins’ shoulder, quietly but accurately bouncing down unnoticed to his knee, nails digging into his jeans as she stared beneath the table.
“Are your hands hurting you today?”
“No. Admittedly, I was working off of the assumption you have been unable to sit straight since you got here because of your back.”
Power plays were often predictable: daemons fighting for dominance, trying to assert a victor with barely masked sharp observations. If taking the situation in it would have been easy to expect Zafirah to be making progress. Sweets tensing and straightening as the comment had hit a little too close to home, pleasant smile unfaltering yet teeth grinding slightly as he carefully measured his expression.
The remark made little sense to Hodgins, making a mental note to push the topic further later. Instead he found himself following Terpsichore’s gaze, shifting a little in his seat to look beneath the table.
Out of all of the original team, maybe it did make sense for Hodgins to not just see it first but to understand it first. Galian’s position was no surprise, sat beneath the table, his golden tone the one bright colour in the room.
Zafirah’s light fluttering was another matter, rather than anxious or malicious, the little bird settling on the dog’s back for a moment or two. Fluttering back off when satisfied from easily avoiding a few swats from semi annoyed paws as the dog gracelessly flopped down onto its side, displeased but making no attempt to avoid the smaller creature’s familiar proddings.
They were testing each other without any true desire to cause harm, Zack vaguely pushing at buttons to see the reactions for scientific curiosity, Sweets swallowing his feelings back and allowing his guard to stay down as required.
How truly, unequivocally odd it was to Hodgins to see the contrast between the cold disinterest above the table and the almost fond nature of their usual routine being shown before Zafirah finally stilled.
Coughing lightly Hodgins sat up straighter, ignoring Terpsichore’s protest or how his voice seemed to remind both of the others he was indeed still present. “The file, Zack. We’re here to see what patterns you can see that you think we’d have missed.”
“Usually Doctor Sweets and I have a… mutual exchange of information.” The silence was briefly decorated with the sound of fluttering, small wings beneath the table matching Zack’s shifting in his seat. “More simply, I answer his questions if he answers mine.”
“You two play Twenty Questions?” Hodgins’ small laugh echoed in how Terpsichore’s posture changed, both uncertain what to make of the dynamic they’d missed every other stage of.
“I don’t believe we have ever limited it to a number.”
“Though the principle in general is super similar. There’s a reason why people are drawn to seemingly childish games – they allow us to divulge information that may otherwise never arise in casual conversation-”
“Yeah. Anyway.” Galian’s head dropped back onto his paws, the enthusiasm that came with explaining torn away at the common interruption, only shuffling to his feet when Sweets lowered a hand to pet the long fur. Hodgins surely meant no harm with his cutting the young man off, few rarely did, but the effect on Sweets’ daemon was always visible.
Perhaps it was part of why both Galian and Zafirah were always so silent. Hodgins’ couldn’t help the smallest hint of guilt: if there was anything both men had in common was how often they were ignored. Zach by the ‘normal’ people he’d once longed so much to be like. Sweets by the geniuses he should rightfully belong with.
Or perhaps it was dependent on their pasts, Zack outnumbered by siblings and strangers at every stage of his development, always the outsider.
And, if Angela’s whispers were right, Sweets’ past could easily explain his near desperate attempts to keep all he said either work related or as far from his personal life as he could get it.
So the mental image of either of them actually willingly offer up any information about themselves seemed far-fetched. Hodgins’ inner (or, rather, usually very loudly outer) conspiracy nut fighting the urge to remark on how the two men glanced at each other like two people in on a secret.
Or, at the very least, two people who knew too much about each other to talk freely when someone else entered what was usually their zone.
When had he become the outsider in Zack’s life? It stung a little too much to realise that not only had he grown absent, but clearly he’d lost his place as primary confidante.
Despite their past closeness, the years Zafirah had spent growing comfortable with Terpsichore’s presence, the two seemed frozen in the stage of Terpsichore’s attempts to approach being avoided.
Zack’s walls, once up, were near on impossible to climb if there wasn’t a weak spot to squeeze through. Sweets had seemingly found that weak moment, offering a half hidden reassuring curve of his lips that disappeared as quickly as it had formed. Encouraging Zack to talk, encouraging him to actually look at Hodgins for a second or two.
“I’ll need time. To review all the facts and scans effectively.” Gloved hands slid the file closer to himself, not yet lifting it but lightly fiddling with the corner. “I shall of course endeavor to not take too long.”
The silence grew again, Galian taking a moment to sit up as Sweets finally straightened fully, taking his time to glance between the other two before humming.
“Hodgins isn’t only here about work, you know.” Sweets bluntly pointed out, ignoring the scientist’s surprised turning to look at him fully as he continued. “I’d say it’s safe to state you’ve both missed each other’s company. I’ll go call Booth and Doctor Brennan, but I would highly recommend you two take some time to catch up.”
“But the rest of our session…”
“Can wait until tomorrow. We’ve discussed this, you know as difficult as it is, interactions with people who are familiar to you helps.” Another small almost smile as Lance got up, reaching his full height but somehow still feeling as demure as any human or daemon in the room. Galian too rapidly got up, tail swishing slightly from side to side, almost hopefully giving Hodgins and Terpsichore pointed glances.
Still. For as brilliant as Hodgins knew himself to be, it was only when Sweets paused to squeeze Zack’s shoulder that he felt Terpsichore’s gentle Oh.
Oh. It was such utter, complete unlikely nonsense that it simply had to be true.
Because at Sweets’ brief contact Zack neither pulled away, nor tensed, nor hesitated as he always did with anyone and everyone before.
At the contact, Zack leant ever so slightly towards Sweets. Galian gently nudging Zafirah towards Terpsichore with a bump of the little snout, the bird ruffling her feathers but not fighting it as it skipped half an inch forwards.
Silent defeat marked by watching nobody but Sweets as he left, taking a final sad bounce as if after them before sharply turning and flying back to the safety of Zack’s sleeve.
Daemons didn’t, couldn’t, lie with the things they never meant to show. Even in their silence, there was enough subtext for Hodgins to understand fully.
“So,” the blue eyed man coughed lightly, getting Zack’s gaze away from the door as he sat up and forced a smile. “Still King of the looney bin?”
Even if he wanted to tell the others when he returned to the lab, Hodgins had no idea how he’d even start. Some things simply needed to be seen to be fully understood.