Hey, guys. S.S. here with a new story. Yeah, I know I already have a Bones/ZackxOC fanfiction to work on--and I will still be working on it--but I've had the idea for this one for a long time. I'm entirely sure where I'm going with this one unlike "Anything But Ordinary", but I wrote up the prologue and decided to post it anyway. Besides, I really wanted to do a story that takes place AFTER Zack is emitted into the looney bin while "Anything But Ordinary" takes place beforehand. Anyway, here it is. I hope you all enjoy and if you do, please review. Constructive criticism is welcome, flaming is not. And if you like this, please check out my other ZackxOC story , "Anything But Ordinary". Thanks!
Dislcaimer: I do NOT own Bones. I wish I did 'cuz then, Zack would be the one I snuggled up to at night and not my body pillow. ^-^
Prologue
Dr. Lance Sweets had quite a few interesting patients at McKinley's Mental Facility for the Criminally Insane. However, very few could contend with the person the psychologist had scheduled to work with today. She was definitely on the top of the young man's list, but that was probably because she didn't actually belong at the institution.
Yet, at the same time, she did...
With the guidance of one of the caretakers, a very tall and burly African American, Sweets was led to the room where the said female was waiting for him for her appointment. Neither spoke as they filed down one of McKinley's near blindingly white and impeccably clean hallways. Very little noise reached that hallway as very few patients were present in it or in the rooms that lined it. All of the noise was in the cafeteria, the lounge, and/or in the wards.
The taller and more muscular male stopped at one door. Sweets took out his key-card and swiped it through the key-lock, opening the metal entrance. There was a set of beeps and the caretaker pulled opened the door allowing the men to step inside.
Unlike the hallways, these rooms for therapy sessions weren't as bright. The room was painted a darker color of a dull gray and the only light was from a small ceiling lamp and the sunlight peeping through the blinds of the single window. It was basically empty with only two chairs and a single rectangular table being the furnishing.
"Hey, MK, Dr. Sweets is here." the caretaker announced, a bit of amused affection to his deep, husky voice.
The young woman, who was originally the only person in the room, opened her eyes and turned them to the two males. A twinkled shimmered in them as a mischievous smirk tugged at her lips.
She was older than Sweets, but not by much; only by two years. However, her big almost crystalline eyes and her usual playful grin made her seem much younger. The woman's hair—reaching just shy of her shoulders—was red, dark crimson, which was obviously dyed. Recently, if Sweets had to guess, but only because the last time he had met with her, her hair had been jet black. The red brought the sky blue of her icy optics and made her creamy skin less pale. She was of average height, but her body's womanly development was below average having little to no curves. Yet, despite that, she was more toned than most women—and some men—and took great pride in that.
"Thanks, D." Mikayla Kaplan said jovially before greeting Sweets. "Whassup, Lance?" she said, with a lazy, but playful salute. Sweets made a face.
"Play nice, kids." D told the younger people. "I'll be right outside." He gave them a wave with his meaty hand and left, closing the door behind him.
"Bye, D!" the redheaded woman shouted, only speaking louder than necessarily to make Sweets flinch, which he did.
"Must you be so loud, Mikayla?" Sweets scolded, rubbing his ears. "And what have I told you about calling me Lance?"
"Uh...do it?" she teased, her smirk plastered on her face as always.
"Only in private. Don't call me by my first name in front of the staff. They won't take me seriously otherwise." the dark-haired man pointed out, strolling over to the chair across from her.
"And the fact that you look like you're twelve doesn't have anything to do with that?" she countered. She leaned back in her seat leisurely, crossing her arms and legs.
Sweets shot her a look before addressing her newly colored hair. "Your hair is red."
"Really?" Mikayla feigned shock and at her tugged at a naturally straight strand. "I didn't notice!"
"Where did you get the dye to do it?"
"Kiki from the front desk bought it for me. Helped me too."
Her therapist rubbed the bridge of his nose. Even after being her psychologist for so long, he still hadn't figured out how Mikayla managed to get the people on the McKinley staff to do her bidding. Sure, she wasn't downright insane like the majority of the patients there, making her less frightening, but she was still a criminal. Clearly a manipulative one. At least, she used such for good...mostly.
"Your hair should dead at this point." Sweets stated. How many times has she colored her hair? At least three times since he had met her.
"Nah," Mikayla waved her hand dismissively. "Kiki gets me the good shit with the shampoo that keeps my hair smooth and nourished. No worries."
He shook his head with a sigh. Mikayla just beamed, her smile like the Cheshire Cat's. "So whaddya bring me, Lance?" she asked earnestly.
He stared at her for a moment before deeply frowning. The baby-faced male reached down to the bag he had placed on the ground beside him to fish for the item he had brought with him for her. When Sweets finally found it, he pulled it out and placed the small book on the metallic surface of the table they sat at. "Naruto, volume twenty-four. That's the one you needed, right?" He slid the graphic novel to her, not sounding the least bit happy.
Yes, Sweets was a victim to her persuasive personality too much to his deep dismay. She had somehow convinced him to bring her manga with every visit. At least, Mikayla had asked for something that was harmless and didn't cost too much—except maybe a little of his pride.
She beamed brightly and took the comic book. "Yeah. Thanks a bunch, man. I could kiss you."
He rolled his eyes, but couldn't help the very small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth—he couldn't deny she had an infectious smile when it was genuine. "Try to control to yourself from doing so, Mikayla."
"Trust me, that won't be hard." Mikayla stated, her tone distracted as she flipped through the pages of her manga.
He deadpanned, his smile faltering. She gives and she takes... "Anyway, we should probably begin our session for today," he announced boldly. His brows furrowed when he noticed his patient and friend—of sorts—wasn't paying attention. "And that means not reading your book, Mikayla." Sweets said sternly, snatching it away from her. He placed it aside.
She scowled and huffed. "Fine." Mikayla crossed her inked arms. "Party pooper." she grumbled.
Ignoring her comment and childish pout, Sweets proceeded with the matter at hand. "How has your week been so far?" he questioned, folding his hands before him.
"Eh," she shrugged careless, her voice not holding its normal energy or cheerfulness.
"You know that's not an acceptable response, Mikayla. It's needs to be more elaborate."
"...It was mind-numbingly tedious and long. Better?"
"Despite the unnecessary hostility, yes. Did anything exciting happen this week?"
Mikayla's tongue absentmindedly played with her lip ring. "Not really. Only in Arts and Crafts Wednesday." she muttered.
"Care to extend on that?" Sweet's suggested with an arched brow.
"Not really, but since you're gonna make me—Tom let us paint whatever came to mind when we thought of nighttime." she claimed.
"And what did you paint?"
"The Sirius Star Cluster in the Ursa Major Moving Group."
"You certainly love your astronomy." Sweets grinned, knowing how much the twenty-four-year enjoyed the planets, the stars, galaxies, and so on.
"Whatever." Mikayla looked away, her face expressionless, but her cheeks a faint pink. He smiled more.
Nonetheless, his smile faded when he knew he had to ask the next question—one of the questions he always asked during her therapy sessions. "Any dreams lately?"
She was silent for a moment, her cold eyes drifting to the window to try and see what was outside. "...Nightmares, you mean." she corrected dryly.
"Yes," Sweets inwardly frowned at her tone and expression. Despite the fact that Mikayla was difficult, sarcastic, laid-back, carefree, and frankly, annoying, she was more enjoyable to be around when she was like that. "Have you had any since we met last?"
"Yeah..."
"And?"
"Nothing new. Same old, same old. Screaming, blood, sirens."
Sweets stared at her gravely. She hid it well, but Sweets could read her better than anyone and knew the grief, anger, and pain she was holding back. "We will get you out of here, Mikayla." he promised.
Slowly, she glanced to him, her eyes like ice. "Why? I honestly belong here."
"No, you don't."
"I've killed, just like pretty much everyone here."
"Mikayla," he began. "Staying stuff like that is the reason why you're still in a mental institution."
"Just tellin' the truth." she shrugged.
Sighing deeply in frustration, Sweets shook his head and rose to his feet. Their sessions always ended like that, it was becoming routine. He was intelligent, a genius, but he truthfully did not know how to convince Mikayla that she did not belong at McKinley's, criminal or not.
"That's enough for today." he announced. "I'll be back next week, same time, same day. Before our next appointment please keep writing in your journal, I'll look at it then, and please try to rethink as to why you're still here and if you really belong within these walls."
"Which I do." Mikayla remarked without missing a beat.
He frowned. "Just think about it, Mikayla." he told her firmly.
"Will do, Lance." She saluted him again languidly.
Just nodding, Sweets grabbed his bag, took out his key-card and swiped it through the key-lock. The door beeped and became unlocked. "Bye, Mikayla. See you next Friday." he said.
"Toodles. Catch ya later, Lance." Her grin returned, but wasn't as big.
The young man frowned once again, but left without saying another word.
Oh, yes, she was one of his more "interesting" patients...
