Disclaimer: Bones belongs to Fox.
A/N: June CBPC challenge entry. One-shot following Stargazer.
The early morning sunlight filtered into the bedroom through the thin curtains, casting an eerie light onto Zack's sleeping form. He jolted upright at the sound of his alarm clock. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes with one hand, he groped for the clock with his other. Grabbing it, he held the offending piece of technology up to his face. It took him a moment to focus on the numbers. It couldn't be time to get up already. He felt as though he had just climbed into bed. Zack realized less than three hours had passed since he had staggered into his apartment and collapsed. Somewhere along the line he had managed to shed most of his clothing, although he realized he was wearing only one sock. He tried to put the alarm clock back on the box serving as his nightstand, but missed and it fell to the ground. Instead of picking it up, he took a deep breath and stared up at his ceiling, waiting for his head to clear. Realistically, he knew the alcohol he had consumed had not left his body and that he would pay for last night's transgressions for most of the day. Luckily he would spend most of it on a plane. He normally wasn't one to imbibe, but his impending departure had lessened his inhibitions…at least that is how he tried to rationalize his behavior. Objectively, he recognized that he was scared. He could tell by his elevated pulse and increased blood pressure whenever the thought of Iraq crossed his mind. Not that it was ever far from his thoughts, but, sometimes, for just a brief moment, he would lose himself in his work and forget.
Ever since the letter had arrived, Zack had known he was going to go. He'd been raised to believe there was no greater honor than serving one's country. His intelligence had always set him apart, but now it was the reason why he was being asked to serve. Never had he imagined that he would get the call. Now that he had, nothing could dissuade him, not even his own rational mind. Booth had been surprised, but respected his decision. He had reluctantly agreed to try and explain Zack's decision to the others.
Leaving the Jeffersonian would have been difficult under any circumstances; leaving to go somewhere where people were actively seeking to kill one another was something else entirely. He was having a hard time fitting the concept into any schema his consciousness could accept.
So after Hodgins and Angela ran from their wedding, without actually getting married, Zack and the other guests took Hodgins at his word and took full advantage of the open bar. Sitting around drinking with Dr. Brennan, Agent Booth, and Dr. Saroyan had seemed like a reasonable alternative to going home and watching the clock tick down to his departure time. Now with his aching head and queasy stomach, he wasn't completely sure of his decision.
Gingerly, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of his bed. His feet hit the floor and the sound seemed to reverberate off of the empty walls. It was a moment before he felt steady enough to try and stand. Once he was upright, he hurried into the shower, hoping he could rinse away the alcohol-induced haze that was blurring the edges of his mind. He didn't want to make a bad impression when he reported in.
As the water sluiced over him, he wondered what the next few months would bring. Working at the Jeffersonian he had seen some pretty horrific sights, but he knew the ravages of war would be unlike anything he had ever experienced and on a scale he couldn't fathom. Zack tried, unsuccessfully, to stop his brain for positing all the possible scenarios that could await him. This was one situation where his enviable intelligence was more a hindrance than an asset. Calculating the odds was as natural to him as breathing. The hangover he had been nursing was nothing compared to the terrors he was imagining in his head. Frustrated with the direction of his thoughts, he turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. He quickly dried off and got dressed.
Looking at himself in the mirror, he was still surprised by what he saw. The image staring back at him was Dr. Zachary Uriah Addy, forensic anthropologist at the Jeffersonian Institute. It was a far cry from the weekend fill-in at a college radio station that Dr. Saroyan had once compared him to. Straightening his tie, he took once last glance in the mirror. He knew that when he came back, he would look different. He wasn't sure how he knew, because he wouldn't be over there long enough for any real physical changes to occur, but instinctively he realized that simply going would change him.
His examination was interrupted by a knock on his door. Zack looked at his watch. The cab he had ordered wasn't due for another ten minutes. He opened the door and found Booth standing on his doorstep. "Agent Booth."
Booth was holding two cups of coffee. He held one out to Zack, who took it, but did so reluctantly. By way of explanation, he offered, "With Hodgins who knows where, I thought you might need a ride to the airport." He took a sip of his coffee. Nodding his head in the direction of Zack's cup, he added, "After last night, I figured you might need some caffeine, too." Zack continued to regard the cup suspiciously. "Just drink it, Zack."
Nodding, Zack took a tentative sip. He wasn't much of a coffee drinker, but he knew he needed to rehydrate his body. Coffee was not the best option, but given the fact that his apartment was virtually empty it would have to do. "Thank you. I arranged for a cab. It should be here in a few minutes."
"A cab? Seriously?" Booth shook is head. "Only a squint…," he muttered under his breath. He stepped past Zack into the apartment and looked around. With a whistle, he said, "Damn, this place is bigger than my entire apartment. Hodgins wasn't kidding when he said he was loaded."
"Why would he kid about being the sole heir to the Cantilever Group?"
Booth rolled his eyes and clenched his jaw in mild annoyance. Last night had been too long and this morning had come too early for Zack's questions. Instead of responding, he nodded to the bags near the door. "That all you got?"
"Yes. I was given specific instructions with regards to clothing allowances. I adhered to them precisely. The equipment I require should be on site when I arrive." The words came out in a rush.
Booth could hear the tension in Zack's voice. The kid was doing a good job keeping it together. He tried to reassure him. "I'm sure they'll get you whatever you need, Zack. Scoring a brain trust like you is a major coup." Without another word, he grabbed Zack's bags and started down the steps.
Zack grabbed his laptop case and took one last look around the empty apartment. Hodgins had said not to bother packing up because it would be waiting for him, but Zack had been reluctant to leave any loose ends…just in case. Resolutely closing the door behind him, he followed Booth down the steps to the SUV. He climbed into the passenger seat and buckled up.
Booth got behind the wheel. "Dulles, right?"
"Yes. First to Frankfurt, then Ramstein, then…" Zack didn't finish. The rest of the ride was spent in silence. Both men were lost in their own thoughts. Booth couldn't believe he was driving Zack to the airport to catch a flight to Iraq, which was no place for a squint, particularly one who lacked any type of common sense despite his extraordinary IQ. Zack's mind was still working its way through all of the known variables. He was well aware that it was impossible to factor in the possibilities, but his mind couldn't seem to stop trying.
I-95 was relatively clear given that it was early on a Sunday morning, so they made excellent time. As they exited the interstate and pulled into the departure drop off zone, Zack spoke. "Agent Booth, you never answered my question. Does it hurt to get shot?"
The first response that popped into Booth's head was inappropriate. He knew it was a sincere question. His experiences made him an expert in Zack's eyes, so he tempered his response. "It hurts like hell, Zack, but that's a good thing, because it means you're still alive to feel it."
Zack nodded, but Booth could tell that the concept was too abstract for the boy genius to grasp. Trying to explain what it feels like to be shot wasn't something Booth had been ready for when he decided to drive Zack to the airport. He just didn't want to leave the kid to his own devices, there would be plenty of time of that where Zack was going. Booth knew the next few months would be the hardest test Zack had ever faced. Taking him to airport was the least he could do.
Both got out and Booth pulled Zack's bags out of the rear of the SUV. He put them on a luggage cart. Zack placed his laptop bag on top. "Thanks for the ride…and for explaining to the others. I appreciate it."
Booth said, "No problem. And about the whole getting shot thing, Zack…Just make sure it doesn't happen to you or Bones will have my ass."
Zack nodded, but as he stood behind the luggage cart, he asked, "Why would Dr. Brennan have 'your ass'?"
"I'm pretty sure the good doctor would find a way to make it my fault, so how about you keep me out of trouble and stay safe over there, ok?" Booth stuck out his right hand.
Zack looked at it for a moment, as though he couldn't believe Booth was actually acknowledging him, despite having given him a ride. After a moment he shook it. "I'll do my best, Agent Booth."
"You do that, Zack. From what I've seen it's pretty damn good."
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Zack checked in, cleared airport security, and went directly to his gate. He was too nervous to eat anything. Instead he sat and watched the other passengers. Some rushed past in hurry to get where they were going. Others moseyed as though they had all the time in the world. Some were sleeping or trying to. A young woman in her mid-twenties was singing to herself as her head moved in time to music of her iPod. An elderly gentleman in a polyester suit was reading the Post. Zack was mesmerized by the ordinariness of the world around him. He was about to embark on the journey of a lifetime…maybe they were, too. He just hoped he was the only one putting himself in harm's way. He wanted to believe that only good things were in store for those around him.
He took a moment to study a young family. They looked like the typical family unit---young mother who just stepped out of a Laura Ashley catalogue complete with a J. Crew clad father and son. The boy looked to be about seven and was laughing at something his father said. It was a perfect snapshot of everyday life. It brought a smile to Zack's face and reminded him of his own family. They were a rowdier, worse dressed bunch, but the love between them was apparent for all to see. He treasured what could be his last glimpse of normal for a while. He leaned closer so he could hear bits and pieces of their conversation and lost himself in their ordinary world.
Leaning towards his son, the father said solemnly, but with a twinkle in his eyes, "And I swear, that is how the monkey got the peanut butter."