S01E07 – The Man on Death Row
Author Notes: This is my thirty-sixth story over all. (Look at me go.) I hope you've enjoyed all the other stories. (I know I have).
This is set after S01E06 – The Man in the Wall and after The Changes in the Lives.
Thank you for reading my head canon. By the way, I love reading reviews, they make me want to keep writing (*Very Subtle Hint*).
Roll call for the Reader/Reviewer gallery: All Fall Apart, Arieru-chan, Ash Strachey, crazylove1980, Excalisnake, Fandom-maniac1667, Fern Rose, grimmich, KSIJ, KTT2123, Reader's Daughter, Serenity Lhane, Silia and UrbanBorn for being so awesome and supportive. Keep on rocking!
Words in italic, for this introduction, are Wendell's thoughts.
Disclaimer: I do not own Bones or any of the characters (You would know if it was mine by the amount of slash).
Introduction
In which things return to normality. Or what passes for it, anyway.
Hodgins' Estate
Washington D.C.
Zack had just arrived from the airport and his best friend was waiting for him in the foyer. They hugged and went into the huge living room ('You know, it's mildly ironic to call it a living room when we deal with death every day.' 'I'm not calling it a deathing room.' 'I believe that's not an actual word.' 'Now it is.').
"So, how did it go, Buddy?"
"It was... Family."
"I hear you. But besides that."
"They loved him. Well, bar Sam at the beginning."
"Great news, huh?" - Hodgins scratched his scruffy beard. - "Who's Sam?"
"The psychiatrist."
"Ah."
Noticing that his roommate wanted to talk about the events that had perspire during Zack's week off, the squint asked:
"How was your date with Angela? And what else happened?"
"Well, on our date there was this waiter that kept looking down at her, I told her that I loved her and we had sex."
"Please avoid detailing that last part."
"No promises."
After giving each other the overview of what happened since they'd last seen one another, they plunged into a more detailed story. The pair dozed off on their couch.
Hodgins' Estate
Washington D.C.
The next day, Hodge drove Zack to the lab and went to the artist's office, as he'd been doing ever since their fourth date. The squint, however, made his way to the platform so that he could start helping the deceased of the day. He swiped his lover's card and the beeping noise alerted the other squints of their friend's return. Carefully placing the ID card in his front pocket and snapping on the white latex gloves, he approached the blond and the British squint.
"Good morning, Vincent. Wendell."
"Hey, Zack."
"Hello."
"Who do we have here today?"
Knowing that the squint would only talk about personal things once the remains were being examined, much like his own squint, Wendell presented Zack to the deceased:
"Meet the only woman that came along with the World War I shipment. Female, late thirties."
"Any cause of death yet?"
"No. There are no noticeable bullet holes. Did you know that French officer Claude-Etienne Minié is credited with developing modern, plugged rounds that allows bullets to expand when fired so they follow the rifle's bore?"
"Yes, I did. Let's start, shall we?" - The three men each analyzed a part, with the brown haired squint taking the skull. - "So, how was your week?"
"Great, actually. Morrison was in town for a conference and we spent quite a bit of time together." - He looked for markings in the ribs. - "How was the family?"
"Like expected."
"Even Samuel?"
"He relented after I lost my temper."
Vincent knew exactly how Zack's family was expected to behave, his friend had introduced them when they'd been in town last Christmas. The blond squint kept his ears tuned to the conversation and his mind to the remains.
"I found cause of death." - He announced and brought the left femur close to the other men. - "There's a nick here, right where her femoral artery would be. Exsanguination." - He placed it back upon the tabled and paused before getting the camera. - "You have a temper? I can't even imagine it."
It's like imagining Vince with one. It does not compute, as he would say.
I can say I never expected to love a geek.
Not that's a bad thing. Not at all. - He looked at his lover fussing over the camera. - It's pretty nice, really.
"My brother called Seeley a rapist."
"Now I can imagine." - Vince would be the same if someone accused me. - "Do you need help with the skull?"
Zack looked a little embarrassed but accepted the help. Vincent also joined in. They were done with the facial markers in record time.
"Thank you. I'll take her to Angela."
Angela Montenegro's Office
Jeffersonian Institute
The brown haired squint clutched the skull a little tighter as he approached the door. He gathered his courage with a deep breath before knocking. He was yanked inside and thrown onto the couch, with the skull snapping from his grasp, bouncing on a cushion and landing safely on a very fluffy pillow. After overcoming the shock, the forensic anthropologist latched onto the skull, holding it like a parent would hold his wounded child.
"Angela!"
"Sorry."
Zack glared at the artist before getting up, even if he relaxed slightly at the apologetic tone coming out of Angela's mouth.
"Please stop manhandling me." - He placed the detached head on the desk. - "Even if it is only when I am holding something."
"I said I was sorry. I just wanted to tell you about my lovely week."
"Give me a face and we have a deal."
"Deal."
Conference Room
J. Edgar Hoover Building (FBI)
Special Agent Seeley Booth was sitting across from his partner in the sterile, impersonal room. On the table between them, there were some papers scattered around. The FBI agent grinned inside, knowing the way this would go. He just wanted the day to end so that he could go home to his lovers, who had decided on staying in their home – because it was their home. He made sure of it. – 3 days out of a week.
"Name?"
"You know my name."
"Bones, you are making an official request to the FBI to be allowed to carry a concealed weapon. I have to follow protocol."
"It's ridiculous."
"Fine, then we're done here." – He smiled and picked up the papers. - "Do you wanna get some coffee?"
"My name is Dr Temperance Brennan."
"Reason for wanting a gun?"
"To shoot people."
"Not a good response."
"It's the truth."
"You know, I'm writing 'self defense in the performance of my duties pursuing suspected felons as contracted out to the FBI.'"
"Why can Zack have a gun?"
"Because he has a permit and has already made this request." – He sighed. – "Ever been charged with a felony?"
"Charged, or convicted?"
"Charged."
"You know I have."
"I have to ask the questions."
"Bureaucratic nonsense."
"Nevertheless, name of the arresting officer?"
"You." – At her partner's what-did-I-tell-you? look, she amended. – "Special Agent Seeley Booth. Do you need me to spell that for you?"
"I can sound that out."
"So when do I get the gun?"
"You can't have a gun."
"Why not?"
"Because you were charged with a felony."
"Write down that you were wrong to charge me."
"Oh, there's no space for that."
"Why'd we go through all of this if you were never going to give me a gun?"
"You have a constitutional right to apply for a weapon. I would never deny your constitutional right."
"But I need a gun!"
"Rules are rules."
"Tell them that I shot a murderer who was going to light me on fire."
"Which is why you weren't convicted. But you did shoot an unarmed man. I… I can't ignore that. I swore an oath to protect society from people who shoot people."
He got up to go back to his office, but was followed by the anthropologist.
"It was only his leg, and he's in jail for the rest of his life, how much is he gonna use it anyway?"
"You have the right to an appeal."
"To whom? Cullen? I'm pretty sure he doesn't like me."
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure you're right. And Bones, you don't need a gun. If anyone needs shooting, I'll do it."
"What if you're injured or dead and someone still needs shooting? Well, I'm not hoping it'll happen, I'm just stating a possibility."
"Then Zack will do the shooting."
"And what if he's also injured or dead?"
"Come on, you know what, Bones? You're a professor; you're not an FBI agent. Use your mutant powers… just talk people to death."
As they reached the glass door separating the FBI agent's office from the others, they saw a red haired woman leaning against Booth's desk. She was dressed all in black, from her pinstripe jacket to her short skirt, reminding the former sniper of a somewhat slutty grim reaper. Sadly for him, she was here about the death of a convicted man.
"Am I interrupting?"