A/N: Hello! I'm working on this purely out of fandom. Disclaimer: Story belongs to the brilliant Hart Hanson.
I'm going in the same direction in the beginning, you may notice, but I'm going to split off for an alternative ending later. So enjoy!
Feed back is loved.
I'm unsure whether or not to rate this T. Just keep in mind the rating might change. Thank you (;
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"You may want to consider your ability to work outside the Jeffersonian."
The words still haunted him as he stood before the enormous lab. As usual, he felt his heart skip at the thought of seeing everyone and engrossing himself in work, but an unfamiliar pang of bitterness. He could work other places if he desired. Failure to assimilate. They sent him home without second thought - even with his determination to participate. Their actions were a mystery to him, but what puzzled him more was his feelings. Irritation, disappointment? He could work outside the Jeffersonian. He was intelligent and useful. He really was.
There was some skepticism as he stepped around the security guards. He wasn't exactly dressed at best, but he didn't bother to change after the flight - where would he? Stepping through the sliding doors he had excepted everyone to be in their own section, but instead he found them gathered on the platform. Dr. Brennan spotting him first. She looked as if she had seen a ghost. "Zack," she whispered and slowly everyone turned to see him. Angela squealed, Hodgins hollered, and soon he was crowded around with happy faces.
"What are you doing here?" Angela asked excitedly after they parted. He avoided the question.
"Can I move in the place above your garage?"
"You kidding? Of course! Come here," Hodgins yanked him into a hug. Laughing about how his friend thought he'd be kicked out on the street. He missed Zack, and his handicap to boot.
"Welcome home Zack," he was surprised as Dr. Brennan hugged him. It felt odd, but also a relief to be home and see everyone doing well.
"Did you get wounded or something?" pipped up Booth who remained behind on the platform.
Zack glanced up from the people surrounding him. A pit rising up in his stomach. The doubt that haunted him earlier returning, and the warmth he had just felt growing into a gross sickness. "No. They just sent me home."
"When can you start work?" Dr. Brennan jumped in excitedly.
He glanced back up at the guy standing next to Booth. It seemed that they had already hired a replacement. However, the thought of a case made his heart skip and released the sudden, tightening pain in his throat. "Oh, if you didn't fill my job... Who's that guy?"
"Nobody," he said and turned.
He wished to ask him if that was his name, but Hodgins jumped in. "Man, you look like crap." The days had been stressful. With the "slave driver's" (as the other men would call him) eyes on him twenty-four seven there was no time to relax. He was often up at night redoing drills to perfection, and in his free time analyzing corpses to prove his ability in the field.
"Well Iraq is not a vacation," Camille chimed in for him.
"I think you look very rakish," Angela chimed in patting the jacket he had worn since day one. "You starving?"
He felt overwhelmed with questions. He shook his head. He'd rather jump into the new case. He had missed timely investigation at the Jeffersonian and not the cramped space of time he had worked in over in Iraq. He never had enough time to fully analyze the skeleton before being handed the next. Working back home was like a breath of fresh air. "Actually what I'd like is to get in whatever you were talking about, before Dr. Brennan's mental problem." They all shared a look which confused him further. Hodgins chuckling dragging him off.
He was directed to a familiar room. He felt warm with the team surrounding him. He was most definitely home. Dr. Brennan giving him a quick summary of what they had found before, and the rest standing in the doorway. They just continued to gaze at him with smiles. It reminded him of the "slave driver" glaring at him as progressed through the day. Except, this was many eyes. He couldn't help, but continue to look up. His mind running many possibilities. "It's hard to concentrate when you're all staring at me."
"They are happy to see you," Dr. Brennan explained as the rest of them retreated back to their duties.
"The depth of teeth scoring on the skull suggests that it was cooked."
"Meaning the victim was dead when his face was eaten. Which is good, I guess, given the alternative." He nodded in silent agreement. It would be rather gruesome to think the flesh was torn off and eaten, raw, while the victim was alive. However, he had learned that it would be nothing new for their line of work.
"I'm seeing an interesting pattern in the scoring," he said snatching the remote to the computer.
"From the windshield?" she asked turning toward the computer. Feeling happy that Zack was back. He was like a missing piece of a puzzle. His insight could almost instantly pick up things she had missed herself - and of course it was the same for her to him.
"It appears so, but if you kind of un-focus your eyes and allow patterns to arise from what looks like chaos…" he began magnified the picture so he could point it out, "here… here… here."
"I didn't notice that," Dr. Brennan admitted honestly. All the more thankful to the military for sending him home. She half smiled before leaning in at the new discovery.
"This scoring is different from both the gnawing marks and the damage caused by crashing through the windshield," he pointed out again. Feeling a small sense of pride at Dr. Brennan's approving nod. It was much better than his chief's scruff 'good' and then sending him off to another job. Not that Zack ever need much approval, but it did feel nice.
"What is that?" she asked as he enlarged the image further.
"I dunno," he admitted honestly.
"Did you run it through the x-ray diffractometer?"
"And also x-ray micro-fluorescence. Neither showed trace evidence of anything left on the bone by whatever etched that grooved."
"That's our answer then," she said excitedly before racing out.
She was on to something. The doctor had a tendency to run off without explaining clearly. Which was something that Zack didn't miss. He became frustrated by it. "But the answer was 'nothing'," he said confused, but she was long gone.
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The lab was quiet, but even so he didn't feel lonely or disturbed by the fact. Instead he felt more relaxed and at home then he had for months. There was no one to disturb or evaluate his work. The Jeffersonian was truly the perfect place for him. However, he couldn't stay forever, could he? Closing his eyes Zack sat silently.
The smell of sweat and partially decomposed bodies filling his nostrils. Their flesh burned from an explosion or sun baked. His gag reflex shaking and twisting, but luckily there is no food to expel. Someone ran off, to vomit. It's scent making it all the worse. He had seen many things since his arrival, and lost his appetite from day one. He never was a big eater, but also didn't regurgitate almost every time he ate. The cause of death varied. Some where shot, some were victims to an unexpected explosion, and some were buried alive. The worst part was when there were no signs of struggle, and the person accepted death.
He was handed a gun on the tenth day. They expected him to shoot at a target. He missed... Several times. He got better, but each time he pulled the trigger the pure force surprised him. He was sure to take someone's life sooner or later, and perhaps if he couldn't then he would be taken. He found himself waking up in the middle of night in cold sweat. So hours to sleep decreased, and instead he spent it on the not so lucky soldiers. His chief noticing the significant changes in his behavior. He was drained from not sleeping or eating.
He opened his eyes. Turning back to present time. The case wasn't finished yet. "Have you been to bed yet?" a familiar voiced asked. It was Cam.
"Iraq is from a different time zone. I can't seem to sleep right now," he half lied. It was true that the times were different, and he was much more awake now - but he doubted he'd sleep later. Turning the the examination table he pointed at the bones. Explaining the situation she shook her head. Their could be a lot of victims involved. It made the two cringe.
"But we caught him," he added after a few moments of quiet terror.
"Yes, WE did, Zack," Camille said stressing the 'we'. She looked proud of him. Realizing from his absences what a big contribution he was to the team.
Zack shrugged, "Dr. Brennan always says that catching the bad guys is only part of it. The rest is knowing absolutely everything about the evidence."
"Why did they send you back from Iraq?" she asked. He certainly was smart, and one of the best in his field.
"I failed to assimilate," he admitted finally. He wished to avoid the question, but didn't trust himself to lie. "Despite my accomplishments, I was detrimental to a military team approach." The squeezing feeling returned. He was getting used to it by now. It felt almost like shame.
Camille, sensing this pain, chimed in, "you're very good for our team approach." It was no lie either. They all needed each other, and it wasn't until he left that she realized how true it was.
"The army psychiatrist told me that I should question why the Jeffersonian is the only place that I can fit in."
"All due respect to the army psychiatrist, but that's a helluva lot more than what some other people get," she said with a smile. Clapping him on the shoulder she continued, "Go home, Zac-a-roni, get some rest."
He considered this. It was a pep-talk as he had heard many times, but it didn't change the facts. He was still destined to work there. Was it really such a bad thing? He didn't go to bed. Turning back to the bones he squinted at the scorning. Finding something more horrifying. Racing to the microscope he magnified. His tried, sore eyes didn't deceive him. Snatching the phone and dialing Dr. Brennan's number. He got voice mail. "Dr. Brennan, I have to show you something. It's urgent." Before he could explain he was clicked off by the timer. He set the phone down, and lied down the examination table by the bones. His heavy eyes drooped and the cold metal against his bare neck. The lab, the case, even Iraq disappearing. Leaving him in a peaceful dark - for once in what seemed eternity.
"Zack, Zack," he heard Booth calling his name.
Not wanting to wake up he squinted at Booth who was now leaned over him. "Oy, why are you listening to my chest?"