A/N: This is a one shot that popped into my head uninvited. I love reading Bones Fan Fiction, but I've found that not many authors choose to compose anything written about Zach. I love his character. He's just so geeky and cute and...Have I mentioned I love him? Anyway, I thought you'd enjoy a piece about the good doctor. I hope I'm right!
Disclaimer: Bones is not mine. Oh, and Dr. Phil isn't, either.
-Confessions of a Confused Ex-Grad Student-
"Zach? Did you finish cleaning those bones from limbo yet?" That's Dr. Brennan. I'd recognize that voice anywhere. It's always so shrill and loud and commanding. I wish my voice worked like that.
Speaking of Zach, I hate it when they call me that. Sure, Zach's my name. I've been called Zach since I was merely a child. But I'm not a child anymore. I'm not even a grad student. I'm a doctor, and my real name is Doctor Zachary Uriah Addy. Not that I expect them to address me by my full title. That would be far too long, not to mention annoying, because I detest that name Uriah. I wouldn't want to be called Addy, either, because Addy implies that I'm a female, and inevitably, people would treat me as such, and even Agent Booth would agree that males are superior to females, so that name won't do. Preferably, I would like to be addressed as Doctor Addy, just like Doctor Brennan. That title commands respect, something I sorely lack from my colleagues and peers in general.
Mentioning that I want to be called Doctor Addy would no doubt annoy her, so I decide that it's much safer to just answer the question. "Almost, Dr. Brennan," I reply warily.
I read a book once, called The Fundamentals of Respect. It was truly fascinating. I couldn't put it down. According to Frank P. Morehead, PhD, to earn respect, one must respect himself first. I respect myself. I think. I'm the most accomplished grad student ever to be installed in the Jeffersonian. Surely that must mean something. And now I've finally received my Doctorate, so I'm not even a grad student. That counts, too. Not that I'm keeping score or anything…
Just yesterday, Agent Booth arrived on the platform to inform Dr. Brennan that she was needed in the interrogation room. (That has always confused me. Brennan's a squint, too, right? And isn't it forbidden for a squint to venture into the field? Perhaps it's one of those unwritten rules that only applies to stodgy squints like me. Or maybe Booth makes an exception because he's attracted to Brennan's womanly, curvaceous figure and wit…I'll have to ask Angela later.) Anyway, I addressed Agent Booth, against my better judgment. That proved to be a mistake.
"Agent Booth?" I can still remember my voice, all shaky and wobbly. According to that book, one of the best methods to recieve respect was to show respect. I decided to test that theory. "Is that a new suit?"
He cocked his head, and his eyes flashed. A book I read on body language a few months ago said that "flashing eyes," is an obvious sign of anger and annoyance. Then he grunted. The body language book mentioned nothing about grunting. Perhaps because that's not actually body language.
"I meant to say that it looks nice." When his shoulders tensed, I knew I had something wrong. But what? Compliments, according to Doctor Morehead, are omens of respect. So as an after thought, I added, "On you, I mean. It looks nice on you."
Agent Booth took a few steps back. Apparently that only irked him more, for his features darkened. "Bones!? Hurry it up, please!" he called, ignoring my attempt at making amends and earning respect.
Yes, I had definitely said something wrong.
I turn my attention back to the femur I hold in my right hand. Earning respect would have to wait. My duty calls. As I polish the bone, however, I realize that there are whispering voices coming from Hodgins's desk. I know that eavesdropping is bad, but sometimes, one can't help it. Our human instincts tempt us, and we, as imperfect beings, are slaves to our instincts.
There's a female voice, which is obviously Angela. "Just be reasonable, Jack!"
"I am being reasonable, Angela. It's you that I worry about."
"Something's going on. You can just tell."
"Minor correction, Angela. You wish something was going on."
I casually tip-toe closer to the bickering pair, attempting to be inconspicuous. Hodgins is rolling his eyes and sighing. Angela has her hands planted firmly on her hips. I wonder what they're talking about. Perhaps the case? No, Angela is never on task most of the time, so that's not it. Besides, what does a rotted elderly man's body have to do with being reasonable?
"Haven't you noticed something—different?" Angela persists.
"Define different. That's a tad too vague."
"He's always around her." She pauses for a brief moment to put her hand to Hodgins's mouth, probably to keep him from protesting. "More so than usual, I mean. And don't tell me you haven't noticed their constant eye contact. It's the mushy kind, too. Something is going on, Jack."
I know I should look away from their conversation—it's obviously private—but curiosity gets the better of me, and I dare to take a few steps closer. I've always enjoyed watching people. One day, my snooping will come in handy. I need to tone my people skills. Metaphorically speaking, they're quite rusty.
Hodgins pries her hand off his mouth. "Just promise me one thing, Ange. Let things develop naturally, okay? I know that interfering is what you do best, but you've done enough, if not too much, for them already. Deal?"
She draws out an exaggerated sigh. "Deal…But when we find out what I said is true, I reserve the right to say I told you so." And with that, she stalks off in the direction of her office.
It's then that I realize that they're talking about Doctor Brennan and Agent Booth. I may be naïve, but even I can see the attraction. It's painfully blatant. I've thought about it many times myself. I try to steer clear of stuff like this—I've never been good with matters of the heart. I don't need someone to tell me that. But I think the non-couple has become a pleasant distraction for us squints. We need something to speculate. It keeps us alert.
Just before I turn to leave and get back to work, my foot slams loudly against the metal leg of a table, and I come crashing down along side of the now cracked piece of furniture. Metal utensils come join me on the floor with a litany of tinny clunks and clanks.
"Ouch!" I yell helplessly, completely forgetting that I was supposed to eavesdropping.
Hodgins looks up, obviously startled. His expression changes from confusion to understanding to giddiness, all in a matter of seconds. I'm busted.
"Here's a little tip from me to you, Zach: when listening to other people's conversations, silence works best," he says in a mocking tone. With a chuckle, he picks up his clipboard and follows the direction Angela had taken.
There he goes again with the Zach thing. It's Doctor Addy! I sigh and bring myself to my feet, brushing imaginary dust off my slacks. I can only imagine just how read my face is. The sharp pain in my back is going to be hurt like hell in the morning.
The minutes on the clock are passing too slowly for my taste. I really would like to get home early today. I know it's silly, but I have grown accustomed to watching this television program called Dr. Phil. It's oddly addictive. Dr. Brennan wouldn't approve, though. According to her, psychology is a "soft science." But just because I was her grad student doesn't mean I have to agree with everything she says. I've been forming my own opinions for quite some time now, and I believe psychology is vital to the field of anthropology. In order to study people, which is essentially the study of anthropology, one has to understand how people's minds work, which is essentially the study of psychology.
And when something is forbidden, people find it all the more appealing. Even I'm not immune to that rationale.
Dr. Phil doesn't seem like a very competent doctor, though—his clients appear to be hopeless failures that wound up in the streets of Hollywood begging for a job. Last night's episode featured a man named Craig, who had cheated on his wife of two months. It proved to be amusing, though. I guess he got the "other," woman pregnant, and now they were all in a mess of trouble.
In the end, this Dr. Phil advised that Craig and his estranged wife see a counselor to deal with their obvious marital conflicts. The pregnant woman was to give birth to the child and put it up for adoption. In merely one hour—one hour—the couple's problems were resolved, and they all lived happily ever after. Now if only real life worked like that…
Yes, Dr. Phil has become quite the guilty pleasure. I record each episode so that I can watch it when I get home from work. Maybe I'll recommend it to Hodgins on the car ride home.
A/N #2: If you like, drop a review, my wonderful readers! I hope you liked it! -Susan :o)