MEMOIRS OF A SQUINT
Chapter One: Amaxophobia and Artistic License
Pairing: Zack/Jack (eventual)
Wordcount: Somewhere around 4000.
Rating: Safe for work, at least this chapter. Slight M themes, though, so tread with caution.
A/N: I love Angela/Hodgins canon wise, but after Season 3, their relationship went downhill. It's gotten so bad that I can't bear to watch Season 4 because they aren't together. Anyways- this is set pre Season 1 in an alternate reality. Gordon Gordon and Cam and Sweets will all be incorporated, no fear. Enjoy, guys.
The first time he met Zack was, needless to say, a little awkward, setting the tone for the rest of their relationship. He had just received a massive shipment of beautiful new containment jars and was on his way to show them off to Brennan when a lanky boy steps into his path, blocking him.
Irritated, Hodgins glared vindictively. "Tours are every hour on the hour, and you really need clearance to be down here." The box is really cutting into his hands, and he's anxious to brag. The kid shakes his head. "I apologize. I'm the new assistant."
"Zack Addy?" Jack asks incredousely, setting down his box gently to shake the new guys hand. His palms are callused from what Jack assumes to be months of positioned hands and cramping over dead bodies. This kid is supposed to be genius smart- IQ in the ninety ninth percentile, graduated high school at thirteen, going to steal Jack's job if he doesn't watch out smart. With trepidation, he draws his hand back.
"You don't look like a doctor." Zack muses. Hodgins rolls his eyes. Oh. He's one of those. Socially awkward, nerdy, Joss Whedon adoring, Princess Leia fetish boys. That explains how the shaggy and dark haircut, clearly an attempt to impress peers, isn't kept into line as it should be, giving him a sort of Albert Einstien/James Dean appearance that fits with those insanely intense eyes.
Jack shakes himself. He's staring.
And that boy must have some kind of strange, charming powers that he received from his home planet, because by the end of the day, he's standing awkwardly in the doorway of Jack's garage apartment. "My brother used to live here," He states clearly, dropping Zack's single duffle on the ground with a pleasing thud that conveys a good DVD collection. Zack remains in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot and holding his backpack in one hand. Annoyed, Hodgins notices Zack is taller then he is.
"Come in, for christ's sake. It's your place now. Couldn't let Brennan's special new assistant hang around in the slums, now could I?" Muttering to himself, Jack gathers up his old stuff from the floor (read: 36 cents in change and a pair of pants with a parking ticket in the pocket). Zack steps into the room, reveling in the smell of clean air, or at the very least, cleaner air.
"Okay, so rent is due- frankly, whenever, but don't fall too behind. You can catch the bus to the Jeffersonian from the corner, but it's kind of dirty and there's a creepy guy who sits at the back. I don't have a problem with lending you a car, I've got several, but don't spill stuff on the seats-" Jack ticks off the points on his fingers and Zack raises a questioning hand.
Jack calls on him, rolling his eyes. "Yes...?" Zack lowers his hand timidly. "I can't drive and buses smell funny." He wrinkles up his nose with distaste in a way so prissy it nearly makes Jack burst into laughter. But first, he asks the question.
"You can't drive?" Jack asks, surprised. He nearly died to get his license, but he has a feeling telling that story won't make Zack feel much better. "Technically, I have amaxophobia. Riding in a car isn't so bad as long as I don't look out the window and keep occupied, by talking or listening to music or something. Could I catch a ride with you?"
Temporarily memorized by his lips, Jack snaps himself back to consciousness. "Yeah. Yeah, sure." He says, slightly softly. And when Zack bends over to pick up his duffel, Jack catches the first good view of his ass. All the blood in his body is either rushing to his face or his dick, and he excuses himself quickly, speed walking back to the house and collapsing on his couch, jerking off at hyper speed and lying there afterwards, panting to the ceiling, covered in sticky fluid and a dirtier feeling the shower doesn't wash off.
Man, he's so fucked.
The next morning, Jack hammers on Zack's door and hands him a tea, mostly because he doesn't look like the coffee type. "I like it black with milk but not sugar and sometimes I put cinnamon in it." Zack states, sipping from the cup.
"Well, today you got herbal peach with mold. Congratulation." Jack holds open the passenger door for Zack, who huddles into fetal position the second he gets in.
"So, Dr. Addy-"
"Mr. Addy." Zack clarifies, hugging his knees. "I'm not a doctor yet."
"Mister Addy." Hodgins twists in the seat to get a clear look at Zack, who looks slightly nervous but not yelling nervous. Jack hates yelling nervous. "How do I orchestrate this?"
"Just drive and keep talking to me. That's what my mom does. And I like the radio too. But only the 50's and 60's stations."
Jack snorts, turning his key in the ignition. "I'll try and contain my lust for 80's synthesizer pop long enough to enjoy a few good Beatles riffs."
Zack nods his head vigourously. "I appreciate your attempt at humor to convey a comforting atmosphere."
"Thanks, dude."
Angela's waiting at the entrance to the building, sketchpad grasped in a red and purple clad hand. When Jack stares with curiosity, she explains. "New bracelets."
"Ah." He nods, shoving Zack in front of him. He's still clasping his little backpack in front of him like it's the first fucking day of school, eyes nervously sweeping over Angela's bright clothing and shoes and hair as if he's experiencing sensory overload.
"This is Zack Addy. I'm going to assume he doesn't talk to a lot of girls." Jack claps a hand on Zack's shoulder. First contact. Zack jumps slightly. Man, this kid's jittery. "You don't need to worry, though, man. Angela hardly counts as a girl."
"Your vote of confidence is overwhelming." Angela says scathingly. She smiles gently at Zack, kindly outstretching a hand. He shuts his eyes, sticking out his hand. He misses hers by a mile and she grins at him, shallow breathing and squeezed up face. "I'm going to assume this is your first day."
"And I just rode in a car." Zack states this as if Jack's made him ride a bronco to work. Christ. Angela gives him a sympathetic smile. "I'm going assume you don't like that."
He shakes his head.
"Well, Zack." Angela says brightly, leading the pair to a comfortable looking corner. "Take a seat." She pats a bench eagerly, and Zack sits, with the slightest bit of trepidation. "It's an initiation process here for new interns to be drawn by me. I'm the girl in charge of facial reconstruction and scenario graphing, plus I'm pretty tech savvy. Come to me if you have any questions, okay?"
Jack remembers this process well. Angela smiles, asks too many questions, smiles some more, offers you your choice of chocolate bars, and hands you your drawing in a quick thirty minute span. Jack still has his in his wallet, folded into quarters, although he'll never admit it.
Angela sketches quickly, pausing every now and then to glance up at Zack in between pencil strokes. He squirms when she begins mapping out his face, examining for freckles and birthmarks. "Done!" She finally declares, flipping around her sketchpad with a bright smile. Jack leans over the thick paper, and has to repress the slightest of groans.
Angela has drawn Zack with the slightest bit too bony hands, folded in a way that suggests a sexual act, fingers curling against the hand, smile slightly too cocky. She knows Jack likes that in a guy (too many shots of tequlia after a particularly dirt heavy case), and he looks up at her, mouthing "bitch". Angela merely grins.
Even Angela knows. God, he IS fucked.
"My hands didn't look like that." Zack points out, leaning over the table. Angela tucks a strand of long hair behind her ear. "Call it artistic license, sweetie."
"My hands don't look like that." Zack whines, turning to Jack. Jack shrugs, laying a hand on Zack's shoulder. It's unfairly warm and muscular. "You heard the lady. Artistic license."
"But-" "Say thank you to the nice lady, Zack." Jack chides, ruffling his hair. Zack flinches again. There must be something wrong with this kid- sexual harrasment or some shit that Jack's not really willing to get into. "Thank you, Ms. Montenegro." He says quietly.
"How did you know her last name?" Jack asks quizzically. He only found it out after several weeks of practiced questioning and had to resort to calling Angela "Miss". This kid's good.
Angela gives them a look, gathering up her pencils. "It's on the website, Jack." "Oh." He's the smallest bit technologically challenged. Jack enjoys bugs and slime, not crisp surfaces and clean interfacing. He has a feeling Zack would be more adept at that.
"Is there something about me on said website?" He withdraws his hand and lays it on his jeans, rubbing over the fabric to get some trace of Zack gone from him. As though it never existed.
"Your analysis is quite extensive. I learned that you have three doctorates and that this will be your seventh year at the Jeffersonian. You're thirty-one-"
Jack gives a little wince. Actually, the website is off by a year and not in a good way. Zack continues, twin spots of red staining his cheeks at the attention. "-your last relationship was with a woman who worked in shipping, her name was Lia Bradley, and it ended badly. At least, I assumed that from her leaving her job within a week of you taking some vacation days. Am I correct?"
The look on Jack's face probably gives it away, but yes, he is correct. Jack loves women as much as the next guy, to be honest, but they don't like finding him rutting against other guys in the back of seedy bars. Zack tugs at his own dark red and green polo nervously. "Can I meet everyone else now?"
"Of course, sweetie. I'll take you right up to the lab, Brennan just solved a case, so she'll be in a good enough mood to meet you. To the right here." Angela leads Zack up a flight of stairs, and Jack is polite enough not to groan as he clomps up the iron, shaking them with a metallic noise.
Angela swipes her keycard and enters the lab, and Zack's entire face just- glows. Jack senses his eyes sweeping across stainless steel body tables and gleaming glass jars and neatly organized specimens and yeah. It's nerd heaven, he knows, and Jack also knows that it's his home and he doesn't appreciate it much, but seeing someone else discover it for the first time- it's just fucking magic.
Zack starts asking questions about keypad systems and makes and when-is-he-getting-a-level-clearance-key and Angela answers as best she can, peering around for Brennan. "Jack, can you call for them?" She asks distractedly, attempting to point Zack in the direction of his working station.
"Yeah." Jack punches Booth's cell into his phone with practiced ease. He adores that the only testosterone in the lab appreciates all the- manly things in life. Video games and hockey play-offs and beer. It's a good link.
Booth greets with "We have a new case."
"I have Brennan's new assistant. I win." Jack grins, lounging against the wall. It scrapes at his back. It's actually kind of annoying. He stands straight. "King of the lab."
Booth sighs in an exaggerated tone. "Whatever. We're accompanying the remains back, the site's only a half hour away. Keep Angela and the assistant occupied while I'm here. Don't let them have sex."
Jack glances over at Zack, who is currently cringing away from one of Angela's more explicit artistic sculptures. "I don't think that's going to be a problem."
"Cool-" Says Booth, distracted. "One of our suspects just walked in, I gotta go, but can you just occupy the assistant while Bones is here?"
"Will do."
"Thanks, man. Oh, and by the way, he was buried. You should like this one." And with that, Booth flips the phone shut.
"New case." Jack declares, marching into Zack's work station with a jovial look on his face. "Lots of bugs and particulates. Brennan's probably going to want you to help ID the bone. Prove your worth."
Zack nods, brushing the hair out of his eyes and leaning closer to the bone Angela's given him. "Abandoned case-" He explains. "I don't quite understand this gash in the bone, as the head trauma indicates he was killed by one blow to the head, most likely with a heavy lamp or something of the sort."
Jack rolls his eyes. This guy really doesn't get it. "Zack. We have a half hour, maybe more, to slack off. That means diner. Diner, and pie. You like pie, right, Zack?" He coaxes, grabbing Zack's arm. Encircling the soft and worn clothing with his fingers, splayed across the-
Zack shakes him off, glaring fiercely.
"You shouldn't touch me while I'm attempting to identify bone. It could compromise the remains."
God, Brennan's going to love this kid.
By the end of the day, Zack has somehow managed to knock over three glasses (thankfully, containing not evidence but Jack's coke), two empty beakers, and one piece of expensive machinery and not get fired. Jack's going to assume that this is because Brennan's eyes gleam with happiness when he identifies the bones with ease.
"Female, mid to late 40's. Dead for 3-5 months. Most likely a drug abuser, judging by the bruising of what's left of the skin. She shows no sign of trauma or fighting back, suggesting that she was suffocated, not shot. But we should check for levels of oxygen in the blood to see if suffocation is the cause of death." Zack recites easily, pulling back a layer of blackened skin.
"But couldn't she be suffocated by being buried alive?" Booth asks, lounging back in the desk chair and pushing himself across the floor.
Zack shakes his head. "No. The weight of the dirt would have crushed her body before death, which isn't the case here. Her body was clearly crushed post mortem." He looks hesitantly up at Brennan, who nods, chin in hands.
"That's correct, Zack." Brennan smiles slightly, shoving a vile at Jack. "Collect particulates from the throat to disconcern what she was choked with. We need a murder weapon. Let's drive back to the scene. Meanwhile, Zack and Angela will work on IDing the victim."
Zack summons up the missing persons database with a practiced ease, and Angela begins her sketch happily. Jack sighs, nabbing a cotton swab from the pocket of his coat. "There's not going to be any interesting bugs." He states grumpily, swiping his swab in the victims mouth. "No maggots, or anything."
"Done." Angela states. Zack gets a surprised look on his face. "That was fast..." He murmurs, turning to the computer. "I don't need to complete the sketch. She had very large eyes, a small nose, and a pert mouth. See? Odd genetic characterisitics, combined by the fact that she had-"
Jack picks out a strand of something that looks like copper wire. "Red hair." He mutters. "She can only be a very small amount of people, and depending on when they went missing-"
"Cynthia Harris." Zack states, turning around. A picture of a woman matching the description appears on screen.
"Score one for the squint squad!" Angela exclaims jovially, throwing her hands in the air. "Suck it, Booth!" She chants, twirling.
"Squint squad...?" Zack begins. Jack rolls his eyes. God, he hates explaining this part. "It's a nickname Booth stamped us with a long time ago. Because allegedly, we're always 'squinting at stuff'. That's the second rule of the lab. We are the squint first rule of the lab is that I am king of it."
"It's this stupid thing Hodgins invited forever and a half ago. Whoever gets the new detail about the case, or identifies the victim, or whatever- king of the lab."
"So judging by those qualifications... I would be king of the lab." Zack states, the slightest smirk playing across his face. Jack blinks. He's really starting to regret Brennan's hiring decisions.
"Oooh, Hodge Podge just got played." Angela declares, slapping the table with one hand. "King of the lab, Zack."
Zack smiles. "Smack my hand."
"What?" Angela says in a distracted tone. "Uh..."
"My hand. Smack it."
"Oh."
They high five. Jack groans. The lab just got either a little more interesting or a little more excruciating, and he can't decide which...
"Booth keeps called me Mack Zaddy." Zack says dejectedly, swinging himself into the car. Jack laughs, turning his key in the ignition. "Figures. I was Joseph Modgins for months. Suck it up, buttercup."
"I am not a flower." Zack sulks, crossing his arms and pulling up his sweater. "When do I get a lab coat?"
Staring into Zack's glowing face, Jack knows the exact feeling he's experiencing right this second. Acceptance. Acceptance after years of bullying and being hit, in more ways then one. The feeling that you're finally worth something, amongst shining stainless steel and clear glass, you belong.
He's so happy. Zack, that is. Jack's just tired, wants to curl up with half a pizza and a beer and CSI reruns. When he turns into the driveway, he hands Zack the key and is halfway back to the house when Zack comes running after him, breathless.
"Yes." Jack sighs, turning to the boy. He's stretching out his lanky arms and his t-shirt rides up to reveal this little half moon of pale stomach. Ohhhh.
"Can I come back to the main house?" Startled by Zack's forwardness, Jack nods. "But no talking. Or less talking, at least." Jack snaps. It's been a long day. Forensics discovered traces of insulating foam in the victims throat, but it has no lead and so he was forced to identify and classify every fucking particulate.
"Okay." Jack sighs, tugging at the front of Zack's shirt. He follows obediently, a good little puppy- Jack casts the mental image out of his head with a shiver. There must be something wrong with him. Zack is twenty four, eight years younger then he is and should frankly be too adorable or some shit to want to fuck. But he does. Oh man, he does.
"Can we watch movies?" Zack says in a rush, fingering Jack's extensive DVD collection. Jack has to give him congratulations- he barely mentioned the size of the house. It's massive, so big that Jack himself occasionally gets lost and has to refer to maps handily built into the wall. But Jack loves it. Not because it's big, but because there's big entomology posters in every room and there's a science lab in the basement where he conducts small scale experiments and there's sprawling wooden floors and white curtains. It's not the biggest house he's ever lived in, but it's the best and there have been a lot. Moving from place to place, looking for the biggest, the most exotic mansion as a child took a toll.
"Sure, man. Choose something." Jack dials for pizza, knowing that Zack's going to be one of those really anal guys who only appreciates cheese and pepperoni and they have to be symmetrical or something like that.
"I'm very affectionate for you."
"Pardon?" Startled, Jack drops the phone, thankful that the call is already over. Zack pushes himself over, staring up at Jack from the floor. "I think that you're a very good man, Dr. Hodgins. You invite me to live here, barely knowing me- and you charge far too little for rent."
"I don't exactly need it. But, thanks, I guess."
"Not a problem." Zack stays on his back, looking up at the ceiling. "Normally, this would be where we hug." Hodgins says, half-joking. Please. Please let them touch.
Zack props himself up on his elbows, brown eyes filled with nervous energy. "Do you think I'm violating a male code by not touching you?"
Somewhere along the way, the temperature in this room has shifted from warm to boiling. Jack tugs at his collar. "You don't really touch many people, do you?" It sounds dirty coming out and Jack winces. Fortunately, Zack doesn't pick up on it.
"Nope. I wish I could." He gets this look that pangs at the bottom of Jack's stomach. Jack wants to touch him but he doesn't want him to bolt.
"Maybe- I could teach you?" Jack stutters. He can't believe he's saying this, but- "Show you- things- maybe to help you get a girlfriend-"
Zack's eyelashes flutter closed. "That sounds good."
"Oh. Okay. Tomorrow, then?" Jack fidgets in his seat. He's hard from just the thought of touching Zack, but he knows it won't happen tonight. Tonight, they'll get drunk and eat too much and watch science fiction movies and show up to work hung over, better friends for it all.
"Yeah."
They don't speak for the rest of the night, but when Jack silently slides in the DVD Zack's picked, Zack brushes against his hand with his shoulder.
He hopes it's on purpose.
A/N: What do we think of this so far? I would love some reviews. Just do it, fools. :)