Friendship fic, set a some point post Mayhem On a Cross. Recognizable characters (and the television show Bones) are not mine.
"Remind me again why we're doing this?"
"Because Sweets asked us to."
Booth bit back a groan and gave his forehead a quick rub, grimacing when his hand came away wet. Despite the fact that it was all of eight-thirty in the morning, the temperature was already uncomfortably high, and the humidity wasn't helping matters at all. The weather forecasters kept insisting that the unusual heat wave was due to break 'any day now,' but as far as he could tell, things weren't getting any better. And, of course, Sweets had chosen this weekend to move into his new apartment and had somehow roped him and Bones into helping him move boxes. Most of the furniture wasn't coming, at least, but Booth had no doubt that there were at least a couple dozen boxes of books in his immediate future. Probably heavy hardcovers like the ones Bones favored, the way his luck was running.
With a shake of his head, he raised his hand and knocked sharply on the door. The sooner they got started, the sooner he could go lock himself in a freezer somewhere, preferably with a beer or two.
Sweets didn't answer after the second knock, and with a frown he dug a piece of wire out of his pocket and went to work on the lock. He wasn't too worried that anything was wrong—it was far more likely that Sweets had just overslept—but if he was going to be out in this heat helping someone else move, that someone else was damn well going to be up and working too.
Bones didn't seem particularly surprised by his actions, simply moving to lean against the wall while he worked. She looked tired…probably putting in extra hours for her publisher again. He needed to convince her to take a couple days off, take a trip or something. Preferably a trip that didn't involve any remains. Maybe if he took Parker up fishing next weekend, she'd come with them. If nothing else, it had to be at least a little cooler on the lake.
After a moment of work, the lock clicked open obligingly, and he pushed the door open, only to step back at the wave of heat that struck him. "What the hell?"
"It's hotter in here than it is out there," Bones agreed, not looking any happier than he felt.
He sighed as he stepped inside. He didn't begrudge Sweets the help moving—he really didn't—but he couldn't help but wish that it was any other weekend. The heat had everyone on edge as it was, and he very much doubted that heavy labor was going to help matters. A quick glance around the apartment identified the source of the unpleasant increase in heat. "It looks like his air conditioner's not working." He indicated a unit in the far window, standing suspiciously silent. "Talk about lousy timing. Sweets?" There was no response, and he stepped through the entrance way and into the kitchen. "Hopefully he doesn't have…I don't know, reverse hypothermia or something." After a night in this heat, that was just about possible.
"Actually, hypothermia simply refers to a body temperature of less than ninety-five degrees, so reverse hypothermia could be considered normal—"
"Heatstroke, Bones," he interrupted, before she could hit her stride. He couldn't deal with the heat and a science lesson right now. "I meant heatstroke." There were stacks of boxes scattered around, evidence that he might actually get away with just helping to move the things as opposed to having to help pack them as well, but the whirring of fans drew his attention to the other side of the counter on short order. He couldn't help a grin as he caught sight of the kid stretched out on his stomach on top of a sleeping bag on the tile floor, right under the unit's second window. Unfortunately, the complete lack of wind meant that even though the window was propped open, there wasn't any air circulating except that which the fans were generating, but he couldn't blame Sweets for trying. And the noise from two fans was probably responsible for Sweets not waking up when he was knocking on the door.
He stepped closer, intending to clap his hands together beside Sweets' ear to startle him awake, when the shadows over the kid's shoulders cleared and he couldn't help a sharp intake of breath. Sweets had stripped down to his boxers to sleep—not exactly unusual, especially in this heat, so Booth hadn't thought anything of it—but…. "Jesus."
"Booth? Is something wrong?" Bones moved up beside him and then knelt down, her fingers going to Sweets' neck to check his pulse. Sweets moved slightly under her hand but didn't awaken, and after a moment, she straightened. "What's wrong? He is slightly warm, but I'd expect that in this temperature, and his breathing and pulse both seem normal."
"It's…." He tore his eyes away from Sweets' shoulders to look over at her. "Somebody beat him."
She frowned. "It's likely, yes. I believe I told you that."
"You did, but…." When she'd said scars, he'd thought…scars. Maybe one or two—or two or three, since Bones would never say 'scars' if she meant 'scar'—but somehow he'd assumed that Sweets had at most a few old marks, faint and faded with time. And not that that wasn't a horrible thought in its own right, especially since she'd said that it looked like he'd been whipped, but he'd never expected anything like what he was seeing now. More than a dozen scars, some of which were overlapping, spaced across both shoulders. And they weren't exactly light scars, either. It was obvious that if they hadn't faded by now, they never would. He was just a kid for God's sake.
Bones was still staring at him expectantly, and he shook his head and took a few steps back. "I just…I wasn't expecting that. Come on." He tugged her arm lightly, and after a moment she let him pull her back into the entrance way to the apartment. He shook his head again sharply, trying to banish the image from his mind, and then raised his voice, making sure it was loud enough to be heard over the fans. "Sweets? Are you here? Hello, anybody home?"