After lunch, Lance was to meet up with Booth and Brennan before all three headed off to interview a witness in her home. He had not been briefed at all on the specifics of the case. As Lance was heading to Booth's office, he was still in awe of Daisy's behavior. The woman was simply not given enough credit by anyone—not even him. He wondered if Daisy had committed her own indiscretion, but it didn't matter. Her love for him appeared unconditional. It reminded him of his parents. Even when he had made horrible mistakes growing up they had forgiven him. Could it be that she was becoming family? His love for her swelled.
He rounded the corner and stepped into Booth's office, which was filled with pale yellow sunshine and two of his favorite people.
"Hiya Sweets," Booth greeted him with a grin. Brennan was sitting in chair watching Booth toss his football up and down.
Dr. Brennan craned her neck to look at Sweets, who was standing behind her. "Dr. Sweets would you care for a mint?" Lance shrugged, mumbled thanks and took an Altoid.
"So here's the deal, Sweets," Booth began. "We found the body of a 16 year-old boy—Matt Schriber—in a field behind his school. The school's best guess—he jumped, didn't die from the fall, and crawled away. But Bones and the squints have found some evidence of violence on his skeleton. We haven't gotten a lot of answers so far. We're going to question the mother again and then swing by the school."
Brennan crunched loudly on a Altoid.
"Why are you bringing me along?" Lance asked. He was having trouble concentrating on what Booth was saying given his recent conversation with Daisy and the incessant crunching.
"Well, from everything we've heard, this was kind of a weird kid."
"Weird how?" Lance asked patiently.
"Like he memorized his textbooks, got a perfect score on his PSAT, was exceptionally bright. But his classmates said he was socially awkward and not particularly well liked," Booth explained. "He misread social cues and you know, hugged people he wasn't close to. He occasionally lost his temper and banged his fists in class."
Brennan interjected, "He seems to have had a very high IQ." Crunch, crunch.
Lance processed the information, cringing a bit at the familiarity of this boy's story. Lance had been a social outcast in high school due to his high intelligence, poor social skills, and young age.
"Bones, you'll break your teeth on those Altoids—why don't you suck on them instead?" Booth asked with annoyance. He snatched away her tin.
"I had a large quantity of onions for lunch," Brennan explained, scowling at his audacity in taking away her mints. "I grow impatient when waiting for Altoids to dissolve. Give them back!" she pleaded, in the process breathing on Booth.
"Whew! Bones!" Booth exclaimed, fanning in front of his nose. "You did have onions!"
"Did Matt have an Autism Spectrum Disorder diagnosis?" Sweets asked, trying to recapture their attention. When the two began flirting it was always hard to make progress.
"A what? I dunno," Booth said carelessly. "Let's go question the mother again. See if we can get to the bottom of this." He swept over to Sweets and gave him an affectionate pat, which in turn gave Lance a little thrill.
Dr. Brennan turned to Lance excitedly and said, "Mrs. Schriber has a very enjoyable Beagle! You will find her most pleasing!"
Lance smiled and lifted his eyebrows. "The woman or the dog?"
Dr. Brennan hadn't picked up on Lance's sarcasm. "Dog. You once informed me that you are a dog person. When April dumped you."
Lance ignored the last bit. "Yes, Dr. Brennan. I do like dogs. Thanks for remembering." Wow, she was certainly making progress. Not only did she remember Lance's preference, but she was bonding with him over their shared interest. He liked to think that his counseling had played at least some role in her growth.
The team of three pulled up to Mrs. Schriber's house, which had an extensive gated garden space out front. It was winter now, but Lance imagined she had an abundance of vegetables in the spring and summer.
At the sound of the car Mrs. Schriber came out, her little dog bounding down the steps to greet them.
Dr. Brennan made a beeline for the dog and began lavishing it with affection. Lance introduced himself to the human and then to the dog. He quickly became enraptured by the little hound. She rolled over and Dr. Brennan and Lance actually had an elbow war to pet her stomach.
They were both cooing over the dog when Booth complained, "Can you two get a grip with the dog already?" He and the mistress of the house were heading inside. It was cold out and tiny flecks of snow were beginning to fall. They looked like white stars on the dog's black back.
The four adults and dog sat in a room filled with windows and plants, but it was suddenly so gray that Mrs. Schriber had to turn on a lamp. A fire roared to Sweets' right, and he instinctively leaned in to take in its warmth. He looked at Booth, questioning with his eyes if it was ok for him to begin the conversation, and his friend nodded.
"So Mrs. Schriber, could you describe any behavior of Matt's that might be considered odd?"
"My son was a highly intelligent boy. From a very young age he was asking me questions like, what causes an echo? How do we know infinity exists if we can't define it numerically? I mean, very curious. He'd ask things I'd never even considered."
"And socially?" Lance probed.
"Socially, Matt was awkward to be sure. Occasionally, he would just embrace a complete stranger or touch kids at school who were not his friends—Oh excuse me, the phone!" Mrs. Schriber departed briefly to answer the ringing that had interrupted her.
"Kind of like you, Sweets," Booth said in a low voice.
"What is kind of like me?" Sweets asked with mild irritation.
"You're a big hugger."
Lance rolled his eyes. He had tried to hug Booth that one time, and he was never going to hear the end of it. Yet, Booth had a point. Lance had been affection starved early in life and did crave physical reassurance. But that most likely was not the problem with Matt. No, Matt sounded in some respects more like Dr. Brennan. He probably had Asperger's. Sometimes Lance wondered if Brennan had the tiniest touch of Asperger's herself.
Lance tried aloud, "It seems to me that Matt had Asperger's Syndrome."
"What?" Booth asked. "Ass-burger? That sounds like a nasty fast food entrée."
Brenan corrected him, one of her favorite pastimes. "Not Ass-Burger, Asp-ergers." She enunciated very clearly like Booth was a child or chimpanzee.
Booth rolled his eyes.
"Actually, it probably doesn't matter since the American Psychological Association in its infinite wisdom is proposing to do away with the diagnosis and fold it in with high-functioning autism."
"Psychology is so imprecise, what does it matter what you call the problem?" Brennan asked automatically. Even she seemed bored of her own distaste with psychology.
"It's the stigma—hello, Mrs. Schriber! Just a few more questions."
Lance continued to ask about the boy from the field and learned that he hadn't been diagnosed with a disorder, but this was not altogether surprising. Asperger's sometimes resembled typical teenage boy anti-social behavior.
In the back seat of Booth's SUV, Sweets was busily processing the conversation with Mrs. Schriber. They were headed to Matt's (former) school. He watched the snow fall and had a sense of longing for something…what? Ah, Lance shouldn't have been surprised. Whenever the snow came, Lance missed his parents. He had grown to loathe Christmas. And Christmas was right around the corner.
