Lance and Daisy with their texting-ness. Sigh. Makes me feel old. ;) (BTW, I can't get FF to keep the carrot symbol before the 3's in D's text, so just imagine it there. FF with it's darn editing.)

RT, yes, I'm totally imposing my ideas about Asperger's onto Sweets. :) But he is a compassionate soul, so I think he and I would share this idea. Thanks for reviewing, my friend! You are so faithful. It means the world. Thanks also for your expertise lately.

And thanks to those who are also following. Those alerts and favorites make me smile!

As Booth pulled up the SUV to Matt Schriber's school, Lance was reading a text from Daisy.

"Must miss dinner. C U at ur place. 333"

Lance wondered at Daisy canceling on dinner. She hadn't done that in awhile. Perhaps she just needed some space after their conversation. He couldn't blame her. She had taken things so well, like a saint really. Guilt settled into his stomach like ice water. He should bring her some flowers. Then he thought disdainfully, isn't that what all men do when they've cheated?

Lance was also confused. He wanted to think the best of Daisy, but why was she just accepting his bad behavior? He wondered if something else was going on with her, and it made him feel guiltier still that he could doubt her. He felt like he should text her back, but all of the cutesy symbols he envisioned sending on winged radio waves seemed too trite. He thought, I love you, Daisy, I really do but didn't end up typing anything.

Glumly, Lance realized that the snow had turned to sleet. Typical Washington, DC, in the winter. School was letting out and teenagers were opening colorful umbrellas against the gray, diving into idling cars. Lance had no desire to get out of the vehicle he was in, but Booth urged them on. Matt's friends were waiting for them at the counselor's office.

"The counselor sounded like a real be-otch on the phone," Booth assured them.

"A what?" Brennan asked confused. She stuck an umbrella out the door, her lips pursed.

"This cursed swamp!" Booth grumbled at the shift in the weather, as he exited the vehicle. Nobody was in a very good mood.

Lance lifted up the back of his black trench coat over his head in an attempt to keep his hair dry. It was freezing and the damp penetrated his bones and made his teeth chatter. Brennan looked small in the icy rain, and if Lance was detecting correctly, she seemed anxious. He suspected Brennan hadn't had the easiest time in high school. He felt a little apprehensive himself looking up at the big blocky building. There was something gothic about the image.

They found their way into the administration wing and to the counselor: Misty Lape. They knocked and entered. Lance couldn't help but search Misty's walls for her degrees. A masters' in school counseling—she had gone the ed school route. Lance tried not to judge, but Misty's appearance was almost repulsively filthy. She had on a dumpy v-neck t-shirt with a prominent coffee stain and ill-fitting stretch pants. Lance put a lot of stock in appearing put together for his patients. If he appeared organized and neat, they could trust him to help them make sense of their personal chaos. Misty yawned obviously.

"Sorry, I was up late last night talking to a student who really needed my help," she said, as if to explain her rudeness.

Booth picked up on the implied slight and said, "Well a dead student of yours really needs some justice, so how's about we call in his friends? I'm Agent Booth; we spoke on the phone. This is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan, and a psychologist with the FBI, Dr. Lance Sweets."

Lance noticed that Booth had called him doctor. Lance fought hard not to smile. He liked when Booth showed someone who's boss.

She regarded Lance with scorn. "You? A psychologist?"

Lance straightened up. "Me. A psychologist."

Misty rolled her eyes. This seemed to agitate Brennan, who began pacing. Lance figured Misty was feeling inferior considering he was a good 20 years younger than her and had a flashier degree. She may have been threatened, but she was also downright unpleasant.

"Do you want to see them one at a time?" she asked, yawning again.

Booth deferred to Lance with his eyes. Lance shook his head. "All together. They're more likely to talk to me that way."

Misty actually snickered. Brennan lunged a little and grabbed one of Misty's pens, which she began clicking furiously as she paced. Misty went to retrieve the students.

Brennan said aloud, "I do not like that woman. As much as I dislike psychology in general, her training strikes me as inadequate. She lacks people skills!"

Booth and Lance exchanged little smiles. When Brennan criticized someone's social skills then you knew they had problems.

Lance admitted, "She's a little unkempt and abrupt. But maybe the students like her." Unlikely, he thought. They probably hated her and would be even less likely to talk to him now. To them he was just another therapist and an outsider to boot.

Two hunched boys and one towering girl entered and sat. They all looked a bit sullen and were definitely what would be categorized amongst adolescents as nerds. The office was overcrowded with 7 people. Misty introduced the students: Seamus, Pat, and Grace.

"Would you mind waiting outside?" Booth asked Misty. He didn't need to wait for Lance's approval. There was clear consensus that no one wanted her around, especially not the teens, who seemed relieved when Misty sloppily tromped off.

Lance regarded the kids quietly. Brennan finally looked like she might speak if Lance didn't, so he said, "Do you guys need anything? Some water?" They shook their heads and didn't make eye contact.

"This must be very difficult for you. I won't keep you here very long," Lance said as respectfully as possible.

Lance had had only one real friend in high school—an antisocial boy by the name of James—Jamie. Lance remembered with deep pain how his therapist had encouraged him to apologize to Jamie after Lance had attempted to take his own life at age 14. Jamie hadn't been able to look at him. Lance still remembered the pimpled boy and his grave disappointment in his friend. They never really spoke again after that. Lance hated to think that he had traumatized Jamie, but the truth was he had. There it was. He hurt people all the time. Why couldn't he stop even now?

"I just want to ask a few things. First, did Matt show any signs of agitation on the day he…that day?" Lance asked carefully.

The three kids eyed each other. Grace said, "Matt was a really good person. He was weird, but he was nice when you got to know him. He didn't do anything wrong!"

Booth said, "That's not what he asked, Grace."

Lance shot a glance at Booth that silenced him. "Grace, did something happen that day? Maybe Matt did something out of the ordinary, like ditch class or cheat on a test?" Lance was guessing based purely on body language.

Seamus blushed at his words, so Lance turned to him. "It's ok. He's not in trouble. We just want to know what happened so that we can give some closure to his family. To you even."

Seamus said without looking at Lance, "Matt was the best student at the school. But he got sick—really sick with the flu—and missed some classes. We had this Latin exam the day he…died." Grace and Pat flinched at the word. "He cheated, ok? He brought some translations from home and used them. The teacher—Mr. Baras—found out, we think. You should talk to Mr. Baras. He might have seen him last."

Pat spoke up, "He didn't. I did. I saw Matt last. He was upset and crying, running down the hall. I tried to grab his arm but he shrugged me off. I didn't go after him. It's my fault." Pat broke down and started crying. He grew hysterical.

Lance crouched down in front of Pat. "Hey. It wasn't your fault. I know this is hard, but we'll get answers for you." Pat actually leaned forward into Lance and began sobbing on his shoulder. He put his arm around Pat and let him cry. The other kids had tears streaming down their cheeks as well. Lance didn't look at Booth and Brennan, but he sensed their tension.

Grace sniffed, "Matt had a hard time at school, you know. People weren't nice to him. The jocks would like steal his underwear—he always had that dorky underwear, you know, those old brief things! But, he was nice. He'd help you understand physics. Really get it, like better than the teacher could explain! I hope you find out what happened to him."

Booth said, "Thanks guys. You've been really helpful. You can go."

Pat wiped his face and looked at Lance like he'd just appeared out of thin air. He shuffled off in embarrassment and the others followed.

"That was fun," Booth said ironically and kicked at a table leg.

Brennan was staring out the window, unmoving.

"You ok, Bones? Bones?" Booth put his hand on her shoulder.

"Yes? Yes, I'm ok."

Lance cocked his head at her, encouraging her with his eyes to speak. Amazingly, she did.

"It's just, in high school people didn't like me very much. I didn't have any friends except one freshman year—Nancy Chung. She was rather nonconformist, and her parents were extremely strict. One day she left school and didn't come back."

Lance's eyes were filled with compassion for Brennan, and Booth looked concerned.

"What happened to her?" Lance asked.

"She went to a psychiatric hospital, or so I heard. Maybe the other students fabricated the story. But anyway, after that I was alone."

The word 'alone' hung in the air like it was made out of lead. For awhile no one moved. Lance was thinking about what it looked like when his wrists had opened up and fresh, red blood had poured out. It was so much brighter than he thought it would be—his blood. He shook off the image and looked at Booth, who was also lost in thought. Booth had once told Lance that if it hadn't been for his grandfather, he probably would have killed himself. Had Booth tried it? Had his grandfather caught him in the act? Lance wondered how literal Booth's statement had been.

Brennan turned suddenly to Lance, so suddenly that he jumped a little.

"You were nice to that boy," she said bluntly.

Lance wasn't sure how to respond. "Err…" He wondered if Dr. Brennan needed a hug too. Hell, all three of them probably did.

The day had been grim, and Lance knew they'd soon have to talk to Mr. Baras, the Latin teacher. Right now, he just wanted to go home. Lance didn't want to face what he thought he already knew about Matt's demise: that the boy had killed himself. Matt had thrown his own body out a window and crawled away to die alone in a field.