PLEASE SEE CHAPTER ONE FOR WARNINGS AND DISCLAIMERS
Chapter Three: Adolescent Anxieties
"Do you believe Agent Booth will be cancelling our scheduled activity tonight?" Zack asked Dr. Brenan as they examined the remains.
"I don't know yet, Zack," Brennan answered tilting her head for a better view of the arm bones. "You are right, these bones were definitely broken post mortem. Were you looking forward to tonight?"
"It was Agent Booth's turn to choose, so the activity, though not abhorrent, was not one I will be terribly disappointed to miss."
"What was the activity?" she asked while taking a measurement.
"A football game. I like basketball and he does as well but also enjoys football and hockey. We agreed that a reasonable compromise for some of our outings would be to alternate going to these sporting events."
Brennan nodded, her attention once again taken by the skeleton that she was studying.
"I had been hoping to ask his an advice on something, however," Zack continued hesitantly.
"Oh?" Brennan asked, her eyes not leaving the bones in front of her. "What about?"
"Well, you know I have had lunch on more than one occasion with the girl who volunteers in paleontology on Saturdays," Zack started, biting his lip. "Her name is Naomi."
"Yes," Brennan replied standing to face Zack, having finished with her observations for the moment.
"Well," Zack blushed slightly, "I believe it might be time to move the relationship to a more physical level."
"Why?"
"Because Naomi told me it's time to move the relationship to a more physical level."
"Well, she is a little older than you are, Zack."
"Yes, which is why I need Agent Booth's advice."
Though he would never have believed it, he had actually come to enjoy his outings with the man. He would never forget the first one they had gone on, in fact.
==Flashback==
"I don't know, Agent Booth," Zack told the man, hesitantly. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"
"C'mon, Zack," Booth said, smirking. "It's just bowling."
"Yes, but I have never been very good at sports," Zack admitted uncomfortably.
"This isn't like hockey, kid," Booth informed him, snorting. "All you do is roll the ball and try'n knock down the pins. It's easy."
"It still requires hand-eye coordination," Zack reasoned quietly. "I am afraid mine isn't very good."
Booth sighed. "Just try it," he insisted. "If you don't get the hang of it after the first game, we'll go grab some pizza and rent a movie. Okay?"
Zack nodded, thinking that was more than fair. He had agreed to let Booth pick their first activity, after all. Upon arriving at the bowling alley and getting him shoes and a ball (Booth had his own, of course) they got the game set up and started to play. Zack was up first and nervously approached the lane.
He swung back with the ball, braced himself, and let it fly…
The ball rolled down the center of the lane and swerved just a little bit as it reached the pins—hitting them—and all ten came crashing down!
"All right, Zack!" Booth crowed, sounding genuinely pleased. "A strike on the first go—how about that, huh!?"
Zack smiled. "I can't believe I did that," he admitted honestly with a touch of awe in his voice.
"Hey, you've got a natural hook it looks like," Booth said, smiling. "You hit the pocket just right."
"And that's good?" Zack asked.
Booth nodded, clapping him on the back. "You better believe it, kid," he told him. "Now, it's my turn."
Booth bowled a strike as well and the game got under way. Zack didn't always knock down all the pins or even half of them, but Booth assured him that for his first time playing he had done really well.
"So," Booth asked him, once the game was over. "Go grab some pizza or play another round?"
Zack, to his surprise, found that he had actually enjoyed himself. "Let's play again," he told Booth. "Is that all right?"
Booth grinned at him. "Z-Man," he told him, smirking. "I think this is gonna be one hell of a night."
For some reason, Zack felt a nice warm feeling inside at the man's words.
==End Flashback==
"I can give you advice."
"Advice on what?" Hodgins asked upon entering.
"Getting into a physical relationship with a woman…well girl," Brennan responded openly.
"Oooh! The old sex talk, huh? Maybe I should come back later."
"Sex? Do you really think it might progress to sex?" Zack asked, obviously somewhat pleased at the prospect, though disconcerted as well. He had been concerned enough about the logistics of "getting more physical," but now he really felt he needed to talk to Agent Booth.
"Who's having sex?" Angela asked as she walked in.
"Zack," Hodgins answered, "Or at least he's hoping to. He's asking Dr. Brennan for advice."
"Oh, babe, do you really think that is such a good idea?" Angela asked her best friend skeptically, pulling her off to the side.
"Why wouldn't it be?" Brennan demanded with raised eyebrows.
"He's only fifteen," Angela reminded her in a hushed tone, "and I know the girl he's been eating lunch with. She's eighteen, comes on a little strong, and is more than a little experienced." She paused to let that sink in. "And Zack isn't the only one she's been flirting with around here," the forensic artist added in the barest whisper to be sure only Brennan heard.
"What should I tell him, then?" Brennan asked, frowning. "He wanted to talk to Booth about it—"
"Then tell him you think he should," Angela said. "No offense, Sweetie, but you're not exactly the best person for this particular problem."
Brennan sighed, annoyed yet knowing that what her friend was saying was accurate. "You're right," she admitted, nodding and turning back toward her research assistant. "It would be more logical for Zack to talk to Booth about this," she said loud enough for her voice to carry to the teen's ears.
"It would?" Zack was puzzled by his mentor's change of mind, though he felt somehow relieved as well.
"Yes, it would," Angela assured him. "Where is the B-man anyway?"
"Right here," the FBI Agent answered as he entered with Dr. Saroyan. "So what have I missed?"
"Nothing, as of yet," Brennan assured him. "But Zack was wondering if he might speak privately with you later," Brennan advised Booth, sparing the boy from having to ask in front of everyone.
"Oh, sure thing," Booth agreed raising an eyebrow. What could the kid want? "Sorry, Zack," he told the boy, "but I think we'll have to postpone our game tonight."
"That's okay, Agent Booth," Zack replied. "I anticipated as much."
Booth frowned. The kid could have at least looked a little disappointed.
"So, what have we got?" Cam asked in an attempt to re-focus everyone on the case.
"These bones were broken post mortem."
Cam nodded. "From what I could gather from the little that was left of the tissue, I believe most of her injuries were, and toxicology indicates high levels of the Benzodiazepines Flunitrazepam and Diaxepam," Cam added.
"Wait," Hodgins interjected, "Someone slipped her a rufy with a valium shooter to follow?"
"It certainly looks that way," Cam replied.
"Were the Benzoidiazepine levels high enough to be cause of death?" Brennan asked.
"It's possible, though I don't think so," Cam answered. "The closest I could get on time of death from the degree of autolysis and putrefaction of the tissue was sometime in the last two weeks. Hodgins?"
"This body was eerily free of insect life," Jack replied. "so I can't help you with time of death. I did find resin from the plant Commiphora myrrha, and the oil on the sheet also contained high concentrations of the same plant. There were also slivers of Thuja plicata – common name Western Red Cedar."
"In ancient times, myrrh was used as an embalming ointment," Brennan stated thoughtfully.
"Uh, if that was the intent, I don't think it worked so well," Angela noted.
"So, this killing may not have anything to do with the other murders at all," Booth stated, shaking his head.
"It is also possible her death was accidental," Cam suggested. "It would explain the shroud and burial incense, as if someone was trying to atone or something."
"What about the broken bones?" Brennan asked, raising an eyebrow. "Those were no accident. They were deliberately broken."
The others merely looked stumped.
"So, basically," Booth observed with a sigh, "we've got nothing."
The rest of them nodded. Booth shook his head in frustration. It looked like this case was going nowhere fast.
***BONES***BONES***BONES
Lance Sweets was walking back to his dorm after leaving the library. It was late, nearly midnight, but he was still quite wired. He'd always been a night owl of sorts, but he knew he needed to get some rest. Tomorrow was Friday and he had to go visit his mother in the hospital.
She's getting worse, he thought with a sad sigh. His parents had adopted him when he was just six years old. They were both older, in their late forties and early fifties, and childless. Sadly, his father was killed in an automobile accident five years ago. Now, his mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer and—despite having a double mastectomy and heavy treatments of chemo—she was in the final stages.
It always hurt him to visit her, because despite everything she remained upbeat and positive. She was especially proud of him and he intended to do everything he could not to let her down. That was one reason why he'd been at the library so late—he was studying his butt off for his psychology mid-terms that were coming up.
Lance had just made it to his dorm building when he noticed that his shoelace was untied. Bending down to tie it, he heard a loud pop and felt something breeze over his head. The teen glanced up and saw the bullet embed itself into the brick of his dorm building. Then he heard another pop and felt a second bullet whiz past. Somebody was shooting at him!
"Holy—" he gasped, and made a run for the stairs of his building.
A third pop sounded and he felt something strike his backpack, sending him sprawling. Feeling his heart leap into his throat, he rolled until he was in the shrubbery. He had to get away, but how? He had no clue from which direction the bullets were coming!
"Ah man," he muttered. "This sucks!"
Why would anyone be shooting at him? He was just a kid, for heaven sakes!
"A kid with a big mouth," he muttered to himself, suddenly realizing the most likely reason for this bit of unwanted attention. He'd possibly identified a killer this afternoon by talking to the FBI and doing those sketches. This had to do with Dr. Freeman's murder, he was sure of it.
Wait a minute! Digging in his jean's pocket, he pulled out the card Agent Booth had given him earlier that day. Upon finding it, he let out a relieved audible breath and got out his cell phone. As he dialed the number, he prayed the man wasn't in bed yet.
"Booth…" a groggy voice spoke on the other end of the line.
"Agent Booth?" Lance asked in a loud whisper not daring to get any louder.
"Yeah, who's this?" Booth demanded, grouchily.
"It's Lance Sweets," Lance replied plaintively. "Please, Agent Booth, you gotta help me!"
"What's wrong?" Booth demanded, his voice immediately alert and there was a sound of a bed creaking as if he'd just sat up.
"Someone's trying to kill me!" Lance exclaimed, letting his fear and anxiety show in his voice. "Somebody just shot at me!"
"Where are you?" Booth asked his concern evident in his tone.
"Just outside my dorm building, in the bushes," Lance replied. "Please, Agent Booth, you gotta do something! I…I don't know what to do...I'm…uh…I'm s-scared," he was in fact very close to tears.
"All right, kid, just stay calm," Booth told him. "Stay where you are—and don't budge. I'll call for back up and I'm on my way."
Lance nodded, though upon reflection he couldn't think why since they were talking on the phone.
"Yeah, sure thing," he responded nervously. "Whatever you say."
"I'll be there in fifteen minutes," Booth promised him. "Don't do anything stupid."
With that, there was a click as the line was disconnected. Lance bit his lip.
Oh man, he thought, with a cringe as he heard footsteps pass by his hiding place, please hurry!
TBC…
