A/N : Wow! I think the sheer number of hits/reviews/PMs I've gotten about this story just go to show how let down MOST people seem to be after the finale. I know that Zack is probably gone from the show (like Goodman iss, sniffle) but I obviously wasn't the only one affected. It's nice to know I'm not the only random looney toon who can't let this whole thing go. LOL thanks for validating my madness, peeps. And enjoy the story!

p.s. Thanks to redrider and soulsurvivor who've beta'd and brainstormed and listened to my incessant whining about all things illogical. Smooches to y'all. Mwah!

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Blessed with an incalculably high IQ, Zack was now reduced to a ox of primary colored markers. He couldn't be trusted with a sharpened pencil or even a ballpoint pen because a crazy man like himself could turn those into skewers for unsuspecting eyeballs. He supposed he should be grateful he'd gotten fine tipped markers rather than the broad-tipped toddler version he'd bought for his youngest nieces and nephews at Christmas.

He had found out, over the course of his first full day institutionalized, how many freedoms he had taken for granted. He had to be restrained and accompanied during the times that he was outside of his room. Of course, he'd only been allowed out to go to the bathroom twice and then again when he'd showered. A staff member had watched him like a hawk each time. At random intervals, an orderly would knock on the window at the top of his door and peer in like he expected to find Zack digging a hole in the ground with his plastic spoon. When he'd asked about getting a notebook and something to write with, he'd been viewed with utmost suspicion before it was conceded that he could have a package of loose-leaf paper and felt tip markers.

Now, he used his teeth to open the package of hard-won markers. He was still a bit wary of probing into his mind, but he knew he needed to. He remembered the burning plasma diagnostics seminar. He could start there. He selected a marker to make a timeline, but he found that he couldn't hold it properly. Frustrated, he tried to write with the marker in his clumsy grip but it kept slipping from his stiff, nerve damaged fingers. Thinking back, he remembered the surgeon explaining to him the exercises he would have to do daily to have the dexterity to hold small objects like a pen or the thin pages of a newspaper or to button a shirt or tie his shoes. He had neglected to do the physical therapy, deciding that by depriving himself of his dexterity he was getting what he deserved. It had seemed rational at the time—depriving himself as punishment for his actions. Now, he viewed it as a horrible decision.

Standing up from the desk, he carefully flexed his fingers. His tendons and joints ached at the movements, his skin stretched and burned, but he persevered. He needed his hands to work as well as they could. He walked over to his bed, sat down Indian style in the middle of it and, despite the pain, continued the exercises until his lights were turned out from the hallway.

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He was onto something. He could sense it. Hodgins bolted from the house, evidence tucked into a backpack, and drove to the Jeffersonian at well above the posted speed limits. He just had to analyze whatever it was that he'd found at Zack's place. Swiping his clearance card and barreling up the forensics platform and over to his station, he jumped and almost dropped the backpack as someone cleared their throat behind him.

"Dr. Hodgins, what are you doing here at this hour?" Dr. Saroyan had her hands on her hips and looked almost as startled as he felt. He knew that he had been suspected of being Gormogon. He wasn't offended. He was the conspiracy theorist. Not Zack. Actually, it would have almost made sense had it been him. He put the backpack down on his workstation and tried to look nonchalant.

"I meant to print the readouts from the mass spectrometer earlier today. I'm, uh, having kinda a hard time focusing lately," he smiled weakly.

"Aren't we all?" Cam said grimly. "Ok. I was just leaving. I had to stay late to get some paperwork done. If you would, though, could you NOT run across the platform like a lunatic?" She tried to smile at him, but there wasn't much spontaneous cheer floating around the Jeffersonian.

"Sorry about that. I want to get home to Ange. You know, she's been a little jumpy since… Well, everything."

Cam nodded and with a tight-lipped smile, she left. He listened to her heels clacking down the hallway then he grabbed a pipette from his tray of many. He removed a sample of the liquid from the bottle without taking it out of his bag. Not that anyone would blame the workers in this department if they wanted to start drinking on the job. Maybe then everyone would be less on edge. Making a slide out of the faux hooch and then one out of the contents of a capsule, he ran his tests.

Not wanting to waste time, he grabbed the printouts as they were exiting the machine. "Flunitrazepam, gamma-Hydroxybutyric acid…" He glossed over the other names, but his mind was reeling. Both of those drugs were considered hypnotic, amnestic drugs. Illegal in the U.S., they were commonly used as date rape drugs or "liquid heroine." Such drugs had a mind-altering effect—someone affected can function and not remember it. Essentially, they worked as a powerful sedative. Recreationally, they were used to bring down a serious high, like that from cocaine. Regardless, both were illegal in the U.S. The print out from the pills rattled into the tray and Hodgins grabbed it quickly.

"Steroids? Dude… What kinda crap had you gotten yourself into?" he whispered, disbelievingly. The other compounds listed on the printouts were less familiar to him. Judging by their chemical compositions, they all seemed designed for a massive neurological effect. He would have to do some research, but it seemed that maybe he hadn't known Zack at all.