Lance followed at Dr. Brennan's quick pace. He sensed more than saw Agent Booth scramble to grab his things and turn off his office light to follow them.
Michael stood from the desk he'd been hovering at and started to follow Lance, but Agent Booth put a large hand on his shoulder and said something to him quietly. Michael nodded, and he waved half heartedly to Lance before going over to the elevator they had come in from.
Dr. Brennan lead Lance to a door he hadn't noticed before tucked in a corner. It opened to immediately put them in the parking garage. Lance spent a moment admiring the planning of the building before he was rushing after Dr. Brennan again.
Agent Booth walked behind them, but he seemed like he was walking at his leisure, as if Dr. Brennan's pace was something he was completely used to and had no problem keeping up with. He stared down at his phone as they walked. Lance felt too anxious to take a long look back to see if he was actually doing anything on it.
They arrived at Agent Booth's car and Dr. Brennan yanked open the passenger side door and got in. Lance hesitated for a moment before getting in to sit behind her.
It hit him suddenly, as Agent Booth was lifting himself into the driver's seat and starting the car, that he had started out today thinking it was a normal day. He had just wanted to drag himself through the day, go to chess club, and then go home to hide in his room until tomorrow. (Actually, he had no idea what time it was. It could be the next day by now and he wouldn't even know. He was starting to feel tired.) But here he was, shaking in the back seat of an FBI issued SUV, going to spend the night with a woman who seemed cold, and being taken there by a man who had no problem intimidating him to get what he wanted.
Lance hadn't decided how he felt about Dr. Brennan or Agent Booth yet. Agent Booth had been kind during the questioning process, but earlier in the day he had acted like he was willing to do anything to get the answers he wanted. He didn't give the impression that he actually cared about Lance, but Lance was used to that, but it made this entire ordeal ten times worse. And Dr. Brennan, who had barely spoken, was willing to take Lance into her home for the night, but she seemed entirely unattached.
Lance had imagined people finding out about the Johnsons many times, especially when he was still a little kid. He had cooked up a lot of scenarios. When he'd been especially young, he'd fantasized about his real parents coming back with perfectly legitimate reasons for leaving and punishing the Johnsons for how they had treated Lance. He'd also gone through a phase where no matter what he did, he always imagined somebody finding out and realizing that he was weird or wrong somehow, and hating him forever. Lately, he'd just made a lot of unrealistic plans for leaving with no warning and taking on the world by himself.
But he had never imagined anything as nerve wracking, awkward, and unpredictable as this.
Agent Booth cleared his throat as he pulled the car out of the parking garage. "There are agents on the way to your house right now," he told Lance. "If you want to go get some of your stuff, I can also go in with you."
Lance thought about it for a second. Part of him wanted to just go to Dr. Brennan's apartment and fall asleep as soon as possible (and, ideally, sleep for a couple days), but he had school tomorrow, and right now all he had was his phone and the clothes he wore.
He nodded jerkily. "Yeah. Um. that would be good."
Agent Booth turned on the stereo, and Lance could read the clock. 12:47 AM. He needed to wake up in 6 hours to get ready for school, assuming he was going to be able to find a way to get to school. Once he knew where Dr. Brennan lived, he could ask Michael to get him if it wasn't too far. If not, maybe he could get a bus. But then he would have to wake up earlier. He had the bus schedule memorized for the routes in his neighborhood, but he had no idea where Dr. Brennan lived or if it was going to be anywhere close to school.
He realized he'd been zoned out and letting himself overthink when they pulled into his driveway. It didn't feel like they'd been driving long enough to be there already.
Lance slowly put his hand on the door handle. He noticed another car like Agent Booth's parked in front of the house.
Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan both got out of the car, so Lance scrambled to follow suit. They walked ahead of him into the house.
Lance stepped slowly through the doorway. His foster parents were sitting on the couch while two agents he'd never seen before stood before them, both holding notebooks. Frank didn't even turn when Lance walked in, but Melissa made eye contact with him. Her face remained, for the most part, neutral, but the look in her eyes was one that Lance was familiar with, and he hurried down the hallway to get to his room.
He started to pull a couple sets of clothes from his closet and threw them on his bed. What else would he need? He couldn't think straight enough to even know what he used in his daily life. School stuff. He needed his school stuff. He started to look for his backpack, tripping over his own feet as he walked around the room.
Dr. Brennan walked through his doorway, followed by Agent Booth. "Do you have anything to put your stuff in?"
Lance realized suddenly that he didn't. He had never really traveled, so he hadn't needed anything. "I have my backpack," he answered, not looking at her, "somewhere…"
She turned to Agent Booth. "Go get one of the duffel bags I put evidence bags in," she commanded him. He disappeared quickly, ready to do as she asked.
Lance finally spotted his backpack. It was sitting on Dalia's bed. He realized suddenly that someone had been going through his stuff. He never put anything on the other side of the room, accustomed to sharing with kids who desperately needed their own space.
He dug through his backpack. Nothing was missing, and his wallet had been untouched. He wondered briefly what Frank or Melissa, whichever one had invaded his privacy, had been looking for, but he had long stopped trying to understand what they wanted from him.
"Everything okay?" Dr. Brennan asked from where she stood in the doorway.
"Yeah," Lance choked out. He started grabbing his textbooks from his desk and stuffing them into his backpack. "I think somebody was going through my stuff." He was mumbling. He tried to stop. "But nothing's gone, so it's fine."
She didn't respond. Instead, she walked over to where he had thrown his clothes onto his bed. She began folding them and sorting them into piles. When Agent Booth returned with a duffel bag bearing the FBI crest, she packed them for him.
When Lance had finished gathering his school things, he went to gathering his essentials. He slipped out of the room quietly to get his toothbrush and razor from the bathroom.
When he returned, Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan were talking quietly. "That was good, Bones," Agent Booth said. "It was nice of you. To have me get him a duffel bag."
Dr. Brennan shrugged. "I've been there. I figured he wouldn't have anything." She continued to search for good ways to make his stuff fit into the small duffel bag. She looked like she could barely focus enough to do that.
Lance realized suddenly how tired they both seemed, and it occurred to him that they had both had just as long a day as him. He felt a pang of guilt for dragging this out so late into the night. They both had to be at work in the morning just as he had to be at school. They had probably both still been at work when he called too. Lance decided to try to be less sensitive to everything they did; they were all having a strange night.
He handed his bathroom essentials to Dr. Brennan for her to put in the bag. He slung his backpack over his shoulder.
Questions and concerns about what was going to happen from here, but he just unclenched his jaw and sighed. "I'm ready."
.~.
Dr. Brennan's apartment was roomier than he had been expecting. She led him immediately to a guess room with a desk and a large bed. "Just make yourself comfortable," she said, stumbling over her words. Lance got the impression she didn't have foster kids stay with her very often. "Are you hungry?"
Oh god, yes, he was so hungry. It hadn't been overwhelming while he hadn't thought about it, but now that she asked, he was so hungry he was weak. "Uh, yeah, kind of." Lance set his backpack and the duffel bag down on the bed then turned back to face her.
"I'll see what Booth and I can cook up. I don't keep much food in the house, honestly." She started to walk away then stopped suddenly. "You allergic to anything?" Lance shook his head so she hurried off.
Lance pulled his psychology textbook out of his backpack. He was lucky that he hadn't had much homework tonight, but he did have a lot of assigned reading that he hadn't gotten around to yet for psychology. For any other class, he would have just blown it off and skimmed it right before the test, but he always found himself going the extra mile for Mr. Finley's class. He'd failed exactly one quiz in his class, and the disappointed look his teacher had given him had set a pit in Lance's stomach for several days.
He'd first encountered Mr. Finley as a freshman. Michael had student government during lunch on Fridays and Lance was left on his own, so he had decided to see if he could find a place for himself in the chess club. Mr. Finley had been thrilled to have someone who was actually good at chess and had spent a large amount of time working with Lance. Lance developed an embarrassing need to impress him. It was pathetic, really—but Lance couldn't help it. Mr. Finley was nice, and Lance really needed someone to be nice to him.
Lance had gotten through a few pages before he heard Agent Booth call his name. "Lance! Come get your fine cuisine!" the man boomed. Lance could hear a ceramic plate being set on a counter. He closed his book, but kept it with him, and walked cautiously into the kitchen. Both of the adults had taken off their work jackets, and Agent Booth had shed his tie. They looked ready to collapse into the next bed they saw. Just as Lance was thinking this, Agent Booth turned to his partner. "Why don't you go to bed, Bones? I think I'll stay on the couch tonight, so I can lock everything up."
She looked at him gratefully before turning to Lance. "I have extra toiletries in the bathroom connected to the guest room. If you need anything, Booth can probably find it for you." She gave him an exhausted smile before walked out of the room.
Agent Booth motioned to the plate on the breakfast bar. "Eat."
Lance pulled out a stool and sat down. A grilled cheese sandwich was set before him. He didn't think he'd ever seen anything so appetizing in his life. The sandwich was consumed embarrassingly fast, and neither of them spoke while Lance was eating.
As Lance was wiping crumbs of the sandwich off his face, he dared to look up at Agent Booth. The man was staring at his phone but noticed Lance looking at him. "You should get some sleep," he said. He locked his phone and set it down. "We need to get to the office around eight tomorrow, and you should probably come with us."
Lance looked back down quickly. "Um. Can I go to school? I have a test."
Agent Booth was silent for a moment, and then Lance thought he heard him chuckle softly. "I don't think that's a good idea, Lance," he said slowly. "It's probably better that you be with us, so I can keep an eye on you."
Lance felt his heart rate go up. What did they think he was going to do? Was he a suspect? Had they been lying to him? "I—I have a test," was all he could think to say. He wasn't sure if he'd even said it loud enough for Agent Booth to hear.
"If you're teacher doesn't let you make it up, I'll show up with my gun, okay?" Agent Booth responded. He grabbed Lance's plate and brought it over to the sink.
"I—" Lance choked on his voice.
Booth turned back to him. "Listen. Kid." He sighed and looked up to the ceiling for a second. "We can't arrest your foster parents yet. So. I just want to keep you with me, okay? Otherwise I'd worry about you all day."
Oh.
Booth took another large breath. "I wanted to wait to talk to you about this but… if there's anything that you can think of that could be…" He couldn't seem to meet Lance's eyes. "… proof of what you told me about how you were treated, you should tell me, okay?"
Lance immediately thought of the scars on his back and the bloody extension cord that sat conspicuously in the garage—unless it had been hidden. He swallowed and shook his head. "I don't know. I'm sorry."
Agent Booth nodded. "Go to bed. You look dead on your feet. 8 o' clock tomorrow, alright?"
Lance nodded and stood. "Goodnight."
Agent Booth was obviously trying not to look disappointed that Lance hadn't provided him with case making evidence. He nodded again. "Night."
Lance started to walk away, but he stopped when he reached the mouth of the hallway that would lead to the guest bedroom. "Agent Booth?"
"Yeah?" came the tired reply.
"Thank you."