A/N: Heyo, it's 2020 and I'm making dumb edits to a story I wrote a couple years ago LOL. I took out a few things I thought were stupid and wanted to scrap bc I'm thinking of adding more chapters to this. Quarantine vibes? Whatever, all I did was take a few plot points out, all the other bad writing from 2016 (?) stays just as it is, enjoy!
The few records Booth can find on Special Agent John Daley are not quite what he expects them to be.
The man's got two master's degrees in psychology and criminology, followed by extensive law enforcement training and a classified employment history – and he's only thirty years old. At least, that's what the records say. A few lines below that is his current assignment to a large section of cold cases that Booth doesn't recognize.
He's also a solo agent, apparently. Booth's not quite sure what to think about that.
Brennan stops him just before he slips into Hacker's office; her face is dark, puzzled – and to only the sharpest eyes, grieving.
"The only explanation that could possibly be applied," she says, not meeting his eyes, "is that Sweets had a twin brother he either knew nothing or said nothing about. And I'm inclined to believe the former; it's actually very common for siblings to be separated in the foster care system. That would account for the near-identical appearance as well as the slight differences: his hair, his entire disposition. It's the only thing that makes sense."
He looks at her and he nods, because no matter which way they spin it, the situation is terrible. Unsettling, because they've got a new agent who apparently, unknowingly lost his brother years ago, and a whole mess of superiors who never said a word about it.
Booth says as much upon entering his superior's office, though not quite as confidently as he'd hoped. Instead of standing up straight and demanding answers like he imagined in his mind's eye, he's walking up to Hacker's desk, paying Daley no mind, and leaning in close to his boss.
He speaks quietly, firmly.
"Look, before you start telling me why this case is being taken from me, I want you to start with why this agent was hired here and why I was never told about it."
"Agent Booth?" God, Hacker looks so damn confused. Why should he? "What do you mean?"
His voice a mix of stuttering incredulity and honest surprise, Booth echoes: "What do I mean? I mean you hired an agent who is the exact image of Dr. Lance Sweets. Remember him? Died in the line four years ago? Bones is convinced they're twins. You never noticed that they look exactly the same?"
Agent Daley, standing idle behind one of the office chairs, is looking at him strangely, with a detached sort of interest. Hacker just looks more confused and, perhaps, slightly concerned.
"Booth," he starts carefully. "I know losing Dr. Sweets was a significant loss for both your team and you, personally. You have to understand that it would not have been my place or the FBI's to get involved in a purely personal matter, even if I had noticed a resemblance."
Booth takes one disbelieving look at the agent to his right.
"Even if you…? You've got to be kidding," Booth says, and then turns right to Daley. His voice dangerous, and now with the confidence he originally lacked, he orders: "Take off your shirt."
"Excuse me?" Daley says, a mix of shock and complete confusion on his face. Also hidden somewhere between his chin and his hairline is just a strange, curious spark of intrigue.
A dying notion of hope, his last ditch prayer. Even as he says it, he knows the implication is wrong. "You heard me. Take off your –"
"Agent Booth!" Hacker interrupts quickly, angrily. "That's nonsense. I understand the situation may be difficult. But on the off-chance that Dr. Sweets' death is affecting your work four years after the fact, the only option I'll have is to send you straight to another psychologist for review. And based on past experience – I know that's not preferable."
He finishes, and in the stretch of silence that follows, there's only one thought in Booth's mind: Something's not right. He says as much, hopefully without warranting the loss of his gun.
His eyes are cast down at the corner of the desk, away from Hacker and away from Daley, and his voice is quiet as he says it: "Fine. But this doesn't feel right."
Hacker offers only a muted sigh at that.
"Well, regardless of how it feels," he says, "You were called in to discuss the reassignment of the current case. Although you've protested it, the fact of it is that Agent Daley is more suited to a case of this nature."
A pause.
"And what nature is that, sir?"
Hacker looks up from a file, over the edges of his reading glasses and continues, answering in passing, "Extraordinary circumstance and events that can't seem to be reasonably explained. The details of the case require his involvement, and there's even a file in his possession about a similar case. However, Agent Daley –"
The man tilts his chin up in acknowledgment as Hacker continues, "Since you've been working alone up until this point, I think having you and Agent Booth work together on this case is both a reasonable and an efficient compromise. Are you willing to do that?"
And Daley takes a long look at the older agent, surveys his posture, his disposition, his everything. His answer is a small, conceding sigh.
"Fine. Provided he cooperates."
A nod. "And you, Agent Booth?"
Booth turns his head to meet the other agent's eyes – and finds them the same shade of brown he had been so used to seeing years ago. The small voice in the back of his head, the sinking feeling in his gut, they won't leave him alone. And he can see no better solution.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'll work with him."
"So this Sweets guy," Daley starts once they reach Booth's office. The walk there was swift, their pace perfectly matched; and for those two minutes, it was as if it was 2014 again. Well – the first part of it, anyway. "You think he's my brother? That why your team all but had a stroke when they saw me?"
Leaning up against the edge of his desk, Booth nods.
"I think you're twins. You do look exactly the same."
Daley looks skeptical. "And yet Hacker didn't bat an eyelash."
"Hacker's out of his mind if he doesn't see it. Maybe he doesn't want to. Here."
Booth fishes his phone out of his pocket and, after a moment, holds up a digital picture of Lance Sweets, leaning against a kitchen table in the same way Booth was leaning against his desk, holding a baby girl with his right arm. There's a woman just next to him, and they're both flashing wide smiles at the camera. Daley just looks on with muted fascination.
"That's Sweets and his girlfriend. He's holding my daughter."
And Daley just nods. "He kinda looks like me. I guess I can see it."
"You guess," Booth practically scoffs, shoving his phone back in his pocket. "Yeah, sure. I don't know how you slipped under the radar… all this time, apparently. I'll be looking into that."
Another nod.
"Feel free to make that your priority, Agent Booth," Daley says. "Honestly, as far as our case goes – I deal with cases like these all the time. I know what to look for and what questions to ask. Feel free to help, but I can honestly take it from here."
Seeley Booth – in true form – will have none of that.
"Is that what you consider working together on a case? Nope. I'm with you on this, whether you like it or not. And what do you mean, cases like these? What's your exact assignment anyway?"
The younger agent sighs with sudden irritation and runs a hand through his hair.
"Fine," he says, and he takes a breath. "Have you ever heard of the X-files, Agent Booth?"
"Oh. Yeah, I've heard of them. So you're one of those nuts? A UFO chaser or whatever?"
"I resent that," Daley just deadpans, crossing over to the desk and starting to fiddle with a bobble-head on the edge. Almost immediately, Booth grabs it from his hands. "Regardless of the paranormal evidence that pops up – and it's all substantial – I've got one of the highest success rates in all those cold cases. And you'd be surprised by the things I've seen."
Booth lets out a quick, vaguely condescending laugh. "Let me guess: you've been abducted by aliens, haven't you?"
Rolling his eyes, he turns away and starts making his way towards the door. "Oh, you have no idea what's out there, Booth. But who knows – maybe once this case is finished, you'll be thinking like me in no time."
He starts out the door, but turns his head in the last second.
"The physical evidence should be arriving at the Jeffersonian lab soon. I'll meet you there in an hour."
And he's out of the room before Booth can even answer.
