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5

Once Sweets pulled into the Jeffersonian staff parking lot, I booked it, running ahead to be able to change and get myself together before I had to take yet another plunge into Doctor Brennan's untouchable world. I found myself five minutes later, in the mud room, surrounded by field suits, hyperventilating as I tried to pry my boots off.
After one more shallow breath, I put away the equipment bag, and donned a pearl-grey lab technician coat. Unlike the more permanent staff, whose coats were a pretty royal blue, interns didn't have their names embroidered above the breast pocket in loopy lettering.
Buttoning it up, I dragged myself to the lab and slid my card a little nervously to allow myself onto the platform.
"Ms. Antoine," greeted Doctor Brennan, hanging up on whomever she had been talking to on the phone. "I would simply like to inform you that this is a very prestigious facility, so should you make any mistakes, you will be terminated."
Her crisp nature and brisk way of delving into sticky matters and coming up clean struck me as a little easier than dealing with anyone remotely human.
"Yes, Doctor Brennan," I assured her, breathing more easily.
"No, Doctor Brennan," interrupted Doctor Saroyan, also proceeding towards the platform. "give Ms. Antoine a chance, I'm sure she's easily as good as Mr. Bray. As for you, Ms. Antoine, I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt. Don't make my gut wrong about you."
Her reassurances, probably meant in some endearing way, shook me a little. She of such faith proceeded to put on latex gloves and begin her preliminary examinations of the body.
"Well," she began slowly, her pace slowed by the messiness of the cadaver. "I concur with your findings on the sex, Ms. Antoine, here's what's left of his testes."
She held up a mashed looking gland.
"Ewww," crowed Booth, hopping onto the platform like an oversized child. "his body was obliterated by the explosion but his junk is still intact? I'll have what he's having."
"Actually," remarked Doctor Saroyan. "I'd suggest against it. His toxicology screen came back like a Christmas list. Lots of hormones for his swimmers. He might've been impotent."
Booth cringed, his face going from bright to sour.
"Impotence might have created some need to compensate. Try looking to see if he got into any fights."
I avoided turning to face the man who also took to the stage.
"Heya, Sweets," greeted Booth.
"I found our guy," said Angela, pulling up a chair to one of the monitors.
A picture of a brown-haired man in a suit popped up on screen. Mid fifties, white. All the markers on the bones corresponded.
"Hal Guthrie, from Cincinnati, Ohio."
"He's a long way from home," commented Booth, bending curiously over the remains.
"Get this," said Angela, tapping some more. "it wasn't his wife that reported him missing. It was his escort."
"But," I suddenly said, confused.
"An escort is like a call-girl, a stripper, a hooker," interjected Sweets.
"I know what an escort is," I fumed. "how would the escort know he was missing? Maybe he chickened out, or maybe he just didn't show up?"
Angela shook her head.
"In any other scenario it would be discredited, but here," she said, gesturing to the body and the screen. "she said he was a regular. Almost every day."
This sank in.
"And he was married?" asked Cam incredulously.
"I suppose his partner could not satisfy him in the bedroom, which is common for monogamous couples. They realize too late after listening to the bible that they should have sex after marriage," said Doctor Brennan matter-of-factly.
Everyone sighed collectively, and began to do their respective jobs, filing away particulates and charting all the injuries on the mish-mash of human-meets-explosion.
"Ms. Antoine, I would like for the bones to be cleaned and for you to document the damage done separately by the bomb and then the murder weapon," said Doctor Brennan briskly, leaving the platform and then the lab entirely, Booth hot on her heels.
"Ms. Antoine," said Doctor Saroyan, interrupting my thoughts as I muddled over the facilities and the carnage on the exam table. "I will take the bones from you to be able to do a full examination, you try and assist Hodgins and or Angela."
"Yes, Doctor Saroyan."
I paused, looking around. Angela was sipping tea in her office as she waited for the images on her screen to render.
"Doctor?" I called after the woman carting the remains to the autopsy room. "who is Hodgins?"
"That," stated a voice from below. "would be me."
I looked down to see a curly-haired man in a wheelchair rolling towards an office near the autopsy room.
"Doctor, if you require any assistance"— I began, jogging after him.
"Well first, let's do a little show and tell. I'm Hodgins, and only Angie gets to call me Hodgie. Booth calls me Bug Boy, and so on."
He pulled into his office, which resembled something akin to a biodôme in the making, plants hanging from unlikely perches, tiny bugs clambering around in jars and terrariums, as well as crazy machines occasionally blipping and spitting results.
"Are you like, Yoda, or something?" I asked suddenly.
Hodgins grinned.
"No, but that is a very cool nuance! Is it cause I'm wise, and the teacher to you, a young padawan?"
"I was gonna say that you're short and you seem to live in a rain forest. Or another planet entirely. But sure, that works..." I trailed off, staring at everything around me.
"Anyway, tell me about you," he chuckled, busying himself with some samples from the crime scene.
"Well, I'm Papillon Antoine. My friends call me Pap, or Anty.."
"Interesting that you'd mention the friend thing to Hodgins and not me or Cam," cut in Sweets, entering.
I glared.
"Because Doctor Saroyan is my boss, and you, Doctor Sweets, are like some growth; a royal pain in my ass that I'd rather study than befriend."
Hodgins' mouth formed an 'o'.
"Oh, she got you, Sweets," he crowed, giggling.
Sweets, as always, was unamused.
"Very mature, Papillon," he goaded, but then I proceeded to ignore him.
"Is there a reason you're still here, Ass-Tumor-Boy?" snickered Hodgins, who I really wanted to high-five.
"Yes, actually, I came to speak to Papillon."
Hodgins blinked, unassuming.
"Alone."
"Dude, you're kicking me out of my office?!"
"C'mon," I sighed, tugging Sweets by the arm. "let's let the paraplegic be."
Once outside, I crossed my arms across my chest, waiting for him to speak.
"Well?"
"I was going through your file.."
"They have a file on me already?"
"Your psychologist's file on you."
My mouth grew dry, my nails finding their way to my already ravaged palms.
"What are you doing with that?" I breathed.
"Everyone has a background check when they work for the government," said Sweets.
"And why are you confronting me with it?"
My stomach had grabbed hold of my intestines and was now jumping rope with them.
"You have severe anxiety and chronic depression. The Jeffersonian board would like for me to clear you for work mentally, so there are no Zack Addy repeats."
Everyone who applied to work here had heard of Zack Addy. Genius, Doctor Brennan's favourite, and locked away in a ward for killing for a ritualistic cannibal-slash-serial killer. Yeah, I knew the bedtime story.
"You think I'm that high a risk?"
Sweets shrugged. "Doesn't hurt."
"So what exactly is your plan of action, Doctor Sweets? Sit me in a room with a cannibal and a plate of human, medium rare, and see if I turn?"
"No,"said Sweets, his intense gaze getting to me for the first time since this morning.
"What then?"
"Would you like to go out tonight?"