Shrink

11

I'd come to the conclusion that most of the gruelling work in the lab was dumped on the underpaid interns like myself. This seemed to be a test to weed out those who lacked the wherewithal to keep on in the bullpen. I was destined to fail.
Every tiny shard of bone began to look the same after an hour of piecing together the segments that, united, formed the crest of the nasal bridge.
After another two hours, the eye sockets took shape with the help of glue and resisting the urge to scream. The unnerving nightmare I'd had flirted with my thoughts, and I swallowed as my hands shook with the caffeine and fear that coursed my veins. My fingers, sweaty and trembling, fussed with the wrong pieces, and soon, I couldn't bear to be there anymore.
Shakily, I completed the piecemeal that became the temporal lobe. The glue was beginning to get tacky on my gloves, so I opted to get a new pair, swivelling to reach for the box of disposables, when my 180 sent me straight into a chest.
"Oh! S-sorry, I didn't s-see y-you there, I"—
Of course, my caffeine and stress-induced stutter had blossomed in this incubated, human-contactless state.
And of course, I berated myself, I'd shown immense weakness in front of none other than Sweets.
Not that I'd been avoiding him, but I specifically went home for lunch every day, or I worked clear through meals or breaks to diminish any chances of seeing him.
The intimate evening we'd shared, bolstered by the nightmare, a repeat of several others over the past few days, had unnerved me greatly.
"Hello, Papillon," he said, seeming unfazed by our collision, or by the fact that my gluey gloves still remained on his chest where my hands had made contact.
I was literally and utterly trapped.
"H-hello, Mr Sweets," I breathed, way too close for my own comfort. "s-sorry about your s-suit."
He shrugged, and took my wrists and helped me to extricate myself, although the gloves remained defeatedly dangling from his chest.
I couldn't help but laugh, clasping a hand over my smile.
Sweets pulled at the ends of them, but they remained stuck, no matter how hard he tugged.
His amusement was evident.
"I'd ask Hodgins to get this off, but I'm afraid he might also burn off the rest of my skin as well," he said, shrugging boyishly.
The gloves didn't diminish his looks by any means, but comical as the sight was, the grown man plus two latex gloves stuck to his chest made him appear more youthful and relaxed.
"Here," I offered, gently pushing away his hands, and attempting to pry off the adhered latexes.
I fussed for a few more minutes before giving up, and sighing defeatedly.
"Tell me, before I interrupted, what were you working on?" he asked, and the intensity of his undivided attention made me struggle to find words.
I kind of wished he'd go to Hodgins to get the gloves removed.
"Well," I began slowly. "the remains of this guy were found in a... a trash compactor. And so the subsequent compression of the bones made it impossible to identify the body. I have to reconstruct the skull to give them a face to go off of."
Sweets nodded, and took a rolling chair opposite of me.
"What can you deduce so far?"
I hesitated. It was too early, technically, but from what I could tell...
"He seems to be of European descent, early thirties is my best guess," I huffed, holding up the partial skull.
Sweets nodded.
"Papillon," he began carefully. He glanced around as he said this.
"Yes?" I asked, immersing myself in my observation of the skull so he could take the hint and vamoose.
Actually, there was something interesting about the guy's right orbital. It was speckled with minute cuts and glass filaments along the ridge.
"So I've come to realize since the other night, you've been avoiding me, and not that I don't understand your lack of comfort in situations like that, but"—
"He had a glass eye!" I exclaimed triumphantly.
However, this startled Sweets, and quite accidentally, his arm clipped the bottle of glue that still lay open on the table, and it spilled all over my front and lap, pooling on my sneakers.
"Oh."
Sweets became near-frantic, berating himself, and got onto his hands and knees to pick up the cap and stopper the flow.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry, Papillon, it was so stupid of me, I should be ready for these things," he said all at once as he assessed the mess on my front.
"It's okay Sweets," I assured him.
It was almost amazing for it to be someone else's turn to screw up.
"I just have to change.." I sighed at the prospect of going home by bus, gluey, and having to postpone the loads of work that awaited me.
"No, wait here," said Sweets, dashing off with the gloves still stuck to his chest, flapping like kites.
I waited patiently, feeling the glue solidifying on my socks, pants and shirt. This obviously wasn't my first rodeo, and I was just happy it hadn't gotten onto my thankfully unbuttoned lab coat.
Ten minutes later, Sweets returned hauling an armful of things, and had my follow him to the mud room.
He sat beside me and began to unfold the things in his lap.
"Okay, so here, take the shirt," he said, handing me a grey men's tee shirt that had a faded picture of the Starship Enterprise on it. "and some pants. They might be big."
He gave me a pair of black sweats that I was clearly too small for.
Along with that, he brandished a pair of fresh socks.
"Are these your clothes?" I asked as he was about to leave so I could change.
He turned, and a lopsided grin creeped up his face as he sheepishly explained that, since the lab had been quarantined before, he preferred to have his own clothes to wear rather than the government assigned cottons they usually handed out.
"Thanks," I said genuinely, a little shy.
He nodded sharply, and left to change out of his soiled shirt.
Kicking off my salvaged shoes, I peeled off my socks and disposed of them and my sticky pants. I pulled up the overlarge sweatpants, and tugged at the drawstrings and tied them so they wouldn't slide down. I also rolled the bottoms so I wouldn't trip, or at least, limiting my chances. I pulled on the socks, and had just pulled the fresh tee shirt over my head when Sweets knocked on the door.
"Come in," I said, pulling my hair out of the shirt.
Sweets had also changed into a new shirt, this one a simple black cotton.
He seemed a little out of sorts as he watched me slide into my sneakers and into my lab coat.
"Do I look okay?" I asked, pulling my long hair up into a pony that tickled my neck.
His eyes softened a bit as I pulled at the waistband of the sweatpants and rolled the big socks at my ankles.
"You look fine," said Sweets. "how do I look?"
I looked him over, and I noticed for the first time that he was biting the inside of his cheek.
"Great," I said.
He nodded.
"For a shrink."
I smiled wickedly as he rolled his eyes, ushering me back out of the room full of field gear.