YOU ALL SUCK (in various good ways)
I HATE YOU FOR MAKING ME DO THIS IT IS SO HORRIBLE AND IT HURT MY BRAIN AND IT'S NOT EVEN SLASH AND I JUST MIGHT CRY PLUS IT'S POINTLESS AND I JUST WANTED BOOTH TO SLOUCH IN A SEAT AND PRESS HIS FINGERS TO HIS FOREHEAD AND BE EXASPERATED ONLY WITH A STETSON ON AND WITH TUMBLEWEEDS - CAN YOU IMAGINE THE TUMBLEWEEDS TUMBLING BY OUTSIDE - AND I DON'T HAVE ANY OF THEIR VOICES YET SO YOU'LL JUST HAVE TO BARE WITH ME AND TRY NOT TO BUCKLE UNDER THE ENORMOUS HORRIDNESS OF THIS AND REMEMBER IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!!
YES I'M YELLING I LIKE TO YELL
(i think i'm on drugs)
[A/N: ZACH IS IN JAIL CAN YOU FEEL HIS PAIN I CAN]
Booth leant back in his chair, one hand draped casually over the holster at his hip, the other arm stretching along the edge of Sheriff Goodman’s desk. Hat tipped back, he watched the kid’s expressionless face, pale with dark, solemn eyes.
He was gangly, messy-haired and thin-boned; small wrists spreading into wide palms, long fingers curled loosely around the cell bars. Couldn’t have been more than twenty, Booth surmised, if that.
“See,” Booth said, and the kid flinched slightly at the sudden break of quiet. The marshal grinned and crossed one booted foot over the other. “See,” he started again, “this is where you might want to spill your guts, Addy.”
“Why?” Addy asked, and Booth was impressed by the kid’s composure. He was nervous. That was obvious from his dry swallows and the red flush ringing his throat. But he held the marshal’s gaze and, apart from the one marked flinch, didn’t move from his spot by the front of the jail cell.
“Seems to me,” he drawled lazily, “a boy who’s botched the last three jobs he’s pulled so bad he’s led the marshal right to his door, doesn’t have much worth to a… partner. ‘Cept the dollars listed on his wanted papers, maybe.” He shrugged, and the boy followed his movement, fingers tightening almost knuckle-white around the bars. Booth took that as a good sign and pushed on. “So we could make a deal, you and me, and maybe your mama won’t see you hanged.”
[A/N: OH MY GOD ANGEL IS DRAWLING LIKE HE'S IN THE WEST AND LIKE IT COULD BE OLD TIMEY TIME]
Addy’s voice, when he visibly worked up enough spit to spell out a full sentence, was just above a hush. “Do you got a family, Marshal?”
Booth blinked. “Some.”
“I got more than some.” He licked his lips, gaze dipping to the dirt floor, brown hair flopping forward over his brow, shading his eyes. “They drive me crazy. Hate what I do, hate Jack.”
“Understandable,” Booth said amiably.
[A/N: DUDES DO YOU LIKE HOW I SLIPPED IN THE STUFF ABOUT FAMILY BECAUSE ZACH LOVES HIS I AM SO COOL]
“Who turned me in?”
There was a resigned resonance to his tone that made Booth smile. And it probably would’ve done more to break the kid if he lied right then, but he just shook his head. “Like I said, Addy, you turned yourself in. Made more tracks than a herd of buffalo from Carson City.”
[A/N: HE COULD HAVE LIED BUT HE DIDN'T BECAUSE HE'S BOOTH AND HE UPHOLDS THE TRUTH WHEN HE'S DEALING WITH INEPT GEEKY SQUINTS BECAUSE THEY ARE NOT AT ALL CREEPY AND DO NOT DESERVE TO BE LIED TO]
“Couldn’t have been that bad,” Addy puzzled slowly. “Jack would’ve said. He ain’t one to pull punches.”
“I’ve got you here, don’t I? Now,” Booth dropped his boot back onto the floor, straightening with a flare of impatience, “you ready to talk sense?”
Addy’s eyes crinkled at the edges in question. “Thought we were.”
“You ready to deal?” Booth clarified.
“Deal what?”
“The law’ll be a lot easier on you, Addy, if you just point us in the right direction.” Jack Hodgins had been on the lam for years, and was worth more than any half-grown kid with a few petty robberies under his belt.
“Excuse me?” a tight voice said, sunlight spilling into the dim-dark office as the door was pushed open. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”
[A/N: EVERYBODY WAVE HELLO TO BONES]
Booth gained his feet slowly, tipping his hat in acknowledgement. “My job, ma’am.”
“Howdy, Miz Brennan.”
“Zach. What are you--?” The woman, slim and thin-lipped with a severe bun knotted at the base of her skull, stepped further into the building, darting her gaze from Zach and settling indignantly on Booth. “Why is Zachary in that cell?”
She moved to snatch the cell keys off the table, but Booth stayed her hand. “Your pardon, ma’am, but Mr. Addy’s wanted on three charges of armed robbery.”
“That’s preposterous.”
Booth nodded earnestly. “I assure you it’s true.”
She eyed him critically. “Do you have any proof?”
[A/N: PROOOOOOF!]
“Proof enough,” Booth drawled, slipping a battered wanted notice out of his coat pocket and handing it over to her.
One eyebrow arched skeptically, she smoothed out the paper with gloved fingers and tilted it towards the half ajar door. “There’s no name,” she said finally.
“No, but the picture’s his.”
Both eyebrows arched as she glanced up at him again. “I could easily say it isn’t.”
“You could,” Booth conceded, “though it won’t hold much water. He’s all but confessed.”
Moving towards Addy, wanted notice crumpled in her fist, she asked, “Have you, Zachary?”
His eyes went wide and he spared a quick-silver, unreadable glance for Booth before giving his head a minute shake.
Miss Brennan spun around and snapped her fingers. “Keys, please.”
“I’m afraid I still can’t release him, ma’am.”
“Why not? How can you possibly keep him locked up when you know he isn’t the man in this,” she shook her fist, “paper?”
“He’s talked of a Jack-”
“A common enough name,” she cut in abruptly, stance rigid and slightly daring.
Booth narrowed his eyes, then went on, “And his family’s disapproval about what he’s done-”
“Hardly rare nowadays,” she pointed out, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Not to mention the fact that not once has he disputed my accusations.” There. Argue that, lady.
Miss Brennan’s expression didn’t change, but she cocked her head to the side. “And who is going to back up your claims, sir?”
“Look, ma’am-”
“The entire town will be clamoring for his release by nightfall, Mr…?”
“Booth.” He fought the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, an ache forming behind his eyes. “US Marshal Seeley Booth.”
“Mr. Booth. Do you want me to gather a mob, or would you like to rethink your stance on Zachary here?”
“I’ve got a large family,” Addy offered, and Booth gave in, pressing two fingers just above his right eye to stave off a twitch.
“You said,” he muttered.
[A/N: HERE SHOULD BE A WHOLE LOT OF ZACH BANTER WHICH I HAVE NOT PERFECTED YET HE IS ALWAYS MAKING ODD FUNNY COMMENTS BUT I HAVEN'T GOT HIS VOICE YET SO WE ARE SKIPPING TO BOOTH LETTING HIM GO]
Effectively defeated for the moment, he dropped back into his chair, watching with a bland eye as Miss Brennan unlocked the cell and ushered Addy out into the open. “I’ll be sticking around a while, Addy,” he advised the kid before he disappeared out the door.
If his sources could be believed, and they’d so far proved fairly reliable, Hodgins seemed to have quite an odd attachment to his young friend, despite the kid’s ineptness, and was bound to show up for him sooner or later. One or both of the outlaws would surely misstep - again.
Booth was planning on being right there to tidy up the mess.
[A/N: IN CONCLUSION: ZACH+JACK BFF!!!]
(kill me now)
YES I'M YELLING I LIKE TO YELL
(i think i'm on drugs)
[A/N: ZACH IS IN JAIL CAN YOU FEEL HIS PAIN I CAN]
Booth leant back in his chair, one hand draped casually over the holster at his hip, the other arm stretching along the edge of Sheriff Goodman’s desk. Hat tipped back, he watched the kid’s expressionless face, pale with dark, solemn eyes.
He was gangly, messy-haired and thin-boned; small wrists spreading into wide palms, long fingers curled loosely around the cell bars. Couldn’t have been more than twenty, Booth surmised, if that.
“See,” Booth said, and the kid flinched slightly at the sudden break of quiet. The marshal grinned and crossed one booted foot over the other. “See,” he started again, “this is where you might want to spill your guts, Addy.”
“Why?” Addy asked, and Booth was impressed by the kid’s composure. He was nervous. That was obvious from his dry swallows and the red flush ringing his throat. But he held the marshal’s gaze and, apart from the one marked flinch, didn’t move from his spot by the front of the jail cell.
“Seems to me,” he drawled lazily, “a boy who’s botched the last three jobs he’s pulled so bad he’s led the marshal right to his door, doesn’t have much worth to a… partner. ‘Cept the dollars listed on his wanted papers, maybe.” He shrugged, and the boy followed his movement, fingers tightening almost knuckle-white around the bars. Booth took that as a good sign and pushed on. “So we could make a deal, you and me, and maybe your mama won’t see you hanged.”
[A/N: OH MY GOD ANGEL IS DRAWLING LIKE HE'S IN THE WEST AND LIKE IT COULD BE OLD TIMEY TIME]
Addy’s voice, when he visibly worked up enough spit to spell out a full sentence, was just above a hush. “Do you got a family, Marshal?”
Booth blinked. “Some.”
“I got more than some.” He licked his lips, gaze dipping to the dirt floor, brown hair flopping forward over his brow, shading his eyes. “They drive me crazy. Hate what I do, hate Jack.”
“Understandable,” Booth said amiably.
[A/N: DUDES DO YOU LIKE HOW I SLIPPED IN THE STUFF ABOUT FAMILY BECAUSE ZACH LOVES HIS I AM SO COOL]
“Who turned me in?”
There was a resigned resonance to his tone that made Booth smile. And it probably would’ve done more to break the kid if he lied right then, but he just shook his head. “Like I said, Addy, you turned yourself in. Made more tracks than a herd of buffalo from Carson City.”
[A/N: HE COULD HAVE LIED BUT HE DIDN'T BECAUSE HE'S BOOTH AND HE UPHOLDS THE TRUTH WHEN HE'S DEALING WITH INEPT GEEKY SQUINTS BECAUSE THEY ARE NOT AT ALL CREEPY AND DO NOT DESERVE TO BE LIED TO]
“Couldn’t have been that bad,” Addy puzzled slowly. “Jack would’ve said. He ain’t one to pull punches.”
“I’ve got you here, don’t I? Now,” Booth dropped his boot back onto the floor, straightening with a flare of impatience, “you ready to talk sense?”
Addy’s eyes crinkled at the edges in question. “Thought we were.”
“You ready to deal?” Booth clarified.
“Deal what?”
“The law’ll be a lot easier on you, Addy, if you just point us in the right direction.” Jack Hodgins had been on the lam for years, and was worth more than any half-grown kid with a few petty robberies under his belt.
“Excuse me?” a tight voice said, sunlight spilling into the dim-dark office as the door was pushed open. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”
[A/N: EVERYBODY WAVE HELLO TO BONES]
Booth gained his feet slowly, tipping his hat in acknowledgement. “My job, ma’am.”
“Howdy, Miz Brennan.”
“Zach. What are you--?” The woman, slim and thin-lipped with a severe bun knotted at the base of her skull, stepped further into the building, darting her gaze from Zach and settling indignantly on Booth. “Why is Zachary in that cell?”
She moved to snatch the cell keys off the table, but Booth stayed her hand. “Your pardon, ma’am, but Mr. Addy’s wanted on three charges of armed robbery.”
“That’s preposterous.”
Booth nodded earnestly. “I assure you it’s true.”
She eyed him critically. “Do you have any proof?”
[A/N: PROOOOOOF!]
“Proof enough,” Booth drawled, slipping a battered wanted notice out of his coat pocket and handing it over to her.
One eyebrow arched skeptically, she smoothed out the paper with gloved fingers and tilted it towards the half ajar door. “There’s no name,” she said finally.
“No, but the picture’s his.”
Both eyebrows arched as she glanced up at him again. “I could easily say it isn’t.”
“You could,” Booth conceded, “though it won’t hold much water. He’s all but confessed.”
Moving towards Addy, wanted notice crumpled in her fist, she asked, “Have you, Zachary?”
His eyes went wide and he spared a quick-silver, unreadable glance for Booth before giving his head a minute shake.
Miss Brennan spun around and snapped her fingers. “Keys, please.”
“I’m afraid I still can’t release him, ma’am.”
“Why not? How can you possibly keep him locked up when you know he isn’t the man in this,” she shook her fist, “paper?”
“He’s talked of a Jack-”
“A common enough name,” she cut in abruptly, stance rigid and slightly daring.
Booth narrowed his eyes, then went on, “And his family’s disapproval about what he’s done-”
“Hardly rare nowadays,” she pointed out, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Not to mention the fact that not once has he disputed my accusations.” There. Argue that, lady.
Miss Brennan’s expression didn’t change, but she cocked her head to the side. “And who is going to back up your claims, sir?”
“Look, ma’am-”
“The entire town will be clamoring for his release by nightfall, Mr…?”
“Booth.” He fought the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, an ache forming behind his eyes. “US Marshal Seeley Booth.”
“Mr. Booth. Do you want me to gather a mob, or would you like to rethink your stance on Zachary here?”
“I’ve got a large family,” Addy offered, and Booth gave in, pressing two fingers just above his right eye to stave off a twitch.
“You said,” he muttered.
[A/N: HERE SHOULD BE A WHOLE LOT OF ZACH BANTER WHICH I HAVE NOT PERFECTED YET HE IS ALWAYS MAKING ODD FUNNY COMMENTS BUT I HAVEN'T GOT HIS VOICE YET SO WE ARE SKIPPING TO BOOTH LETTING HIM GO]
Effectively defeated for the moment, he dropped back into his chair, watching with a bland eye as Miss Brennan unlocked the cell and ushered Addy out into the open. “I’ll be sticking around a while, Addy,” he advised the kid before he disappeared out the door.
If his sources could be believed, and they’d so far proved fairly reliable, Hodgins seemed to have quite an odd attachment to his young friend, despite the kid’s ineptness, and was bound to show up for him sooner or later. One or both of the outlaws would surely misstep - again.
Booth was planning on being right there to tidy up the mess.
[A/N: IN CONCLUSION: ZACH+JACK BFF!!!]
(kill me now)