Work Text:
The bus was warm, but the stuffy radiator produced warmth that was superficial. It warmed his skin but not his bones. For a few seconds, rain poured down, a flash rain storm. But as the bus sped along, the rain stopped.
Vincent was on his way to the Jeffersonian, he still couldn’t get over driving on the opposite side of the road and had consistently failed the tests he took in America. So he took the bus.
He got to the lab with a few minutes to spare and grabbed his lab coat, pulling it on and then swiping to get onto the platform. “Mr Nigel-Murray?” Dr Brennan said, turning to him with an odd expression on her face.
“Yes Dr Brennan?” He brushed his damp hair out of his face.
“It is not your turn to work in the lab. Mr Bray should be here momentarily.” She said in her academic tone.
“Oh, I thought it was Wednesday.”
“It is Tuesday Mr Nigel-Murray, not Wednesday.”
“I see that. I guess I should just go home then.”
“Two pairs of hands are better than one, as Booth would say. You might as well stay and help out. You would be compensated for extra time of course.”
“Right then, what should I do?”
“Prepare the platform, I’m waiting for Booth to drive me to the crime scene now.”
“Yes ma’am.” Vincent saluted and then began to prep for the corpse the doctor and her G-man would bring back.
Wendell appeared in the lab exactly on time, as he usually did. “Hey Vincent, wait… why are you here?” Vincent noticed how tired Wendell looked; dark shadows under his eyes, moving slower than usual, hunched a little.
“It was a mistake but Dr Brennan said I could work overtime.”
“Oh, okay.” Wendell shuffled over to the silver table in the middle of the platform and helped Vincent finish prepping the equipment.
Dr Brennan appeared from her office and turned to the men. “Mr Bray, Mr Nigel-Murray, I will need you both to assist me at the crime scene. Apparently there are more remains than we had first thought.” Both men followed the doctor out of the Jeffersonian and to where Booth was waiting in the car. “Neither of you have a driving license, am I correct?” She said when they reached the SUV.
“Uh, yes you are correct.” Vincent said.
“Yes.” Wendell nodded his head.
“Neither of you can drive the forensic vans and so you’ll both have to come with Booth and I.” Dr Brennan climbed into the SUV. Wendell and Vincent turned to look at each other.
“We haven’t got all day.” Booth said loudly from inside the car. Both men hurried to get into the back. Booth began to drive.
“Automotive writers and journalists have offered various opinions about what was the ‘first true SUV’. A vehicle often considered is the 1946 Willys Jeep Station Wagon.” Vincent said when a lull of silence fell over the vehicle.
“Mr Nigel-Murray we have discussed your over-use of trivial facts. It is only suitable to the situation when the facts are relevant. That was not relevant.”
“I’m sorry Dr Brennan.”
It was a slow and quiet drive to the crime scene, a National Park that was swarming with federal agents in windbreakers. “There are fifteen bodies that agents have found buried so far, so we might be here a while.” Booth stopped the car and everyone got out.
A man met Booth as he headed for the crime scene tape. “We’ve divided the area up into sixteen segments. Found eighteen bodies so far.”
“Mr Nigel-Murray, Mr Bray start with the North-Eastern quadrant. I’ll begin in the South-Western quadrant. It’s just a preliminary evaluation and then let someone know the body can be transported back to the Jeffersonian.”
Dr Brennan and Agent Booth split off and headed in the opposite direction of the interns. “Are you feeling alright?” Vincent asked Wendell as the blond man struggled to bend down by the first unearthed grave site.
“Leave it Vinnie.”
“Vinnie?”
“Vincent, sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I think I like it.”
They got through the day of gruelling work and over the day, Wendell seemed to get worse and worse. His skin got pale and he was sweating way more than he should’ve been. Dr Brennan had gone back to the Jeffersonian to start examining the remains in more detail a few hours before, and the sun was setting.
“Do you think one of the agents would give us a lift back to the lab?” Wendell asked Vincent as he packed up some of their equipment.
“I’ll go ask.” Vincent walked in the direction of the nearest person in a windbreaker.
As he moved away from the blond American, Vincent heard a thump. He spun around and saw Wendell on the floor. Vincent rushed over to him. “Wendell, oh God. Help! Someone help.” An agent rushed over.
“Do I need to call 911?” She asked.
“No, I think he’s just sick.” Vincent assessed Wendell’s injuries.
The ground was mostly loose dirt, so he didn’t break or bruise anything as he went down. Vincent pressed the back of his hand to Wendell’s forehead, he was feverish. “You are not alright.” He said when Wendell blinked his eyes open at the contact.
“It’s just the flu. I’ll be fine in the morning. I just need to get some sleep.” Wendell said as he tried to stand up. He fell back against Vincent who caught him.
“I’m taking you home. I’ll call Dr B on the way.” Vincent wrapped Wendell’s arm around his shoulder and started to walk towards the road.
They waved down a taxi. Wendell gave the cabbie his address after Vincent shoved him onto the backseat as softly as he could. As the taxi driver pulled away from the curb, Vincent called up Dr Brennan. “This is Dr Temperance Brennan.”
“Dr Brennan, it’s Vincent Nigel-Murray. We finished up at the park for the night but Wendell is very ill, I’m taking him back to his apartment. Would you be able to get another intern for the rest of the night?”
“This is rather sudden but I suppose it can’t be helped. I’ll see if Miss Wick can cover your workload here. Tell Mr Bray I hope he feels better.”
“I will, thank you.” Vincent hung up.
Wendell had fallen asleep on the Englishman’s shoulder, a little drool dripping from his open mouth. Vincent paid the driver and then shook Wendell awake. He was delirious, not quite awake but not asleep either.
It took twice as long as it should’ve to stumble up the stairs and through Wendell’s apartment door. Vincent led Wendell to a bed and laid him down on it, pulling off the dirt-covered shoes Wendell wore, and then his own.
When the other intern was out of the woods and sleeping somewhat soundly in his bed, Vincent began to wander around. The apartment was fairly bare, only necessities, no luxury items like a large TV or games console. There were a lot of books but they were all textbooks or academic books, no novels or poetry. It was obvious Wendell couldn’t afford very much, but he had a lot of framed photos.
Some were of his family, the bone structure and obvious genetic markers were indicative of it. Some were of his friends, there was one of him with Angela. Vincent remembered how he felt when Angela and Wendell started to date. It confused him at first. But he soon realised why he felt sad and frustrated, by that point it was apparent.
He got a glass of water for Wendell and took it into the bedroom. Vincent placed it down on the bedside table right next to another picture frame. But this time it was of the two of them one night at a bar for Vincent’s birthday last year. He smiled at the memory. They were inseparable that night. He often attributed it to the night he developed a crush on Wendell.
Vincent looked around the bedroom for more photos, but there weren’t any others. It was minimalist; there were no other pictures at all, no TV, nothing on the walls. Just a closet, a bed and the photo of the two of them.
Wendell rolled over and looked at Vincent. “That was a good night.” He sighed. Although nothing in particular happened that night, Vincent nodding in agreement. “Would you make me some toast? Unless you have to go back to the lab, or home.”
“Daisy’s covering for us and I don’t have to go home.” Vincent smiled and left the room.
He put the bread in the toaster and leaned against the counter with his palms, arms outstretched and head bowed. He heard shuffling behind him but didn’t turn around. And then a pair of duvet covered arms wrapped around his waist, a cheek pressed against his shoulder blade. Vincent exhaled gently. “What’re you doing Wendell?” He said softly, not wanting the other man to let go but knowing he should.
“How you looked at the photo. Tell me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think I am.” Wendell breathed against Vincent’s back.
“Know-it-all.” Vincent laughed.
“Really? Me?” Wendell smiled.
When Vincent moved to grab the toast, Wendell whined like a child but soon stopped once he realised what Vincent was doing. One man buttered while the other collected a carton of orange juice from the fridge and then both moved back to the bedroom.
Wendell settled back into bed and started to munch, but stopped when he noticed Vincent was standing in the doorway. He patted the space next to him on the bed. Vincent joined him.
With the last bite of toast, the blond cast his plate aside on the bedside table and then snuggled closer to the Brit. Vincent naturally wrapped his arm around Wendell and allowed him to burrow into his chest.
As Wendell slept, Vincent thought about that morning sitting on the bus feeling warm to the touch, but with cold bones. A cold soul. Now he was wrapped up warm, warm to the touch and warm to the soul.
Vincent woke up in the early hours of the morning when he sneezed. He smiled at the man in his arms whose colour had picked up. He looked much better, but it seemed he’d made Vincent sick. But Vincent wouldn’t have it any other way.
