The Lab smelled faintly of disinfectant and coffee, the low hum of machinery a constant backdrop. You leaned over the stainless steel table, peering at a tiny trace of particulate under the scope. Before you could even hazard a guess, a familiar voice broke the silence.
“Ah-ha! Just as I suspected.”
You turned to see Jack striding over, his curls a little wild and his grin bordering on smug. He snapped on a pair of gloves and glanced at the slide you’d been examining.
“You were about to say ‘dust,’ weren’t you?” he teased, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “But no, no, no. That, my friend, is not dust. That-” He plucked the slide from under the scope with theatrical precision. “- is diatomaceous earth. Very specific to a quarry site about twenty miles outside of D.C.”
You raised an eyebrow. “And you’re just sure of that?”
Jack gave you a look as if you’d insulted his life’s work. “Am I sure? Come on. I’m the bug and slime guy. If I can’t tell my diatoms apart, I’d turn in my badge and… uh, my centrifuge.”
Despite yourself, you laughed. His grin softened, a flicker of pride in making you smile before he ducked back into his usual animated explanation.
“Point is, this could put our victim in the exact location where they were dumped. Which means-” He paused, dramatically, waiting for you to fill in the blank.
“Booth and Brennan have somewhere to start,” you finished.
“Exactly!” He pointed at you with both hands, mock applause following. “See? We make a great team.”
For a moment, you realised he wasn’t just talking about the case.
--
Hours later, the lab was mostly dark, the echo of footsteps and voices replaced by the hum of the ventilation system. Everyone else had gone home. You found Jack still at his workstation, hunched over a closed file, his curls messier than usual.
“You’re still here?” you asked gently, setting a fresh cup of coffee down beside him.
He glanced up, managing a tired smile. “Yeah. Guess I didn’t feel like leaving just yet.”
You slid into the chair opposite him. For a moment, you both sat in silence, the weight of the case lingering in the air. The body had been identified, the killer in custody. The pieces had come together, but not without the grim reminder of how brutal people could be.
“You did good work,” you said finally.
Jack huffed out a breath, half a laugh but without any humour. “Good work doesn’t change the fact that someone’s life was still stolen. Sometimes I hate that we only ever show up after the worst part is already done.”
Your chest tightened. You reached across the table, covering his gloved hand with yours. “I know. But what you do - what we do - it gives families answers. It gives people closure.”
He turned his hand under yours, fingers curling to hold on. For once, there was no theatrical flourish - just quiet honesty.
“You always know how to pull me back from the edge,” he said, voice low. “You realise that, right?”
You met his gaze, the sharp scientist in him softened by exhaustion and something more fragile. “Maybe that’s because I’m always right here, Jack.”
His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and then he gave a small, genuine smile. “Guess I’m pretty lucky, huh?”
“Yeah,” you said softly, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. “We both are.”
He hadn’t let go of your hand since you’d taken it, his thumb absently tracing along your skin as if grounding himself there.
“You know,” he said after a long pause, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it, “sometimes I get so caught up in the science, in proving I’m right, that I forget why it matters. Tonight you reminded me.”
You tilted your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “That’s what partners do.”
His eyes lingered on yours, unblinking, as though he was weighing something. Then he let out a breath, almost like a laugh. “You’re not just my partner. You know that, right?”
Your heart skipped. “Jack-”
“I mean it.” He leaned forward, his hand tightening around yours. “This job, this lab, it’s my whole world. But you’re the one who makes it feel like more than just death and evidence and bugs."