#bones tickle

After Brennan (very uncomfortably) forced all her interns to work together, they’d found an unlikely friendship with each other. It was a few days after their solved 9/11 case, and the four of them (Arastoo had opted out) planned to go to the bar. Until Finn, a bit sheepishly, reminded them that he was only 19. Sure, they’d given him crap over it, but none of them were actually mad. It wasn’t like he could control his age. 

So, instead, they’d gone to the diner to eat and hang out. 

“I actually like this diner,” Fisher said. 

“Really? You? Liking something?” Clark chuckled. “That’s a first.”

“It is not. I like plenty of things. I just happen to dislike far more.”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it, everything sucks,” Wendell rolled his eyes jokingly. 

“It’s not my fault if I dislike something that very obviously sucks.”

“Except you seem to think that everythin’ sucks,” Finn added.

“And now I’ve decided that you all suck.”

“Our friendship subscription has expired, huh?” Wendell grinned before popping a fry into his mouth. 

“Indeed it has.” Fisher sipped the last of his drink. 

“Well, I’m done,” Clark said as he let out a breath and leaned back.

“With what?” Wendell asked. 

Clark very slowly turned to look at him like he was dumb. “…Wendell. Do me a favor. Use your brain, if you even have one. Done with my food.”

“…Oh.” Wendell chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. That was pretty obvious, considering the man’s plate was empty, save for a few remnants. Practically everyone else was done as well, which saddened Wendell a bit. He wanted more time to spend with his new friends. 

“Okay, well,” Fisher stood up. “Gentleman, feel free to accompany me back to my apartment for some real drinks.”

“Oh hell yes,” Wendell said through a laugh. They threw out bills to pay for their food before starting to leave. 

But before they could, Finn cleared his throat. “It’s been real nice hanging out with you guys, but—”

“Ah, ah, ah, no buts,” Fisher interrupted immediately. “Don’t act like you’re not coming with.”

Though he tried to hide it, Wendell could see the spark of joy in Finn’s eyes at the idea of being included. “You sure? Cause you just said—”

“So you’re 19. Who cares?”

“The law, last I checked,” Clark said with a smirk. 

“Well, the law isn’t gonna be at my apartment. Hopefully,” he added as he started to walk off, expecting the others to follow. Clark did, his hands in his pocket. 

Wendell shot Finn a grin. “C’mon, kid. We want you there.”

Finn seemed to beam. “Alright, then.” Wendell chuckled softly and titled the front of Finn’s hat down, making the younger man playfully glare at him before he fixed it. 

The walk to Fisher’s house was brief and full of banter, the four men laughing and talking as though they’d known each other for years. Wendell couldn’t help but sense how natural it all felt. There were no tense moments or times where competitiveness poisoned the air—and if there were, there wasn't anything serious about them. 

Fisher’s apartment was very… Well, Fisher. But despite his depressive episodes, Wendell had to give him credit; it was fairly clean and put together. The furniture was nice, much like the rest of the apartment. 

Fisher kicked off his shoes once he entered, picking them up and very deliberately putting them next to the door. Wendell, Finn, and Clark shared a look, shrugged, and took off their shoes as well. 

“Shots game, anyone?” Fisher said as he got out a bottle of liquor and a few shot glasses. 

“Fine by me,” Finn said. 

Wendell gave him a look. “Have you drank before?”

Finn grinned. “I ain’t that young.”

The four men sat down on the couch as Fisher set the alcohol down on a table in front of them. 

“Truth or drink?” Wendell suggested. No one protested. 

“I’ll start, then,” Fisher said, gesturing to Clark. “Biggest fear.”

Clark snorted. “Like hell I’m telling you guys.”

“What, think we’d use it against you or something?” Wendell grinned. 

“Precisely.” Clark downed a shot like it was nothing. “Alright, my turn. Kid. Most embarrassing thing about yourself.”

“Jumpin’ right in, huh?” Finn shrugged and reached for the bottle, but Wendell snatched it away at the last second. 

“I changed my mind. You’re only 19.” But his grin revealed the true meaning behind his words—he didn’t give a damn about Finn’s age. He just wanted to force him to tell them something embarrassing. 

“Damn. Guess your only option is truth then,” Clark said with a small smirk.

Finn sighed, looking as if he wanted to protest but decided not to—either because he didn’t want to be a wet blanket, or because he didn’t feel like their equal yet, unable to say no. Wendell couldn’t decide which one, but he hoped it wasn’t the latter. How many times was he gonna have to convince this kid that he was one of them?

“Fine, fine. Lemme think about it for a sec.”

“Oh, he’s stalling,” Clark said. 

“I am thinking, thank you very much. …Hm.”

“Ah! He’s got something.”

Finn shrugged. “I reckon this is embarrassing. I recently found out that I’m pretty damn ticklish.”

“…Wait, what?” Wendell said, his words infected with a laugh. 

“Just found out?” Fisher asked. 

“Yeah, how does someone not know if they’re ticklish?” Clark added. 

“Well… I don’t got any siblings. My daddy wasn’t all too kind to me, and my mama was too busy watchin’ out for him,” Finn explained. 

The room was suddenly very quiet as the three absorbed the information. Sure, they’d known that he had a rocky relationship with his dad—word got around—but to know more about it shattered their hearts—well, at least Wendell’s. 

So, he placed the liquor down and tried to lighten the mood. “So… just how ticklish would you say you are?” he asked with a grin. 

Finn’s eyes widened. It was funny; he’d never seen the kid panicked before. 

“N— Now, now, let’s just calm down here.”

“Oh I am calm. I’m perfectly calm,” he said as he neared closer. Finn had practically shrunk into the couch and stared up at Wendell with wide eyes, his hands in front of him protectively. 

“Mr. Bray, we don’t need to—”

“You don’t need all the formalities, man. I’m Wen-dell.” He accentuated the two syllables by poking Finn’s sides, who twitched and fought back a smile. “W-E-N-D-E-L-L.” He did the same thing for each letter, grinning as Finn swatted his hands.

“Huh. He is ticklish.” Fisher sounded mildly entertained.

“Hush it!” Finn said, fighting off giggles. He let out a yelp, bursting into loud, slightly wheezy laughter once Wendel managed to work past his defenses and got to his ribs. His laughter was unrestrained and just a tad bit higher pitched, and it made Wendell happy to hear. The kid’s mouth was stretched into an open-mouthed grin as he laughed, his eyes squeezed closed.

“You weren’t kidding,” Wendell laughed, moving down to Finn’s sides. The reaction died down a tad, and he pulled his knees to his chest in an attempt to defend himself. Wendell just grinned and began squeezing the very same knees that were originally there to protect him. Finn’s hat came off when he threw his head back in laughter, kicking out and, in turn, nearly kicking Wendel in the crotch. The blond, understandably, jerked away, hands withdrawing to protect himself.

“Jesus! Trying to keep me from reproducing!” he exclaimed.

“Good job,” Clark piped up, making Wendell throw the top of the liquor bottle at him.

“Ihihihi am sohohoho sorry— I don’t seem to be ahahahable to control myself all too well,” Finn said sincerely, fist up against his mouth to try and muffle the remaining giggles.

Wendell grinned. “Yeah, that’s kinda normal, kid. But…” His grin turned mischievous. “I don’t think I can let that kick slide.”

“Now wait a minute, wait a minute, wait wait wait! I’m sorry, I’m—” A burst of laughter cut him off as Wendell worked his fingers up into Finn’s arms, lightly scratching the sensitive skin there.

“I refuse to believe you’re 19. No 19 year old is this ticklish,” Wendell laughed.

“Ihihihihihi’m aHAHAHALMOHOHOHOST TWEHEHEHENTYHYHYHYHY!”

Clark snorted. “Bullshit.”

Finn momentarily grabbed Wendell’s wrists, stopping him. “Ihihihihi’ll have yohohohou know— wAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAIT!” Wendell had broken free of Finn’s grip and had latched back onto his ribs. He tried to curl in on himself, which was as effective as trying to have an insightful conversation with a wall. 

“YOHOHOHOHOU’RE KIHIHIHIHILLIHIHIHIN’ MEHEHEHEHE!”

“Dramatic.”

Fisher gave Clark a joking ‘these people are crazy’ look.

“White people shit,” Clark said in response.

Wendell’s head snapped to him, eyes narrowing playfully. His hands rested idly on Finn’s sides, which, to his surprise, made him giggle like crazy, likely from anticipation.

He turned back to the kid, whose face was pink. “That’s adorable.” He then practically pounced on Clark, who could do nothing to stop him. He placed his hands on the doctor’s shoulders, grinning when he felt him tense up.

“White people shit, huh?” he taunted, his thumbs drawing circles on Clark’s shoulders. He knew he had the upper hand when he saw how the younger man’s jaw clenched slightly in an attempt not to crack.

“Wendell, I will get you kicked out of the Institution,” he tried to threaten, but his voice was shaky.

“Oh, I’m soooooo scared,” he mocked, a shameless grin on his face as he began squeezing Clark’s shoulders. Clark flinched and started squirming, a smile breaking out on his face as he fought Wendell off. 

“Y’know, I think I’m getting hungry again. I think some raspberries sound pretty good right now.”

Clark’s eyes widened and he started thrashing—you’d think the guy was fighting for his life. “No! No, I have nine siblings, I know that line too damn well, don’t you dare—!” He cut himself off with a yelp of laughter as Wendell succeeded in blowing raspberry on his neck. His laughter was loud and boisterous, as uncontrolled as his limbs as they flailed around helplessly. Once Wendell pulled away, laughing himself, Clark looked just about ready to murder him as he rubbed his neck.

“You,” he breathed, “are an evil, evil man.”

“Nah. Just wanted to prove you wrong.” Wendell reached out to poke his side and was promptly smacked away. He snuck a look at Fisher, smirking. 

He put his hands up in defense. “Leave me out of this.” When Wendell began to creep closer, Fisher tried again. “I’m the one providing the alcohol.” 

That made Wendell stop. “...Fine. That’s a pretty good excuse. You’re lucky.”

“What is with you and ticklin’ people?” Finn spoke up, arms hugging himself and a smile still lingering on his face.

Wendell shrugged. “Well, I wanted to mess with you, then I wanted to teach smartass here a lesson, and I didn’t want Fisher to be left out—”

“Fisher wanted to be left out! For once,” Fisher added.

“Yeah.” Wendell plopped down on the couch again with a smug smirk on his face, chuckling when Finn scooted away from him.

“You okay there?”

“‘Fraid you’re gonna start on up again,” he said as he grabbed his hat from off the floor and put it back off after dusting it off.

“Tempting.” Wendell grinned. “But I think I’ve messed with you enough for the night.” 

“Can we go back to the game please?” Clark said flatly.

“Someone’s cranky.”

“Thought that was my job.” Fisher reached for the bottle. “Someone ask me a question I’m not gonna answer. I want an excuse to get drunk.”

The rest of the night was full of laughter, fun, and alcohol as they played their game without a care in the world. Wendell occasionally snuck a poke at his co-workers, who, by the end of it all, had agreed they were gonna get him back—someday, sometime, somehow.

“How’s it going, Z-Man?” She asked, leaning against the table.

“Angela, I have told you multiple times, please do not lean on the observation table while I’m working,” he said, ignoring the hint of warmth in his chest from the nickname. Not in the sense that he liked her, just that he enjoyed when he was given nicknames–they made him feel cared for.

Angela rolled her eyes playfully but got off the table. “Okay, okay.”

Zack gave another nod, this time one of appreciation. He never understood the significance of verbal communication when nonverbal communication was just as effective. He focused back on the skull. Or at least he tried to. Angela began leaning towards him, and he slowly turned his head to look at her.

“...May I help you?” He asked.

“You should really smile more,” she said with a smile of her own.

“I smile,” he insisted.

“Barely. Sometimes I forget you’re human.” She poked his cheek, and he batted her hand away. “Seriously. Smiling’s good for you! Let me see it.”

Zack didn’t move for a moment before realizing she was serious. She wanted him to smile. He forced one, his face feeling tight and unnatural.

Angela grimaced. “Oh, come on. What was that? A real smile.”

“I don’t have anything to smile about at the moment. …I’m reconstructing a skull.”

“Take a break, Zack. C’mon, what do I need to do? Make a funny noise, ruffle your hair, tickle you?” She was obviously joking, but the last suggestion made him avert eye contact and tense slightly. It was just his luck that she noticed.

“Wait a minute… should I tickle you?” She grinned evilly.

Zack found his voice. “No. I’m not ticklish.”

Yeah, that was so convincing, Zack. Incredibly convincing.

“You sure about that?” Angel said, slowly starting to creep closer.

Now, growing up with such a large, loving, and touchy family, Zack had been tickled a lot when he was little. He thought he’d grown out of it, but one of his cousins had quickly proved him wrong at the last family dinner. Anyway, he and the rest of his family knew exactly what he did when he was threatened with tickles.

One, he forgot about whatever he was doing at the moment.

Two, he became a track star.

Zack bolted out of the room as fast as he could, which wasn’t very fast. Did he have any idea where he was going? None. He just knew he needed to get away from Angela. He looked over his shoulder as he ran, horrified to see that she could run surprisingly well in heels. How was she able to do that??

He nearly ran right into Booth and Brennan, but he just barely squeezed through them. He heard a chorus of ‘Woah!’s and ‘What is going on?’s from them. He promptly ignored them and continued running. He knew he’d probably get in trouble later, but right now, he couldn’t exactly bring himself to care. Not with Angela on his tail.

She eventually trapped him once he stupidly ran into Brennan’s office. He looked as if he was moulding into the wall with the way he was tucked into the corner.

“Angela…” he said, his hands raised in defense.

“You gotta smile! I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh, either,” she said. Zack wouldn't be surprised if she was right. His sense of humor greatly differed from those of his coworkers–except for maybe Brennan. She may have gotten a snicker out of him once or twice.

Angela took another step forward, and Zack’s shoulders instinctively moved an inch up to try and protect himself. Angela, ever the observant one, grinned.

“You’re giving yourself away, Z-Man,” she teased. Before Zack could say anything else, Angela’s fingers were on his neck. Angela was right. He had given himself away with the slight movement of his shoulders from earlier–his neck, ears, and shoulders were ridiculously ticklish. And so he couldn’t help but let out a sound between a gasp and a squeak when Angela began tickling him.

His reaction was exactly the same as when he was a kid: Breathy giggles, simultaneously trying to cover his face and pry away her hands, all while he sunk to the ground. Angela followed him, all while the tickles continued. She elicited an extremely embarrassing squeal that he would definitely deny later from him when she ran a manicured nail behind his ear.

Through his own giggles, he heard Angela laughing as well. “Was that a squeal? Dude, you are so ticklish!”

Zack tried to respond, but he couldn’t seem to form words through his giggles. He was trying to roll to one side or the other to escape the evil woman’s grasp; said evil woman wasn’t allowing him to. It only got worse when she began squeezing his shoulders, making the man (more like ‘boy’) yelp and laugh even harder. His legs were kicking, and his laughter filled Brennan’s office as Angela scratched and squeezed. His arms went between covering his face and trying to get her hands off of him He hadn’t been tickled like this since he was a kid, and he couldn’t deny that a part of him had missed it.

Zack was trying to speak through his laughter. He didn’t exactly know what he was trying to say; her name, maybe? Don’t? Stop? No? Something along those lines.

“You trying to say something? Hmmmm?” she teased. She accentuated her last word by squeezing his shoulders multiple times, making giggly yelps escape his lips. The last time he’d laughed like this was… well, he wasn’t sure.

“Hm, where else are you ticklish…” she said, more to herself than to Zack. She pried her hands away from his neck and tested his armpits. His armpits had never been super ticklish, and she realized this when his giggles died down. But then she lowered her hands slightly, clawing at his ribs. Just like that, Zach was dying once more.

“Oh-ho, here’s bad too,” she said, her grin only growing wider.

“AHAHAHAngehehelahaHAHAHA!” He finally managed to get out.

“Yeah? What is it?” she asked, laughing when Zack couldn’t get anything else comprehensible out. “C’mon, Zack, what is it?” she reiterated. He finally answered her by smacking her arm before going right back to trying to escape and push her hands off.

“Rude,” she said, though there was no anger in her voice. Only playfulness.

She continued tickling and experimenting with his ribs, scratching in between them, squeezing them, and skittering her fingers all over them. Zack was laughing his head off, and his attempts at escape only became weaker.

Eventually, Angela must’ve decided that the poor boy had had enough, because she let him go. One arm hugged around his ribs, while the other laid over his eyes. He was still giggling like a small child and drinking in air, a dorky smile on his face.

“You’re lucky I remembered that we’re working a murder, or I wouldn’t have let you go so easily,” she said in a mock-menacing tone. She reached over and ruffled his short hair (which Zack was still getting used to). The action only, to his embarrassment, made Zack smile wider.

“…I heavily dislike you right now,” Zack breathed. She responded by lightly scratching at his neck again, which made him scrunch his shoulders again and let out a squeak while pushing himself further into the corner. She laughed, retracted her hand.

“You okay?” she asked, her tone softer now. He gave a small nod as he finally seemed to catch his breath. She offered a hand, which he took before she hoisted him to his feet.

“We should probably get back to the case before Saroyan gets on our asses.”

“Our? No, this is entirely your fault,” Zack insisted.

“I was just helping you look a little less robotic and a little more human.”

“I don’t look robotic, Angela.”

“Not anymore.” Her smile showed that she was rather proud of her actions.

“Can we just— go back to work forget this ever happened?” Zack suggested, though the smile of his own still lingered on his face.

“Oh, yeah, we’re going back to work. But I am never forgetting this.” She poked his ribs a few times.

“Can you— stop with the pokes?” He pushed her hands away, all while suppressing giggles.

She just laughed, and they started out of Brennan’s office. But before they parted ways, Angela gave his ribs once more squeeze, along with a look that said this would be happening a lot more often.

Zack found he had a harder time focusing on that skull reconstruction than before.