Please see Chapter 1 for warnings and disclaimers.

A/N: A big thanks to Harliquinn for your help and input on this chapter!

Organized Crime and Consequences - Chapter Seven

Lance cast an apprehensive look over at the FBI agent sitting in the driver's seat. Booth had ignored Zack's insistence that he had too much work to do, and taken both boys out for lunch. After a couple of hotdogs and a soda, they had returned to the Jeffersonian. Dr. Brennan had been awaiting their return, intent on getting her explanation. The recalcitrant teens had accounted for their actions, apologized profusely for putting evidence in harm's way, and promised to act more responsibly and appropriately in the future. Then Lance and Booth had said their goodbyes and headed for the Hoover building.

Now Lance couldn't shake his growing anxiety about the other consequence he had been promised. He really did not want to stress about this for the rest of the day. Still, he was having difficulty working up the courage to ask about it.

"So, uh, what else am I looking at here?" Lance finally blurted out, "I mean because of the fight with Zack?"

Booth grinned. Yeah, he definitely remembered this from being a kid. Waiting for a punishment was almost as bad as the punishment itself. He wasn't about to tell the boy he had no idea whatsoever what the kid's consequence was going to be. Lance had practically no life outside of school, and what life he did have, he had already been restricted from. On top of that, Lance wasn't even his kid. Booth was still puzzling through this conundrum.

"You know, I really should have busted your butt for leaving my apartment after I told you not to, which put your very life in danger," Booth said almost conversationally. "But, I'd only known you for a day, and well, with your mom and all, I thought I'd cut you some slack. Then you go and get in a fight in the Medico-lab, endangering evidence and interfering with an investigation. Still, stupid as your part was, Zack did throw the first punch. I'm telling you though, Lance, I'm done messing around. You've got two strikes and the third one ends with you having an up close and personal conversation with my right hand. Capiche?"

"Ah, yeah, I, uh, get it," Lance responded with a blush. After a few moments of silence Lance cleared his throat. "So, ah, that's it then?" he queried hopefully.

"Oh, no," Booth shook his head. "That is not it. I said we'd talk about it tonight."

"But, couldn't you just tell me now?"

"Nope." Let the kid sweat it. He'd figure something out between now and then. Booth pulled into a parking space and cut the engine. "Come on kid. I've got work to do."

"What am I supposed to do? I don't even have any of my books."

"Whose fault is that?"

Lance rolled his eyes but bit back the words that he wanted to utter under his breath. He had probably tested Booth's patience enough for one day and, with the way his luck was going, the formidable FBI agent would hear him. It wasn't worth the risk.

The teen trudged along, considering his options for the boring afternoon. Maybe Booth would let him use an office computer. He could work on his paper for Emotions and Psychopathology. Actually, considering he was headed into the headquarters for the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the idea seemed apropos.

Of course, getting Booth to agree to let him use a computer would undoubtedly be no easy feat. Lance considered the potential success of different persuasion techniques as they entered the elevator. The agent had seemed to have a soft spot for his mother. He could probably use that. In all honesty, he did want to do well in order to make his mother proud, and midterms were approaching.

Upon exiting the elevator all thoughts of manipulating Booth flew out the window, however. Lance stopped short and stared at the dark haired individual accompanied by two older gentlemen in suits. That was one of the men he'd seen talking with Dr. Freeman just before she had disappeared.

"Lance? You okay?" Booth asked, immediately aware of the kid's response and the cause of it. He eyed the trio and positioned himself defensively between Lance and the strangers.

"Yeah, but, that's one of the guys. The one Dr. Freeman called Luka," Lance said in a strained whisper.

Just then a probationary agent approached. "Agent Booth, Mr. Morelli just flew in from Boston. He came seeking information on his daughter's death. His son and lawyer are with him as well."

Booth stepped forward. "Thank you, Rawlings. Maybe you could show the gentleman to a room where we can talk. I'll be right there."

The young redhead gave a nod and moved to do just that while Booth waved at a bearded agent across the room. "Hey, James, could you take Lance here to my office and keep him company while I talk to Morelli?"

"Sure, Booth."

Lance looked ready to protest, but Booth shook his head. "Not negotiable. Go on."

BONES***BONES***BONES***BONES

"She is my daughter, Agent Booth. Of course I heard as soon as she was she was identified."

"So you knew your daughter was using the assumed name Arianna Freeman?"

"Of course," the gray-haired man replied stiffly. The man was aloof, and his face was an emotionless mask. Not exactly what one might expect from a bereaved father.

"Why was that exactly?"

"Theresa was displeased with some of my business dealings. She wanted nothing to do with me or my life. The choice was hers to make."

"Some of your business dealings?"

"Mr. Morelli is not here to discuss the private aspects of his business. He is here to find out what happened to his daughter," the lawyer informed Booth firmly.

"Okay," Booth looked straight into Frank Morelli's eyes, "She was drugged. Almost every bone in her body was broken. The flesh was peeled from much of her body," he stated ruthlessly, deliberately leaving out that most of her injuries occurred after her death in hopes of rattling some information from the organized crime boss.

Frank Morelli's face went ashen, while his son's suffused with rage. Bursting from his chair the younger Morelli loosed a string of expletives, turning over his chair and planting his fist into the wall with enough force to do some damage.

"Luka," the older man said curtly, his eyes flashing a warning to his son, who righted the chair and took a seat, though his dark eyes burned with fury.

"You went to visit your sister the week before she disappeared?" Booth directed his question to the younger man, who appeared to be in his mid to late twenties.

"Yeah," Luka's voice was thick with emotion. "I, ah, wanted her to come home for a visit. Ma's been sick, and well, we all missed her."

"Did you argue?"

"Yeah, I guess. She said, 'no.' I tried to convince her," he shrugged. "She ended with a maybe and that was good enough for me. I gave her a kiss, told her I'd call her the next week," the man's voice broke and tears pooled in his eyes. His father put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

"And did you stay in town or return to Boston?"

"My son came home that night," Frank Morelli answered tersely.

"Agent Booth, this has been very traumatic for the family," the lawyer interjected. "If you have no further questions…"

"Who would want to kill your daughter, Mr. Morelli?"

The man shook his head. "I will admit to having many enemies, but I've not had contact with Theresa for years. That's what she wanted. I don't know who would have done this."

"Do you have any dealings with Gino Episcopo?"

"Yes. We do business together. I was very good friends with his younger brother during college, but Joe died our senior year."

"Would you say that you are on good terms?"

"We aren't personal friends, but yes, as far as our business dealings go, I would say we are."

Booth watched the two Morelli men closely. The older gave away nothing, but Luka Morelli did not share his father's poker face. The younger man's jaw had tightened considerably when the agent mentioned Episcopo and he'd given his father a scathing look. There was definitely more here, but he was unlikely to get any straight answers with the elder Morelli and his lawyer present.

"Thank you, gentleman, for your cooperation. If you could possibly make a list of anyone who might have wanted to harm your family, that would be helpful to our investigation."

"Theresa's mother wants to know when we can bury her," Frank Morelli said quietly.

"We can't release the remains until our investigation is complete."

BONES***BONES***BONES***BONES

"You're kidding." Lance looked at the toothbrush in his hand and back to the FBI agent in abject horror.

"Do I look like I'm kidding?" Booth asked with a straight face, though in all truth, he really wanted to laugh at the kid's comical response. After giving careful consideration to the rest of Lance's sentence, he decided on something from his military background. Field day. He didn't plan on making the kid do the kind of top to bottom cleaning of his apartment that recruits had to do of the barracks, but he figured having to clean the least desirable rooms in the place might make an impression.

"I am NOT cleaning your bathroom with a toothbrush," Lance insisted stubbornly.

"You can do it with persuasion or without, but you will be cleaning BOTH bathrooms. You can, however, use more than a toothbrush." Booth picked up the bucket of cleaning supplies and handed it to the teen with a satisfied smile. "I suggest you get busy. I ordered Thai. It should be here in about an hour."

"Effective consequences should somehow relate to the offense," Lance informed the man who had already moved to take a seat on the couch. "How does this remotely relate to getting into a fight?"

"Doesn't," Booth replied, flipping on the television set and kicking off his shoes. "But when you do things you shouldn't, it does result in you having to do things that you don't want to. Fact of life, buddy."

With an irritated huff, Lance took the supplies and headed into the hall bathroom, muttering about overbearing law enforcement types with delusions of self-importance and inflated egos. Booth grinned and turned up the TV, choosing to ignore the kid.

Later that evening the two sat at the table sharing Asian cuisine.

"So how long do you think this will last? My needing protective custody?"

"Don't know. At least until we identify the other guy you saw with Dr. Freeman," Booth answered taking a bite of Pad Thai noodles from his plate. "Maybe longer, depending who that ends up being and if you are needed to testify."

"I have a really important project due soon, and I need to meet with my group tomorrow night," Lance informed agent. "I guess I could do it remotely, though. I could Skype Hailey and do it over the computer."

Booth raised his eyebrows. Things had changed some since he was in school, but given the technology used by the FBI and Jeffersonian, the agent wasn't really that surprised.

"What class is it for?" He asked conversationally, taking a drink of his water to wash down the spicy food.

"Social sexuality," Lanced answered, popping the rest of a spring roll into his mouth.

Booth coughed and sputtered, having choked on his water. "Does your mom know you're taking that class?"

"Not specifically, but I don't think she would have a problem with it," Lance grinned at the Booth's reaction and obvious discomfort. "She understands that my academic pursuits sometimes mean that I'm exposed to mature topics."

"Huh," Booth's response was noncommittal. "So what's this project on?"

"Well, we thought it would be interesting to research the varying response to public nudity in heterosexual verses homosexual populations. So we've mapped out a few coffee shops frequented by each population and plan on going in, stripping off all of our clothes, and videotaping the responses for later analysis."

"WHAT?!" Booth roared. "You are NOT doing that!"

Lance burst out laughing. "Of course not. I was just messing with you, Dude. We can't actually do anything illegal for a class project."

"Oh, ha, ha," Booth responded, tossing a balled up napkin at the still chuckling teen, "Yuck it up, Sigmund. Tomorrow you could be cleaning the public restrooms in the Hoover building."

"Jeesh! You've gotta lighten up, Agent Booth," Lance said with a grin. "Actually, I'm in a group with three girls so we are doing our project on the objectification of women in the media and the sexual connotations of that within our culture."

"And you think I need to lighten up?" Booth commented dryly.

"Hey, did you miss the part where the fifteen-year-old guy is in a group with three college co-eds studying social sexuality?" Lance waggled his eyebrows, or attempted to at least, the effect wasn't quite what he was hoping for and actually came off pretty goofy.

Booth laughed then, both at the physical expression and the boy's words. At least some part of Lance was a normal teenage boy.

"And what do these college co-eds think of you?"

"Oh, they think I'm cute." Lance's face scrunched up into a rather disgusted look. "Not the good kind of cute, the puppy kind, but that's better than the guys from the last group project."

"Must be hard. Don't you miss being around kids your own age?"

"Sometimes," Lance answered honestly, "But it's kind of six of one, half dozen of the other, because I believe I would equally dislike the mundane curriculum of a normal high school, and the relatively shallow discourse of most kids my own age."

"Guess it's kind of a catch twenty-two, huh?"

Lanced shrugged, "It isn't really that big a deal. Adolescence is awkward for most individuals to some degree, particularly for those with a more intellectual cant, but it's really a fairly short portion of one's life. I like studying psychology – it's awesome! So, if I'm having a good time, really what's there to complain about?"

The FBI agent couldn't help but be impressed with the kid's positive outlook. Adopted or not Lance definitely took after his mother, and that was a good thing in Booth's book.

BONES****BONES****BONES***BONES

Saturday mid-morning Booth sat in Brennan's office playing with a paperweight from her desk while he waited for her to arrive. When he'd dropped Zack off at Bones' apartment after their morning PT session, they had agreed to meet at the Jeffersonian once he and the boys had cleaned up. He wanted to leave Lance at the Jeffersonian with Bones while he went to interview Gino Episcopo. Despite it being Saturday, Dr. Brennan had some reconstructions that she wanted to complete for the museum. The case had interfered with her finishing them earlier in the week. Booth was restless, wondering what was taking her so long. As if cued by his thoughts, Dr. Brennan stormed into the office dumping a bag and a stack of books on her desk.

"This was a gift from a colleague and dates back to the second century AD," the anthropologist said with irritation as she reached over and removed the cylindrical stone from his hands and set it back upon her desk.

"Sor-ry," Booth replied, looking askance at his partner, curiosity piqued by her dramatic mood change from earlier in the morning. He did not have to wonder for long, however.

"You damaged Zack," she stated tersely.

"What?"

"After he showered and dressed, he fell onto the couch and refused to move. He said he couldn't lift his arms or legs. It took me half an hour to get him off the couch and out to the car."

"He's being dramatic, looking for sympathy," Booth snorted with a roll of his eyes. "I didn't damage him. Yeah, he might be a little sore. Kid could use a little more physical activity, but he'll be fine."

"While I appreciate the need to balance intellectual pursuits with physical fitness for one's health and well-being, I think you might have over done it with the boys this morning."

"Well, this was not just a workout aimed at physical fitness," Booth reminded her expressing some irritation of his own at this point. "It was also meant to be a deterrent - you know keep them from getting into fist fights and trashing your lab."

"Yes, I know, but I'm not sure significant muscle strain is an appropriate consequence."

"Bones, with all you know about the human body, you know he's going to recover just fine in next to no time."

Dr. Brennan sat down with a sigh. "Yes, I do," she admitted. "I suppose his incessant complaining on the way here just made me irritable. I apologize."

"Yeah, well, kids usually whine and moan about their punishments. It's their job to try and drive their parents crazy."

"But I am not Zack's mother and you're the one who punished him so you're the one he should be driving crazy."

Booth chuckled. "I'd just tell him to suck it up and behave himself next time. Don't forget, Bones, no matter how much he whines he's grounded for the next two weeks. No TV or extra curricular activities."

"I removed the television from his room last night. You know that's the only one in my apartment."

"Good for you, just stick to your guns. Where is he anyway?"

"He went up to the lounge. I told him he could rest for awhile before we started on the reconstructions."

"Lance is there, too," Booth told her with a nod, "Look, I gotta go, Episcopo's due to arrive for his interview in less than an hour."

"Booth, I still think -"

"No, Bones, not going to happen," he cut her off, knowing she was going to argue to attend the interview. "I'll check back in with you when I'm done."

BONES****BONES****BONES***BONES

Lance groaned as he lay spayed in the chair, not even attempting to look at the books scattered on the table in front of him. "Dude, I'm sore in places I didn't even know that I had."

Zack's brow furrowed as he collapsed into a nearby seat. "You've had an anatomy class. I don't understand how there could be places on your body that you didn't know that you had."

"It's an expression. I feel like I hurt everywhere," Lance responded in exasperation.

"Oh, well, then I concur with your observation. I tried to convince Dr. Brennan to let me stay on the couch but she insisted that since I had wasted time fighting yesterday, I could help with the reconstructions today."

Zack grinned. "I thought you were all about overtime when it came to classifying bones with Dr. Brennan."

"Normally, yes, but it hurts just to lift my arms."

"Don't I know it!"

"I find that I am relieved that Agent Booth insisted that I cancel my lunch with Naomi," Zack sighed, leaning his head back on the chair and closing his eyes.

"Girlfriend?"

Zack opened one eye and looked at Lance. "She is a girl and we are friends. However, if you are referring to a regular female companion with whom I share a monogamous romantic or physical relationship, then I think the answer would be no. She wanted to become sexually involved, but Booth did not think that it was a good idea. She is older than myself."

Lance whistled. "How much older?"

"Three years."

"Oh, that's not too bad."

Zack opened both eyes and sat up a little. "So do you think it would have been reasonable to agree to ave sexual intercourse?"

The psychology student looked thoughtful. "Gee, I don't know, man. I mean, I think about it, and if some of the girls in my classes came on to me like that, I don't know what I'd do. I mean it would be kinda cool and way exciting." Lance finally shook his head. "I don't think so, though. I mean kissing, petting, you know maybe even all the way to third base, but I don't think you want to try scoring with someone you aren't even sure is your girlfriend."

"I am confused what baseball has to do with a physical relationship."

"Just another expression."

"But you think it is wise to decline her request?"

Lance shrugged. "I'm taking this social sexuality class, and sex can mean very different things to guys and girls. There can be a whole lot of emotional baggage that comes along with it."

"Booth said you should be in love with the first person that you are with sexually."

"That kinda makes sense. It would probably help with the emotional complexities."

"He says that I will know when I am ready. My concern is that I have not always excelled in physical pursuits, today being a prime example. I am concerned that when the time comes I might not be as adept as I would like to be."

"Read a book," Lance suggested.

"There are books?"

"Sure." Lance sat up, grimacing as his muscles protested even that minimal movement. He opened his lap top and the only sound was the tap of his fingers on the keys for the next couple of minutes. Then he turned the computer toward Zack and showed him his search results.

"That would be most helpful," the young graduate student remarked eagerly.

BONES****BONES****BONES***BONES

"Mr. Episcopo, do you recognize any of these individuals?" Booth asked, laying down the photographs of their three murder victims in front of the man who was wearing an expensive tailored Italian suit.

"Yes. Two of them were on the news last month. I did not know them personally, but my company has dealings with their families' businesses," the white-haired man replied, pointing to the pictures of the male victims. "I also recognize Theresa Morelli. Her father and my youngest brother were close friends in college."

"They both attended Georgetown University," Booth commented.

"That is correct," the man's gray eyes met Booth's evenly, radiating calm resolve.

"And you currently have business dealings with Frank Morelli?"

"Yes." Having obviously been coached by his attorney, the suspected organized crime boss provided short succinct answers and offered nothing extra.

"Interesting how the kids of your business associates keep showing up dead on the Georgetown campus."

"My client has generously taken time away from pressing family matters in order to answer your questions, Agent Booth, so please ask your questions and do not waste our time on specious observations," the Episcopo's attorney demanded in a clipped tone.

"Yeah, your son was in an accident, I hear. Is he okay?"

"Yes. Thank you for asking," the older gentleman responded dryly, well aware that Booth cared nothing for his son's well being. Episcopo did, however, break with his adherence to limited responses and offer an explanation, something not lost on the FBI Agent. "He was riding his motorbike off trail and lost control, but he's going to be fine."

"Glad to hear it," Booth responded, well aware that the junior Episcopo's injuries probably had nothing to do with an ATV accident. He laid a drawing on the table. "Do you recognize this man, Mr. Episcopo?"

The older gentleman's face tensed slightly, and his lawyer whispered into his ear.

"I suppose he bears some resemblance to my son, Dante," the man answered tightly.

"The motocross son?"

"No, that was my youngest son, Leo."

"And where might I find Dante?"

"I am not at liberty to discuss that."

"Not at liberty? Listen up, Mr. Episcopo, your son was the last person seen with Ms. Morelli while she was still alive and they were heard arguing. You will tell me where your son is or I will have you arrested for obstruction of a federal murder investigation."

The hawk-nosed attorney once again leaned over and whispered into his client's ear. Episcopo murmured a soft but terse response to the man who responded with a placating tone, but with words still too quiet to carry.

Episcopo's jaw clenched and he offered Booth a murderous glare. "Dante has been admitted to a mental health facility, his doctors have him on suicide watch."

"I'll need the name and location of that hospital."

"Well you won't be getting either from me."

"Mr. Episcopo-"

"My son is ill, Agent Booth," the man cut in sharply, "and I have no intention of subjecting him to anything that may worsen his condition or possibly endanger his life."

"So he's feeling guilty about killing his ex-girlfriend because she wouldn't get back together with him, and now wants to off himself, too?"

"This interview is OVER!" the lawyer stated emphatically, coming to his feet.

"I think a judge will agree that the circumstances of Dante's little breakdown are a tad suspicious."

"Then you may contact us when you have substantiated that belief and have a court order," the attorney replied, ushering Mr. Episcopo from the room.

TBC...