Author's Note: Just a little one-shot that came to me while recently re-watching Season Four on DVD. Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about any of my other projects and I hope to update more than one of them this week. :) This takes place not long after both The Girl in the Mask and The Beaver in the Otter.

I do not own Bones or any of its characters.

Thank you to everyone who reads/favorites/reviews this. It is always appreciated. :D

The Impossibility in the Perfection

Sweets ended up lingering over his drink for far longer than he had intended to.

After another long day at work, the psychologist finally had the weekend to look forward to, but was at a loss as to how to unwind. He ended up going to the Founding Fathers and ordering a drink. After making the order, he figured that he could order more than just a couple of drinks since he had taken the subway to work that day and began making plans to get drunk if necessary.

Almost thirty minutes after his drink arrived, however, Sweets found that he had only finished half of it. After the first couple of swallows, the therapist had sat the glass down in the center of the table and stared at the tan, transparent liquid. He thought about ordering his next one in anticipation of finishing this one, but now he was beginning to question his original intent for coming here.

He had hoped that drinking could help erase the image of a terrified woman from his mind.

When Booth had brought in Sachi Nakamura's roommate, Nozomi Sato, into the interrogation room, Sweets had known that it would be an uphill battle to get her to talk.

'She had just seen her friend's head on a spike, wearing a mask that she normally wears,' Sweets pondered. 'Who knows how long it's going to take for her to recover from that.'

Still, Booth was trying to catch a murderer, and Sweets could understand his point of view. So when the agent asked him to "work his magic" on her, Sweets tried to put forth his best effort. He tried to convey concern, comfort and assurances that she would be safe, but none of his words seemed to reach her. The woman was trapped in her own world of loss, isolation, and fear.

Sweets eventually gave up on interrogating her and let Booth know this with a silent look into the glass. After a couple of moments, confident that he had conveyed his message, the therapist went back to Nozomi and continued to try to console her. In the end though, he had had little success and watched helplessly as a pair of agents took her away to be held somewhere while her fate was decided.

Once she had left, Sweets immediately retreated back to the privacy of his office. The situation that Nozomi was in had more than a tinge of familiarity to him.

The psychologist remembered how he had not spoken for a month after being taken away from his biological father. That night, his birth father had decided to finally "take care" of him for once and for all by viciously beating him with a whip and tossing him into a locked closet to die. Sweets had been sure in that moment that that was the end, and it was only because of an anonymous phone call to the police from a neighbor that he survived that night.

Back in his office, Sweets sank down onto the couch. He had been taken to a hospital that night and doctors, nurses and staff from Child Services had all tried to get him to speak, but he refused. Even after he started to talk again, Sweets would only speak to a select few and only in short timid sentences. It wasn't until he lived with his true parents, the Sweets, for a about a year that he would converse normally with people.

The therapist put his head into his hands. He had heard Booth mention the possibility that his friend, Ken Nakamura, might be helping her get back to her family in Japan. At the time, it had given him some measure of relief…at least enough to get through the rest of his day.

Back in the present, Sweets finally finished off his drink in one giant gulp, a perverse part of him enjoying how much it burned his throat on the way down. He motioned to the waitress to bring him another one, and once it arrived he drained almost half of it at once. He could feel the alcohol start to affect him which only encouraged him to keep nursing his drink.

Sweets hoped that Nozomi found some peace once she was back in her native Japan. He was concerned though due to his own recent studies over the Japanese culture. He had read about Japanese students studying abroad and then facing challenges once they returned home. Being as the Japanese existed in a very homogenized culture, these students would often be considered "tainted" by foreign ways of thinking and acting, and they would frequently be ostracized for "standing out" too much.

Sweets shivered and finished his second drink, immediately ordering another one. He understood all too well what it was like to feel like he didn't belong. It was a sensation he had grappled with for most of his life.

It was also something he hadn't been able to stop thinking about after helping wrap up the team's most recent case: the death of James "Beaver" Bouvier.

The psychologist sipped at his latest drink. He knew that he shouldn't have let Brennan's comments about him guessing about the frat boy's actual lack of grief bother him, but for some reason those words still stung.

'I should expect it by now,' he mused. 'Brennan has made her disdain for psychology crystal clear. It's not as if I should anticipate her changing her mind just because of my efforts. I'm just going to have to accept the fact that she will always perceive me as some kind of fortune teller or carnival barker…and not as an equal or a professional.'

'Not entirely like Booth actually.'

Sweets curled one of his hands into a fist while the other one gripped the glass tightly. As much as he was loathe to admit it, Sweets had actually been somewhat frustrated with himself because he had been unable to get anything out of Nozomi during the Nakamura case. Sweets knew that Booth was counting on him to get a name, and he had failed.

'It wasn't about me,' Sweets thought angrily. 'It was about Sachi Nakamura and her death and Nozomi Sato and the horrible experience she had gone through. It was about the loss of a life and a life that had been destroyed….not about getting a "gold star" from Booth.'

And yet, Sweets could not deny the sense of failure that he had felt when he was not able to get Nozomi to speak. Almost as bad was the fact that that feeling of disappointment had weighed on his mind in about equal measure to his concern over Nozomi's well-being.

It was part of the reason he had driven himself so hard during the Bouvier case, even going as far as convincing Booth that he could spot Bouvier's murderer just by watching the reactions of a group of suspects during the demonstration of the workings of a nail gun. It had been a calculated risk, but one that paid off due to the fact that Bouvier's murderer still could flinch in a predictable way at the sight of that nail gun.

'Booth thinks that I'm some kind of magician…Brennan is convinced that I'm some kind of huckster….Who knows? Maybe the truth is somewhere in between. Or maybe none of it is true. Maybe I'm just fooling myself into thinking that there's more to what I do than either one of those things.'

The therapist snorted and took another swallow of his drink. He was spiraling into a dark place, but he knew better than to let those kinds of thoughts to dominate him and his actions. He would get drunk tonight and wake up tomorrow with a painful hangover. But then he would go back to work on Monday with his head on straight and his focus on what had made his life's work: helping others sort through their problems while also studying the workings of the criminal mind.

Sweets just wished that he could find some way to get through this evening.

Booth walked into the Founding Fathers with purpose in his step.

He had already had a quick dinner with Brennan and had sat his good night to her before going off on his current errand.

For the past three days, the agent had seen little of Sweets around the Hoover Building and had been surprised when the psychologist had cancelled the usual therapy session that week. Yesterday he had run into Angela at the Jeffersonian, and when she mentioned that no one had seen Sweets at the lab for a while, his concerns were cemented.

That day, Booth had tried going to Sweets' office, the Royal Diner, and even calling Daisy in an attempt to locate the therapist, but to no avail. He had finally headed over to the Founding Fathers in the hopes that he would be successful and was momentarily relieved when he spotted Sweets sitting at a table by himself. That is until he saw the expression on Sweets' face.

Dark and brooding. That was the potent mix that Booth could discern in Sweets' eyes and it gave the agent pause. He then noticed the half empty glass in front of the psychologist and moved over to the bar.

"How many has he had, Bill?" Booth asked the bartender.

"That's his third," Bill said. "Jean's getting ready to make him another one."

"Do me a favor and just cancel that," Booth said. "And give me my usual beer."

The bartender complied and once he had his beer in his hand, Booth went over to Sweets' table.

"Hey Sweets," the agent said as he sat down. "Mind if I join you?"

"I suppose not," Sweets glared. Booth chose to ignore the slight sarcasm in the therapist's voice and took a long swig from his beer.

"I thought that you might like to know that I talked to Nake earlier today," Booth said. "He said that Nozomi is spending time with her family and that they are happy that she was able to come back safely."

"That is good to know," Sweets said quietly. "Thank you for telling me."

"Sweets, what is going on?" Booth asked. "Was it something during Sachi's case….or something during the case with Beaver?"

"I…I…"

Sweets stopped and went back to his drink, downing the rest of it in one swallow. He then tried to order another one, but Booth covered his glass and pushed the psychologist's arm down.

"You've had enough," Booth told him.

"I'm not a child," Sweets said, venom filling his voice. "I don't need you telling me what I should or shouldn't do like you try to do with Jared."

Booth ground his jaw. He was getting ready to walk out the door so that he could avoid saying something he might regret later when a glance at Sweets' eyes stopped him. The round chocolate orbs were becoming glassy with tears. Booth did his best to bite back the rage he felt so that he could give this conversation one last try.

"No, you're not a child," Booth said. "But last time I checked you were still a member of this team, and members of a team do not shutter themselves away from everyone else."

"You said it yourself," Sweets glowered. "I don't anything about how a team works or what it means to be a part of one." Booth found himself wincing at those words; words he had spoken to Sweets in a fit of pique.

"But you could learn," Booth insisted. "This could be your first lesson. Starting right now, you could know what it is to be part of a team. All you have to do is tell me what is bothering you."

Sweets opened his mouth to respond, but paused and lowered his head instead, his cheeks turning scarlet. The psychologist then rubbed at his eyes vigorously in an effort to avoid breaking down in front of Booth.

"Is this about what Bones said to you?"

"I'm sorry," Sweets whispered. "I shouldn't have snapped at her. I don't know what got into me…I'm really sorry."

"Sweets, she's been wanting the chance to talk to you about it for the last two days," Booth replied.

"She has?" Sweets sniffed as he continued to stare at the table top.

"You know how she is," Booth said after taking another drag on his beer. "She's always going to tell you what she considers the truth and speak her mind. But underneath all that rational stuff, she cares. About me, about you….about all of us. And while she hasn't said it aloud, I know that she misses you at the lab and even at our therapy session. Just give her a chance to hash things out with you, all right?"

"I'm sorry," the psychologist repeated. "I've been stupid. I…."

"Sweets, this isn't just about what Bones said, is it?" Booth asked. Sweets began to fiddle with his empty glass with a trembling hand.

"I'm sorry about Nozomi," Sweets said. "I tried. I really did. I wanted to help her. To help you. But I couldn't. I couldn't get through to her to help her, and I couldn't get you the name that you needed. And now the man who did this to Nozomi, James Sok, he gets to walk around free. Even though he…he cut off Sachi's head and traumatized Nozomi with it."

The therapist balled his hands into fists again and shoved them into his lap.

"I don't have any magic," Sweets continued. "I don't have a mojo. I can't receive 'transmissions' from suspects. I just try to understand people and try to help them. I trained and I studied years to do it…But maybe I'm too young. Or just not that good at it. Maybe you…maybe you shouldn't rely so much on me."

Booth sat back in his chair and took another long drink from his bottle. He had suspected that Sweets was grappling with some kind of personal issue, but had not anticipated something like this. Hearing Sweets' words, however, made everything else, including the sensitivity to Brennan's jabs, fall into place in relation to how he was acting.

The agent finished his beer before leaning forward again. He knew that he would need to be careful about what he said next and considered his words carefully before he spoke.

"Listen Sweets, that whole thing with Sok…that's just something that happens sometimes," Booth said. "Sometimes you have to cut a deal in order to get the guy who did something far worse than the person you're cutting the deal with. It had nothing to do with you failing in some way. Besides, you said it yourself: that girl went through a horrific experience. I knew going in that it was probably a long shot to get anything out of her. I probably should have told you that too."

Booth edged over closer, a hard look forming in his eye.

"And don't worry about James Sok," he said. "I've got guys from vice watching him very carefully. Someone that stupid and cocky is going to make a mistake. We will get him eventually."

The agent sat his empty beer bottle down and moved Sweets empty glass away from them.

"But you know what?" he said. "Even if I had known how it was going to turn out in the end, I still would have sent you in there to talk to her. You want to know why? Because at least you talked to her and tried to help her. I knew that you would get that accomplished at the very least, and you did just that. You comforted her, and that's probably what she needed right then."

Sweets finally looked up, his eyes still red. He was clearly listening, however, and that is what Booth decided to focus on.

"Sweets, do you know what sprezzatura is?" Booth asked.

"I thought that you didn't speak Italian," Sweets smirked at him.

"Don't be a smartass," Booth smirked back. "Maybe I don't know about words that Gordon Gordon throws out there like cognoscenti, but I know about sprezzatura. It's something that my grandfather told me about. He said that sprezzatura is the ability some people have to make something look effortless to those watching them. He also said that people who have sprezzatura are usually ones who have a great talent and who are willing to put in years of hard work into mastering their talents."

Booth put a hand onto Sweets' shoulder and patted it.

"What you do with people, the way that you figure them out, that's sprezzatura," Booth said. "It's like what Bones does with…well bones, or what Angela does with computers or what Hodgins does with bugs and dirt. And it's the closest thing any of us could ever have to magic or a mojo."

The agent then clasped Sweets' shoulder one last time before moving his hand away.

"But just because you have this ability doesn't mean that you will be perfect or that you will win them all," Booth added. "And you know what, that's part of being on a team to: understanding that while everyone might do their best, they won't always succeed. What's important is how the team supports each other when we do stumble, not if we win every single time. Do you understand?"

"I understand," Sweets nodded, a smile finally starting to form on his lips. "Thank you."

"All right," Booth said, pushing himself away from the table. "Now let's pay for our drinks, and I'll drive you home. Tomorrow you will have lunch with Bones and me, ok?"

"I will," Sweets said as he stood up and pulled out his wallet. Booth nodded and did the same.

They then walked out of the bar, both of their hearts feeling significantly lighter than what they were when they went in.