Created April 2014 - I don't own the characters or the words made famous by the TV show, Bones. Love them anyway. All the rest that follows is my feeble attempt to keep time in between broadcasts and Razztaztic, Threesquares, and Covalent Bond postings.
A/N: 04/30/2014 - This story is total Hodginsing. Expect it to be unlike all of my other comfort food stories, as it is a delicious spiraling of all my many Bones conspiracy theories - slightly filtered - into one story. Though some of you have already picked up on some of my nutter theories hinted at in my other stories, you don't even know half of the crazy that I love to throw at my favorite Bones fic writer (as if you can't guess) Covalent Bond.
It is for this reason that if you don't enjoy the story, we all can blame her :) But seriously - don't b/c she is my favorite, and I'm not above kicking your ass :0)
This story will cite many of the goings on over all nine seasons of Bones, and I will guarantee you the characters that I've created will not factor into the endgame. This story IS NOT intended to predict what will occur next in canon, but hopefully serve as a Scandal-eque version of the series that infuriates us all. I'll do my best to tag certain canon facts and chapters with episode references, I hope you'll keep me tethered to that commitment along the way.
I am a bit bummed! My outline for this story has always vividly begun with a scene b/w Cam & Sweets. But you will have to wait a few chapters in for that. I'll be posting a few set up chapters tonight just so I can mentally get to it. One last thing - just shoot me if another one of my author's notes goes this long.
Lance Sweets stepped off the elevator, grimacing at the number of agents ambling around the floor with their heads down, eyes locked on a smartphone or buried in a set of documents. Once guilty of the same behaviors, he now had come to appreciate the things he hadn't noticed before, such as how many second looks he received from several female agents in the building.
His heads-down, walk-and-work abstinence was not a choice of self-improvement; not some fittingly contemporary emancipation from being "plugged in" all the time. No, he was just consistently paranoid about things now. Once bitten, as the saying goes. He observed his colleagues and coworkers hurrying off the their next conference call, meeting or web conference, completely oblivious of who or what could have been watching them.
He wondered how many of these agents had unknowingly been victim to Christopher Pelant's trespasses.
The irony of this self-imposed tech diet (a diet because even the likes of Booth thought that being fully unplugged was impossible) was that Sweets had once considered himself a gadget geek. With every new smartphone, gaming console or tablet ad, Sweets tempered his impulse-to-possess against his still fully untold history with Christopher Pelant. That intrusion, plus Dr. Saroyan's identity theft victimization had made him hypersensitive to all things electronic and print (after all, anything printed these days was borne of computer based origin). He expected that – right now – there were scads of other hackers infiltrating what the FBI Technology Standards Group had newly (re)deemed impregnable security. Impregnable security that Sweets knew had been overhauled at least four times, thanks to one genius-hacker-serial-killer's obsession with his coterie of friends.
Cynically, he watched as the techs were working up in the ceiling – yet again – on rewiring the cables in the bullpen. It made him shudder.
Lance Sweets knew too many secrets. And he feared that Pelant's psychopathy meant that his death was but a mere setback to the landmines that they'd yet to discover.
After all, it wouldn't be the first time that a serial killer had continued to posthumously torment Team B&B.
In fact, being haunted by serial killers had kind of become their thing, now that Sweets considered it. Howard Epps' death had chased Agent Booth into therapy; Gormogon's silence in death had led to Zack's infinite penance; Pelant had certainly done a number on all of them, big-time. Especially Dr. Brennan.
And, the specter of the Grave Digger still plagued Sweets. For reasons he hoped that no one would ever learn.
Yup, he knew too many secrets.
He looked at his father's wind-up wristwatch, it was 3:47 PM. Angela's probably hacked three sites I left the Jeffersonian he chuckled to himself.
He made a mental note to visit with Dr. Saroyan regarding Angela's recent stretch of lawlessness that she justified as just under the guise of supporting FBI/Jeffersonian cases. After spending lunch and the early afternoon with Hodgins and Angela, he was impressed with how well-adjusted Dr. Hodgins appeared to be, even despite the reminders of his fortunes that this Brewster case was surfacing. But Angela...Angela. As she was with almost all facets of her existence, Angela Montenegro was a little too overzealous with her boundary pushing. One word to the wrong person and everything that they worked for would come crumbling –
"Whoa!" Sweets raised his hands to get the attention of two agents barreling toward him.
"Oh! Sorry Dr. Sweets." The pretty young agent replied breathlessly. She had been engrossed in conversation with another agent – Agent Richter – who appeared to know fully well that her colleague was about to run into Lance Sweets, and still let her. "I wasn't paying attention."
Silently, predatorily, Richter eyed the forensic psychologist as he assisted her yet unknown associate.
Sweets pursed his lips. Agent Richter. Again.
"No worries," Sweets offered, squatting down to help reorganize the spill of paper. "It happens all the time."
Marlene Richter stepped around Sweets to treat herself to a rear vantage view of the able-bodied psychologist. His suit jacked stretched to the fit of him as he hunched over the papers; the narrow cut of his trousers was accentuated by the pull of his squat.
There was something about this kid. She thought to herself, nudging her Buddy Holly retro frames down her nose for one long, final gawk. Something that makes me want to climb him like a knotty rope. Hmm, hmm, hmm! Shame he goes for the gangly ponytail types, like my little friend here.
"Dr. Lance Sweets," Richter began, eyes still canvassing his body. "I'd like you to meet my new mentee, Agent Candace Greer; a new addition to the Cyberterrorism unit."
"Thanks for the introduction, Agent Richter." Both Greer and Sweets stood. A flushed Lance Sweets smiled at Richter politely, always wary of The Cougar, as he liked to call her, before extending his hand to introduce himself to Agent Greer. Sweets shook Greer's hand, examining her familiar features. "You know obviously know me, but I apologize if we've met before."
Two sets of ebony eyes and dimply smiles mirrored each other. Richter shifted and rolled her eyes, annoyed at the obvious, instant magnetism between the pair.
"No, we've not met before." Candace began, admiring the psychologist's tie and shirt combination. "Agent Richter is giving me a tour of the building. I was looking forward to meeting you. We just passed by Detention. Er-, um your office…."
Sweets chuckled. Booth strikes again. Apparently Domestic Terrorism (Richter's unit) and now Cyberterrorism had caught on to the head of Major Crimes' moniker for the Psych wing of the Hoover Building - Detention.
Greer's eyes flashed with appreciation of Dr. Sweets' amusement. "I also went to U Penn…for my Master's. You're still quite a legend in some circles there, Dr. Sweets." she grinned. "Plus, Dr. Edison is my uncle. He speaks very highly of you."
"Oh?" Sweets inquired, sincerely surprised. While, like Clark Edison, Candace Greer had a strong brow, square shaped face, prominent cheekbones and full round lips, she was –
"I get the confusion." she chuckled. "My Dad's pretty tall. And white. Irish, German, and French. I'm Chex Mix." She laughed, always amused by the reaction of everyone who knew both her and uncle.
Sweets blushed. "I was just going to say, I'm surprised that Dr. Edison said anything nice about me" he lied. "I thought that he just found me to be a meddlesome Feeb shrink."
Greer smiled "Oh, he does" she confirmed cheerfully. "But Uncle Clarkie really enjoys working with you, with all of your team. Don't tell him I told you though." She winked at him.
One wink and Sweets was hooked – again. Since his big breakup with the Jeffersonian intern - and Agent Booth finally/officially being taken off the market - Lance Sweets had realized that his stock had risen substantially among the Bureau bachelorettes.
"It will be our secret Agent Greer." he nodded toward her. "But it will kill me to keep the name 'Uncle Clarkie' all to myself." He placed his hands in his pockets, unable to stop smiling at her.
Greer slipped the folder containing all the recovered paper under her arm, and tugged an errant strand of hair behind her ear. "Then we'll just have to find occasion to call him that together" she suggested, eyes locked with his.
Sweets laughed goofily. A smiling Agent Greer stepped to Sweets' right to rejoin an amused Agent Richter. Sardonically, she quipped "You know, it you two get married and you took his name, your married name would be Candy Sweets."
Sweets pivoted to face the passing pair, relieved to find that Agent Greer had decided to laugh off The Cougar's snide remark. "Good to meet you Agent Greer, welcome. Agent Richter, always an experience."
All three agents exchanged farewell nods and continued in their intended directions.
What a coincidence, Cyberterrorism. Sweets mulled, hopeful that Agent Greer would stop by for insights on the possible tricks of Christopher Pelant. Ugh. What am I saying? I want a cute girl to come to my office to talk about Pelant. I'm an idiot.
An idiot with game.
Now whistling, Sweets continued toward his office, appreciative that his calendar was clear for the rest of the day. The McNamara angle of the case had definite legs. Knowing that he would be touching base with Booth later that evening about his meetings with Brewster's brother, Erica Stamp, and his conversation with Hodgins about McNamara.
He walked into the waiting area that he shared with three other psychologists and two psychiatrists. He nodded at two seated agents before he checked in with Mrs. Adams.
Mrs. Adams sat at her desk coordinating the electronic calendar of appointments. Gloria Adams was a pleasant lady – a widowed great grandma who was the aunt or great aunt of someone high up in the Bureau. But her genealogy hadn't earned Gloria her position – she had been with the FBI since the end of Reagan's first term. She had seen six directors come and go during her 30 year tenure, one year more than Dr. Lance Sweets had been alive – a fact that she often leveraged to tease her favorite profiler.
If she said the word, Mrs. Adams could – without objection – take on the executive role of supporting the Director. But Mrs. Adams preferred the syncopated routine of supporting six head doctors. Coordinating thirty, sixty, and ninety minute sessions and overseeing records management was far less stressful to managing four administrative assistants and the Director.
Plus, it gave her more opportunities to see her favorite head of Major Crimes.
Sweets approached Mrs. Adams, finding her cheerily humming Sinatra's Fly Me To The Moon. Sensing his presence, she looked up with a beaming smile. "Hello, Dr. Sweets, how was your lunch, Dear?"
"Dear": there was zero use in trying to get Gloria to abide by any HR sensitivity rules.
Mrs. Adams was always pleasant, but Sweets knew that there was only one reason that she'd be so… chipper: Agent Booth was waiting in his office.
Without Dr. Brennan.
While Mrs. Adams required all her doctors' visitors to use the waiting room, she only offered this direct-to-room treatment to Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan, and for very different reasons. Agent Booth, she adored. Dr. Brennan, on the other hand, brought Gloria to new heights of exasperation.
If Dr. Brennan was with Agent Booth, Mrs. Adams would have stood up and walked Sweets to his office door. And, if Dr. Brennan was in his office alone, Mrs. Adams would be nowhere to be found, and a post-it note would be on his door. But when Booth dropped by on his own, Gloria was all smiles – big smiles.
"Fine. Thank you Mrs. Adams. How long has he been in there?" he asked, smirking at Gloria's pout for reading her mood.
"About ten minutes, Dear." She passed him his mail. "Seems like he's having a bad day. I hope everything at home is okay. " Gloria had a definite emphatic tick – whenever she uttered or inferred Dr. Brennan's name, she raised her eyebrows with all the judgment empowered to a Spanish Inquisidor. "Tolerant" was the nicest word possible to describe Gloria's opinion of Dr. Brennan. But, as Sweets knew, Mrs. Adams believed that no girl was good enough for Her Seeley.
But Lance Sweets was a different story.
"Oh! Agent Richter stopped by with a nice young lady looking to meet you, an Agent Greer. A very lovely girl…" she winked.
Sweets blushed as he backed away toward his office. "Yes, I literally ran into her and Agent Richter in the hallway. She seems nice. She went to the University of Pennsylvania as well."
Gloria shook her head. "She's not involved with anyone right now. Oh, and she's not gay, Dear."
Of course Mrs. Adams would have secured all the pertinent personal details in what was probably a two minute exchange.
"Can you hold my calls, please?" Sweets smiled, ignoring her.
"You're schedule's open for lunch tomorrow…" she sang, ambivalent to the doctor's dodge.
Sweets shook his head, trying to get in the appropriate mental space for his intense friend. In the four steps left to his office, a slightly concerned Sweets quickly staged a pre-assessment. Having known Seeley Booth for seven years, one technique that he had learned by working with his nimbly evasive friend/coworker/former patient/surrogate parent was to preemptively suggest probable issues to him – in psychological terms – prime the pump.
But what was the reason for this visit?
He usually could tell. If there was a new case, Booth wouldn't be waiting in Sweets' office. And Booth was never in a hurry for case reports, so he knew that it wasn't that.
Maybe it's Dr. Brennan knocking heads with Dr. Saroyan again. He thought, knowing that Booth's kinesics would affirm immediately what was going on.
Sweets opened the door.
Wow.
Uh oh.