A/N: I'm not sure if whomever is reading this now knows what happened with myself, our friends and the person for whom I originally wrote this series. If you do, you might understand why I wanted to simply delete the whole thing and start over…but in reflection I realized that the sentiment with which I wrote it was real and existed for me and I refuse to let that temper what was a sincere gift that I meant to give with all my heart. So, here it stays.
If you love Sweets, you might really like this. If you don't like Sweets…eh, read it anyway. You might feel differently about him afterwards. He's a good egg, our baby duck.
In any case…enjoy!
~NM
The Sound of One Duck Quacking
"Do you think it's your fault?"
The question, asked so straightforward but without malice, caused the younger man to twitch. If he were honest with himself, if he stripped away all the pretty psychological phrases and clinical excuses and really looked at the situation…
"Yes and no."
"Ah, ambiguity. The bane of the psychologist's existence." The doctor smiled. "Well, at least the bane of mine." He leaned forward and tapped his pen against his notebook. "Lance, you must know what a cop-out that answer is."
Sweets uncrossed his legs, leaning back into the comfortable chair that every single psychiatrist's office always seemed to have with a sigh. "But it's the truth. There are times, when I allow myself to think about it, that I feel responsible. But aside from that first…incident…everything I've done has been for the benefit of my patients."
"Friends."
"Yeah." Sweets laughed harshly. "Dr. Curtis, can you believe they still want to be my friends after everything that happened?"
"You're a good man, Lance. You have pulled yourself up from dire circumstances, worked hard, embraced your innate talents and now…now you work for the FBI doing truly good, satisfying work that benefits mankind." He smiled. "I should think anyone would want to be your friend."
Sweets stood and moved to stare out the windows that covered one entire wall of the office. He considered his next words carefully before turning back to the other doctor. "I'm not exactly a good friend to have, you know."
"No, I don't know. Why don't you tell me?"
He smirked at that. The trouble with being a psychologist who is seeing a psychologist is that you tend to know all the tricks before they ever materialize, which tends to inhibit your natural reactions. You have to be committed to the therapy completely, and there were days that Sweets wondered if he would ever be that dedicated to his own cause.
"I know that Dr. B doesn't hold grudges. But I also know that she despises psychology. She finds my field a 'waste of my high intelligence'." He huffed out a laugh. "She actually said that. Intelligence can be measured, so she can't deny that but the psych stuff…I might as well be wearing a loin cloth and doing a hula while shaking a shrunken head on a stick, for all the credence she pays to my job." He shook his head. "Although, now that I think about it, she would probably give me more credit for the shrunken head. Some sort of anthropological significance to it, or something…." He trailed off. "She doesn't really like me."
The older man frowned. "How do you know that she doesn't like you?"
"I just…it's a feeling I get. She's never said it, and she's generally nice to my face, but…" He shrugged. "Her partner would call it a gut reaction. But I can see the thinly veiled distaste in her eyes."
Clearing his throat, Dr. Curtis set his notebook down and leaned forward, elbows on knees. "You don't think that's projection? We've talked about this, Lance. Until you forgive yourself for what you did to her, all you will ever see in her eyes is reprisal."
Sweets sat back down across from his therapist, head flopping back on the sofa. "Yeah. I know that."
"Easier said than done, I know."
"I get why I can and should forgive myself. Intellectually, clinically…it all makes sense. But then I think about the signs I missed…I mean, I didn't know them very well at the time, and I suppose that's an excuse I can use, but they sat right in front of me, giving each other these looks…" He stared at the ceiling from his reclined position, absently counting the tiles above him. "It's the most amazing non-verbal communication I've ever witnessed. And I didn't understand the scope of it."
"You've said that she compartmentalizes better than anyone you've ever seen. You can't be responsible for-"
"But I can!" Sweets stood again and began pacing in front of the sofa frantically. "I knew what she had been through as a teenager. Abandonment issues are her Achilles heel and in the name of science I exploited that weakness." Losing steam, he flopped back down in his seat. "I knew they had a connection, a deep connection…and I wanted to use that to see how extensive her ability to avoid emotional reactions went. That's…it's a violation of everything we believe in." He closed his eyes, suddenly exhausted. "Right?"
Dr. Curtis nodded solemnly. "You know that it is, Lance. And if Dr. B had chosen to pursue it, you could have lost your license over it. But you didn't."
"No, she never even told Agent B." The ambiguous names he was forced to use for Booth and Brennan in the name of patient confidentiality sometimes made him cringe.
"How do you know she never told him?"
The first smile of the day crossed his lips. "Because I'm still alive."
The doctor chuckled. "Yes, from what you've told me, your agent does have quite a defensive reaction when it comes to his partner."
"He's been in love with her since before I met them. And he protects those he loves."
"The ultimate alpha male."
"Exactly."
"Does he protect you?"
The question gave Sweets pause. "I-I don't know. Yes. When I was taking my gun certification test and was injured, he seemed more upset about it than the injury warranted, but I really just think it's his guilt in not being able to protect someone…not necessarily me. Agent B is like that for anyone." Sweets sighed. "It's what makes him…heroic."
"And there's nothing in your past that would indicate that he cares for you more than he would the average citizen on the street?"
Sweets pondered that for a moment. "Well, I mean…there was the time that they came to my office and made me come home with them to have dinner with Dr. Wyatt…"
"The time they confessed something dark about their own childhoods? To make you see that you were not the only one with scars?"
"Yes." He cleared his suddenly tight throat, remembering how that one night had made him feel just a little less alone. "But Agent B was only there because she made him come. He can't deny her."
Curtis paused, squelching a smile. "So this venture was Dr. B's idea?"
"Yes, according to Dr. Wyatt. And she did encourage Agent B to open up."
"Which was noteworthy due to the fact that Dr. B rarely opens up emotionally for anyone? And yet this time, she was the one who kicked off the sharing?"
"Right."
"This is the woman who doesn't even like you, correct?"
Sweets laughed, shaking his head ruefully. "Alright. You've made your point. She likes me. Or, she tolerates me enough to be able to feign affection, anyway."
Dr. Curtis took a breath, sensing victory. "The same woman who never, ever lies about anything? Who doesn't see a need to spare someone's feelings in the name of honesty? She's 'faking it', just for you?"
Sweets ran a hand over his face, scrubbing at his eyes harshly. "Sometimes, I really hate psychology."
