[A/N: I am way more than honored by the warm reception this story has received. Thank you all so very much for reading and "alerting" and whatever else this site made possible! I waded around editing in this update a bit more than I usually do (the note at the end will explain why). I'd love to hear your thoughts on the way this plays out.]

Chapter Three: The Danger of Overindulging Sweets

Dr. Lance Sweets had been leaving messages for Booth since the day after "the talk" that had shot Booth's world to hell. On top of the daily voicemail messages, he'd sent e-mails, attempted to trap Booth in hallways and the parking garage (as if that would ever actually be possible), demanded that he stop by his office (as if Booth had ever listened to any such demand), and even followed him into the men's room. Booth still shuddered remembering that particularly traumatic event. Even so, he had begun to wonder if Sweets had taken a few serious classes at Quantico—the man was persistent and at times seemed to appear out of nowhere to try to persuade him to discuss his feelings.

Talking to Sweets was something that Booth just wasn't ready to do. Besides, if he thought long enough about it, he realized that he was too furious to be within a few feet of the pre-pubescent boy. He was going to avoid Sweets for the boy's own protection. If he were honest, Booth would have had to admit that he doubted he'd ever be ready to face the enthusiastic, well-meaning expression on Sweets' face for any length of time at all again. That look used to appeal to his optimism, but too much had happened because Booth had let that expression drive him to act upon a feeling he'd held sacred for years. Too much had now happened that couldn't be undone. Sweets was still a kid. Despite his degrees and his skill, he couldn't possibly be equipped to deal with the psychological hell Booth was in—especially since he'd been the one who had opened the door and given Booth a shove inside. Booth didn't plan on letting him know anything about that devastating conversation with his partner, and he wasn't going to give in to the psychologist's attempts to bully him into confessing his desperate longing for his partner or his recent heartbreak over it. So what did the rock-solid agent who'd faced and survived torture, pain, and death threats from vicious mercenaries bravely plan to do? He hid from the kid armed with nothing more than a few impressive diplomas and an annoying preoccupation with his love life.

Over time, Booth had used all of his skills—evasion, intimidation, threats, lies, physical prowess—you name it, he'd used it to avoid talking to his therapist. Booth was stubborn—he figured he'd outlast him. So far, his approach had been successful even though there had been a few close calls. He was willing to keep working hard to ensure that he continued to avoid the man at all costs.

Despite his short-term success in managing and evading the younger man, Booth had completely underestimated his persistence. Realizing that Booth was in stealth mode and trying to avoid him, Sweets had stepped up his pursuit. He dogged Booth in the hallways and followed him into stairwells. Regardless of the maneuver, Booth bit his tongue and kept moving. He was determined not to give in. He had been trained to be slippery and evasive; he excelled at both when determined. And he'd never been as determined as he was right now. Holding all of his pain and his turmoil inside was the only thing allowing him to cope. It was pure self-preservation keeping it that way. Avoiding Sweets seemed to be his only option. Since his days as a ranger when lives had depended upon it, Booth had hated not having multiple options for how to handle any given situation. When that happened, he usually leveraged the adrenalin rush and stress into focusing on making sure that his one remaining option stayed viable. Since his only option in the current situation was to avoid Sweets, Booth became hell-bent upon doing so. Predictably, this state of affairs quickly turned into a battle of wills among two smart, stubborn men, and Booth was determined to be the last man standing. As in most such situations, something—or someone--had to give.

After weeks of being ignored, Sweets was the one to reach his breaking point first. He surprised Booth with his last valiant effort at cajoling him into talking with him. Without hesitation and with a smirk that said he meant business and that he was going to push the agent harder, Sweets yelled out to Booth across a crowded hallway, "You leave me no choice, Agent Booth. I'll have to take up the issue of your completely unprofessional behavior with the Deputy Director." Booth unprofessional? Most of the staff in the hallway froze where they stood considering the possibility. Sure, he and his partner had sparred openly about ridiculous subjects in the hallway, the elevator, and the parking garage on a regular basis, but that was as bad as it got. Booth was the consummate FBI agent—brave enough to take calculated risks but smart enough not to push the parameters of his working environment. This young shrink sure had guts. Nobody else within hearing distance would have been courageous enough to accuse Booth of anything resembling unprofessional behavior.

As Sweets' biting words wound their way past their co-workers and caused the entire hallway to fall completely silent, they lodged themselves in Booth's gut. His gut was an unusually anxious, frustrated, horrible place these days, and Sweets' inappropriate choice of words set him off. Having already begun to duck into his own office to avoid the annoyingly persistent therapist, Booth whirled and strode directly up to the younger man angrily, purposefully drawing himself to his full height and flexing his muscles wildly as he stood over him and demanded through gritted teeth that he repeat what he'd said. Booth had been too angry to notice that the silence in the hallway had become even more whisper-quiet or the fact that half of the office had now begun observing this heated exchange. The nerve of this little punk. Sweets' calling him unprofessional when the psychologist had been the one who'd turned into a complete quack full of crappy advice for Booth and his partner had been just too much for Seeley to bear.

The look on Booth's face conveyed such unbridled anger that Sweets retreated a few steps until his back hit the wall behind him hard. He'd long since understood that Booth's bark was almost always worse than his bite, but he hadn't seen the agent look quite that disturbed before. He found himself to be actually afraid that Booth might try to hurt him. When Booth called him out and demanded that he repeat his threat, Sweets choked out the words again in a shaky voice. Without pausing or saying anything else, Booth grabbed the younger man by the collar in precisely the way that a mother cat would pick up a disobedient kitten and dragged the psychologist, his feet barely touching the floor, back to the shrink's own office. Now with a new mission, Booth had ignored the stares and worried looks from his coworkers. He had been too angry to think about anything else but forcing Sweets to shut the hell up.

Sweets knew that he'd hit a nerve, but he became thrilled that Booth was finally paying him a long overdue visit. Trying to warm him up, Sweets started talking as they entered his office but his words soon squeaked out and then stopped completely as Booth continued to drag him toward his desk. Booth manhandled him and shoved him into his desk chair. Without asking, Booth began rifling through the man's desk drawers looking for something specific. When Sweets started to protest, Booth hissed, "Just shut the hell up, Sweets," in a voice that compelled him to be quiet. Lance sat there perplexed as Booth searched until he found what he wanted.

Booth slapped the pad of forms down loudly on the desk before shoving a pen into Sweets' hand. "Write this down," Booth said, nodding toward the psychologist to let him know that taking this dictation was a direct order. Silent and wary, Sweets watched as Booth thought carefully for a moment before trying to employ his own version of the psychobabble Sweets so often directed toward him.

"Agent Booth stopped by my office to check in today. Discussed current cases. No problems reported with Dr. Brennan and their partnership. After careful consideration, partnership deemed successful without intervention."

"Now sign it," Booth said with authority. Sweets had been tempted to put the pen down and protest, but the set of Booth's jaw and the way that he had started flexing his muscled arm made him reconsider. Begrudgingly, Sweets signed the form and handed it to Booth. To his surprise, Booth put the form back on the desk and barked, "Make five more copies. Sign them. Leave the date blank."

"My notes are like prescriptions, Agent Booth. I can't...."

"Just fill out the damned forms, Sweets," Booth growled, leaning over the man intending to frighten or force him into complying.

Hoping that giving in to this brute force intimidation would help him get some information, Lance did as he'd been told. However, he became surprised when—after taking the forms, folding them, and placing them in his jacket pocket--Booth turned to leave the office without uttering another word.

The therapist now realized that he had become the desperate one. He'd lost control of this situation and had now become completely convinced that he was on the verge of losing one if not both of his favorite patients, "I know my book was crap, but I was right about you. It's obvious that you're upset and uncomfortable with my suggestion that you come clean with Dr. Brennan. Let's talk about that. Maybe I can help."

Booth laughed for a moment as he paused to pace uncomfortably behind the sofa lost in his own thoughts. Midway down the distance again, Booth stopped and stared at the psychologist with an expression that no course or teacher could have prepared a therapist to experience. Booth stood there stunned into silence by the gap he'd seen between what Sweets had been thinking and the crappy way that things had actually turned out. His face bespoke his anger, his pain, and his disillusionment too clearly.

"Talking about what you're feeling with an independent third party like me might help. Might give you perspective. I know this is difficult."

"Independent my ass! And difficult? You have no idea at all what's difficult!" Booth exclaimed, resuming his angry pacing back and forth across the room.

"There's no need to yell, Agent Booth. Sit down and talk to me. Remember, I'm here to help. I have your best interests at heart," Sweets requested, finally daring to walk around toward the chair in front of his desk to sit down.

He'd underestimated the impact those simple words would have upon the man hearing them. Booth took that trite little "lie down on the sofa and tell me your troubles" as a complete slap in the face. He felt like a lab rat or a specimen Sweets thought he could pull out to examine and then discard as if it didn't matter. Unable to contain the anger the psychologist's words had inspired, Booth practically launched himself across the room. He moved without even thinking--like a lion poised to strike down its prey. With every daunting step closer, Booth flexed his fist, subconsciously preparing to smack it cleanly on the chin of the smaller man. Stunned by the attack, Sweets barely managed to stay on his feet as the larger man drew nearer. Without flinching, Booth threw a punch that barely missed clipping Sweets on the jaw and that still sent him sprawling into the chair behind him. Booth had been absolutely dumbfounded that Sweets had somehow managed to elude the jab. Fighting was like marksmanship without a weapon aside from one's body, and Booth prided himself on excelling at both. When Agent Booth threw a punch, he always made contact. He wasn't a newbie like Jacobs. Booth only grew more angry as the possibility crossed his mind that—like Jacobs--he'd let Sweets make him so angry that he'd caused himself to miss his own target.

For once, Sweets had been stunned into silence. Neither his considerable education nor his extensive experience had prepared him for the remote possibility that Booth would have tried to strike him. Sweets had long since concluded that threatening Dr. Brennan would be the only way he'd ever inspire that much wrath in the agent. He'd been dead wrong.

Booth had taken quite a bit off the punch, but he'd never have let Sweets know that. He wanted the man to suffer. He wanted him to know how truly angry he still was with him. He wanted him to think he'd tried to do damage to him. Booth had been momentarily stunned into inaction by missing his target, and as he looked down and saw the wreckage that had once been his therapist, Booth felt glad that he hadn't actually hit him. In fact, Booth almost felt guilty watching the younger, smaller man sit where he'd fallen into the chair with shock on his face and tears in his eyes. Booth almost felt remorse about it. Almost.

Recovering his mind and realizing that leaving would be best for both of them if not the only way to save his own career, Booth turned toward the door. But he quickly realized that once the cap on his anger had been ripped off, he no longer had a way to contain it. Furious, he whirled around and returned to tower over Sweets. Bracing himself on the arms of the chair and squeezing them until the marks he left were indelible, Booth spoke in a low, shaky voice that sent chills up the therapist's spine. Lance imagined that same voice threatening criminals and soldiers and murderers and breaking them down. Had Sweets been one of those characters, he'd have confessed whatever Booth wanted to hear. Since Booth seemed more interested in doing all of the talking, Sweets had become more than willing to allow that to happen. Booth glared at him and then intensified his gaze so much that Sweets would have squirmed had he not been so terrified, "I'm only gonna say this once. I don't want to talk to you. I don't need your help. These forms? I'll use them whenever I damn well want to skip a session… if I even agree to any more sessions. And you'll make more "passes" if I ask--as many as I want. Stop following me. Stop threatening me. Stop trying to get me to open up to you. That's just not going to happen. Not anymore. And stop pretending that you're half the shrink you think you are."

Despite his fear, Sweets felt wounded by the accusation and started to defend himself, "But I... I know the book was off base, but I wasn't wrong...."

"Dammit! The book was right. Every... single... word... of it," Booth hissed through a jaw clenched so tightly that it was surprising he could speak at all. His words shocked Sweets back into silence. Booth gave the man a moment to consider the significance of that admission. He waited, realizing that this news was going to knock the man for a loop and that he needed to give him time to let the news sink in so that he'd feel the weight of the situation fully. After watching him think, Booth continued, "Even though you didn't know about the first case or the kissing... you had it right. You were right. About all of it."

Confused, Sweets struggled to figure out what had happened. If he'd been right about everything, Booth shouldn't be angry with him. He should be thanking him. He should be seeking his counsel. He shouldn't be this angry.

Booth knew that the reality of the situation was on the verge of dawning on the younger man, but he wanted the pleasure of mapping the disaster out for him. He wanted his own words to rattle around in Sweets' brain the way that he'd heard that man's words in his own mind for weeks as he had replayed what had happened with his partner until the scene had run on a constant loop in his brain and left acid churning in his gut.

Seeing that he had Sweets' full attention, Booth finally unleashed his fury, "You were right about the damned book, but that stunt you pulled? Pushing me... nagging me... messing with my mind that way in front of Bones? That wasn't therapy. That was a spoiled little brat trying to make things happen so that he could still claim to be right, so that he could prove that he wasn't a fraud. That little speech about the gambling? That was all you. And it was a complete crock of crap. I hadn't gambled in years. I am not a gambler... not anymore. You were being selfish and spoiled. You just wanted to be right. That's when you stopped being our therapist. That's when you stopped being my friend. You sold me out, Sweets. And I'm finished with you. You can't prey on people like that. It's wrong and it's hurtful. You took advantage. You can't get involved and tell people crap just to make you feel better about yourself. You screwed with my head and both of our hearts. I'm disappointed in you. I expected more from you. I thought you were better than that."

Finally exhausted from releasing his anger in that brutally honest tirade to the younger man, Booth stood up wearily and turned to leave the room. His gait had become slower now and revealed more about his exhaustion than his stooped shoulders and pained expression. By the time he got to the door, Sweets had found his voice and started trying desperately to reconnect with the man he admired so much. Sweets felt desperate to understand how terribly he'd failed him. He knew that he had to have been missing something important, but he couldn't quite get his head around it, "But if the book was right, you should talk to her...."

His words trailed off as a shaken Booth looked back toward him taking a long, tense moment before making eye contact with him. Once those dark brown eyes connected with Sweets' own, he could see that they were now deeply troubled. Anguish was visible in every crevice of Booth's face despite his attempt to hide it and the weight of the world sat clearly balanced too heavily upon his shoulders. "Oh my God...," Sweets stammered involuntarily, the reality of what had happened hitting him full force. He could see from the look on Booth's face exactly what had happened. She had turned him down. She had walled up and reinforced the dam. He had nudged Booth to take a step that had shattered the man's heart and risked significant damage to that sacred relationship between the partners.

Swallowing hard and feeling anything but victorious now that he'd ended the battle and given away the proverbial army's most protected secret, the agent pulled the door opened, walked through it quickly, and slammed it behind him.

Sweets sat there with his mouth hanging open and tears still in his eyes as he realized the damage he'd done. Booth was right. He'd been protecting his own ego so staunchly that he encouraged Booth to take a step neither partner might have been ready for. Dr. Brennan clearly had not been ready for such a step. The psychologist's heart ached for the angry man who had just fled his office. He almost wished he actually had hit him. That might have lessened the grief and the concern now plaguing him as he sat alone at the scene of the crime. Normally quick-witted, Sweets couldn't begin to consider what, if anything, he could do to help.

Booth blazed a path from Sweets' office to his own. Once inside, he closed the door and rushed to his chair, spinning it around so that he had been able to face away from anyone who might have been interested in spying on him to see how he was doing. He sat there for a long time trying to regulate his breathing and squelch his anger. Still frustrated, he fished the forms out of his pocket and locked them in his desk drawer. Immersed in his thoughts, he spun his chair back around to give himself some privacy.

Sweets knows. While part of him felt happy to realize that the therapist would be torn up realizing the error of his ways, Booth couldn't enjoy dwelling on Sweets' misery. He didn't blame him for what had happened—only for prodding him to act sooner than he would have otherwise. He had no assurance that the result wouldn't have been the same whenever he'd had the guts to reach out to Bones that way. Booth figured the kid would crumble now that he knew the damage he'd done. Booth had been surprised how much sympathy he now felt for the man. He supposed that he really had come to respect and trust him. He had actually become a brilliant therapist when he hadn't been caught up in his own ego. Booth figured he might even rival Gordon Gordon Wyatt someday. He hated to imagine what this blow would do to the kid's confidence. He'd probably quit and change careers or something equally as drastic.

Booth sighed. What now nagged at him loudly were feelings of guilt. He felt that somehow he'd betrayed Bones by letting Sweets know what had happened. He'd have to do something—punch the kid again or threaten him--to make sure that he stayed the hell away from Bones and that he let broken hearts lie in pieces. The last thing Bones needed would be a guilt-ridden shrink playing with her mind and her emotions any more on his account. She'd looked so desperate when she'd asked Booth if they could still work together. Dammit, he had decided that he would use Sweets to make sure that continued to be possible. He'd quit kicking the kid around if he did that for them. He owed them that much.

Some indeterminate time later, the ring of his cell phone pulled Booth out of his thoughts. After checking to make certain that it had not been Sweets calling, Booth took the call. "Agent Booth," he said as loudly as his raging emotions would allow in that moment.

"Yes. Where? And you're almost there? Thanks...."

Booth's heart now hammered in his chest and he had to swallow to tamp down the emotions that were rushing him in that moment. He no longer had time to worry about Sweets. He had more important things to occupy his mind and to spin the acid around in his gut. They had a case. He needed to call Bones. They had case.

[A/N: I originally planned to have Booth hit him. Wrote it that way and was going to keep it. I'm not sure whether it was Sweets' adorable baby face or the fact that part of me just didn't want Booth to smack him that made me change it. I almost made it work, but once it was written that way, I just couldn't make peace with the after-effects. Did the near-miss seem effective?

Sigh… I suppose I've kept Bones out of this long enough. Time to dive in and find the courage to try to explain her thoughts on things!]