Author's Note: Last chapter. Sorry this took so long to complete. I hope you enjoy the ending.
I do not own Bones or any of its characters.
Thank you to everyone who had read/followed/reviewed this. It's always appreciated.
Lives in the now: Thank you. :D I had missed fanfic, so it's good to be back. And thanks as always for the review. It was fun to try something a little different with this one, so I am glad that you are enjoying it.
Va32h: Thank you. :) It is nice to be back in the fandom, especially with so much going on in this season. Now it's just a matter of getting through these hiatuses...
D: Ironically enough, I think that's something else that Booth and Sweets have in common: a stubbornness to let go of certain negative perceptions of themselves despite what others have told them more than once. :) But yeah, I agree with you that, as impressed as Booth was with Sweets' performance, it was that last moment that was the deciding moment for Booth...
Charlotte Thornton: I was pleasantly surprised at the Finder myself, and yeah, I've missed spending some time with Sweets in the world of fic. :) I hope you enjoy the conclusion to this one...
The Shift of the Perspective—Chapter 4
While sitting in his office at his desk, Sweets contemplated the annoying truth that staring at a computer screen did not always equate getting any work done.
Over the last day or so, the psychologist had found it increasingly difficult to keep his mind on his work when he was alone. The previous night was understandable, in his estimation. Daisy had stopped by to check up on him and somehow it had let to a brief, but energetic round of sex.
Sweets sighed and tapped his fingers against his desk. He hadn't really wanted to give into the urge to have sex in his office yet again, but Daisy had been very persistent and persuasive. After they were done, the therapist had decided to chalk up the rest of the night as a loss and went out with her for some drinks. The next morning he managed to get some more work done and had been able to stay focused when consulting with his patients, but now that it was late evening and he was alone again, Sweets found his mind wandering again.
He swiveled around in his chair and stared at the rest of his office furniture.
'I really should get around to replacing all of it,' he thought. 'And not just because of the normal wear-and-tear.'
Sweets frowned as he leaned back in his chair. He knew that what was bothering him was not the furniture in the room: it was the holster on his belt.
His hand drifted back toward the gun near his hip and his frown grew deeper. When he had first started working at the Bureau, he had decided to make it a rule to not allow guns in his office. Granted, it was also official Bureau policy, but it was a policy that was often not strictly enforced. Sweets, however, had found himself insisting on it. It had partially been for safety reasons, but that was a very minor part of his rationale. The truth was that having his patients leave their firearms out of therapy sessions was a symbolic gesture, a way to separate him and his patients from the job and the stress and horrors that came with it. This place was meant to be a safe environment that would foster trust and calm. Having guns in the room would only disrupt that environment.
Having his gun here, even if it was out of sight on in its holster, felt like a violation of what he had been trying to achieve while developing his practice and building therapeutic relationships with his patients.
'I should keep it in a locked drawer or something when I am in here,' he figured. 'Especially when I am having therapy sessions.'
Sweets pushed himself away from his desk and moved over to his chair that he used for therapy sessions. He hated to admit this, but he found himself having second thoughts about carrying a gun in the field. He still felt a strong desire to help Booth and to make himself as useful to the team as possible. But now that he actually had the gun, many of Booth's concerns had truly begun to sink in…along with some fresh concerns of his own.
'Carrying a gun means facing the prospect of having to use it,' the therapist pondered. 'What if I have to use it for something more than just coercion? What if I have to hurt someone?'
'What if I have to kill someone?'
Sweets swallowed hard. He had examined that possibility when he made the decision to become certified to carry a weapon in the field, but back then it was only a vague concept in his head, a hypothetical question that he wasn't even sure if he needed to consider. Feeling the weight of his sidearm against his body gave this concept a form and gave that hypothetical question real depth.
The psychologist sighed and slumped down in his seat. At one point before his test, he had harbored doubts about whether or not he was the type of person who should be carrying a gun in the field. He had managed to resolve his worries at the time so he could perform well on the test, but despite his performance and the trust that Booth was bestowing onto him, Sweets still felt uneasy at the new responsibilities he had been given.
'I may have the skills to shoot well, but…will I be able to act fast enough when Booth needs me to? In field situations, seconds count…and it won't be the same as shooting at cardboard people. Will I be able to act decisively when I need to? And…will I be able to live with the consequences of my actions?'
Sweets' reverie was interrupted by the sound of someone approaching the door of his office. He looked up in time to see Booth opening the door and walking inside.
"Hey Sweets, you got a few minutes?"
As Booth made his way to Sweets' office, he could feel himself becoming tense.
Granted, it didn't compare to how tense and worried he felt during Sweets' certification test, especially given what happened, but the agent had managed to put aside his feelings about all of that so that he could concentrate on wrapping up the case at hand. Now that the mystery was solved and the murderer was in custody, Booth had been finding himself increasingly preoccupied.
It was true that any concerns he might have had about Sweets' skill with a firearm had been quelled by the therapist's performance during the test, but the moment when Sweets cried out after being hit had crystallized every fear he had carried about taking the psychologist in the field.
Thankfully, this had proved to be a minor injury that required only a few stitches…but it had also just been an unfortunate ricochet in a safe, controlled testing area. In the field, things would not be so safe and simple. There might be ricochets, but there also might be people shooting directly at the both of them…at Sweets. There might be minor injuries, but there also could be major ones…ones that could not be fixed with just a few stitches.
Booth shuddered. He had had to learn to deal with fear of Brennan getting hurt in the field for years after they had become partners. It hadn't really gotten any easier for him, but eventually, over time, he had learned to accept the situation for what it was and make the necessary adjustments to handle the idea of the anthropologist sometimes being in danger along with convincing himself that she could often take care of herself.
But now with Brennan carrying their child and Sweets being the one instead who was putting himself into hazardous situations, Booth could not help but feel a heightened sense of anxiety.
The agent ground his jaw. He was determined to keep the people closest to him safe, but he also could no longer ignore the fact that he was losing control of environment he had constructed to ensure that nothing bad would happen to them.
And at this point, Booth was unsure of what frightened him more: the thought of the people who he cared about being in danger or the loss of this control.
Booth did his best, however, to shake off these fears as he continued his walk toward Sweets' office. Right now, there was a conversation that he needed to have with the psychologist and it didn't involve these thoughts or feelings.
When he arrived, Booth could see the shadow of someone in the office, so he opened the door and walked right in without knocking. As he did, Sweets looked up at him from his chair.
"Hey Sweets, you got a few minutes?" he asked as he walked inside.
"Sure, go ahead," Sweets said, waving a hand toward the couch. The therapist leaned back in his chair and waited for Booth to sit down. As he did so, Booth looked at Sweets a second time and frowned.
"You should be wearing your sling," the agent pointed out. "The doctor wanted you to keep it on for four days, and the last thing I need is for you to tear your stitches."
Sweets sighed and got up to retrieve the sling from his desk. He then sat back down and Booth waited until the psychologist had placed it back on his arm before leaning forward and speaking again.
"Listen," Booth began. "I know that you've been certified and that you have your sidearm now, but you need to know that that's not going to be the end of it."
"What do you mean?" Sweets asked. Booth could see both worry and wariness in Sweets' eyes and he knew that he would have to choose his words carefully.
"You've definitely got the basics down," he continued. "But there's more that you're going to need to learn: about when and when not to draw your weapon, about when and when not to fire. About how the two of us are going to handle the situations that might come up. Some of this is stuff that you're going to have to learn over time, but I'm also going to walk you through as much of it as I can. We're going to work out a system, and I'm going to expect you to stick with it while you're still learning to handle yourself. Understand?"
Booth had expected to come up against some resistance from Sweets and was shocked to find none in the therapist's demeanor. In fact, Sweets looked somewhat relieved at the agent's words, leading Booth to suspect that Sweets was grappling with some additional issues of his own.
Booth fell back against the couch and did his best to stifle the urge to roll his eyes. This was a dance that the agent had become all too familiar with. Underneath his lighthearted, goofy façade and his repeated attempts to get the people around him to share their thoughts and troubles, Sweets was notoriously unwilling to open up his own heart and mind to anyone. It irritated him at times, especially since Booth felt that had made a real effort to be more open with the psychologist about the things in his own life. But he also acknowledged that it was possible that Sweets was carrying around things that he couldn't completely fathom and thus, he tried to be patient with him in moments like this.
As a way to diffuse his frustration, Booth decided to watch Sweets carefully, looking for the subtle signs that the psychologist would give when he was more willing to talk if given the opportunity. He soon spotted them in the midst of Sweets' nervous fidgeting and decided to put off leaving for the moment.
"Booth," Sweets finally said. "When you have to use your gun, do you…? I mean, are you ever…?" The agent leaned toward him. He could tell that Sweets was not only trying to find the right words, but was trying to avoid sounding too clinical while doing it.
"Is it normal to…to be afraid?" Sweets asked. "Afraid of having to use it? Not wanting to have to…?"
Booth was surprised. He had expected this to be about the gun issue, but he had not guessed that this was what was on the therapist's mind. But after considering it for a moment, it made sense to Booth that Sweets would be concerned about these kinds of things.
"Sweets, what you're feeling…that weight of responsibility…that's perfectly normal," Booth replied. "In fact, I'm glad that you are feeling it because that is something you need to be aware of if you are going to carry a gun in the field. And you know what? I hope that you don't stop feeling it as long as you are carrying that weapon in your holster because the minute you stop having those feelings is the same moment you'll go from being an asset to a liability in the field."
Booth leaned in even closer to Sweets, his eyes lit up with intensity.
"I need someone with me in the field who understands the stakes involved and who isn't going to jump into dangerous situations without thinking," the agent added. "Do you understand?"
"I understand," Sweets responded quietly, his eyes flickering down toward the carpet. Booth found himself becoming concerned again with the reaction he was getting.
"Hey Sweets, listen, don't over-think this, all right?" Booth said. "I wouldn't be taking you out into the field if I didn't think that were capable of handling all of this. It's just going to take time. And again, I'm going to help walk you through it, ok?"
"Ok," Sweets said. His expression was still thoughtful, but the agent noticed that it wasn't as pensive as it was when he first walked in. Booth then reached over and patted Sweets' shoulder.
"Come on," he said as he got up. "How about we go get a drink?"
"Sounds good," Sweets said, a smile appearing at last. "Are you buying?"
"All right, fine," Booth said in mock exasperation. "But only the first round. After that you are on your own."
"Awesome," Sweets said as he rose to his feet. He went back to his desk to throw a few things in his briefcase before grabbing it and walking with the agent out of his office.
"And if Mark is there tonight, I can introduce you to the Founding Father's latest drink: the Sweet Sling," Sweets beamed.
"The Sweet Sling?" Booth said. "You're kidding me, right?"
"No, no it's actually pretty good," Sweets insisted.
"This isn't one of those fruity drinks with a bunch of little umbrellas on it or something is it?" the agent asked.
"Hey, how many chances do you get to have a drink with the person that said drink was named for?" Sweets smirked.
"Ok, you've got a point," Booth sighed.
Sweets smiled again, and Booth couldn't help but let out a chuckle in response as the two of them made their way to the elevator. In the back of his mind, Booth knew that he would probably have to endure a "girlie" drink pretty soon.
But, from his perspective, that was a very small price to pay.