Bones
"Paternal Instincts"
Summary: Bones' young new assistant has a secret…he is Booth's son.
Author's Note(s): Takes place after the whole "Widow's Son" storyline, so Zack is gone.
Warning: This story will contain spanking of a teenager.
Disclaimer: The only character I own is Seth. Booth, Bones, and the Squints I don't own.
Chapter Four: Home Sweets Home
The drive from the Jeffersonian was very quiet.
Booth wasn't exactly sure how to start off a conversation with the boy sitting beside him.
What exactly did you say to a sixteen year old doctoral candidate genius, anyway?
Fortunately, Seth saved him from having to figure it out.
"What's it like being an FBI agent?" the boy asked, curiously.
"It's the best," Booth told him. "I couldn't see myself doing anything else in the world."
"So, I guess it's more than just a job to you," Seth said, smiling.
"You bet," Booth said, "it has to be—otherwise I wouldn't be able to help people the way I do. What about you?"
"What do you mean?" the boy asked him, curiously.
"Well," Booth said, smirking, "is Forensic Science just a job to you?"
"No, it's something I've always wanted to do," Seth told him. "That's why I want to do a good job as Dr. Brennan's assistant."
"How did you decide that, exactly?" Booth asked. "I mean, of all the things in the world you could have chosen why forensics."
"Well, growing up in the orphanage the other kids didn't really want anything to do with me because I was so smart," Seth explained, "so I was alone a lot."
"That's terrible," Booth said. "Kids can be cruel at times."
"I know," Seth told him, quietly. "Anyway, I found solace in books—mystery books."
"Ah," Booth said, smiling. "Let me guess—Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes, right?"
"Yeah," Seth said, grinning, "how did you know?"
"Because," Booth told him, grinning, "he was my hero as a kid too—it's why I wanted to become an agent."
"Really? Whoa," Seth said, "I never thought you and I would…uh…have a lot in common."
"Me, either," Booth said, "but why forensics—why not become a detective like ole Sherlock?"
"Because," Seth said, "Sherlock used forensics—not just deduction—to solve his crimes. I thought it was the neatest thing in the world that somebody could use science in such a practical way."
"I thought all science was practical and logical," Booth said. "Bones seems to think so, anyway."
"A lot of science is still merely theory and conjecture," Seth said, "like quantum physics, for example. But forensics can be proven, you know."
"I do know," Booth said, and then bit his lip. "You mind if I ask something a bit personal?"
"No," Seth said, "go ahead."
"You said you were abandoned as a baby," Booth said, "but why weren't you ever adopted?"
"I was," Seth said, "that's how I got my last name. The Carters adopted me soon after I was abandoned, but they, um, died in a car accident when I was two."
"Oh, man," Booth said, feeling horrible for the boy, "I'm so sorry."
Seth shrugged, trying to appear nonchalent.
"I don't even remember them," he confessed. "After I was returned to the orphanage, I began to show signs of advanced intelligence. A lot of potential parents were intimidated by that, I guess."
"You're kidding?" Booth shook his head. "I thought parents wanted their kids to be geniuses."
"If they're their biological kids, sure," Seth said, "but if they're adopted—they apparently don't think they could handle it."
"Well, that just sucks," Booth stated, firmly.
"Tell me about it," Seth said, quietly. "But like I said, it doesn't matter now, anyway."
Booth narrowed his eyes at that.
The hell it didn't?
The kid still felt that hurt, he was sure of it.
He wasn't sure just what he could say to make the kid feel better, so he opted for simply reaching over and giving his shoulder a squeeze.
They rode in silence after that, pulling up at Booth's apartment.
Heading inside, he was more than a little surprised by who was waiting for them.
"You've gotta be kidding me," he muttered, shaking his head.
Sitting beside his front door was none other than Lance Sweets.
"Uh, hey, Booth," Sweets greeted him, standing up.
"What?" Booth asked, narrowing his eyes. "Bugging the crap out of me all day today not enough for you?"
Sweets bit his lip.
"Look," he said, "when I got home there was a note from my landlord telling me the whole place was being fumigated due to a termite problem."
"And you're telling me this because…?" Booth asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I need a place to crash for tonight," Sweets told him.
"So, don't you have a girlfriend?" Booth snorted.
"Not anymore," Sweets said, his face falling. "She, uh, dumped me last week."
Booth almost blurted out 'I wonder why' but managed to contain himself.
"What about a hotel?" he asked.
"I don't like hotels, Booth," Sweets said, "and besides—I don't want to be alone tonight."
"Why the hell not?" Booth asked, rolling his eyes.
Sweets shrugged, his boyish face taking on a decidedly pleading look.
"Please, Booth," he begged, "just let me crash on your couch? I won't be a bother, I swear."
Booth scowled, but then sighed. He glanced at Seth. "What do you think?"
The boy shrugged. "It's your place, Agent Booth," he reminded him, quietly.
He glanced back at Sweets—who was still looking like a lost little puppy dog.
And, unfortunately, he was a sucker when it came to that particular expression—which was why Parker usually [always] came home with something from any of their outings.
"Fine," he said, getting out his keys, "you can cash on the couch."
Sweets' face lit up and he grabbed the overnight bag that had been sitting beside him.
"Thanks, Booth," he told him, "I'll owe you big time, dude."
"Oh, I know you will," Booth said, opening the door and ushering the two of them inside.
Entering himself, he closed the door and locked it behind him.
"Nice place you got here," Sweets said, dropping his bag beside the couch and sitting down.
He kicked off his shoes and put his feet on the coffee table.
Booth snorted. "Just make yourself at home, why don't you?" he muttered, shaking his head.
Sweets winced and lowered his feet. "Sorry," he stated, quietly.
"Sweets," Booth told him, "you really need to grow a pair, man."
"What's that supposed to mean?" the young psychiatrist, frowning.
"If you don't already know," Booth told him, smirked, "then that just proves my point."
"Uh, Agent Booth," Seth said, "where exactly do I put my stuff?"
"Come on," he told him, "I'll show you where the guest room is."
Seth nodded and followed him into a small hall way that had two room on the left and three on the right.
"Bathroom is right here," Booth said, pointing the first door on the right, "and then my bedroom is the third door. Middle one is a closet."
"This must be your son's room," Seth commented, pointing to the first door on the left—which was wide open.
It was obviously decorated for a child—not to mention all the toys and stuff thrown about.
"I told Parker to clean it up before he went to his mom's," Booth muttered, shaking his head.
"Maybe he didn't hear you," Seth said, grinning.
"Oh, he heard me all right," Booth told him, "he just decided not to listen."
"Kids, huh?" Seth said, smiling.
Booth chuckled. "You said it," he said. "Here's the guest room." He opened the second door on the left.
Seth stepped inside, glanced around, and nodded.
"Are you sure you wouldn't want me to just crash on the couch?" he asked. "I mean, Dr. Sweets should—"
"Dr. Sweets wasn't originally invited," Booth reminded him, "and the couch won't kill him."
Seth nodded. "Would you mind if I took a shower, then?" he asked, opening one of his bags.
"Of course not," Booth told him, smiling. "Knock yourself out. I'll go order us some dinner. You like pizza?"
"Does Dr. Hodgins like garbage?" Seth asked, smirking.
Booth laughed at that. "Creepy, isn't it?" he said. "So, Pepperoni?"
"That's fine with me," Seth told him, pulling toiletries out of his bag.
"Cool," Booth said, and then headed back into the living room to call his favorite pizza place.
He found Sweets kicked back again, flipping through channels.
"You got cable, dude," the younger man said, smiling. "500 channels—totally wicked."
"Glad you like it," Booth told him. "You hungry?"
"You bet," Sweets told him. "What's on the menu?"
"Pizza," Booth told him, resisting the urge to scowl. "Got a preference?"
"Dude, it's pizza," Sweets told him, smirking. "It's all good."
"Uh huh," Booth stated, giving him a look. "Pick up your dirty socks."
Sweets blushed at that and bent to pick up his socks, which he'd 'accidentally' tossed on the floor.
Booth smirked and reached for the phone. He ordered one extra large pepperoni pizza, plus bread sticks.
It arrived exactly thirty minutes later, just as Seth was coming out of the bathroom.
The boy's dark hair was damp from his shower and, of course, no longer spiked.
He was also wearing a pair of black pajama bottoms, but no top.
He was actually well developed for someone who valued brain over brawn.
"That smells good," he said, coming into the kitchen.
"It sure does," Sweets agreed. "Got any beer to go with it?" He opened the refrigerator.
"Sounds good to me," Seth said, smiling.
Booth and Sweets raised an eyebrow at him and he blushed.
"What?" the boy asked, grinning. "I lived on a college campus since I was thirteen…"
"I'm going to hope that doesn't imply what I think it implies," the FBI agent told him, "and no—no beer for you...or you."
That last had been directed at Sweets.
"Why not?" the younger man asked, frowning. "I'm old enough."
"My fridge, my beer," Booth reminded him. "Besides, I've only got two left and those are for Bones and me when we wrap up this case."
"Ah, yes," Sweets said, sighing, "the usual bonding ritual." He grabbed three Cokes and brought them over.
"What's wrong with our 'bonding ritual'?" Booth asked him, frowning.
"Nothing," Sweets said. "I just find it interesting that it's usually only the two of you and not the whole team, given that everybody helps solve the crime."
"Are you implying something?" Booth scowled at the younger man. "About Bones and me?"
Sweets smirked. "C'mon, Booth," he said, grinning, "it's just us guys here—you can admit you are at least attracted to her."
"I don't see how that's any of your freakin' business," Booth growled at him, wanting to hurl something at him.
Sweets' grin widened.
"I'm just sayin' that it's fairly obvious there is chemistry between the two of you that goes deeper than mere friendship," he said, taking a bite of pizza.
"Thank you, Dr. Freud," Booth said, rolling his eyes.
"Oh, this isn't your psychiatrist talking," Sweets told him, smirked. "I'm a guy, after all. Anybody with a pair of balls would agree Temperance is hot."
Seth nearly choked on the bread stick he was eating and Booth reached over to pound him on the back.
"Watch your mouth," he growled at the younger man, "and that's Dr. Brennan to you."
"I wasn't being disrespectful, Booth," Sweets told him. "It was a compliment."
"Well, keep your compliments to yourself," Booth growled, and then glanced at Seth. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," the boy told him. "It just went down the wrong pipe, I guess."
"Uh huh," Booth said, smirking knowingly. "Sure it did. Take a sip of Coke to finish washing it down."
"Right," the boy said, blushing slightly. He quickly took a sip of his soda to hide it.
Neither Booth nor Sweets was fooled though. They exchanged knowing glances.
The kid had it bad for Bones, that's for sure.
Of course, apparently, so did Sweets.
Well, that was just too bad because she was all his...figuratively speaking, of course.
They ate in silence after that and then tossed their paper plates in the trash.
The left over pizza and bread sticks went into the refrigerator for later.
"I don't know about you two," Booth said, yawning, "but I'm beat."
"Me, too," Seth said, rubbing his eyes. "I guess I'll go to bed. Goodnight."
"Night, dude," Sweets told him, slapping his back.
"Night," Booth said, going to the hall closet and retrieving a blanket and pillow.
He brought them back in and tossed them at Sweets.
"Uh, thanks," the younger man said, smiling, "and I'm sorry about what I said—I really didn't mean any disrespect."
Booth sighed. When the kid looked like a lost little boy it was hard to stay mad at him.
"I know," he said, "and off the record—I agree with you. Bones is very nice looking."
Sweets smiled. "Night, Booth," he said. "Pleasant dreams."
Booth grinned. "Always," he said. "Night." He turned and headed for his bedroom.
The next morning, he strolled out and headed for the kitchen to get the coffee started.
On his way, he glanced at the couch and snorted.
Sweets lay with one leg thrown over the back, the other hanging off, and an arm thrown over his face.
He was also snorting slightly.
"Figures," Booth muttered, and entered the kitchen.
The coffee had just started brewing when a voice asked, "Do you usually walk around in a pair of boxer shorts with skulls and crossbones on them?"
Startled, he spun around and instantly regretted it.
"You're one to talk, Mr. Tidy Whitey," he grumbled, sourly.
He had definitely seen more of Lance Sweets than he ever wanted to.
"What?" Sweets asked him, glancing down at himself. "They're just briefs, Booth. It's not like I'm naked."
"Might as well be," Booth muttered. "You were snoring five minutes ago."
"I'm a light sleeper," Sweets told him, strolling in and opening a cabinet. "You got any Cocoa Pebbles?"
Booth rolled his eyes at him. "Remind me," he said, "how old are you again?"
"Dude, it's chocolate," the younger man said, grinning.
"Don't you think you're hyper enough?" Booth asked him. "And no, I don't."
"What cereal do you have?" Sweets asked him, curiously.
"At the moment," he told him, "none—Parker prefers Fruit Loops and he finished off the last box the other day. I haven't had time to go shopping yet."
"Well, can I at least have coffee?" Sweets asked, grumpily.
"Somebody obviously woke up on the wrong side of the sofa," Booth stated, smirking. He handed him a mug of coffee.
"I'm not exactly a morning person, okay," Sweets told him, taking it and going to the table.
"I noticed," Booth said, pouring himself a mug and joining him.
"Good morning," Seth entered, smiling.
"Morning," both older men said, neither one exactly enthusiastic in his greeting.
The boy smirked. "Note to self," he said, "don't get too close. Might get head bitten off."
Booth chuckled at that. "You're obviously a morning person like Bones," he said, turning around to look at the boy.
He was already dressed, wearing a black button down shirt, black slacks, and the black boots from yesterday.
A white zipper tie hung loosely around his neck and his hair was once again spiked.
He had forgone the dog collar, but the earrings and nose ring were still in place.
"Nice look," Sweets told him, approvingly.
"Why the change?" Booths asked, curiously.
"I thought I should dress a little more professionally," the boy said, blushing slightly, "that's all."
"Uh huh," the two older men said at the same time, exchanging a glance.
The boy was trying to impress his boss...literally.
Sweets finished off his coffee. "Mind if I hit the shower?" he asked Booth.
"I'd prefer you hit the door," Booth told him, jokingly, "but go ahead. Just don't take all day."
"Who, me?" Sweets told him. "I'm hardly high maintenance, Booth."
"Well, I am," Booth told him, "so hurry it up."
"Yes, Sir," Sweets said, mock saluting him. He then retrieved his overnight bag and headed for the bathroom.
"I swear," Booth said, "one of these days I'm gonna put my foot so far up his butt…" He shook his head, exhasperated.
"I think he looks up to you," Seth told him. "Like a big brother."
"I've already got a brother," Booth said, sighing, "and I guess he isn't so bad—I just wish he wouldn't keep blurring the line."
"The line?" the boy asked, puzzled.
"Yeah," Booth told him, 'between kid and adult. When he's talking his psycho babble he at least sounds like he knows what he's talking about, but then he usually follows it up with something like "Dude, like, that is so totally awesome'."
"Well, he is only twenty-two," Seth reminded him, grinning.
"You're only sixteen and you don't talk like that," Booth reminded him, smirking. "Maybe Bones was right."
"About what?" the teenager asked, curiously.
"About you and him hanging out some," Booth said. "You can inspire him to be more adult-like and he can teach you to be more of a kid."
"You don't think I act like a kid?" Seth asked, confused.
"I think," Booth said, "that these are supposed to be the best years of your life and you should be having fun—not worrying about being so responsible all the time."
"Will you say that to Parker when he gets arrested for pulling some crazy stunt when he's sixteen?" the boy asked him, curiously.
"Hell no," Booth said, laughing. "I'll probably ground him 'til he's thirty-five!"
"He's lucky, you know," the kid told him, quietly.
"Why's that?" he asked him, curiously.
"Because at least he has a dad willing to do that for him," Seth said. "I hope he knows that."
"I think he does," Booth told him. "I count my blessings everyday for him, I know that."
"It must be nice," Seth said, quietly. "Mind if I get some coffee, too?"
Booth glanced at his own, untouched cup.
"Tell you what," he said, going and pouring it out, "instead of us drinking my bad coffee, what do you say on the way to the lab I spring for some of the good stuff from Star Bucks?"
"You don't have to," Seth told him.
"I want to," he told him, sincerely.
"All right then," Seth said. "Sounds good to me."
"Great," Booth said, smiling. "Now, I just need to get into the bathroom."
With that, he strolled out of the kitchen.
A moment later, Seth heard banging followed by "SWEETS, HURRY YOUR ASS UP ALREADY!"
He smiled.
Something told him that staying with Agent Booth was going be very interesting.
To say the least.
TBC…