I have been asked by several people to do a short chapter where Booth has a quick "chat" with Sweets as he is getting extremely "frustrated" with Bones' conversations of late. I hope that you will agree that this is a good addition and may make Booth more confident that "growing a set" is a good thing at this stage. Gregg.

Disclaimer: I don't own, or profit from, these characters or franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Dr. Lance Sweets was in his office going over his notes on a particularly troubling session with a junior field agent who, during the course of an investigation, was in an accident and a child was paralyzed. It had not been the Agent's fault, but that didn't remove the emotional impact of such an event. Progress was being made, but it would be a long road before the agent was over the trauma.

"Sweets!"

Sweets almost jumped out of his skin as Agent Booth came into the office looking as if he wanted to kill someone. Oh shit! Another "incident" involving Dr. Brennan and her wicked sense of humor. She must have really ramped it up again. Booth had made it quite clear that he held poor little Lance Sweets responsible for all this crap, and it looked like another reminder was about to be meted out. He stood up.

"Agent Booth," he said, trying to smile, but not quite succeeding.

"She wants a mold of my dick, Sweets!" Booth practically roared, though in reality it was a grating tone as Sweets could tell the man was grinding his teeth in a most damaging manner.

"Huh?" Sweets said, not even wanting to know what the HELL the other man was talking about. Had Booth suddenly gone nuts???

"She wants a new dildo, for God's sake, and wants to get one as near to matching my dick as she can," Booth spat out, very frustrated. He was also embarrassed as Hell right about then, but he'd been that way since the day after Christmas. He was getting used to it.

"You mentioned something about a mold?" Sweets asked, still not wanting to touch this conversation with a ten foot pole.

"Let me break it down for you, Kid," Booth started pacing. "She asked me to describe Seeley Jr. When I almost wrecked the God damned SUV, she went on and said she wanted a dildo that came as close to being a perfect substitute for yours truly as she could get. Then when I almost swallowed my tongue, she asked if I would make a mold of my dick so she could have a custom dildo made! That lovely idea came about since I hadn't started describing myself quick enough. This all your fault, Sweets!"

Sweets didn't dare tell him that he'd lied through his fucking teeth about the brain scans. Agent Booth would castrate him, and that was if the man was feeling somewhat merciful. Never mind the fact that he'd had the best of motives, like trying to give the man enough time to properly recover his emotional equilibrium before making such a sweeping declaration to Dr. Brennan, but he now knew that he should have used another method. Before he had a chance to even think of his options, Booth startled him.

"Come on, Sweets," Booth said as he grabbed Sweets by the collar and dragged him out of the office. "I need to blow off some steam."

Two hours later a visibly shaken, and quite pale, Dr. Lance Sweets was back at his desk. Agent Booth had taken him down to the weapons range. In the hour and a half that they were there, Agent Booth had described in full blown detail, which shocked the Hell out of Sweets since Booth was usually more tight lipped that the most adept intelligence officer, of the conversations that Dr. Brennan had forced on him in the last month. That wasn't the scary part, though. All the while he was describing the conversations Agent Booth had rapid fired a dizzying array of weapons at extreme range, and his groupings were the best that the range master had ever seen. Sweets got the message. Loud and clear. Booth was done fucking around with talking with Sweets. Sweets had better come up with a way to get the whole brain scan issue out of Booth's thought process, since that was what was keeping him from making any forward moves with Dr. Brennan, or Sweets' proverbial goose was cooked. Booth wouldn't kill him, but he could kiss his job as an FBI psychologist goodbye. He was so fucked.

A/N: I wrote this as mainly Sweets centric, but it allows us to see Booth's frustration a bit more and also why he is blaming Sweets. I hope you think that this is a good addition to this story. I will be going back to Booth/Bones conversation pieces in the following chapters. Gregg.