A/N: XD Sorry for the long update gap again! So here's a new chapter, sorry if it's kinda bad...lack of sleep.
Also I want to say thank you everyone who is read/following/reveiwed this story, it means a lot it me. :D
Oh, I need to squeal about this, I got to meet Kathy Reichs! She was doing a book signing so I dragged my friend down with me as an "early birthday present" (my birthday is on Friday).
I love her books but it was kinda awkward cause I was the youngest person there. XD Fangirl moment over now! Enjoy this chapter! Now, it's one AM and I've got to sleep!

Chapter Nine: Work to Do


Andrew Hacker had been quite surprised when Booth barged into his office. He'd been shocked when he'd said he was reporting a case of assault on a federal agent. But he was truly dumb-founded when Booth said it was on behalf of Doctor Sweets.

"Sweets? As in your therapist?" Hacker gawked, confused.

"Yes."

Hacker chuckled. "What happened, someone try to take his lunch money?"

Booth didn't laugh. "He was attacked in his apartment." Hacker's eyes went a little wide.

"Seriously?" he asked. Booth nodded.

"He's pretty shook up, the guy broke his nose." The Agent said, taking a seat opposite Hacker's desk. His boss let out a low whistle.

"Who'd want to hurt him? He's just a shrink."

Booth shifted in his seat, obviously uncomfortable and frustrated. "Bones and I talked to him about it."

"And?" Hacker pressed. Booth sighed.

"The guy's name is Patrick Becker; the Maryland State Police are in charge of his parole."

Hacker raised an eyebrow. "Sweets told you this?" Again, Booth nodded. "How does he know?"

Booth ran a hand through his hair and looked away. He didn't have much of a choice but to tell his boss.

"Becker is his biological father."

"Excuse me?" The AD looked quite surprised. Booth sighed again.

"Sweets is adopted, Becker is his biological father." Again, Hacker seemed suprised.

"You said the Maryland State Police are in charge of his parole, correct?" his boss asked. Booth nodded.

"Let me guess, Sweets also knows what Becker on parole for?" Booth nodded. "Wow, the kid really wanted to keep tabs on this guy."

"Can't blame him." The Agent muttered. Hacker stayed silent for a moment, giving Booth the opportunity to speak. He didn't take it.

"So," he finally started. "What is Becker on parole for?" Booth really didn't want to say it. He really didn't want to tell Hacker about what the bastard had done to the psychologist. But he knew he had to, he wouldn't have that strong of a case otherwise. Sweets would forgive him for it, right?

"He's on parole for assault on a minor."

Hacker's eyes bugged out a little. He gulped nervously before asking the next question.

"W-was the minor..." he trailed off. Booth nodded.

"It was Sweets."


The psychologist and anthropologist nearly jumped out of their skin when they heard Booth re-enter the office. Realizing he'd startled them, he gently closed the door and leaned against it.

Sweets whirled around from his spot on the couch to face Booth. The Agent avoided eye contact, focusing on the bookshelf across the room. No words were being exchanged but he knew what they were asking.

"What happened?"

Booth took a deep breath. "It's an official FBI case. We're calling up his parole officer to see if he knows about this." Out of the corner of his eye, Booth saw Brennan's jagged, nervous posture soften, but Sweets didn't move, keeping his eyes on Booth.

"Who's the agent on the case?" he asked.

"I asked Hacker to assign me to this." Booth replied. The therapist bit his lip.

"A-are they running a background check on him?" his voice quivered slightly. The agent nodded. He'd get all the files on Becker, criminal record, credit reports and, what the shrink dreaded, the Social Services files.

Just then, Brennan's phone chirped, drawing the three out of the tense mood. The anthropologist drew her phone from her pocket.

"I should..." she trailed off.

"Yea, might be important..." Booth added. Brennan quickly stood up and exited the room, a faint, "What is it Cam?" being heard as the door closed.

Booth moved from his spot beside the door and towards the psychologist's chair. Sweets tried to hide an annoyed look as he sat down in it. Booth shifted uncomfotably in the chair.

"No offence Sweets, but your chair sucks." he leaned back and crossed one leg. There was no response from the psychologist, who just fiddled with his tie.

"Should I send CSU to your apartment?" The agent asked.

"Hmm?" This caught the therapist's attention.

"You said Becker came to your apartment, should CSU go over it and see if they can find anything?"

"N-no," Sweets quickly said. "He was j-just in the hall." he resumed playing with the tie.

"Listen," Booth tried again. "Maybe you should take the rest of the day off."

"I-I don't really -I'm fine." he said abruptly, trying to keep from stammering.

"No, you are not "fine". You've been out of it all day. You need to just take the rest of the day to relax." Booth insisted.

"Agent Booth, I'm fine." he said, harsher this time. "I just need to get back to work."

"Sweets, listen to me-"

"Just drop it!" he hadn't meant to yell, but it slipped out. Booth's eyes widened a little, but kept the rest of his expression stoic.

"Alright," he said, getting up from his seat. "Get back to work then." This suprised the psychologist, but he tried not to show it. Booth was not one to give in.

"Thank you." he said, getting up as well. Booth ignored it.

"I'll be in my office if you want me." he said, opening the door. The agent paused, turning back to glance at the therapist, then continued on his way out.

The second the door closed, Sweets felt extremely guilty.

"He was just trying to help."

The shrink gritted his teeth, trying to keep himself together.

"Stop it, you're not a child," he told himself. "You can't cry about every little thing."

The exhaustion from the previous night caught up to him then. Sweets yawned and glanced back at the couch, tempted to lie down on it and drift off.

"No," his subconscious nagged. "You need to get back to work."

That was true. There were profiles to be written and case reports to type up. There was work to be done, and he was damned if lack of sleep was going to keep him from it.