Hearty thanks to those reviewing and following!

D—I had to put my Viking helmet on for Weasel Stomping Day. We'll see if I take it back out for Andrew. I can't shake this image you're putting in my head of Booth with a menagerie of baby animals to tend to. :D Peanutmeg—You're like Sweets? Well then I like you even more! *hugs and pinches cheeks* As for glossing over Sweets' problems on the show *cough, finale, cough*, amen, sister. But I guess "Bones" is technically about Bones, so we will just have to read/write fic to attend more thoroughly to our Baby Duck's feelings! ;D SFT—Thanks for the Booth appreciation. I'm sure he would pick up some Hank phrases and mannerisms, don't you think? I just had to throw in that Jode scene for everyone who was hating his guts. :) RT—Thanks again for this review that made my day! We've already talked it out (but not hugged it out) so *hugs* and thanks again! Vtdrew2—Thanks so much. Yes, the egotistical side of me would like to see this come to life on my tv screen as well! For a crazy Sweets fangirl like me that would be a whole lotta Sweets air time! ;)

Lance was sitting in his office at the FBI, pretending to do some paperwork. He was thinking about his agreement with Booth to tell everyone at the Jeffersonian what they wanted to know. He wasn't in the habit of revealing much about his past to anyone, and he had to admit that he was frightened. But at the same time, he felt better after talking to Booth than he had in the past few days. Of the Jeffersonian team, Booth was probably the least into sharing, but he had been very accepting of Lance's story. Besides, Lance had the sense that he had already told the most important person the truth. It would now be easier to divulge his past to the others. Upon reflection, Lance found it strange that he still felt no particular impulse to talk to Daisy about any of this.

On the topic of Daisy, it had been troubling him that he had not made the occasion to confess his engagement to his friends. He had been telling himself the right moment simply hadn't arisen. But now he wondered if there was something else preventing him. If he was more comfortable sharing his past with Booth than his chosen life partner, what did this mean?

One of the administrative assistants from Sweets' floor poked her head in.

"Hi, Dr. Sweets. Sorry to disturb you. There's a Sheila Addy here to see you."

"Ok, thanks, Becky. Please tell her she can come in," Lance said, inwardly sighing. Here it comes, he thought.

Sheila was quite tall and her sandy blond hair cascaded down to the middle of her back. She was big boned and hearty but clearly very shy. She had a bit of a stoop to her broad shoulders, and her body seemed to fold in on itself toward her chest…her rather large chest. Sweets tried not to stare, but she was quite voluptuous and pretty in a sun-kissed way. He could see some of Zack in her facial features.

He crossed the room and held out his hand to her. "I'm Dr. Lance Sweets, your brother's therapist. Ms. Sheila Addy?"

"Yes, sir. I'm pleased to meet you," she said in a barely audible but polite voice. Her lilt was infectious.

"Well, please have a seat." Lance was in professional mode—he had his shoulders back and was stretched to his full height. He tiptoed around his more enthusiastic vocabulary choices (like 'awesome' and 'wicked') and attempted to convince this woman that he had Zack's treatment under control, which even he doubted at this moment. With Zack it had always been one step forward, two steps back.

"I had a few questions about Zack's treatment," the mouse-like voice chirped.

"Please," Lance gestured openly. "As far as I know, you are the first of Zack's family to come to the area since he was committed. I'm sure you're aware of the rules of patient privacy, but I'm happy to answer whatever questions I can."

"Yes, I'm the first to visit. In fact, the family doesn't know I'm here. They…they're not sure how to deal with the fact that one of their own is a murderer." Her eyes looked watery, or was it a trick of the light?

Lance softened toward her. She was a woman in need of compassion. "Would you like some water or coffee, Ms. Addy?"

"Sheila. And no, thank you. Zack mentioned being medicated by a Dr. Harper?" She had completely collected herself again.

"Dr. Harper, a psychiatrist at the institution, had Zack prescribed an antidepressant. He didn't respond well to it, so he's not on anything at the moment. Although, he didn't look very well to me today when I saw him. We're going to be evaluating the best course of action with him very soon."

"He's not sleeping much. He can only take naps during the day. At night—nothing."

"Yeah, I noticed he looked haggard. If you leave me with a contact number I can keep you apprised of where we go treatment-wise—with Zack's permission, of course."

"Please don't take this the wrong way, but my brother's a genius and you seem a bit inexperienced. Is he making progress?"

Lance had been on his defensive game, but Sheila actually seemed pretty fair to him. He tried not to take her concern personally.

"Zack has made slow progress. To be honest, some days I feel we have come very far, and others I feel we have significantly backtracked. The environment of the institution is taxing on him, because he has such a sharp mind, as you point out." Sweets cleared his throat. "If you're worried about my qualifications, I can list them. I have multiple doctorates, publications, fellowships, and honors…but more importantly, I really care about Zack. I worked at the Jeffersonian with him before he was committed. Zack's friends in DC are counting on me to help him. Believe me when I say, I do not want to let Zack or anyone else down."

Sheila nodded. "My family thinks that the Jeffersonian is what turned Zack bad. He's always been odd but never violent."

Lance frowned. "I know that from your perspective that may seem reasonable, but the Jeffersonian provided Zack with a loving, nurturing environment in which to grow as a scholar and human being. The seed of the problem was within Zack himself, and it fell on fertile ground in Iraq."

"But this Dr. Brennan. I've seen her on TV…she seems very cold and calculating."

Sweets tried not to become angry. "Actually, what you've seen of Dr. Brennan is merely her exterior. She's worked very hard to rise to the top of her field, but at heart, she is a generous and compassionate person, who truly cares about Zack. If you are in doubt, simply ask your brother."

She nodded again, accepting. "I'd like to tell you something about Zack. I'm not sure it'll be helpful, but…I came all the way here. I might as well try to do some good."

"Yes?"

"My family's rather large. I mean, there are eight of us kids. In my family, you put your head down, do your work, and shut your mouth. We're a working class bunch from a sheltered, small town, you know? Simple folk—protective of each other. I don't know where Zack came from, with his big brain and all, but he had a lot of trouble getting attention as a kid. I think he needed it, because he had so much to offer the world and no outlet."

Lance nodded.

"I don't quite know how to explain this, but from ages 12 through roughly 18, Zack started complaining that he was ill. He stayed home from school all the time with stomach aches. It cost my parents a fortune to bring him to so many doctors. In fact, I took on an after school job to help pay the medical bills."

Lance furrowed his brow. "Did the doctors ever find anything wrong?"

"No! I mean, he had his appendix out, because they thought it might be that. They even checked his pancreas. Nothing was wrong! But he insisted he was sick…One day when he was 16 and staying home from school, supposedly in horrible pain, I saw him jumping on the bed while reading a physics book. I was so angry that I told on him—told Mom he had been lying! She didn't let him stay home after that, though he continued to say he wasn't feeling well."

The wheels in Lance's head were turning. "Have you ever heard of Factitious Disorder or Münchausen Syndrome?"

"No."

"It's when a person feigns symptoms of mental or physical illness to gain the attention of medical staff. It's sort of like being a hypochondriac, except those with Münchausen are aware they're dissembling. Often times they'll even harm themselves or take unnecessary medications to produce a resulting symptom. It's a serious and hard to treat mental disorder."

He waited for Sheila to take this in. Her pale eyes blinked rapidly.

"But Sheila, Zack hasn't exhibited any of the symptoms you're describing since I've known him," Sweets continued.

She nodded. "Yeah, he just sort of grew out of it when he went to college. I mean completely. It's like he made a decision to never seek that kind of attention again, and he just quit—cold turkey."

"Hm," Lance said pensively.

"I…I didn't know it was a real disorder. I thought he was just going through a lying phase."

"Don't feel bad. Mental problems that involve deceit are exceptionally difficult for loved ones to cope with."

"You know, after Zack moved away, he rarely came back to see us, rarely called. It's like he didn't really love us. That's why we don't visit. We're not bad people."

Sweets nodded. "Sheila, if you ever need to talk, feel free to call me. Here's my cell number." Lance handed her his card, which she took reluctantly. "It's very stressful to have someone you love in Zack's position."

"I don't need help. My brother does. Thanks for your time, Dr. Sweets."

With that, Shelia Addy left.

"Woah," Sweets said aloud. "I did not see that coming." Lance had some serious thinking to do.

"Sweets! We need your help!" Booth called, charging through the door of Sweets' office not five minutes later.

Lance glanced up from the DSM-IV, which he had been pouring over in an effort to understand Sheila's revelation to him. He noticed his stomach growling. It was nearly 8 pm, and he hadn't eaten yet today.

"You know I'm always happy to help, but can we talk over dinner? I haven't eaten all day." His stomach gurgled loudly in confirmation. He tossed the book aside.

"Sure. Founding Fathers or the Diner?" He asked this looking at Bones instead of Sweets, which annoyed Sweets a little.

"I think…the Diner. It's more comfortable. We have a lot to discuss," Brennan replied.

Sweets was vaguely intrigued by her statement.

Bones, Booth, and Sweets had assumed their usual perches at the Royal Diner. They had sat this way perhaps a hundred times. All three felt burdened and exhausted but also very comfortable in this setting and with each other.

Sweets was wolfing down a sandwich, pausing periodically to shove French fries into his mouth. He looked like a stray dog who had just wandered in from the wild. Booth and Bones waited politely, seeing how ravenous their friend was. They both picked at their food.

Lance looked up after awhile, his cheeks still somewhat full of food. "Somefing you wanted to disthus?" he asked, his speech impaired by fries.

"Sweets, didn't your mother teach you not to talk with your mouth full?"

Lance swallowed. "My mother was very much a lady, thank you."

Booth winced at the use of the past tense, hating to think of how alone Sweets was in the world.

"Now if we could only get you to act like a lady," Booth said, tossing a cherry tomato at Sweets from his plate, which quite to Booth's delight, Sweets caught in his mouth like a seal. Unfortunately, when Lance bit down the tomato juice and seeds squirted everywhere, ruining the finesse of the moment. Brennan ducked.

"You two are a bad influence on each other," she scolded, peering out from under the bunker of her hands.

For some reason, Lance took this as an enormous compliment and grinned from ear to ear. He wiped off the table where the red juice had splattered. Some had gotten on Booth's tie, and Booth was threatening to wipe it on Bones' sleeve, who was pawing him away in disgust. He scooped up some tomato on his finger and tried to squish it into her ear.

"Stooop! Booth!" Brennan whined.

Laughing, Lance said, "Did you two want to discuss something? I mean when you're done flirting." He hated to break the spell.

"Don't get fresh with me, Sweets!" Booth jokingly warned, shaking his finger at the psychologist.

Brennan spoke up, smiling. "Yes, Dr. Sweets. Booth exploded at Dr. Jode today! He actually went for the jugular. Literally," she reported as if she were commenting on the weather.

"Really? That's disturbing." It gave new symbolism to Booth's red-bespattered tie. "What happened?" Sweets asked Booth with a furrowed brow.

"I'd just had enough! He accused us of sleeping together in violation of FBI protocol, and I just had it!" Booth bellowed.

Sweets sighed. "You do realize you've made it infinitely more difficult for me to argue on your behalf. You'll appear out of control again, Booth. Like in the clown incident." Lance had heard from Dr. Wyatt that Booth had once shot the clown off an ice cream truck.

"That was justified, and so was this!"

Sweets looked seriously at Booth. "Yeah? Well, you'll probably be suspended." He paused. "I'd like to help. I will help. I think the best thing would be for me to speak to you both individually and then together."

"What? We don't need therapy. We need you to get us out of therapy."

"I propose that the only way to get you out of therapy is to get you to resolve the issues at the heart of the matter. Then I can explain to Andrew that your partnership has recovered. Even he will have to admit that it makes no sense for you two to see a psychologist you can't work with."

Booth and Brennan looked at each other—always the team, Lance marveled. If one agreed, the other would.

"Ok," said Booth.

"Fine," said Brennan.

"I've gotta go. You need a ride, Bones?" Booth said throwing his napkin on his plate decisively.

"Actually, if Dr. Sweets doesn't mind, I'd like to stay and talk to him for a moment, and perhaps you could give me a ride?" she asked turning to Sweets.

"Sure, no problem."

Booth nodded and said his goodbyes.

Alone in the diner with Lance, Brennan began, "I must confess something. Zack told me and Booth that you were in a mental hospital—he thought we already knew. But then, I told the team. I shouldn't have done it. I'm sorry."

"Why did you tell them?" Lance replied, a bit shaken.

Brennan looked stymied by the question. "I'm not sure…perhaps I felt I couldn't process the information alone. We were talking about Zack at a meeting, and it just slipped out."

Lance sighed. "Well, that hurts to hear, but I forgive you."

"Why?"

"Why do I forgive you?" Sweets asked, almost smiling. "Because Dr. Brennan, we've known each other for a long time. I know you didn't intend to hurt me. Gossip is one of the oldest human problems in the book."

Brennan cringed at the G-word. "What about Zack? Do you forgive him too?"

"For telling you? Sure. Zack knows I'm…I'm close to you and Agent Booth. I believe that he did think you already knew. And besides, Zack's not thinking so clearly right now. He's having a difficult time."

After some thought, Lance went on, "Dr. Brennan, I used to be your therapist, and we've discussed some pretty personal things. I can see how you might think my personal life is fair game, too. But you have to be more careful with my feelings. I'm your coworker and your friend." He added insecurely, "Right?"

Dr. Brennan blinked her big green eyes, and for a moment, Lance was afraid that she would disagree.

"Yes," she said simply and honestly.

"I'd prefer it if I got to choose what you knew about me, but it just hasn't turned out that way. You know, it's not easy…certain things about me—people make assumptions. I've done everything in my power to become the opposite of what people expect. But it's just easier if they don't know some of the things I've struggled with," Lance rambled.

Brennan nodded. "I understand. But perhaps you are a bit too worried about how others perceive you. I think, you might give people more of a chance to be as generous with you as you are with them."

Lance's jaw dropped open. Boy, when she was right, she was right.