Christmas came and passed and still no word about Christian. Darcy had her hopes up; she was starting to tell stories about him and even showed him the picture she kept. He was a handsome boy, with certain facial features similar to Darcy.
What Booth had failed to tell Darcy, though, is that he had heard some news, right after Christmas. According to Ms. Breer, Christian Steven St. Vincent had gone missing. Officially, he was a "runaway," but Booth had a sinking feeling that it was something much worse than an unhappy teenager.
Booth sat at his desk, going through some extremely boring paperwork when his phone starting ringing. It was Bones.
"Hey, Bones! Just the person I wanted to talk to!"
"Well, Booth, if you wanted to talk to me, you could've just called me, I cannot possibly know automatically!" Bones griped.
"I was getting ready to, Bones. I need your help with something."
"We have a body. And we need to get down there, now, preferably. Can you tell me what you need help with on the way to the crime scene?"
"Uh, sure, Bones, do you need me to pick you up?"
"Yes, thank you," Bones answered before hanging up, making Booth groan. He grabbed his suit jacket off the back of his chair and dashed off, speeding as he always did towards the Jeffersonian.
He pulled up, and there stood is beautiful, analytical Bones, smiling at him as she climbed into the passenger seat and they sped off.
"So, for what reason did you need my aid?" she asked.
"You know Darcy has a twin brother, right?"
Brennan nodded, urging him to continue.
"He's been missing for about two months now," Booth informed her. "Ms. Breer told me the other day." Brennan looked taken aback as she took in the information he'd just given her.
"He's missing?"
"They're officially calling him a runaway."
"Of course they are," Bones fumed.
"I want your help when I…when I tell Darcy."
Bones nodded, signaling that she'd help.
The rest of the ride passed in mostly silence, the radio quietly playing a classic rock station.
"God, hasn't that child been through enough?" Brennan questioned. Booth didn't think she was talking to him, though, he was a feeling she was talking to the universe.
Booth finally worked up the nerve to tell Darcy right before New Year's Eve. She had taken it as badly as he thought she would.
Booth didn't know what was worse, the anger and hysterical crying, or how she was acting now.
She'd been uncharacteristically quiet lately, sickly, pale, antisocial, and apparently cold. He even kicked up the heat in the apartment, but that sweatshirt stayed on.
He partly blamed himself for working so late so often. He was used to working a case all day, occasionally staying late, and hanging out with Bones, but he'd never had someone waiting for him to get home. He'd had Parker, of course, and multiple girlfriends, but to him, he felt it wasn't the same.
Booth stumbled through the doorway of his and Darcy's apartment, tired after his long day.
The apartment was quiet, save for the 11 o'clock news on the TV in front of a sleeping Darcy. "I'm going to throw out my back again if I keep carrying her to bed," Booth thought as he bent over to collect her off the couch. He stopped suddenly, however, when he noticed that she wasn't wearing the sweatshirt that had become her uniform at home.
He was glad to see that she was getting out of whatever funk she was in, but his heart stopped as the TV light shone onto her arms. The insides of her wrists – no, her forearms – were littered with cuts of different lengths, depths, and stages of healing. Some were red and angry, some were scabbed over, some were light, and some were faded, dividing her arms into a million pieces.
Running to the bathroom, Booth heaved his stomach contents into the toilet, trying to be as quiet as possible. He groaned and almost puked again when he pictured her arms. God, that image wouldn't get out of his head…he swallowed the rising bile and walked into the kitchen, searching his suit jacket for his cell phone. He then went into his bedroom and opened his sock drawer. There, at the bottom, was a pack of cigarettes. He didn't know why he had them; he hadn't consistently smoked in over five years. However, he saved them for emergencies, and this was an emergency.
Booth exited his apartment and walked down the stairs, walking to the street outside. Lighting one up, he took a deep drag and noted the feeling of nicotine rushing into his system. Opening his phone, he dialed Sweets' number, holding the phone to his ear as he took another drag. The phone rang several times, and just before it went to voicemail, Sweets' sleepy voice mumbled, "Booth?"
"Hey, Sweets," Booth breathed.
"What…what's wrong?"
"It's Darcy…oh my God, where do I start?" Booth answered, before taking a breath and beginning the story. The second he started talking, it was like word vomit, the words leaving his mouth faster than he could comprehend. "She's been acting strange lately, but I figured it was just stuff like her father and Christian and school...and she's been wearing her sweatshirt all over the house lately but tonight I came home and she wasn't wearing it. But when I went to take her to bed...her arms, Sweets, oh God," Booth rambled, feeling the bile rising again. He took another drag of the cigarette, feeling his lungs burning.
"I…I don't understand, Booth, I need you to calm down," Sweets started.
"Well I'm not going to fucking calm down," Booth retorted.
"What do you want to do, Booth?"
"What am I supposed to do? Do I confront her about it now? In the morning? I can't just leave it alone…I could ask you to address it but she's my foster daughter and I can't just hand her off to you and pretend it didn't happen, Sweets!" Booth exclaimed, feeling panicky.
"I'll be over in a few," Sweets informed before hanging up.
Booth extinguished the cigarette before sitting down on the steps in front of his building, lighting up another. He was going to chain-smoke until Sweets got here. That was the only coping mechanism he could think of at the moment. Should he call Bones? What about Angela or Cam? Cam was a trained MD, but Angela seemed to understand Darcy better. Does he call Miss Breer? No, she might consider him "unfit" and take Darcy away. Does he call Pops? "He helped me through a hard time after the shit with my father…."
Settling on Google, he searched multiple items, such as "teenage depression," "teenagers cutting their arms," "suicide warnings" and "depression in foster children," and after reading multiple articles that sounded eerily like Sweets, the aforementioned shrink rushed up, wearing sweat pants and a t-shirt.
"Sweets? What are you wearing?" Booth asked, halfway amused at Sweets' getup. He looked even more like a high schooler.
"My PJs, Booth, I rushed over as soon as we hung up…since when do you smoke?" Sweets asked, pointing at the lit cigarette. Luckily, he didn't spy the multiple butts on the ground around him.
"Only in emergencies. God, help me, Sweets, I have no idea what to do right now."
"We go inside, wake her up, and calmly talk to her," Sweets answered, more in control of the situation than Booth.
Booth nodded in agreement and flicked his cigarette away before walking into his building. The two men somberly walked to his apartment, but before they could enter, Booth stopped and said, "Should we call Cam?"
"Why?"
"She's an MD, she can check her cuts and make sure they're okay, you know?" Booth answered.
"Oh, good call, call her now!"
Booth dialed the phone, and unlike Sweets, she picked up on the first ring. "Booth? Is everything alright?"
"Um, no. Can you come over here, ASAP?" Booth asked briskly.
"Sure, I'll be over in five, is something wrong?" Cam asked, concerned.
"I'll explain when you get here," Booth answered before hanging up. Booth nodded and opened the door to his apartment. Only now, the TV was still on, but the couch was abandoned. A strip of light came from under the bathroom door.
"Darcy? I'm home, can you come out here?"
A crash came from the bathroom before Darcy's panicked voice answered. "Uh – yeah – one sec!"
A moment later, Darcy exited the bathroom, once again wearing her sweatshirt. "Hey, Booth, Sweets," Darcy smiled.
"Hello, Darcy," Sweets greeted.
"Sit down, Darcy," Booth answered. Darcy went to the living room, sitting down on the couch. Booth and Sweets sat on the coffee table in front of her, studying her face.
"Darcy, as someone who was also in the foster system, I understand that there is a myriad of emotions that average teenagers don't generally face. And on top of that, you're in AP classes, which certainly aren't easy, you've recently lost your father, you're separated from the only family you have left…and when you're stuck in the darkness, it's hard to get yourself out," Sweets started.
"Yeah, I realize that, but…I'm fine," Darcy answered, sitting atop her legs.
"Are you telling me the truth right now, Darcy?" Booth asked.
"Yes," she answered, her face not betraying the lie.
"Try again," he spat. He found himself getting angry but took a deep breath, trying to stay calm.
"What do you mean?"
"Darcy, I've been home for a lot longer than you think," Booth explained. "I came home, and you were asleep in front of the TV…"
Darcy's face started betraying her panic as he continued his explanation.
"I didn't want to wake you, so I went to take you to bed and…Darcy, I know...what you've been doing."
Her eyes went wide, and her mouth opened and closed repeatedly as she struggled for words. She looked down, refusing to meet his face. Her eyes started brimming with tears as she still avoided their faces. Her hands balled into fists, clutching at the ends of her sleeves.
"Darcy, self-harm isn't something that you can hide, and you can't just try to forget about it. If you feel the need to hurt yourself, then something is wrong, and you need help. You have a support system here, and we all know how alone and upset you must feel. We just need you to talk to us with honestly, okay? We're trying to help you," Sweets gently prodded.
"How long, Darcy?" Booth asked, feeling a lump in his throat.
"On and off for four years," Darcy answered.
"I meant since you've been here," Booth corrected.
"A few months. The first time was the night I came out," Darcy detailed.
"Can I ask you why?" Booth asked, tears forming in his eyes. Darcy opened her mouth when a knock came from his apartment door. He quickly stood and went for the door, leaving Darcy with Sweets. Cam stood outside his door, eyes wide with worry.
"Hey, Cam, thanks for coming," he said as he held the door open and stood aside for her to enter.
"You're welcome, Booth, but can I get an explanation?"
"I found out that…Darcy's been…she's been cutting herself," he sighed.
Cam sucked in a breath, sighing as she looked toward the living room. "Damn," she breathed. "Is Darcy alright?"
"I called you because I wanted you to look at them, make sure she doesn't need stitches or anything. I'm scared to take her to the hospital. What if they call Child Services? What if they take her away?" Booth questioned, panicking.
"Uh, Booth?!" Sweets yelled from the living room.
Booth and Cam rushed in to see a pale Darcy leaning over, her head between her knees. She was breathing quickly and shallowly, trying to catch her breath.
"She said she was dizzy and got really pale and…" Sweets trailed off.
Cam knelt down in front of Darcy, putting her hands on the girls' knees. "Darcy, sweetie, I need to check your pulse. How are you feeling?"
"I…I'm dizzy…and I…can't breathe…and I feel like I'm going to pass out," she complained.
Cam placed her cool hands on Darcy's head. She was sweating and felt clammy. When Cam checked her pulse in her neck, she felt the rapid beating of Darcy's heart.
"What is it, Cam? Could she be having a panic attack?"
"Maybe…pull your sleeves up for me, sweetie," Cam instructed. Darcy shook her head no, but Cam pulled her head up and looked her in the eyes. "Darcy, if you cut tonight and you did it too deeply, you could bleed out. I need to see your arms, please."
Darcy slowly brought her sleeves up, but instead of the scene Booth saw earlier, all they saw were white bandages, turning red at a disturbingly fast rate. Booth groaned and Cam helped her up, trying to help her to the bathroom. As soon as she stood, however, her legs went out from under her. She and Booth held her up and took her into the master bathroom. She set the quiet girl on the toilet and started to close the door, Sweets right behind her.
Booth tried to stay but felt another wave of nausea. He instead stood in the doorway, looking away.
"Sweets, are you going to help me with this?" Cam asked.
"I…uh…when I was her age, I did it too. I…I know what to expect."
Cam nodded and removed the gauze, quickly disposing of it and grabbing a nearby towel. Handing it to Sweets, she said, "Get some Hydrogen Peroxide, please."
Sweets nodded and reached for the medicine cabinet. Cam grabbed more bandages.
Darcy's arms were gruesome. Sweets and Cam both winced as Cam poured some of the Peroxide onto the cloth. "Darcy…this is going to burn…"
"Wait, Cam, shouldn't we take her to the hospital?" Sweets interrupted.
"Booth is scared they'll take her away if he does. Plus, they'll put her on suicide watch. At this degree, it'll be a weeks' stay. But at this point, it looks like she'll have to go."
Darcy's head hung low, still feeling woozy. She didn't know what was going on, she couldn't really hear what they were saying.
"What if we took her to the Jeffersonian? Couldn't you stitch her up there?"
"I could…but she might need a blood transfusion. Carefully wrap her arms for me, okay?"
Sweets nodded and started wrapping them as Cam pulled out her phone, calling a friend of hers.
"Melissa, hey…I know it's late, but…are you on call? I have a situation…a friend of mine has a foster daughter and she cut herself tonight. It's really deep and she needs stitches at the least, but we're afraid that Child Protective Services might take her away."
Cam continued to listen to her friend, keeping an eye on Darcy.
"So, if we bring her to your hospital, you'll help? Yes, she has insurance. And she won't be taken away?" Booth watched Cam intently as she spoke with her friend.
"Okay, Melissa, thank you so much. We'll see you soon," Cam finished before hanging up. She reluctantly met Booth's gaze. "We have to take her to the hospital, Booth."
"But, what about?" Booth asked, but Cam interrupted him.
"I talked to my friend; she's a really good doctor over at St. George's. She said that Child Services shouldn't become involved, but they are going to have to keep her on suicide watch for about a week."
Booth nodded. "Let me in, I'll get her."
Booth entered the bathroom. Sweets had finished wrapping her arms, and Booth scooped her up, leaving the bathroom with Cam and Sweets following.