A/N: I'm going to go ahead and upload this with chapter 1, so I still have no idea if anyone is reading this. I hope you are! Reviews make me feel less like I'm shouting into the void :) More author's note at the end.

By Friday afternoon, they had caught the killer, and Sweets watched from observation as Booth cuffed her and read her her rights. It turned out to be a pretty uninteresting case- the victim's wife had killed him for his life insurance money- but Sweets's profile had been instrumental in establishing the wife as a suspect in the first place.

"Hey, Sweets!" Booth exclaimed, clapping him on the back as they walked by each other in the hall, headed for their respective offices.

"Hey, Booth. Great work- we got her!" Sweets said jovially.

"Listen, I was wondering. Would you want to head over to the Founding Fathers with me, grab a beer, celebrate, you know?" Booth asked.

"Sure!" Sweets answered enthusiastically, "Let me just grab my stuff from my office and I'll meet you guys there."

Twenty minutes later, Sweets glanced around the Founding Fathers, looking for Booth, Brennan, and the rest of the Jeffersonian team. Not finding them, he finally noticed Booth waving to him from the end of the bar where he was sitting alone, a barely touched beer on the bar in front of him.

"Hey, there, Sweets!" Booth exclaimed as Sweets sat down next to him. "Put whatever he wants on my tab," he told the bartender. Sweets thanked Booth with a smile and ordered his beer, figuring that the rest of the Jeffersonian team would be there soon.

Two beers later, Sweets had asked Booth how Parker was doing and had let out an actual cheer when Booth told him Parker had aced his math test last week; Booth had heartily approved of Sweets's decision to pick up a piano gig at a bar on the weekends and had insisted that he would love to come see him play; and they had come to a stalemate in a debate on the merits of soccer versus football. Sweets looked at his watch, realized they had been there, drinking and talking, for over two hours, and suddenly remembered that other people were supposed to be there, too.

"Hey, Booth," Sweets asked as Booth cracked open his third beer, "Where is everybody? Isn't it getting kinda late?"

"Oh, um, I thought I mentioned that," Booth said awkwardly, "There was a bunch of clean up and paperwork to do at the Jeffersonian, so nobody else really wanted to come out tonight. But hey, we don't need the squints to have a good time, right?" Booth held up his beer bottle, waiting for a cheers from Sweets.

"Absolutely," Sweets agreed, smiling as he clinked the neck of his bottle against Booth's.

"This is kind of nice, right?" Booth asked, all of a sudden more shy than usual, "I mean, we don't get to hang out outside of work enough, do we?"

Sweets was about to agree when, without warning, realisation bells started going off in his head. He thought back to his conversation with Booth earlier in the week. We don't see each other much outside of work, Booth had said of his potential love interest, and now he was saying basically the same thing to Sweets? What else had he said about this mystery guy? Sweets tried to remember: they had recently started working a lot more cases together- Sweets had worked on almost every one of Booth's cases in the last two months- geeky and goofy- those were definitely two words Booth had called Sweets before- brilliant- Sweet's supposed his two doctorates qualified him for that one- funny- well, nobody at the Jeffersonian really thought Sweets was funny, but Booth never failed to laugh at his lame jokes. Sweets forced himself to breathe slowly; he so did not need to hyperventilate right now. He was suddenly very aware of Booth's left arm- how long had it been draped over the back of his chair in that affectionate, almost possessive way?

"What… Uh, yeah, yeah, this is nice, Booth," Sweets said shakily. Was Booth leaning closer? And was that Booth's hand, creeping up slightly from the chair back to rest gently on Sweets's shoulder? What was happening? Sure, of course, Sweets had a teeny tiny crush on Booth- that shouldn't be a surprise to anybody who had met Booth. But, men like Booth did not go for nerdy, scrawny psychologists like Sweets. No way.

"You okay, there, Sweets?" Booth asked softly. Sweets, whose gaze had been fixed on his beer bottle for the past several minutes, finally flicked his eyes up to meet Booth's. The intense emotions he found there told him everything he needed to know. He was right. He, Lance Sweets, was Booth's mystery man.

"You are so weird, Booth!" Sweets exclaimed suddenly, quickly clapping his hand over his mouth as if he could take back the outburst. Booth looked offended for a second, but Sweets rapidly started explaining, "I just mean… coming to me to talk about your feelings about this coworker guy, but then the guy is actually me? I was basically giving you advice on how to get with me, without even knowing it! You gotta admit, that's a little strange."

Booth grimaced. "I didn't know who else to talk to. You're the only one I trust with personal stuff like that, and I thought if I was just vague enough… I should have known someone as perceptive as you would figure it out way too easily. Anyway, I didn't really mean to tell you tonight. That's not what this was supposed to be. I was just taking your advice, you know, spending a little time with you outside of work."

"I told you to do that to give yourself clarity about your feelings…" Sweets said slowly, not breaking eye contact with Booth.

"I know."

"So," Sweets asked, a little nervous to hear the answer, "What's the verdict?" Booth sucked in a breath. His secret was already out, he decided, so he might as well go for broke.

"The verdict is that I still have no idea whether or not you like men, or whether or not you like me specifically, but I really hope you like men and I really really hope you like me, because I've fallen for you even more in the past two hours than I already had in the past two months." Sweets gasped softly at Booth's admission. Booth was looking at Sweets's parted lips hungrily, like he was about to kiss him right there in the bar. For a second, Sweets thought he might let him, but then a string of ugly thoughts that slammed into his brain.

What the hell do you think you're doing, Lance? He's your client, you're the worst psychologist ever! What will everyone else think? They all want him to be with Brennan. They don't like you that much anyway, if they see you getting between them, they'll throw you out on your ass!

Sweets scrambled back so quickly that he almost fell off of his chair. Booth instinctively reached out to steady him, but then he realized why Sweets was flailing around, trying to get away, and he yanked his hand back.

"Oh," said Booth quietly as he looked away.

"No, no, no," Sweets explained quickly, boldly grabbing Booth's chin and forcing him to meet his eyes, "Not oh. Do I like you? Sure. Have I had a little gay crush on you basically since the day we met? Of course!" Booth's face brightened as Sweets blushed at his admission. "But until about two seconds ago, I never actually considered what it would really be like for us to be together, because I always thought you belonged with Dr. Brennan." Booth rolled his eyes. "But, now that there's actually a possibility… There's just so much… It would never work," Sweets finished glumly.

"What? What do you mean 'there's just so much?'" Booth asked, frowning.

"Uh, okay, well first of all, I'm your psychologist, your coworker, so it's basically super unprofessional for us to even be having this conversation."

Booth scoffed. "Sweets, how many of her coworkers has Angela slept with this year? Cam is dating an intern. And… oh, what were their names-" Booth snapped his fingers, trying to remember, "Agents Davidson and Carrigan! They have a kid together! Next?"

"Well what about what everyone will think? Brennan definitely wouldn't approve. I'm not big on secret relationships, and no way would everyone at the Jeffersonian accept you and me as a couple. They're all rooting for you and Brennan. I don't…"

"You don't what?" Booth demanded.

"I don't want them to hate me!" Sweets spat, hot, red shame tinting his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

"Sweets," Booth said, his voice softening, "No one could ever hate you. Everyone at the Jeffersonian loves you, and nothing is going to change that. Besides they don't want me to be with Bones, they just want me to be happy. And for the last time, Bones and I are not in love, so will you please lay off that?"

Sweets's lips twitched up in a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I don't know, Booth, I just don't know," he said sadly. Something twinged in Booth's heart. The poor kid was doing all sorts of mental gymnastics, clearly in agony.

"I'm sorry, Sweets. I get it. I just sprang this on you and you need time to mull it over in that big brilliant brain of yours. You gotta talk it out with your little internal shrink," Booth said, his depressed tone not quite matching his joking words. Booth patted Sweets's shoulder (a little too gently for a "bro" kind of pat, Sweets noticed), settled his tab with the bartender, and left.

Meanwhile, something in Sweets snapped as he watched Booth walk out the door. "Oh my god," he murmured to himself. He stuffed his arms in his coat as quickly as he could and bolted after Booth, leaving a mostly full beer and a confused-looking bartender behind him.

"BOOTH! WAIT!" Sweets bellowed after the FBI agent. Booth stopped and turned around, his face breaking into a huge grin as Sweets jogged up to him.

"I knew it wouldn't take your big ol' brain too long," Booth joked, looking at Sweets affectionately. Sweets, feeling very sappy, practically glowed under Booth's loving gaze. He didn't say anything else to Booth; instead, he tilted his head up to the slightly taller agent, smiling as he finally let his lips meet Booth's in a sweet kiss. Their lips slid against each other's, the kiss becoming more and more passionate. Sweets yelped quietly as Booth playfully nipped at his full bottom lip, but he quickly showed Booth that he could give as good as he got when he made Booth moan by slipping his tongue in his mouth to deepen the kiss. Sweets wrapped his arms around Booth's torso, and Booth threaded his fingers in Sweets's curly hair, as the two men enjoyed the best kiss either of them had ever had.

Meanwhile, Clark Edison gasped out loud. He had seen his two FBI friends leave the Founding Fathers and was just pulling over to ask if they wanted a ride when, to his surprise, they just started making out in the middle of the sidewalk. He yanked the gearshift back into drive and sped away, trying to figure out how he was going to forget what he had seen. What Booth and Sweets did with their personal time was none of his business. No way.