A/N : Happy Sunday! Last time I told you this chapter would contain a part with Sweet's POV. Actually, just like in the show, he'll help our favorite investigators by setting a profile of the killer. And just like in the show, he's for BB, all the way. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter!


Chapter 5 – So much more


Tuesday, January 7th

Doctor Lance Sweets didn't mind being mocked. As the youngest psychologist in the FBI, he had got used to it. Besides, his multiple degrees and studies made it easy for him to understand what was hidden behind those laughs and sarcasms. With an undergraduate psych degree from the university of Toronto, a master's degree in abnormal psychology from Temple University and several doctorates in clinical psychology and behavioural analysis, Doctor Sweets was also the more accomplished psychologist in the FBI.

His smile grew wider when he heard the brief knock on the door, and he rose as his next—and favourite—therapy patients entered. Doctor Brennan went in first, her eyes a bit clouded by an obvious lack of sleep due to a sleepless night spent in examining bones; Agent Booth followed, covering up a yawn with his hand over his mouth. Today was not a regular therapy session. There was a case, and he would have to work on the killer's profile. The best part of his job.

What he liked the most after that was studying the behaviour of what he considered to be the coolest team: the best agent in Washington and one of the most famous forensic anthropologists in the world. Agent Booth's usual mocking was an innate way of defending himself against the people that made him uncomfortable; Doctor Brennan's constant references to complicated scientific facts helped her hide her emotions and her vulnerability. Besides being pretty funny, their constant bickering was for them the best way they had found to express their emotional attachment.

"Agent Booth, Doctor Brennan," he greeted them cheerfully. "So, how can I help you?"

The photos which were spread out on his desk were almost unbearable to look at, but he was used to this, too. As a professional, he knew how to remain detached without becoming insensitive for all this.

"The preliminary studies we made tonight indicate that the victim has been tortured before dying of strangulation," Brennan summed up.

"Uhm… That's interesting." Sweets leafed through the forensic report. "The marks on the bones of the face indicate that her face has been lacerated. The killer's in rage. He got rid of her body in a dump, so he despises her or what she represented. Beauty, wealth, power. There are many possibilities. Do we have the victim's identity yet?"

"Not yet," Booth answered.

"Angela's working on it," Brennan added.

"Well, I'm gonna work on what we've got for now. How's it going besides this?"

He watched them exchange looks. He was aware of them finding his energy silly and childish, but if they really thought he was too young to be good at his job, they wouldn't come to him when they needed a profiler. Their attitude was but a defense against who they knew was able to read them, both individually and as a team. They were two professionals, they were also proud people. They didn't like to let show how emotionally attached they were. Doctor Brennan didn't even want to admit it to herself. The need of somebody else was a concept which she stubbornly refused, although she seemed to have made some progress since their first sessions. As for Agent Booth, he was more easily readable, a more simple personality.

"I'll do better once I've been able to find some sleep," Booth moaned.

"Stop complaining, Booth," Brennan said reproachfully. "This girl deserves for us to find out the truth and her family—"

"I know, right? It's just hard to focus when you haven't slept for over twenty-four hours."

"I haven't slept for over twenty-seven hours and I'm still able to concentrate."

"Yeah but you, Bones, are a robot."

She let out a mirthless laugh in response. "Excuse me? I—"

The ringing of her cell phone cut her off, but didn't keep Booth from gaining himself a deadly glare as she fumbled through her purse.

"Brennan. Hi, Angela. Okay, good. Great job, you've been quick. We're on our way. Bye."

"We've got an identity," she announced after hanging up.

"Okay… Well, I guess you have to go back to work, right?" Sweets sighed. "A killer's on the loose. A family needs to know the truth. The session's over, I understand."

Waving him a triumphant good bye, Booth walked to the door, guiding his partner with him with his hand placed on the small of her back, as usual. A gesture of control and of protection. She was the brain of the team and he was in charge of keeping them safe. But they were so much more than that.


Sandy Adams, age 33. Address: 102, Roosevelt Street, Washington D.C. Single. No children. Medical assistant.

With a sigh, Brennan put the photo of the blond, pretty woman, back into the folder which contained all the elements of the case.

Sandy Adams, 33, 5.4 feet, 114 pounds. Blond hair, blue eyes. Disappeared December 26th, 2007.

It all felt wrong. She was so much more than that.

Sandy Adams, beloved daughter of Jake and Nicole Adams. Little sister of Samantha Adams Greyson. Attentive aunt of two lovely young boys who will miss her, too.

No, she wasn't just a case; she wasn't just remains. She wasn't just bones, hairs, or putrefied flesh. She had a story. They all had a story; they all had secrets. Some of them had enemies; most of them had a family. The saddest was when they weren't missed; when nobody cried at their funerals. But worse was to work on those unidentified corpses stored in what Angela liked to call limbo. She had never liked this word. Actually, she hated it. Her mother had spent too much time in there.

"Bones, you okay?"

"Yep," she lied reassuringly with a firm nod. She didn't bother smiling, though. She wasn't that kind of women.

"You'd tell me if you knew her, right?"

She frowned confusedly. "Who?"

"The victim," Booth specified.

"I don't know her," she asserted.

"Good."

"Why did you ask that?"

"I don't know. Because you looked—I don't know. Sad. I thought that maybe you had known this girl and, you know, that you needed a little comfort."

She shrugged. "I'm sad. I'm sad for this woman and her family. Aren't you?"

"Yes. Of course I am. I always am."

He gave her a smile, a gentle, comforting smile, to which she replied slightly. She liked that when he gave her this look; she couldn't help it. There was this part in her which needed to be cared about. By him, especially. Her partner, her friend. She sometimes tried to deny it, but in vain. It was very rational, anyway. After all they had gone through together, all that they had shared, he couldn't be just a partner anymore. After three years, he had become so much more than that.

"I can't believe it. I mean, we knew there was little hope, but—"

It was the second part of his work which Booth hated. Facing the family, their eyes filled with expectation and always a little hope that the news was not inevitably bad. Muttering the words they had been dreading to hear for days, sometimes months, sometimes years. Watching them open their mouths in shock, sometimes cry, sometimes scream. Now, it shouldn't affect him that much anymore. But it still did, as much as before.

"Mr. and Mrs. Adams, is there something about your daughter you think would be important for the investigation?"

"I told her it was dangerous," the mother began before bursting into sobs again.

"Our daughter was meeting men on the internet, and when she thought they were interesting enough, she met them in real life."

"We warned her, believe me. But she said that nowadays, it's a good way to meet somebody, and that there was no reason to be afraid," the mother explained between her tears.

"It has indeed been proved that the Internet is an efficient way of meeting a soul mate," Brennan couldn't help commenting. "The statistics are really disclosing."

He wished she was able to understand when she could and could not talk about statistics and scientific studies.

"She was 33, but she was still dreaming of Prince Charming, you know," the mother kept going. "We all are."

"Prince Charming is a childish—"

This time, Booth forced his partner to cut herself off with a violent kick in the tibia which reminded her painfully but efficiently that in some situations you'd better keep your thoughts and comments to yourself. She threw him a deadly glare all the same, and he answered by a 'you-deserved-it' look before he turned to the mother who was having a hard time stopping herself from sobbing while her husband, his arm wrapped around her shoulder comfortingly, was doing his best to remain calm.

"We'll study the content of your daughter's computer," Booth said. "We'll need the names of her closest friends."

Mr. Adams rose. "I'll give you the phone number of her friend Meredith."

"Sandy and Meredith did everything together," Ms. Adams added.

Booth got to his feet, taking the piece of paper that the father was handing him. "Thank you."

"No, thank you, Agent Booth. Thank you for searching the bastard who did this to our daughter."

Thank you. Those two words always felt wrong. He didn't deserve them. Because the killer was still on the loose. And because whatever he did, nothing would bring back these people's daughter.

He climbed in the car and inserted the key in the ignition without starting the car. He glanced at his partner instead. They looked silently at each other for a moment before Brennan talked first. But she didn't open her mouth to reproach him for her aching leg.

"I know it makes you sad, Booth. I wish we could do something to ease their pain, but we can't. And you can't blame yourself for that."

He felt his heart tighten and fill with gratefulness at the same time, a feeling he had got used to. She wasn't the cold, insensitive scientist he had thought she was when they first met anymore. She had never been this person.

"It would be completely irrational of you to blame yourself for that," she ended.

He said nothing but gave her a warm smile before he turned on the ignition. No, she was so much more than that. He just wished that a look and a smile were enough for her to understand.


He remembered it as if it had happened the day before. The gymnasium resounding with the joyful babbling of the pom pom girls; their handsome blue, white and red costumes. Their cries, their somersaults, their laughs and their mocking. He remembered very well what she had been like, too, with her long blond hair tied in a ponytail. She hadn't been clever enough to do prestigious studies like her older sister, but she was nimble and graceful enough to be chosen as cheerleader. Back then, her dream was to be a dancer, but to please mom and dad she had gone to university. And ended up a medical assistant. Boring job, boring life, so far from what she imagined when she was 18. Obviously, being pretty isn't enough.

His own professional life was far from boring, and even more entertaining to him had been her last moments on this earth. His favorite part was the moment she had understood who he was. Funnily, 15 years after, she remembered him, somehow.

"You thought I was just a freak, Sandy, but I was so much more. So much more."


A/N : Creepy guy, right? I hope I'm not doing too much with the killer's POV. He's just some kind of Gil Bates (remember him? Lol) who managed to take his revenge on life, but it wasn't enough for him, obviously. I can't promise you when I'll update with next chapter, as my beta Catherine is on holidays until the end of the week, but I'll do my best to finish chapter 6 quick so that she can correct it as soon as she comes back. We'll learn more about the case, and I can already tell you that there will be an interesting part with Cam. Enjoy your day, and good luck for your week!