Note: I haven't the foggiest when it comes to Booth's parents' names. Thus the random names of Tom and Katherine. Also, some swears ahead. But I figure PG-13 movies can say the f-word twice before they have to up the rating, so the same rules kind of apply here, right?

And I just realized that I haven't put a disclaimer in. Here's to hoping it's not too late!

DISCLAIMER: Booth and Sweets and all related characters and… erm, episodes… belong to NOT ME. Thank you.

It always began with a small family on a picnic.

Four figures sat at the edge of a pond on their checkered blanket, the sun shining a bright yellow on the water's surface. A well-muscled man with dark hair and coffee colored eyes held his beautiful wife close at his side, the two of them laughing at their youngest son's attempts to fit a whole sandwich into his tiny mouth. Separate from this image of joy, the couple's eldest son occupied the corner of the blanket farthest from the smiling man. The boy's eyes were filled with suspicion and mistrust.

The scene melted away and suddenly the large man from the picnic blanket stood before a kitchen entryway, the door hanging from its hinges as though it had been kicked in. From his position in a nondescript suburban living room, the same young boy could hear indistinct yelling and screaming; a man and a woman.

His mom and dad.

Daddy had been drinking again.

"DON'T you fucking run from me! I want to know why the FUCK your friend Gina is asking me all those damn questions!" A brown bottle swung from Thomas Booth's hand, a yellow-brown liquid sloshing from its mouth as he made angry gestures with his arms.

Katherine was in tears, slowly backing towards the rear door. "Tom, get the hell away from me!" His mom tried to sound brave, but even from a room away seven year old Seeley could hear her voice tremble. "Y-you stop this right now, or I swear to God, I'm calling the police!" Her voice was much higher than was normal.

Seeley couldn't breathe right- he made tiny gasping noises and couldn't get air into his lungs. He was scared. He knew how this would end if he didn't stop it right now.

Daddy would hit mommy again and again until she was bleeding all over.

Seeley pressed himself against the wall behind the couch where he was hiding, trying to disappear into the plaster. His three years old brother Jared wailed in the background, awakened from his nap by all the screaming.

How could he help? He didn't want to make daddy mad at him, but mommy was so scared…

Making a decision, Seeley stood, his knees shaky and his lips quivering. He couldn't let his dad hurt her. He couldn't.

He was climbing clumsily over the couch's faded blue back when he heard the first blow land; a hard smack! A loud crash resounded through the house as something heavy dropped to the floor. Mommy screamed.

"MOM!" Seeley screeched without thinking. He tumbled off the couch onto the floor. Quickly scrambling to his feet, he sprinted the short distance to the battered doorway where he could see the entire kitchen.

His felt his racing heart stop at the sight in front of him.

His mom, her left eye beginning to swell, was gasping in pain and holding the back of her head as blood dripped in a steady stream through her fingers. The wooden table behind her was a foot farther to the left than normal.

And daddy was looking right at him, murder in his eyes.

Taking a step towards his son, he growled, "You sassing me, Seeley? You gonna talk back at me like your mom?" Tom's voice was gruff and menacing, his speech only faintly slurred.

Seeley struggled to breathe again, his lungs made of cement. Frozen in fear, he was completely unable to move as his father drew closer.

The world dissolved again, reforming this time in an immaculately clean bathroom. The walls, counter, shower curtains, light fixtures… everything was white. Even the sunlight that streamed through the windows seemed white; pure as new fallen snow.

Like heaven. Seeley thought.

Then the harsh pounding at the door resumed. "Damn it, Seeley! Open the goddamn door NOW!"

He couldn't hide here for much longer, he knew. Dad would just break down the door again. Or he'd go after Mom or Jared. Sighing in resignation, the boy made up his mind: "Better me than them."

So eight year old Seeley wiped the tears from his eyes, took a deep, shaky breath, and opened the door.

His father immediately grabbed him by the front of his shirt. "I tell you to open that door, you DO as I say, GOT it?" He punctuated his words with a harsh slap across both of Seeley's cheeks.

A few fresh tears fell down the boy's face. "Yessir."

Tom wasn't pleased. "Don't be wise with me, boy," he growled dangerously, pulling Seeley's shirt higher. Seeley couldn't help the small cry of fear that escaped his lips as his feet left the ground.

"Quit your whining!" Tom snarled, striking his son again. His breath reeked of alcohol. "Worthless thing. Shut UP!"

Seeley closed his mouth obediently.

From the corner of his eye, Seeley saw something move. Turning his head very slightly so as not to provoke his father, he watched his mother, bruised and shivering, pull four year old Jared into her bedroom. Jared sniffed softly, confused at all the uproar around him. Tears ran down his mother's face as she drew the door shut with a bloodied right arm.

Seeley's heart froze.

He didn't hear what his father said next. He just felt the blows landing on his small body and wondered at how they didn't hurt nearly as much as the hole in his chest.

There was a long pause when Booth finished relating his nightmare.

"Booth…" Sweets finally sighed. He blinked the water from his eyes, conscious of the fact that tears would make Booth even more uncomfortable. "These dreams… they're…are they…?"

"Memories," Booth confirmed softly. He looked at the floor. "But… they feel so real." He ran a hand over his eyes, embarrassed."And I know that's stupid to say. But it's like… like they're really happening again. Things I just want out of my head."

Sweets nodded sadly, completely understanding his sentiments. Rubbing the skin beneath his eyes he asked, "And these dreams; these memories. Why do you think they're resurfacing? What's changed?"

"It's just…" Booth began. "That night. What Bones said. What I said. I brought all this mess back to the surface." He shook his head and folded his arms over his chest again. Defensive. Again. Sweets found himself wondering whether those defenses ever shut down.

Booth sighed and then looked back up at Sweets, giving a small, grim smile. "If you think about it, we've all got pretty shitty pasts."

Joking. Another attempt to drive back anxiety over the situation.

The two sat in silence, each waiting for the other to speak.

After a few minutes, Sweets seized the opportunity. Looking frankly into Booth's eyes, he summoned the courage to ask his question:

"Was it him?"

Booth looked up, confused.

Sweets exhaled slowly. He knew the best way to ask a tough, personal question was to say it outright, so he tried again. "Your father…all the drunken rages; the abuse, the fear… was it him that made you want to kill yourself when you were a child?"

Booth's eyes widened briefly at the psychologist's daring. Sweets glimpsed a fleeting spark of anger in his expression before he turned his head away, hiding his face from the psychologist's prying eyes. A second long silence ensued when he didn't answer.

Just as Sweets was beginning to think he'd overstepped his boundaries, Booth responded in a soft but firm tone, breaking through the quiet. "No. Not my dad."

Sweets blinked, not expecting that answer. "But your dreams, you said-"

"It wasn't my dad," Booth interrupted, holding his hand up to Sweets. Sweets raised his eyebrows inquiringly. What could be worse for a child than an abusive parent? he asked himself, memories from his own violent past shadowing his thoughts.

Booth revised: "My dad- he's not what scared me the most."

"Then… what did scare you?" Sweets inquired gently.

Booth licked his lips, eyebrows knitted. "What I was really scared of… what terrified me was that I couldn't DO anything." His eyes darted to Sweets' face before returning to look at his hands in his lap. "I couldn't help them. I couldn't save my mom from him, I couldn't protect my brother from him, hell, I couldn't even hide myself from him. No matter how hard I tried, I…" he swallowed and met Sweets' eyes, his own chocolate ones gleaming with tears Sweets knew he wouldn't allow to fall in front of him. "…I couldn't make them stop hurting."

Booth looked back at the ground uncomfortably, his expression pained. Sweets could hear the "in more than physical ways," he left off at the end of the sentence.

He isn't used to such candid disclosure. I wonder if he's ever shared this much with anyone. Saddened (yet somewhat pleased) by the thought, he reached out to place a hand on Booth's hunched shoulder.

But apparently he had miscalculated.

Booth jerked away angrily, like Sweets' hand burned him. "Don't," he growled. Glaring at the now baffled psychologist, he stood and began pacing for a second time.

Sweets felt like his eyebrows were fixed in their raised position, thoroughly bewildered at the sudden change in atmosphere. "Don't what?" he asked.

"I don't want your sympathy, Sweets."

Sympathy?

Something clicked. Is he… does he feel guilty? But… about what?

"Booth, your family's suffering was not your fault..."

Booth was shaking his head fervidly before Sweets had finished his sentence. "Don't," he said again. "Don't give me all the bullshit."

"Bull…? Booth, you can't possibly think…"

"I know, Sweets! Not my fault." Booth's voice was growing louder. "But what I did- I failed to protect my family from pain!"

Sweets had to stop this. "But that isn't how it works, Booth!" His tone was pleading. "It was your father- your father was the one who failed to protect his family." How can he think any of this was his fault?

Booth rolled his eyes in irritation. "You know, Sweets? I think you're the one who doesn't get it." He stopped his pacing suddenly at the center of the room. "Why am I even here?" he asked in a forced laugh. "You can't help. You obviously don't have any idea what you're talking about." Booth turned on his heel and stalked toward the exit.

Before Sweets had thought of anything to say, he was out the door.

Sweets sat frozen in his leather armchair, somewhat stunned. How did that go so wrong so fast? He had read about this sort of thing, of course, even experienced it a bit himself. Abuse victims sometimes tended to blame themselves for their aggressor's actions.

But no… that wasn't right. That couldn't be right. From his detailed recollection of his father and his maltreatment of his family, Booth obviously understood that his father acted out of drunken anger; that his father's actions had nothing to do with him.

So why was Booth so adamant in saying that he had "failed" his family?

Evidently, Sweets was missing a piece of the picture.

So... he's hiding something from me.

Whew. Drama, drama, drama.

If you're thinking Booth is acting a little bit… I don't know, childish in insisting he failed his family, don't worry. There is really more to it than this little chapter is letting on.

Hence the final line.

Review if you feel like it. I'm getting to a point were I sort of want to block reviews, though. It's a lot of pressure! :S