Hi all, me again. yeah this is chapter two.
Thanks go to D-No who didnt kill me but has instead beta'd this. thanks dude.
Ian Thomas hadn't been his first foster father, in fact he had been Lance's third. It had been his fifth placement overall and he had spent just over eighteen months with Thomas. Having been in the social system his entire life, he had known to be weary of his foster parents, when he was three his foster mother had left him at home alone for four days, he had been removed soon after that. So yeah, Lance knew that foster parents could be bad but there was something different about Thomas …and not in a good way. Of course, his social worker had thought he was being shy when he had hidden his small four and a half year old frame behind her legs, but no the cold look in that mans eyes had frightened him.
He couldn't remember the year and a half he had spent with Thomas. But then again what was there to remember? The screams that no one would hear? The sharp pain of a fist against his small body? Sharp pains that were soon dulled with frequency. That all ended with the whip.
He did remember waking up in the hospital with a new teary-eyed social worker standing over him, telling him that she was so sorry and that he wouldn't hurt anymore. Lance didn't believe her but he nodded anyway. She was somewhat true to her word though; after he was released, Lance was put into the care of the Sweets, the elderly couple that would become his parents. DNA be damned.
But even after all that time one thing was burned into his head.
Ian Thomas's face still haunted his dreams, his nightmares.
Now that face was on a screen, in front of him and to everyone else in the room it was the face of a victim but to Lance it was the face of a monster.
He couldn't work on this case, for one he himself would be suspect, and two it was just too painful. After all, how could you profile a possible killer when you support their actions, terrible as they may be?
He couldn't be there standing in the lab, barely three feet from the corpse of the man who had hurt him, tortured him, surrounded by people who openly disliked him. He couldn't be there. So he ran.
What's his problem?" Booth asked, entering the lab just as the young psychologist ran out.
"I dunno, but he looked kind of pale. maybe someone should see if he's okay." Angela suggested.
Normally she wouldn't have spared him a second thought but the look on his face was … haunted, somehow. She knew they had been kind of harsh to Sweets lately but they were just dealing with the whole Zack thing and he was a close target.
"Nah, he's probably forgot to pick up his zit cream," Hodgins said smirking, turning back to his computer.
"Okay, enough about Sweets. Who's our victim?" Booth enquired, clapping his hands together. "Come on people we got a murderer to catch."
But in his mind Booth kept seeing Sweets' face as he ran past him. Angela was right, it was pale, pale and scared. Like he had seen a ghost.
.......................................................(scene change)..............................................................................
Ok, He knew he had to calm down, breath in…breath out, memories he had forgotten, that he had wanted to forget were coursing through his mind, pain, screaming, blood, striking at him from dark corners of his brain, they wouldn't stop, God they wouldn't stop, they just kept coming and coming and he couldn't breath, the walls were closing in trapping him further, he was sweating, bleeding? No just sweat, more memories, why wouldn't they stop? The very air was rancid, cruel, God he needed to breath!
That was were Agent Booth and Dr Brennan found him. Sitting at his desk in his office trying, and failing, not to fall to pieces. Neither of his two guests noticed his wounded expression and awkward breathing pattern; they just walked straight in and started doling out commands.
"Hey Sweets, we need you to run these folders over give us a clue," Booth commanded unceremoniously tossing him some folders of suspects. Lance began the panic further when he saw his name on one of them. They hadn't even glanced at these had they?
He couldn't do this,but when he had tried to tell them it was Dr Brennan who cut him off, surprisingly.
"Look, Dr Sweets, while I don't credit psychology, your input may be needed to catch a murderer and therefore you need to exercise a sense of professionalism. While I know that dealing with a child abuser is appalling but we have a duty to find his killer. I have personal experiences with the foster system so do not tell me you can not do this job."
"Yeah Sweets, just suck it up and do your job. Don't even think of trying to push this off on us because of some psychobabble, okay?" Booth chimed in.
Sweets looked from one to the other, their expressions leaving no doubts as to how serious they were. Shakily, he selected his folder out of the small pile that now cluttered his desk; he stalked around his desk, shoved it into Booth's hands, and left of the room, his shoulders hunched, barely containing his anguish. He didn't wait to hear the shocked gasps from behind him.
Wow, angst.
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