AN: So to clear up some confusion: this isn't a multi-chaptered story; it's a bunch of unrelated one-shots that I lumped together because they all have one main topic: Sweets. And the whumping of Sweets and the angsting of Sweets and …yeah, you get it. I suppose you could read it as one story, but that would mean that Sweets has a LOT of problems… but hey, I suppose that isn't so bad (in the world of fanfic – in real life someone having that many problems would be very upsetting).I may pick a few of these and take them out if I feel like majorly continuing them, but I don't really know yet. Thanks for the reviews!
Warnings: Language
Panic Attack
"Hey Sweets, can you stand right there?" The psychologist looked at Doctor Hodgins with raised eyebrows, but obligingly moved into the requested position. "Awesome. Now don't move."
"Doctor Hodgins, if this is an experiment I'm not sure if I…" His eyes widened and he fell silent as Hodgins picked up a bat and started to walk toward him. The psychologist nervously brought his hands up in front of him. "Doctor Hodgins…"
"Don't worry, Sweets. Won't hurt at all." And with that he moved to stand behind Sweets and brought the bat up onto his shoulder. Sweets craned his neck around, attempting to keep his eyes on the entomologist. "So I think that the killer first swung at him like –" He swung the bat, being careful to stop it before it actually hit the psychologist, and then moved his grip so that he could jab it instead of swing, "And then used it to push the victim like –" but before he could play out the next part of his scenario, he noticed that Sweets was curled up on the ground in the foetal position. "Hey, Sweets? Buddy – the victim wouldn't have curled up like that right away, he would have doubled… Sweets?" A hint of worry edged into his voice as the psychologist still didn't move, his breathing obviously heavy from the way his shoulders hitched. "Sweets?"
The entomologist dropped the bat and crouched down beside the psychologist and put his hand on his shoulder as Cam, Angela, and Arastoo crowded around. Sweets was very clearly shaking and had yet to uncurl himself when the barrage of worried questions started. He made no verbal reply to them, but after a few seconds, he suddenly stood on shaky legs, pushed past Hodgins, and ran.
Hodgins gave Cam a panicked look. "Shit – did I actually hit him?" The pathologist looked back at him with wide eyes and shook her head.
"I … no, I'm pretty sure you didn't." Hodgins gave her a quick look of confusion before taking off after the psychologist. She turned to Angela and Arastoo. "He didn't, did he?" They both shook their heads. Angela had her hand over her mouth, and Arastoo just looked at where the pair had been standing with a confused look on his face.
Sweets ran as fast as his quavering legs could carry him to the bathroom closest to the lab in the Jeffersonian, and once there, slipped inside and quickly locked the door behind him. He could feel his chest constricting, nausea building, and his hands shaking. Unable to blink away the dizziness, he leaned against the wall and slid down to sit on the floor. His heart was racing. When he suddenly felt the nausea become overwhelming, he crawled over to the toilet, and, leaning over it, retched miserably. It was only when he leaned back, gasping for air with tears that he noted absently running down his pale cheeks , that he noticed the knocking on the door.
"Sweets!" What had started as tentative knocking had turned frantic as the minutes ticked by without the psychologist making so much as an indication that he was alright, much less coming out of the bathroom. "Sweets… come on, buddy, talk to me. I'm sorry! I'm really, really sorry, alright? I should have asked you before using you in a demonstration. Cam said I didn't hit you, and I really hope I didn't but if I did you gotta come out, kid. If you're hurt we need to get you help! Please, Sweets…Sweets?"
Sweets found himself unable to interpret the jumble of sounds that was Hodgins's panicked shouting, so lost was he in the memories that kept tumbling out of the corners of his mind, in the numbing fear, the dizziness, the way the temperature seemed to have dropped several degrees…He knew in the back of his mind that he was being irrational. He knew he hadn't been hurt, and he knew that Hodgins would never have actually hit him on purpose; he knew that he wasn't in any danger. The panic, however, continued to take over his mind and body.
He thought absently about the pills he knew were in his pocket. He knew that he had a panic disorder, and he knew that he'd suffered from panic attacks for as long as he could remember. He also knew that it wasn't his fault that, despite years and years of therapy and education, the occasional attack still slipped by his defenses and calming techniques. Despite all that knowledge, however, he couldn't bring himself to take the pill. He was a trained psychologist. He shouldn't need pills. What he needed was to get out of that bathroom and away from everyone who was probably mocking his lack of control. He needed out, and he needed it desperately.
Hodgins jumped back as the door opened and Sweets stormed through, his face pale but determined, a glint of panic still shining in his eyes. "Sweets? Buddy I'm so sorry… I… where are you going?" He turned to watch as the psychologist stormed right past him and kept walking, seemingly unaware of all the people who were watching his exit apprehensively. "Sweets?"
Sweets stared determinedly ahead as he made his way out of the building and to the parking lot, where he unlocked his car with shaking hands and, after getting in and shutting the door behind him, leaned his head against the steering wheel, trying to force his still unsteady breathing into a more natural rhythm.
He sat there for another minute or so before jerking up at the sound of the passenger door opening. He turned with wide eyes to see Doctor Hodgins slipping into the car. The entomologist shut the door behind them and turned to the younger man, looking at him seriously.
"What the hell was that?" The psychologist said nothing, continuing to stare with wide, frightened eyes at the entomologist. "Sweets?"
"I…" What was it? The psychologist thought of the utter panic he had felt when he'd noticed the bat coming closer and closer to him, of the memories of a different bat, of belts, of fists, of frying pans… of torrents of accompanying verbal and emotional abuse. "I… I don't…" He thought of the way his breathing sped up, the way his heart started racing, the way the room was suddenly far too cold, despite how it had been perfectly comfortable only moments before. "I…"
"I get it." The unexpectedness of that statement snapped Sweets out of his stupor.
"What?"
"I get it." Hodgins was now looking at him earnestly. "You had a bat swung at you and it freaked the hell out of you. It makes sense." Sweets was still dumbfounded.
"I...What?"
"I'm hoping that's what it was, anyway… I really, really hope I didn't hit you." Sweets struggled to string a coherent sentence together to assuage the entomologist's worries.
"You didn't."
"Good. Still, I should have told you that I was going to swing a bat at you." The psychologist managed a wavering smile at that.
"It's okay."
"But it's not, right? It freaked you out."
"No… I… I just…" The entomologist held up a finger to silence the younger man's stutters.
"It's perfectly understandable. Unexpected wooden bats coming at you? Scary stuff, dude. It's okay to flip out."
"No!" Sweets couldn't help the exclamation. Hodgins looked at him calmly.
"Why not?"
"I… because… I…" Hodgins continued his infuriatingly calm stare. "I'm a psychologist!" The entomologist raised his eyebrows.
"Ah… So?" Sweets frowned.
"So… So I'm a psychologist!" Hodgins grinned at him.
"You said that already. Again – so?"
"So… So I shouldn't freak out!" Hodgins's smile grew.
"Now we're getting somewhere. Why shouldn't you freak out?" Sweets turned away from the entomologist, and, gripping the wheel with a white-knuckled grip, he stared out at the parking lot.
"Because… because that's my job! I don't panic. Other people panic. They panic and they come to me and I teach them techniques to deal with it. I know almost every technique in the book and I still… I shouldn't! If I were worth even the slightest bit as a psychologist I'd be able to… to not…" He rested his forehead against the steering wheel. Hodgins shifted around to face forward, and there was silence in the car as they both stared at the parking lot for a moment. Then Hodgins spoke up, though he didn't turn back to face the other man.
"I hate earwigs." Sweets turned back to Hodgins, but Hodgins continued to stare straight ahead.
"You do?" Sweets's voice was almost clinical, but Hodgins could detect a hint of the confused and frightened kid he'd been that day.
"I do. Don't ask me why, because I have no idea, and it's not like any other bugs freak me out, just… earwigs. And I swear, they're everywhere. There's just something about them, you know?" Sweets nodded and turned back to the windshield. "They're creepy. I mean, I've learned to grit my teeth and deal with them, because I have to, but they still kinda make me twitch a little. You know?" Sweets nodded. "But you know all about irrational fears, right? Because you're an excellent psychologist." Sweets's pale cheeks flushed slightly. "You are. You're damn good at your job, from what I hear, and you've helped all of us through all kinds of crap. Don't sell yourself short. I'm a well-respected entomologist, and I'm afraid of earwigs, and you're a crazy prodigy shrink and you freak out sometimes, and that's okay."
"I have panic attacks," Sweets murmured softly, still staring out into the distance. Hodgins grinned.
"See? You know your stuff, buddy."
Sweets let go of the steering wheel and reached into his pocket, pulling out an orange prescription bottle. Turning it around in his hands, he re-read the sticker, just as he'd read it so many times before. The bottle was full. "I still shouldn't have these." Hodgins leaned over to look at the bottle.
"What are they for?"
"I was supposed to take one."
"For the panic attack?" Sweets picked at the label with his nail.
"Yes."
"Did you?" Sweets was silent for a moment as he continued to pick at the prescription label.
"No." Hodgins looked at him worriedly.
"Why not?"
"Because it's dumb. I shouldn't need them."
"Sweets, you're a psychologist. You of all people should know that stuff like this isn't dumb."
"I'm a psychologist. I should be able to deal without the pills." Hodgins sighed, slapping his hands on his knees and rubbing his palms on his thighs.
"Sweets, buddy… So, what… it's dumb when it happens to you?"
"Yes."
"Dude, that's one hell of a double standard."
"I spent years in school. It should mean something." Hodgins turned to the psychologist and put a hand on the younger man's shoulder.
"Dude. It does. Or have you forgotten all the people you've helped? You helped me, you know?" Sweets still stared stonily at his knees. "Come on, look at me. Please." Reluctantly, Sweets turned to face the entomologist, and Hodgins put his other hand on Sweets's other shoulder. "You got me through all that stuff with Angela – sneakily and shrinkily got me to all the realizations and self-acceptance stuff I needed, because that's what you do, right?" When Sweets remained silent, the entomologist huffed a sigh. "Come on, repeat after me: yes, that's what I do." Sweets was quiet for a moment longer, and Hodgins was about to repeat his request when the psychologist finally spoke up.
"Yes, that's what I do."
"I help lots of people."
"I help lots of people," Sweets responded dutifully.
"I'm awesome."
"I'm awesome," he repeated as a blush started to grow on his cheeks.
"And kind of cool, even though I'm a foetus." Sweets just grinned and rolled his eyes. "Come on, dude." Hodgins looked at him with wide, earnest eyes, with just of a hint of humour glinting in them.
"And kind of cool, even though I'm a foetus."
"And even though I have over nine thousand ninja mind tricks…"
"And even though I have over nine thousand ninja mind tricks…"
"If I need my pills, I will take them." Sweets was silent, his grin replaced by a small frown. "Sweets…" Sweets still said nothing, but managed a nod. The entomologist tilted his head at the other man, but then shrugged. "Close enough. And get help if I need it." Sweets just nodded again, and Hodgins clapped him on the shoulder before turning back to stare out the front of the car. "Cool. Now, how about we go get some lunch. The others can stew for a while. The foetus needs feeding." Hodgins turned his head to look back at Sweets. "Or maybe a beer."
Sweets smiled softly and put the key in the ignition, starting the car. As they started to move Hodgins leaned his head back against the headrest with a sigh. "I'm in a car and a child is driving. Save me." Sweets just started humming as he sharply turned a corner.