AN: An itty bitty tag to "The Signs in the Silence." Also, thank you SO MUCH to everyone for the reviews, it really means a lot. I re-read them over and over because they make me SO happy. Thanks for the prompts, too. I'll try to get to as many as I can.

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize I don't own.

"Doctor Sweets." Sweets looked up from his seat in the diner at the anthropologist. He'd come alone for a brief lunch and to gather his thoughts before heading back to the bureau to finish up with some paperwork from the case.

"Hey, Doctor Brennan. I'm… I'm really sorry, by the way."

"You appeared to be very upset, the other day in the diner."

"Yeah, I… It's not your fault. I know you're not as cold as some people might think you are."

"I know." She sat down beside him and shifted to face him. "I know you know I'm not cold. I used…" She paused, looking down at her knees for a moment before looking determinedly back up at the psychologist. "I used to let people think I was, even if I really wasn't. It made me feel safer – like people couldn't hurt me. Now, though, I sometimes… let people see." Sweets quirked a small smile and looked down at this hands, which were clasped tightly on his lap.

"Yeah. I know." Brennan looked at him seriously.

"The main reason I have been letting people see is Booth, you know." Sweets nodded. "However… another big reason I have been able to do so is… you." The psychologist looked up from his lap at that, slightly surprised, but still avoided her gaze. "You've helped me a lot, you know." She looked at him with wide, earnest eyes. "I may not believe in psychology or the so-called science and theory behind it, but I cannot deny that talking to you, and following your advice has helped me… connect with other people more thoroughly than I have ever been able to before." Sweets looked at her then, with slightly red eyes.

"I'm sorry, Doctor Brennan. I really am. I didn't mean to be harsh with you. I know you're – "

"I know you know," she cut him off. "Doctor Sweets…" She sighed, before tentatively reaching out, and finally taking his hand in a firm grasp. "Doctor Sweets, I know you… you spoke to me about my own childhood and the… the pain there… to get me to understand about Amy, but… I know that… that you had similar experiences in the system, so I can only assume that this… mental turmoil I am experiencing must be affecting you too." Sweets buried his face in his hands.

"I…" He sniffed, trying desperately to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall. "I…I know, sort of, what she… she must have been feeling." Brennan nodded understandingly.

"Yes, I know, you told me so at the Jeffersonian, remember?"

"No… I mean, yes, I remember, but I understand… differently." He looked up at the anthropologist then, willing her to understand. He knew he hadn't given her nearly enough information for her to draw the correct conclusions, brilliant though she was, but a part of him wished he wouldn't have to say it – wouldn't have to drag back up those awful memories. When she continued to look at him expectantly he took a deep breath, knowing he couldn't make her understand any other way.

"Doctor Sweets?"

"I… Doctor Brennan, I… I was put into the system as a baby. I never knew my biological parents. Never even went home from the hospital with them. I, um… When I was three I was placed with a couple… and… well… they weren't particularly pleasant. The worst they did, physically, was break my arm and bruise a few ribs but it went on for… five months, almost, and somewhere along I just… I stopped talking. They didn't even report that. They… I was taken away when they brought me in for the broken arm. I wouldn't speak, but… I screamed. It hurt. I don't really remember it, but I remember screaming because it hurt so bad. They finally took me in because they couldn't get me to be quiet, and they were arrested, and I was taken away. I stayed in a group home, then, for a few months. They had a therapist come in, but… they gave up. Figured I just wasn't going to talk. I learned to sign, but I hardly used that, either." He ducked his head, hoping to hide his tears. He'd made sure to keep his voice down, but he could see the waitress at the counter looking at them intently. The diner was loud, though, since it was the lunch rush, and he hoped it was loud enough that she couldn't hear them.

The anthropologist looked at him sadly and gripped his hand tighter. "When…?"

"I didn't say another word until about a year and a half after I started living with my parents."

"Oh. Was there a physiological reason why you couldn't speak?"

"No. I just… I was scared. I was so scared it was like I physically…couldn't speak." Brennan nodded.

"So you empathized with the girl."

"Yes. I… I remember what it was like to not be able to say anything as I was passed around from adult to adult, and to be poked at and… to be so, so scared. To not trust anyone. I was never deaf, so I cannot understand her there, nor do I know what it's like to be in her specific situation but…"

"You still understand a lot of what she's going through."

"Yes."

"And you wanted to make sure that I understood too, because you knew I had the experiences to draw from." Sweets sighed.

"Yes."

The anthropologist put her other hand over the psychologist's and smiled gently at him.

"Booth sometimes says that you talk too much, but I, for one, am glad that you do, and that you can." Sweets gave her a shaky smile. "And… I feel I have become much more adept, recently, at judging when people mean the things that they say, and… I do believe that Booth is thankful that you talk the way you do, too, even if he sometimes says otherwise. He once told me he has a … defective place… when it comes to you."

Sweets blushed. "A soft spot."

"Yes!" The anthropologist looked excited. "I think I'm getting much better at these colloquialisms, don't you?" The psychologist chuckled softly.

"Yes, Doctor Brennan. You are getting much better."