Thank you so much to those reviewing and following! I need the support for sure! Fear Herself, thanks for the compliment! I always wished that we knew more about Sweets in season 3, but I guess the writers hadn't fully committed to the character yet. RT, thanks for discussing this season so thoroughly with me and for encouraging me in the Booth-Sweets relations department. Also I really appreciate you saying that I got April's voice down on the message. I don't have a lot to go on, as you know! Just the one episode. My struggles with this story continue!

Lance Sweets was sitting in his office at the FBI staring at the wall. He was in distress and barely aware of where he was. He had just gotten off the phone with his parents' lawyer, who had given him the distressing news that he couldn't access any of his parents' bank accounts to pay off their debts. It was some kind of misunderstanding, pure and simple—one that would take time and phone calls to rectify. Lance couldn't afford to pay the lawyer, as the man well knew, and would have to tend to this himself. The new psychologist was having trouble making ends meet. He had recently moved into a new apartment and paid his parents' funeral expenses, and he owed on his grad school loans. He had only just begun at the FBI and had no nest egg to fall back on.

Lance stared and stared and heard the ticking of his watch resonating in his arm like it was pumping the last vestiges of life up toward his tired heart, heavy with bereavement. It was nearly 8 at night and Lance was still at work. He would have lingered there for hours more, if he hadn't scheduled—

A tentative knock shattered his morose reverie.

Lance cleared his throat, which ached it was so dry. "Come in."

"Hello Lance!" said April, again frumpily attired but smiling. "It wasn't easy navigating this place, but a security guard helped me. This building is amazing from the inside. Do you help catch criminals…or just see agents in therapy?" The first part of the last sentence betrayed utter enthusiasm, the second part disappointment.

Lance had to admit he had hardly done any profiling at the FBI so far. He was mostly seeing agents, as April so lacklusterly suggested.

"Um, I do both." He decided to fudge the truth a little. He hadn't helped catch any criminal yet as far as he knew.

"Ooh, can you tell me anything about a case?" April had sat down upon his couch and was looking eagerly at him.

"Actually April, don't you think we'd better leave for the ceramics class? It's nearly 8."

"Yes, certainly. Let's go! I'm so glad you decided to come."

Lance smiled and turned off his computer, which had been glowing austerely behind him. He then reached out to take April's hand. She gazed demurely at the ground and seemed very pleased with this development. So Lance squeezed a little. He knew it was too early to hope that tonight was going somewhere physical, but there was nothing like sex to take your mind off what ailed you. He smiled at his date and wondered what she'd be like in bed. Was she one of those girls who appeared reserved but was wild behind closed doors? He would hold out hope for that.

At the class, Lance was making a terribly phallic pot that kept drooping a little. It depressed him that he seemed to stink at ceramics. He was already feeling bad enough. He felt April's eyes on him.

"Lance?"

"Yes, April?"

"Can I ask, I don't mean to pry, but you seem a little down. Even your pot looks weary! Is something the matter? Are you not having fun here!" It was a statement rather than a question. "We could leave!" Her panic was mounting.

Lance reached over to the woman with the dark eyes and dark hair sitting across from him and took her hand. She was able to keep her pot smoothly turning with the other hand, but his pot utterly collapsed. Lance gave up and turned it off.

"April, I feel like I haven't been entirely honest with you about who I am right now."

"Who you are?" she looked like she thought he was going to confess to being a homicidal fiend.

"I'm, well, frankly, I'm a mess. I'm grieving for the loss of my parents. They died just weeks ago."

"Oh my! Lance, I'm so sorry to hear that. Did you want to talk about it?"

Lance thought that this was an odd response and interpreted that she didn't want to hear about it. "No, that's ok. I'll be fine, I'm just distracted."

"Ok."

Lance thought, ok then. He began making a new pot from scratch. The clay felt exquisite in his fingers—cool and soothing.

"This is nice! It's relaxing," he admitted aloud.

Unfortunately, April took this comment to the extreme and signed them up for ceramics every week for the next month. Lance would have rather been playing Halo, but he supposed he had six other nights a week for mindless video games. Now they were true solace from his brain's constant whirring.

Lance took April home to her apartment. A small part of him wanted to come in, but he would settle for a good night kiss. He leaned in as she turned her head—they smacked faces uncomfortably.

"Ow!" April cried. Lance's tooth had grazed her lip.

"I'm sorry!" he exclaimed miserably. He cursed his awkwardness. "Shall we try that again?" he asked hopefully. She nodded.

He held April's face in his hands and leaned in slowly. Their lips met. Hers were warm and soft like summer fruit. He allowed himself to forget his pain. They kissed for awhile quite pleasurably considering their tragic first attempt.

Finally, they bid each other good night, and Lance allowed the shadowy night to engulf him as he trudged the several blocks home. He and April were practically neighbors. That was a comforting thought.