Well, I was reluctant to write this chapter, because as an audience we don't have much to go on with April, but I hope I've done her character a solid. I really appreciate the reviews and support! This story is slow in coming and thrives on feedback. Credits go to Rochelle Templer's "The Heart of the Family" for Lance's birthday! If you haven't read her amazing and epic story, I can't recommend it enough!
Mendenbar, how funny that you have known your own share of Bernies! The first time I experienced this, I was desperate to tell someone about it. I'm glad also that I could do Sweets/Booth some justice for you. Thanks for reading!
Mysterious Jedi—I think Booth is warming up even more than he can admit to himself. Sweets is pretty lovable. We'll see some more Booth love in the next chapter.
Selin74, thanks for all of your reviews of late!
RT, I agree. Booth is allowed to make fun of Sweets' age, but I doubt he'd stand for it if others started picking on Sweets in a cruel way. It's the big brother thing.
Next chapter…BB looking murderous in cowboy and Sherlock Holmes hats. :) God, I love The Boy in the Time Capsule!
Lance did get lucky with April, and one lucky night turned into many. They began spending at least 3 or 4 nights a week together, which was a comfort to Lance. He always hated sleeping alone, especially these days when he couldn't get his mind off his parents. Every moment he was not actively contemplating work or analyzing his progress with April was spent morosely turning over memories of his parents.
At the moment it was 8pm on a late October night, the weather chilly and crisp. Lance had just gotten off work and arrived at April's for the night. She was putting the finishing touches on some chicken matzo soup in the kitchen, and Lance sat on her couch in his suit. He had some clothes at April's but didn't feel like changing. He was remembering a time when he had been very ill at age 8. Indeed, he had been sick often as a child, considering he had been rather malnourished and neglected in his early years prior his adoption.
Young Lance was in bed, sweating and weeping a little. His mother put a cool hand on his furnace of a forehead and sang, "Hush a bye, don't you cry, go to sleep little baby. When you wake you shall have cake, and all the pretty little horses." Her voice was rich and smooth and enwrapped Lance like a satiny blanket.
Lance sat perfectly still on April's couch, the eerie music filtering through his brain. His eyes were red and sad. April came in briefly, not noticing that anything was amiss.
"Lance…sorry, but I'd like to give the matzos just a few more minutes to set before we eat, ok?"
Lance forced a smile. "Sure, no problem." He didn't have the least bit of appetite. He whipped his computer out of his bag and decided to play a video game for a few minutes to take his mind off his mother. He was a little disappointed that April hadn't noticed his distress, but he thought, if I want to talk about it, I should say something. If I don't, then why am I complaining?
Within seconds he was blasting soldiers to bits—their blood and guts spattering on brick walls. He was calm and focused again. He didn't notice but April had come up behind him, her hands on her hips.
"Ah-hem," she cleared her throat. Still no response from Lance, the killing machine.
"Lance?" she said in a quiet, annoyed tone. "Lance!" she repeated sharply, as if disciplining a dog.
Lance was so startled that his character was obliterated. "Aw," he said disappointed. Then he turned innocently to April, "Yes?"
"Dinner's ready," she said a bit huffily. "And don't forget, tomorrow night we have ceramics, so you can't stay so long at work, ok?" She briskly headed for the table where steaming bowls of soup awaited Lance. He did love her kosher cooking, though he struggled to remember the rules of the pots. His faux-Jewishness was beginning to wear on him.
Lance took a bite of soup and decided he was hungry after all. He began wolfing it down, slurping a little. April eyed his exuberant feasting with a touch of disgust.
"You're still in your suit."
Lance looked up, a little soup dribbling down his chin. "Uh-huh." He nodded like a little boy who'd forgotten to wash his hands. Lance decided to try a new topic of conversation. "So I did a profile for Agent Booth this week!" His excitement was manifest. "The team at the Jeffersonian has been on the wrong trail, I think. They believe the murderers are this couple—Greg and Lola. It's true that the couple is a little disturbing. Lola would have Greg fool around with girls, so she could catch them in the act; then she'd have an excuse to rough them up. But I think," Lance emphasized proudly, "that the murderer's a man working alone. A blue collar kind of guy—April? Are you listening?"
April was surreptitiously eying the magazine on the chair next to her, which had Ben Stiller on the cover. "Hm?" she asked. "Oh yes, you were profiling…have you actually helped catch a murderer yet?"
Lance's face fell. She wasn't very receptive to hearing about his work.
Now April changed the subject. "Lance, do you want to buy a condo?"
"What?" he asked startled. With her?
"You know, are you thinking of buying property instead of renting. Renting is such a burden. You can't paint, decorate, start a garden. I'd love to buy a condo in the city."
"Um, well, April, I'm just out of grad school and have a bit of debt to pay off. So no, I'm not thinking of buying yet. But I guess it's part of my ten year plan."
"Wow, ten years huh? That's a long time!"
"Well, I'm only 22, so I think I have awhile before I should take on home ownership. Besides, I'm trying to sell my parents house right now. It's a real pain. I hate to see it go."
April's eyes seemed to fall at the mention of his age. She didn't inquire more into the situation with his parents' house either, although the impending sale was weighing heavily on Lance's mind.
"I'll be 23 soon enough," Lance said hopefully. He felt bad that he was so young. He was obviously disappointing April with his lack of adult plans. Lance stared into space for awhile, thinking about his childhood home. His room had blue walls and luminous stars on the ceiling to this day, just like when he was a boy.
April regarded him and asked, "When's your birthday?"
Lance replied, "In April. Like your name!" he added goofily in an attempt to lighten the mood.
"That's not that very soon, Lance!"
Lance felt a little like he was under attack for something he couldn't help. "I'll get the dishes. Thanks for dinner. It was delicious."
While Lance did the dishes, his suit coat off and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, April sat up on the kitchen counter to continue their increasingly awkward conversation. Lance had been hoping for a break. No such luck.
"So Lance, how old were you when you went to college?" she pried.
"Um," Lance ran hot water over his hands and the pot he was scrubbing. "I was 14."
"Wow, that must have been…hard. You couldn't drive, you probably didn't really impress the ladies." She smiled. "Am I right?"
"You are. I wasn't a particularly impressive 14 year old. I was about 5'3 and very scrawny."
"It must have been hard to go through all the markers of growing up at a different phase than everyone around you."
While her statement seemed compassionate on its surface, Lance couldn't help but feel that she was judging him. Yeah, it had sucked being younger than everyone in school. He had been picked on and hadn't gotten a date till he was 17. He grew defensive, "Sure, but I managed. Look, can we talk about something else?"
April recoiled and hopped down. "Ok, sorry. I was just trying to get to know my boyfriend a little better. You're so mysterious about your past." She began to walk away, a little hunched and defeated.
"Aw, April, I'm sorry." Lance turned off the water and hastily dried his hands before catching up to her. He wrapped his arms around her from behind and held her against his body.
They stood like that for a moment. They both closed their eyes and relished the human contact. Finally, Lance led his girlfriend to the couch and sat down next to her. He folded his hands in preparation for his least favorite conversation in the world.
"April, we haven't really talked about…my past yet." Lance meant the scars. They hadn't discussed the scars. "Is there something you'd like to ask me? I promise, I won't get defensive this time."
April exhaled. "Did someone hurt you?" she asked nervously.
"Yes, my biological father. I've told you I was adopted at age 6; since that time, I was given as wonderful a life as anyone could hope for by my true parents."
"Did your dad…whip you?" she had a dual look of curiosity and guilt on her face.
"You don't have to feel bad that you're curious. I know how I look. I'd be curious too," Lance sighed. "That man, who was certainly not my dad, did whip me." April cringed at the correction. "He did a vast array of things that no father should ever do to a son."
April looked scared by this statement. She couldn't look Lance in the eyes. "Where is he now?" she asked, her voice quiet with awe.
Lance said, "Don't know. He was never caught. He set the house on fire and left me to die."
April's mouth dropped open. "But you were saved."
Lance nodded seriously. "I was saved."
"Wow, this is…a lot. Wow." April had put her hand over her mouth, as if to contain her shock.
"I'm sorry, but it's who I am. I've done my best to overcome my past. I've had a lot of help along the way…my parents—" But Lance's voice cracked. He knew he'd cry if he continued, so he didn't.
"I'm really sorry for the pain you've been through," April said with deep compassion. Her round, brown eyes were watery.
Lance smiled at her dimly and mumbled, "Thanks."
Simultaneously, they reached for one and another. They hugged for a long time, the dishes forgotten. Lance wondered if relationships were supposed to be this hard.