It's back! I'm sorry I've been neglecting this story-I've been out of town and this one doesn't come as easily as some, though I enjoy pondering Lance's early career. I'll update it regularly until completion now, which will probably be in around 5 chapters.
Thank you kindly to those who have been reading and following, and actually pick back up with the story after this hiatus. I appreciate your support!
Booth guided Lance over to the Jeffersonian for the psychologist's first peek inside the storied Institute. Lance had been working on a profile for Booth regarding the victim discovered in a high school time capsule and was headed to consult with Dr. Brennan in her office on a potential suspect. Quite frankly, Lance was elated to be out of his office and on the grounds of the famous forensics department. He was enjoying his job at the FBI, but it involved a lot of sitting around, waiting for results. Therapy was a slow process with sometimes few rewards. Here at the Jeffersonian they caught murderers every day. Well maybe not every day…
Lance scrambled alongside Booth like an eager puppy as they passed through the glass doors.
Booth was explaining, "Sweets, I'll show you to Bones' office. You can read my report there, and tell her what you glean from it on the suspect. Ok? I'm counting on you to come up with something useful," he finished, implying that he had gone out on a limb to get Brennan to collaborate with Lance.
Lance felt simultaneous pride that Booth trusted in his abilities and irritation that Brennan was reluctant to give him a chance.
Booth handed Lance his report and guided the psychologist inward and onward. The forensics lab of the Jeffersonian was all a-bustle. People in lab coats flitted back and forth bumping elbows, pipetting, pointing at computer screens. The main platform lay before him like the emerald city, sparkling with bizarre instruments and bleached bones. Lance almost felt a little dizzy, as machines whirred about his head and voices traded words he didn't recognize.
A tall and lovely woman with chocolate milk skin and a tight black bun appeared in their path. Right away, Lance had to swallow a twinge of intimidation. This woman was gorgeous and stern.
"Seeley." The woman's grave expression exploded into a grin of familiarly at the sight of Booth.
Woah, had those two dated? Lance sensed an old-flame vibe between them. The woman had a coy way of glancing up through her eyelashes that suggested former intimacy. He'd have to ask Agent Booth about her later.
"Cam, this is Sweets—he's a profiler and psychologist with the FBI. He's working on a profile for me on the time capsule case. Dr. Camille Saroyan," Booth waved carelessly at her.
Lance couldn't help but roll his eyes—Booth was obviously teasing him by introducing him as 'Sweets.' Booth was grinning from ear to ear, quite pleased with himself.
"Sweets?" Dr. Camille Saroyan asked, lifting an eyebrow and extending a hand to Lance. Dr. Saroyan was at least kind enough to keep the inevitable snickers about Lance's youth to herself. Or perhaps she was one of those people who actually waited to judge a person. Lance could hope.
"Dr. Lance Sweets," Lance corrected, taking her hand. It was small but firm.
Cam nodded in understanding and shot Booth a glance that said, 'Control yourself.'
Suddenly, an even taller woman, with finely curled black hair and a lovely complexion—half Asian? Lance speculated—approached. Lance wasn't sure he had ever seen a woman this sexy quite so close up, and this was even after meeting Dr. Saroyan. Was everyone at the Jeffersonian hot? Lance tried to contain his hormones, but his cheeks burned.
"Booth," the stranger nodded. "Who do we have here?"
Lance jutted out his hand before Booth could bungle his introduction again. "Lance Sweets." He immediately cursed himself for not including his impressive new title of 'doctor.'
"Dr. Lance Sweets," Lance corrected himself.
The woman's mouth widened in amused surprise. "Doctor? As in doctorate?"
Lance nodded.
"What are you 16?" she laughed.
Lance's cheeks reddened some more. He muttered the word 'no.'
"Angela Montenegro," she introduced herself, still giggling. Angela called over to a man with wild red curls and his dark-haired companion, both in lab coats. They seemed to have been listening in on both Cam's and Angela's conversations from their perch on the vast platform that now resembled less Wizard of Oz and more Oz to Lance, who wanted to flee for his life.
"Hodgins, Zack, c'mere. Booth has a new toy!" Angela's eyes danced with amusement. She seemed kind enough to her coworkers despite her strange and rather insulting introduction of Lance.
Standing there blushing and slightly hunched from embarrassment, Lance surely looked 16. He wanted to insist that Booth lead him immediately to Dr. Brennan's office. But he sheepishly remained where he was firmly planted.
The two men in lab coats approached, neither smiling. In fact, the red-headed one, who appeared to answer to 'Hodgins,' looked downright hostile. They didn't say anything but looked Sweets up and down. Then Hodgins chuckled and said, "Let's get back to work, Zack."
"What is so funny?" Zack asked in a monotone that reminded Lance of Dr. Brennan.
Hodgins shrugged and said, "He looks even younger than you, man. And he's got his doctorate? You're in for some competition, my friend!" Hodgins seemed tickled by this thought, though Lance didn't see the humor in the situation.
Neither did Zack it seemed, as this statement appeared to push his buttons. He scowled and said, "It's easy to get a Ph.D. in a field like psychology," and stalked away.
Lance was entirely offended and appealed to Booth for help with his eyes. Earning his doctorates had been no easy feat. Booth just smirked. This was a baptism by fire—no help from Booth. The agent simply prodded Lance toward Brennan's office once more.
"Well, here she is. You can read my report in there. See ya later, Sweets." Booth departed with a goofy wave toward Brennan through the glass. Brennan smiled but then looked less than pleased to see Lance.
Lance took a moment to regroup and revisit the initial excitement he had felt upon entering the Jeffersonian. After a deep breath, he was himself again—cheerful and ready to work.
Lance spent the next 20 minutes sitting on Brennan's couch, pouring over Booth's notes and pondering the agent who had written the report, rather than the suspect the report was about. Booth appeared to indeed have been popular back in high school. But Lance sensed singeing pain just beneath the surface of Booth's high school memories. Booth seemed to harbor a kind of savior complex. Lance wondered if the agent had confessed his promised embarrassing high school story to Brennan yet, but he didn't have the chance to ask. Dr. Brennan interrupted him suddenly, accusing him of being a slow reader.
Lance was a thorough analyzer when he read, which did slow him down quite a bit. But he did not relish Brennan's implication. After all, he'd just been laughed at by her entire forensics team. Still, Lance remained calm and lighthearted, as he had learned to do in therapy with his difficult patients. It was his best defense. Further, he was thrilled to be working so closely with the Jeffersonian on a case and didn't want to irk Brennan, his current connection to the team.
After a brief discussion with Brennan regarding the victim, Hodgins reappeared, in his red-headed fury, with some information on the case.
"Wow," Lance marveled. "With you people it's really go, go, go!"
Hodgins responded snarkily, "We're catching murderers."
"And that is SO dope!" Lance couldn't help but admit. Despite his shaky introduction to the team, he found he sought their approval, almost like they were the cool crowd at school. The consequences of the work they did here were life and death, and Lance wanted in.
Hodgins and Brennan exchanged irritated glances.
Nevertheless, the psychologist began to walk away with an exuberant, "I love being in the field!"
"Uh, you're in a secure lab," Hodgins corrected him.
Lance rejoined, "For eight hours a day I'm surrounded by neurotics. Ok? To me, this is fieldwork." He suddenly remembered that one of his patients was actually standing in this very room. "Uh, no offense, Dr. Brennan. I'll finish that profile."
He skedaddled before someone decided to never allow him back into the Jeffersonian.
Later that week, Lance was allowed to return to the Jeffersonian to deliver his completed "boy in the time capsule" profile to Booth and Brennan. They weren't wholly receptive of his explanation, and by the end, Lance basically admitted that he hoped his profile was correct so that he could impress April by helping to catch a murderer.
In fact, Booth remembered Lance's comment the next day and actually tracked down the psychologist to report that his profile had been correct. The case was a tragic one—the victim's best friend had accidentally murdered and then buried him, punishing himself for his crime ever since.
Booth seemed down about the case but punched Lance a little on the shoulder in the hallway of the FBI.
"Hey, maybe the only good thing to come of this case is that you actually get lucky with your girlfriend tonight."
It was a gruff delivery, but Booth didn't have to give Lance any credit for his profile. The agent wanted to thank him. Booth was being nice.
For a moment, Lance fantasized about what it might be like to hang out with Booth, Brennan, and April all at once. Would Booth and Brennan like his girlfriend? She was pretty adorable—nice, perky, interested in others. But…was she smart enough to hold their attention? Just last night they had been playing Scrabble, and Lance had really had to hold back. Even so, he had easily broken 300 on his score, and she had barely topped 150. She hadn't even known the words spoor and prolix…and didn't everyone? Granted, Lance had spent many hours memorizing the dictionary as a boy before he was adopted, so perhaps his perspective was skewed.
Booth was speaking again, a serious look on his face. "Sweets, I want you to work on a new profile. A serial killer, called Gormogon."
The name itself was chilling, and a little thrill passed through Lance's body.
"Woah, awesome—a serial killer?" Lance instantly recognized that this was the most important case Booth had ever asked him to be a part of. "I mean…of course I'll help."
Booth shook his head. "Not awesome, Sweets. This guy, he kills, cooks, and eats people. Can you handle this case? It's a disturbing one." Booth's brow was furrowed, and Lance felt the tiniest bit ashamed for his enthusiastic reaction.
"I can handle it!" he replied confidently, snatching the file Booth was holding out to him almost greedily.