Chapter 5

A/N: One of the readers following this story asked for a follow up chapter. Another reader commented that the entire story was superfluous. This is my effort to rectify that situation.

Lance Sweets became aware of the annoying buzz of the alarm on his cell phone vibrating against the ebony surface of his night stand. He opened one eye and reached over to silence it, trying to recall why he'd set himself such an early wake-up time for a Sunday morning.

"Oh, yeah, Father's Day," he reminded himself sleepily. Knowing he had quite a drive ahead to accomplish his objective, Sweets rolled out of bed and headed for his bathroom to shower and shave. Once dressed, he went to the kitchen, poured himself a cup of coffee into his travel mug, and opened the refrigerator to remove the two large bouquets of carnations he'd purchased the previous evening.

After locking the door to his apartment, he packed the tall cyclindrical vases in a box of crumpled newspaper to keep them upright, and placed it on the floor of the front passenger seat. Pulling out into the light traffic, he listened to Meet the Press for the first half-hour of his drive toward Baltimore.

His adoptive father Rex Finley had served in the Navy, stationed in the Pacific during World War II, finishing his 20 years as a Naval Reservist. His machinist mate assignments had become his civilian career as a heating and air contractor. Shortly before shipping out, he'd met and married Loretta a telephone operator at Bethlehem Steel's Fairfield Yard where Liberty ships were built. Unable to have kids of their own, the Finleys had fostered numerous children before adopting him.

As the newscasters' discussion droned on the radio, Lance thought back to their selfless decision to give him a permanent home, rescuing him from further abuse, at a point in their lives when the relaxation of retirement beckoned. Not too different from what Hank Booth had done for Agent Booth and his brother Jared, he mused. Or what no one had done for Dr. Brennan during her three awful years in 'the system' before she aged out, he realized with a sickening feeling of guilt about his recent treatment of her.

Reaching Baltimore, he took the familiar exit nearest his home and drove past the house he'd sold to a young family after his step-parents' deaths. From there he headed for Baltimore National Cemetery, parked his car, and walked through the rows of white marble grave markers to an area near the distinguished service section where Medal of Honor recipient Fireman First Class Loddie Stupka rested.

Sweets leaned down to place the twin carnation bouquets, one red, one pink in front of the Finley's headstone, and stood there, remembering the sting of their unexpected deaths just prior to starting his job at the FBI.

"Happy Father's Day, Dad. Hey, Mom, it's me, Lance. I brought your favorite flowers. Pink for you, and red for Dad with a little American flag like you always put on our Fourth of July picnic tables."

He leaned against a thick aging oak tree and reflected on what they had taught him, and wondered what his step-dad would say about his recent decision not to tell Brennan that her partner had actually survived the bullet he took at the Checkerbox.

He could picture his tall spare father peering at him over his reading glasses with a puzzled frown, pausing for emphasis so his son knew what he was getting ready to say was really important. Rex Finley would tilt his head, fix his son's eyes with a sharp, meaningful glare, and speak quietly in his sonorously deep voice;

"Lance, why would you deceive someone about a situation so painful? What sort of a research project was so all-fired important that you lied by omission to a colleague? What were you thinking, son? Did you think? Lance, did'ja stop to consider the ramifications of your actions, like we taught you?"

"This scientist friend of yours worked closely with this FBI fellow for over three years, and you didn't tell her he survived? I'm surprised at your lack of empathy, boy. Solving crimes is a dangerous business, and those kind of partners hafta watch each other's backs. Seems like they'd share a pretty close connection, worry about each other."

"Didn't you learn anything about human nature in all those psychology classes you took?" You, of all people, should know how much it hurts to be lonely, confused, and lacking people who care about your well-being."

"That was a pretty unfeeling way to treat that lady; pretty crass of you, Lance. I thought we raised you better than that! What were you trying to prove?"

Lance hung his head, and spoke softly to the pair beneath the carefully-manicured grass.

"Yeah, I'm beginning to realize that. I've been so intrigued with what makes their partnership tick, why it's so successful, in spite of how different they are, how sharply their philosophies and attitudes diverge; I've been looking for ways to gain insight into their processes and interactions."

"They're very private about their relationship, 'just partners' they claim to be, but it's more than that! It has to be! They can communicate without even talking! My idea to observe Dr. Brennan's reactions to Booth's death, and how she handled his loss was an attempt to understand how she processes emotions and copes with change. "

"Obviously, I didn't consider all the ramifications of my 'experiment' as she calls it. She compartmentalizes her feelings so adeptly, it never occurred to me that withholding the truth about Booth being alive would hit her so hard."

"I didn't mean to cause her such great distress, but I certainly did. Really screwed up the situation royally. I'm not even sure the two of them will ever trust me again."

"Actually, I may have damaged my friendships with the entire Jeffersonian team. I wish you guys were still here to guide me like you used to; impart sound advice when I need it. I really miss you both."

He rubbed the back of his head, ruefully and took a deep breath.

"I've got some serious apologizing to do when I get back to the office on Monday, or maybe when the opportunity arises. My mistake is serious enough, I can't just waltz in and casually remark, Gee, Dr. Brennan, I'm sure sorry about screwing up last month."

"I'm gonna have to look before I leap, like you used to say when I was trying to jump across that stream behind our house, or practicing to make the pole-vaulting team in high school We all know how successful that was," he remarked with a wry face. "NOT!"

"I did better at the long jump, but not until I learned to visualize the results I hoped to attain, like you taught me. I got this brilliant idea for observing Dr. Brennan, except that it wasn't brilliant at all, it was wicked wretched."

"I'm going to have to analyze the possible effects and outcomes of what I tell my patients, before I make statements or recommendations to them in a professional capacity. My showing Booth his brain scans and telling him his love for Dr. Brennan was just a figment of his coma dreams; that was another monumentally bad idea. Not to mention very unfeeling."

"I guess I'd better say goodbye for now, and drive back to DC. I think I'm going to dig out my Ethics textbook, spend the rest of the day re-reading its concepts, and examine my professional belief system and code of conduct in light of its precepts. Thanks for listening to my problems; I'll try to get back up here more frequently in the future."

A soft feminine voice played inside his head, "Lance, honey, you don't have to drive to Baltimore to talk to us, you know. We're both always in your heart and mind, right with you if you need us, just like we've always been."

"Yeah, Mom, I know. Sometimes, I just forget how wise you both were. I became too wrapped up in myself, impressed with all my degrees and licenses to remember the basic rules of kindness and considerate living you tried to teach me with the example you set. Love you both."

Feeling a weight lifted from his shoulders, Lance Sweets turned toward the parking lot, and strode back to his car. "Metaphorically, Dr. Brennan would say," he smiled to himself.