Today was really busy and I wrote this chapter very hastily—I hope it doesn't have a ton of errors. It's a little thin on description. I'm afraid my updates may not be so frequent for the coming days unless I find an alternative source of internet. We'll see…

Again, much love to those who follow and drop me notes of encouragement! You have no idea how much taking that time to respond means to me! There is much more to come.

Disclaimer: Not mine!

Over the next week, Lance remained indoors at Cam's home, while Cam and Michelle flitted in and out—to work, school, and errands. Both women doted on Lance—offering him tea, water, snacks. He was almost glad for the hours he spent alone reading, catching up on his writing (he was even toying with re-outlining his Booth/Brennan book), and just silently pondering the new professional direction with which he was presented. He had called the Georgetown psych department chair and set up an interview for a few weeks in the future, warning her that his jaw would still be wired. But the department was eager to get a jump on hiring. For the moment, he felt too ugly and beat up to be seen in public, and his leg was still so painful that it was difficult for him to get around even on crutches.

A few notable events had occurred during his reclusive convalescence. First, Lance had actually received a phone call from Booth, as promised, all the way from Afghanistan.

Booth's voice had sounded hearty and concerned for his friend.

"Sweets! What's this about you getting attacked! You need to be more careful. Cam said something about the Gravedigger? How's that possible? Taffet's in jail!"

"Booth, Booth. Woah, you're talking really fast. I'm ok. I just have a broken leg and jaw."

"That doesn't sound ok, Sweets."

Lance was touched by Booth's concern. "We think Taffet may have an accomplice. I dunno, I haven't really been involved with the case since…"

"Since you had the crap kicked out of you?"

"In so many words, yes. Booth, have you heard from Dr. Brennan?" Lance couldn't help but ask to satisfy his insatiable interest in the duo.

Booth paused. "We've exchanged some letters. Bones' having a great time finding her old passion." He sighed. "I'm afraid she might not want to come back."

Lance sensed Booth was revealing a deep and unsettling fear. "She'll come back, Booth. I promise. She has a lot of people here she cares about. Most of all—you."

Booth's tone changed from wistful to his own brand of slightly gruff love. "Sweets, you have to promise me you'll stay out of trouble. I'm not at the FBI to watch you, you know."

"Funny you should mention it, I'm actually thinking of moving on from the FBI."

"WHAT!" Booth practically yelled into the phone.

Lance cleaned out his ear with his finger in an attempt to recover from the tremendous boom. "Yeah. I'm thinking about going back into academia. Georgetown might offer me a position. If I take it, I'd do contract work for the Jeffersonian on the side. We would still work together."

Booth was silent.

"Booth?" Lance asked.

"Wow, everything is changing," Booth responded sadly.

"Yeah," Lance agreed. "It hasn't been the same here without you. In fact, I've discovered that besides you and Dr. Brennan, my patients aren't all that stimulating."

"You are such a voyeur of Bones and me, Sweets. It's a little disturbing. You need to find something healthier to obsess about."

Lance missed Booth so much his chest hurt. "Don't worry. I've moved on to coin collecting. It's far less insulting."

Booth laughed abruptly.

Lance followed up, "How are you doing? Are you staying safe?"

"Yeah, I'm keeping busy, but I'm fine. Sweets? Gotta go."

"Ok, thanks for checking on me."

"Anytime. Take care."

"Bye, Booth."

After their conversation had ended Lance had buried his head in his pillow and cried.

Besides his conversation with Booth, Agent Perotta had come to visit Lance. He had been sitting on the couch watching some mindless TV and elevating his leg, wearing plaid pajama pants and a white t-shirt, when she knocked. Lance was a little surprised when he had opened the door to see Perotta on a social call with flowers in hand rather than business. He, of course, had no idea what she had learned about him from the doctor at the hospital. The truth was Perotta liked Sweets, though he was a little geeky, and she wanted to make sure that he was recovering.

Perotta immediately explained, "Sorry to barge in on you. Dr. Saroyan mentioned that I could stop by and check on you." She handed Lance the small bunch of delicate white flowers. "I didn't really know what to bring you to cheer you up. These are from my flower box."

"Wow! I love flowers! You grew these in your apartment building?" Lance moved aside to let her in. Using his crutches, Lance limped painfully toward the kitchen to find a vase—no easy task, considering this was not his home. He settled on a tall smoothie glass.

"Yeah, I have a few flower boxes. I love to garden, but what can you do? City living," Perotta explained.

"I enjoy plants myself. Speaking of which…damn. I remembered to have my neighbors check on Knox, but I forgot about my plants. Well, they probably figured it out."

"Knox?" Perotta asked confused.

"My cat," Lance explained. His neighbors—Tien and Dave—were a very loveable gay couple, who were always insisting that Lance switch teams and play for the "right" side as their boy toy. At the very least, they insisted on adopting him as their oversized child. Lance knew Knox would be in good hands and that they would probably notice the plants, as Tien was quite fastidious, just as Lance was.

Perotta suggested, "Shall we sit down? You look like you should take a load off."

Lance nodded gratefully. He felt like his leg was splitting on the axis of his shin.

Perotta looked thoughtful as they sat on opposing couch and chair, so Lance asked, "Something on your mind Agent Perotta?"

She was thinking about how Lance had been so severely abused as a child that his body bore persistent physical marks. It made her sad, and also roused another emotion in her. One she couldn't quite place.

Lance folded his hands and waited patiently, going into shrink mode.

"Do you want to get a coffee sometime next week when you're feeling better?" she asked after a very long pause. She wasn't quite sure why she had asked him—but the words flooded out. She was always a blunt person who said what was on her mind. She wondered if maybe she was attracted to Sweets. She was feeling pretty lonely lately, and she had a thing for damaged men. Lance was pretty much the most damaged man she had ever met.

"Uh…um," Lance was confused. This was not what he had expected her to say. Had she just asked him out? "Well sure, if you don't mind hanging out with someone who looks like this." He gestured toward his ruined face and laughed nervously.

"Good. I'll call you and set something up when you're feeling better. Just to let you know, we've made absolutely no progress on your case. The DNA evidence didn't help at all since we have nothing to compare it to, and somehow neither of the two witnesses who helped scare off your assailant and call the police got a look at your attacker's face. This guy just disappeared, melted away into thin air. At least we know he's male."

Lance tried to shift his mind from Perotta's mysterious come-on to police work. "Um, has anyone talked to Taffet? Not that I think she'd say anything."

"Yep, she just laughed at us. I'm sorry, but she's such an evil b-."

Lance nodded. "Agreed. I truly despise that woman. Ok, well I'd love to help if I can, so keep me posted."

"I'll do that." Perotta lifted an eyebrow. "Your face doesn't look so bad. In fact, it makes you look tough. Feel better, Dr. Sweets." She stood up.

"Thanks."

"Don't get up—I'll show myself out." Lance couldn't disagree since his leg throbbed angrily its assent.

At the end of the week, Lance felt ready to return home and go back to work. He was growing bored of being waited on and creating mundane tasks for himself. He missed his cat. He also missed seeing people at work, in particular Bea. He hoped she was ok. Abusive relationships were like ticking time bombs, and he wanted to help her escape before it was too late. Furthermore, his depression seemed to be somewhat abating—he had many new thoughts and possibilities to occupy his brain.

The first thing Lance did when he got back to his apartment was retrieve his feline friend from his neighbors.

Tien answered the door and his mouth opened in shock. He was a small Asian man with fine features and a gentle voice. "Boy, you look like hell. How are you feeling? Come in. Come in. Do you need some green tea? Some booze?" Tien gave Lance a little peck on the swollen cheek. Lance rarely saw his neighbors, but when he did they acted like they had known him his whole life. They were just those kind of generous souls.

"No thanks, Tien. Just wanted to grab Knox. Thanks for watching him."

"He's like a tiger in a domestic cat's body. His personality is bigger than Cher's. We adore him!"

"Yeah, he's a typical cat. Huffy, standoffish, but very lovable when he gets in the mood," Lance offered.

"Oh you poor thing; listen to you with your mouth wired shut! If you need anything, just holler through the wall and we'll come running."

Lance smiled, which made Tien grimace. Lance imagined his smile looked very strange with his teeth bound shut.

Knox came around the corner at the sound of his owner's voice, and Lance scooped him up and took the cat home under his arm. Tien had handed Lance a bundle of mail, which he began sorting through in the landing of his apartment, teetering on one crutch. One particular nondescript letter stood out to him, as it had no return address. He tore it open. It would be an understatement to say that its contents shocked him. Lance dropped the shrieking Knox.