Sweets found that being woken up in the middle of the night had increased his typical antipathy towards alarm clocks tenfold; when the familiar brrrring! sound filled his room at six thirty, he reached out and knocked its source to the ground. The noise, much to his relief, stopped abruptly – the clock must have fallen on its snooze button. Unfortunately, he still had to get out of bed.

Yawning, he stumbled away from the warmth of his bed, towards his closet. As he surveyed his suits, he realized that Rebecca's judgment of him would probably be based – at least partially – on what he was wearing. The first part of his choice was easy; he put on his usual black suit and blue shirt. But the tie...

He picked up three ties and emerged from the closet. "Daisy?" he called.

"Yes, Lancelot?" she replied, chipper as ever. Unlike him, she was a morning person.

"Which one should I wear?"

She paused, then pointed at the red tie. "I like that one."

"Are you sure? I mean, red does evoke warm feelings of love and comfort, but it has some angry, violent connotations," he fretted. Although he'd never met Rebecca, Booth had described her as very protective of Parker. If he didn't give off the right impression, she might back out of the whole deal, and Booth would probably blame him.

Beaming, she walked over to him and placed her hands on his chest. "Oh, Lancelot," she shook her head. "You shouldn't worry so much. Just relax, okay?"

In spite of his nervousness, he smiled. "I'll do my best." Daisy returned the smile, and he kissed her forehead.

"So, will Parker be here when I come over tonight?" she asked, tugging lightly on his lapels.

He hesitated. "...About that."

"What is it, Lancelot?" she asked, worried. "You're not dumping me, are you?"

"Wha – no, no! Of course not." he hugged her in reassurance. "I just... I don't think that us having sleepovers all the time would be such a good idea while Parker's staying."

She frowned. "I guess you're right."

Noticing how disappointed she looked, he tried to cheer her up. "We'll still see each other at work," he pointed out. "And I still love you."

With a newly cheerful expression, she released him. "I love you too, Lancelot," she said.

Although he always did his best to be nonjudgmental – after all, that was part of his job – Sweets couldn't help but think the sight before him was more than a bit strange. Amidst the sea of agents clad in dark suits, a blonde in white short-shorts, sandals and a bright pink Hawaiian shirt was pulling a bright yellow Batman duffel bag behind her as she made her way towards his office.

His suspicion that the woman was Rebecca was confirmed when she swung open his door. "Are you Doctor Sweets?" she asked, sounding somewhat uncertain. That was odd – Booth had said she was very confident.

"Yes," he nodded, getting up and walking over to her. "I assume you're Rebecca?" he held out a hand and smiled.

She shook it tentatively. "I thought... I thought you'd be older." Ah. That explained her reluctance.

"How old did you think I was going to be?"

"Thirty or so." she shrugged. "All I knew was that you were old enough to be a psychologist and young enough not to have any kids of your own. Seeley didn't tell me much."

"You're, ah, eight years off," he attempted to smile confidently.

"You're only twenty-two? I – nevermind. If Seeley trusts you... he's always been a good judge of people."

"Oh, definitely," he agreed. "I've worked with him on quite a few cases – that's a real skill of his."

"Anyway," she said briskly, checking her watch. He assumed her flight was leaving fairly soon. "I told the aftercare attendant that you'd be picking up Parker. You might need to show ID the first time, so bring your driver's license... well, I guess you'd bring that anyway, since you need to drive to the school... and here's a list of instructions," she said, handing him a packet that looked to be about ten pages long. As silly as it sounded, it was actually a bit of a relief that the kid came with an instruction manual.

"Got it," he said. "I'll read through this."

She nodded, handing him the duffel bag. "This has his clothes, toothbrush – that sort of thing. But... he has a tendency to lose things and never find them again... if he misplaces something important, you can just buy him a new one, and I'll reimburse you as soon as I get back. There's not really a point in looking for it – once he loses something, it never turns up again," she laughed. "The boy has a gift."

He smiled at her. "No problem. I'll pick him up around seven thirty."

Nodding again, she returned his expression. "Thank you so much for doing this. I know it's very short notice."

"It's no problem," he reassured her. "Have a great time in Maui."

Grinning, she strode out of his office.

Looking at the list of Parker's favorite foods that Rebecca had compiled, Sweets had noticed that not a meal on there was healthy. Still, he only bought items from the list; he figured that the kid wouldn't be hurt by a few days of fun. Booth and Brennan always seemed to solve their cases within a matter of days – it wasn't as though that sort of timeframe would affect Parker's diet.

So, with a shopping bag full of Parker's favorite foods in the passenger seat of his car, Sweets pulled up to the school. Ronald Reagan Elementary & Middle School. He figured it was new. The name implied fairly recent construction; Reagan was a relatively modern president. As he looked around at the huge windows and asymmetrical structure, his theory was confirmed.

Where was he supposed to go to pick up Booth's son? He saw at least six entrances. Maybe it's in the instructions, he thought, pulling out the packet. He skimmed through the sections: food, rules, contact information – school. There it was.

Parker needs to be picked up before eight, it read. Aftercare ends then. Bring your ID – they need to confirm that you're who you say you are. You'll be on the approved list to pick up Parker, it's in the William Clinton wing, there is a label/nameplate over the door. It's the wing where most of the elementary school events go on – but if Seeley isn't back before next Wednesday, you should know that Parker's Christmas concert won't be in there, it'll be in the Gerald Ford wing. The note had obviously been written in a hurry, but it told him what he needed to know.

There was no need for him to search for the spot; shiny gold letters identified the first entrance he laid his eyes on as the William Clinton Wing. As he approached, he noticed a dark, burly police officer leaning against the door. The cop eyed him suspiciously.

"I'm here to pick up Parker Booth," Sweets informed him.

"Don't recognize you. You're not the Coast Guard guy or the FBI guy – and you're definitely not his momma," he snorted. "Go home, kid."

Kid? Come on. He was tall, at least. Why didn't that tip people off? "I'm looking after him while they're on vacation," he explained.

The cop looked him over, then chuckled. "He's about your age, isn't he? You sure he's not looking after you? Ah, whatever. I'll check my list of kids and guardians – see if you're approved." After a quick flip through the papers on his clipboard, he apparently found Parker's name. "You Lance Sweets?"

Sweets nodded, pulling out his driver's license. The cop scrutinized it for a moment, then held open the door for him.

As he entered the school, he immediately saw Parker. He was sitting with perhaps half a dozen other children in an enormous hall; the woman he assumed was the aftercare supervisor faced away from them, reading a book. When he approacher her, she looked up from her novel testily. "What do you want?" she snapped.

He backed up slightly, surprised by her irritation. "I just want to pick up Parker," he explained. "Parker Booth, I mean."

"Why are you letting me know?"

"...I thought... I mean, I assumed you were the aftercare supervisor."

"I am," she confirmed. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Don't I have to tell you when I pick him up?"

"I don't care. Tell Barry. He's got the list."

"...Who's Barry? And aren't you paid to care?"

She stood up, glowering at him through the strand of frazzled blonde hair that had fallen in her face. "Don't you dare tell me what I'm paid to do, kid! You don't know my life. You can't judge me!"

"I... I wasn't trying to –"

"Barry's the cop. He's outside. Now take Parsons or whoever and go," she waved him away dismissively.

He opened his mouth to tell her off, but decided it wasn't worth it. He turned away from the woman, heading for Parker.

"Hi," Parker said uncertainly. "Who are you?"

"I'm..." Doctor Sweets? Lance? He hadn't thought about what the kid would call him.

"Do you not know your name?" he wondered.

"No – I mean, yes, I do – I just, um –"

"Can't tell me? Because you're a secret agent?" Parker guessed, grinning. "I bet you're a secret agent from the FBI. And maybe you know my dad, and maybe you can't find him, so you want to give me a top-secret message for him."

"I do work for the FBI, and I do know your dad," Sweets told him, returning the grin. "But I'm not a secret agent – my name's Lance. And I don't have a top-secret message, either."

"Lance," Parker tried out the name. "That's kind of cool. Isn't that like... you know, like one of those swords knights used to use to go FWAAAAAHHHH?" As he made the sound effect, he thrusted an imaginary spear.

With a laugh, Sweets nodded.

"I've got a knight sword, you know," he added. "There's a shield that goes with it. I saved up for it with my best friend Jimmy, and I got a red one, and he got a blue one."

"Cool. Do you have battles?"

"Yup," he grinned. Then he paused. "If you don't have a message for my dad, why are you here?"

Hadn't his mother told him? "I'm watching you until your dad gets back from his case."

Parker's face fell. "Case? I thought... I thought Dad was picking me up tonight."

"Well, he's in Florida right now," Sweets explained. "Someone found a bod... I mean, something turned up on one of the rides, and it was a bad thing, so he and a scientist went down to investigate. He should be back soon, but I'll be watching you until then."

"I want my dad," he insisted.

"He's in Florida," Sweets repeated.

"Want Dad."

"In Florida."

"Dad."

"Florida."

"Dad."

"Florida."

"Dad!"

"I can't – there's nothing I can do," Sweets said helplessly. The other kids were staring at him, probably thinking how it was awfully strange that a grown man was making a seven-year-old so upset that he screamed. The supervisor didn't even look up from her book.

"I don't want to go with you. I want my dad," Parker said sullenly.

"You can come with me or you can stay here all night."

"I'm staying here."

Sweets sighed melodramatically. "Shame. I was going to make macaroni and cheese with so much sauce it was almost soup, then maybe serve some strawberry chocolate chip ice cream for dessert. But now – I don't know if I can eat all that by myself. Maybe I'll just give it to a stray dog or something."

At that, Parker hesitated. "Is there hot fudge with the ice cream?"

Nodding solemnly, Sweets sighed again. "There was going to be. But now – I don't know."

After a moment of consideration, Parker spoke up again. "I might go with you. Maybe. Just for dinner."

"I don't know," he shrugged. "I think there are some really hungry dogs out there that might be a bit more excited about getting that dinner."

"But, but –" Parker looked panicked. "You can't give that stuff to dogs instead of me. It's too good. And... Dogs can't even eat chocolate! It's poison for them. Can't I go with you?"

"I'm thinking about it," he said, holding back a smile.

"But I really want to!" he implored, making puppy-dog eyes. "Can I pretty please go with you?"

"Well..."

"Pretty please with a cherry on top?"

Sweets, unable to hide his smile any longer, grinned widely. "Sounds good to me. You know," he said, thinking back to the 'favorite activities' section of the packet, "we might even watch some Superman. The new movie. What do you think?"

"Awesome!" Parker jumped out of his seat, grabbing his backpack and dashing towards the door. Turning back to Sweets, he bounced up and down excitedly. "Come on, Lance!" He pushed open the door; Sweets followed.

As Parker sprinted out the door, Barry put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. "Hey, big man. Who's this with you?" he asked him playfully, tossing his head in Sweets' direction. "He bothering you? I gotta beat him up?"

Parker laughed. "Nu-uh. This is Lance. You don't have to beat him up – he's cool."

"If you're sure," he chuckled. Turning to Sweets, he smiled. "Haven't seen him this excited since the FBI guy picked him up a few months back. What'd you do?"

Parker answered for him. "He's gonna make me mac and cheese soup, and then give me ice cream with hot fudge, and then we're gonna watch Superman."

Barry grinned at Parker. "Sounds like a good time."

With an enthusiastic nod, Parker hugged the cop. "See you tomorrow."

"Sure thing."

Sweets smiled at Barry. "Good night."

"'Night," he responded.

"More," Parker urged him. "You've gotta put in more."

"Are you sure?" Sweets asked, somewhat skeptical.

He nodded. "Otherwise it's just regular mac and cheese. And only Dad can make regular mac and cheese right. But even Mom can make mac and cheese soup."

Sweets complied, pouring more milk into the pot. He'd taken the easy way out and bought the sort of macaroni that came in a box with a packet of neon orange cheese powder, but, despite his lack of effort, the concoction still smelled good so far.

"There," Parker said, stopping him. "Perfect."

Sweets put down the milk jug and walked over to the sink, where he'd left the strainer full of macaroni. Using a pasta spoon, he emptied it into the cheese liquid he'd made in the pot, then stirred it in. It really did look like soup. Strange yellowy-orange soup, but soup nonetheless.

He started to pour it into a bowl. "Tell me when there's enough for you," he told Parker. The bowl was a quarter full, half full, three quarters full... it was almost completely filled with the soup by the time Parker finally said there was enough.

"Are you going to be able to eat all that?"

"Yeah. Barry calls me big man," he explained, as though it should've been obvious. "And big men get big meals."

Sweets shrugged, pouring the remainder into another bowl. "Okay, but don't blame me if you don't have room for ice cream."

That gave Parker pause. "Well, maybe you can have this one," he offered. "And I'll take the one you just did. It's, like, half of the other one."

"Fine by me," he agreed, picking up the fuller bowl. "You want me to put on Superman now?"

"Sure," he said, grinning.

"This is where you can sleep," Sweets said, pushing the door open. The room was fairly plain – white carpet, light green walls, a white bed with forest green sheets – but not utterly sterile. There were a few pictures of plants hanging on the walls, easing the monotony somewhat.

Parker didn't seem to care about how it looked. He headed straight for the bed and flopped down on it, then crawled under the covers and hugged his stuffed tiger. Sweets waited a moment, expecting the kid to ask him to tuck him in; when no request came, he crossed the room and stood in the doorway.

"Good night, Parker."

"Good night... wuuaaaahh... Lance," he replied, yawning in the middle of the sentence.

Sweets smiled and turned off the light. This was turning out to be simpler than he'd assumed – Parker didn't even need coaxing to go to bed. Babysitting couldn't possibly be easier.

AN: Sorry for the long wait. I went on vacation, and, although the brochure claimed there'd be a high-speed internet connection, there wasn't. I was able to write chapters, but not to put them up.

& I know this was a really long chapter for such a light fic – it's about three thousand words. The first one was about one thousand. What length do you guys prefer? Would you like me to update frequently with short chapters or a bit less frequently with long chapters?

& I'm finally done setting things up now, so the story can be pure fluff from now on. c: