The sleet had stopped—basically the only positive development so far on this interminable day. As Lance and Daisy drove to the restaurant, Lance couldn't help but think about how he had confessed his suicide attempt to Booth. At least he thought he had—it had all been a bit ambiguous. Booth hadn't responded directly but had sort of acknowledged it. Lance sometimes still found himself a bit confused by his relationship with Booth.
In fact, just several months ago, Booth had asked Lance point blank whether Lance's main role in his life was friend or therapist. Booth had been having trouble at the shooting range and worried that he'd lost his edge as a sniper. Booth had gone to Dr. Gordon Gordon Wyatt for advice when Lance had unwittingly hinted that he was obliged to report to the FBI. At first, it had seemed that Booth didn't get that Lance really cared about him, but eventually Lance felt they'd clarified the situation: he was Booth's friend first, psychologist second.
Still, Lance knew that Booth had never really dealt with the complicated events and emotions that composed his past, let alone his present, and Lance was the only real therapist available to his friend. Booth had been through so much—an abusive father, helping to raise Jared, weathering the hell of war, a brain tumor. Now Booth was dealing with intense feelings for his partner, Dr. Brennan. Booth needed a therapist. That was certain. It was difficult for Lance to draw the line between his professional and personal obligation to his friend. Perhaps Lance had shared too much in the car. He wanted Booth to feel safe with him.
Why was everything in life so complicated?
Lance had been pondering these things in silence, while Daisy seemed to be engaged in her own morose reverie. She really was not herself this evening.
"Daisy? How are you feeling?" Lance asked his girlfriend tenderly.
"A little queasy. I'm fine." She was short with him.
Lance parked, and they entered the burger joint. It was awfully nice of Wendell to take them out. He didn't have the money, Lance knew. Lance wished he could secretly pay for the meal and spare Wendell, but the intern had too much pride. Wendell was such a quality guy—Lance really liked him. Though he wasn't so sure about the relationship with Angela. He was rooting for Hodgins and Angela to reunite, which still seemed within the realm of possibilities.
Lance and Daisy spotted Angela and Wendell already seated at a booth. They joined the couple. Angela was such a beauty, attired in a black flowery shirt, and Lance had to fight not to stare.
The males exchanged friendly, "Hey mans," and fist bumps.
Angela looked a little frightened by the prospect of sharing her dinner space with Daisy, but luckily for Angela, Daisy wasn't particularly chatty tonight. They ordered, and Lance thought it strange that Daisy wasn't drinking.
"So Daisy, that was nice of you to help Wendell out with his chapter," Angela offered congenially. She was one of the more socially adept people at the Jeffersonian, Lance admired.
Wendell interrupted, "Help is an understatement. I was a wreck. Writing is not my strong point. She spent hours on it! I really appreciate it, Daisy."
Interjected the lackluster Daisy, "I'm an excellent writer and editor."
Lance smiled a bit. Daisy was so bad about the self praise. He'd have to remind her later to internalize those thoughts or allow someone else to verbalize them on her behalf. But, unfortunately, they erupted spontaneously from a place of insecurity.
Lance said, "That was nice of you, Daisy," trying to demonstrate how she didn't need to compliment herself. He would do it if given the chance.
"Lance is a very slow reader, so I don't often have him proof read for me," she explained to the group.
Woah, ouch, Lance thought. Where did that come from?
"I'm not that slow, Daisy. I just like to be thorough," Lance said nervously. God, was this going to become an April situation? April, his ex-girlfriend, had take to disparaging Lance in public when their end had neared.
Daisy shrugged. "Angela, I liked your hair better with bangs." Lance cringed. Daisy was slipping into her worst social habits. He wanted to save her, but she seemed cross with him and hell bent on being her own worst enemy.
"Um, Wendell, what are you doing for Christmas?" Lance tried.
Wendell replied, "Going home to see my family. Actually, I leave in a few days. My mom really does the place up right for the holidays! Mistletoe, holly, silver ribbons on the tree!" Wendell declared.
Lance felt a little sad, thinking about how his own mother used to lavishly decorate at Christmas. He hadn't celebrated Christmas at all since his parents had passed on. He thought fleetingly that his anti-holiday feelings might affect Daisy. They hadn't even talked about Christmas plans yet. He didn't want to bring her down anymore than she already was.
The waitress brought three beers, and Lance dove into his so greedily that Angela laughed out loud.
"Thirsty there, Sweets?" she asked cheerfully.
Lance was glad of her presence. Between Daisy's sourness and Wendell's ebullient holiday spirit, Lance was getting depressed.
The waitress slapped down their salads, and Wendell had unfortunately chosen a blue cheese dressing. The unfortunate part was that Daisy felt the need to point out:
"That dressing reminds me of that toe fungus you had for awhile over the summer, Lance. Remember? It was really hard to get rid of. We tried everything and finally, only Vicks VapoRub worked!"
Lance was utterly mortified. "Um Daisy," he whispered to her, "that's inappropriate-"
Angela, who was cracking up, interrupted, "Not to mention disgusting!"
Wendell slid his salad away, repulsed.
Lance wondered when Daisy would be finished punishing him.
Dinner went on in a rather awkward manner, although things did improve when the couples basically paired off to talk—Wendell and Daisy discussed forensics and Angela and Lance chatted.
"Sweets, you're in trouble, apparently," Angela whispered.
"What, you mean the toe fungus?" he rolled his eyes.
"What'd you do to bring out the beast in Daisy?"
"I'd rather not talk about it."
Angela raised her eyebrows but relented.
Part of Lance felt jealous of Wendell for having Angela. She was mature, centered, elegant. It's not that Daisy wasn't beautiful, she was. But she still had a lot of growing to do. Lance found himself wondering if it was more than just his own insecurity that had driven him to cheat. He was insecure about Daisy, too. Was she right for him? It bothered him that his friends seemed annoyed by her. Angela had once called Lance 'Daisy's trainer.' He did feel that way sometimes—it was hard to be at ease in social situations when Daisy was around. Lance never knew what she was going to say, and if he'd have to clean up her mess.
As the couples parted for the night, immense relief washed over the psychologist. He just wanted to go to sleep. It had been the longest day. He could hardly believe it was still going on.
In the car, Daisy said to Lance, "You need a hair cut. Your neck is all hairy."
Lance sighed, "Daisy, could you lay off? You've been at me all night. I know you're upset with me. Why don't you talk about it instead of taking shots at me?"
Daisy stared out the passenger window of Lance's car. "Lance, I'm going to be sick. Pull over." Then more urgently, she ordered, "Pull over!"
Lance did so abruptly. Daisy was sick. She vomited in some nearby bushes. Lance's irritation at her melted into feelings of helplessness and concern. He held her hair back as she gagged and heaved. She wiped her mouth with her hand and began crying. He pulled her into him and hugged her while she wept and shook a little from the exertion of puking.
"Shhhh…" Lance tried to calm her down. They stayed standing there for a minute longer until Daisy felt ready to get back into the car.
She cried all the way back to his place.
