Thanks again to those following and reviewing! *hugs* Glad you all liked the Parker bit! I'll be wrapping up this story in just a few more chapters centered around the episode, The Goop in the Girl! :)
Lance entered the dimly lit Founding Fathers and saw his two friends seated at the bar. It was frigid outside, and he rubbed his nose back to life. He had just gotten off the phone with Daisy and had wanted to ask her if she was going home for the holidays, but he just couldn't. He didn't want to know if he was going to be alone. Part of him just wanted to cling to her, pull the covers over his head, and simply survive this Christmas. He eschewed the pine trim hung over the bar with merry crimson ribbon and strode moodily up to Booth and Brennan.
Their chestnut heads were tucked together in intimate conversation. From behind they almost appeared to be lovers. Lance felt another pang for Booth. That was Booth's Christmas wish—to be with Dr. Brennan. Lance mounted a stool next to the burly agent; it was always safest to have Booth in between him and Brennan, just in case sparring ensued. Lance ordered a gin and tonic and barely minded when he got carded. Usually, it embarrassed him. Booth didn't even snicker this time—he had other things on his mind apparently.
Booth's eyes bored into the side of Lance's face. "Is Daniel going to be ok?" he asked the psychologist.
Lance shrugged. "Maybe," he answered wistfully and took a giant swig of his drink. It burned a little going down and tasted as bitter as he felt. Daniel's plight was really getting to him. His mind wandered to a dark place. His biological father jerking him close. His rough hands on Lance's tiny, cold body—the calluses catching on his skin. Lance shivered at the memory.
"How does someone recover from something like that?" Booth asked Lance.
For a moment, Lance thought Booth was talking about him rather than Daniel. Then Lance turned sharply to Booth and gave him a look as if to say, I'm living proof that people can recover from something like that. You're living proof that a man can move on from physical abuse and become something great. They stared in silence for a long moment. Each understanding the other. Lance stole a glance at Brennan, who was looking curiously from one man's face to the other.
Brennan cleared her throat and broke the spell. "Hodgins called a few minutes ago. He went back to the school yesterday and still found no evidence of a struggle by the window from which Matt fell. I don't think we're going to get Mr. Baras for murder. We've nothing to go on."
Lance nodded, "I think you can't find anything, because Mr. Baras didn't commit murder. I went over the profile again before coming here. I think he's a sexual predator plain and simple but not a killer."
"You filthy, filthy boy. No one will ever love you. I can barely stand to touch you myself!" Lance's biological father growled. Fear and self loathing filled little Lance's body cavity to overflowing. He felt like he might strangle on his own pain. His father's hands were so large they covered him, swallowed him. Lance's silent tears streamed down onto his naked chest.
Lance shook his head from side to side, clearing the memory. Not here, not now.
"Do you think Max expects me to spend Christmas with him?" Brennan asked suddenly.
Both Lance and Booth turned their heads sideways.
"I think family expects to spend the holiday together. Yeah," Booth responded bitterly. Missing his son preemptively.
Suddenly, Angela greeted the three and sat down next to Brennan. She shivered a little from having come in from the cold. She removed her long, black coat gracefully and shook her ebony locks out of her purple stocking hat. Several men turned to stare.
"I tell you, it's been quite a day. I can't believe people like Mr. Baras exist, let alone that we might not be able to get him locked up," Angela lamented.
Dr. Brennan responded, "Well, we're not so sure he did commit murder, Angela. But we should see if we can find any evidence of rape on the victim—Matt Schriber that is." She turned to Lance, who was gazing into his drink like it was a crystal ball. "Do you think that Daniel will testify regarding his own rape?"
Lance pulled his eyes away from his drink with effort. "Um," his voice cracked. "I plan on talking to him about the importance of testifying." This made Lance feel a bit hypocritical. Even if his own father had been caught, he doubted that he would have talked at trial. There were things that had happened to him that he had never uttered aloud. He probably never would.
Angela ordered a drink. The squat bartender looked her up and down. Lance rather wondered what it was like to be that good looking—spellbinding. He couldn't fight the feeling that he was ugly—no matter how often Daisy called him beautiful, handsome, cute.
Angela looked at Lance sidelong. "So, Sweets. You going to tell me why you're void of the Christmas spirit?"
Booth jumped in, "It's because I found that ridiculous elf hat and burned it!" He clapped Lance on the back, who smiled weakly. It was nice of Booth to try to deflect Angela's question.
Lance had lost that elf hat, come to think of it. He decided he needed a new seasonal hat to help distract himself and everyone else from their loneliness. His real father (not the one who had hurt him) had taught him the importance of not taking himself too seriously. Anytime he felt weighed down to the point of buckling, he tried to think of a way to lighten up. Christmas was one of the worst times of year, but he wouldn't let it defeat him. He'd pick something up at a Christmas store on the way home.
"Dr. Sweets, you should consider volunteering in Latin America. I assume even psychologists are needed in some capacity there." Brennan looked doubtful. There was a pause. "Perhaps not." She frowned.
Lance shook his head. "I already volunteer nearly every Sunday. I don't need to go to Latin America for that, Dr. Brennan."
Angela asked, "Where do you volunteer?"
Lance regretted opening this can of worms. He didn't care much for sharing about his personal life outside the Jeffersonian. He had been caught off guard by his friends' attention to his holiday plans.
"At a free clinic," Lance answered. "Some of the patients there are dealing with terminal cancer or the results of horrible accidents—like burns. They rarely get the psychological attention they deserve. I consider it kind of like…going to church," Lance finished softly. He looked away in embarrassment. He wished he hadn't said that either. Helping people helped Lance. That's all he knew. When he was hurting, he found solace in listening to and comforting others. It was an escape sure, but it made him feel less alone.
Angela looked impressed. "That's really nice of you. Could I come sometime?"
"What?" Lance asked unsure. Daisy had never asked to come to the clinic, he thought. Frankly, she was annoyed that he left to do more work on Sundays, considering his already packed schedule, and felt that he should be spending the time with her.
"I asked, can I come sometime? I used to do art therapy. I miss just talking to people who need someone to listen to them, you know?" Angela said.
Christmas seemed to be getting to everyone, Lance thought. "Of course, Angela. Of course you can come. You're right—they often just need someone to listen to them." Angela was a good listener; this was not Daisy's strong point. Lance was beginning to feel annoyed at himself for comparing the two women. He made an effort to stop.
"So, Booth's without Parker for Christmas," (Booth cringed), "Brennan's off to yet another Latin adventure," (Brennan shifted), "and Dr. Sweets is…?" Angela tried one last time.
"Catching up on some writing," Lance tried half heartedly.
"Oh, are you working on the book about us?" Dr. Brennan asked with interest.
"Yeah, Sweets. Are we ever going to get to see this mythic book?" Booth added.
Lance thought nervously, it's pretty much done. But as he'd said to Dr. Wyatt recently, he didn't have the guts to show anyone yet. He was actually thinking of letting Daisy read it and getting her opinion on the matter. He still wasn't convinced that the timing was right to reveal to Booth and Brennan that he believed them to be in love. At this moment, he was wishing someone had some penetrating insights into his relationship with Daisy. If only a book existed on the topic, then perhaps he could make sense of things. On the way to the bar, he had been passing by a gift shop and noticed a tiny Washington Nationals onesie. He wasn't even a Nationals' fan, but he had had an overpowering urge to buy it. He was still holding out the tiniest bit of hope that Daisy was pregnant, he realized. She was scheduled to go to the doctor in a few days to double check.
Lance never answered Booth's or Brennan's questions. He excused himself instead, ignoring the looks of wonder on his friends' faces as he rose from his stool. He went over in the corner and dialed Daisy again. It had only been about 30 minutes since they had last spoken, so she sounded a bit confused.
"Yes, baby? Everything ok?"
"Hi, Daisy. Yes, I'm fine. I just wanted to ask…you know your doctor's appointment?"
"You mean the one with the gynecologist?"
"Yeah. Um, can I come with you?" he asked tentatively.
"Uh…" Daisy seemed quite taken aback. "I guess. Yes. Why, Lancelot?"
"Daisy, I love you. I love you so much. I just want you to know that whatever happens, whatever challenges we face, I'm not going to desert you. I just want to be with you." Lance's voice was filled with ardor and sincerity.
Daisy was obviously touched and said, "Thanks, baby. I love you too!"
If listening to someone's voice could feel like a hug, then her exclamation enwrapped Lance in human warmth. They hung up, and he looked at the Christmasy trim above the bar once more. This time it made him smile.
Lance strode out into the cold and found a seasonal shop a few doors down. In he went amidst the bustle of Christmas shoppers. Then he saw it, a little headband with reindeer antlers and ears. It was just what Lance was looking for.
