Thanks to those still following! This one's long. One more chapter to go.
Sweetfavoritethings-I'm glad you got a kick out of the antlers. :) RT-Angela's a truly caring soul. I think she and Sweets have a lot more in common than maybe she admits to herself! ;) Peatnutmeg-Thanks for being a faithful reader! *hugs*
Lance sat in the doctor's office, turning over the Christmas present he had bought for Daisy in his hand. It was a tiny silver daisy on a delicate necklace chain. He felt a little odd sitting in the waiting room of the gynecologist—he was the only man there. But he'd needed to find a way to show Daisy that she could count on him, and for some reason this seemed symbolic. Besides, it was the middle of a work day, and it had been hard for Lance to get away from the office. Dr. Brennan had only reluctantly allowed Daisy off for her appointment, but Lance had stood up for his girlfriend. Dr. Brennan seemed to have a harder time resisting Lance's requests lately, which he found rather endearing.
He saw his peppy girlfriend spring toward him from a back room, and he stood up and gathered her in his arms.
"I'm not pregnant, Lancelot!" she exclaimed a little too loudly. A placid middle-aged black woman smiled to her magazine at the comment, Lance noted with embarrassment.
He hugged Daisy tightly and breathed in the vanilla scent of her hair. They began heading into the elevator, which was thankfully abandoned considering that Daisy proceeded to discuss her menstrual cycle.
"Dr. Allen says I probably missed my period from stress. You know, I've never been that regular ever since…since my eating disorder," she said a little seriously. But then she smiled again. "So, false alarm!"
Lance looked at her suggestively and said, "Well if you're stressed, then we need to find a way to relax you." He slipped an arm around her waist and very quietly in her ear said, "Rawr."
"Lancelot! You bad boy!" She swatted his behind and jumped away. "We both need to get back to work! Dr. Brennan was very adamant about me only being gone for an hour!"
"Don't allow Dr. Brennan to intimidate you. How does she know how long your appointment took? Let's slip back to my place, and then I'll bring you on to work," Lance suggested, pulling her back to him amorously.
Daisy was about to protest, when Lance bent over and nibbled her neck. She shrieked a little and succumbed to his charm.
Twenty minutes later they were lying in Lance's bed sweating. Lance nuzzled Daisy's neck, and admitted, "We should probably go."
Daisy replied, "Now that I know I'm not pregnant, I feel it's appropriate to gush over how completely adorable our children would be."
"Yeah?" Lance said, stroking her arm.
"Oh yeah! Your curls and plump lips, my hazel eyes and fine features—those kids would be gorgeous!"
Lance sighed and pulled her close, kissing the top of her silky head. He was so in love with this woman.
It was December 22, and Lance was in his office pondering Christmas plans once more. The dreaded day was fast approaching, and he hadn't even discussed it with Daisy. He had waited as long as possible and now needed to face the music. If he was going to be alone, so be it. Further, it wasn't kind to Daisy to put a damper on her holiday spirit. He needed to talk to her today.
As Lance was about to leave his office, he ran into Dr. Brennan and Booth. Booth appeared agitated, shifting from foot to foot.
"Sweets! Where are you going—we need you to do a profile!" Booth began.
"Ok, that's no problem. I'm heading to the Jeffersonian, but I'll do it as soon as I get back. What's the case?" Lance asked taking a file that Booth was thrusting at him and trying to not let Booth's aggressive approach get under his skin.
"Santa exploded on Booth this morning. Booth had particulates all over his clothes," Brennan explained in a blasé manner.
"Uhhh…excuse me?" Lance asked confused. He looked at Booth for help.
"This guy dressed up as Santa robbed a bank this morning. He had a bomb strapped to him and blew up right in front of me on the street," Booth explained.
Was that pain on his face? Lance worried. Yes, Booth was disturbed. The wheels in Lance's head turned. Booth had seen many men blown apart in war—hell, he had killed a number of men himself. This incident may have stirred Booth's war memories to the surface. He could be traumatized.
"Hey Agent Booth, are you ok? Do you need to talk?" Lance began to gesture toward his office, Daisy temporarily forgotten.
Booth rolled his eyes dramatically and gave Lance a gentle shove out of the way.
"No, I do not need to talk, Sweets. We're off to investigate a potential partner of Santa's."
Lance stared intently at his friend.
"Sweets! Stop looking at me like that. It's Christmas ok? Santa blew up. It sucks. No go get whatever it is you're doing done, so you can start this profile!" Booth was huffy.
Lance was about to comply, when Dr. Brennan caught his arm. "Dr. Sweets? Would you like to come to Christmas dinner at my house? I already mentioned it to Miss Wick this morning."
"I thought you were going to El Salvador." Lance narrowed his eyes.
"Max said he didn't want to be alone on Christmas. He's inviting some blood relative of mine to come for the holiday, and I'm having a gathering."
"A relative? Um, well, thank you very much for the invitation. That's thoughtful of you," Lance said, carefully rewarding her good behavior. Brennan's social skills were definitely improving. "I haven't really discussed plans yet with Daisy, but I'll consider it." Lance was touched.
As Sweets was leaving he thought, Poor Booth. He had already been expecting to have a bad Christmas. Now someone exploded in front of him, splattering him with human remains. Lance made a mental note to get Booth an extra special Christmas gift, though he was having trouble deciding what that might be.
Lance breezed over to the Jeffersonian and ran into Angela.
"Sweets—you missed quite a show this morning: Booth stripped down to his boxers and being wheeled around on a gurney by Brennan! Your girlfriend seemed quite intrigued by the sight, actually," Angela said, winking.
"Oh?" Lance asked curiously, his eyebrows lifting. He wasn't sure which emotion to run with—interest that Brennan had stripped Booth down to his boxers or jealousy that Daisy had enjoyed the sight of the half-naked Booth. He supposed he couldn't blame Daisy. Booth was quite built. Still, his heart decided for the moment on a twinge of jealousy.
He finally detected his girlfriend in a side room working on reconstructing a skull.
Lance apologized, "Daisy, I know you're busy, but I'm in a pickle." He explained that he didn't really celebrate Christmas since his parents had been gone, but he didn't want to dampen her holiday zest. He tried to keep his tone as light as possible considering the pall that threatened to descend over his heart every time he pondered this topic.
Then Daisy said something that shocked him. She didn't believe in celebrating Christmas when Jesus was actually born in March. Could it be possible that this woman was utterly perfect for him? She wasn't visiting her family at all. She was ignoring the holiday like Lance!
"Well what do we do on December 25th?" he asked.
Just when Lance thought things couldn't get any better, Daisy replied, "Would it be wrong if we just stayed in bed all day and had sex?" She almost growled this last part.
Lance was just about to say that sounded like a positively scrumptious idea, when Cam walked in. Lance's heart was racing with joy, and he barely registered when Cam asked them if they were going to Dr. Brennan's dinner. Cam suggested firmly that he clear off, which he did, but not before he and Daisy had exchanged I love yous via text lingo. She was so darn cute, he would begin counting down the hours to December 25th immediately.
Lance was listening in on Booth's interrogation of Malaki Wallace, a man who had been imprisoned for bomb making. The bomb found on Santa—whose name was Holden Chevaleer—was in the image of one Wallace's creations. The only problem was, as Booth was questioning Wallace, he seemed to have an alibi. Further, his bomb recipes could be accessed online.
Lance was on edge. While Booth was interrogating Wallace, the agent seemed to have a few examples of Wallace's work on hand—one of which he tossed at the glass where Lance was, startling him with a minor explosion. Lance wondered what was irking Booth and was the tiniest bit peeved that Booth would take it out on him. Lance was just trying to help.
When Booth finished with Wallace he rejoined Lance in the observation room.
"Agent Booth, what's going on?" Lance asked directly. He didn't feel like beating around the bush. They'd been through a lot with the Schriber case, and Lance had to admit he was momentarily weary of crime fighting.
"It's just that Wallace guy. He's so smug! And he has a website devoted to teaching people how to make destructive devices to use against their government," Booth complained.
Lance was getting the idea now. The U.S. government was the solid foundation Booth's sense of honor was built upon. He could not tolerate threats of anarchy.
Lance didn't feel like letting this go easily. "Look Booth, it must have been hard for you, seeing Holden Chevaleer explode in front of you. It must have brought back memories. You put your life on the line for your country, watched people you cared about die. It must hurt to think that Wallace would so nonchalantly dismiss the principles you've sacrificed for."
"Sweets, don't talk about things you have no idea about, ok? What do you know about war? Nothing. I'm not upset about that," Booth lied. "It's that other guy—Owen Theil—the talk radio guy. He puts lies into people's heads, tells them their country is out to get them. Creates conspiracy nuts like Hodgins but much, much worse."
Lance nodded, "Mm hm, I see."
"What do you see?" Booth growled.
"A challenge to your government is a challenge to your faith in the order of things. It unnerves you."
"It's a challenge to your government, too, Sweets. I shouldn't have to remind you of that." Booth stuck out his lower jaw.
Lance put up his hands in defense. "Hey, I care for this country too-I work for the FBI, remember. I could do my job anywhere, but I wanted to serve my government. But I also understand that certain people who feel their rights are being repressed may act out in terrible ways. That's where you come in, Agent Booth. But don't take it to heart. I know it's hard for you with Parker gone right now."
Booth stared into the empty interrogation room. "Now Bones says she's canceling her dinner because she doesn't like her second cousin—Margaret Whitesell. She's apparently always quoting Benjamin Franklin and driving Bones crazy."
Lance pondered this strange information for a moment and said, "She'll come around, Booth. She wants to do right by her family," Lance thought, including you. "I think when she realizes that there is a better alternative this year to flying south for the winter, then she'll decide to stay."
Booth looked at Lance hopefully and then grunted a little.
