Author's Note: Next chapter. Today marks two years since I have joined this site and started writing Bones fic. Hard to believe. :) Anyway, to celebrate I will be putting out a lot of updates this week, so expect a series of new chapters, starting with more than one today. I would like to thank all of my readers who have followed my work during this time. Your support is always valued and appreciated. :)

I do not own Bones or any of its characters.

Thank you to everyone who is reading/following/reviewing this.

Rankor01: See and that to me is a pair of stumbling blocks in the Brennan/Sweets dynamic. I understand that her refusal to place credence in psychology is played for humor and is used to demonstrate the contrasts between them, but I think it is sometimes carried too far, both in canon and in fics I have read. Granted, one time it was used in a poignant way (Brennan's near-tearful comment that she "still hates psychology" after relating her foster-care experience to Sweets), but I think there should be some real dialogue between them at some point...Also, I think there is this unacknowledged "baggage" between them like the whole thing that was referenced in The Pain in the Heart or the way that her and Booth had disregarded Sweets in the past, that needs to be addressed. I think they have done a good job getting past it, but not so much in resolving it...As to how Sweets tries to handle his current crisis without that needed support, read on. :) We are just beginning on that journey.

Peanutmeg: Thank you for the review. I think that is one of the angsty themes of Bones: how a misplaced word or action can lead to hurt feelings or misunderstandings between members of Team Jeffersonian. The important thing always seems to be how they work things out in the end and grow closer as a result. In this case though, it will be far more complicated...And believe me, this is just the beginning of the angst. I might have to put a warning as to how angsty this will be before things look up. :)

Lives in the now: When I was plotting the framework for this fic, I did ask myself about that: whether it was plausible that Sweets could have his faith in his position in the team tested this way. I agree with you that he does show more assertiveness now in certain ways (witness his comment to Booth in The Twist in the Twister where he tells him not to "get snippy with me just because [he] lied to Brennan.") But then I also consider how things when between him and Booth in The Prince in the Plastic. Sweets was quick to jump to negative conclusions about why Booth did not want him to carry a gun, even when Booth spelled out his concerns for Sweets' welfare (thus Sweets' "because you think I'm incompetent" line in that episode) which makes me think that there are still some insecurities there. Plus, I don't want to reveal too much for those who avoid spoilers, but I do know about a line of dialogue in an upcoming episode that implies that Sweets isn't always confident of the idea that Booth sees him as a friend. So yes, I think in the end, there are issues that need to be worked out between Sweets and the rest of the team. It won't be apparent right now, but I see the eventual plot line of this fic as sort of the "flip side" of what I think needs to happen before Sweets can truly move past his fears and insecurities. I hope I can make it worthwhile along the way. :)

Lora Perry: Thank you. This update will be kind of short, but I hope you enjoy how this fic unfolds from here.

The Break in the Ties—Chapter 5

Several hours later, Sweets stared at the four walls of his office, his mind at a loss to know what to do next.

After Brennan had left, Sweets eventually pulled himself together enough to that he could go back to his work. Work then became his mantra, his focus so that he could get through the day. When he had been in grad school, working toward more than one doctorate, Sweets had learned to harness his powers of concentration and shut the world out so that he was able to process large amounts of information and move through mountains of work at a breakneck pace. He became so immersed in his work, Sweets sometimes actually had to remind himself to do things like use the restroom or get an occasional snack or drink of water. There had always been something soothing about losing himself within his studies, and he found that to be even truer now with his work for the Bureau in these circumstances. Hours became like seconds, and even the most mundane chores like filling out forms became a way to separate himself from a life that he wanted to forget about for a while.

The result of all this work, however, was not only a completion of his more immediate tasks, but a clearing of almost all the assignments on his desk, leaving him with nothing more to be done. Now, he was faced with the prospect of empty time that he would have to find ways to fill.

His stomach rumbled, and Sweets contemplated the idea that perhaps getting a real meal would be a logical place to start. Still, food sounded far from appetizing right now and the idea was quickly discarded. He soon realized that he wanted something else far more than food or even rest. He wanted to return to that peaceful oblivion that he had just exited from while he was entrenched in his work, that feeling of standing still with time rushing by all around him.

Sweets stood up and walked out of his office and out toward the exits. Once he got to his car, he ripped off his tie and took off his suit jacket, throwing both of them into the back seat. He then got in and drove out of the Hoover's parking garage as fast as he could.

A destination occurred to him while he drove. He just hoped that it would be what he was looking for.

It had taken Sweets a while to find a place to park and then to walk over there, but eventually he arrived at the Founding Fathers, and he slowly strode through the door. He carefully scanned the room for any familiar faces and found none. Satisfied, he made his way to a table in the back corner and ordered a large scotch.

Watching the liquid swirl in his glass, he thought about the fact that scotch was the only hard liquor he really enjoyed, normally sticking to things like wine, beer or less potent mixed drinks. Deep down, he knew that the reason was because scotch had been his father's drink of choice on those rare occasions when he decided to have something besides a little wine with dinner. Sweets figured that it might be a little silly, but in some vague way, he felt a little closer to his dad, as if he was sharing this drink with him somehow.

One drink soon became two and quickly turned into three and then four. In the back of his mind, he knew that he was steadily getting drunk, a state he usually tried to avoid at all costs. Especially after the last time he had been drunk which had led to the fiasco surrounding both his and Booth's failed attempts to propose to the women in their lives at the time.

As Sweets downed his latest drink, his stomach twisted into knots. That whole incident, with Booth's doomed proposal to Hannah, had haunted him for a long time. He had not only questioned Booth's ability to forgive him for any hand he might have played in it, but also the very idea of him trying to be the agent's friend in the first place. For a brief time he had even considered severing all personal ties with Booth as a way to atone for what he had done. He had finally gained some comfort when Booth and Brennan finally decided to embark on a relationship that went beyond friendship and professional partnership. Still, those doubts had continued to lurk about in his thoughts and the events of this week appeared to validate them.

'Why did I pursue a friendship with him and Brennan?' he asked himself. 'Was I just so lonely at the time that I clung to the first people who treated me with any sort of kindness? Was I so scared after my parents died that I would never find a place of my own ever again that I grabbed the first place I could find?'

The therapist felt the alcohol rushing through his blood, methodically stripping away the reserve and façade he normally worked to maintain. His emotions were blending and intensifying. But none of that stopped him from continuing to drink.

'We're too different,' he thought. 'Brennan and me. Booth and me. Brennan lives in the world of the empirical and of hard science. I'm always exploring the inner world of emotions and thoughts. Booth…he's the warrior, the leader of men. A guy-guy who's tough and action-oriented. Me, I'm just a thinker, too soft, too eager to feel.'

Sweets finished his drink and made a motion to order another one. Even though it had given him much grief since he was a child, he no longer regretted who he was, knowing that there was no use in that. He knew that he couldn't and wouldn't want to try to be someone other than who he was at the core, no matter how much he enjoyed slipping into other minds, other personas, other people's souls at various times. Nor did he resent Booth, Brennan or any of the people he worked with for being who they were…even if meant that he wasn't compatible with them. At least not beyond a professional sense.

'And perhaps that's just as well. There are always complications when you have personal connections within your work environment. Look at what Booth and Brennan are having to go through. All of the hassles they are encountering.'

'Look at all of the pain I'm feeling now.'

Sweets gulped down his latest drink and as he sat his glass down onto the table, he was startled to suddenly see one of the bartenders standing in front of him.

"You've had enough, Doctor Sweets," the man said. "I've called you a cab. You should go home, sleep this off."

It took a full minute for the bartender's words to register and make any sort of sense to him. For a second, Sweets was angry that this man had made this decision for him, but the small part of his brain that could still reason noted that he was losing all semblance of control and that a breakdown was eminent.

"Thanks," Sweets slurred. He pulled out his wallet and paid his bill before walking on unsteady feet out of the bar. He found the taxi waiting for him along the sidewalk and he climbed in and mumbled his home address, unsure if the cabbie would be able to understand him.

The cab began to move and the motion made Sweets' stomach churn. He closed his eyes and took exaggerated breaths.

'No. Not after everything else that has happened today…after the week, I've had…Don't top it off by throwing up in this cab,' he told himself.

The therapist repeated those thoughts to himself as best he could over and over again as a way to remain somewhat coherent and push aside his growing nausea.

Thankfully, the ride was not a long one, and he was soon deposited outside his apartment complex. He paid the driver and stumbled into the building. After an arduous trek up stairwells and down hallways, he made it to his door. It took a couple of tries, but eventually he was able to insert his key into the lock and enter. He slammed the door and stumbled again, his coordination continuing to go downhill. He took off his suit and changed into a tee shirt and a pair of sweatpants. It was then that he remembered that his jacket and tie were still in the car.

'I need to get my car tomorrow,' he told himself. 'Wait…did I leave it somewhere where it could get ticketed or towed or something? Oh god. I need to get to it tonight.'

Sweets' stomach churned again and he immediately lurched toward the bathroom. He had barely made it before he started to vomit.

'Great. Throwing up two days in a row. I can't keep anything down anymore. Pretty sure that that's not good for my…my…whatever I might have.'

As soon as he was done, Sweets slumped down until he was lying on the bathroom floor. His eyes watered up as he kept thinking about how he needed to get to his car, but he was almost certain that he would have difficulty driving it. He tried to think of an alternate plan, but thinking made his head hurt even more than it already did. Determined, he tried even harder to concentrate and was rewarded with the urge to vomit again.

Seconds after he was finished with some dry heaves, Sweets heard the door slam and the sound made his head throb.

"Lancelot? Where are you?" Daisy's voice called out. He wanted to answer her, but his attention was diverted by the need to lean over the toilet bowl again. A moment later, he heard the padding of her feet as she appeared in the bathroom doorway.

"Lance, what's wrong? Are you sick?" she asked, worry filling her tone.

"Daisy," he said, tears finally leaking out. "I…I need you to get my car." The intern stared at him for a second before sniffing a little.

"You're drunk," she said, the worry dissipating. "Lance, how could you? You knew that I was planning a special dinner for the two of us tonight and instead you go out and become intoxicated. You know that I've had a stressful week and now you want me to get your car and…."

"I'm sorry," Sweets warbled. "I'm so sorry Daisy. Please, I…I…."

He tried to say more, but ended up sobbing instead. Daisy sat down on the floor beside him.

"Baby, what's wrong?" she asked. "What's going on?"

"I can't talk about it," Sweets blubbered. "Not right now. Not until I know for sure."

"Know what for sure?" she asked, rubbing his back.

"The test. I don't know what it will say," he cried. "Oh god, what if it is true. Daisy, I…I don't know what I am going to do."

"Lance, I can't understand you," Daisy replied. "What are you talking about? What test?" Sweets shook his head.

"I need you to get my car before they take it away," he said, tears dribbling down his face. "I think that they are going to tow it." Daisy slowly got back up onto her feet.

"Ok, Lancelot, ok," she said. "Clearly, you are too inebriated to discuss things with me right now. I'll go ahead and get your car and when I get back, if you need me, I'll help you get to bed. But later, we need to talk about all this. Please Lance."

"Thanks Daisy," he babbled. "I'll do it. I'll talk, I swear. I'll tell you everything when I can."

He then told her what he could remember about where his car was and she grabbed his keys and left to get a taxi. Not long after hearing the door close behind her, Sweets leaned in for another round of vomiting.

When he was done, he went back to crying and wondering if his tears would ever stop.