Author's Note: Next chapter. Sorry about the snafu surrounding the last chapter. I hope it won't happen again...
I do not own Bones or any of its characters.
Thank you to everyone who is reading/following/reviewing this. It is always appreciated.
Lunarweather, Dance is a sport, Seletua, JoanneLikesVolleyball: Again, sorry about the mix up there. I hope that you still enjoyed the chapter when it eventually did show up.
Rogue Soul Alchemist: Well that was not the series of angsty events that were supposed to happen in that chapter, but I hope that you enjoyed the update when it finally appeared...and that you will enjoy this one as well.
Nertooold54: That's a great way to put what Sweets is going through right now. :) There will be an answer to his big question soon...but unfortunately, there will be more trouble along the way...
Whirlwind421: I also hope to keep this pace up for a while, although I am unsure right now about it...Also, as to your other comment about the others, brace yourself because it's about to get even more complicated...
Peanutmeg: Thanks for the review. No, sadly, things will only get worse before they get better for Sweets...I hope you enjoy this chapter as well.
Fluffybird: Thank you. While I have my share of ups and downs with Daisy, I do think that she is a character worth exploring more. I imagine that there is much we don't see in canon and in the Swaisy relationship and thus wanted to go more into here. Expect more of it in the future. For now, I hope you enjoy this update.
The Break in the Ties—Chapter 11
The next morning, Sweets sat in his office, contemplating the latest form he was in the process of filling out. There hadn't been much waiting for him when he arrived that morning aside from some paperwork and a couple of reports that needed some final touches. The repetitive, menial work meant that Sweets' mind was prone to wandering and right now, it was stuck on one question.
'Should I take some time off from work?'
The psychologist finished the report he was working on and signed it before leaning back in his chair and frowning. This thought had crossed his mind more than once ever since his doctor first mentioned the possibility of cancer. Thus far, he had dismissed it off hand by reminding himself that the Bureau needed him to do his job and had used work as a way to find solace from his problems. The conversation he had with Kempton, however, was making him re-think all of this.
'Even with the best doctors and the most up to date cancer treatments, there is no guarantee that I will survive this,' he thought to himself. 'If I do end up having cancer, it's going to consume all of my resources in order to fight it. And even if I could continue to split my focus between work and my own health issues, is that really the path I should take?'
Sweets shuffled some papers around and pulled out another pair of forms that needed filling out and turned off his computer. These days, he was frustrated that every time he found an answer, it only led to more questions. He knew that he couldn't put this question off any longer and needed to make a decision.
He stared at the forms in front of him and at that moment, his father's words came back to him, strong and insistent in his brain.
'You are every bit as valuable as your vocation, if not more so.'
'Take time to take care of yourself….'
'I have to,' Sweets told himself. 'I have to do this. My work is important…but I can't sacrifice myself for it. That's not what Mom and Dad wanted for me…that's what Dad was trying to tell me….'
Sweets swiped at his eyes as he tried to compose himself. For the umpteenth time, he wished that his parents were still alive and that he could go to them now, but he was painfully aware that that was just wishful thinking. Instead, he tried to take comfort in the fact that his parents had given him wisdom that he could carry with him for the rest of his life, wisdom that he needed now to make this decision.
The therapist stood up and walked out of his office, his resolve set. He immediately went toward Warner's office and despite its short distance, it felt like one of the longest walks of his life. Once he was there, Sweets let the secretary know that he needed to see him. After a wait of about ten minutes spent pacing, Warner invited him into his office. The psychologist then sat down across from Warner and explained the current situation to him.
"I see," Warner said somberly after Sweets was finished. "Let me start out by saying that I am very sorry to hear this and hope that it turns out to be less serious than it appears to be now….And you were saying that you would like to take a sabbatical?"
"Under the circumstances, I think that would be the best thing for me to do, yes," Sweets said quietly.
"Unfortunately, I agree with you," Warner said. "I'm going to grant you your leave. Your request will have to be submitted to my supervisor, but I am certain that there will be no problems, given what you have told me."
"Thank you, sir," Sweets said. "And I would like to ask for one last favor."
"Yes?" Warner asked.
"I would like what I told you to remain between us," Sweets said. "I…I'd like for it to not become common knowledge here at the office."
"Are you sure about this, Doctor Sweets?" the agent asked, surprised. "I believe that there are people here at the Bureau who would not only want to know about something like this, but who would want to try to do what they could to support you during this difficult time. Plus, there is the matter of explaining your absence from work."
"I understand that you would have to share my current professional status with people here at the Bureau," Sweets said, swallowing hard. "But I…I'm asking that the reason for my sabbatical remain private because I…I don't really know what is going to happen in the near future. So I would like to keep this to myself as much as possible until I have some answers of my own."
"I suppose that makes sense," Warner said. "Although I can't say that I completely agree with it, I will do as you request. I will arrange for your sabbatical and I will make sure that your health issues are not mentioned. One last thing though: Agent Thompson. What is your current assessment of him?"
Sweets sighed and rubbed his temples. He had been dreading this question, despite the fact that he had anticipated it. It pained him to say this, but he knew that there was only one answer he could give.
"Agent Thompson will need to continue in therapy," the psychologist said. "In my professional opinion, he is not ready to return to his Bureau duties."
"I see," Warner repeated thoughtfully. "Then I will have to assign another therapist to him. Send all of your notes and files over to me, and I will have them sent to the psychologist who takes over his case. Let me assure you that the person I assign will take the time to carefully go over your work up to this point."
"Thank you sir," Sweets said again, sincerity filling his tone. "For that…and for everything else." The therapist stood up and Warner did the same.
"You're welcome, Doctor Sweets," he said. "I hope to see you return to the Bureau soon. I can say that it would be a great loss both to me and the FBI if you were unable to return. I wish you good luck and good health."
After another long trudge through the hallways of the Hoover Building, Sweets eventually made it back to his office, feeling about ten years older than when he started the day. He then stopped to have a brief discussion with his secretary, Becky, about his upcoming sabbatical. She surprised him by giving him a brief, gentle hug. He was touched by the sentiment and thus, did his best not to noticeably flinch.
"I hope it won't be as long as the last one was," Becky said as she let him go. "I, for one am going to miss you terribly until you come back."
"Thank you, Becky," he responded. "I will miss you too. Give Joe my regards and I hope to see you again soon."
Sweets then went into his office and gathered some things so he could go home a couple of hours early. He took the time to grab a couple of the toys that he normally had sitting in a bowl on the coffee table, like the toy chicken and the squishy sumo wrestler. The knickknacks reminded him of many more satisfying moments, personally and professionally, that he had spent in this office. He then picked up his briefcase and started to walk out, pausing before he did so. He knew that this wouldn't be the last time he would be here. He had some final tasks that he'd have to come in for over the next couple of days. Still, he could feel that there was something different this time, something that felt more like the end of a chapter of his life.
Sweets took one last long look and then walked out the door, carefully closing it behind him.
As Sweets walked into the parking garage, he made a mental list of the things he would need to attend to before he could stop coming to work. He briefly thought about going back and starting to tackle them now, but he decided against it, figuring that it would be better to start tomorrow when he was fresher and to use these chores as a way to kill additional time while he waited to undergo his next ultrasound.
Sweets opened the back door to his car and threw his briefcase onto the backseat before slamming the door shut. The sound gave off a deep echo in the mostly empty floor he was on. Sweets then unlocked the driver's door and was about to get in when a voice from behind stopped him.
"Sweets."
The psychologist whirled around and was startled to see Booth walking toward him. For a few seconds, Sweets wondered where the agent had appeared from and why he hadn't heard him before now. Those thoughts were quickly discarded at the sight of the determined pace that Booth had and the grim look in his eyes.
"Agent Booth," Sweets said, his defense instantly rising. "I'm going home now, so if you need something, you will have to talk to…."
"Can it, Sweets," Booth replied, cutting him off. "This has nothing to do with work." The agent moved to stand directly in front of him, and Sweets felt an involuntary shudder go through him. He could sense the barely controlled anger that came off Booth and Sweets instinctively knew that it was directed solely at him. For a moment, he willed himself to prepare for a fight, but instead he found himself unwilling to move or speak.
"I had a talk with Bones," Booth said. "She told me about your little 'experiment'. So why don't you tell me, Sweets: just how many other 'experiments' have you been secretly performing on us over the years?"
Sweets gulped, but still did not move or even flinch. He felt himself growing cold as a sense of foreboding filled him, foreboding that was punctuated with the vague notion that he shouldn't be surprised that this was happening to him.
'This was meant to come….This is simply the payment…the punishment….for all that went on before.'
The psychologist had no clue as to where that thought had come from, but decided that for now it would be better to forget about it and focus on the enraged FBI agent standing in front of him.
"Agent Booth, there have been no experiments performed on your or Doctor Brennan during our association," Sweets answered. Booth ground his jaw in response.
"Are you saying that Bones is lying?" he said. "Is that your tactic now? Trying to excuse your lies by implying that others are lying instead?"
"I do not think that Doctor Brennan lied," Sweets asserted. "But I do think that she has her own way of interpreting the situations she encounters. I know that does not excuse my actions, but I…."
"You're right. It doesn't," Booth snapped. "It doesn't excuse how you manipulated her. Or me. It doesn't change the fact that you lied to us. And it doesn't change the idea that, chances are, this isn't the only time you've lied to us."
Sweets watched Booth, the chill inside him continuing to spread, continuing to blot out his ability to feel.
"I'm sorry," Sweets nearly whispered.
"Sorry? Is that all you can say?" Booth said. "After all the lies and manipulation and the shrinky head games? You think that 'sorry' can take away any of that?"
Truthfully, Sweets doubted that any apology would be sufficient, but he chose to keep that thought to himself.
"Let me ask you this," Booth continued. "Did you even bother to explain yourself or apologize to Bones when she confronted you? Did you tell her then how sorry you were?"
The psychologist knew that answering this question would lead to an even more explosive response on Booth's part, but he knew that it was useless to lie…even if the truth would do more harm than good.
"No," Sweets said, his voice flat and void of emotion.
"No…no," Booth repeated. "All of the hurt you caused her, and you didn't even try to apologize? I thought she was supposed to be your friend. Is that how you treat your friends? Do you actually expect us to accept your apology now or believe anything else you say?"
"No…I don't," Sweets replied. Unable to contain his fury at the psychologist anymore, Booth advanced toward him until Sweets was backed up against his car and then grabbed hold of his arms again, not unlike the way he did several days ago in Sweets' office.
"You listen to me," Booth seethed. "From now on, you stay away from me and Bones, you got that? Don't come anywhere near us. We don't need your help with cases and we certainly don't need your 'friendship'. As of this moment, you are going to give us a wide berth at work, and you're staying away from the lab. Is that understood?"
"Yes. It is," Sweets replied, his voice still dull and lifeless. Something about the lack of reaction in the therapist grated at Booth, and he felt his anger grow.
"You have no idea," he growled. "You have no idea about what she went through…what the both of us went through….all because you wanted to prove a point."
Sweets remained limp in his grasp, even as Booth nearly shook with rage. Suddenly though, something snapped inside Booth as he looked closer at the expression on the psychologist's face, especially as he saw the hollow glint in his eyes.
It then occurred to Booth that Sweets had not cowered, struggled or even flinched once during all of this. All that was there was a sort of eerie calm, as if Sweets expected this. It took almost a minute for it to completely register, but Booth soon realized what he was seeing in Sweets' eyes: acceptance. The psychologist had simply accepted that he was going to get hurt and was waiting for Booth to deliver the blow. There was no fear, no sadness, no begging for forgiveness.
There also seemed to be no doubt in Sweets' mind that he would be punished mercilessly.
Booth abruptly let Sweets go, the anger swiftly evaporating. He had seen that look on other faces before: on children who had endured years of systematic abuse and on adults who had endured prolonged periods of brutal torture. It shocked and worried Booth to see the same haunted, placid demeanor in Sweets, despite his anger at him.
Sweets turned to open his car door and climbed in. He then shut the door, started up his car and drove away without another word, leaving Booth alone in the garage. The psychologist then turned on the radio and tuned to a metal station.
He then turned up the volume as loud as he could for the drive home, hoping that the music could dull any thoughts or emotions inside him.