Thank you for your continued interest in my story.

I don't own Bones.

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Waiting in the break room, Booth sat on a chair near the snack machine and tried to calm his breathing. Aggravated that the walk from the front of the Hoover to this part of the building should leave him breathless, Booth slowly breathed in through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. Finally breathing normally, he stood up, poured himself a cup of coffee and walked down the hall to Caroline's office. Knocking on her door frame, he smiled when the prosecutor looked up. "Hey Caroline, can I talk to you?"

Pleased to see Booth, Caroline smiled warmly at her favorite FBI Agent. "Seeley Booth, of course you can talk to me. Come in."

Crossing the room, Booth sat down on the couch near her desk. "I was in the neighborhood and I thought I'd drop in. See how you were doing."

Immediately aware that Booth was being a little less than truthful, Caroline leaned back in her chair and folded her hands across her stomach. "You happened to be in the neighborhood?"

Reminded that Caroline was a very sharp person, Booth sipped his coffee and weighed his words carefully. "Sure, I came by to have a session with Sweets and I decided to see you before I saw him."

Cocking her head to the side, Caroline frowned at the him. "Listen Cher', I've known you for a long time. Why do you want to see me? Don't treat me like my egg is cracked."

A slight blush staining his cheeks, Booth crossed his legs and placed his cup on his knees. "I have a hypothetical question for you."

"Uh huh." Staring intently at her friend, Caroline smirked. ""I'll bet you do."

Ignoring the sarcastic retort, Booth continued. "Say you had an agent . . . Uh . . . well say he started a personal relationship with his partner. Now this guy works for the FBI but his partner is a consultant and doesn't get a paycheck from the FBI but from somewhere else . . . What I want to know is would that Agent lose his partner as his work partner?"

Unable to stop it, Caroline rolled her eyes, unfolded her arms and leaned them on her desk. "Yeah, I can't imagine who we're talking about right now . . . This FBI agent and his . . . Uh . . . Partner. . . . They don't want to keep it a secret to make everyone's life easier? Sort of don't ask don't tell?"

Slowly shaking his head, Booth stared at a picture of John F. Kennedy his friend had on the wall behind her desk. "Nope."

Sniffing, Caroline responded, "Of course not, why make life easier for anyone else? . . . Let me check into this and I'll get back to you. You know Cher', I knew sooner or later you two would break through that wall you had between you."

Since he didn't want to talk about it, Booth stood up and moved towards the doorway. "I don't know what you're talking about Caroline. Sorry this is a short visit. I really do have an appointment with Sweets . . . I didn't make that up."

Watching him leave her office, Caroline exhaled deeply. "Merde!"

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Standing near the window, Booth looked out at the heavy traffic below.

"Thank you for coming to see me, Agent Booth." Rapidly entering his office, Sweets was aware he was late for his appointment. "I know I told you to meet me here at eleven, but Cullen asked me to come and see him and so anyway . . . "

Turning, Booth shrugged his shoulders and walked over to the couch facing the back wall and sat down. "I don't have to be anywhere." Crossing his legs, Booth stared at the young psychologist.

"Yes. Well, uh . . . I asked you to come in so we can talk about the shooting." Prepared for Booth's protest, he was surprised when Booth said nothing at all. Waiting, Sweets frowned. "You were shot in your own home. You almost died. The only reason you didn't was because Dr. Brennan used a spare key and let herself in to check on you."

Biting the inside of cheek, Booth studied the younger man's face. Coming to a decision, Booth responded. "I've almost died before."

He knew this was hard on the agent and he needed to be careful how he conducted this session. "Yes, I know, but this was different. Even you have to admit that. You were in your own home when you were attacked. You weren't working a case or doing your duty for the Army. You were just doing normal everyday stuff in your own home."

Irritated, Booth rubbed his forehead. "Okay . . . Get to the point"

"My point is your home is your sanctuary. A place of security and that security was violated." Leaning forward Sweets continued, "You have certain expectations when you are in your home and one if them is safety. How are you dealing with that?"

Pursing his lips, Booth asked the younger man, "Are you asking me how I'm handling being at home knowing that's where I was almost killed?"

Sweets eagerly nodded his head. "Yes, that's exactly what I mean. How are you dealing with that? I know it must be difficult, but I want you to know that I'm here for you. If you need someone talk to about it, then here I am. You can tell me anything . . . Anything at all. If you're having trouble finding comfort in your apartment I can show you several techniques that you can use to regain your sense of security."

Smirking, Booth shook his head. "I haven't been home since I was shot. Bones has been checking on my place once a week and she collects my mail two or three times a week so I can pay my bills."

Surprised, Sweets leaned back on his couch. "You're still living at Dr. Brennan's apartment? You're saying that you haven't been home yet?"

"Yeah, I'm still living at Bones' apartment." Moving his right foot back to the floor, Booth leaned back against the couch. "She doesn't want me to go home yet. Not while I'm still taking pain medication. She's worried about me."

Nodding his head, Sweets asked him, "So you're still on pain medication?"

Booth didn't see why that was the kid's business, but answered any way. "Some . . . Just at night. I take Advil during the day. It seems to be enough. I have to sleep with a pillow under my right arm, it helps me sleep . . . I'm supposed to walk so I walk up and down the hallway in Bones' apartment building a few times during the day. I have some breathing exercises that I have to do to keep me from getting pneumonia . . . I found out that strong perfume makes me cough and believe me, right now I hate coughing. One of Bones' neighbors is a little too liberal with the stuff and she stinks up the hallway in the morning which kind of pisses me off."

Curious, Sweets tapped his fingers on his thigh. "How are you sleeping? Any problems?"

"I haven't slept through a night yet, if that's what you're asking. I wake up and stare at the ceiling for a few hours and then go back to sleep." Rubbing his hand on his knee, Booth cleared his throat. "Bones says its normal so I'm not worried about it . . . not much anyway. My surgeon says I should be able to go back to work next week as long as I don't do anything strenuous. I can drive at the end of this week once I stop taking the last of the pain medicine. So really I'm good to go."

"Are you having any nightmares?" Watching Booth carefully, Sweets noticed a slight hesitation.

Aware that Sweets was watching him closely, Booth answered truthfully. "Having nightmares isn't something new, Sweets. You know that. I'd think something was wrong with me if I didn't have at least two or three a week."

His fingers still tapping his knee, Sweets frowned at that answer. "Let me be more explicit. Are you having nightmares about the shooting?"

Smiling, Booth shook his head. "No, I am not. Just my ordinary nightmares about shit done to me during the war . . . and my other usual crap. There see, the shooting isn't bothering me."

Not sure if Booth was telling him the truth, Sweets stilled his hands. "I may be willing to sign off on your return, Agent Booth but only if you plan to not go in the field. I can't allow that to happen yet. You are still recovering from a serious injury. You're still living at your partner's apartment. You haven't stepped foot in your own home since you were shot. You just admitted that you're still in pain and you don't sleep through the night. I don't think you're ready to return to work full time. Not yet. I also think that for the next few weeks you need to see me at least two times a week. I don't feel comfortable just letting you handle this on your own . . . Agent Booth, I'm worried that you may be suffering from PTSD."

Snorting, Booth crossed his arms across his chest. "Look, Bones is the one that won't let me return to my apartment. You know how she is. She worries about me. I'm just doing what she asked me to do because she's taking care of me. I don't sleep through the night because I never do . . . I never have. I don't have PTSD. I'd know if I was. Believe me I'd know."

And Sweets did know that. "Yes, you would know."

Angry, Booth stood up. "Are you going to prevent from coming back to work?"

Shaking his head, Sweets stood up also. "No, but you will be desk bound and you will see me twice a week. I also want you to go back to your apartment soon. I'd like to be there. If not me then take Dr. Brennan. You can't stay away from your home forever, Booth. You have to go back sooner or later and the longer you stay away the harder it may be for you."

His fists clenched, Booth realized he wasn't helping himself and forced his body to relax. "Bones and me will go back to my apartment this weekend. You are not invited. As for the rest, I can stay out of the field until you give me the green light and the sessions you want are okay. What else do I have to do? Is that it?"

Nodding his head, Sweets smiled at the agent. "For now." Serious again, he clasped his hands together. "Booth, I know you think you're okay and physically you are doing very well. What I worry about is your mental health. You know PTSD is very real and it is possible you are being effected by that condition. I want to help you."

Afraid to go there, Booth stared over the younger man's shoulder, refusing to make eye contact. "I'm not suffering from anything. I'm fine . . . Now I'm meeting Bones for lunch so I got to go." Turning Booth walked slowly towards the door. Before exiting the room, he turned back and looked at Sweets. "I've suffered worse than this, Sweets. A hell of a lot worse."

Watching the agent close the door behind him, Sweets muttered, "Yeah, I know."

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