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Parallel	By : Selphish Category: 1 through F > Bones Views: 3116 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Bones, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Tear in the Heart
- 2-The View from Outside
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- 2
Chapter Two: The View from Outside

There was a soft hiss and a crystalline click as Booth set his fourth empty tumbler back on the bar, and over his own glassful of amber liquid, Sweets watched the ice swirl around the bottom of the cut glass cup. Booth raised a hand in the direction of the bartender, indicating his interest in having said glass refilled and Sweets raised an eyebrow.

“Hitting it kind of hard, aren’t you Booth?”

“Sweets,” the agent sighed, “I’ve earned the right to my bourbon tonight; and I’ve earned the right to enjoy it without being guilted by a kid who can’t reach the bar without a booster seat. Now… do you want a nipple for that or are you finally going to drink it like a man?”

/

“Circumstances such as these,” Sweets said, making a broad gesture at the partners sitting across from him – the fair and rational Dr. Temperance Brennan and the surly and powerful Agent Seeley Booth, “tend to stir up a lot of scary feelings.”

“I don’t have scary feelings,” Booth dismissed quickly. “Maybe you need a little night-light at night to sleep-“

“Agent Booth,” Dr. Sweets interrupted, leaning forward in his leather chair, smiling slightly when Booth mirrored his action. “You’ve been trying to intimidate me since the moment you stepped in here. And you’ve succeeded.”

/

“I’m pacing myself,” Lance said with a small smile. “The last time I decided I was going to drink it like a man as you put it, I decided it was a totally awesome idea to sing to Daisy through her call-box.”

Booth snorted into his drink and rolled his eyes. After a minute of consideration, Booth leaned back on his barstool and downed the rest of his bourbon, wincing only slightly as it burned a fiery path to his stomach.

“Where are you at with that whole mess?” Booth asked.

“I couldn’t even begin to pretend that I know,” Sweets said. “I guess I’ve got to accept that I have no control over that situation.”

“Over what situation?” Booth demanded. “You either want to be with Daisy or you don’t. You either get with her or you don’t.”

“I think we both know it’s not that simple,” replied Lance, setting down his empty glass and nodding when the bartender asked if he would like another of the same. When it was set in front of him, Sweets glanced at Booth out of the corner of his eye.

“Why did you go back on the engagement, Booth?” he asked quietly and took another sip as Seeley heaved a large sigh.

“You didn’t get around to telling me what actually happened,” Sweets prompted.

“And I don’t intend to.” He cast a stern, sidelong glance at the young psychologist but this in no way deterred him.

“You love her,” Lance observed. “For her to flee the country… she must have been quite upset. It’s not in Dr. Brennan’s nature to run from things. I don’t understand any of this.”

“It doesn’t matter if you understand, Sweets,” Booth said abruptly. “None of this concerns you. Let it go.”

“You’re obviously hurt-“

“Look!” exclaimed the agent, slamming his glass down. “All you need to know, all that you need to understand is that I saw fit to end the engagement. That’s it! I’m not talking about it ANYMORE,” Booth erupted angrily, becoming louder until he yelled the last word.

Heads raised all throughout the bar and Sweets groaned when he saw a large man from the entrance of the bar get up and start walking in their direction. Booth had not noticed, but when the man approached both of them, the agent looked up at him through angry, bloodshot eyes.

“I think it’s time you two left,” the man rumbled, running a hand through his wave of gray hair. Booth stumbled to his feet and squared his shoulders, and Sweets took out his wallet, throwing what was left of his cash on the bar.

“We were just leav-“

“No, we weren’t!” Booth interrupted loudly, staring down at the man with the protuberant belly and the dingy Led Zeppelin t-shirt. “We have every right-“

“Booth, come on,” Sweets said using almost his entire body weight to push the agent forwards towards the door and past the older man. Sweets continued to shove and push until Booth was outside of the bar, but at that moment, the agent decided to turn around and yell obscenities back at the crowded venue.

“Booth,” Sweets groaned. “Shut up!” He put one hand on either of Booth’s shoulders and continued to wrestle the agent until he was pressed against the rough brick wall in the alley that ran alongside the bar.

“What has gotten into you?” Sweets asked in exasperation. “I get it, it’s been a freaking awful day but picking fights with people? Cursing at a bar full of people?” Sweets paced to the other side of the alley, under the flickering orange light of a busted flood lamp, and leaned against the wall, hands on his knees to catch his breath.

“You don’t get it!” Booth growled. “You don’t! You don’t have one fucking clue about what’s going on here. So Daisy and you are having trouble. Big fucking deal,” he said, stepping angrily towards the psychologist. “She took my child. The woman I love took my child and traveled halfway around the world. You and your little squintern friend want to act like the sky is falling because you’re sleeping together and not calling it a relationship. But can you imagine being forced away from the person you love?”

He was so close that Lance could have counted his eyelashes, furious rage rolled off of him, and the bittersweet smell of the bourbon washed over the psychologist in the warmth of Booth’s breath. There was a moment in which the psychologist and the agent locked eyes, wide coffee to angry chocolate, before the wavering light of the flood lamp cut out – and everything changed.

“I can,” Sweets murmured to Booth, grasping the front of his collar and pulling the agent forward. Their lips crashed together and Lance felt the fabric of his own dress shirt catch and pull on the rough stone behind him.

There were several seconds in which Sweets’ full pink lips were pressed to Booth’s and Booth had not moved and would not move. Then, the smallest difference, Booth parted his lips just slightly and darted out a tentative tongue. Sweets groaned quietly, deep in his throat and pressed his advance, sucking soft at the agent’s lower lip.

Suddenly, Booth was a statue coming to life. One hand braced himself against the brick wall, the other grasped at Sweets’ hip and he forced his own pelvis forward, smashing Sweets back into the building. He cocked his head to the side, and using the pressure of his chiseled, stubbled jaw, forced Lance’s mouth open further.

Sweets pulled to the side as he felt something hard, and colder than body temperature, grind into the tender flesh at his other hip bone, as well as the swell of the agent’s budding erection forming against his own. Booth continued his assault at the corner of his mouth.

“Ow,” Sweets groaned. Booth paid no attention and trailed hot, wet kissed down to the psychologist’s throat, earning soft moans. “Ow- ouch! Booth,” he murmured. “Booth, your badge.”

As suddenly as though someone had flipped a switch, the world came grinding back to life. There were cars roaring in the distance, sirens a few streets over, raucous laughter from inside the bar, and a radio buzzing on a fire escape nearby. Even the flood light seemed to whir back into existence, and the alley was once again lit by its feeble orange glow.

Agent Booth stumbled back a few steps, a large calloused hand coming up to cover his mouth in a sort of quiet horror. The lack of his solid heat against Sweets’ chest left the psychologist feeling an almost glacial chill over his flushed skin.

“Booth,” Sweets said softly when his ragged breath had become slower and softer.

“No,” Booth answered immediately. “No.”

“Booth,” the psychologist called again, standing without support from the wall and straightening his tie.

“I said no, Sweets,” the burly agent insisted. He laced his hands behind his head and began pacing the alley, nodding and shaking his head to some sort of internal dialogue raging in his mind.

“I asked her to marry me! We have a baby, for God’s sake.” He paused, before turning away from the sight of the young doctor whose cheeks had flushed with color in his arousal.

“I don’t want this,” he said, almost too low to hear – and yet it still felt like a physical blow to the psychologist standing in the alley, mouth open in preparation to say something comforting, he was sure. “Just go home.”

“I- Okay.” Sweets turned on his heel and made to leave the alley, Booth still reeling behind him.

/

Sweets had heard the door creak open and the bell ring, but he had tuned it out like much of the other ambiance of the Royal Diner – the creaking of the barstools, the sizzle of lunch on the grill, the chipper chatter of the other patrons. So, when Brennan and Booth sat down on either side of him, he looked up with a wide grin.

“Hey! This is a surprise,” he greeted them pleasantly.

“Yeah,” Booth said, looking around the diner swiftly. There was a brief pause before Booth continued without any attempt at preamble.

“Hey, Sweets, where were you after the explosion?”

Lance bit the end of a fry and responded without much thought; he had been where he always was.

“I was with you.”

“No, you were with us when the explosion occurred,” corrected Dr. Brennan earnestly. Booth nodded to Sweets’ other side.

“I mean after,” Agent Booth clarified. There was another beat of silence, and Sweets felt as if the background noise was dulling to a droning buzz. None of the three looked at one another.

“Uh, let’s see.” He took a breath, thinking back to his hurried strides away from the explosion. “I ran to call 911.” Sweets glanced over at Booth nervously.

“Where?” Dr. Brennan asked, a touch of aggression seeping into her question and Sweets gnawed the inside of his cheek compulsively to maintain his composure in the wake of his irritability.

“In your office, why?”

“Then what?” Booth demanded.

Sweets recognized the reason he felt so uncomfortable; this was an interrogation. His two patients, his two friends had entered this bar with such a task in mind. What were they suggesting that he had done?

“Then I went to the door to show the EMTs where to go,” he carefully recounted.

“You didn’t come in with them.” It was a simple observation, as Brennan was so adept at, but Sweets could not help but notice the accusatory undercurrent. Suddenly, the tone of both the anthropologist and the agent made sense. The explosion. His location. They couldn’t actually think that he had engineered it?

Sweets glanced over the bar and struggled to keep his frustration from coloring his next answer.

“No, I find it’s best to stay out of the way of the professionals in those situations.” He paused for a moment and felt his steady resolve crumble. “Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot one thing.”

“What’s that?”

Sweets turned and faced Booth with a small smirk before replying, “I went down to the vault and I stole the silver skeleton because, um,” he licked his lips, “I’m Gormogon’s apprentice.”

“That’s a confession,” Booth said solemnly, glancing at Dr. Brennan. “You know, I can lock him up for 72 hours.”

“You’d lock me up for sarcasm?” demanded Sweets in bewilderment. He looked from Brennan, whose beautiful face was a frustrating mask of absolute sobriety – she actually believed this to be a possibility – to Agent Booth, who had had far more experience working alongside the psychologist.

“I think you should.”

Lance stared at Dr. Brennan for only a moment before turning back to Booth, all traces of humor gone from his 23-year-old face.

“Wait. You guys actually think I’m Gormogon’s apprentice?”

“Well, somebody is.” Booth shrugged. “That way, I can lock you up, check out your story, and not worry about you running off to Bolivia.”

“This is fierce wretched,” the psychologist said, swallowing around a lump that had formed in his throat.

“Better safe than sorry,” chirped Dr. Brennan, but Lance declined to look in her direction, as confused and angry as he was.

“No,” Sweets rejected, taking cover behind the psychology. “You’re projecting Agent Booth. You have a reasonable hostility toward Gormogon but you have no outlet for those feelings, so you’re using me-“

“Am I going to have to break out my cuffs?” the agent interrupted as he clapped a hand on the psychologist’s shoulder. Sweets tried to breathe over his seething anger and raised his eyes to meet the eyes of Special Agent Seeley Booth and shrugged his hand off.

“You know what? Yeah, you are going to need your cuffs because I’m not about to make this easy for you.”

/

In an uncharacteristic flash of irritation, Sweets whipped around and faced Booth, who was still standing in the half-lit alley with his calloused hands laced behind his head breathing heavily. He glared at the agent’s burly outline, glowing orange around a darkened silhouette; perhaps it was the bourbon, but there was no comprehensible way for Sweets to allow himself to make this easy on Booth either.

“But you heard your reasoning, right?” He called angrily back at the illuminated shadow of the man in the alleyway. Booth’s darkened profile dropped his hands from behind his head but did not turn to acknowledge the psychologist.

“You have a child,” Sweets quoted simply. “You asked her to marry you.” He paused and continued to bore his gaze into the shadows of the alley as the streetlight threatened to flicker back into darkness.

“You didn’t tell me you weren’t gay-“

“I’m not!” Booth hissed back in the darkness.

“You didn’t say you don’t feel that way,“ Sweets continued, as if Booth had not spoken.

“I don’t-“ But Booth’s words stuttered to a halt before he finished the sentiment. His dulcet, angry voice tore on the word don’t and Sweets felt his heart beating a bruising tattoo against the inside of his chest.

“The way you-“ Lance started but shook his head. “Your… That,” he stumbled on, pointing in the direction of the brick building he had just been pressed against.

“That did not feel like you don’t.” The pink burn from where Booth’s evening stubble had seared across his fair skin ached like his bruised lips like his hips and shoulders. Lance traced the outside of his full mouth briefly with a long finger. When Booth did not respond, Sweets threw his hands up in irritation and did what he did best.

“You know, you have a history of using inappropriate coping mechanisms, too. And this is part of it,” Dr. Sweets said, gestured at the alley and the man standing before him. “So many things are outside of your control. You’re hurt. You’re frustrated. You’re furious. And you don’t see a channel to direct any of that down.” Sweets drew a deep shaking breath and steadied the buzzing chaos that the bourbon had lit in his head. He stepped closer to Seeley Booth.

“I’m your channel,” he said softly, declining to acknowledge the word again that surged against his tongue. “Use me.”

Booth finally looked up and Lance thought for a wild moment that he had swelled to the size of the alley itself. He was taller, broader and then he was moving toward the psychologist in swift, strong strides, anger evident in his countenance.

“Use you? Use you?” Booth shuddered with what appeared to be suppressed rage as he entered the halo of muddled light from the main street.

“This isn’t a gym, Sweets. You’re not a punching bag. I’m not going to come home from work and throw you up against a wall because this is awful. I don’t want this! I don’t want you. Not in this way. Not like this.”

There was a long moment in which Sweets, perhaps for the first time in his young adult life, was at a complete loss for words. There was no psychology to fall against. There was no forbidden, tumultuous man to press himself against. There was no defense against this; Agent Seeley Booth did not want this attention from his best friend.

“I’ll see you Monday then,” the psychologist responded simply. He balled his hands in the pockets of his slacks and turned back to the street outside of the bar.
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Parallel