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Perpendicular	By : KShir Category: 1 through F > Bones Views: 4045 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Bones or the characters from Bones. I also make no money from writing fanfiction.

Chapter List
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Chapter Three
The Dark in the Taxi Cab
Booth had to admit that competing with the rest of the lab rats to say goodbye to Bones as she left for her vacation with their daughter was not at the top of his list of best days ever. Between Angela throwing dirty looks his way and Cam wringing her hands, peering awkwardly back and forth from him to Brennan like she was watching some nerve-wracking tennis match, Seeley was surprised that he hadn’t pulled out his gun and shot a hole through one of them.
When it finally came time that Booth was able to separate his would-be wife from the crowd and place his large, calloused hands on her arms, he leaned in close to her, his brown eyes clouding with earnest worry.
“Please be safe,” he whispered anxiously, raising a hand to her chin and forcing her eyes to meet his.
“We will,” she said, meeting his gaze for only a moment before looking to the side. He sighed and wrapped his muscled arms around her, tightening them in a vice-like grip. She wound her arms around his waist.
“I love you,” he murmured. He thought he heard her breath catch in a sob, but when he let go of her, Brennan quickly grabbed up her suitcase and backpack, and turned away. She seized Christine’s stroller and took off into the crowd. Booth felt a hand clap his shoulder.
“Need a drink?” Sweets asked in a heavy voice. Booth turned to nod at the psychologist and noted with lessening interest that Hodgins and Angela had already left. Cam looked at Seeley with something that looked oddly like pity.
“I don’t think I’ve ever needed a drink more,” Booth replied honestly. “Are you coming, Cam?”
“No,” said the coroner. “With Brennan gone, the lab is going to be a mad house. I really should be getting back to them.”
“Suit yourself.” Booth shrugged and watched as she turned to leave. Cam paused and about-faced, peering sadly at the agent.
“She is coming back, right Seeley? She isn’t running?”
“It’s not in her nature to run,” Sweets interjected. Cam started as if she had forgotten Lance was there.
“I suppose you’re right,” replied Dr. Saroyan and hurried off towards the large glass doors that led to the parking lot. Booth watched after her, most stunned at himself than at her question. Did he fail to answer because he himself was not sure that Bones would come back?
I’m not helpless, Booth thought stubbornly to himself. And if she doesn’t come back on her own then I will make her come back.
“Even if it means killing Pelant with my bare hands,” he mumbled. Sweets glanced up from his phone.
“What was that?”
“Nothing. Let’s grab a drink.”
(-)
“Today was… tense,” Sweets said, taking a drink of his beer. “I thought Angela might take off a heel and stab you. Why is she so mad at you?”
“I imagine it’s because of the engagement.” Booth winced only slightly at the heat of his second whiskey carved a path down his throat. He sighed heavily and clapped the glass back onto the bar. The bartender didn’t ask; he collected the glass and set a new one in front of the burly agent. He seemed to know the protocol with Agent Booth.
“You never told me what happened,” Sweets reminded Seeley.
“And I don’t intend to,” Booth replied sharply. He cast Lance a stern look out of the corner of his eye, but this didn’t deter the psychologist.
“You love her. She was quite upset at the break. She doesn’t understand it,” Lance said, reflecting uneasily on Brennan’s stop by his office. “I don’t either.”
“It doesn’t matter if you understand, Sweets. It has nothing to do with you.”
“It does now,” the younger man countered; he gave Booth a significant look. “Even if you discount the last nine days, we’re still friends.”
“Nine days? You’re counting?” Booth looked only mildly surprised, but said nothing else to indicate that Sweets had mentioned anything about their two heated encounters. He also felt a small sense of relief at Sweets’ earnest claim that they were still friends. So much had changed in nine days that Seeley had not been quite sure where the two would pick up.
“It does concern me, Booth,” Lance pressed.
“Look, all you need to know is that I saw fit to break off the engagement. That’s the end of it,” Seeley said firmly, sliding his fourth empty glass away from himself. He felt a knot in his chest; he wanted nothing more than to explain everything to Sweets, to have someone on his side in all of this, but Pelant seemed to be omniscient. Booth wouldn’t dare risk the lives of the people in this bar, or Bones’ life on her vacation, or Sweets’ life to relieve this burden.
“Okay. But you know I’m here if you need to talk about it,” Sweets offered, placing a hand on Booth’s muscular shoulder.
“I know Sweets,” Seeley replied in a thankful tone. Suddenly, Booth’s entire demeanor changed. “Are you going to babysit that beer all night, kid?” Seeley threw back another tumbler of amber liquid and grinned easily at the psychologist.
“I am in no rush to get drunk,” Sweets said haughtily. “The last time that happened, I ended up singing to Daisy through her call-box.” Booth laughed heartily and waved at the bartender.
“Something stronger for him,” he said, indicating Sweets. “He’ll have what I’m having.” He turned back to Sweets and eyed him carefully. “What’s the news on Daisy? Where are you at with all of that mess?”
“I can’t even pretend to know,” replied Lance honestly. “I’ve accepted that I have no control over that situation.”
“Over what situation? You either want to be with her or you don’t. You either get with her or you don’t.”
“It’s not that easy Booth, and you know it,” Sweets said. He looked significantly at the agent. Seeley winced. There it was again, the elephant in between them. Surely Lance was referring their illicit activities in Booth’s office and the elevator while the agent still obviously loved Brennan.
“Wish it were,” Seeley murmured moodily. Sweets nodded in agreement and paused for a moment before taking a deep breath.
“I think we should talk about what’s going on,” Lance suggested. When Booth shook his head vehemently, Sweets pressed on. “Someone is going to get hurt if this isn’t outlined. It’ll be you or Brennan or,” he sighed sadly, “or me.”
A small pain twanged its way through Booth’s chest, causing him to swallow. He had never considered the consequences to Sweets in their two brief encounters, only to himself. It was abhorrent, especially in his current drunken state, to think of causing Lance pain. Sweets was his closest friend above all else and had certainly experienced enough hurt for a lifetime.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” Booth admitted, staring at the bottom of his empty tumbler; he had long since lost count of the number of drinks he had. He lowered his voice and turned to Sweets. “I want to marry Bones. I want to be a father to my daughter.”
“And if she decides that that’s not what she wants?”
“Then I don’t know. I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it,” Booth replied.
“But right now, you’re neither with her or separated?” Sweets’ brow furrowed as he considered the conundrum in front of him.
“We’re still having sex,” Booth said, ignoring Sweets’ furious blush, “but I can’t remember the last time she told me she loved me. I don’t know if that’s still there or if she had just made up some anthropological bullshit to explain why she is continuing to engage in intercourse with the biological father of her offspring.” Seeley mocked Brennan’s deadpan voice. Lance did not know whether to chuckle or to feel bad for Booth.
“And you?” Booth prompted. “Where are you at?”
“I don’t know,” Sweets said, suddenly cheery. “I’ve decided to try another therapy method, only this time I’m using on myself.”
“It always comes back to being a shrink for you, doesn’t it?”
“The new accepted method of psychotherapy is considered goal-oriented. It posits that if a person decides where they want to be, that is where therapy will lead them.” Sweets paused to take a drink. “I’m rebelling against my contemporaries here. I’m experimenting with living in the moment. The end will justify the means, if you will.”
“Psychobabble,” Booth declared drunkenly. “Bullshit.”
“It’s not!” Sweets countered earnestly. “It’s more relaxing than trying to plan every minute of life.”
“Life isn’t about relaxing,” Booth nearly shouted. “It’s about yelling! I yell at hockey. I yell at Bones. She yells at me. Christine yells when she doesn’t get fed on time. Hacker yells when I forget to file paperwork. Caroline yells at us,” Booth chuckled.
“She does do that,” Lance agreed, nodding vigorously. He stopped quickly though; it made his head hurt. “Ugh, I think it’s time for me to go.” He glanced outside at the dark street, lit every few feet by headlights or lamplights.
“Ha! Enjoy roommates with your hangover tomorrow. I’ll be snug in my bed in a quiet house.”
“Oh, come on, Booth. That’s mean. You could at least offer your couch to me,” Sweets said dejectedly. Booth laughed and nodded.
“Alright, Sweets, you can sleep on my couch.”
“Excellent, let’s grab a cab, though. I don’t think we’ll find it on our own,” he chortled. Booth paid the tab as Lance exited the bar to hail a cab. Perhaps, thought Seeley blearily as he stumbled out of the bar, tonight will be the night Sweets gives up soccer for hockey.
“Come on, Booth.” Sweets waved Seeley into the back of the cab with him. Booth slid onto the cracked, dingy leather beside Lance and called his address to the cab driver, whose face was half hidden by the darkness that pressed in all around them… or perhaps hidden by the fact that when Booth closed the door behind himself, the air crackled with electricity.
When his senses adjusted to being nearly blind in the taxi, he realized his hand was almost on top of Sweets’ hand and their knees were touching. As if listening to it magnified, Booth heard Lance’s breathing speed up slightly when he noticed their proximity. Feeling a becoming-familiar pull in his groin, Booth smirked in wonderment. What was it about the young psychologist that broke down his barriers and sent desire coursing through his heated veins?
Pondering this, Booth let his hand wander over Sweets’, brushing his knuckles lightly, before coming to a rest on the younger man’s thigh. Lance’s breath caught and it did not go unnoticed; neither did the shifting fabric under Booth’s calloused fingers. Booth, even more daring in his inebriated state that he was normally, allowed the side of his hand to slide up Sweets’ leg until he felt Lance’s heat pulsing through the psychologist’s slacks.
A gentle moan managed to escape Lance before he could stifle it, but he quickly placed his hand over Booth’s. He gave it a squeeze that said plainly, not here, before picking up the larger hand and placing it in Booth’s lap, taking care to brush lightly over Seeley’s growing erection before withdrawing his hand. Booth understood; it wasn’t a denial… it was a postponement.
When the cab came all but screeching to a halt outside of Booth’s large house, the two men in the backseat rushed to clamber out of the back, their breathing harsh. Booth paused only to fish a few bills out of his wallet and thrust them at the cab driver before following on Sweets heels, up the sloping path.
“Have a good evening, gentlemen,” called the taxi driver. As he pulled away from the house, he laughed quietly to himself and removed his ball cap, lightly massaging the place on the right side of his face, where the band had cut into his sensitive scar tissue.
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