A/N: I don't even know where this came from, but I kinda love these two crossed-over. Very minimal Bones, so you don't really have to have seen the show for this to make sense (haha, hopefully it makes sense at all). Actually, it will probably make sense even if you haven't read Houseguests. Thinking it's going to be in three parts. It's already finished, so don't worry, it won't take me a gazillion years this time.


"What do you mean, do I trust Sweets?"

"Exactly what I said, Agent Booth." Gordon responded, with his British smirk.

"I wouldn't work with someone I don't trust, Gordon."

"I am aware of this, Agent Booth, I simply want to know if you believe he can be trusted with a matter of international security."

"You're pulling my leg," he proclaimed with a smile. "You're not involved with any 'matters of international security'."

"It is very rude to both call someone a liar and poke fun at their accent in one sentence."

Booth laughed. "I'm serious."

"As am I, Agent Booth."

Booth stopped laughing.

"You see, having been a world class psychologist for many years, I have many... unusual contact chains. May I?" Gordon explained, gesturing to the seat in front of Booth's desk and sitting down.

"What kind of unusual?" Booth replied, sitting down in his own chair.

"The kind of unusual that I am not free to discuss."

"International and not free to discuss?"

"Correct. I got a call from across the pond yesterday from someone looking to help a friend."

"And what does Sweets have to do with this?"

"He was looking for a psychologist. Specifically, me. But when I informed him that I was no longer practicing, he asked for a recommendation instead. Of course I immediately thought of the sharpest psychologist I know, your Dr. Sweets."

"But you wanted to make sure he had the clearance."

"No, actually. The young man assured me that if I found a psychologist, he could pull the strings to get him proper clearance." Booth raised his eyebrows. "I wanted to make sure that young Dr. Sweets could handle the clearance."

"Sweets is your man, doc, no question." Booth answered after a few minutes of thinking. "The question is, how are you going to keep the squints from poking their noses where they shouldn't?"

"Ah," Gordon Gordon said, getting up. "but they are after all, your squints."

"Gordon." Booth called after him. "Gordon, no. It's impossible! Gordon!"

The door swung shut and Booth sighed.

"Not remotely possible."


"What do you mean you found me a psychologist?" Cub ground out.

"Exactly what I said." Wolf retorted. "He's the best in his field. Supposed to be brilliant."

"How many times do I have to tell you, Wolf? I don't need a shrink!" Cub said, trademark scowl on his face.

"Actually, you kind of really do." Eagle commented. Then, seeing the fury rising in the teenager's eyes: "Whoa, whoa, whoa, calm down! We all see shrinks, Cub. And our jobs aren't half as crazy as yours."

Cub scoffed and scowled some more.

"We're just asking you to try it, Cub. One session. They say the kid's a genius." Fox added. "And... you already pulled the strings to get him the clearance he needs to talk to you."

"WHAT?" The four soldiers sighed. Saw this one coming, they all thought. "Are you telling me that the guy you four asked me to cash in favors for, the old friend of yours' who was in a jam, HE'S THE GUY YOU WANT ME TO GO TO FOR PSYCHOLOGICAL HELP?!"

"Yeah."

"Yep."

"'bout sums it up."

"Right in one."

Cub sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "You guys aren't going to give this up, are you?"

"Nope." four voices answered in unison.

"Fine." A cheer rose up from the rest of the table. "But only so you'll shut up about it."

Cub tossed some bills onto the table as he rose, then stalked out of the restaurant.

"Dibs on the rest of his chips." Snake said, lightning fast, causing an uproar.

Cub's scowl lessened a bit as he pushed on his sunglasses on the way out the door. It was only one session after all, it couldn't be that bad, right?

Then again, he was Alex Rider, he really shouldn't test his luck.


James went home after lunch, it being a Saturday. His kids, Liam and Emily, were each at different friends' houses, so the flat was quiet. A note on the fridge informed him that his wife had gone to see her mother and would be back by five.

Alone then. Not that he minded being alone. But recently... recently he had been worrying about the kid a lot. Cub was always so evasive. He had the rare skill of being able to talk and talk and never actually tell you anything. James was hoping that this trip to America would help. Blunt and Jones were paying for it, so that part of it was taken care of, but he couldn't help but worry about putting the psychological health of his teammate into the hands of a foreigner that he'd never even met.

James sighed, and sat down with his laptop, typing in the psychologist's name, Lance Sweets. And blinked in surprise as he recognized a face in a picture taken for an article. Seeley Booth. Wolf leaned back in his chair, remembering. It had been a long time, back before he'd been SAS. They'd met in the Middle East, on a mission that went south fast. The highlight had been Wolf sprinting across an open field, yelling every curse he knew at the top of his lungs as Booth shot down threats as they presented themselves. There'd been an explosion, too.

Booth was a good guy. A bit older than James, but not by too much, if he remembered correctly. They'd had a drink afterwards, both shell-shocked by the close calls. But they'd ended up swapping stories and laughing the second half of the evening.

The article said that he was in Washington, D.C., now. FBI. Working with a bunch of scientists, one of whom was Dr. Lance Sweets.

Wolf had an idea.


Booth smacked his hand on his bedside table a couple times, trying to locate his ringing phone. He answered it on the last ring, voice bleary and tone aggravated.

"Booth."

"Seeley. It's James Carter."

"From Iraq?"

"Yeah, we met in Iraq."

"What's it been - yawn - ten years?"

"Something like that. Sorry. I didn't even think about the time difference."

"Eh, don't worry about it. How've you been, James? How's the kid?"

"Fine, pretty good, actually. Liam's good, too. Twelve now, hard to believe. I have a daughter, now. She's eight."

"Ha! My son will be nine in a couple weeks."

"Look at us, right family men, we are." James said. Booth laughed. "I heard you're with the FBI?"

"Yeah, for a while now. I like it. How about you?"

"SAS. I've got a good team. That's actually kind of why I'm calling."

"Yeah?"

"There's this... I don't even know how to explain it. I'm probably not supposed to, either. I've got this... friend. He's got some serious PTSD, probably a whole bunch of other shit, too. Kid's fucked up bad." Booth realized he already knew where this was going. "Me and my unit, we kind of took him in, I guess. But he just came back from somewhere in Africa, and he's not doing well. Sleep deprivation, not eating, kid's half dead. So, we called in a couple favors, and found a Brit in America that's supposed to be the best shrink around, but he's retired. He recommended another guy, Lance Sweets. I looked him up and there was an article with you and him and bunch of other scientists."

"Uh-huh," Booth got up and started pulling on some pants.

"I pulled some strings to get your number when I saw your face in that picture. I guess I'm checking up on the shrink. Making sure he's all he's cracked up to be. Cu- my friend, he's a bit of a loose cannon. I don't want the guy to push him any farther off the edge."

"You've got nothing to worry about with Sweets, he's the best profiler I've ever seen, but he's one hell of a regular shrink, too. Funny story, though. Gordon Wyatt stopped by my office yesterday. I'm guessing this is his matter of international security?" James laughed.

"Yeah, I suppose it is."

"I'll try to keep all the squin- the rest of the team out of your hair, then. One of them's a total conspiracy theorist, and almost all of them have zero respect for the word 'classified.'"

"Thanks, I appreciate it."

"Sure, anything for an old friend, right? So, how's the SAS treating you?"

"Not bad, not bad..."


A/N: So what'd you think? Kinda weird? Kinda cool? I'm not altogether sure I'm writing Booth well, so any input on that would be great. Note inside a note: This story does not directly follow Houseguests, I have a hard time writing things in chronological order, so this is what I finished first, but it's set a good few months after the original story, after Cub and the unit have spent more time together and gotten to know each other more. Eventually there will be a one shot or two, maybe more than that, set in the time between the two.