Private Session with Sweets
Takes place sometime after "Mayhem on a Cross."
Dr. Lance Sweets sat at his desk, the eraser end of a pencil stuck in his teeth. He wiggled the pencil up and down with his jaw, an irritated movement. He glanced down at his wrist.
Late. Again. Why were they always late?
He knew Agent Booth did it just to annoy him; secretly, Sweets recognized he feared and mistrusted psychology. What he couldn't work out was why Dr. Brennan played along with Booth's game. She was so much more sensible. Couldn't she see that their being late only reduced the potential for improvement they could make?
Then again, she didn't put much stock is psychology anyway.
Sweets sighed, the pencil dropping from his teeth to the floor. Twenty five after. Maybe he should just work on some other files for a while. He did have to write out the report for that last criminal profile...
He rose from his armchair, stretching his arms to the ceiling and yawning as he stood. Not the best way to end a long day.
He did hate to clutter his mind with other cases just before a session, but if Brennan and Booth insisted on sabotaging his efforts to help their partnership…
The doorknob rattled.
Sweets' heart leapt, and he hurriedly sat back down; arranging his features in a calm expression. Finally! His favorite and most frustrating subjects were here!
Booth walked briskly through the door, pulling it shut behind him.
Okay, so his favorite and most frustrating subjects were half here.
"Agent Booth!" Sweets greeted him politely. "I'm glad you could make it. Though…" he gestured at the clock, tugging agitatedly on his ear with his left hand. "…you are a little late."
Booth still stood at the door. Sweets noted his posture; shoulders slightly hunched, and his expression; dark circled eyes, lips tight, eyebrows crumpled. Obviously upset.
Something to do with Dr. Brennan, perhaps?
Not wanting to scare him off by jumping straight into "the personal stuff," as Booth would call it, Sweets evaded. "Did Dr. Brennan miss the memo?" he said with a small smirk.
Booth returned the smirk, though with less enthusiasm than was usual. He stepped away from the door, toward the couch he and Brennan usually shared. "No…" Booth paused and turned to Sweets before he sat, looking down on him from his considerable height.
Sweets was speed analyzing. His posture suggests he feels threatened. He considers whatever he's about to say as representation of vulnerability and prefers to face it while standing, where he's more… intimidating.
"I told her the appointment was canceled," he admitted, jaw tight. He swallowed and slowly lowered himself to the couch cushions. "I… I just needed to talk about something."