Tumgik
#and my go-to is for brennan to be white and booth yellow so i simply can't change that if they're in the scene
zeeleybooth · 2 years
Photo
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
BONES | The Knight on the Grid (3x08) / The Death of the Queen Bee (5x17)
409 notes · View notes
Text
The Profiler in the Therapist (ch 16)
You can find this entire fic here on AO3.
Fandom: Bones (TV) and Criminal Minds (TV)
Entire Fic Description:
Dr. Lance Sweets is no longer the innocent eager psychologist he was a little over a year and a half ago. His time as a prodigy profiler at the BAU was a blessing. His time in a serial killer's basement was not.
Now, scarred but healed, Sweets is 'retired' to calmer job in the FBI as a therapist. As he helps others, he helps himself. But... is it enough? What will he do when one of his most fascinating (unwilling) patients asks for help on a case? How will his new team take his past as his secrets slowly start to come out?
Entire Fic Warnings: cannon-typical violence, past torture, panic attacks, PTSD, serial killers
Chapter word count:  4,988
Chapter warnings: referenced panic attack, background anxiety, talk about serial killers
Summary: The investigation picks up speed! Featuring a very special addition to the team.
Please read the fic! First chapter, previous chapter, next chapter, master list. And let me know if you want to be tagged.
The following 24 hours were utter chaos. Sweets went to the hospital to receive pain and antibiotic medication. While there, Emily pinned down Booth and Brennan, revealed her suspicions about the explosion, and offered her aid (read: demanded to be included) in the case. Sweets chose to return to the Hoover building for the afternoon, despite the days events, as he couldn’t imagine returning to the lab yet and there was no way Emily would let him go home alone—and he knew how much she wanted to be a part of the investigation. He occupied his time analyzing Goromogon’s profile and, when it became too much, filling out paperwork for a variety of sessions and psychological assessments he had performed over the past several days. (He also rescheduled all of his meetings for the next three days.)
Upon Emily’s arrival, and over the course of the trip back to his apartment, he was brought back up to speed on the investigation. It had definitely been Gormogon; the explosion was a distraction to cut the security systems and make off with the silver skeleton. It was an inside job—it had to be—which meant Gormogon’s apprentice worked at the Jeffersonian. An FBI tech and Hodgins had both identified the source of the explosion as tricyclic acetone peroxide, a highly explosive compound that had been switched for the monomer Zack was supposed to be adding to the polymethylmethacrylate (the plastic base for the denture experiment). Hodgins was understandably upset about it.
Needless to say, everyone had gone on high alert, and Booth had called in the big guns. The FBI had the lab locked down. They were scouring every inch of the place for clues, and Cam was at her wits end. Everyone was determined to do their absolute best, but the coroner had put her foot down and sent everyone off to rest. They couldn’t do much right now, and it had been a hard day for everyone.
What caught Lance’s attention most was the tidbit Emily shared as they walked through his front door: the BAU team was home. Prentiss had immediately requested their aid (with Booth’s support and Brennan’s protests), but Strauss had unsurprisingly shot her down. But, also unsurprisingly, the team was having none of that, so—after a hefty four-sided debate—Strauss conceded to allow one more team member help the Jeffersonian. Apparently, Morgan nearly threw a fit when Hotch chose Reid instead of him.
Sweets would have paid to see that.
The following morning was just as busy. Lance was still hesitant to visit the lab, but the knowledge that Reid would be arriving at any time was enough to tempt the therapist into accompanying Emily to the scene of the investigation
The lab was swarming with its normal activity, but there was a scattering of people clad in familiar suits and jackets with “FBI” branded in bright yellow across the back as well. They were poking around the lab, carting evidence hither and yon, and hovering over the shoulders of the various employees still working despite the utter chaos. As Sweets ventured farther, Prentiss at his side, he caught sight of Hodgins glaring a hole into the side of the nearest agent and Saroyan standing just outside her office with an arm crossed over her chest and the other holding a phone to her ear. Upon spotting her, Prentiss immediately altered her trajectory, Sweets following a heartbeat later. It wasn’t long before Sweets could hear the coroner was checking on the injured member of their team. (The thought of Zack sent a pang of… something through him, and Sweets held back a wince).
Cam let out a gusty sigh, “I guess that’s all we can hope for, right now.” After a moment, she glanced up, her eyebrows twitching upwards for a split second upon noticing their approach. Prentiss lifted a hand in greeting and Cam gave her a nod in return.
She gave a brief smile at whatever she heard on the phone, “I’ll be by in a few hours to rotate with you,” she paused, listening, and her smile softened, “Thanks, Angela.” The smile stayed on her face as she hung up and turned to the pair who had reached her side, “Good morning.”
Emily smiled back, warm and friendly, “Morning, Cam.” Sweets felt himself raise his eyebrows at that; apparently, they’d moved past ‘Dr. Saroyan’ and ‘Agent Prentiss’ after the explosion yesterday.
Cam smiled in amusement at Sweets, as though she could tell what he was thinking, before her expression fell slightly, a concerned light in her eyes, “How are you doing, Lance?”
Sweets couldn’t help doing a double take, giving the scientist a baffled look, before yesterday came flooding back. He winced— how could he have forgotten what she had done for him? —but, thankfully, Cam didn’t seem all that bothered; she was busy eyeing his thoroughly wrapped hand with a surprising amount of concern. “I, uh, I’m fine,” he managed a little awkwardly, “It’s much better, and I mean, it was my fault for not being more careful anyway.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Sweets saw Prentiss glower at him—which he expected. He did not, however, expect Saroyan to give him a downright frightening glare that clearly said, ‘don’t give me that bullshit.’ Despite that, she simply said, “I’m glad your hand is feeling better, at least,” and simply left it alone.
Sweets was inordinately grateful that she didn’t push, or—heaven forbid—bring up his panic attack.
“So,” Emily smoothly caught Cam’s attention, “What did I miss?”
As the coroner began giving his friend an overview of what they had discovered—or rather, what they had not discovered—since last night, Lance examined her. She looked like she’d been up all night, with dark bags under her eyes that weren’t quite masked by hastily applied makeup. Her hair was up, as usual, but was a little more frazzled than he was used to seeing on her. But, despite everything —despite the obvious emotional and physical stress she was under— she still seemed as unflappable as ever.
And for some reason, she was able to spare the bandwidth to be worried about him.
Honestly, Sweets was taken aback by her reaction. He had… assumed she would avoid the topic. After all she didn’t know him, and he had basically broken down in front of her. She shouldn’t have had to deal with that, a poisonous voice whispered in the back of his mind, it was a completely uncalled for reaction to an accident that put her friend in the hospital!
He shook those thoughts off quickly. He couldn’t control what had already happened, he could only move forward. Cam had seen him in the throws of one of his worst flashbacks in months. Nothing could change that. Sure, she did not need the added stress of knowing how… broken he really was. Not on top of Gormogon and Zack’s injury. But she did, for better or worse, and had even helped him through it. And, well, she obviously cared, and Lance would appreciate that for what it meant; he was finding a place here, in the Jeffersonian family, and he truly was making the friends he had hoped for from the beginning.
He only wished it was under different circumstances.
Cam and Emily were still deep in conversation, seemingly debating the best approach to take with the investigation today, but Sweets found he didn’t really care enough to pay attention. Regardless of their decision, he would end up profiling— since that was what he could do best, and the rest was (thankfully) out of his hands. Even the concerned looks they each threw his way weren’t enough to make him engage in the conversation. He just… let his mind wander, cataloging what had been discovered yesterday with the profile he had started on Gormogon months ago. He did not, however, get very far.
“Hey! What are you doing with that?” a familiar voice —belonging to the very person he hoped to see here— echoed from behind him, breaking through his thoughts and any remaining attention he had for the friends in front of him.
With barely a thought, Sweets whipped his head around so fast he nearly hurt his neck, quickly pinpointing his friend’s familiar figure as he leant over an agent’s shoulder. He was wearing his standard sweater vest and tie, his messenger bag slung over a shoulder and braced by one hand while the other held a white paper cup —just the same as always. The familiar sight had Lance breaking into a smile.
“That’s evidence,” he was saying, annoyance coloring his tone in a way that was rare for him. He frowned at whatever the agent said in reply, “This was an inside job. That means everything is evidence in this case; you can’t just discard it!”
The agent straightened and turned enough so that Sweets could see his scowling face and pick out the testy reply, “And who, exactly, do you think you are?”
Reid scowled and took a breath, but before he could answer Booth appeared at their side. Sweets couldn’t help but smile as he inserted himself between them, “Whoa, there. Let’s not tear each other’s heads off, alright?”
Reid turned his glare on the other agent and bit out something Sweets couldn’t quite hear, though he could make out the obvious annoyance coloring his tone.
Booth’s eyebrows shot up and he turned to the agent who was now holding the box he had been leant over a few moments ago. “He’s right, Torres,” Booth informed him, “Why don’t you take the stuff you don’t know how to classify to Myers, alright?”
The agent, Torres apparently, gave a huff before jerking his head in what appeared to be a nod and wandering off towards a cluster of agents near the entrance to the lab.
Booth turned back to Reid and extended his hand, likely introducing himself. Reid, of course, simply lifted the hand that wasn’t holding his precious coffee and gave his trademark awkward wave, completely ignoring the gesture.
Sweets couldn’t help chuckling at the baffled look on the agent’s face.
A snort sounded from beside him, startling him, before Emily gave his shoulder a gentle shove, “Go on, Lance,” she grinned at him as he looked back at her. Cam was still standing there, watching them with amusement crinkling her eyes, and Sweets was struck for a moment at how much better she looked opposed to just minutes ago. Before he could order his thoughts though, Prentiss let out a short laugh and pushed him again, causing him to stumble a step. “Go on,” she urged again, “it’ll be more fun to watch Spencer baffle Booth up close.”
He shot his friend a fond eye roll and retaliatory shove but took her advice and made his way over to the pair, tossing a wave and smile over his shoulder for Cam as he went. As he approached, he could see Booth’s face, and the increasing bafflement leaking across it, in greater detail. The agent didn’t seem to know what to make of the genius profiler yet. It was… very familiar. The reaction reminded Lance of the numerous agents and officers the team had encountered over his time with the BAU.
“…will be hard to sift through it all, especially considering the size of the suspect pool,” Reid’s voice became distinguishable as Lance approached the pair. He was gesturing idly with his free hand, while keeping his coffee cup close to his chest and leaning slightly forward. The sight was just as familiar as the agent’s reaction, causing the sense of nostalgia to grow. Lance would bet, despite being unable to see his face, that Reid’s eyes were alight and determined. After a quick pause to survey the activity swarming around him—as though proving his point— the profiler continued, “Behavior will likely be the easiest way to inform the direction of the investigation. I’d like to start on the profile as soon as possible.”
Booth’s eyes flicked over his shoulder, landing on Sweets, and his shocked expression melted into a slight smile. “Well,” he looked back to Reid, amusement coloring his tone, “I think the guy you want to talk to just got here.”
Reid’s eyebrows shot up as he turned to see who had caught Booth’s attention. As soon as he saw Lance, a smile broke across his face. “Lance,” he greeted warmly.
“Hey, Spence,” Sweets smiled a little awkwardly before moving closer and punching (more like pushing) Reid’s shoulder in his customary greeting.
The profiler rolled his eyes and attempted to school his face into his traditional scowl, but his smile refused to budge. After a moment, he stopped trying and just beamed at Sweets, “It’s good to see you.”
“Yeah,” he huffed a sigh, “Good to see you too. I’m glad you guys caught that HSK.”
Reid’s face twisted slightly. “If you count ‘dead’ as ‘caught’… but yes; it’s good he’s off the roads.”
“Suicide by cop?” Booth asked curiously.
“No,” he turned back to the agent, shifting his bag slightly, “Actual suicide, with a gun to the chin.” In typical Spencer fashion, he made an aborted gesture towards his chin as he spoke.
Booth grimaced at that. Sweets had to agree; it was always disappointing and unpleasant when you couldn’t bring the unsub to justice. But, well… dead was better than free.
A moment of awkward silence descended, Sweets shifting his weight back and forth uneasily while Booth examined the two profilers before him. Thankfully Reid broke the silence before too long, awkwardly clearing his throat and hiking his bag farther up his shoulder, “Anyway, we should get started.”
Booth blinked as though he had completely forgotten the reason they were there, “Right.” He turned to Sweets, “Don’t s’pose you’ve got your files on you?”
The therapist offered a slight smile, “I’ve got what we need, yeah. I figured you’d want to keep the investigation contained.”
The agent gave him a wry smile, “Yeah; it’d be best to keep everything nearby for the time being.” He turned back to Reid, “What you need?”
“Just a place that…” the genius shrugged glancing around, “doesn’t present as high a probability of getting run over.”
“Sure thing,” Booth chuckled warmly and gestured over his shoulder, “I’m sure you can use Bones’ office.”
Reid gave his thanks and immediately set off, but Lance found himself hesitating for a reason he couldn’t quite place. Though… the longer he hovered with his momentum caught between one step and the next, the more he noticed how… lost his ex-patient appeared. Booth was all about hands-on investigations and hard evidence. This investigation had no concrete evidence and no solid leads, even with hordes of agents swarming every feasible crime scene and picking them over with a fine-tooth comb.
“Agent Booth,” Lance found himself speaking before he had solidified his thoughts, “I… I don’t suppose you’d, well… like to join us? We could always use fresh eyes, and I wouldn’t mind walking you through the basics while Spencer gets up to speed on Gormogon.”
The next split second was an image Lance suspected he’d never forget, as it contained two of his favorite reactions. Booth looked utterly gob smacked, like he had been blindsided by a flying tackle, while Spencer, who had halted a few feet behind the agent and was clearly visible over his shoulder, gave Lance one of his brightest smiles that practically radiated approval and joy. It didn’t last long; Spencer quickly schooled his expression into a more neutral (yet still very real smile), and Booth’s expression morphed back into his normal friendly grin (although it had a new curious edge to it), but Sweets couldn’t help being delighted anyway.
Once he had successfully squashed his surprise, the agent gave a little shrug of his shoulders, “Sure, Sweets. Why not? I don’t have anything else I can do right now.”
As the three investigators made their way across the lab to Brennan’s office, Lance allowed himself to bask in the warm feeling sitting in his chest. There was just something about Cam expressing her concern and Booth being so willing to help that settled something—a churning mass of… anxiety?— that had kept him off kilter since the explosion the previous night. Sure, things were awful right now, but at least this new team seemed to care about him as much as he cared about them.
By mid-morning, Sweets was ensconced on the couch in Dr. Brennan’s office, surrounded by mounds of paper files, several computers, and two very determined agents. Oh—and a very pissed off anthropologist. Brennan had not been pleased to find the profilers invading her office upon her return from whatever she had been doing; she had nearly kicked them out before Booth managed to convince her to let them stay.
Early on in their research binge, Spencer had called up Garcia and set her on the Jeffersonian staff and their deepest darkest secrets. Shortly thereafter Emily had poked her nose in. Lance couldn’t remember what she had said—as he had been too preoccupied with breaking down the profile he had first made ages ago and walking Booth through the more important details, explaining the mechanics of profiling when he could—but he did remember she was going… somewhere to do something to help, and that Booth seemed to approve. Sweets was rather pleased he had decided to stay; the older agent soaked up the new information like some sort of sponge. Sweets wasn’t exactly surprised—he knew Booth was a great deal smarter than he portrayed himself—but he was rather pleased with how much effort he was putting forth.
Currently, the pair was making serious headway through the impromptu profiling lesson, bent over the coffee table together. Of to the side, Reid was in his element, seated in the eye of the paperwork hurricane, flipping through files at a neck breaking speed, muttering under his breath as he sifted through piles of information. Lance, who was the closest to the genius, was barely outside of the chaos and was terrified of disturbing one of his many piles of files and notes. On the other hand, Brennan was picking away at something or another at her computer, flipping through paper files every so often and glaring at the group taking over the more comfortable seating area of her office at least once a minute. (It was… a little amusing.)
They had just gotten to the point where the agent was grasping the details Sweets was seeing and how that translated into predicting behavior when Reid sat up ramrod straight with a wordless exclamation, vigorously circling something on his paper. Three sets of eyes immediately turned to the profiler as he carefully shifted forward in his seat to hand his discovery to Lance, somehow without disturbing his organized chaos. (From behind her desk, Brennan let out a disgruntled noise that accurately conveyed her disgust.)
Mildly confused, Lance accepted the paper all the same. It was… a map, covered in familiar dots, with one section outlined in broad deep strokes. It looked almost like one of Reid’s trademark geographical profiles, but there weren’t nearly enough data points plotted out for the genius to have already circled a probable neighborhood for the unsub to live. From his spot leaning over the therapist’s shoulder, Booth voiced his own confusion, “Uhh… I think you’re gonna have to explain this to the new guy, Doc.”
“Right here,” Spencer leaned forward eagerly, miraculously ignoring the nickname, and pointed at the circled area, knocking a cascade of paper off the table in the process.
“Not really helping, Spence,” Sweets admitted, squinting at the spot his friend pointed out, “How did you determine this? You only have a handful of locations to work off, even if the unsub is obsessed with patterns and symbols.”
“Dr. Hodgins,” the profiler explained excitedly, “He did an analysis of the water the jaw was boiled in last night. The lead content suggests it was done in water from this neighborhood.”
Realization dawned on Lance like a bucket of ice water as he eyed the rough triangle sketched around the localized area, “And it fits.”
Reid nodded eagerly, “It’s far from certain, considering how little data I have to work with, but based on what I’d guess with what we do have…. I’m comfortable positing that the unsub lives in this neighborhood.”
“Wait, wait,” Booth leant forward, taking the map from Lance’s unresisting hands and turning it this way and that as though it would help him understand what it meant, “What’s this?”
“It’s a geographical profile,” Sweets said before his friend could open his mouth, “Reid specializes in them.”
“Basically,” the profiler jumped in, “it uses locational data combined with what we know about the unsub’s behavior to predict what areas they are familiar with. It is effective in narrowing the suspect pool to a more manageable size, particularly in cases where the unsub appears to have no connection to their victims.”
“That—Hodgins lives there,” Brennan spoke suddenly, startling Sweets out of smiling proudly at his friend. Somehow, she had gotten out from behind her desk without him noticing and was leant over her partners shoulder, frowning at the map.
Spencer nodded, seemingly unsurprised by both her appearance and her revelation, “There was a note of that, yes.”
Booth gave the profiler a somber look, “That means he’s our top suspect.”
“No, I wouldn’t say that,” he immediately refuted, frowning at the agent, “Not only has Garcia already cleared him, but he doesn’t fit the profile.”
Brennan frowned at him, looking torn between abject disapproval and something akin to hope, “You can’t ignore the evidence.”
“I’m not,” the genius gave her an affronted look, “Based on the behavioral profile, the unsub is a dominant personality that feels unseen and slighted, is obsessed with the idea of secret societies and the spiritual strength supposedly gained from consuming human flesh, and lives in this neighborhood,” he paused to lean forward and tap the map in Booth’s hands, “He is intelligent and capable. However, the likelihood of him working at the Jeffersonian is low; he is fixated on this team and he would have been unable to resist the temptation to use his position to his advantage before now.”
“It’s his apprentice who works here,” Lance agreed quietly, observing the agent-anthropologist pair. They obviously weren’t distinguishing between Gormogon and his apprentice as much as they should. “We’re looking for someone young, with a more submissive personality, who is easily guided and manipulated. Dr. Hodgins is none of those things.”
“That’s a relief,” Booth commented, relaxing slightly as he absorbed their argument, “but it does leave us back at square one.”
“Not quite,” Spencer disagreed again, pulling out his phone, “I’ll let Garcia know to do a background check on all the residents of the area.”
Brennan turned to Booth and started complaining about the unreliable methods they were using, but Sweets tuned them and Reid out, frowning to himself. All the talk about the apprentice and the differences in his profile when compared to Gorm—the unsub, he found himself stuck on something.
Why did the apprentice do so little?
Yes, the explosion was incredibly damaging, but it was just one incident, staged solely as a distraction. If they truly worked here, though, wouldn’t they be able to cause so much more damage? Less noticeable damage?
“Lance?” Reid’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he glanced up to find all three of them staring at him. Apparently, he had been thinking long enough for Reid to finish his call and refocus the agent and anthropologist.
He gave a sheepish smile, “Sorry.”
Reid immediately shook his head, frowning slightly. “No, what were you thinking? Anything could help,” he gently reminded Sweets of how this type of thing worked in the BAU. They shared every little thought, because anything could lead to a realization that could break the case.
“I just…” Lance shrugged and huffed a sigh, “I can’t help wondering. I mean, the apprentice planted the tricyclic acetone peroxide in one of the most secure storage areas in the Jeffersonian… so what else did they have access to? What else did they do?”
Booth and Spencer both nodded and frowned in thought, obviously agreeing and considering the possibility, but Brennan…. After a moment of silence, her standard look of disgusted disinterest, which she wore whenever Sweets was presenting a hypothesis, melted into a wide-eyed look of startled realization. “The color,” she breathed, nearly jumping out of her chair and startling all three investigators. By the time the others gathered their wits and got to their feet she was already out the door, booking it across the lab.
“Wait, Bones,” Booth called, jogging out of the office to catch up with her.
Exchanging a look, Sweets and Reid hurried out of the office on his heels.
“I can’t believe I didn’t think of it earlier!” Brennan exclaimed, “It’s too light.”
“What’s too light?” Booth finally slowed to a fast walk beside her.
Brennan gave her partner an annoyed look, “The jaw.”
Beside Sweets, Reid let out a surprised noise, followed by and excited, “Oh.” The therapist gave his friend a side-eye but was unable to determine anything beside the fact that he was excited by whatever idea Brennan was exploring. Which… did not help him, whatsoever.
“Cam!” Brennan called, pulling ahead of her partner and waving down the coroner, who stopped mid stride and gave the rapidly approaching group a baffled look. “Do you still have the tissue you used for the DNA test?”
The other scientist blinked at her for a long moment, “Uh, yeah. I do.”
“I need to see it,” Brennan announced, not breaking stride as she hurried past her supervisor and made a beeline through the various agents and scientists wandering around the lab, “And I need to look at the complete test results, as well.”
“Ok,” she agreed easily, turning to follow the anthropologist to her own office, “Why?”
“She needs to check the quality of the DNA,” Reid spoke up from behind the coroner, “to check for any characteristic damage, such as thymine dimers. Although, I don’t know why she wants to see the tissue itself,” he muttered the last bit, frowning at Brennan’s back.
The group filed into the office, Sweets venturing in last, still utterly confused. Cam hurried to Brennan’s side to let her onto the computer and pull up several images, while Reid and Booth moved to peer over their shoulders. Booth’s face was twisted in confusion, but Cam and Spencer both looked rather eager.
After a moment of rearranging the various windows, Brennan leant forward and pointed to a peak on one of the graphs, “There! In the content analysis.” She slid her finger across the screen and pointed out what appeared to be indistinguishable black granulation to Sweets. “And here,” she glanced at the others, “in the tissue stain.”
Cam narrowed her eyes at the screen before turning to stare at the anthropologist. “You think the jaw bone was exposed to ultraviolet light?” she asked, a note of surprise in her voice, “Why would Gormogon do that?”
“He didn’t do it to any of the other remains,” Sweets pointed out idly from the background, still feeling a little lost with the abrupt change in scenery.
Reid nodded, giving Lance a bright smile, “It’s unique to this victim, which means there’s something different about his procedure this time around.” He turned to Cam, “So, if Gormogon doesn’t use UV light, who does?”
Brennan gave Reid a surprised and grudgingly respectful look, “We do.” She turned her attention to Cam as well, “It’s standard procedure for skeletal remains when we put them away for storage.”
“Whoa, hold up,” Booth interjected, “Are you saying the lobbyist is here?”
Brennan shrugged, “We have over 10,000 sets of remains waiting to be identified. What better place to hide a skeleton?”
Lance could almost feel the realization and dread wash over the group, his own stomach dropping. Thousands of remains, a labyrinth of unidentified bones, all here, in the Jeffersonian. And there may be evidence somewhere in that mess.
After a beat, Cam let out a low groan and voiced his thoughts, “How do we sift through 10,000 sets of remains?”
After a beat of baffled silence, Spencer cocked his head slightly, “Well, logically speaking, with lots of people. Though I don’t know where you’d be able to find a crowd of individuals qualified to analyze thousands of remains in the hope of finding bones that don’t belong.”
Brenan’s face, once again staring at Reid, was... priceless. It was cross between respect and something akin to constipation, and Lance had never seen anything like it. It was baffling and delightful; Brennan had been so set on disliking Reid on the grounds of his chosen field, but it appeared she was losing that battle.
After a long moment of Brennan examining Spencer, who was frowning as though trying to solve a puzzle (while Booth and Cam stared at Brennan, and Lance stared at all of them), the anthropologist huffed and pulled out her phone, “I need to get my grad students here.” As she pressed the piece of technology to her ear, she turned to Cam, “I need someone to help organize their search once they arrive.”
Cam blinked, “Right. I’ll…” she took a step back, “I’ll go tell Caroline and ask Angela to help.”
Lane was still rather baffled and confused, but he found he was also hopeful. As he watched Cam disappear into the chaos of the lab and Dr. Brennan steamroll whoever was on the other side of her call, Sweets felt like they just might have a chance.
3 notes · View notes