Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy or Bones, and I'm making no money off this fanwork.

A/N: Just a touch cracky. Setting for Bones is, err, I suppose sometime post season 3 when Sweets is on a break with Daisy, and for BtVS and Angel, this is post-series.

This was a bad idea. Booth even had a running list as to why this was a bad idea:

1.) Sweets' text message hadn't been an invitation. In fact, it had been a response to the 'where the hell are you?' Booth had sent his way, even though he didn't actually need the kid to look over the case until tomorrow morning. Sweets had said he was on a date, apparently a date he was finding interesting because he was specific enough to text back that the place his date had taken him to was strange. And also the directions to said-place. Odd, but not exactly an S.O.S.

2.) It was the middle of the night. Booth's time would be better spent drinking a beer in the bathtub. Or, well, doing anything but following Sweets' directions to some stupid club, all because Bones had asked why a rational person would send information if they didn't mean for the information to be used. Booth had actually laughed at her insistence that something could be wrong with Sweets. Until he was leaving the Jeffersonian and started to wonder if maybe Sweets had sent that text, hoping that Booth could read between the lines.

What if the kid was in danger? What if he was afraid to call outright? Booth tested the theory by sending Sweets another text message, asking what he and his date were having to drink. Sweets didn't reply. So he called. No answer.

Crap.

Or maybe this was some sort of trick for him...Maybe Sweets was setting him up, sending him to singles night at a gay bar.

Booth had his phone up to his ear, preparing for another attempt when he parked his car down a dark, suspicious looking street that didn't look as if it was safe for drug dealers, much less a hot-spot for couples.

And he saw the sign, one word flashing above the door as an enticement, and he nearly dropped his phone.

3.) It was a karaoke bar. Son. Of. A. Bitch.

Okay, so maybe his list wasn't very long, but it was long enough for Booth. Still, the agent wasn't turning back now. Sweets better be in immediate danger.

There was no bouncer at the front door, but there was a sign posted warning against violent behavior. That was strange enough, but Booth pushed that observation to the back of his head. For some reason, he expected it to be louder inside, but the music wasn't rattling the walls. "That Old Black Magic" was playing at a nice, moderate level, and whoever was singing was doing Sammy Davis Jr justice. The place was set up more like an old school lounge than a modern club or bar, and Booth could just barely make out a green suit on stage through the screen divide. He turned the corner and corrected himself. The suit was sky blue, the guy's skin was green. And he had horns.

Booth blinked at the scene, only after another second realizing that the guy on stage wasn't the only person in costume. There was something that resembled a man-pig in one corner, a furry pair with fangs in another, and a couple with way too much skin hanging between them. What the actual hell was this? Some sort of fan club or odd monster fetish meet-up?

Booth made a face. Why couldn't people just let sex be sex? He could almost hear Bones arguing against that statement.

"Booth?"

Startled, Booth spun around to find Sweets sitting on a barstool, sipping at some sort of fruity drink and, apparently, babysitting another one at the empty seat to his left. Booth was at his side in two steps, and if annoyance was showing on his face, then so be it.

"Sweets? Are you okay? What the Hell was with that message?"

The younger man made a frantic wave for him to lower his voice, so Booth leaned in to hear his whispered response. "I didn't mean for you to actually come here," Sweets said, smelling like vodka and looking embarrassed. "I just...I just wanted someone to know where I was in case something bad happened."

Booth frowned. "You do realize you're going to have to explain that to me a little better, right? And where's your date?"

Sweets nodded to the far corner of the room. All Bones could make out was the back of a brown haired woman in a yellow sweater (and no costume, thankfully). "She saw someone she used to know and wanted to catch up. She'll be right back over, but, uh, I was..." He scratched at the back of his neck. "...I might have jumped the gun when I slipped out to send that message. I panicked a little when I saw these people...I haven't been around this particular crowd in a long time."

"Slipped out?"

"There's no service in here." Which explained why Booth's calls went unanswered. Sweets stood from his barstool, motioning toward the costumed man on the stage. "Listen, I swear I'll try to explain this a little better when I'm fully sober. The Host of this place, he's sort of an expert on human behavior, but he has a very novel method of observation. He watches people sing, reads their body language, and then speaks to them about what's troubling them."

"A karaoke therapist? Who wears some sort of devil costume?"

"More like a life coach. He had a very niche group of fans, including my date, who insisted I speak to him before we go on a third date. It's really quite interesting, his process, but he told me that if I wanted to discuss it further, I'd have to participate."

Booth's eyes widened slightly. "You're serious."

"Of course I am. I'm always interested in learning something new." He slipped past the agent. "Don't worry, I'm sure my date will keep you busy while I'm taking my turn." Sweets smiled nervously. "Dawn's great by the way. Kind of odd, but you'll love her."

"Sure," Booth muttered, watching Sweets maneuver past the tables and up to the stage, and regretting the chance to escape as soon as Sweets confirmed he wasn't in any danger. Still, he needed an answer as to why that text was sent in the first place, so Booth sat down, intent on watching.

Music began to play, and Booth snorted when he realized Sweets was about to sing a Foreigner song. Wasn't what he would have guessed.

"Oh my god..."

The breathy declaration caught his attention, and the front of the yellow sweater was now visible and kind of right in his face. The girl was pretty and tall and something about her made Booth think that she and Sweets probably looked cute together. But she was currently wearing a scowl, hands on her hips, and her feet spread slightly. Booth didn't have to be a karaoke therapist to read her.

What was her name again? "Uh, hi...Dawn?"

"What are you doing here?" she snapped. Her eyes widened suddenly. "Are you back in town because of Buffy? That is so frickin' typical of you! You brood and you watch and you brood some more and you can't even bother to call and let people know you're still alive. I'm sorry about L.A., okay, Giles shouldn't have kept his mouth shut, but can you blame the guy for thinking you might have went all dark side? I mean, you kind of have a history."

Her voice was loud enough that the furry people were glaring at the two of them.

Booth opened and closed his mouth, but she seemed to read his silence as something else.

"You do have your soul, right?" She took a quick step away from him, her hand inside her bag. Booth really hoped that wasn't mace. "I mean, if you were evil, you'd be all nailing-a-dead-puppy-on-a-door stalker guy. And possibly borrowing my eye liner. But you're not...but that could be the trap. You could be evil and playing me so that I think you're not evil and that way you can follow me home and get invited inside and then kill and eat my date, who is adorable, by the way, and you are not killing him!"

"Killing him?" Booth was fairly certain the horror was showing on his face by this point, and he was too wrapped up in crazy girl to realize the music had come to a stop.

Horned man appeared, as if out of no-where, looking a tad breathless as he wrapped an arm around Dawn's shoulders, an apologetic grin on is face as he glanced down at Booth. "Dawnie-kins, sweetpea, I think you're mistaking this poor man for someone else."

"Are you blind, Lorne?" Dawn asked, obviously confused. "You of all people should recognize..." Her voice trailed off at the man's tight smile. Booth had a feeling there was a message passing between them.

Dawn looked from the green guy, then back down to him, then at the green guy again. And then she dove for Booth's neck. He barely held down his instinct to twist her arm around her back before he registered that she didn't have a weapon. Instead, she was poking him with two fingers.

"Are you checking my pulse?" Booth asked.

Sweets appeared just in time to see her pull away, her cheeks almost as red as Lorne's eyes. "What did I miss?" he asked.

"Uh...nothing?" Dawn said. "I just, heh, funny mistake actually. See, I thought he was someone I knew, and this lighting is super bad. Turns out he's not my sister's ex-boyfriend, after all."

"Okay," Sweets said, slowly. "But why were you checking his pulse?"

"He..." Dawn's brow furrowed in thought. "He...looked like he might be having trouble breathing. So, you know, it was totally normal. To do that. Everything's totally normal here. And his heartbeat is fine, so it was probably just constipation or something..."

Booth stood up quickly, hands raised in surrender. "Okay, you know what? I'm checking out of this conversation. Sweets, enjoy your insane date and your weird fetish club, and for the love of God, do not text me again tonight, even if you've been kidnapped by terrorists."

He stomped back toward the entrance, just wanting to get back to his SUV and go home and enjoy a bubble bath. But it really should have come as no surprise when a small blonde met him outside the door, gave him a look so distraught that he almost asked her if she needed help, and promptly punched his lights out.

Booth added, 4.) Because crazy people, to his list when he regained consciousness.