Author's Note: Considering the dark direction a lot of my work is in heading right now, I decided to lighten things up a little for myself with this short piece. Thus, expect lots of fluff with just a dollop of angst. ;) Also, this one will borrow from my The Heart of the Family fic, but as usual, knowledge of that fic will not be essential. I'm thinking that this one will be about three chapters long...

I do not own Bones or any of its characters.

Thank you in advance to everyone who reads/follows/reviews this. It's always appreciated. :D

The Anxiety in the Illness—Part One

After hitting his snooze button on the alarm clock for the third time, Doctor Lance Sweets was forced to confront a fact that he had been trying to avoid for the past two days: he was most definitely ill.

It had started over the weekend. At first, he thought that maybe he had caught a simple flu bug with the usual tiredness along with aches and pains. He planned on spending the weekend in his apartment, getting as much sleep as possible. But then he received an urgent phone call from work. Agent Cothern, who he had done a profile for in relation for a homicide, desperately needed him for a consult to go over some new evidence and leads in relation to his profile.

Sweets ended up spending hours at his office, fine-tuning his original profile and then going over the particulars of it with Cothern. To his credit, Cothern tried to make it up to Sweets by buying him some sandwiches and soups from one of the nearby delis so he wouldn't have to go without eating. But the psychologist often found himself too nauseous to eat and mostly picked at his food over the course of those two days. By the end of the weekend, Sweets was thoroughly exhausted.

Now Monday morning had come, and Sweets dreaded facing the upcoming work week in his current condition.

He eventually dragged himself out of bed and into the bathroom. Staring at his reflection in the mirror, Sweets knew that he looked terrible. But he hoped that a shower and a fresh suit would conceal his condition enough to be able to work without hassles.

While he got ready, the therapist decided that he should re-schedule the two therapy sessions he had lined up today so as to avoid spreading his illness to others. He briefly considered staying home altogether, but then remembered that he had a stack of profiling assignments that needed attending to including one for Booth which involved the deaths of several armed guards in a particularly audacious bankroll heist.

As he was walking out the door, Sweets considered calling an order for breakfast over to the Royal Diner and picking up before work to save time. The second his hand touched the phone, however, Sweets was struck by an overwhelming sense of nausea and ended up running back to the bathroom instead. He managed to crouch down in front of the toilet before vomiting up what little he had on his stomach from the past two days. Soon he was down to choking on dry heaves and was able to pull himself up onto shaky legs shortly after that.

While re-brushing his teeth and cleaning his face, Sweets decided to skip breakfast…and lunch for that matter.

After an initial good start, things swiftly went downhill for Sweets once he arrived at work. Thankfully, his secretary informed him that the two patients he was supposed to see that day had both canceled due to Bureau commitments, saving Sweets the trouble of having to contact them himself.

His good fortune did not remain as the day progressed. He locked himself up in his office and buried himself in profiles so as to avoid interacting with co-workers, hoping that he could ride his illness out. But after working for hours, the psychologist felt like he was stuck in a permanent brain fog that was making it difficult for him to complete his tasks. Even worse, not only did the weakness and nausea persist, it was soon accompanied by chills and a stubborn cough.

Sweets tried taking a nap at one point to regain some strength, but was unable to fully rest due to his cough which was punctuated by sharp pains in his chest and by the occasional bringing up of a thick, dark phlegm.

The therapist soon gave up on sleeping and went back to his profiling as best he could. He had just completed another fit of coughing when Booth strode into his office.

"Hey Sweets, you got that profile I asked for?" the agent asked, leaning on the edge of the couch. "I've got some new leads that I was hoping you could help me narrow down."

"Sure, just a minute," Sweets mumbled as he slowly picked himself up out of his desk chair. He had worked on Booth's profile when he first arrived and was now grateful that he had done that. It had taken him twice as long as usual to complete, and Sweets was convinced that if he had started it even just an hour later, he might not have had it done when Booth showed up.

"Here," Sweets said dully, laying the file onto the coffee table across from the couch. He then immediately went back to his desk so that he could collapse back into his chair.

"Thanks," Booth said picking the file up and thumbing through it. "Oh and by the way, Bones and me were planning on grabbing a drink after work. You want to come?"

"Thank you, but I have a lot of work left to do," Sweets replied with more than a little regret in his voice. "I'm probably going to have to stay pretty late…Maybe next time?"

Sweets was unable to say anything else due to another violent coughing jag. Booth looked up from the file and walked over where the psychologist was sitting.

"Hey Sweets…are you all right?" Booth asked, concerned.

"I'm fine…Just a bug," Sweets gasped out as he tried to regain some composure.

"You don't sound fine," the agent frowned. "Why don't you go home and sleep this off?" Sweets shook his head.

"No, I have too much to do," he rasped. "I have reports to finish and a load of other profiles to get started on so that I can…"

Sweets abruptly stopped talking when Booth reached over and put a hand to the therapist's forehead. Sweets blushed at the gesture.

'What is he doing? Checking my temperature?' he thought to himself. While the psychologist was touched by Booth's concern, he couldn't shake the thought that Booth probably did things like this with Parker all the time.

"Listen, you're starting to get a fever," the agent said, moving his hand away. "You should go home and get some rest as soon as you can." Booth then reached into his pocket and pulled out a card and pen. After writing on the card for a brief moment, he handed the card to Sweets.

"Ok, this doctor is a member of one of the offices that accepts the Bureau's insurance plan," Booth explained. "He's been my doctor for a while now, and he's a good, straight-forward kind of guy. You should go see him tomorrow so that you can get checked out."

"Agent Booth, it's just a cough…I'm sure it will…"

"Look, I'll call ahead and make sure he can squeeze you in tomorrow," the agent continued, ignoring Sweets' protests. "I'll even remind your secretary to send your medical files over to his office first thing in the morning so as to make things easier for the both of you. You just make sure to call and set up an appointment whenever it's easiest for you. Ok?"

"All right, I'll go as soon as there's a break in my schedule," Sweets sighed. The psychologist sensed that there was no way he would be able to argue his way around it. Worse still, he was starting to feel like a child around Booth.

"Great, I'll just check up on you tomorrow," Booth grinned, satisfied that he had gotten his way. He picked up the file that Sweets had given him.

"Take it easy, Sweets," he said as he started to walk out. "And be sure to make that appointment tomorrow."

"Yeah, see you later," Sweets said. Booth nodded and walked out, closing the door behind him. The therapist then turned to look down at all the paperwork on his desk and ran his hands over his face.

He was starting to get a second wind, and he hoped that that would be enough to get him through the rest of the day.

A few hours later, Sweets finally trudged back into his apartment. He had just barely been able to get his work done for the day and wanted nothing more than to go straight to bed. He took a moment in the kitchen to contemplate making himself a quick meal before sleeping, but when his stomach began to clench and lurch for the umpteenth time that day, Sweets quickly decided against it.

Instead he shrugged off his suit for some pajamas and turned up the thermostat in an effort to stop feeling so chilled. The psychologist then crawled into bed, and his eyes closed the second his head touched his pillow. It was a colossal struggle for him to make sure to set the alarm for the next morning, and once he was done, Sweets was completely drained.

But even though he craved sleep, it simply was not coming. Part of that was due to his alternating flashes of chills and fever, and part of that was due to his coughing which continued to make the pain in his chest worse.

Sweets knew that he should probably take Booth's advice and see a doctor tomorrow, but he was hesitant to do so. It wasn't because he feared doctors or hospitals in any way. Nor was it because he had an aversion to dealing with illness.

The truth was that it had far more to do with his medical history than anything else. Specifically, it was the necessity of explaining all of his old injuries to a new physician, including the scars that were carved into his shoulders.

Sweets wheezed while he contemplated this. If Brennan had been able to look at the psychologist's X-rays, she would have seen that those scars were just one indication of his horrific past. There were also numerous fractures along with a couple breaks written into his bones. Sweets was sure that if she looked closely, she would have found other markers of injury as well.

Things like that were never easy to discuss to relative strangers, no matter how many years had passed.

The therapist was finally able to fall into a restless sleep. As he dreamed, his mind went back over his memories of doctor visits from his childhood…almost all of them unpleasant.

One memory was especially vivid, and Sweets relived it in his dream.

Lance was nine years old at this point and was due for his semi-annual checkup. His mother, Carolyn, was still recovering from an illness of her own, so his father, David ended up taking Lance to the doctor. Lance had also been feeling a bit under the weather, and considering his son's medical history, David was eager to have him checked over for any possible health issues.

When they arrived at the pediatrician's office and David went to sign in, they were informed that Lance's regular doctor was on sabbatical due to a family crisis. Lance would be seen by another doctor who was handling her patients for the next couple of weeks until a more permanent substitute could be found.

After what seemed like an endless wait, the nurse called Lance and David back to be seen. She recorded Lance's current height and weight, and then guided the two of them to an examination room.

'Ok Lance, you know the drill,' the nurse smiled. 'Get into that gown, and the doctor will see you in a few minutes.' After she left, David settled into a nearby chair and faced the wall so that Lance could have some privacy while he changed.

'All right, sport. Do what she says and this will be over before you know it,' David said.

Lance quickly changed and then moved to sit in David's lap while they waited. Normally, Lance wasn't keen on doing things like that in public, seeing himself as too old to be held like a child. But when he wasn't feeling well, he drew a lot of comfort from close physical contact with his parents.

Soon the door opened and a short, portly man with a wide grin walked in.

'Hello…I'm Doctor Forbert, and I'll be standing in for Doctor Colinablanca today," the man said as he strolled over to them.

'You must be Lance,' Forbert grinned as he held out his hand. 'And how are we feeling today, hmmm? A little yucky perhaps?'

Lance rolled his eyes even as he shook the doctor's hand. He didn't enjoy the somewhat condescending tone that Forbert was addressing him with, but he tried to remember what David had taught him about adults not always being able to appreciate his intellect right away.

'I'm ok, I guess,' Lance shrugged. 'Just kind of tired.'

'Actually, Doctor, Lance has been not feeling well for a couple of days now,' David added. 'He hasn't been sleeping enough, and his stomach has been bothering him.'

'Well let's see if we can fix that' Forbert nodded as he glanced over Lance's charts again. 'Lance could you hop up on that table for me?'

Lance complied and sat as still as he could while the doctor examined him. At first, things were very routine, but then Forbert asked him to open his gown in the back a little bit so that he could listen to Lance's breathing with a stethoscope. The doctor had not been entirely successful in suppressing a gasp, and Lance instantly felt a hundred times more uncomfortable.

The rest of the examination was spent mostly in silence, after which Forbert left for a brief moment. He quickly returned and told David that one of the nurses needed to see him for a moment regarding his insurance. After he left, Forbert turned to Lance with a somber look in his eyes.

'Look Lance…if there is something you need to tell me…about anyone that could be hurting you….you can tell me now,' the doctor said carefully. 'You don't have to worry about your father…So feel free to speak freely.'

Lance knew what Forbert was implying and found himself quickly growing angry. The past three years that he had spent with David and Carolyn had been the happiest ones of his entire existence. In Lance's eyes, his parents were the kindest, smartest, most loving people on the face of the earth. He knew that they would do anything for him, and thus he had become completely and utterly loyal and devoted to them.

And whenever anyone made these kinds of accusations toward his parents due to his scars, Lance was swiftly filled with near-instinctive anger.

'My dad never hurt me…he loves me,' Lance said through gritted teeth.

'Lance you don't have to be afraid,' Forbert said, placing a hand on his shoulder. 'If he is…'

'No!' Lance nearly shouted at him while yanking himself away from the doctor's touch. 'Mom and Dad love me, and I love them….Andrew…he did that to me…'

'Andrew?' the doctor questioned.

Just then David walked back into the room.

'What's going on?' he said. Lance jumped off the examination table and ran over to his father's outstretched arms. Seeing how agitated Lance was while he held him, David narrowed his eyes at the physician.

'What have you been saying to my son?' he growled.

Back in the present, Sweets blinked his eyes open and shoved his blankets aside. His fever had spiked back up, making him uncomfortable under all that bedding.

He thought back to the memory that he had been dreaming about. It had turned out that Forbert had not been as thorough as he needed to be in checking Sweets' medical history before seeing him. It had taken a long discussion with two of the nurses and the head physician of the clinic before everything was cleared up. Eventually it was decided that Lance would see a different doctor who was more familiar with the Sweets' situation until Colinablanca returned to work.

Unfortunately, it was far from the last time that Sweets had to deal with that sort of incident. As a result, the psychologist had been reluctant to find a new general practitioner to replace the one he had been seeing for years in his hometown.

That reluctance was proving to be just as strong now, as Sweets re-thought his plans for tomorrow.

'I'll just call in sick tomorrow and sleep in,' he reasoned. 'It's just the flu…It will clear up in a day or two….There's no need for me to go through all the fuss of seeing a doctor who's just going to tell me to stay home and rest anyway.'

Decision made, Sweets made a mental note to call his secretary tomorrow and let her know that he wasn't coming in. He then spent the rest of the night wrestling with fevered dreams when he wasn't shivering or coughing.

'I just need some sleep is all' he told himself over and over. 'Just some sleep…'