"Trust is a commodity afforded only children and fools.
A wise man's only worthy companion is faith.
To say, 'I trust you' is to say nothing;
To say, 'I have faith in you', says everything."

~ Moxie-ism #2

At two o'clock, Sweets looked up to see Booth standing in the doorway.

"Yes, Agent Booth, what can I do for you?" He asked eagerly.

"Uh—" Booth held onto both sides of the door frame and swayed back and forth in hesitation.

"Come on in. I have time," Sweets offered, standing.

"No, no. You look busy—" He started to walk backwards, though he never broke eye contact with Sweets. The psychologist could tell Booth needed to talk about something.

"I'm really not—" Sweets shrugged and smiled invitingly.

"Okay—here's the thing. I have a question—"

"Go ahead—"

"We've known each other a long time—years—"

"Yes," nodded Sweets, coming around from behind his desk to stand in front of the armchair he did most of his shrinking from. "You are establishing our history—I can see that. Can I assume this is an issue of a personal nature? Sit down," he said, gesturing toward the couch across from his own chair.

"I just have a minute—but I have a question—and I don't want to you to make a big deal of it—understand? Don't try to shrink me—I'm just trying to figure something out here—"

"Uh, huh. Uh, huh—okay. May I ask what this is in regard to?"

"Well," Booth started, then puckered and closed his eyes. He still wasn't sure this was a good idea. "I've been thinking about predictable behaviors—of all of us—"

"All of us—?"

"Yeah, you know, predictable behaviors of our whole team. Angela, the squints, you, Brennan—myself—?" He said placing a hand on his own chest. "Where Pelant is concerned, I mean. He seems to believe he can predict what we'll do—right?"

"Yes, he does. He's usually correct as well. He believes his strength to be knowing what all of our moves will be before we execute them. The times we have beaten him have been when we have caught him by surprise."

"Yeah, I was thinking the same thing—" The wrinkles across Booth's brow disappeared and his shoulders relaxed. He took a step into Sweets' office.

"So, what is it you'd like to know—specifically?"

"Okay," Booth said in a low voice. He glanced back over his shoulder then stepped completely into the room and closed the door behind himself. He then hung a hand low on one hip and nonchalantly put his other hand over his mouth. "What is more predictable—" He continued to speak with his mouth obscured. "Is it paranoia to be concerned that this room may be bugged?" He whispered suddenly.

"No, Agent Booth," Sweets chuckled assuredly. "Where Christopher Pelant is concerned, no precautions are too great," he affirmed in a whisper, followed by nonchalantly covering his own mouth in a faked yawning gesture. "Why don't you come closer so I can hear you better."

"So—here's my question. How do I put this?" Booth looked around the room and sighed heavily. Okay—what if someone—"

"Pelant." Sweets eyes bore a hole in Booth's. Both men still had their mouths obscured from view.

"Pelant," Booth whispered in concession, then hesitated on the precipice of coming completely clean with Sweets about what was going on. Too risky, he finally decided. "Okay," he said clearing his throat as he carefully sat on the edge of the couch across from Sweets. "If Pelant told—someone—to keep some information from someone else under the threat of harm—"

Sweets' eyebrows shot up to his hairline. His eyes dropped swiftly to the coffee table as he attempted to disguise his surprise, then wandered back up to peek at Booth between his ashes.

Booth stared at his companion and grimaced apologetically. I really shouldn't get him messed up in all this, he chagrined, still trying to decide how far he should go with this conversation.

"What I mean to say is—what is more predictable," he began slowly, cautiously, "that that person would tell the other person or that he wouldn't tell them?" His face then crumpled in realization that this questions was most likely way too ambiguous.

"Agent Booth, that question is paradoxical and impossible to answer without foreknowledge of the personalities and their relationship to each other—not to mention the nature of the secret."

"Okay, okay, yeah, you're right. Um," he slumped back against the couch cushions and rubbed his chin as he looked around the room, waiting for another approach to occur to him. His eyebrows flew up when one arrived. He sat forward, pressed his hands together as if he were praying, and began again. "Angela and Hodgins. What if it were Angela and Hodgins? What if Pelant told Hodgins a secret and said he'd—"

"Hurt Angela?"

"No, no. No, not hurt Angela—but—maybe he'd hurt someone else—"

"Michael?"

"Uh," Booth stared hard at Sweets, then stood up and circled the couch in an awkward stop-start-stop-turn-resume-stop-return-sit fashion. "Hopefully not Michael. But, maybe someone Hodgins doesn't know. Just—some random person."

Sweets stared at Booth for a long moment, his brain buzzing. One part working on the literal question, another part trying frantically to figure out what the real question was and why Booth was asking it – which had a lot to do with the cagey manner in which he was asking it.

"Uh, okay." Sweets, continued to stroke an imaginary goatee. He thought for a full minute. "We already know Angela can keep a secret—a serious secret, at least. She didn't tell anyone where Dr. Brennan was for three months she was on the lamb—"

"Right," mumbled Booth, leaning back once again.

"Unless it's just, you now, silly stuff, in which case Angela would invoke the spouse rule. But, Hodgins," Sweets blew out a long breath allowing his lips to vibrate.

"Assume it's serious—serious as a heart attack."

"Dr. Hodgins would keep it to himself." Sweets frowned and nodded confidently. "But he'd probably come to you, if that means anything to you."

"Okay—so—what is predictable is that Hodgins would keep it from Angela?"

"Definitely."

"So, Pelant would predict that Hodgins would not tell Angela whatever it was he wasn't supposed to tell her?"

"Correct—"

"What about—Cam? Cam and —whazzizname?"

"Arastoo. His name is Arastoo. Cam would definitely keep the secret to herself—I think. Though, that might depend upon their relationship which I have to admit—"

"What about me and Bones?" Booth blurted.

"That's easy. Bones would not tell you. Remember when she left with Christine for three months?"

"Hmmm—"

"Although, having been through that with you already, maybe she would go the other way this time—she might assume that Pelant would predict her silence, and therefore she'd tell you—just to trip-up Pelant."

"Good point," Booth answered absently as he pulled at his bottom lip. "What about me? What would you predict I'd do?"

Sweets stared at his colleague, his companion, his friend. "That would depend, I guess—"

"On what?"

"Well, why you would share the secret if the cost were potential harm to another human being."

"What if sharing the secret could really save her a lot of—trouble." Booth dropped his hand from his mouth and jammed both of them in his pockets, then stared at the coffee table for a moment. When he glanced up with only his eyes, Sweets was staring past him out the window.

"Hmmmm. And, you're not asking if you should reveal the secret even though it would spare someone some hardship." Sweets kept him hand over his mouth and continued to speak in a low tone. "You're asking which is more predictable—that you would share the secret or that you wouldn't share the secret despite the consequences. Correct?"

Booth's knee had begun to jump up and down like a pump jack on an oil rig. "Um hmmmm."

"Well, I guess that would depend on a couple of variables—" he said thoughtfully. "Agent Booth, this is not an easy question to answer with so little information—"

"Never mind, Sweets," blurted Booth, jumping up from the couch and darting from the room before Sweets could stop him. He'd already figured out what he would do. He instinct was to protect his family and the four anonymous people at all cost. And that was precisely what Pelant would expect. So now, Booth knew what he had to do ... he just had to figure out how to do it.

This is actually a scene from the cutting room floor from 'Bed of Lies'. Hope you enjoyed it. ~ Mox