Chapter Text
Despite… everything, things went back to normal—or at least something that passed for it. The BAU went through the motions and tried to make the best of everything they could, but there was an underlying tension that left them all on edge. The Jeffersonian, however, were completely unaware of the lingering danger and truly did return to normal, or at least began repairing their broken pieces. There was a lot of friction as those pieces grated against each other, as they learned how to function with a missing piece and shattered confidence, but they still cared greatly for each other— and that went a long way.
That missing piece… well, Zack was in an insane asylum now, just as they had planned. The FBI had notified Lance that, upon his recertification, he would be responsible for checking up on the young doctor. He couldn’t help being a little relieved about that; he had feared his lack of certification at this critical juncture would have prevented him from seeing Zack. He really wanted to figure out why his confession felt so… wrong. If there was one thing the BAU had taught him it was to trust his instincts, and his instincts were screaming that something was off.
Unfortunately, Sweets didn’t have much time to dwell on the ex-member of the Jeffersonian team. He filled every waking moment he could with paperwork and consultations, and every moment he couldn’t was either spent with his family or in a state of panic. Or both.
The BAU was just as busy. They were only able to spend about a week more in the area before they were called out on a case—a serial killer picking off immigrants as they crossed the border in Texas. They had closed two more in the week since then and had spent barely two days in town. It was very difficult to be separated from them all so soon after the… package, but he knew they had jobs to do. Thankfully, Emily was still by his side almost constantly and he got to see the others—the ones who didn’t leave, like Penelope and Will and Jess, not to mention Jack and Henry—even when the team was out of town.
At the moment, however, even Penelope was gone—the team was in Alaska of all places, and communication was hair-raisingly difficult. The tech analyst had practically showered him in trackers before she left and had nearly tied her beau, Kevin, to a chair in her effort to train him on her ‘Sir Lancelot’ software. Despite the ever-present reality of the situation, it was quite humorous to witness.
The Jeffersonian, meanwhile, had managed to close a simple crime of passion case a little over a week ago, despite their low spirits and missing member. Cam had quietly mentioned, as she stood watching Brennan work on the bones of the victim, that she was under pressure to make Brenan find a new intern already. She seemed just as disgusted by the idea as the rest of the team; they were simply not ready to fill Zack’s shoes.
Regardless, they had other things to worry about at the moment. To be specific, they had a leg. Just a leg. One solitary right foot, from the knee down. When Booth had called to let Sweets and Prentiss know, he had dropped several inappropriate lines that had the profilers rolling their eyes. Apparently, the limb had been discovered in a dumpster in a sketchy part of downtown DC; there were several teams sweeping surrounding alleyways while Cam took charge of the still rather fleshy discovery and Hodgins retreated with the shoe and sock.
Lance was at a breaking point in his work and Emily had nothing better to do so the pair made their way down to the lab, hoping to find everyone in a good mood. Upon their arrival in the sterile white bullpen, however, they found Brennan disgustingly impatient and doing her best not to scowl at Hodgins, who was disturbingly gleeful over something, and Booth, who looked completely lost as Hodgins babbled at him.
“Okay there, turbo,” Booth was holding a hand up as the profilers approached, “Slow down. What’s so special about this piece of fuzz?” he peered down at the petri dish on the tray held in front of him. Hodgins gave him an unimpressed look over said evidence and Brennan crossed her arms as she rolled her eyes at the side of her partner’s face.
“Salix exigua,” she said in a tone that clearly said she was repeating the information, “It’s a seed from a shrub, Booth.”
Booth blinked at her, “And how does that help us?”
“It’s not just a shrub,” Hodgins retorted indignantly, “It’s a willow. The narrowleaf willow, to be precise.”
The agent blinked at him, “And?”
“It’s not common around here,” he grinned, “In fact, it’s considered to be a threatened species in Maryland, and it doesn’t really grow in Virginia at all.”
“Ok,” Booth nodded and peered down at the white fluff on the tray again, “Does it narrow down where our victim was before the murder?”
“No, not really,” Hodgins frowned, looking put out.
“So, nothing yet?” Booth sighed, looking disappointed. Beside him, Brennan huffed and shifted impatiently on her feet.
“I only have a sock and a shoe,” the entomologist grumbled, “I’m working on it.”
“Hopefully we’ll have more evidence to work with soon,” Prentiss spoke up, drawing attention to herself, “Right, Booth?”
The agent gave a wry smile, “That’s the idea, anyway.”
“Right, well,” Hodgins gave a one-shouldered shrug, “I’ll get back to it.” He gave the group as strained smile and wandered off, muttering about particulates.
Booth heaved a large sigh and reached up to rub at his forehead. Brennan shot him a concerned look but dismissed it quickly.
“I’m going to go check on Cam,” she announced, turning on her heel.
Booth groaned into his hand and Lance exchanged a look with Prentiss.
She sighed, “I’ll go make sure they don’t kill each other.”
Sweets gave her an encouraging smile as she walked off, before turning his attention to Booth. It was obvious, watching the team like this, that things were still slightly off. It was… both better and worse than immediately following Gormogon; the pain of Zack’s betrayal and loss had faded some, but the restlessness and the helplessness born from that loss was worse than ever. It was understandable that the team would be struggling, but it hurt to watch.
He was still standing there trying to find something to say when Booth glanced up and flashed him a quick grin. “I’ll catch you later Sweets,” he fished his phone out of his pocket and lifted it in a salute as he moved away, “I’m going to go check on the dumpster diving units.”
Caught off guard and unsure on how to react, Sweets simply smiled and nodded as he walked away. As the agent turned his back and disappeared out of view, however, his smile became strained. Lance would do anything to help the team get back on even footing, but he had no idea what to do. Even if he had more time and energy—even if he wasn’t constantly looking over his shoulder— he didn’t think he’d be able to help them, and that just… hurt.
“We’re a little messed up, aren’t we?” a tired but amused voice drew his attention towards the offices. Angela, burdened with a very thick file, came to a stop a few feet from him and gave a soft smile, “How’re you doing, Sweets?”
Lance shook his head and smiled back, “I feel like I should be asking you that.”
“Yeah, well,” the artist shrugged, “We’re all a little off right now, but I know Emily is working on another local case— I mean, she’s just helping us on the side, right? Seems reasonable to think you’d be helping with… whatever it is.”
He blinked in surprise at her, “I… I mean, you’re not exactly… wrong.” Emily was working on another local case and he was involved—he just wasn’t helping with the investigation. To be honest, the profiler was a little impressed that Angela had picked up so much.
She grinned triumphantly, “See? So,” she leaned forward slightly, almost conspiratorially, “I’m tired and stressed; how are you?”
Sweets snorted, a genuine smile crossing his face. “Tired and stressed,” he echoed wryly.
“That sounds about right,” the artist chuckled. “Anyway, I’m headed to drop off a bunch of boring administrative stuff on Cam,” she hefted her armful of paper demonstratively, “You wanna tag along?”
“I don’t have anything better to do,” he smiled and gestured toward Cam’s office, “Lead the way.”
The pair entered the room to find the three women—Emily, Cam, and Brennan—huddled around Cam’s computer. Cam was scribbling something on a sticky note while the anthropologist watched on impatiently and Prentiss strategically covered a smile.
“There,” the coroner thrust the piece of paper toward her co-worker, “Will you let me finish my tests in peace now?”
Brennan shot her a look but, as she accepted the note, appeared to ignore the comment. “Let me know when you’re done with the leg,” she announced, “I’m going to go give this to Booth.
As she disappeared around the corner, Sweets turned to the others, “What was that?”
“Turns out the victim had an artificial ankle,” Prentiss lowered the hand from her mouth, revealing her grin. “Cam had literally just found the serial number when we got here.”
“Well, we should be able to get an identity, then,” Angela filled in cheerfully, plopping her armload onto Cam’s desk.
The coroner groaned, “What’s this?”
“Just administrivia,” the artist grinned at her, “It can wait.”
“Oh, thank god,” she muttered, somewhat sarcastically, rubbing her forehead.
“Since you’re already interrupted,” Lance started hesitantly, “Have you found anything else interesting?”
Cam snorted and glanced up at him, “Not yet. I’m running a tox screen and taking a few samples for Hodgins. I probably won’t be able to say much until we get the next piece of the body, to be honest.”
“Everyone really seems on edge, don’t they?” Angela commented, “I mean… we just got a leg, and everyone is all impatient already.”
“Well,” Lance started hesitantly, “This is the first challenging case we’ve had since… Gormogon. The last one was rather simple.”
Emily nodded in agreement, “Anticipation and pent up energy, combined with uncertainty and concern…”
They exchanged a look, heavy with shared observation, that gave Lance déjà-vu to all the meetings where the BAU finally figured out a profile or stumbled across a breakthrough.
Turning back to their audience, he finished the thought with a self-conscious shrug, “No one wants to mess up; everyone suddenly has something to prove again.”
Angela looked thoughtful, nodding slightly, but Cam blinked at them in an almost startled manner. “You know,” she commented, “sometimes I forget you two are experts in all human behavior, not just criminals.”
“It’s a hazard of the job,” Prentiss snorted, “The BAU actually has a pact—we don’t profile each other.”
Sweets couldn’t help letting out an incredulous laugh at that, “Like anyone actually follows that.”
The other profiler screwed her face up at him and shoved him in the side, “We try, Junior!”
“Oh yes,” he agreed in a false earnest tone, “You try very hard not to let the others know you’re profiling them.”
“Oh, shut up, you,” Emily scoffed, pushing him again, “You’re just as guilty as the rest of us.”
Lance grinned at her, reveling in the lighthearted feeling, “Never said I wasn’t.”
After a beat of silence, Angela chuckled, shaking her head, “Good to know.”
“Yes, good to know,” Cam echoed, lips quirked in amusement even as she rolled her eyes. “Now, get out,” she made a shooing motion, still grinning, “I need to get back to work.”
Obediently, and laughingly, the three shuffled out of her office and headed back the way they came. As they reached the base of the platform, facing the entrance, Sweets caught sight of Booth and Brennan talking excitedly to each other. Curious, he paused, prompting his companions to hesitate as well. After catching sight of what had drawn his attention, however, Angela waved them off, wishing them good luck and heading back to her office.
When he continued to hesitate, unsure if he should approach the pair or not, Prentiss caught his arm and pulled him across the few yards separating them. As they approached, they glanced up; Sweets took their eager expressions as a good sign.
“We were just about to head out,” Booth shot a brief smile their way, “We’ve got a lead.”
“Yeah?” Prentiss asked curiously, “Did you get an identity?”
“Based on the serial number Cam found, our victim is Thomas Knight—spelled with a ‘k’ by the way,” the agent smirked in amusement. “He was a heavy equipment mechanic… who’s been dead for nearly two years.”
Sweets felt his eyebrows creep up to his hairline, “Well, that’s something for sure.”
“It makes no sense,” Brennan agreed, “Cam didn’t find any indication that the leg was frozen and the level of decomposition…” The anthropologist broke off and shook her head, her meaning clear.
Booth nodded, “Bones and I are about to go speak with the doctor who signed the death certificate.”
“Let me guess,” Prentiss quirked a wry smile, “small town?” Lance could help agreeing; regardless of the motivation, this type of thing—faking a death—was so much easier in a small town with inexperienced personnel. They were often both easier to fool and easier to bribe.
The anthropologist gave her a strange look (obviously missing how the profiler had determined that), but Booth just snorted and nodded, “Harmony, West Virginia.”
“What’s the doctor’s name?” Sweets asked, mind already working towards what he could do for the investigation which, at this point, was almost entirely research; they didn’t have enough information for a profile yet.
“Sarah Davis,” Brennan supplied helpfully, “She runs a clinic and is the local coroner.”
“Don’t worry about it, Sweets,” Booth interjected waving a hand, “Take the day or something; you two will be of more use once we know more.”
He frowned, not exactly disappointed but… unsettled by being relegated to the sidelines. “But—” he started.
“No, really,” the agent cut him off, smiling warmly, “They found an arm a few miles away in Maryland and more limbs are bound to show up soon. That means the squint squad will know all sorts of things for you shrinks to pick apart tomorrow. Go…” he waved a hand in a vague shooing motion, “Have a beer and watch a horrible show or something. Unwind a bit.” He punctuated his last statement with an appraising look that made Sweets squirm. Booth was far too insightful for his own good.
Emily nudged him gently, “Will did say something about steak tonight.” When he turned to look at her, she gave him a knowing smile, “And the kids would love to see you.”
Lance felt his resolve crumble and gave his friend the best glare he could muster, “That’s fighting dirty and you know it.”
“And?” she prodded, still grinning.
He huffed a sigh and rolled his eyes, turning back to face Booth—who was watching the pair with a restrained look of amusement. Even Brennan was giving them a small smile. “You win,” he told the agent drily. “Have fun in West Virginia.”
“Have a nice night off,” he shot back before turning to face his partner. “Let go find out how our victim died twice!” he set off towards the doors.
Brennan frowned deeply and hurried after him, “That’s not poss—oh. You mean figuratively.”
“It depends on your point of view,” the agent teased, earning a peeved look from the anthropologist, before they disappeared out of view.
Lance turned to face Emily and found her waiting with a grin, “Ice cream and then dinner?”
Surprised, he snorted, “I think Jack is rubbing off on you.”
“There’s nothing wrong with ice cream,” she protested, even as she linked her arm with his and started for the exit.
“Exactly,” he chuckled, nudging her in the side.
She huffed, sounding annoyed—though her crinkled eyes betrayed her amusement. “Whatever, Junior.”
Since the BAU was gone once again and danger was an unfortunate looming possibility, Jessica and Jack had decided to crash with Will and Henry again. Strength in numbers, and all that. As this was the second time it had happened in a rather short span of time, they had fallen into a routine. The boys thought it was splendid, having a playmate around even when they weren’t at school, and treated the experience like an extended sleepover. Jack even had an airbed in Henry’s room. The adults were just thankful they got along and didn’t seem to be aware of the constant stress their family was under.
Jessica, however, was eternally concerned about bothering Will or outstaying her welcome, especially since she took over an entire table for her writing whenever this happened, in addition to the guest room. When she wasn’t writing or looking after the kids, she tended to stress bake, or cook, or even clean, depending on her mood and writer’s block. The detective, however, was eternally amused by the boys and thankful for Jess’s willingness to help out when JJ was gone. His way of expressing this was banning Jess from the kitchen every so often and making something mouth-wateringly delicious.
These meals were always quite large—Will used it as an excuse, insisting there was no way the four of them could eat it, so obviously Lance and Emily (and typically Penelope too) had to join them, but it was clear it was actually by design. A year ago, Lance had barely known Will, but since Jack adopted him as an uncle and… he came back, Lance had gotten to know the detective more and more, and was rather fond of him. Will often appeared solemn and stoic, even when he was smiling—there was just something about his demeanor that left that impression—but in reality, he was a dad who happily made a fool out of himself to make his son laugh, an intelligent conversationalist, and an incredible storyteller who had a finely-honed sense of humor.
To be honest, he was rather ridiculous… but that suited the BAU family just fine.
Speaking of, Lance and Emily were greeted at the door of the Jareau-LaMontagne household by Will, who had Jack pinned under one arm, wriggling and laughing so hard he was crying, and the sounds of Jess chasing a squealing Henry around the living room.
The detective grinned at them and hefted the boy demonstratively, “This ‘ere rascal nicked tha cookies.”
“So… did—so did Henry,” Jack gasped out wriggling harder and beaming up at the new comers.
“I see,” Emily nodded seriously, giving Jack a dramatic examination as she stepped into the house, “And what is his punishment, officer?”
“Death by laughter, I’m afraid,” Will mirrored the profiler’s solemn examination.
“Well,” Emily smiled wickedly, “Does the executioner require assistance?”
“Noooooo,” the captured boy lamented, squirming wildly.
Will just laughed and stepped towards her, “If you like, mon ami.”
“Uncle Laaaance,” Jack cried out pleadingly.
Lance took the opportunity as he shut the door behind himself to school his grin into a more neutral expression. Turning back to his nephew, who was still thrashing wildly as his captors prepared to tickle him, he affected a regretful expression, “Sorry buddy, you’re on your own here.”
“Noooo, please!” he let out a squeak as Emily grabbed his feet, “Aunt Em! Stoooop!”
Lance watched in amusement as the three ended up in a pile in the entryway, the two adults tickling Jack relentlessly. Jack managed to curl up into a ball after a bit, giggling and thrashing back and forth as he tried to protect his most vulnerable spots, like his armpits and neck.
A moment later, Jessica appeared in the doorway to the living room, Henry dangling by his legs in front of her, squealing and laughing. “I caught him!” she announced gleefully, swinging the boy like a pendulum and eliciting another excited squeal.
“Time ta deliver the punishment!” Will pushed off the floor, abandoning his pseudo-nephew with Emily, and approached his son, wiggling his fingers dramatically.
Henry let out another wordless squeal and desperately pushed his shirt, which had bunched up at his chin, back up his chest. Heedless of the struggle, Will descended on him, digging his fingers into his sides and blowing a raspberry on his stomach for good measure. All the while, Jess securely held his legs and shifted her weight to accommodate the renewed thrashing.
As she did so, she beamed at Lance over their heads. “Welcome to the land of chaos!” she declared.
Lance snorted, “It’s good to be here.”
Before long, the tickling devolved into a free-for-all as Jack and Emily formed an alliance and tackled Will from behind, followed shortly by Henry and Jess cornering Lance… before Lance proved his skill and Henry called a truce and turned on Jessica. They spent several more minutes rolling around on the floor and being generally undignified, until a timer going off in the kitchen had Will extracting himself from under the two panting boys to go tend to the meal. After panting and giggling on the floor, everyone else dragged themselves into the living room and onto proper chairs.
Lance found himself wedged between Jack and Henry on the couch, thoroughly saturated in contentment and pleasantly exhausted from the ticklefest. The others seemed similarly worn as the next few hours passed lethargically, even the boys were full of subdued smiles and tiny giggles, as opposed to their normal excited chatter. By the time the dishes were being cleared, they were both nodding off.
As, apparently, the favorite uncle present, Lance was roped into reading a bedtime story, perched precariously on the edge of Jack’s airbed. Henry fell asleep like a light switch as soon as he opened the book, but Jack stubbornly stayed awake—head jerking up every few minutes—until the entire story had been read. (It was rather endearing…)
The rest of the night passed with amiable conversation and a bottle of red wine as the adults shared stories and laughter long into the night. It was the best medicine; Will’s meal, steak done to perfection, was delicious and satisfying—though even with their numbers there was plenty leftover—and the time spent together was absolutely wonderful.
A pleasant evening with his chosen family, peaceful, full of joy and so far removed from the stress of his now daily life… it was exactly what he hadn’t known he needed.