Summary: You and Sweets have been in a relationship for a year now, but it isn’t until a case involving a certain metal band that you realize there might be something he’s not telling you. Something about his past. You don’t want to press, but you can’t help but worry.
Warnings: Scars, and very short mention of abuse
As soon as you step foot into the venue, the blaring metal music floods in around you. You wince and quickly cover your ears to dull the screaming voices and screeching guitars. The music reverberates through your ribcage, pounding and ragged. Why do people listen to this kind of stuff? You can barely make out the mass of moving bodies ahead of you because of the flashing lights and flickering fires that practically blind you. It’s all so much, too much. You’ve never liked crowds, but this is a whole different level, and the urge to escape grips your chest.
You jump when a hand rests against your shoulder and you whip around only to see Doctor Brennan peering at you worriedly. “We won’t be here long,” she assures you, though she has to scream for you to hear her.
You nod, eyes darting back to the crowd of people, all covered in leather and heavy makeup. The two of you stick out like sore thumbs in your normal clothes, which was never something you thought would be possible. You huddle closer to your mentor, swallowing your nerves and twisting your fingers into your sweater.
“I’m going to call Booth!” She shouts out again.
You don’t respond this time, not that it really matters in the situation. You doubt you could get loud enough to overcome the noise.
Why did you have to come on this excursion? Why couldn’t Clark come? He was your senior after all. You had just recently started working at the Jeffersonian, and you were currently the youngest intern on the team. You figured it would be a calm job, just working with your people and maybe a few witnesses every once and a while. This...This was not what you were thinking of.
“I’m disturbed that despite my extensive training as an anthropologist, all these bands sound alike and appear to share identical belief systems and morals.” You hear Doctor Brennan shouting into her phone, to who is most likely Booth. She pauses, listening to his response before speaking up again, “I have no idea what you’re saying.”
You bite your lip nervously, eyes scanning the dark crowd again before landing on the stage, where the band ‘Zorch’ was performing. That’s why you were there, to question them about the remains.
You shy away when a man comes into your space, pressing a hand to your back. With wide eyes, you look to Doctor Brennan, begging silently for help. She stares at the man with her brow furrowed, and then recognition floods her eyes.
What? You look back up at the man’s painted face, eyes narrowing as you take in his features. Then it hits you, just as quickly as it hit the anthropologist. It is Sweets! You couldn’t recognize him with the makeup and slicked back hair.
“Wait, is that really you?” You question, stepping closer to him. He casts a look down at you, lips pulling into a small smile that makes your heart stutter.
“Yeah, I had to meld to get information. What do you think?” Sweets holds his arms up, looking mighty pleased with his metal getup.
Your eyes slowly trace over his figure, and you can’t help but notice how well his sleeveless black shirt fits him, or how it shows off his arms. Heat comes rushing to your face, turning your cheeks rosy. Thank goodness the venue is so poorly lit, or else he’d probably notice. Your eyes lingers on the choker strapped around his neck. Part of you wants to grab the ring on it and drag him close for a kiss, which only serves to darken your blush.
“You look good,” you manage to squeak out before quickly turning to Doctor Brennan, completely missing the small smirk that replaces Sweet’s smile (he definitely noticed your flushed face).
“What information have you gathered?” The anthropologist asks him, completely oblivious to how flustered you just grew.
“Zorch’s lead singer is Murderbreath,” Sweets begins, gesturing to the stage just as the man blows out a puff of fire, “Look at that. Who does he think he is, the guy with the tongue from KISS?”
You laugh at the jest. You used to listen to that band, back in your rebellious teen phase that everyone goes through.
Sweets explains how the feud of the two bands has progressed, though your eyes stay focused on the band, looking for anything that might help with the case somehow. That when you notice the lead singer pull out a large knife, thrusting into the air for all to see and drawing chants from the crowd.
“Guys, he has a knife,” you worry aloud to your colleagues.
Sweets gently draws you closer to him in a somewhat subconscious way, “No, don’t worry, it’s totally fake.”
A shudder passes through you when the singer drags the blade along his throat, blood immediately dripping down his painted skin. He thrusts the crimson knife back into the air victoriously, before gripping his neck with his other hand. Blood seeps out from between his fingers, coating his gloves. You gasp when the man convulses and drops to his knees, fingers still wrapped around his throat.
“That’s...not fake,” Bones murmurs, “Murderbreath slit his own throat!”
Before you have time to even process what’s happening, you’re dashing forward, easily weaving through the throngs of fans. The screeching music fades into the background, overcome by the pounding of your pulse in your ears. The flashing lights blur together and all you can focus on is the man crumpled on the ground. The people part around you as you jump onto the stage, quickly followed by Doctor Brennan and Sweets.
You dive down next to the singer, pressing two fingers to his pulsepoint and covering his hand with your own.
“We need something to stop the bleeding,” you urge, panic swelling in your chest.
Brennan looks around quickly, “A compress, we need a compress!” Her eyes lock on Sweets before she darts up, ripping his shirt right off of him despite his complaints.
She drops back down, pressing the wadded fabric to the man’s neck. It’s only then that the music comes to a halting stop. The band goes silent, glancing between each other and towards their lead. You shake your head, lips pursed in irritation. Now they take it seriously.
“Hold this against the wound,” Brennan directs Lance before shouting into her phone, “Booth, can you call it in?” You assume his answer isn’t what she wants, because she shuts the phone with an irritated huff and begins dialing a new number.
Glancing around, you feel anger rise to replace your panic when you see how many people have their phones out to film the spectacle. Without hesitation, you jump up in front of the group, shoving some people back and blocking their cameras. Who, in their right mind, would record something like this?
“Stand back, please!” you cry out, taking a step back as the crowd pushes forward in retaliation, “Please! Get back, we need space to work! Move back!” Do these people have no respect? Or just basic decency?!
You take a glance back at your colleagues to check on what’s happening, but your eyes land on something that knocks the very breath from your lungs. Your chest tightens painfully at the sight of the scars running along Lance’s shoulders. The dancing lights glaze over them, catching on the raised skin like little criss-crossing lightning bolts. A burning sensation fills your throat, spreading to your eyes, but you blink rapidly, determined to not let it get the best of you right now. There are more important things to focus on! You turn back to the crowd, arms spread wide to keep the stage clear.
Soon enough, paramedics and police come rushing into the venue. Everything else comes as a blur. The sirens, the gurney, rushing out to the ambulance, it all swirls together in your mind like a chaotic storm. It leaves you dizzy when things calm down and Murderbreath is on his way to the hospital. You, Sweets, and Doctor Brennan are left standing outside the venue, and it’s then you notice Sweets is still shirtless.
“We need to get you a coat before you catch a cold,” you murmur worriedly, trying your hardest to shove the images of his scarred shoulders out of your mind.
“I have one in my car,” he tells you with that familiar gentle smile, but now it carries a different weight to it. Is that just you, though? Could you be overthinking this all?
You let out a heavy sigh and aggressively rub at your eyes as Sweets walks away. Why hadn’t he told you about it? You could guess the cause, not many wounds left marks like those, plus, in your field of work you are exposed to all kinds of scars. Did he not want you to know? Why wouldn’t he want you to know?
You look over to Doctor Brennan, the heavy weight in your chest growing almost impossible as you blurt out, “Lance has scars on his back.”
“Scars? What kind of scars?” She peers at you with that perplexed expression of hers.
“Almost like he’d been…” You pause and flex your fingers to keep your nails from digging into your palms, “Like he’d been whipped. They were old.”
“Has he not talked to you about it before?”
“No, do you think that means something?”
She tilts her head, almost like a dog, not that you’d ever say that out loud, “I am not sure what you mean.”
“Well, I mean, we’ve been dating for a year now, don’t you think, I don’t know, don’t you think he would have told me something like that?” You bite down harshly on your lip, “Does he not trust me with his past?”
“It is best to not assume what Sweets might be thinking,” Doctor Brennan murmurs in that ever present, logical tone.
It’s not much, but it’s enough to placate you a little. She’s right after all. You have to gather the evidence before making any inferences. It’s possible Lance just wants to forget whatever happened to him, which you can understand. Horrible things are sometimes best left in the past. Taking a deep breath, you roll your shoulders and give your hands a good shake.
“Yep!” You squeak and turn back around to face Lance, who at some point snuck up behind you, “Peachy! Just fine! Is everything- Is everything okay with you? Not cold anymore?”
“I’m warming up,” he replies with a lecherous grin, “Though I could use some help.”
You can feel the heat rise to your cheeks when Sweets spreads his arms wide for a hug. The slight twinge of self consciousness doesn’t stop you from tucking in close though, fingers linking together at the small of his back.
He rests his chin on top of your head gently, “Is everything really okay?”
Of course he’d notice. You weren’t being the most subtle you guess.
“I’ll tell you about it later, okay?” You promise quietly and hide your face in his coat.
“I suppose we should head back now. Booth will want to question Murderbreath if he’s well enough,” Brennan calls out to you as she heads to her car, “Will you be driving back with Sweets, (Y/n)?”
“Sure! If he’s okay with it!” You turn your eyes up to him questioningly.
And just like the gentleman he is, Lance takes you back to the lab, leaving you with the promise to talk after work. You do your job with as much attention as usual, but in the back of your head, you can’t stop thinking about how on earth you're going to broach the subject.
How do you ask someone about something you probably weren’t meant to see? You know he probably won’t get angry, Lance has always been patient and oh so sweet (his name really did fit him). You just don’t want to cross any boundaries. Should you wait? Should you ask Booth about it first? No, no that’s a terrible idea, he would just get all awkward. You groan and set down the tibia you're currently looking at. It’s all so frustrating!
You’ll just have to do it. Lance always says communication is the most important part of any relationship. Even if you don’t know how to start it, you're sure he’ll know how to direct the conversation!
With that in mind, you wrap up quickly and wish Doctor Saroyan goodbye as you head out of the lab. Lance is waiting just outside for you, leaning back against his car’s hood. All the makeup from before has been cleaned off and his hair is back to its normal fluffiness.
“Well hello there handsome,” you chirp, leaning up to peck to his cheek, “Good to see you back to normal.”
Lance laughs softly, “Was it really that bad?”
You purse your lips for a second, glancing away when you think back to his outfit. The makeup was a bit much, but the rest of it…
Oh gosh, are you blushing again? You quickly bury your face in his chest, which is rumbling with his laughter. How embarrassing! Could your face go just a minute without lighting up today? It felt like every second, there was something that made your cheeks flush. It’s a wonder how you haven’t just turned into a tomato yet.
“Shut up,” is all you end up grumbling, “Will you take me home now?”
“Sure.” He gives you a small squeeze, “Hop in.”
You practically dive into the passenger seat to avoid anymore discussion of your embarrassment. Knowing Lance, he’d use this to tease you for quite a while. You just hope he’ll go easy on you, especially around your colleagues. You’d probably die if he brought this up around Doctor Brennan or Doctor Saroyan. Or even Hodgins, because goodness knows how he’d make fun of you for the rest of time.
During the drive back to your apartment, Lance intertwines his fingers with yours and rests them in his lap, thumb tracing over your knuckles. It’s enough to calm the jitters vibrating in your chest. It’s like the embarrassment and anxiety over your upcoming conversation have swirled together in a chaotic rush.
“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you now?” Lance breaks the silence of the car, though he keeps his voice soft.
You take a deep breath. Everything in your head has led up to this, you can do it.
“I...I saw the scars...on your back…”
His hand stiffens in yours, not much, but just enough for you to notice.
Things fall quiet for a few seconds. You watch Lance’s face nervously. His eyebrows synch down just the slightest bit and his lips press into a thin line. You can practically see him thinking the whole thing out in his head. The gears turning, the conflict, the small flash of pain. It makes your heart ache.
“We don’t have to talk about it, Lance,” you reassure him softly, “It’s okay.”
Those honey orbs glance at you before locking back on the road. You really wish you weren’t in the car right now, so that he didn’t have to split his focus like this. Whatever this is, it can’t be a light topic.
“I’m okay,” Lance finally says, “It’s okay. This is something I’ve worked through, we can, we can talk about it.”
Good, that’s good. You weren’t going to push it if he didn’t want to talk about it, but it lifts the weight in your chest to know he’s open to it.
“Can we wait until we get to your place though?”
You settle back into your seat, though your hand stays firmly in Sweets’. It’s a comfort to you both. The rest of the drive goes by fast, thankfully, and before you know it, you’re right outside your apartment building. Even as you walk up to your place, Lance trailing behind you, your fingers stay linked.
“Want anything to drink?” You ask as you toss your jacket on a hook and slip off your shoes.
“No, I’m fine,” he mumbles and slips into the living space.
You pace about your small kitchen in an attempt to keep yourself busy, but find nothing to do, so you slip onto the couch next to the psychologist. You sit close enough for your knee to brush his, but hopefully not close enough to crowd him.
Lance scratches the back of his neck with a sigh and starts, “So, you know how I grew up in the foster system for a bit?”
“We’ve talked about it, yeah.”
“Well,” his voice comes out a little shaky so he pauses. You scoot closer to rest a hand on his knee, to ground him. His hand covers yours and he sends you a grateful smile before starting again, “Well, when I was young, I ended up in a bad foster home, and um, and the foster dad-” another heavy pause, “-he would beat me.”
Your heart absolutely sinks at those words, at how meek he sounds now, compared to your usually self-assured, outspoken boyfriend. How could this happen to someone like him? Someone so wonderful and gentle, someone who does everything he can to help others? No wonder he never told you about it.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that, Lance,” you murmur in a gentle tone.
He draws his shoulders back a bit with a deep breath. It’s like he’s letting the weight slowly slip from them as he leans back into the couch. You watch his face as it subtly shifts through several emotions, someone bad, some good, some just thoughtful. Eventually, he raises an arm, a silent signal for you, to which you curl into his side. His fingers trace along your arm before settling on your elbow and giving it a small squeeze.
“Don’t be sorry. I wouldn’t be who I am today if I didn’t go through that,” he reminisces, voice still quiet, “I might not have joined the FBI, might not have...met you.”
You look up at him, touched yet worried at the same time.
“I might not have had the best childhood, but I’m living a good life now. If I can stop it from happening to someone else, then it’s all been worth it,” he says, the brightest, most genuine smile lighting up his lips.
The awe that hits you almost sucks the breath from your lungs. You can’t help but just sit there and stare up at Sweets adoringly. It’s like his heart is made of pure gold, something that can’t be touched or soiled by the hardships of his past. He’s your greatest treasure, holding more value to you than anything you could ever hold, touch, even be near. He’s...absolutely amazing.
“I love you, Lance.” You can’t help it when the words slip off your tongue.
Those eyes are once again set on you, swimming with unbridled content, peace. They sweep you away into their depths, and all you can do is to wrap your arms around him to keep yourself anchored. He pulls you close, lips pressing oh so softly against your forehead.
“You want me to wear it again?”
“Really?” His tone comes out teasing, eyebrow perched high as he gazes down at you.
“You’re so mean,” you huff, not even bothering to hide your blush this time.
Lance only laughs and bows down to press his lips to yours briefly, though it’s enough to set your heart racing.
“I’ll go change now, if you’d like,” he hums, throwing you a little wink as he steps out of the room.
“Jerk,” you grumble under your breath.
I hope you enjoyed this story! It was a tad longer than usual, but it’s something I’ve been wanting to write for a while! This is one of my favorite episodes :)
As always, if you have any requests, don’t be afraid to ask! I’ll write for Sweets, Aubrey, and most of the interns! Love y’all!
