Work Text:
Being a squintern for Dr. Brennan at the Jeffersonian was hands down the best thing to ever happen to (Y/N). She didn’t even care that she had to share the position with other interns, she was just happy that she was able to work with everyone at the Jeffersonian. It has been two years of interning and (Y/N) feels like she’s been kinda accepted into the strange family atmosphere they have in the lab. She's closest to Angela and Sweets though. Angela is her best friend in the lab and Sweets has helped her through a couple tough times in the last two years she has known him. Plus the huge crush she has on him might add onto why she’s so close to him. Not that he knows. For as much as he talks about knowing Bones and Agent Booth’s secret feelings for each other, he couldn’t see what was right in front of him.
Though (Y/N) is thankful for that because she is 97% sure he doesn't like her like that. It has even crossed her mind that he does know and he is ignoring it because he doesn't like her, but Angela has told her that he can be kinda blind sometimes. Yeah, Angela knows about her feelings for Sweets after (Y/N) got a little (a lot) too drunk one night and blurted it out to Angela. Who has not let one single opportunity to tease her about it slide. (Y/N) is just thankful nobody has caught onto it yet. She doesn't know how she would be able to work with them is they knew. Plus she really didn't want to lose the relationship she does have with Sweets. She’d rather pin after him and be friends then have no contact at all, or any contact they do have to be awkward.
“Ms. (Y/L/N), have you found cause of death?” Dr. Brennan asks, drawing (Y/N) out of her thoughts. She looks down at the remains of the latest victim and tries to re-focus on the case.
“Y-yeah,” (Y/N) clears her throat and points to the skull, picking it up and turning it so Dr. Brennan could see the reconstructed skull. “It took a little bit to figure out which of the 147 fractures on the body was cause of death, but I found that the fracturing on the skull caused a small fragment of the skull to get dislodged and penetrated the brain, killing the victim instantly.” (Y/N) hands the skull over to Dr. Brennan and watched as she inspects the skull because nodding.
“Very good work Ms. (Y/L/N). “ She hands the skull back and smiles at (Y/N). “That very well could have been cause of death. Angela has already done facial reconstruction and identified the body. Booth is getting ready to inform the victims family and to ask if they know anything about why the victim might have been killed. I will be going with him. I want you to stay here and help Hodgins analyze the different particulates found on the body.” And with that Dr. Brennan leaves and (Y/N) signs before heading towards the door behind Dr. Brennan.
She isn’t feeling very well today. Not like physically, but mentally. She’s been feeling it ever since she woke up that morning. (Y/N) could feel herself keeping less and less of a grip on her emotions. (Y/N) has a feeling that today is not going to be a very good day, but she sucks in a deep breath and readies herself to meet Hodgins. As she walks her first through pinky fingers on both hands take turns touching her thumb, a trick she learned when she was younger to help deal with her anxiety. It’s not normally a problem at work, but it is bugging her more than normal today. As she gets to Hodgins' lab she sees that there are two groups of samples on the table in the middle of the room. Hodgins is bent over, looking through a microscope at something.
“I have split the different particulates into two groups. One are ones that I think are going to be the most helpful. There is just so much that we need to prioritize them, or it will take forever to find anything useful.” He doesn’t even look up from whatever he is looking at to talk to (Y/N). “Plus I have a haven’t slept in the last two nights so I am beyond tired so I just want to work quietly to get this done as fast as we can. I wrote down the instructions for how to mix the chemicals together to clean the particulates of all of blood on the table over there.” He waves his hand in the general direction of a table in the corner before bringing it back to the microscope, adjusting it slightly. “Tell me when you finish.”
(Y/N) nods, even though he couldn’t see it and heads over to the table to get the instructions. She looks over it and heads towards the chemical fridge to get what she needed. It looks pretty simple and it shouldn’t take long to finish. She puts all the ingredients on a wheely table and brings it to her work space. (Y/N) start to measure everything out and pour everything together, but before she can add the last ingredient, the mixture starts to bubble and (Y/N) stares at it for a second. It is definitely not supposed to be bubbling. Before she can tell Hodgins, the mixture starts bubbling faster and creating a horrible smell and spilling over the top of the beaker she is using. She stumbles back and brings the edge of her lab coat to her nose, trying to stop coughing. She slams into the edge of another table and hears Hodgins rush over to her.
“What happened? What did you do?” He asks, coughing as well. He covers his mouth before rushing over to the table where the mixture is growing and fumbles with the beaker of ingredients before dropping them and grabbing (Y/N), dragging her towards the door. “Shit! (Y/N) you used the wrong chemical!” He drags her out of the lab and pushes the emergency lockdown button for his lab. He lets go of her arm and people start rushing over to them. (Y/N) drops to the floor, heaving and trying to catch her breath. Not only is it hard for her to catch her breath due to the chemicals, but she can feel a tightness in her chest that is a warning sign of a panic attack. She is starting to feel queasy, but she can’t catch her breathe(Y/N) to say anything.
Now there are dozens of people crowded around (Y/N) and Hodgins and it is doing nothing to help (Y/N)’s anxiety. A couple are kneeling by her, trying to help her but she can’t focus on anything. As she tries to calm herself down, she looks up and sees Hodgins stalking towards her, a worried looking Angela behind him. (Y/N) curls into herself as he gets closer, the look of fury on his face.
“You just contaminated all of the evidence! None of the results will be conclusive because all of it will be compromised by the poison gas you just made! I gave you simple instructions (Y/N)! A ninth grade chemistry student could have followed them!” Hodgins yells and (Y/N) can feels tears swelling in her eyes. Angela puts a hand on Hodgin’s shoulder and tried to tell him something, but he cuts her off. “No Ange! She could have just ruined the case for us! All of the evidence is in there! I hadn't even started sorting through it yet! Now, thanks to her, we might never catch who killed the victim.”
(Y/N) can’t stay there any longer, so she stumbles to her feet and runs towards the door. She still can’t breathe and the tears aren’t helping her catch her breath. She’s so busy wiping her eyes she doesn’t see someone coming through the same door she is running out of and collides with a solid body. She slams into the door frame and the other person falls to the floor. (Y/N) turns to the person to apologize, but she can't get anything out. When she looks down she sees Sweets looking up at her, concern in his eyes when he sees her tears. Before he can say anything, (Y/N) starts running again, ignoring him when he calls after her.
(Y/N) keeps running, but she can feel panic starting to cloud her mind and she doesn’t even know where she is in the building at this point. She looks around frantically, trying to recognize something, anything, but she can’t. There isn’t anybody around and her hands find their way into her hair, tugging at it as she desperately tries to think of what to do. Suddenly she spots a bathroom sign and sprints to the door, throwing it open and slamming it behind her, hands fumbling with the lock. Her hands are shaking so bad she can barely turn the lock. (Y/N) sinks to the floor and gasps for breath and she is starting to feel lightheaded. There’s a part of a wall about two or three feet between the door, so she leans against it, letting the coolness of the tile cool her warm skin.
She can’t believe that she was so stupid! Hodgins could not have left clearer instructions, they were even numbered! How did she even mess it up that bad? The ingredients weren’t even chemically able to cause a gas! Unless she grabbed to wrong beaker. She closes her eyes and thumps her head on the door. She must have grabbed the wrong chemical! She brings her head up and thumps is back onto the door. It doesn’t even hurt so she does it again. She could have blew up the lap if she didn't pay attention to the chemicals! She’s lucky Hodgins got her out in time or else she could have killed herself and Hodgins. Her head comes down onto the door again and she winces in pain. That time it hurt. She brings her hand up to her head and feels the tender skin just above her hair line. She is feeling really light headed and she knows she is going to pass out soon if she can’t calm down.
(Y/N) desperately tries to remember what Sweets told her to do when she has a panic attack, but she can’t remember. She brings her hands to her arms and starts to scratch. Pain helps anchor her to something other than the panic most of the time. She drags her nails over her skin until her forearms burn. But it starts to work. She can feel herself starting to catch her breath. After a few minutes of dragging her nails over her skin, she isn’t feeling so lightheaded and her breath has slowed down. Her hands slowly stop their movement and she takes a deep breath. Suddenly, she feels exhausted, like she just ran a marathon. But that is what panic attacks do to her. They wear her out to the point where she just wants to fall asleep afterwards. She closes her eyes and gently rests the side of her head against the door, careful not to touch the sore spot.
¨Ms. (Y/L/N)!” Dr. Sweet’s voice calls out and (Y/N) heard it through the door. Her eyes snap open and sh looks down at her arms. They are full of welts and some of the scratched are bleeding. They are so red she can barely see the scars under the dark color. She stumbles to her feet, suddenly feeling wide awake and stumbles to the sink. She turns on the cold water and holds her arms under it, trying to wash away the blood. The water is freezing and stings the open wounds. Sweet’s foot steps are getting closer, so (Y/N) runs to the paper towel dispenser and starts to cover her arms. The one day she wears white sleeves! There's a knock on the door that makes (Y/N) jump in surprise.
“(Y/N), are you in there?” Sweet’s voice calls through the door and (Y/N) freezes, holding her breath in hopes that he’ll leave. Sweets tries to open the door, jiggling the door knob and (Y/N) closes her eyes.
Please just go away. She thinks desperately. She can not let him see her like this. He already knows about her anxiety and she has told him about the panic attacks before, but she never wanted him to see her so soon after having one. One glance in the mirror tells her what she already knows. Her hair is a mess from the tugging, her eyes are red and puffy, there's tear tracks all over her face, and her arms, while now covered in paper towel, look like they got mauled by a mountain lion.
“(Y/N), I know you are in there. I followed you as fast as I could and this is the only locked door in the entire hallway. Please open the door and come out. I just want to help.” Sweets pauses, as if hoping for an answer, but when (Y/N) remains silent, he signs. “If you don’t open the door to at least let me see that you are okay, I’m going to have to get a security guard to get a key to open the door and come in anyway. So you might as well let me in now so no more people get involved. I know you don’t want any more people seeing you like this than you have to.” After another pause, “Please (Y/N).” he pleads.
(Y/N) takes a deep breath and moves towards the door. She tosses the paper towel in the garbage first and pulls her sleeves down over the markings. She quickly darts her hand up and unlocks the door before bringing both her hands to her side, trying to draw as little attention to them as possible. (Y/N) takes a step away from the door as it opens and Sweets comes in. (Y/N) keeps her eyes to the floor, letting her hair fall in front of her face to hide from him. She hears the door close behind him, but she doesn’t move.
“(Y/N),” Sweets takes a step closer to her and slowly brings his hands up. He doesn't touch her, just puts his hands out towards her, almost like one would do to a frightened animal as a way of showing it that they mean no harm. Which fits the situation quiet well, since (Y/N) is sure she looks like a wild animal. She can feel his eyes on her, accessing and analyzing her, trying to figure out the best way to approach her.
“(Y/N), can you please look at me?I need to see you to make sure that you are not a danger to yourself.” Sweets talks in a soft voice, as if to comfort her and make her feel safe. (Y/N) slowly looks up, bring her eyes to meet his and she can see that he looks worried. His eyebrows are furrowed and he looks tense, but he breaths a sign of relieve when she looks at him. She doesn’t move any other part of her and it doesn't escape his attention.
“I’m fine now. Just overreacted a little bit. I’m sorry I knocked you down earlier. I wasn’t watching where I was going.” (Y/N)’s voice came out scratchy from the crying. Sweets is shaking his head before (Y/N) is finished speaking and he takes another step towards her so he is only about a foot away from her now.
“Nothing to apologize for. I ran into you just as much as you ran into me. And you did not overreact, you were having a panic attack, but I think you know that. We have talked about your anxiety in the past and you told me that your way of stopping one and gaining control of the situation is causing yourself pain as a way of anchoring yourself, so I’m sorry, but I am going to have to see your arms (Y/N).” He takes another step forward, his hand going towards (Y/N)’s arm. When his fingertips brush against her arm, she jerks away from his touch. She takes a step back and her back hits the wall. Sweets freezes and moves his hand back.
“I have to look at your arms (Y/N). I can’t let you leave until I am sure that you are going to be okay.” He says. (Y/N) shifts her weight from foot to foot and her eyes dart to the door behind him. If she’s quick enough and can get past him, maybe she can make it to the parking garage and to her car before he catches her. She’s pretty sure she is faster than him. She brings her eyes back to his and tries to look more relaxed, so he doesn't figure out what she is planning.
“I am fine Sweets. I used one of the other exercises you taught me and I calmed myself down.” She tries to sound as convincing as possible, even though she knows he’s practically a human lie detector. He gives her a disappointed look and crossed his arms.
“Even if I wasn’t good at telling when someone is lying, I would be able to see through that. I am not leaving until I do a search to see if and where you hurt yourself. And you aren’t leaving either.” Sweet’s voice is firmer than it was before and (Y/N) knows if she’s gonna leave she has to do it soon.
“Please Sweets,” (Y/N) pleads, hoping he’ll move away from the door. She does not want to shove past him, she already knocked him down once today, she doesn't want to do it again. He signs and step forward, unfolding his arms and motions with one of his hands for her to walk with him.
“Lets just sit down and work this out (Y/N). Then we can-” (Y/N) cuts him off by bolting for the door as soon as he is far enough away from it for her to squeeze past him. She yanks the door open and is halfway out before an arm latches onto her bicep. She tries to jerk away, but Sweets gripes her arm tightly.
“Let me go!” (Y/N) screams, whipping her body around to smack at his hand, hoping he’ll lose his grip. The door closes behind her again and in a panic she swings her fist blindly towards Sweets, not caring enough to aim, just trying to get him to let go. Before she can land a hit though, Sweet’s other hand come up and catches her hand in his.
“No! Calm down (Y/N).” Sweets grunt, trying to keep a hold of (Y/N), but she squirms and jerks around, doing everything she can to make sure he couldn’t hold her still enough to pull up her sleeves. She twists and turns, but she can’t break free. Sweets tightens his grip and tugs her towards him. She slams into his chest and he brings his arms around her, locking his arms around her waist, pinning her arms to her side at the same time. She writhes in his arms, but he tightens his grip and locks his hands together so she can’t break free. He walks them backwards until his back comes in contact with the wall and he slowly slides down the wall until they are both sitting on the floor, (Y/N) in between his legs. His legs come up to bracket hers.
“Calm down (Y/N), you’re okay. You’re okay” He murmurs into her ear, repeating it over and over again until she start to calm down. Tears are streaming down her face again and she lets out a sob. Her body goes slack and she lets him hold her.
“Please just leave me alone Sweets. Please!” (Y/N) sobs out, and when she looks down at her sleeves, she panics when she sees blood has seeped through and is standing out against the white material. She twists her arms so that they are angled down so Sweets can’t see them. He adjusts his grip so he isn't squeezing her as hard, but he doesn't loosen his grip on his hands.
“I am not leaving you like this (Y/N). You are in no state of mind to be by yourself right now. You need medical attention for your arms and to make sure there wasn't any damage to your lungs from the gas you inhaled earlier.” (Y/N) closes her eyes and leans her head back, resting it on Sweet’s chest. His chin comes to a rest on her forehead and she winces, opening her eyes to look at him. He notices her wince and moves his head. He looks at her and she can see the concern in his eyes. “And we need to get your head looked at.” He whispers and more tears fall from (Y/N)’s eyes.
“Please, I’m okay. I swear. I’ve had worse in the past and I’m probably going to have worse in the future. I know how to take care of myself.” (Y/N) tries to reason with him, but he shakes his head.
“Be that as it may, I will not leave you alone until we get you checked out by a professional. If you don’t a doctor from the hospital I’m sure Dr. Saroyan could examine you. She’s more than qualified to check your lungs.” He pauses and signs before continuing, “And if you would feel more comfortable, I am trained in first aid, so I could take care of your head and any other small injured you might have. Or Dr. Saroyan could take care of those as well, it is completely up to who you feel more comfortable with.” Sweets holds her for a moment longer, the silence suddenly deafening as (Y/N) realizes just how out of control she’s been acting. Her cheeks flood with shame and embarrassment and she can feel more tears getting ready to fall. She refuses to let them though, she’s already made enough of a fool of herself in front of Sweets. There’s not point in fighting any longer, he’s not going to let her walk away from this without a physical exam, and probably a full psychological evaluation as well.
“If I agree to let you and Dr. Saroyan examine me, will you let me go?” (Y/N) tries, but she can already see, not to mention almost feel, the look Sweets is giving her. “I promise not to try to run away. There’s no point. Either you or someone else from the Jeffersonian would just do one when I came back to work anyway. No use in delaying the inevitable.” She can tell he is still hesitant, but his grip loosens anyway. His arms open all the way and (Y/N) scoots away from his, maneuvering until she is sitting with her back to the door, crossing her legs so that there’s some space between the two of them. She misses the warmth of his chest against her back and the coolness of the metal door is freezing against her back. A stark contrast from the warmth it was against moments ago. (Y/N) looks up at Sweets and sees that his eyes are glued to her arms, staring at the blood that is on her sleeves.
“T-there should be a first aids kit in here somewhere. They’re normally by the sinks.” (Y/N) motions towards the sinks near the stalls and that seems to snap the psychologist out of his thoughts enough that he gets up to retrieve the kit. It gives (Y/N) enough time to really think about what just happened and what is about to transpire. She has told Sweets is earlier sessions, or meetings since they weren’t really a weekly thing, about her anxiety. She hasn’t told him what caused it, or about the scars on her arms and stomach. All he knows is that she used to scratch or pinch herself to help anchor her during panic attacks. Now everything is going to be out in the open, with no way to take any of it back. Any chance of him actually liking her back will vanish the second her realizes just how broken she is. She knows it. It has happened before when a past boyfriend or girlfriend saw just how damaged she was, physically and mentally. He comes back with the big red first aid kit and sits it on the ground next to them. He ops to sit criss cross, like her to be closer, presumably so he would have easier access to her for medical attention.
“I should tell you something before you start.” (Y/N) bursts out. She avoids looking him in the eyes, choosing instead to watch his hands as he goes through the kit, gathering supplies as she speaks. “You are going to see some stuff and I don’t want anyone else to know about them. Especially anybody at the lab. I do not want anyone to treat me differently and I will be able to tell if you tell them.” She brings her gaze up to his and stares at him. “I need you to promise me.” Sweets nods immediately.
“I won’t tell anybody. Even if I wanted to, which I don’t, patient confidentiality prevents me from telling anyone anything about you that you don't want them to know unless you share something that proves that you are a danger to others. No matter what I think is best.” He whispers that last part, as if it may not be meant for (Y/N). She takes a deep breath and grabs her sleeves, yanking them up in quick succession and braces herself for Sweets’ reaction. To her surprise, he doesn’t recoil in disgust or anger as he sees her arms. In fact, she can see tears swell in his eyes. His whole body tenses and he freezes, it doesn’t even look like he is breathing. The only part of him moving is his eyes as they scan her arms, reading every word engraved there, all the fresh blood, and the line after line of scars going up her arms until they disappear under the top of her arm, where the sleeves cover the rest. Some are years old and starting to fade, while some are so fresh that there were still scabs on them before she scratched them off during her panic attack.
“This is why I always wear sleeves. I’m not actually cold all the time. I just can’t let people see these.” (Y/N)’s voice cracks as she tries to explain. “I may have a few more problems than I have told you about.” His mouth opens like wants to say something, but nothing comes out. It just stays open as her stares at her scars, re-reading every word, the tears in his eyes falling onto his cheeks. Something in (Y/N)’s chest tightens at the look of sadness in his eyes. The last thing she wanted, or expected, was for him to cry. Out of all the reactions she’s gotten from people seeing them, nobody has ever cried before. She shifts uncomfortably, regretting letting him see them. “Sweets?” She asks and that seems to be what he needed to move into action.
He closes his mouth and rips open a sanitation wet wipe. His hands are shaking as he brings it to her bloody forearm. He puts one hand under her arm to hold it steady as the other hand brings the wipe closer. The hand under her arm doesn’t grip her or even close around her wrist, it just sits there, open so that her arm just rests there. He wipes slowly and carefully, trying to be as gentle as he can and (Y/N) doesn’t even react to the sting of the alcohol in the wipe. The wounds have already stopped bleeding and so he’s just getting rid of the excess blood. He goes over it again and again until the wipe is bloody, so he gets a new one. He goes through two more before he finishes her left arm. Once he’s done wiping the blood off he grabs the roll of gauze and starts to wrap her arms. By the time he is finished wrapping it, it looks like she’s wearing another sleeve, but she can’t bring herself to make a joke about it. She’s too concerned about the tears still falling from Sweet’s eyes. He hasn’t wiped them away, just let them fall. He’s not sniffling or making any sounds, the tears are silent as they slide down his cheeks. Soon the only things (Y/N) can hear is the wiping of the alcohol wipe and their breathing.
“How long have you been doing this?” Sweet’s quiet voice breaks the silence.
“Since I was fifteen. It was little cuts then, just a few on my stomach once a week to press on when ever I got really nervous. It helped me stop thinking about what I was worried about and gave me something else to focus on in the moment. I even stopped and was clean for over four years, but then something happened that made me realize a few things about myself. Then I was back to it. Flushed four years of work down the toilet.” She shifts and brings her already bandaged hand up to push some of her hair out of her face. “I haven’t been clean since I was nineteen.” She winces and her arm jerks a little when he gets to one of deeper scratches. He flinches and takes the wipe away, opting to start wrapping that arm in gauze instead. “I understand if you don’t want to continue talking to me outside of your office. I’ll try to bother you as little as possible.” She whispers, hating the thought of not talking to or being around Sweets anymore, ut as soon as the words are out of her mouth, his head snaps up and his hands stop wrapping. Now there's a look of anger, mixed with what (Y/N) thinks is surprise on his face.
“Why would I want to stop seeing you? This changes nothing about my opinion of you. All this does is give me a deeper look into your life and the struggles you have had to go through to survive in the world we live in.” Sweet’s hands come up to her shoulders to keep her still as he leans in and stares straight into her eyes. “I have been told by a very good friend of mine that someone’s scars do not define who they are. They are the symbols of battles we have had to face, ones that we have won. You are just still fighting, but you are not going to do it alone anymore, (Y/N). I’m going to be here for you whenever you need. Not just as a psychologist or a coworker, but as a friend. I’d like to think that we have gotten close enough in the years we have known each other that I can be there when you need someone.” The tears are back in (Y/N)’s eyes, but they aren’t sad tears this time. They are happy tears, tears of disbelieve that he is willing to stay being friends with her despite seeing how messed up she is.
“Nobody has ever said it like that before.” (Y/N) chokes out and lunges forward, wrapping her arms around Sweet’s in a hug. “Everyone just said I was either trying to get attention, or they didn’t know what to say other than that they were proud of me for being brave, but I didn’t feel brave. These scars don't make be feel brave, they make he feel weak to look at them. They remind me of every time I was too weak to be brave. To weak to deal with my problems like any other functioning person.” (Y/N) sobs and Sweet’s arms tighten around her, pulling her closer. Her body is shaking with the strength of her sobs, but she can’t stop, the stinging in her arms is a content reminder of all of the hard work she just threw away.
“(Y/N), there is not an easy way to say this. I do not, in anyway, want to encourage what you have done, or romanticize it like a lot of media is doing these days. Your scars are not something to be happy about or represent happy memories, but they are not something you need to be ashamed about either. They are a part of you that tells your story. As cliche as it sounds, you are brave because of your scars. Not because you have them, but because you are still here to have them, if that makes sense.” Sweets says as he holds (Y/N) close, burying his face in her hair. “Everyone at the Jeffersonian are lucky to have you. Even Hodgins, when he said was unacceptable. He has caused plenty of lock downs in the past. Accidents happen and he should not have yelled at you like that.”
The tears have slowed again and (Y/N) suddenly becomes aware of how close they are. She can feel Sweet’s breath on her scalp and smell whatever deodorant or cologne he wears. She knows that she is getting tears all over his shirt, but she doesn't have the energy to care anymore. She is still exhausted from the panic attack and even more so now after all of the tears. All she wants to do is burrow closer to Sweets and never get up, but she knows that the warmth of his embrace is too good to last long. Soon enough he is going to make her get up and get checked out by Cam, but until then she is going to enjoy it while she can. Her tears finally stop and they just sit there, hugging n the floor. She can’t see the small tears leaking out of Sweet’s eyes, or feel them when they land on her hair. She can’t feel all of the thoughts racing through Sweet’s head. She isn't paying attention to how fast or hard his heart is beating, making him worry that it will burst out of his chest soon. All she feels is the warmth and safety that his arm around her gives her.
Soon, too soon for either of them, Sweet’s phone starts to ring. The shrill, unexpected sound jolts the two of them out of their contentment. (Y/N) pulls back and wipes her face with her sleeve while Sweets quickly does the same before fumbling to get his phone out of his pocket.
“Yes? Booth, yeah I- she’s okay, but I need Dr. Saroyan to take a look at her. What? No, I didn’t- Agent Booth I know incident reports work. I- We will come back to the lab as soon as I deem (Y/N) fit to. Now if you could let Dr. Saroyan know to come to the women’s bathroom past the early civilization exhibit with whatever she needs to do a field physical that would be great. Oh, and can you let Dr. Hodgins know that I want to have another session with him regarding his anger issues next week? Thanks Booth.” Sweets hangs up the phone and pockets it. “Cam is on her way here to look you over. Agent Booth wants me to tell you that once you are back to work you need to fill out an accident report. It’s nothing new, just procedure for whenever there is a explosion or incident that happens in the lab. The team has had to fill out a lot of them in the past. If you need help I’m sure Dr Brennan or Dr. Saroyan could help you if you need help.”
(Y/N) nods and looks anywhere other than Sweet’s face. Now that they weren’t hugging (Y/N) feels embarrassment take hold, but she is also exhaughted to the point where she can barely keep her eyes open, so she doesn’t waste time worrying about it too much. She can feel then drooping as she leans against the wall. She closes her eyes for a second and when she opens them Cam in coming through the door. She must have fallen asleep. Cam bends down and sits in front of (Y/N), putting the bag she brought with her on the floor.
“Ms. (Y/L/N)? Are you feeling alright? Can you breathe normally?” (Y/N) nods and Cam brings out a stethoscope from her bag and puts it on. “Do you have any pain when you breath?” (Y/N) nods again and Cam starts inspecting her lungs. She asks a few more questions and (Y/N) answers them the best she can in her tired state. By the time she is done, (Y/N) has given up trying to answer verbally, she’s just too tired. .
She doesn't even hear when Cam tells Sweets that she is okay, or when she asks how (Y/N) will get home. She is already back sleep by the time Sweets tells Cam that he will handle it. She barely even stirs when Sweets lifts her into his arms and carries her to his car, loading her in and out of the car once they get to his apartment. He lays her in bed and makes sure she is comfortable before writing a note explaining where she is and why, setting it on the bedside table for her to see whens he wakes up. He doesn’t want her to worry too much when she wakes up and doesn’t know where she is. He looks as her sleeping form one more time before smiling softly at her little snores and closing the door, going into the living room to ready the couch for him to sleep on tonight.