Chapter Text
Lance wasn’t thinking rationally about the situation.
He knew he wasn’t—but how could he really be expected to stop the thoughts buzzing around in his head at the fear of the people who he had come to accept as friends—family, even, up and leaving him behind?
With everyone at the Jeffersonian starting their own families, what was going to happen to him? The impending baby had also brought along with it the recurring nightmares Lance had grown accustomed to as a child. He was determined not to let them interfere with his working relationship with Booth or anybody else, but it was difficult to stop the fear from showing on his face when Booth came strolling into his office.
Lance sat at the bench of his piano and let his fingers pluck the keys at will while his mind wandered. As a psychologist, he firmly believed that music was one of the best medicines available if proscribed correctly. As a pianist, he knew how much emotion could be poured into a single line—a single note. It was his one constant source of comfort throughout the years.
He closed his eyes, trying to find some sort of solace in the music now.
This was a completely different situation than the ones in his nightmares. They were not going to be taken away by force. They were not simply going to walk out on him.
It wasn’t hard for his mind to continue down that path—and Lord help him if one of them were killed. Or even if the quick acceleration of their relationship led to disastrous results for their partnership. Lance had been studying Brennan and Booth for years now, and he knew that for all of Brennan’s cold demeanor she was ill-equipped to handle a break between Booth and herself.
With the news of the impending baby the couple had quickly moved past denial and into a functioning relationship. From what he'd heard from Booth, the couple was already looking for a house together. It was too sudden, even after all the years they had spent dancing around each other. Lance was concerned that at the rate things were going, everything was bound to blow up in their faces.
And he couldn't stand to lose them if that was the case.
As things stood now, he was already being pushed from Booth's schedule to make room for the baby.
It had been his intention to show Booth that he could still be useful, still be needed, by getting licensed to carry a gun. And his plan had worked, for a little while. Booth had been so pleased, clapping him on the back and taking him out for a round of drinks on him when he'd been certified. The little mishap involving the ricocheting bullet had actually helped him in the long run. Booth had spent the next week and a half checking in daily on him.
It had made Lance feel almost wanted. Which was ridiculous, because he knew he was wanted. It was just this jealousy over Brennan's baby that was making him think irrationally. He had no reason to feel that his position was being replaced, or that the rest of the team didn't need him around any longer. He knew he was still useful to them.
He only had to convince himself of that fact.
Lance clenched his eyes shut, clearing his mind of everything but the music reverberating through his heart, mind, and soul.