Chapter 2 - Consequences
Lance glanced from Booth back to Brennan and then to Booth again. "You've – you've come to hang out with me? Okay, but you could have called. I mean, I'm glad you're here, but I know it's a drive and I could have –"
"We didn't come to hang out with you," Booth said bluntly.
Lance tried not to wince or give any sign that the words hurt him.
"I think we better explain first," Brennan said. "Let's sit down. Sit somewhere comfortable, Sweets."
After being told that, Lance took the small chair beside the couch, the most uncomfortable chair in the apartment. Brennan sat down on the couch and Booth sat besides her, both of them looking uncomfortable as well.
Booth noticed the bottle on the table. "Been kicking back, huh?"
"It's one beer," Lance objected. "I'm over twenty-one, and it's Friday night. Besides this is my place, and –"
"No need to get defensive," Booth shot back at him. "I was just making conversation."
Lance fell silent, feeling very immature and stupid. He never knew the right thing to say around the two of them – they were so solid and together, a team that worked well, playing on each other's strengths.
"I've been reading," Brennan said in her abrupt way, grabbing both men's attention. "And I was telling Booth about it this afternoon after you ran out."
Lance looked back down at his hands and wondered if he should apologize for leaving that way.
"There are several theories behind guilt, what causes it, how it manifests, and how it ends," Brennan went on. "In your case, you caused me pain and now you feel bad about that. Booth was involved as well, so he becomes a part of the guilt as well. Now, some guilt results immediately after the action, meaning most people feel bad right away. But you have experienced the delayed reaction. You feel bad and even though you might apologize, you still feel bad."
"I did apologize," Lance protested. "I am sorry, I'm really sorry, and I wish I could do something to make it up to you."
"Now this is the interesting part," Brennan leaned forward, her eyes intense. "If I said I accept your apology and if Booth did the same, would it help you at all? Would you feel any better and, more importantly, would you ever do that same thing again? Guilt exists as a human reaction developed in society to prevent the guilty party from committing the same action again."
"Booth isn't going to fake his death again," Lance protested. "And I know all about guilt – it's textbook."
"Well, we're here to do something a little less orthodox," Booth retorted. He seemed agitated, tugging at the collar of his tie and shifting every minute or so in impatience.
"I've been reading about a case they conducting in Sweden," Brennan went on evenly, "in which volunteers worked closely with doctors over a year to help with guilt. Some of the volunteers had past experiences that troubled them and some were dealing with day-to-day guilt over not doing what they were supposed to do, such as studying for class, getting enough rest, taking care of themselves. After doctors established a trusty relationship with the patients, they began delivering consequences to help dissolve the guilt."
"What did they do?" Lance asked nervously.
"They spanked them," Brennan replied quietly.
"No!" Lance jerked in his seat, barely able to stay seated. "Uh-huh, no, they didn't."
"They did," Brennan said simply.
Lance did not ever pretend to not know why she had brought the case up. He might be socially awkward, but Lance Sweets was no dummy. "You can't be thinking that you're going to do that to me," he said bluntly.
"Corporal punishment has existed for centuries," Brennan pointed out. "It's only modern man that believes it is harsh and inhumane."
"Yeah, and I'm one of them," Lance said in high-pitched voice. "I-I even wrote a paper in grad school against the use of it in child-rearing. I got it published, and everyone agreed with me."
"Yeah, well, that's really too bad," Booth spoke up. "Guess you're going to have to write a retraction."
"And as far as child-rearing goes," Breanna put in, "physiatrists are still divided about whether corporal punishment helps or hurts children. Studies have been inconclusive because –"
"Forget studies," Booth interrupted. "Here's deal, Sweets. I have no idea how Brennan talked me into this, but I agree that you need to be brought a few pegs. And if that mean me taking a couple swings at you, I'm all for it."
"Booth," Brennan admonished.
Booth ignored her. "You've been a pain since the first day we met you. We've talked about our feelings and our relationship and done all your bogus exercises, and now it's our turn to tell you how it's going to be. You're going to go along with this or you can choose not to."
"Not!" Lance declared.
"If you choose to go along, you're going to bend over the arm of this couch and I'm going to take this," Booth reached into his coat pocket and removed a wide wooden-back hairbrush, "and I'm going to swat at you. You choose not to, and Brennan and I are leaving for good. We won't see you again, and we'll request to be transferred to another therapist. You can't call us or talk to us, and we'll ignore you if you ever come to the Lab."
"That's not fair," Lance protested weakly. "It's not even a choice. I have to agree to this or I never see you again."
"You let her think I was dead," Booth said solemnly. "What do you think you deserve?"
Lance though he was going to be sick. His palms were sweaty, his ears rang, and he wished he would wake up and find all of this was a dream.
Booth waited, tapping the hairbrush lightly against his hand. Brennan watched Lance carefully, her eyes not wavering.
"I-I can't," Lance finally croaked.
Disappointment flashed over Booth's face, but he nodded as he started to stand. "I see. Well, this is the end, Swee-"
"No!" Lance objected. "I mean I'm scared. I can't move. I'll do it, but I can't move! Please!"
Brennan looked at Booth, and he nodded shortly. Brennan stood up and walked over to Lance. "It's okay," she told him quietly. "You're going to be fine. Just take my hand."
Lance stared at her out-stretched hand and he felt absolutely petrified. How in the hell could he do this? A spanking wouldn't be that bad (he remembered his mom spanking him once for wandering out of the yard), but the fact that it was Booth and Brennan. Lance thought he could have taken anyone else except them. He worked with them, he liked them, he wanted them to be his friends, and now they wanted to –
Before he knew what he was doing, Lance had raised one of his hands and wrapped his fingers around her slim hand. Her hand felt cool and smooth, and he knew his own hand was hot and shaking, but he stood up on trembling legs.
"It's okay," she told him gently as she held the back of his elbow with her free hand. "Don't worry."
Like a terrified child, Lance let her lead him towards the couch. His eyes were smarting, and he wished he had lots of friends so he could yell at them to get out because he didn't need any other friends.
He whimpered when he saw the right arm of the couch and Brennan stopped him right in front of it.
"Bend over, she said softly.
"Wait," Booth directed. "Pants down first."
"Booth," Brennan objected, but he shook his head.
"Those are work pants," Booth pointed out. "I don't want to ruin them."
How hard are you going to hit me? Lance wanted to scream. He said nothing, however, and started fumbling with his belt. He could not get the clasp loose, and he took long, dizzy breaths as he tried to steady himself.
"I can't," he whispered as he struggled with the belt. "I just can't."
Booth let his breath out impatiently, but Brennan stepped forward and reached towards Lance's waistline. Lance almost stepped back, but he forced himself to stand still as Brennan pulled his belt out of the buckle and pulled the metal button free of the buttonhole. She would have pulled his zipper down, but he gasped,
"I can do it. Please."
When she drew back, he yanked the zipper down and shoved his pants down to his knees with trembling, sweaty hands. Thankfully, he was wearing boxers rather than briefs, but unfortunately, his boxers were a pale blue with yellow smiley faces.
"I have to – to –" Lance motioned to the couch arm nervously. He was having trouble breathing, and he hoped he wouldn't faint right in the middle of his living room.
"Yeah, bend over the arm," Booth instructed. "Put your elbows and hands down on the seat cushion."
Lance leaned over shakily, feeling the rounded arm of the couch press into his low abdomen. He was sweaty and agitated, scared half to death about what was about to befall him.
The silence was unnerving, torturing his nerves to no end, and he finally gasped, "So are you going to just start or am I supposed to say –"
Wham! The hairbrush hit his backside so hard Lance could barely register the swat.
"No," he moaned as he straightened, "no, I can't."
"Back down," Booth instructed him.
"I can't," Lance complained. "It hurts too much."
"Back down or out we go," Booth said in a quiet, but firm voice.
"Oh, oh," Lance glanced back and forth between them, hoping for some kind of relief, but neither Booth nor Brennan budged an inch. "Oh, no," Lance moaned as he bent ever so slowly over the arm, finally letting his stomach rest on the curve and digging his fingers into the cushions.
He heard Booth moving back into position, and he begged, "Wait, wait, wait! Just – just a sec. How many? How many do I get?"
Brennan glanced at Booth. "Forty?" she suggested.
"Fifty," Booth insisted.
"Fifty! Fifty? Come on, man," Lance whimpered. "I mean, there's payback and then there's torture."
"Fine, forty," Bones snapped at him. "But you take it like a man."
"Evil," Lance let his head hang down limply. "Completely cruel – Ow, OW!"
Bones delivered two more wallops, frowning at the kid's whining. "Pull yourself together, Sweets. You got thirty-eight more coming."
"You already gave me three," Lance moaned.
"First one was a warm-up," Booth said, far too cheerful in Lance's opinion. "You want to count? Bones, should he count?"
"I'll count," Brennan offered. "That was two. Go on, Booth."
Lance squeezed his eyes shut and held onto the couch for dear life, bracing himself for the swats. For each one, Lance jerked forward and grunted, barely able to hear Brennan's calm counting. He fought against his rising panic and kept pushing back tears, huffing and then breathing as quietly as he could, anything to try to distract himself from the agony the hairbrush was inflicting.
But after twenty swats, Lance lost the battle with his pride and begged, "Wait, stop. Just – please, only a second. You gotta give a guy a second."
"Fifteen seconds," Booth agreed.
Lance did not move from the couch arm, but he wiped his sweaty face and stinging eyes. He could not believe the fire that blazed against his backside; how could a simple padding hurt so much? He stood by every word of that paper that claimed corporal punishment was a brutal, sadistic, inhumane –
Whack!
The hairbrush slammed into him again, and Lance let out a howl before letting his body go limp.
"No fair, no fair," he whimpered as the spanking started again, Brennan counting, "Twenty-one."
The higher she counted, the more distraught Lance got. By the time number thirty-five came, he was gasping for air, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Brennan looked at Booth concerned, mouthing the words "Hurry up and finish."
Booth nodded and then laid down five swats – whack, whack, whack, whack, whack – on Lance's rear.
"Noooo!" Lance wailed. "No, I can't take it."
"It's over now," Booth said, but Lance was lost his own world of pain.
"Oh, oh," after yanking up his pants, Lance crawled around couch and dropped onto it. He gave another howl when his rear hit the couch but his legs were not strong enough to hold him up, and he collapsed on his side. Curling up on the couch in the fetal position, he broke into heart-wrenching sobs.
Booth looked at Brennan alarmed, holding out his hands in question.
"Help him," Brennan whispered.
"How? He's a mess," Booth motioned down to the sobbing Lance.
"You have to help him," Brennan argued. "You took him apart – time to put him back together."
"This whole thing was your idea," Booth retorted, tossing the hairbrush on the coffee table. At the sight of the brush, the volume of Lance's cries increased.
"You are the alpha male," Brennan insisted. "You have to –"
"Agh!" Booth made a frustrated noise. "Everything always comes down to me being the alpha male. One day, you're going to get the alpha male and I'll be the – the –"
"The girl?" Brennan supplied.
Booth glared at her, but she gestured to Lance.
"What are we going to do?"
"Let's leave," Booth whispered. "We tiptoe out, and he cries himself to sleep. We'll see him Monday."
"Booth," she tilted her head to the side in disapproval.
"Now you have to have feelings?" Booth growled. "You choose the worst times to be human. Sweets, suck it up!"
Lance reached for a couch cushion and hugged it to his chest, still crying.
"Come on, be a man," Booth urged. "You got to . . . be a man," he trailed off as he looked down at the kid. "Dude, this is pathetic."
"Oh, yeah?" Lance sniffed, swiping at tears. "Next time someone turns your ass into ground beef, you be a man."
"I tried," Booth stepped back from the couch, but Brennan put her hand on the back of his arm.
"Talk to him. You may have to engage in physical contact with him."
"What?" Booth looked back at her, shocked.
"A hug, Booth," Brennan explained. "Recipients of corporal punishment often desire some sort of contact afterwards."
"You hug him then."
"Contact with punisher," Brennan elucidated.
"I'm the Punisher now," Booth gave a half-grin. "Cool, he was a badass. Jeez, Sweets, you have to stop crying."
"Go away," Lance moaned, clutching his pillow. "Just go. I want to be alone."
"You heard him," Booth began, but at Brennan's look, he sighed and ran his fingers through his short hair. "Okay, okay, I'll do it."
He stepped right up to the couch and barked out, "That's enough, Sweets. You got what you deserved. Go ahead and sit up."
Lance shook his head stubbornly.
"Sit up or you'll get even more," Booth threatened.
Lance looked up at him in agony. "Gonna sue you," Lance choked out, but he gingerly sat up. "I'm gonna – gonna make you pay."
"Yeah, that's just the pain talking. Okay, kid, lean back against the couch. What do you want now? Something to eat? Drink?"
Lance leaned back, lifting his face with flushed cheeks, teary eyes, and trembling lips. "Thirsty," he whispered.
"I'll get you some water," Brennan headed for the tiny kitchen.
"I have beer here," Lance nodded to the bottles that seemed so pointless now.
"Alcohol only dehydrates you," Brennan came back with a glass of ice water.
Lance took several gulps of the water and then put it down on the coffee table. Then he sat awkwardly, uncomfortable and miserable, with tears sliding down his cheeks. Booth sighed and looked up at Brennan for help.
She took a seat in the uncomfortable chair beside the couch. "Sweets, we only did this to help you. Do you feel better now? Less guilty?"
"No, I don't feel anything but – but –" Lance refused to say the word sad.
"Okay, we tried something and it didn't work," Brennan admitted. "I admit it was unorthodox, but the article was so convincing . . ."
Lance said nothing as he tried to access his feelings. His rear was still burning and he felt twisted and raw inside, but he could breathe a littler easier now without the sickening feeling deep in his stomach.
A hand landed on his shoulder, and Lance jerked his gaze to see Booth reaching over, keeping his hand on Lance's shoulder. "You're going to be okay, kid. We forgive you, right, Bones?"
"Yes, we do," Breanna leaned forward. "You are forgiven now."
"Really?" Lance blinked, his wet eyelashes clumping together.
"Yeah, of course we forgive you," Booth sounded a little too eager, but Lance believed him. Booth gave his shoulder a warm squeeze and Lance relaxed against the couch.
Silence filled the room, broken only by the last of Lance's sniffles. Finally, Bones said, "Okay, so what were you planning tonight, kid?"
"Just hang out and watch a few movies, maybe."
"Well, that sounds fun," Brennan's voice was a tad too high, but she got up and went to sit on Sweet's other side. "Why don't we watch a movie tonight, the three of us?"
"Tonight?" Booth objected. "But I was going to –"
"You don't have plans," Brennan interrupted. "What movies to you have, Sweets?"
"I have Lord of the Rings, the last one," he glanced at her.
"Oh, great, we'll spend all evening with the elves and horbits of Middle Turf," Booth grumbled.
"It's hobbits of Middle Earth," Lance protested.
"Sounds fun," Brennan smiled. "I'm sure you know all about it."
Booth got the movie started while Breanna asked questions about the first two movies and Lance gave her a long description of the action thus far. The more her talked, the last traces of his tears and anguish disappearing. He relaxed more and more, comfortable on the couch between the two of them.
The movie started and Booth got a beer, promising to buy Lance another pack though Lance said not to worry about it. Booth took a few swigs, but once the movie got underway, Booth became completely engrossed in the film. As both Brennan and Lance noticed, Booth seemed to connect with Aragorn the most, watching avidly when the returning king was on screen and nodding along fervently with whatever Aragorn said.
They were just in the middle of the last great battle of Middle Earth when Booth glanced at Brennan to comment on the fighting skills and saw that Lance had fallen asleep. Slumped against the couch, Lance's eyes were shut, his mouth slightly open.
"Good, he's asleep," Booth whispered. "Let's finish the movie and get the heck out of here."
"No," Brennan hissed. "Someone needs to stay here with him."
"Why?"
"Because he shouldn't wake up alone in the middle of the night."
"Then you stay," Booth said, but without conviction.
"You know it's not appropriate for me to stay here," Brennan replied. "You're the alpha –"
"You say alpha male one more time and I'll go Middle Earth on you," he growled.
"You're a guy – you stay."
Booth stewed for a few seconds and then reluctantly agreed, adding, "But he sleeps in his bed and I sleep on the couch."
He paused the movie, freezing the face of a snarling orc on the screen.
"Okay, let's get him up. Sweets," she gently shook his shoulder, "Sweets."
"No," Lance moaned without opening his eyes, "don't leave. Stay."
"One of us is going to stay," Brennan soothed. "But it's almost midnight. Why don't you go get in your own bed?"
"Wanna stay here," Lance mumbled.
"Come on, Sweets," Booth stood up and grabbed the younger man's arm.
Lance lurched to his feet, clumsily knocking his shoes against the coffee table. He held onto Booth to balance for a second and then stumbled into his bedroom.
Booth and Brennan followed to see Lance collapse facedown on his bed and fall right back asleep. With a side look and a smile at her partner, Breanna gave into her maternal instincts and covered Lance up with a blanket, trying not to laugh at the Star Wars print all over the blanket.
They walked quietly out, and Brennan reached out to squeeze Booth's arm. "I'm going home," she whispered. "I'll be back tomorrow morning with breakfast."
"Oh, fine," Booth sighed. "Get some rest. Me? I'm going to watch the rest of this movie."
He hopped back on the couch and started the movie again, turning down the volume a little.
"Good night, Booth," Brennan walked out the door and shut it quietly behind her.
"Night," Booth settled down in the couch, propped his feet up on the coffee table, and reached for another beer.
On the TV, Eowyn swung her long sword and cut off the Nazgul's head.
"You go, girl," Booth said, taking a long sip and letting his breath out.
"We didn't come to hang out with you," Booth said bluntly.
Lance tried not to wince or give any sign that the words hurt him.
"I think we better explain first," Brennan said. "Let's sit down. Sit somewhere comfortable, Sweets."
After being told that, Lance took the small chair beside the couch, the most uncomfortable chair in the apartment. Brennan sat down on the couch and Booth sat besides her, both of them looking uncomfortable as well.
Booth noticed the bottle on the table. "Been kicking back, huh?"
"It's one beer," Lance objected. "I'm over twenty-one, and it's Friday night. Besides this is my place, and –"
"No need to get defensive," Booth shot back at him. "I was just making conversation."
Lance fell silent, feeling very immature and stupid. He never knew the right thing to say around the two of them – they were so solid and together, a team that worked well, playing on each other's strengths.
"I've been reading," Brennan said in her abrupt way, grabbing both men's attention. "And I was telling Booth about it this afternoon after you ran out."
Lance looked back down at his hands and wondered if he should apologize for leaving that way.
"There are several theories behind guilt, what causes it, how it manifests, and how it ends," Brennan went on. "In your case, you caused me pain and now you feel bad about that. Booth was involved as well, so he becomes a part of the guilt as well. Now, some guilt results immediately after the action, meaning most people feel bad right away. But you have experienced the delayed reaction. You feel bad and even though you might apologize, you still feel bad."
"I did apologize," Lance protested. "I am sorry, I'm really sorry, and I wish I could do something to make it up to you."
"Now this is the interesting part," Brennan leaned forward, her eyes intense. "If I said I accept your apology and if Booth did the same, would it help you at all? Would you feel any better and, more importantly, would you ever do that same thing again? Guilt exists as a human reaction developed in society to prevent the guilty party from committing the same action again."
"Booth isn't going to fake his death again," Lance protested. "And I know all about guilt – it's textbook."
"Well, we're here to do something a little less orthodox," Booth retorted. He seemed agitated, tugging at the collar of his tie and shifting every minute or so in impatience.
"I've been reading about a case they conducting in Sweden," Brennan went on evenly, "in which volunteers worked closely with doctors over a year to help with guilt. Some of the volunteers had past experiences that troubled them and some were dealing with day-to-day guilt over not doing what they were supposed to do, such as studying for class, getting enough rest, taking care of themselves. After doctors established a trusty relationship with the patients, they began delivering consequences to help dissolve the guilt."
"What did they do?" Lance asked nervously.
"They spanked them," Brennan replied quietly.
"No!" Lance jerked in his seat, barely able to stay seated. "Uh-huh, no, they didn't."
"They did," Brennan said simply.
Lance did not ever pretend to not know why she had brought the case up. He might be socially awkward, but Lance Sweets was no dummy. "You can't be thinking that you're going to do that to me," he said bluntly.
"Corporal punishment has existed for centuries," Brennan pointed out. "It's only modern man that believes it is harsh and inhumane."
"Yeah, and I'm one of them," Lance said in high-pitched voice. "I-I even wrote a paper in grad school against the use of it in child-rearing. I got it published, and everyone agreed with me."
"Yeah, well, that's really too bad," Booth spoke up. "Guess you're going to have to write a retraction."
"And as far as child-rearing goes," Breanna put in, "physiatrists are still divided about whether corporal punishment helps or hurts children. Studies have been inconclusive because –"
"Forget studies," Booth interrupted. "Here's deal, Sweets. I have no idea how Brennan talked me into this, but I agree that you need to be brought a few pegs. And if that mean me taking a couple swings at you, I'm all for it."
"Booth," Brennan admonished.
Booth ignored her. "You've been a pain since the first day we met you. We've talked about our feelings and our relationship and done all your bogus exercises, and now it's our turn to tell you how it's going to be. You're going to go along with this or you can choose not to."
"Not!" Lance declared.
"If you choose to go along, you're going to bend over the arm of this couch and I'm going to take this," Booth reached into his coat pocket and removed a wide wooden-back hairbrush, "and I'm going to swat at you. You choose not to, and Brennan and I are leaving for good. We won't see you again, and we'll request to be transferred to another therapist. You can't call us or talk to us, and we'll ignore you if you ever come to the Lab."
"That's not fair," Lance protested weakly. "It's not even a choice. I have to agree to this or I never see you again."
"You let her think I was dead," Booth said solemnly. "What do you think you deserve?"
Lance though he was going to be sick. His palms were sweaty, his ears rang, and he wished he would wake up and find all of this was a dream.
Booth waited, tapping the hairbrush lightly against his hand. Brennan watched Lance carefully, her eyes not wavering.
"I-I can't," Lance finally croaked.
Disappointment flashed over Booth's face, but he nodded as he started to stand. "I see. Well, this is the end, Swee-"
"No!" Lance objected. "I mean I'm scared. I can't move. I'll do it, but I can't move! Please!"
Brennan looked at Booth, and he nodded shortly. Brennan stood up and walked over to Lance. "It's okay," she told him quietly. "You're going to be fine. Just take my hand."
Lance stared at her out-stretched hand and he felt absolutely petrified. How in the hell could he do this? A spanking wouldn't be that bad (he remembered his mom spanking him once for wandering out of the yard), but the fact that it was Booth and Brennan. Lance thought he could have taken anyone else except them. He worked with them, he liked them, he wanted them to be his friends, and now they wanted to –
Before he knew what he was doing, Lance had raised one of his hands and wrapped his fingers around her slim hand. Her hand felt cool and smooth, and he knew his own hand was hot and shaking, but he stood up on trembling legs.
"It's okay," she told him gently as she held the back of his elbow with her free hand. "Don't worry."
Like a terrified child, Lance let her lead him towards the couch. His eyes were smarting, and he wished he had lots of friends so he could yell at them to get out because he didn't need any other friends.
He whimpered when he saw the right arm of the couch and Brennan stopped him right in front of it.
"Bend over, she said softly.
"Wait," Booth directed. "Pants down first."
"Booth," Brennan objected, but he shook his head.
"Those are work pants," Booth pointed out. "I don't want to ruin them."
How hard are you going to hit me? Lance wanted to scream. He said nothing, however, and started fumbling with his belt. He could not get the clasp loose, and he took long, dizzy breaths as he tried to steady himself.
"I can't," he whispered as he struggled with the belt. "I just can't."
Booth let his breath out impatiently, but Brennan stepped forward and reached towards Lance's waistline. Lance almost stepped back, but he forced himself to stand still as Brennan pulled his belt out of the buckle and pulled the metal button free of the buttonhole. She would have pulled his zipper down, but he gasped,
"I can do it. Please."
When she drew back, he yanked the zipper down and shoved his pants down to his knees with trembling, sweaty hands. Thankfully, he was wearing boxers rather than briefs, but unfortunately, his boxers were a pale blue with yellow smiley faces.
"I have to – to –" Lance motioned to the couch arm nervously. He was having trouble breathing, and he hoped he wouldn't faint right in the middle of his living room.
"Yeah, bend over the arm," Booth instructed. "Put your elbows and hands down on the seat cushion."
Lance leaned over shakily, feeling the rounded arm of the couch press into his low abdomen. He was sweaty and agitated, scared half to death about what was about to befall him.
The silence was unnerving, torturing his nerves to no end, and he finally gasped, "So are you going to just start or am I supposed to say –"
Wham! The hairbrush hit his backside so hard Lance could barely register the swat.
"No," he moaned as he straightened, "no, I can't."
"Back down," Booth instructed him.
"I can't," Lance complained. "It hurts too much."
"Back down or out we go," Booth said in a quiet, but firm voice.
"Oh, oh," Lance glanced back and forth between them, hoping for some kind of relief, but neither Booth nor Brennan budged an inch. "Oh, no," Lance moaned as he bent ever so slowly over the arm, finally letting his stomach rest on the curve and digging his fingers into the cushions.
He heard Booth moving back into position, and he begged, "Wait, wait, wait! Just – just a sec. How many? How many do I get?"
Brennan glanced at Booth. "Forty?" she suggested.
"Fifty," Booth insisted.
"Fifty! Fifty? Come on, man," Lance whimpered. "I mean, there's payback and then there's torture."
"Fine, forty," Bones snapped at him. "But you take it like a man."
"Evil," Lance let his head hang down limply. "Completely cruel – Ow, OW!"
Bones delivered two more wallops, frowning at the kid's whining. "Pull yourself together, Sweets. You got thirty-eight more coming."
"You already gave me three," Lance moaned.
"First one was a warm-up," Booth said, far too cheerful in Lance's opinion. "You want to count? Bones, should he count?"
"I'll count," Brennan offered. "That was two. Go on, Booth."
Lance squeezed his eyes shut and held onto the couch for dear life, bracing himself for the swats. For each one, Lance jerked forward and grunted, barely able to hear Brennan's calm counting. He fought against his rising panic and kept pushing back tears, huffing and then breathing as quietly as he could, anything to try to distract himself from the agony the hairbrush was inflicting.
But after twenty swats, Lance lost the battle with his pride and begged, "Wait, stop. Just – please, only a second. You gotta give a guy a second."
"Fifteen seconds," Booth agreed.
Lance did not move from the couch arm, but he wiped his sweaty face and stinging eyes. He could not believe the fire that blazed against his backside; how could a simple padding hurt so much? He stood by every word of that paper that claimed corporal punishment was a brutal, sadistic, inhumane –
Whack!
The hairbrush slammed into him again, and Lance let out a howl before letting his body go limp.
"No fair, no fair," he whimpered as the spanking started again, Brennan counting, "Twenty-one."
The higher she counted, the more distraught Lance got. By the time number thirty-five came, he was gasping for air, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Brennan looked at Booth concerned, mouthing the words "Hurry up and finish."
Booth nodded and then laid down five swats – whack, whack, whack, whack, whack – on Lance's rear.
"Noooo!" Lance wailed. "No, I can't take it."
"It's over now," Booth said, but Lance was lost his own world of pain.
"Oh, oh," after yanking up his pants, Lance crawled around couch and dropped onto it. He gave another howl when his rear hit the couch but his legs were not strong enough to hold him up, and he collapsed on his side. Curling up on the couch in the fetal position, he broke into heart-wrenching sobs.
Booth looked at Brennan alarmed, holding out his hands in question.
"Help him," Brennan whispered.
"How? He's a mess," Booth motioned down to the sobbing Lance.
"You have to help him," Brennan argued. "You took him apart – time to put him back together."
"This whole thing was your idea," Booth retorted, tossing the hairbrush on the coffee table. At the sight of the brush, the volume of Lance's cries increased.
"You are the alpha male," Brennan insisted. "You have to –"
"Agh!" Booth made a frustrated noise. "Everything always comes down to me being the alpha male. One day, you're going to get the alpha male and I'll be the – the –"
"The girl?" Brennan supplied.
Booth glared at her, but she gestured to Lance.
"What are we going to do?"
"Let's leave," Booth whispered. "We tiptoe out, and he cries himself to sleep. We'll see him Monday."
"Booth," she tilted her head to the side in disapproval.
"Now you have to have feelings?" Booth growled. "You choose the worst times to be human. Sweets, suck it up!"
Lance reached for a couch cushion and hugged it to his chest, still crying.
"Come on, be a man," Booth urged. "You got to . . . be a man," he trailed off as he looked down at the kid. "Dude, this is pathetic."
"Oh, yeah?" Lance sniffed, swiping at tears. "Next time someone turns your ass into ground beef, you be a man."
"I tried," Booth stepped back from the couch, but Brennan put her hand on the back of his arm.
"Talk to him. You may have to engage in physical contact with him."
"What?" Booth looked back at her, shocked.
"A hug, Booth," Brennan explained. "Recipients of corporal punishment often desire some sort of contact afterwards."
"You hug him then."
"Contact with punisher," Brennan elucidated.
"I'm the Punisher now," Booth gave a half-grin. "Cool, he was a badass. Jeez, Sweets, you have to stop crying."
"Go away," Lance moaned, clutching his pillow. "Just go. I want to be alone."
"You heard him," Booth began, but at Brennan's look, he sighed and ran his fingers through his short hair. "Okay, okay, I'll do it."
He stepped right up to the couch and barked out, "That's enough, Sweets. You got what you deserved. Go ahead and sit up."
Lance shook his head stubbornly.
"Sit up or you'll get even more," Booth threatened.
Lance looked up at him in agony. "Gonna sue you," Lance choked out, but he gingerly sat up. "I'm gonna – gonna make you pay."
"Yeah, that's just the pain talking. Okay, kid, lean back against the couch. What do you want now? Something to eat? Drink?"
Lance leaned back, lifting his face with flushed cheeks, teary eyes, and trembling lips. "Thirsty," he whispered.
"I'll get you some water," Brennan headed for the tiny kitchen.
"I have beer here," Lance nodded to the bottles that seemed so pointless now.
"Alcohol only dehydrates you," Brennan came back with a glass of ice water.
Lance took several gulps of the water and then put it down on the coffee table. Then he sat awkwardly, uncomfortable and miserable, with tears sliding down his cheeks. Booth sighed and looked up at Brennan for help.
She took a seat in the uncomfortable chair beside the couch. "Sweets, we only did this to help you. Do you feel better now? Less guilty?"
"No, I don't feel anything but – but –" Lance refused to say the word sad.
"Okay, we tried something and it didn't work," Brennan admitted. "I admit it was unorthodox, but the article was so convincing . . ."
Lance said nothing as he tried to access his feelings. His rear was still burning and he felt twisted and raw inside, but he could breathe a littler easier now without the sickening feeling deep in his stomach.
A hand landed on his shoulder, and Lance jerked his gaze to see Booth reaching over, keeping his hand on Lance's shoulder. "You're going to be okay, kid. We forgive you, right, Bones?"
"Yes, we do," Breanna leaned forward. "You are forgiven now."
"Really?" Lance blinked, his wet eyelashes clumping together.
"Yeah, of course we forgive you," Booth sounded a little too eager, but Lance believed him. Booth gave his shoulder a warm squeeze and Lance relaxed against the couch.
Silence filled the room, broken only by the last of Lance's sniffles. Finally, Bones said, "Okay, so what were you planning tonight, kid?"
"Just hang out and watch a few movies, maybe."
"Well, that sounds fun," Brennan's voice was a tad too high, but she got up and went to sit on Sweet's other side. "Why don't we watch a movie tonight, the three of us?"
"Tonight?" Booth objected. "But I was going to –"
"You don't have plans," Brennan interrupted. "What movies to you have, Sweets?"
"I have Lord of the Rings, the last one," he glanced at her.
"Oh, great, we'll spend all evening with the elves and horbits of Middle Turf," Booth grumbled.
"It's hobbits of Middle Earth," Lance protested.
"Sounds fun," Brennan smiled. "I'm sure you know all about it."
Booth got the movie started while Breanna asked questions about the first two movies and Lance gave her a long description of the action thus far. The more her talked, the last traces of his tears and anguish disappearing. He relaxed more and more, comfortable on the couch between the two of them.
The movie started and Booth got a beer, promising to buy Lance another pack though Lance said not to worry about it. Booth took a few swigs, but once the movie got underway, Booth became completely engrossed in the film. As both Brennan and Lance noticed, Booth seemed to connect with Aragorn the most, watching avidly when the returning king was on screen and nodding along fervently with whatever Aragorn said.
They were just in the middle of the last great battle of Middle Earth when Booth glanced at Brennan to comment on the fighting skills and saw that Lance had fallen asleep. Slumped against the couch, Lance's eyes were shut, his mouth slightly open.
"Good, he's asleep," Booth whispered. "Let's finish the movie and get the heck out of here."
"No," Brennan hissed. "Someone needs to stay here with him."
"Why?"
"Because he shouldn't wake up alone in the middle of the night."
"Then you stay," Booth said, but without conviction.
"You know it's not appropriate for me to stay here," Brennan replied. "You're the alpha –"
"You say alpha male one more time and I'll go Middle Earth on you," he growled.
"You're a guy – you stay."
Booth stewed for a few seconds and then reluctantly agreed, adding, "But he sleeps in his bed and I sleep on the couch."
He paused the movie, freezing the face of a snarling orc on the screen.
"Okay, let's get him up. Sweets," she gently shook his shoulder, "Sweets."
"No," Lance moaned without opening his eyes, "don't leave. Stay."
"One of us is going to stay," Brennan soothed. "But it's almost midnight. Why don't you go get in your own bed?"
"Wanna stay here," Lance mumbled.
"Come on, Sweets," Booth stood up and grabbed the younger man's arm.
Lance lurched to his feet, clumsily knocking his shoes against the coffee table. He held onto Booth to balance for a second and then stumbled into his bedroom.
Booth and Brennan followed to see Lance collapse facedown on his bed and fall right back asleep. With a side look and a smile at her partner, Breanna gave into her maternal instincts and covered Lance up with a blanket, trying not to laugh at the Star Wars print all over the blanket.
They walked quietly out, and Brennan reached out to squeeze Booth's arm. "I'm going home," she whispered. "I'll be back tomorrow morning with breakfast."
"Oh, fine," Booth sighed. "Get some rest. Me? I'm going to watch the rest of this movie."
He hopped back on the couch and started the movie again, turning down the volume a little.
"Good night, Booth," Brennan walked out the door and shut it quietly behind her.
"Night," Booth settled down in the couch, propped his feet up on the coffee table, and reached for another beer.
On the TV, Eowyn swung her long sword and cut off the Nazgul's head.
"You go, girl," Booth said, taking a long sip and letting his breath out.