Maybe you delusion is that you're not delusional
“So that's Ryan Stevenson,” Sweets commented, watching through the one-way glass.
“Yep. Found him in a detox center in Silver Spring,” replied Booth.
“Patient?”
“Nope. Counselor. You called it,” the agent said, irritated he'd lost the bet.
“You owe me twenty bucks,” Sweets said smugly.
“Get it from Bones.”
Lance watched Booth talk to the young minister for a bit before he walked out. It was nearly time for lunch and it'd taste good considering Booth would be paying for it. He took his coat and things and headed for the Jeffersonian to collect his winnings, and then on to the diner to get something more elaborate that the special and a side of fries.
Before the food came, he jotted down a few notes on how he could more effectively instigate discussion. The tendency of late was for agent Booth and Dr. Brennan to sit like reprimanded students in front of some kind of doom-slinging authority figure, and that just wasn't him. He was there to foster communication...not hand down some kind of punishment in the form of psychotherapy.
At least he got to profile cases. That was wicked awesome. Even better because they'd talk to him, and listen to what he had to say. He could really contribute something to their investigation, even if he wasn't really breaking through their adaptive mechanisms for alienating third parties. He only stopped making notes when his food arrived.
By the time his fries were cold and he was halfway through the op-ed page, Lance had noticed something strange. He wasn't sure when it had stopped, but there was no longer the sound of traffic. He looked to his left and there was no window, and when he lowered the paper and looked up, there was no diner. The most important item of note was there was no trigger or good reason for him to have gone from a piece debating the experience of a senator and a governor to some sort of delusional psychosis, complete with a total sensory hallucination. And really no good reason for his lunch to still be sitting in front of him. Psychotic breaks tended to lack fries and a Coke.
Lance scowled and folded the paper before he leaned back and crossed his arms. He was a highly trained professional, well respected in his field and highly accomplished. If he was going to crack, there should have been some sort of catalyst. Wouldn't there?
Anyway, some Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles would have been nice...just so he'd have the comfort of knowing he was insane.
[Coke and fries and a confused psychologist. Let's do that first tag explains and the rest can be meet and greet!]