Thank you for the kind response to this story! It's just a little something I was cooking up over the summer, so unfortunately, it must remain a two-shot. I sadly don't have enough time to concoct a longer multi-chapter fic at this point. D-Poor Booth. He is such a good dad and frets so much over Parker. It's nice to see that he often goes to Sweets for help on the show, despite the fact that Sweets isn't a father himself. Don't worry about Rebecca, she's not in this story again, so you can imagine whatever response for her that you like. Thanks for reading and reviewing so faithfully. Othgirl2010-Nice to meet you! Thank you for the support. RT-Thanks for your beta work on this story and for reviewing again anyway. :D Booth is so lovable when he comes to Sweets for advice-so pushy, but so earnest! :) Super Ario-Thank you for your kind review! SFT-I'm glad you enjoyed it! Can you believe DDay is almost here? *hyperventilates briefly*

It was Saturday afternoon, and the Jeffersonian team (sans Sweets) was gathered around the pool at Hodgins', and now Angela's, mansion. Hodgins was showing Parker how to cannonball into the water, producing chlorinated tsunamis that caused the bikini-clad Cam and Angela to shriek. Angela's little potbelly protruded slightly from between the swaths of floral material. Cam was dangling her feet into the water, looking unjustly sexy for a woman who was nearly 40. Bones and Booth sat side by side in sunbathing chairs watching the ruckus from beneath their sunglasses.

"So Dr. Sweets agreed to evaluate Parker today? Are you concerned as to what he may find?" Brennan asked, her creamy skin looking a little vulnerable to the sun's glare. She had on a deep green, triangle-topped bikini.

"Yeah, I'm worried," he responded matter-of-factly. "Bones, d'you have on sunblock? You're getting pink." Booth was wearing a pair of blue swim trunks speckled with tiny great-white sharks.

"I used protection, yes."

Booth snorted. "That sounded dirty, Bones. There are kids around."

Brennan scowled prettily. "Technically one child and one fetus."

"Ugh, don't use that word: fetus. It sounds so scientific. Jack Jr. might take it to heart."

"Jack Jr. is floating in a sac of amniotic fluid. I doubt he would perceive a slight from all the way in there," Brennan said shifting, irritably. She reached over for her large straw hat and covered her face.

"Funny, Bones. Funny. Oh hey, there's Sweets and…that's Gloria?" Booth crowed, his brow furrowed.

Brennan removed the hat and sat up to peer at the sliding glass doors.

Gloria and Sweets, who were oddly formally attired in suits, stepped out onto the back patio. Gloria looked impossibly young—she was a beautiful, slight Hispanic woman with reddish-brown hair drawn into a long ponytail. She had very fine features.

"What are they wearing?" Angela looked at Cam in utter disbelief. "Sweets, who wears a suit to a pool party?" she called to him mockingly.

Sweets blushed a little. He was here on official business and had picked up Gloria from work. She had been very kind to cancel several of her Saturday patients to help out her old friend from Columbia. Plus, Sweets didn't really feel like putting his scars on display for all of his friends to see by appearing in a swimming suit. He had, however, brought his suit just in case he changed his mind. Lance had been a swimmer in college and was magnetically drawn to water. He observed Parker, splashing merrily in the deep end with Hodgins. This was not a child with Autism Spectrum Disorder.

The pair crossed over to where Booth and Brennan were sitting up. Booth rose and shook Gloria's hand.

"Hello, it's nice to meet you. Thanks for doing this. Um, Sweets can I talk to you for a minute inside?" He was yanking Lance away by the coat sleeve.

"Uhh…sure. Do you mind, Gloria?" Lance said uncertainly.

"No, not at all," Gloria replied, taking Booth's seat next to Brennan. "I can observe Parker a little bit and maybe have some lemonade," she added, eying the pitcher on the table nearby. "I'm not dressed for a pool party—I'm sorry! I came right from work!" she giggled. She had a sparkly voice with a slight Spanish accent. Bones appeared to like Gloria immediately (despite her profession as a professional psychologist), and the two began conversing as Booth led Sweets into the air conditioned living room.

"What, Booth? She came. We're here. What do you want from me?" Sweets folded his arms.

"You couldn't find anyone over the age of 12 to help Parker?" Booth asked, exasperated.

Sweets cocked his head in annoyance. "Gloria is 32 years old and I assure you, she's one of the best in her field. I know psychologists who have been practicing longer, but Gloria is really up on current scholarship and techniques. She's had numerous well-regarded publications, fellowships, prizes…she's brilliant at what she does! Would you like a copy of her CV?" Lance asked, moving toward his briefcase to recover the relevant papers.

Booth gazed at him severely and stopped him. "No, I don't want to read her CV." He sighed. "So, what's the plan?"

"The plan is when Parker's done swimming, we ask him if he wants to do some activities with us."

"That's the plan? Pretty lame, Sweets."

"Look, Agent Booth. We either do this my way, or we don't do it. I'm concerned about Parker, too. This is what Gloria and I do—we won't make this awkward. Trust me."

Booth realized he did trust Sweets in this situation. He had no idea how to help his son. Sweets did. "Alright."

"Give us a full hour, no interruptions," Lance said firmly.

Booth nodded his assent.

While Sweets and Gloria were inside with Parker, Booth kept craning his neck to peer through the panes of the French doors. He could barely make out their hunched forms on the floor of the living room. He had tongs in his hands and stood in front of the smoky grill flipping various patties.

"What do you think they're doing in there?" Booth asked his partner, who was sitting nearby, dangling her feet in the water as Cam had done earlier.

"Psychologists use a number of tests to determine learning disabilities. Of course, they're highly subjective and unscientific. I hope you don't expect to learn much from this," Brennan scoffed, skimming one pretty painted toe along the surface of the water.

Angela and Hodgins, who were splashing each other in the pool, couldn't help but roll their eyes.

Angela piped up, "What? You think you could evaluate Parker better than Sweets using your anthropological prowess?"

"I'm sure I could determine fairly quickly if Parker has a learning disorder. Certainly," Brennan responded confidently.

Hodgins swam over and splashed her.

"Hey!" Bones complained and kicked water back at him.

Booth looked pensive, and for a moment Angela wondered if he was considering having Brennan evaluate Parker, which seemed like a truly terrible idea.

"Booth, let Sweets do his thing! Besides, you'll need a psychologist involved to get Parker the necessary accommodations at school," she explained.

"I know. Sweets will figure this out," Booth responded. "I was just wondering how I'm going to explain this to Rebecca. She didn't want me to get involved. She wanted to rely on the school," Booth glowered, thinking.

The eternal hour of Parker's assessment began to seep into the next quarter hour, and Booth had had enough of waiting. Just as he began heading for the door in agitation, Parker came bounding out pulling Sweets by the hand. But Lance was no longer wearing his suit—he had on a pair of black Speedo shorts that reached nearly to his knees and a white t-shirt.

"A Speedo, Sweets? Really?" Hodgins asked quizzically, his head cocked to the side.

"Don't own trunks," Lance shrugged.

Parker yanked Sweets some more and begged, "Pleeeease, Dr. Sweets?"

"I promised!" Sweets agreed a little reluctantly. Then with a flourish he stripped off his shirt and dove neatly in the water, like a dolphin. The arc of his back was elegant. He mermaid kicked back up to the surface and spit a huge stream of water directly at Parker, who yelled, "Hey," and dove in to splash Sweets.

"Show me the butterfly now, Dr. Sweets. Jake is always showing it off in swim class. I want to learn!" Parker urged.

"Parker, that happened to be my stroke in college," Lance beamed. "You got it!" He fanned out his long arms to the sides and seamlessly propelled himself through the water, sending minor tidal waves in his wake.

Cam laughed and commented, "Man, am I hungry."

Angela grunted in zealous agreement, gripping 'Jackie' with anticipation.

"Well, lunch is served!" Booth announced. I even made veggie burgers for the ladies."

"Not for me, I hope," Cam complained. "I need real meat!"

Sweets got out of the pool and quickly put his t-shirt back on, hoping no one had stopped to take in the view of his back.

"Where's Gloria?" Booth asked Sweets.

"She's inside. She had to make a call to a patient."

Booth looked agitated. "So…are you going to tell me what you found out?"

Lance glanced toward Parker. "Later," he replied in a low voice.

Booth hastily took off the last burger from the grill, despite the fact that it was still bloody. He started corralling Sweets away from the crowd back into the house. Lance quickly wrapped a towel about his waist.

Once, inside Lance took a seat in the study adjacent to the living room. It contained lovely mohagany furniture, a delicate Tiffany's lamp, and countless volumes.

"God, Hodgins is rich!" Sweets observed aloud, surveying Hodgins' massive collection of leather-bound books. He opened one and found it full of hand-drawn, colorful bird illustrations. He was almost drooling at all of these glorious, old books.

Booth nodded curtly. "So?"

"Well, Agent Booth," Lance snapped the book shut. "I can tell you what we observed, but it's really Gloria who can follow up more specifically, ok?" Booth nodded. "You're right—there's something wrong." Booth's eyes bulged. "No—it's minor. It's not a big concern, but Parker should get some intervention. He has mild dyslexia."

"Oh God! What do you mean mild? How can you be slightly dyslexic?"

"Well dyslexia affects people along a spectrum. Parker's case is very manageable. In fact, it appears that he has been able to compensate quite well on his own thus far. He is very good at predicting words. It's new words—complicated ones, that he struggles with."

"What exactly does this mean?"

"What is dyslexia?"

"I know what dyslexia is, but…what does it mean for Parker?"

"Sure, ok. Do you happen to remember if Parker took a long time to develop one more dominant hand than the other?"

"Yeah, actually. We thought he was ambidextrous for a long time, but now he's a righty like me," Booth explained proudly.

"That's common. As you know, dyslexia," Lance said kindly, not really believing that Booth grasped the disability, "is a language-based learning disorder that causes difficulty recognizing words. It generally affects reading, spelling, writing, and word pronunciation. In Parker's case, he seems to suffer from Phonological Dyslexia, which is just like it sounds—a failure to decode the phonetics of words. Parker has great difficulty reading new or nonsense words."

Booth was devastated. "Why did this happen? Is it because…" Booth looked sad and lost.

"Because what?" Lance encouraged his friend to share.

"Because I'm not smart enough? I didn't develop his reading enough?"

"You can't be serious. Don't tell me you've fallen for your own line of crap," Lance responded more saddened by Booth's assumption than annoyed.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Booth retorted hotly.

"It means you go around subverting your intelligence—basically playing dumb—and now you actually believe that it's true. You know better. I know better. Parker knows better. And Parker IS smart—he just has a processing problem. So chill out. Your son needs to know this isn't a big deal if he can get the accommodations he requires."

"Accommodations? Parker will get pulled out of class?"

"No, not necessarily."

"This is going to change his life forever. The other kids will taunt him!"

Lance got that Booth's panic was in line with a typical parent, but he wished Booth would stop jumping to the worst conclusion. He swallowed before beginning again. "When my parents first adopted me, I barely spoke for an entire year. I would get so anxious in class when my teacher would touch me or ask me a question that I would literally break out into a sweat and refuse to communicate. Sometimes I would run away and hide—in the cabinets, in the bathroom, anywhere. My teacher assumed I had a language-based learning disability and even tried to put me in a special ed class. Do you think I'm stupid, Agent Booth?"

"Well no, you were just dealing with…whatever. That's different."

"I had anxiety disorder," Lance clarified, wishing his use of the past tense were completely justifiable. "But in first grade, I was already reading at the level of a middle schooler. The anxiety did get in my way, but with help, I was able to overcome it. That's all Parker needs—a little intervention to level the playing field."

Booth stared silently at Sweets, processing.

"Here comes Gloria, Booth."

Gloria was smiling pleasantly and took a seat with the two men in the study. She also took a moment to survey the beautiful sight of the leather books, mouth slightly agape.

"Mr. Booth? I'm sorry, I had to take that call. I assume Lance told you about our observations?"

Lance felt a little guilty, knowing he should have waited for Gloria. He'd allowed Booth to pressure him into spilling the beans. "Sorry, Agent Booth was very eager to…"

"That's fine, Lance. No worries," Gloria interrupted with genuineness. "So Mr. Booth, how are you doing with all of this?"

This made Sweets feel even worse. He had been so busy reasoning with Booth that he'd forgotten to ask this simple and kind question.

"I'm…a little overwhelmed. I mean, a learning disability. Wow," Booth mumbled.

"This case of dyslexia is so mild, it took a real Superdad to catch it so early in Parker's life. Often these cases go undetected till high school or even college. We'll make sure Parker gets the help he needs, and he'll be absolutely fine. You can relax, Mr. Booth." Gloria smiled so warmly that Booth began to feel a little better.

"So what do we do now?" he asked the psychologists.

"We contact the school to set up an IEP meeting," Gloria explained. "Perhaps the school will want to do their own evaluation beforehand. But the meeting is where you, me, perhaps Parker's mother," she added carefully, not knowing Booth's story but finding it suspect that Parker's mother was not here today, "a special education teacher, the class teacher, and perhaps an administrator gather together to discuss classroom accommodations. In Parker's case this might involve extra time on a spelling or reading test, a distraction-free testing environment, or perhaps even asking the teacher to refrain from calling on Parker to read aloud. Whatever we decide, we will carefully take into consideration Parker's feelings, strengths, and weaknesses."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Booth agreed.

"I will call you on Monday to set something up with your son's school. Until then, just relax and enjoy the sunshine!" Gloria shook Booth's hand and departed.

Lance rose also and began to wander back toward the yard, when Booth stopped him.

"Thanks, Sweets."

"It's no problem," Lance responded.

"Hey…it does make me feel better knowing that you struggled a little in school," Booth said in a low voice.

"Oh yeah?" Lance said in mock offense.

"Yeah, I mean. I'm not glad you struggled, but look how you turned out. It gives me hope for Parker."

Sweets was touched. "Oh. Thanks. I'm glad it helps."

Booth breezed by Lance and left him standing alone in the study, thoroughly pleased. He lovingly picked up the bird book once more and returned it to its place on the shelf.

Booth headed back out to the pool, as Parker bounded up breathlessly to greet him.

"Dad, look what Dr. Hodgins gave me!" he exclaimed, holding out a dusty-looking ship in a bottle. "It was over with the garbage, and he said I could have it," Parker explained, beaming.

Hodgins shook his head in the background and mumbled, "One man's trash is another's treasure."

Booth grinned down at his son. "Lemme see that. Woah, what's that under that rock?"

"Treasure!" Parker announced in awe. Sure enough, there was a tiny wooden box opened just a crack to reveal glittering jewels and gold.

Booth laughed. "Cool. Keep that away from pirates."

"Kay," Parker called, already running off to amuse himself in some other manner.

As Booth watched Parker shoot off like an electron, he felt an odd combination of emotions: pride, worry, uncertainty, contentment. "Parenthood," he shook his head. He was glad Sweets wasn't here to read his mind and analyze it.

"Bombs away!" Booth called, charging at the pool.