When Booth told Sweets to stay down, he was quick to follow the order. He wasn't anything like Doctor Brennan - he didn't go out into the field with Booth and face down trouble on a regular basis. He wasn't about to act out and do his own thing; it was smarter, safer, and better if he left all the heroics to the man who was both trained and extremely talented at them. Even if, admittedly, Sweets did think that what Booth did was really cool. If he had the backbone to go out and do what Booth did daily, he would. But he didn't. It was the type of job certain people were made for and, unfortunately, Sweets was not one of them. Not that he'd complain, honestly. Being a psychologist was very fulfilling on his part and he knew that he'd never trade his career for anything else in the world. He could help people. Far more subtly than Booth, of course, but he was still making a difference out there, in his own way.
Right now though, the most important thing was for Sweets to pay attention to Booth so that he could keep making a difference. If he got killed, Sweets would never be able to help anyone again, let alone finish out his own life. Body darting downward and to the side - which was somewhat out of the way, but not as much as it had been before when he had been tucked behind the safety of the trash - Sweets waited for Booth to give him the okay, then immediately made for the car as instructed. Once inside and safely (hopefully?) out of trouble's way, Sweets leaned back into his seat, closed his eyes, and released a heavy sigh of relief. No more hiding behind things. No more looking over his shoulder out of fear that someone was coming along to kill him. He was, for the time being, safe.
"Physically? I'm great. Emotionally..." Sweets waved a hand in the air, then shook his head. "I'm - I'll be fine. Just as soon as I get back to D.C. and we figure out who's responsible for all this." Reaching up to his collar, Sweets loosened his tie and peered over at Booth gratefully. "Thank you."