Summary: Just some silliness. An afternoon in a doctor's waiting room. An established H/P relationship as seen through the eyes of a preschool aged boy. T for double entendres and other grown up talk. Oneshot.
Disclaimer: I own the lint and a half stick of gum in my pockets, nothing else, unfortunately.
"Out of the mouth of babes oft times come gems."
Maxwell saw her as soon as they walked into the doctor's office.
At first, he thought it was Miss Bianca from his preschool. She was VERY pretty like Miss Bianca, but Miss Bianca's skin was darker than hers and Miss Bianca did not have bangs like hers. But, other than that, she seemed to look a lot like Miss Bianca.
And act like Miss Bianca. She looked up at Maxwell while Mommy was talking to the lady behind the window. She gave Maxwell a soft smile.
Maxwell felt his face get hot just like it did when Miss Bianca did that. He stepped behind Mommy's leg thinking to himself, "Don't see my face! Don't see my face!"
But it wasn't enough to stifle the want to keep looking at her.
He peeked around the side.
There she was looking right at him! She wiggled her fingers and smiled again. Maxwell felt his insides turn all mushy and he couldn't help but smile at her he pressed his cheek against Mommy's thigh.
Again, his face flashed with fire followed immediately by the mushy insides when she let out a soft giggle. He dove behind the safe barrier of Mommy. Several moments later, with a cooler face and steadier tummy, he ventured out from behind Mommy to spy on her once more.
He pouted a bit when he saw that she was no longer looking in his direction, but instead at the phone on her lap. Her thumbs did a light tap tap tap over its front. Then she moved and he saw the small round of her tummy.
"Round tummy," he thought, then his mouth tuned into a little "O".
She was a gunabea Mommy.
At least, that's what Mommy called Auntie Tessa before she had his cousin Abby. Auntie Tessa had put Maxwell's hand on her stomach and gave a shout of surprise when he felt it move. That's when Mommy said Auntie Tessa was gunabea Mommy.
He could have sworn that what Mommy said and he repeated it. Mommy shook her head, smiling, and ruffling his hair.
"No, honey, Tessa is "going to be a" Mommy.
Maxwell gave Mommy a look. That's what he just said. Gunabea Mommy. And he told her so.
Mommy and Auntie Tessa just laughed.
After that, when Maxwell went out with Mommy, he'd look for women with big tummies, pointing them out to her with a couple of soft tugs on her sleeve.
"Look, there's a gunabea Mommy."
Mommy would just smile. Smiled until the day he went straight up to a gunabea mommy and laid his hand flat on her tummy. At least he thought she was a gunabea mommy with her large round tummy. He had noted that most everything else about her was large and round, but he thought that just made her more mommy to love. He asked her why her baby wasn't moving. Maybe the baby was asleep.
Mommy was not happy about his actions. Neither, apparently, was the gunabea mommy, exclaiming to Mommy, "I'm not pregnant! Teach that brat to keep his hands to himself!"
Maxwell didn't know what that meant until Mommy explained to him that it meant she wasn't a gunabea mommy. That was after having to say "sorry" to the mean lady and having a time out.
"Oh, that's too bad," he said.
"And Max, you cannot just go walking up and touching ladies' tummies without their permission!"
Her voice was hard and Maxwell could feel tears welling up in his eyes.
He wouldn't have done it if he knew it was going to make Mommy have a meltdown!
Mommy stopped for a moment.
"Are you going to have a meltdown?"
"I'm only having a meltdown because you are!" he wailed.
Mommy bent down to him, her voice now gentle.
"Maxwell, I'm not having a meltdown. I'm upset."
He didn't understand that at all. Why was it that Mommy's meltdowns were "being upset" and his being upsets "meltdowns"? Maybe he'd understand when he got older, but he didn't think so.
Sometime after he had his "meltdown", Mommy gave him a box of animal crackers. He didn't think about the "incident", as Mommy called it, again.
Until now.
Temptation weighed against his desire to go over and touch her tummy to see if the baby would move for him and the knowledge that Mommy would have another meltdown if he did.
He looked at her. She seemed like such a nice lady. She had smiled and waved at him, right? He didn't think she would get upset if he put his hand on her tummy. Would she?
Nah, he thought. He glanced up at Mommy. She was still talking to the woman behind the window. He looked back at her. She was leaning back against the wall with eyes closed now.
If he could get over there while her eyes were still closed, he might be able to put his hand on her tummy without Mommy or her noticing. He had liked having his hand on Auntie Tessa's tummy, once he had gotten over his surprise. It had been lots and lots of fun. It might be his only chance to do it again, he thought. Until he was at least Mommy's or Daddy's age – and that was really, really old! He didn't want to wait that long to be able to do it again.
He took a step toward her, glancing up at Mommy.
So far, so good.
Another step.
He could feel a little voice in his head telling him not to do it. Mommy would get mad if she caught him and that would make him feel really bad.
Maybe it wasn't worth it.
Nah, he thought. It's totally worth it. IF I don't get caught.
He took another step towards her.
"Come on, Maxwell," Mommy said, reaching down and grabbing his hand.
Maxwell nearly jumped in surprise. How did Mommy always do that?
He looked back over at the VERY pretty lady. Her eyes were still closed, but there seemed to be a little smile on her lips for a moment and then it disappeared.
Mommy led them over to a set of chairs in the corner. She dropped her purse onto the ground with a resounding THUMP! She sat down into the chair next to it and rummaged around for a few moments, pulling out bric-a-brak and depositing it on her lap. Finally, she pulled out what she was looking for, Maxwell's coloring book and crayons. She smiled down at him as she handed them to him.
"Ok, Max, here's your book and crayons," she said, ruffling his hair. Maxwell gave a wide grin. He moved to turn away, having earlier spied an empty seat near the VERY pretty lady where he could draw and give her surreptitious glances. He stopped when Mommy grabbed him by the wrist.
She pulled him to her, bending down to look him in the eye.
"Don't eat any of them."
"Mom-my!" He exclaimed. His ears burned with embarrassment when he thought he heard a giggle from the lady's direction.
"Promise?"
He huffed out a sigh.
"I promise."
He gathered his book, crayons, and as much of his dignity that he could muster and walked over to the empty seat.
Was he ever going to live the "crayon incident", as Mommy called it, down? The one time Mommy calls his green crayon "apple green", he decides to let his decides to let his curiosity get the best of him. It didn't taste like apples at all, but rather waxy and yucky. Mommy found him just after he made his discovery with the half eaten crayon in his hand and green teeth.
Needless to say, what Maxwell learned from the incident, after Mommy had melted down and he mused about his findings in time out, was make sure Mommy was not within sight or earshot when he planned to discover if paste had the sour booger with hints of floral taste to it that Tommy White from Miss Sandy's class claimed it to be.
Having reached the chair, he hoisted himself up onto the seat and then slouched comfortably into it. He peered covertly over his shoulder at the lady. Her eyes were still closed, but her lips quivered and she sucked them into a thin line before releasing them after a couple of moments. He wondered if she was truly sleeping. He stared at her for a few moments longer. Long, even breaths came from her as her chest rose and fell. Bored, he returned his attentions to his coloring book, picking out the lovely blue color that was the same as her shirt to color the rooster on the page.
He sat there for a long time coloring, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to look at her. She only stirred once or twice, catching her phone as it began to lose its battle with its perch on her tummy and gravity. Her graceful fingers swept it up before it could clatter to the floor. And she didn't even open her eyes to do it. Didn't even seem to wake up. This impressed Maxwell quite a bit. Though he secretly hoped that there would be an opportunity where it would drop to the floor so that he could pick it up and give it to her. Then she would smile, maybe even kiss his cheek if he were lucky enough.
He looked down at his artwork again. Not a bad job, he thought, looking at the rooster with the blue feathers, yellow neck, and purple comb.
Not bad at all. Ok, so he had colored outside the lines, but he was careful enough not to color off the page entirely and onto the chair. He smiled.
I think I'm starting to get the "hang" of this coloring, he thought, though he still didn't know what "hang" meant. Mommy and Daddy used it a lot and he figured it meant doing it right.
The outside door to the office opened as Maxwell sat there, musing about the rooster. He looked up. A man stood there, scanning the waiting room. He was tall like Daddy, with dark hair, but not as big, but then there were very few men that Maxwell saw that were as big as Daddy. Daddy "tossed lumber all day", so the only men that Maxwell saw that were as big as Daddy was when Mommy took him on the rare occasion to whatever building Daddy was working on. Then there were lots of men like Daddy.
This man was dressed all in black. This didn't bother him either.
"Good guys always were black," Daddy told him once with a wink as they watched a movie with a man named Clint in it. Well, that was until Mommy found out. Mommy was so mad that even Daddy went "time-out" over it. But Maxwell didn't forget what Daddy told him.
He smiled at the man when he looked over at him and the man smiled back. The man's eyes turned away from his and set upon the VERY pretty lady. Something in the way the man stood changed, he looked at her the way Daddy looked at Mommy after a long day. Then Daddy would hug Mommy tight and whisper in her ear. Mommy almost always giggled.
The man stood to one side of the door, letting a gunabea mommy with a big belly and holding a little girl by the hand walk out before closing the door behind him.
Maxwell sighed. It was obvious to him that this was the VERY pretty lady's gunabea daddy, was "her man" as Daddy would say. Maxwell was a bit sad about that. He had had a teeny, tiny hope that if the VERY pretty lady had dropped her phone, he could pick it and then maybe he could be "her man". Sometimes, Miss Bianca would call him "her little man" and Mommy said he would always be "her little man".
But he remembered that Daddy had said to Uncle Tony once, "Come on, you got to be an upstanding guy. No chick is going to stay with you if you ain't that. Chicks want a guy that's responsible, that have integrity and respect. You got to get your act together, man, because chicks dig upstanding guys. Upstanding guys aren't 'their guys' as far as chicks are concerned; they're 'their men'. That's who they marry, that's who they make a family with. "
Maxwell didn't understand all everything that Daddy said to Tony, but he understood that he needed to be a man and not a guy. He had wanted to be the VERY pretty gunabea mommy's man.
But the man in black seemed to be that from what Maxwell had already seen of him. He was nice to the gunabea mommy that left and he smiled at Maxwell, even though Maxwell suspected the man didn't need to do either one. He had seen other men not do what this man in black did and not be bothered by it. This man did it without hesitation or second thought.
Maxwell sighed. Good guys always were black, he thought. He must be a good man.
Part of him was at least a little bit happy that even if he could be the VERY pretty lady's man, at least she had a good man. An upstanding man.
Well, at least until he sits down, Maxwell thought.
The man sat down in the chair next to her and slid his hand into hers.
She turned her face toward him, opening an eye. She gave him a smile just like the one Mommy would give Daddy when she thought no one was looking. Then she leaned over to him and he leaned toward her and –
GROSS!
Maxwell turned away as she kissed the man. FULL! ON THE LIPS!
He set his crayon down, his stomach turning sour. He made a face and hunched his shoulders.
Sure, he wouldn't have minded a kiss on the cheek from her, but this?! This was like Mommy and Daddy when they got all googley -eyed and mushy with one another and that was just crazy!
He ventured another look at them.
EWW! Now the man was kissing her back!
Maxwell whipped his head back down, shuddering.
Oh, I think I'm gonna be sick, he thought. No, no, no, can't do that. That will make Mommy ask a million questions. Then I'd have to tell her I was spying on him and her, and then Mommy probably wouldn't like that, and which would mean BAM! TIME OUT!
No, being sick was not going to work at all. He had to calm down. Quick. What to do. . .what to do.
He flipped the page of the book.
A fish. A fish. Good. This is good.
He grabbed his orange crayon and began scribbling away with newfound alacrity.
After a few moments, the VERY pretty gunabea mommy and daddy started to talk in low voices. Maxwell could barely hear them. He leaned back, squishing himself into the edge of the chair and turned his head slightly to listen in better, but kept his eyes firmly on his coloring book. He didn't want to subject himself to another horrible, sickening bout of kissing.
"I didn't think you'd be able to make it back till tonight."
"We were fortunate to wrap things up earlier than expected."
"You look as tired as I feel," she said.
"I'm pretty beat. And I've got to go back to the office after this to take care of the paperwork from the case."
The woman let out a pained sigh.
"God bless paperwork," she said. Maxwell got the feeling she wanted God to do everything but "bless" 'paperwork' if he had heard her correctly.
"I don't even want to think about the mountain that's sitting on my desk," she continued. "Just the thought is enough to give me nightmares."
"I thought you said you'd probably have less paperwork once you transferred Stateside."
"Yeah, I think that was just extremely wishful thinking on my part."
Maxwell wanted to give her a hug and figured that the man in black was doing just that.
"You'll get through it ok, Emily. If there's one thing I know about you, you're very good at your job. It will work out. It may take a few more hours, but you've always managed to get the work done on time."
Maxwell heard a weary laugh from her, then a hand patted with a soft thump on her stomach.
"Well, and I'd have to say, Aaron, that you definitely know more than one thing about me at this point. Definitely more than one thing."
The man chuckled softly for a moment. Then there was silence.
Maxwell dared not look at them. Something in his head told him that he was sure they were kissing again, because - well, just because. When Mommy and Daddy got all mushy, cuddling together, they were always kissing. Mommy said it was because she and Daddy loved one another very much. Whatever. Maxwell just knew he didn't want any part of that icky kissy, kissy stuff. He made a face just thinking about it as he looked down at the fish.
Things were awfully quiet except for a few sounds (smooching sounds maybe? Yuck!) over there. It was quiet for a time; the only thing Maxwell could hear was the soft scratch, scratch, scratch of his crayon on the paper.
She sighed and Maxwell could hear the very soft ruffle of fabric. He darted a quick peek before looking back at the fish. She was running her hand over the sleeve of the man's shirt while his hand rested on her belly. Maxwell hoped they wouldn't kiss again, focusing hard on the fish just in case.
"I like you in a shirt with no tie. Wish you'd dress like this more often."
"I thought you liked taking my ties off," the man said.
"Mmhmm," she replied.
That's nice, Maxwell thought. Mommy usually didn't like helping him get dressed or undressed, telling him that he was a big boy and he needed to learn how to dress himself. The man was lucky to have someone who wanted to help him get his clothes on and off.
"Yes, but no tie means not having to dig it out from on top of the bookcase in the morning."
Ok, that sounded a lot more like Mommy. She was always mad about having to get Maxwell's clothes from all over his room on laundry day. Maxwell wondered if the man in black ever "accidentally on purpose" fed his socks to the DVD player.
The little boy scooted against the armrest and a couple of crayons tumbled over the side. He ducked down quickly to scoop them up, taking a quick peak at them. The man rested against the wall with his eyes closed. She was snuggled with her eyes closed also, against his shoulder. His hand was splayed over her belly.
Something seemed to tickle the hairs on the back of Maxwell's head and he gave the mommy a closer look. Thought for the slightest instance that he saw a sliver of her eye peeking at him from beneath those long eyelashes. He blinked, looked again.
Nah, she didn't see me, he thought as he grabbed the last crayon and swung back up into his perch on the seat, his ear neatly lined up with its edge.
"You know," she said softly, "When you get home tonight, after we put Jack to bed, I could always tuck you in. I like tucking you in. VERY MUCH."
Maxwell noticed the emphasis that she put on those last two words.
Wow, this man is really lucky. Not only does she help him in and out of his clothes, but she really likes bedtime with him too. I wonder what story she reads him. I hope it's 'Goodnight Moon' because that's my favorite.
There was a long pause. Then he heard a low chuckle come from the man.
"If you keep on doing that to my hand, you're going to put me to sleep right here."
Maxwell peeked around his chair to look at them. The man was slumped back against the wall, eyes closed. She rested against the shoulder of his arm that was draped around her. The movement of her finger caught the boy's attention. It ran along the back of his hand that lay on her tummy and down a finger, stopping at each knuckle to give it a light rub before traveling on. Maxwell watched, mesmerized, as the pad of her finger ghosted over the man's fingernail before tracing back up the finger to his hand and moving onto the next digit.
"I'm just being affectionate," she replied.
"Right. Keep that up and I'll start to think that you have an obsession with my hands," he said. Eyes still closed, he leaned over and brushed a kiss over the top of her head.
She shrugged.
"I'm as obsessed with them as I am with your di—"
The man's hand snapped, grabbing and stilling hers so quickly that Maxwell almost missed what the man said to her.
"Emily. . ."
Maxwell knew that tone of voice well. It was the same voice Daddy had used on him just as he was about to take Daddy's best hammer out to the backyard and break up old bricks with it. He didn't know how Daddy knew what he was up to, just that he did. It was like Daddy had eyes in the back of his head.
Apparently the gunabea mommy wasn't afraid. Maxwell would have been. He hated going time out. He sometimes wondered what grown-ups did instead of time out. Maybe it wasn't so bad.
"What? I was going to say dimples . . .,"she told the man. It seemed like the same voice Maxwell used when he took cookies from the cookie jar.
Hmm, no wonder Mommy never believes me, he thought.
He looked at the man. Apparently, he didn't believe what she said either.
"Mmhmm," he replied, but the grip on her hand relaxed into a soft clasp.
There was a long pause.
"But I'll be happy to enlighten you on how fascinated I am with your dimples when I tuck you in tonight. I'm hoping you'll be very satisfied with my explanation."
Maxwell had listened to the way she emphasized the word "dimples" and it confused him. What were "dimples" anyway? What were they talking about? He felt as if he were watching Sesame Street's "One thing here is not like the others", but this time he couldn't figure out what the one thing was. He let out a frustrated sigh. Sometimes, he hated grown-up talk.
The man coughed and Maxwell glanced around the chair. The man still had his eyes closed, but he squirmed a bit in his chair. He crossed his legs, but then uncrossed them after a moment. It seemed as if he couldn't get comfortable in his chair.
Maxwell shook his head, picking up his red crayon to color the fish's fin, leaning into the back of his chair. His bottom was getting pins and needles from sitting so long. He understood why the man was getting fidgety. How anybody could get comfortable enough to be sleepy in these chairs was beyond him.
"I think I might like that, although . . .," the man said after a long pause.
Maxwell popped his head around the edge of the seat. The man was bent down, whispering into her ear. After several moments, he lifted his head, closing his eyes and leaning back against the wall, looking much more comfortable now with the small smile he had on his lips. The little boy's gaze shifted to her. She didn't move, didn't even seem to breathe. Then she reached over and pinched the man's side.
"You don't play fair, Aaron Hotchner."
The man's smile grew wider and he said, "I'm not the one who started it."
She grumbled something too soft for Maxwell to hear that only made the man smile harder.
He better stop laughing or he's going to get in trouble like Daddy does with Mommy when he teases her too much. And Daddy's punishment is always worse than time out. And Mommy would always say, "Just wait till Max goes to sleep . . ." and waggle a finger at him.
The gunabea mommy's cell phone finally lost its precarious location on her lap. It fell and clattered across the floor, tumbling to a stop at Maxwell's feet.
What was it that Mommy said to Daddy? He thought as he hopped off the chair and scooped the phone up. It was something bad, something Mommy promised she would never do to Maxwell. What was it again? He scrunched up his face, trying to remember.
The woman was already leaning forward, hand extended, as Maxwell covered the distance between them.
"Goodnight Moon's my favorite," Maxwell said as he handed the phone to her.
"I'm sorry?" she replied.
"Goodnight Moon is my favorite bed time story when Mommy tucks me in at night. Maybe you should read that to him when you tuck him in tonight," Maxwell said, nodding to the man whose eyes were still closed. He could have sworn he saw the man's mouth quirk for a moment and then go slack again. He looked back at the woman.
Her mouth had formed a perfectly round "O" as he studied her. She then tilted her head to the side, pursing her lips together before she spoke again.
"Sounds like great advice. I'll have to take that under consideration," she said, giving him a radiant smile.
Maxwell beamed and puffed out his chest. She liked what he told her! Thought it was great! Surely this was going to be the highlight of an otherwise pretty boring time at the doctor's office.
He turned away, heading back to his seat. The doctor's door had opened then and a nurse, chart in hand, stepped out.
"Emily Hotchner. . ."
The words that Mommy said to Daddy suddenly bounced back into Maxwell's head. He looked back. He had to be quick! Already they were moving to stand up, the woman's hand braced in the man's, his hand at the small of her back. He rushed back to her and she looked down at him in curious surprise.
"Of course," Maxwell blurted out, his face a picture of solemnity, "If he's been naughty, then you won't want to read him a bedtime story. Then you can tell him what Mommy tells Daddy so he'll be good."
The woman paused for a moment, biting the corner of her lip. She seemed doubtful.
But if she thought "Goodnight Moon" was great, then she would think this was fantastic. And the nurse was waiting. He had to tell her now because he probably wouldn't see her later.
"Mommy says when Daddy's been bad, that when bedtime comes 'She's going to spank him so hard, he's going to forget what the safe word is'."
There, he said it. His brilliant words of wisdom. She had to think he was awesome now. Maybe he'd get that kiss on the cheek after all.
For a moment, neither of the couple reacted. Maxwell looked at the woman expectantly. Then the man leaned over, bring his hand to his mouth, having a sudden coughing fit that sounded suspiciously like laughter. The woman sat there, another perfect "O" forming on her lips. A gasp escaped her lips.
They were brilliant words of wisdom, weren't they? Maxwell thought. He glanced at the man as he continued to cough, then back at the woman whose lips were curving into a smile. Unease began creeping up from Maxwell's stomach.
They were good words, weren't they? Weren't they?
Maxwell pushed out his bottom lip in uncertainty. He could feel tears starting to well at the corner of his eyes.
The woman's look softened and she reached down and clasped his hand in hers.
"I will definitely keep that under advisement, sweetie," she told Maxwell softly. "Might even have to use that advice tonight if someone keeps is up," she continued, reaching over and giving the man a poke in the ribs.
"Out of the mouth of babes . . .," he sputtered before sitting upright and clearing his throat.
"Emily Hotchner," the nurse said again. Rather impatiently. Maxwell noted.
The gunabea mommy reached over and ruffled the little boy's hair as she rose out of the seat. Maxwell beamed again. Watched as she and the daddy walked toward the open door and gave her a shy wave and smile as she looked back. Her lips quirked, but then she gave the little boy another radiant smile as the door shut behind her.
Maxwell practically skipped back to his seat, gathering up his crayons and book to go back to sit by Mommy.
"What was that all about, Max?" Mommy asked as he wiggled into the chair next to her.
"Oh, I just told the gunabea Mommy about how "Goodnight Moon" was my favorite bedtime story and some other stuff," he said proudly.
"Really? What other stuff?"
Maxwell smiled, Mommy was going to think he was fantastic too, just like the gunabea Mommy did. He just knew it.
So he told her.
A little voice in the back of Maxwell's head began as a whisper as he relayed his tale, growing louder as the red crept up Mommy's face making it grow brighter and brighter, crescendoing into a scream as Mommy's red hair seemed to become redder, but still not as red as her face which now rivaled the color of his crayon.
After that, Mommy never seemed to refer to the "crayon incident". The "waiting room incident", however, was brought up, discussed, cross-referenced and catalogued every time Maxwell set out so much as a toe past the front door for years to come.
A/N: