Title: The Thank You in the Diner
Spoilers: None. Set the March after "Santa in the Slush".
Tag: Enjoying a dinner at the Diner, someone tells Booth "thank you."
Disclaimer: Anyone or anything you recognize is not mine.
Dr. Temperance Brennan sat opposite her partner, Special Agent Seeley Booth, in their usual booth at the Diner. She absently picked at the pasta in front of her while he talked about some sports game that was on the previous night. Based on the Scandinavian and Russian names he spoke easily, she assumed it was hockey.
"...And then the puck bounced right over Toskala's glove and into the net. Hundred and ninety seven feet." He pointed at her with both hands and leaned back triumphantly.
Her eyes focused on his grinning face. "That's good, right?"
"Good? That's awesome. Bones, have you listened to even one word I've been saying?"
She was about to say something when the door opened and a woman on crutches and carrying a backpack made her way into the diner. She was thin and pale with long brown hair pulled up under a wool cap. Brennan noticed the woman's left leg—it was braced to the knee but most of the metal and plastic was hidden under worn blue jeans. The tip of a stocking clad toe stuck out from the brace's padding. Brennan subconsciously studied how the woman moved—her brain automatically picking up on the postural clues to the injury.
The woman carefully made her way to the counter stool closest to the door. Holding herself up against the counter with one elbow, she placed both crutches next to the stool. She dropped the backpack under the stool, shrugged off her coat and placed it over the seat before sitting down. With an odd look on her face she studied the faces of the other patrons. She paused, looking at Booth, then looked around the diner again. She smiled and spoke with the waitress behind the counter, who poured her a cup of coffee. The woman stood, flexed her braced leg and took a deep breath.
The woman—Brennan observed she was a few years younger than herself—left the crutches propped up near the counter and slowly hobbled her way over to their table, taking care not to spill a drop of the hot coffee cradled in her hands.
Brennan observed her gait and spoke, a statement more than a question as the woman arrived.
"Non-displaced fracture of the posterior distal tibia."
The woman blinked, obviously caught off guard. "Yeah. I slipped on some ice six weeks ago. It takes a lot less force to break a bone than you'd think." Brennan smiled at that. "I just got the brace yesterday. A few more weeks to go and I'll be okay again. It sucks, though. I'm used to being more active."
The woman straightened up as best she could, balancing her weight between her good leg and the brace. "Sir," she said to Booth. "This is going to be a little weird, and I don't mean to bother you two, but I have to buy you a cup of coffee." She gently placed the steaming mug on the table top next to his elbow. He didn't move. Brennan looked from Booth to the woman and back.
Booth furrowed his brow and looked at Brennan. She raised an eyebrow as if to say "Go ahead," and he turned to their visitor.
"Okay. Um, do you mind if I ask why?"
The woman nodded and started what sounded like an almost rehearsed speech. "I know a guy who, um, who was Army. 1969-1975. He, uh. He's," she rubbed a curled index finger over her eyebrow, then nervously ran her hand over her face and looked down, not making eye contact. "He's still waiting for his 'Thank You,' you know?" She took another deep breath. "He taught me, us kids, his kids, to say thanks when we could, however we could and I promised to do that. So, I, um. I thought I'd get you a cup of coffee. I know it's not much, not enough, but it's all I can ever think to do spur of the moment..." She trailed off, realizing she was rambling, and looked back at the two. "Thank you. For what you did for us."
Booth slowly nodded with a knowing smile and moved the cup in front of him. "Thank you. How'd you know?"
"I'm kind of good at reading people." She shrugged, "Comes in handy sometimes." She shifted uncomfortably. "Anyway, I'm sorry to interrupt; sorry to bother you. I'll let you get back to your meal. Have a good night. Thanks again." The woman turned, not looking back at the couple and sat back at her place at the counter.
Booth looked down at the coffee with unfocused eyes and turned the mug in his hands, lost in thought.
Brennan spoke softly, "What was that about?" Her analytical mind couldn't see the anthropological or logical significance of this kind of gift.
Booth wiped at his eyes and looked at Brennan. "That was from one soldier to another. It's kind of hard to explain."
A/N: I know someone who does this, it's a bittersweet thing to see.
Please R&R, this is my second Bones story and I'm not sure if I've got the characterization even close-- which is also hard to tell in short stuff.