A/N: My entry for the Boxer Rebellion challenge is not a Christmas story, but I hope you'll enjoy it anyway. If you have time to leave a review, I'd appreciate it.
Seeley Booth yawned and stretched contentedly as he put his cereal bowl in the kitchen sink. He'd been looking forward to this day all week. It was going to be a pleasantly lazy Saturday...time for a respite from the pressures of his job with the FBI. He had just enough planned to do for the day to avoid feeling completely useless, but nothing that had a pressing deadline or that was an emergency repair around the house. He could go to the hardware store and pretend to shop for tools, or maybe he could stroll through the garden center at Priceco and make plans for next year's vegetable garden. A quick stop on the way home to get gas in the SUV and then he could putter around the house before stretching out on the sofa to watch the Flyers after he enjoyed an unhurried lunch.
Satisfied with his agenda for the day, Booth slowly ambled toward his bedroom, scratching his belly and hitching up his sleep pants as he went. It was 8 AM and he decided maybe it was time for a respectable person to get dressed. Normally, if it was a week day, he'd be hard at work already, outfitted in a starched dress shirt, an expensive silk tie, and a fancy FBI regulation wool suit, but on Saturdays the real Booth could emerge from his dress clothes cocoon. The authentic version of Seeley Booth was much more comfortable in a well worn tee shirt bearing the name of some obscure, long forgotten band, and some torn and faded jeans, ready to go back to being the regular guy he was at heart instead of the big shot Special Agent in Charge persona he had to put on while he was at the office.
Since he was going to be out and about this Saturday, he selected the pair of jeans that had the smallest holes in the knees and his best faded Dead Kennedys tee shirt. The hard part of his wardrobe choices having been taken care of, he casually reached into his dresser drawer to pull out his Saturday boxers, but, to his utter amazement, they were gone. Unable to fathom what had become of his best comfy undershorts, Booth looked through the other drawers of his dresser, thinking they'd been put in the wrong place by mistake, but, alas, the beloved boxers were nowhere to be found. Desperate, he pulled the laundry basket from his closet and sorted through his dirty clothes, wondering if he'd forgotten to put them in the correct pile, but the treasured garment wasn't there either. He sat on the bed for a minute, contemplating his dilemma, when finally he realized that his wife might have played a role in the disappearance of his boxers. It was time for an interrogation…
Booth walked into the kitchen where Brennan was sitting at the kitchen counter, making her weekly grocery list. "Hey, Bones...have you seen my Saturday boxers?"
Confused by her husband's question, Brennan stopped writing and turned toward her husband, her brows knit together in confusion. "Saturday boxers? I don't recall you having any undergarments with the word 'Saturday' written on them, Booth. Daisy had some briefs with the days of the week embroidered on the seat while we were in Maluku, but I always thought that was a ridiculous idea. What if one is in need of clean underwear on a Tuesday, and the only pair available says Wednesday?"
Nodding as he listened to his wife's rambling discourse on labeled underwear, Booth became increasingly suspicious. It was obvious to him that she knew exactly what he was talking about, but she was attempting to steer him away from the subject at hand, and he feared that there was only one reason she'd do that. "No, Bones, they don't say Saturday. I'm talking about those dark blue plaid cotton boxers...you know...the really soft ones…"
Chewing the inside of her lip in mock dismay, Brennan returned to her list. "Oh, those boxers…"
"Yeah, those boxers. Didn't they get washed this week? You didn't hide them in the bottom of the laundry pile again, did you? I mean, I know that pair of underwear is getting kind of beat up, but they're so comfortable, and they fit just right...they don't pinch or bind in all the wrong spots, if you know what I mean…"
Brennan put her pencil down and turned to her husband with a frown. "I'm afraid I have some bad news about those boxers. When I pulled them from the washer earlier this week, they were completely shredded...the seam between the legs had been completely pulled apart, and because the fabric was so threadbare and almost worn through, the shorts basically fell apart and couldn't be fixed. I'm sorry to inform you that your favorite pair of undershorts had to be discarded. They're gone, Booth..."
"You threw them away?" Booth stood in horror, glaring at his wife. "Do you have any idea how long it took to break that pair of underwear in? I've had them for years…"
"I'm well aware of that, Booth...I know I've washed them at least once a week since before Christine was born." Brennan rolled her eyes as she picked up her pencil and made a notation on her list. "I'll buy you some new ones…"
"But I don't want new ones...I want my old comfy ones." Booth started to pout a bit as he sat down heavily on a bar stool at the kitchen counter. "Now what am I going to do?"
"I suggest you find some older boxers that you can relegate to Saturday boxer status. I'm fairly sure you have several pairs that might qualify…" Brennan concentrated on her list, trying hard not to laugh at her husband's silly notions about clothing. "You can choose some of those undershorts that are broken in enough to be comfortable for recreational wear and they can become your new Saturday boxers. Isn't that what happened to the original pair? They were good ones that got worn a lot until they were too damaged to wear to work…"
"Yeah, you're right, I guess. I do have several older pairs of shorts that would do, but most of them are white. That was one reason I liked the blue ones...I didn't get the wrong pair out of the drawer by mistake on a Saturday morning, because I knew I just had to pick the blue ones, you know? I don't want to mess up a good pair of work boxers by wearing them on the weekend." He slumped his shoulders as his lip stuck out a bit. "God, I'm gonna miss those shorts…"
"I really am sorry for your loss, Booth. I should've remembered how emotionally attached you are to your articles of clothing. I suppose I should've held the boxers out of the garbage until you came home from work that day so you could've given them a proper burial." Brennan smirked at her husband before giving him a kiss. "I'm taking the children with me this morning when I do the shopping. We're going by the library before we go to the grocery store. We'll be back about noon, I think." Brennan picked up Hank from his blanket on the floor as she called toward her daughter's bedroom. "Christine, we need to leave…" After locating her purse, Brennan quickly slung it over her shoulder. "I'll buy you some colored boxers while we're out today…"
"Yeah, okay...hey, just make sure they're all cotton instead of that microfiber crap. I don't like the way that stuff feels on my...you know...my…" Booth gestured toward his crotch as Christine was walking into the room. "They're uncomfortable. They don't breathe like cotton, and they chafe."
"I understand. Come along, Christine. Give your daddy a kiss good bye. We'll see you later, Booth." With that, Brennan hustled her children out to the garage so they could leave.
Still saddened by the loss of his favorite pair of boxers, Booth went back to his bedroom to begin the search for a suitable replacement. If the truth were to be told, he'd actually known that his blue shorts hadn't been long for this world, especially since the elastic was getting really stretched out, so he'd almost resigned himself to finding a new pair of weekend underwear, but not this quickly. After looking through several possible candidates for the coveted position of Saturday undershorts, he finally selected two likely contenders. The fabric of both pairs of shorts was well worn enough to be comfortable, with good elastic in the waist, but probably past their prime as work underwear. He smiled to himself as he thought of his grandmother and how she'd always emphasized being well dressed all the way down to the skin in case some sort of terrible accident occurred and the paramedics saw a person's underpants. Chuckling softly, he shook his head. If he had a bad enough accident and he needed some paramedics to assist him, he figured he wouldn't be worried about his underwear, but for some reason he'd always been careful to make sure his boxers were clean with no visible holes, probably in deference to her memory.
Booth glanced at the clock on his nightstand. It was almost nine o'clock...he needed to get going if he was going to make it to the hardware store today. After pulling on his purple and blue horizontally striped socks, he grabbed the pair of boxers closest to him and put them on, grimacing in discomfort as the itchy fabric hit his skin. His darling Bones had become enamored with the idea of drying their clothes by hanging them on an outdoor rack in the sun. She said it was more eco-friendly, but it also made for uncomfortably stiff undershorts. No problem, he thought to himself. Booth gathered up his clothing and headed for the laundry room.
Laying his jeans and tee shirt on the kitchen counter, Booth walked into the laundry room and, pulling off his boxers, threw them into the dryer and hit the 'fluff' cycle. After all, what good did it do to pay for an expensive dryer with all those settings if no one ever used them? The timer on the dryer said fifteen minutes. Nodding to himself, Booth walked back into the kitchen and pulled out the crossword puzzle from the paper, hoping to make the time pass quickly as he waited for his shorts to soften up enough to be wearable under his jeans. He found the pencil Brennan had been using and leaned against the counter, intent on finishing the puzzle while his shorts got fluffed enough to be comfortable.
Booth soon became so engrossed in his puzzle that he didn't pay attention to the sound of his wife's car pulling into his garage. Brennan opened the door between the garage and the kitchen and was treated to the marvelous sight of her handsome husband standing at the kitchen counter while wearing only his striped socks, obviously deep in thought as he counted the squares to see if his word choice would fit correctly.
"Booth, what are you doing? I thought you'd be dressed by now..." Brennan smiled sweetly as she brushed past him toward the end of the counter, admiring the very pleasant view his nude physique afforded.
"Jeez, Bones! You startled me! Why didn't you knock?" Thoroughly surprised, Booth hurriedly dropped his pencil and began to fold the newspaper, biting his lip as he considered his awkward situation. "I, um...I'm just fluffing my new Saturday undershorts, and when they're done I'm gonna get my clothes on….they're almost done...I promise...just a few minutes..."
"I see." Brennan rolled her eyes, chuckling softly as she looked through some papers on the counter. "Why do you think I should knock before entering the kitchen, Booth? After all, it's my own house as well as yours. I can come and go as I please, and it's fairly obvious you came to the kitchen as you pleased this morning as well." She held up a piece of paper. "I forgot my shopping list." Playfully eyeing her husband from head to toe, a naughty grin spread across her face. "It appears you've chosen to go commando this morning. It also looks like you're very glad to see me."
"What?" He glanced down toward his socks and then winked at his wife. "Of course, I'm glad to see you...always...maybe I should show you, Bones. Hey, wait a minute... Jesus! Is Christine in the kitchen, too? Oh, my God…" Booth grabbed his tee shirt and held it over his crotch, which only served to emphasize how aroused he was. "I'm gonna go hide in the laundry room…"
"Relax, Booth...Christine is still in the car. I just came in to get my grocery list, and now I'm leaving." She gave him a quick kiss as she patted his buttocks. "I'll see you later...perhaps you and I can both go commando this afternoon while the children are taking their naps…"
Booth twitched his eyebrows at his wife as he thought about shedding his new pair of Saturday boxers to enjoy some intimate time with her. "I think I'd like that…"
Who knew boxers could be so much fun? Laura