Title: Socks & Shampoo (or: The Difficulty for the Daughter)
Author: DianeB
Rating: G
Summary: Bones goes shopping for her imprisoned father – determined to keep it just business – and discovers nothing is ever just business when it comes to Max Keenan.
Author's Note: Hey, wouldya look at this! My first Bones fic! A short "scene we didn't see" from the subplot in the S3 episode, "Soccer Mom in the Mini-Van." Written in November, 2009. Thanks to Anna ("bite-or-avoid") for her help with the Bones Universe and her willingness to beta my virginal work. Undying thanks as always goes to Brenda, my Mighty Editor Goddess.
Disclaimer: I own nothing of Bones. I'm only having fun with a character I love.
Temperance Brennan was displeased – and not a little unsettled – to find herself in the discount department store, but the choice to be here had been taken out of her hands. The selection at several high-end stores in the nearby mall had been disappointingly small, forcing her to take her search down a notch.
Walking into the store afforded a sensory overload beyond anything she could recall, even in her writing. Her alter-ego would never have had occasion to shop in a store like this, but now Brennan, pausing at the entrance by a mighty row of shopping carts, her nose lifting at the smell of freshly-brewing coffee, reconsidered the possibility.
Blindingly overlit though it was, the store was color-coded and laid out in a logical pattern, and it didn't take long for Brennan to find what she was looking for. The organization and coffee impressed her, if the screaming toddler down the aisle did not.
Standing in front of a veritable wall of socks, Brennan furrowed her brows and stared, concentrating to the exclusion of everything else around her.
"May I help you find something?"
Bones jumped a mile at the sound of the young, feminine voice, her concentration shattered as the noise of the store came rushing back.
The voice was immediately apologetic, and Brennan felt a brief light touch on her arm. "Oh my gosh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare you!"
Brennan turned to the voice, her sharp eye quickly taking in the fact that the girl's standard-issue blue smock could not hide her youthful defiance: a stripe of pink hair, nose piercing, and rose tattoo peeking out from the neckline of the smock. "It's all right," Brennan said, taking a deep breath to regain her equilibrium and gesturing to the socks. "I don't need help. I've found what I was looking for."
"I see that," the girl said, nodding. "It's just that you looked confused and I thought it was odd. I mean, it's socks. So I figured it couldn't hurt to ask. There are a lot to choose from, which is a good thing from the store's point of view, but sometimes it's too much for the customer."
Brennan gave her a small but sincere smile, unaware it was the very smile Booth endeavored to coax from her on a daily basis. "Your attention to customer service is laudable, and I wonder…" and here Brennan squinted at the tiny nametag, "Jennifer, why you're working this job, when it's obvious you have skills above the position." Before the girl had time to respond, Brennan continued in her usual forward manner, forgetting she was out on her own, without Booth as a buffer. "If it weren't for the hair, nose, and tattoo, I'm sure you could be manager of this store."
Jennifer accomplished a neat trick of looking both shocked and flattered, a blush creeping up her neck, where it had deepened the color of the rose tattoo, all the way into her scalp. "Wow. Thanks, I think. I mean, nobody's ever said that to me before, at least not at all once."
It was the girl's color that finally reminded Brennan that Booth was not standing at her side, acting as a social counterbalance, and she quickly backpedaled, hearing Booth's admonishment faintly in her head: Easy there on the girl, Bones. She's helping you. "Not even your boss during a performance evaluation?"
"I've never had one of those."
Brennan shook her head and turned her attention back to the socks, but continued to address Jennifer. "I find that reprehensible. I would like to write a letter of favor to your boss. Would that be acceptable?"
The surprise was evident in Jennifer's voice. "Wow, ma'am, that'd be awesome. Oh, I'm sorry," she corrected, "my mom's always telling me I use that word too much. That would be very nice of you. Thank you."
Brennan looked at Jennifer again, this time quirking an eyebrow. "See? Skills above your current station."
Jennifer clearly knew a gift horse when she saw one. "So," she said brightly, reaching out toward a pair of socks, "what are you looking for?"
With Jennifer's expert assistance, it didn't take long for Brennan to find the exact pair her dad had requested: something with arch support but not too flashy.
After securing contact information from Jennifer, Brennan left the girl to tidy up the socks and walked toward the checkout, passing the shampoo aisle on her way. She glanced at the shampoos but did not stop. Nearing the registers, however, she turned and went back to the shampoo aisle. Eyeing the hair-cleaning products, she was thankful the selection was smaller than that of the socks.
Brennan first checked a clear bottle that looked non-assuming enough, twisting off the cap and taking a whiff, but closed and reshelved it quickly when a heavy fruity fragrance assaulted her. Picking up a black bottle, Brennan unscrewed the cap, brought the bottle to her nose, and this time took a more measured sniff. Her olfactories registered nothing, so she risked a healthier inhale and was pleased to note very little scent at all.
Brennan nodded to herself. This was perfect. She knew it wouldn't be wise to invite trouble on the cell block by smelling like a fruit basket, but she also knew her father's hair would almost certainly start falling out if he continued washing it with soap.
And she liked her father's hair.
Carefully screwing the lid back on, Brennan carried the bottle and the socks to the register and paid for them. Walking to her car, she felt immense satisfaction with her selections, but knew it'd take some work to keep that satisfaction from showing when she gave the items to her father.
It would not do to have him believe for one second that she cared about his feet or his hair. He was an incarcerated criminal and she was merely providing a few comforts for the prisoner.
Never mind the shampoo was not something he had specifically asked for. She would simply couch the purchase as practical. It was, after all, a proven scientific fact that bath soap, particularly the brand used in prisons, was not good for hair.
Gaining her car and starting it, Brennan reached up to make an adjustment to the rearview mirror, and as she returned her hand to the steering wheel, her eyes went to the bag that held her purchases. Sighing heavily, as if forces beyond her control were at work in the car, she pulled the bag closer and peered inside.
Socks and shampoo for her dad. He'd be ecstatic, she knew he would. And she would fight to keep his glee from having any affect on her. But sitting here in the car right now, she knew the fight was unnecessary. Pushing the bag back onto the passenger seat, her mind's eye still on the moment when her father's joy would light his face, Brennan gave in to her prevailing emotion and…smiled as she pulled out of the parking space.
End.