A Bit of Early Christmas
By and large, neither Booth nor Brennan believed in spoiling children. Except at one time of year; Christmas. His absolute favorite holiday. Then all bets were off. (Well, most of them.) Even a good thing could be overdone, of course, but it was always awfully fun to try, Booth chuckled to himself, as he tucked away the newest trinket in a far recess of their spacious closet. Throughout the year, he squirreled away little goodies that he knew his little daughter would love.
Surprises from inside boxes of the Captain Oatey Cereal he'd loved since childhood, which Bones disdained. Clear plastic bubbles from the 50-cent vending dispenser at his barber shop. They usually contained a small bouncy ball, which always triggered Brennan's explanation of why its arc was so high. But twice this year he'd scored a set of jacks for his little girl, once a tiny model airplane, and several times a small plastic man with a parachute. This evoked more sciency stuff from his wife, who enjoyed watching his collection grow more than she would admit. His occasional attendance at Capitols hockey games sometimes yielded fan gear trinkets he thought Christine would enjoy.
Brennan brought home items sent to her office by hopeful agents and publishers hoping to lure her away from Scrivener and Sons, Inc. (As if!) She also received samples and equipment models from various laboratories and manufacturers which vied to sell the Jeffersonian technical and scientific supplies. Her contributions included tiny notepads, shiny writing pens which retracted their points with a twirl of the barrel, miniature magnifying lenses, a small set of dissecting tools, toy microscopes, and even a small fingerprinting kit. The expression on her face as she showed this to Booth was one of his favorite mental images. She glowed with the anticipation of Christine's delight upon unwrapping it. To Booth, it was a glimpse of what a little Temperance must have looked like during the Christmas seasons before. Before her father spotted McVicar trailing him through the small town holiday bazaar, alerted her mother and left their kids behind, speeding out of town to protect them.
Shaking off the grim thoughts, Booth smiled at Brennan, waited til she'd closed the bag of toys, and replaced it on the shelf behind his army dress uniform cover. Then he kissed her. "Only a few more days til St. Nicholas Day. Do you want to make the elf footprints this year or shall I?"
Brennan returned his kiss. "I think you should do it. It is, after all, your Gram's tradition. I just bought a new bag of organic whole wheat flour. Do you think that's acceptable, or do I need to purchase a small supply of plain white flour?"
"Yeah, we better. I can pick it up. The little brownish flecks in whole wheat flour don't look much like snow. We can store it in the freezer to use again next year, if you don't want to bake with it. Gram nearly always used white flour. Pops told me one year she tried talcum powder but it didn't stick to the baby shoe well enough to make credible footprints."
Brennan looked at him with a wry smile. "Credible footprints? Are you kidding me? Left by an elf? How gullible were you and Jared?"
"Bones, this wasn't just me and him. Grams did it for my dad before she told Mom about it. I don't know how far back this little gig goes in the Booth family. Maybe all the way back to England. You, as an erudite anthropologist, surely respect ancestral traditions and family lore."
Brennan looked at him fondly, "You certainly lay it on thick sometimes, Booth."
"Actually, Grams did it on St. Patrick's Day too, when we'd visit her for spring break and she told us it was the leprechauns. She'd switch between holidays, so we never knew which fairy folk were coming next," he remembered aloud.
"She must have been quite a lady, and loved you very much. I can see where she and Pops would have suited each other very well. I never got the chance to know my grandparents when I was a young child," Brennan commented softly.
"Oh, Bones, come here, you need a hug. Grams would have loved you, and envied your macaroni and cheese recipe."
oooooooooo
Two nights later, they made a big production out of setting out Christine's shoes beside the fireplace. She insisted that Mommy and Daddy do likewise. Booth tucked his daughter into bed a little early and sat beside her to read the story of St. Nicholas once again. Brennan came in for good night hugs and kisses. Oh, and one more drink. Ninety minutes later after the news, having assured themselves that Christine was sleeping soundly, the parents set to work.
Dipping a baby shoe in white flour, Booth made tiny footprints from the front door to the living room couch. Having already wrapped each in brightly colored paper, Brennan set out part of the little gifts on the hearth and hid a few under the sofa. She tucked two in among the fireplace tool set, three atop the sofa cushions and several behind the throw pillows. Sliding a peppermint stick into one of Christine's pink and fuscia tennis shoes, she secreted a roll of Lifesavers in the toe of the other, before adding a Honeycrisp apple and two clementines. After hiding a new Cocky belt buckle inside, she placed similar fruit in Booth's and her footwear.
Meanwhile he made a quick run to the supermarket, purchasing a different brand of beef jerky than his usual favorite and some agave-sweetened organic hard candies for his wife. She had specified peppermints, horehound and sassafras. Before he returned, she slipped a new Cocky belt buckle into his shoe.
"Horehound, Bones? Really?" Booth had asked her. "That stuff tastes awful. One of my army buddies in basic was from California and his grandma sent him some. He said it grew wild there. He insisted I try some, but it was bitter. Yech."
"Booth, the ancient Greeks called it pranchion and considered it an excellent remedy for chest pain, coughing, and intestinal worms. Martha Washington's cookbook includes a recipe for candy using horehound, licorice, raisins, figs, pennyroyal, callamint, egg whites, liquor, and three pounds of sugar. Horehound is hardly a culinary anomaly, but rather a centuries-old treat enjoyed in many cultures," she had replied in her best professorial tone.
Back from the store, he handed her the sack of candy. "Okay, Ms. History Buff Candy Connoisseur, here's your heart's desire."
"Should I unwrap your beef jerky sticks so Christine doesn't see the product label?" Brennan asked.
"Lord, no, I don't want my jerky smelling like my feet! Gag!" Booth nearly choked. "Just slip those in my Vans, and the candy in your boots. That looks great. Christine is gonna love it. Let's blow this popsicle stand and get some sleep before she wakes up with a bad dream or something. I'm beat after chasing that suspect today."
"I can think of some activities that will help you relax, Booth," Brennan purred.
oooooooooo
Seven hours later, the pair was awakened by squeals of delight and tiny feet pattering down the hallway. "Mommy, Daddy, come see! He came!"
Her sleep-tousled parents pulled on their robes and watched fondly as their daughter flitted about, finding the little treats they had collected all year long for her delight.
A/N: I borrowed a couple of plot points from Razztaztic's "On the Run" story about Max and Ruth Keenan fleeing to hide their children from McVicar. One of my cousins' spouses brought this fun tradition to the family. I've been inundated with Black Friday advertising emails lately. This idea popped into my head at 5 am this morning.