"We'll need to make a stop first," she told him as they settled into the cab. She tapped on the plexi-glass partition in front of them and told the driver an address.
"Where is that?" Booth asked her.
"Storage," she replied.
"I didn't know you kept stuff in storage."
"Correction. I keep one thing in storage. You'll be proud I promise."
"Unless it's a pop-up apartment completely furnished I doubt it."
She smiled at him innocently. "Don't you trust me Booth?"
.
"I can't find it," she cursed again under her breath. "These buildings are obviously numbered wrong."
"Bones you have a storage space and you don't even know how to get there?" He yanked the key ring from her hand. "Sixty three. It can't be that hard to find." He led the way between the buildings until he came to building six.
"Now we just go to one, two…what the hell?" He looked at the door marked 76.
"I told you they were marked wrong," she scoffed taking the key back. "If I remember correctly it should be over one more. Come on." She waved her hand over her shoulder for him to follow.
"What's in this building anyway Bones? It better be something good because I'm not really in the mood to go on a treasure hurt for some Himalayan walking/totem/sacrificial/worshipping thing."
"See! I found it." She clapped her hands in front of her. "And there aren't any anthropological or archeological artifacts in this storage unit Booth." She gave him a heavy eye roll. "It isn't even climate controlled."
"Oh well, excuse me."
She stuck the padlock into her purse and pulled the handle for the door to slide up.
"Would you mind giving me a hand? I forgot how heavy this door is." She strained under the large metal weight as he pushed up with her.
"Your Mercedes? This is what you keep in storage?"
"Why not? I only have one parking spot at my building. I thought this was suitable."
"I thought you lent this to your dad?" he asked opening the driver's door and sliding behind the wheel.
"I told you I lent him my car; my Prius. I rarely drive this. Besides that," she follow suit and got into the passenger seat," who said you could drive?"
"I always drive," he said confidently taking the keys from her loose grip. He started it up and purred deep in his throat. "Why you drive that matchbox on wheels and not this I'll never know." He put the car in reverse and slowly backed from the space.
"My Prius is environmentally responsible Booth. This is just…" she searched for a word.
"Cool," Booth said smoothly as they pulled away.
.
"Here's what I was thinking Bones." He pulled into a parking space at the back end of the supermarket's lot.
"Why are we parked so far away?" she asked looking around at the nonexistent cars around them.
"Door dings," he answered obviously. "Now here's what I was thinking."
"Booth this is ridiculous. Park closer. We'll have to walk the cart three blocks to put it away. Look, there's a spot at the front." She shooed him with her hand to put the car in gear.
"No," he said firmly. "We're parking here and we'll be just fine. And who cares about the cart? We'll just leave it here."
She looked at him like that never occurred to her before.
"I know, I live dangerously," he shook his head sarcastically. "I also rip the tags off my mattresses."
"Fine," she relented. "What were you thinking?" She put her purse over her shoulder as they started walking toward the front door.
"I want to split everything with you," he told her helping himself to a cart from the front door.
"I'm afraid I don't follow."
"Split. As in the bills," he clarified. "If I'm going to be staying with you I want to pitch in."
"I guess that sounds okay." She stopped first at the produce and felt several tomatoes deciding on the two best ones to purchase.
"You know I grew my own tomatoes last year?" she asked cheerfully.
"I know. Your place smelt like a manure factory for three months."
"There is not such thing." She placed the bagged tomatoes in the cart. "So how much - did it smell that bad?" She questioned him with a small frown on her face.
"Boy you're quick on the draw," he laughed. "It's fine. Grab a head of that lettuce." He pointed to the wrapped heads on front of her.
"It has no color," she told him.
"That's why it's called lettuce and not coloruce. I like it to make sandwiches." He put the head she handed him into the cart.
"Have you tried spinach? It's much healthier. Plus I think the taste is much better."
"I like head lettuce Bones. If you don't like it then don't eat it." He moved down the line toward the fruit.
"Don't worry, I won't."
"Good." He placed grapes, three oranges and a bag of apples in the cart.
"Good," she repeated having to have the last word.
They made it through aisles four through ten without much incident, other than the argument over cereal preference. Bones, no one can eat that much bran and live to tell about it…Well no one can eat this cereal without going into diabetic shock…
They checked out without incident and per Brennan's suggestion, they took their groceries home and had a late lunch before going to the mall to restock Booth's wardrobe. He would have balked at going to the mall on a Saturday afternoon, the thought of all those teenage girls making his skull ache, but seeing as he was down to his last pair of dirty underwear he just smiled and nodded his head.
"I'm feeling one of my famous grilled cheese sandwiches Bones," he told her hunting a skillet. "Want me to whip you one up as well?" He found the large, deep skillet he was looking for and went to the fridge and began pulling out the necessary ingredients.
"That sounds fine Booth," he answered thumbing through the mail. "Do you need some help?"
"Grilled cheese is just one of the many, many things I am highly skilled at Bones. You just sit and watch the magic happen." He patted the bar with his spatula before he got started smearing the butter and unwrapping the cheese.
"I don't know about magic but I do find the idea of you cooking for me quite enticing." She began flipping through a magazine as he whistled about her kitchen.
He snapped his fingers remembering something before he put the two halves of bread together. "Can't forget the secret ingredient." He went to the fridge again and scanned the condiments in the door.
"Fourth row down Booth," Brennan said not looking up.
"How do you know what I'm looking for?"
"Your secret ingredient? It's mustard. Fourth row down. I prefer French's."
He pouted his lip out at her knowing such a coveted Booth family secret. "Who told you our secret ingredient was mustard?"
"Uh…" She stuck her nose back in the magazine.
"I should have given him the keys to my car. It would've hurt less." He went back to his food on the stove.
"Parker didn't mean any harm Booth," she chuckled. "We were swapping secrets. He couldn't think of anything else he hadn't told me."
He turned back from the stove to look at her. "You and Parker swap secrets?"
"Uh huh."
"What kind of secrets?" He couldn't keep it out and she couldn't help but notice the bit of hurt in his voice.
"Booth they're completely harmless. Who cheated on a spelling test, how he always eats his desert first in his lunch, the best ways to annoy his mother, who he has a crush on. I'm sure they are things you already know. It's a safe environment for Parker to express his worries and concerns."
"What does he have to be worried or concerned about, he's only eleven. "
"Well, without breaking any of his confidences, things like what desert confections girls most prefer, the best ways to get stains out of carpet, how much flowers cost when you can't get stains out of the carpet…"
"I'm assuming you gave him something dishy in return?" He went back to his sandwiches.
"Of course."
"Such as…" he prodded.
"Oh the same," she replied nonchalantly.
"You have a crush on someone?" He was glad his back was to her so he couldn't see the huge grin on his face.
"No one you know," she grinned coyly as he sat a hot sandwich in front of her.
"Too bad."
Three grilled cheese sandwiches, half a can of Pringles, two dill pickle spears and a handful of grapes later they were back in the car and headed to the mall for what Angela referred as shopped till they dropped…or Hodgins shut off the cards.
Booth groaned as they entered one of what he assumed would be the first of many department stores. The place was crowded.
"The men's department is upstairs, "Brennan told him pointing the escalator.
"Maybe it will be less crowded," he replied sneaking past a woman trying to shop with three small children.
Brennan took her place on the moving stairs. "I think we should devise a plan."
"A plan for what?"
"Shopping. Since we have a lot to purchase it would be best of we devised a plan so we didn't waste time."
He shrugged. "Sure. Whatever I guess."
"Do you prefer head to toe or toe to head?" she asked stepping off and directing them towards the men's department.
He paused for a split second then retook his steps. "As in…?"
"To shop. We could start at the head and dress down. Shirts, pants, socks, shoes or vice versa. Whichever you prefer."
"Oh uh…I guess head to toe." He'd never put that much thought into shopping before. He'd also never had to replace everything he owned before either.
"Good." She weaved her way through the stands of shirts. "Where would you like to start?"
"I don't know Bones. Maybe we should do this another day," he sighed. That headache he had thought of earlier began to pulsate in the back of his head.
"Booth we can't. You don't have anymore clothes." She gave his arm a soft squeeze. "I understand this is overwhelming. How about we start with just a couple shirts?"
"Ok," he agreed.
She picked up a muted blue polo shirt and held it up. "Do you like this?"
"What am I sixty?"
"No," she replied, obviously not getting the joke.
"It's too old for me Bones," he clarified.
"Okay…" she went to another rack. "What about this?" It was still a polo shirt but had small blue, yellow and green stripes. Much hipper.
"That is something I would wear," he said taking it and holding up for his own inspection. "What do you think?"
"It doesn't matter what I think," she pointed out.
"Of course it does. I want your opinion."
"Why?"
He sighed. How should he explain this? "Okay. Socially, I guess that's the term I should use, when men and women shop together the man - me - would want a woman's opinion - you." It was very ' me Tarzan, you Jane.'
"I still don't understand why you would want my opinion. They are not my clothes. You should like what you wear."
"But I want you to like what I wear," he reasoned.
"Fine. I think that shirt is hideous."
He looked at it again. "You do?"
"Yes. It's juvenile and the stripes make my eyes cross."
"Then why did you hold it up for me?" he asked putting it back.
"I thought you might like it," she replied with a shrug.
"So you thought I might want to wear something that makes you cross-eyed. I see you have high expectations of my wardrobe."
"Booth this is just as confusing to me as it is to you. I really don't care what you wear."
He pointed to the rejected striped shirt. "As long as it's not that."
"Yes."
"Fine." He looked around, scanning the racks for something that might appeal to the both of them.
How was he supposed to explain clothes to her? A guy bought clothes to impress either A: the woman he was with or B: a woman he was trying to get with. Since he had already made up his mind she was the only woman he was ever going to be with, now or ever, how did he break it to her he wanted to look sexy to her in the clothes he bought?
"You don't see anything?" she asked.
"I like this." He held up a navy blue t-shirt with a pocket on the breast.
She took it in her hands, feeling the height and softness of the fabric. He waited her final judgment.
"It's soft. Plus the material is heavy so it will wash nicely." She looked at the printed tag inside. "One hundred percent cotton, you'll need a bigger size." She slung the right size over her shoulder. "Oh look, green." She held it up to him much like his mother would have done to him in the third grade. "That's unflattering to your skin tone." She tossed it back and grabbed a soft baby blue. "I like that." And put it with the other one on her shoulder.
"I like it too," he said. He smiled at the fact she hadn't asked but just put it in the 'yes' pile.
"How do you feel about khaki?"
A/N: Thank you to all the great reviews and kind words I've received so far on this story. I'm sorry I haven't replied to them yet but I am working on it. If you have any ideas you would like to see let me know and I'll see what I can do.