Temperance glanced over her shoulder toward the laundry room on the other side of her apartment when the tell-tale buzzer sounded, indicating that her load of washing was complete. Placing her laptop on the coffee table in front of her, she rose from the sofa and padded toward the closet-like room that held her washer and dryer. It was the first Saturday in over a month that they weren't actively working a case, so she'd decided to forgo working on Limbo cases in favor of working through the plethora of dirty laundry she'd accumulated and try to complete at least one of the three required chapters that were officially overdue for her publisher.
Lifting the lid of the washing machine, she reached in, grasping some of the wet laundry only to stop and look into the metal drum. The clothing looked as though they hadn't been spun out, and she frowned, lifting only one item. She held the dripping t-shirt out over the machine and sighed. Had she selected the wrong setting?
Dropping the shirt back in and closing the lid, she examined the settings on the machine and huffed in frustration. Nothing seemed amiss. Frustrated, she pulled the dial and turned it toward the spin cycle, pushing it in with perhaps more force than she needed to, and she waited, listening as the sounds of the drain cycle gurgled about inside the machine and through the drain in the sink beside it before she heard the sound of the motor whirr to life. It certainly sounded like it was spinning. The machine seemed to have very minute movements, indicating that something was moving within it. Once it sounded as though it had reached its full velocity, she carefully lifted the lid, hoping to see the agitator slow to a stop as per the safety feature, but it looked as though it hadn't been spinning at all. She closed the lid again, listening carefully for the magnetic strips to click into place, indicating the lid was, in fact, closed correctly, and she waited as the same whirring motor sound was emitted again. Opening the lid, she again found that the agitator was not spinning as it should be.
Cursing under her breath, she lifted a few items of clothing again, examining just how wet they were. The clothing dripped excessively, and she groaned, blurting out a string of profanity that would cause even the most seasoned of naval seamen to experience craniofacial erythema. The laundry was far too saturated to simply transfer to the dryer and hope a second… or third or fourth run through would dry it appropriately. With her current luck, she'd probably break her dryer in the process and have to go to work on Monday morning in the same tank top and pajama shorts she'd donned this morning for lack of any better alternatives.
Pacing her living room, Temperance dialed and left voicemails on the first three washing machine repair advertisements that Google provided within her area. She was about to dial the fourth, when the second called her back, and she hastily jotted down the information on the notepad next to her. The price sounded steep, especially as it was only the cost of the consultation that he'd quoted her, so she again decided to call a few more companies. She'd be remiss if she didn't, at the very least, compare before booking.
She began to dial again when a call interrupted her, and she huffed with frustration. "Brennan." she snapped.
"Good morning, Booth. Wow Bones, good morning to you too. I always look forward to the pleasant way that you greet me when I call." Booth's voice replied, and she pulled her phone away from her ear to glare at the screen.
"You're being sarcastic." she accused him dryly when she returned the phone to her ear, her brow still furrowed in reflection of her irritation with the day as a whole.
"And you're being grumpy. Maybe I won't invite you to join me on my run afterall." he accused right back, though she could hear something in his voice that indicated he wasn't nearly as affronted by her behavior as he'd like her to believe.
"I am not grumpy." she argued, despite knowing, without a doubt, that she was in fact quite grumpy.
"Trust me. I'm an expert on the subject of grumpy Bones, and you are grumpy." he pointed out as if it was the most basic piece of common knowledge, and she rolled her eyes. He wasn't entirely wrong, but she wasn't about to tell him that. "Your silence tells me how right I am." he interjected, and she scoffed. "C'mon, what's wrong?" He probed in a sing-song voice.
"My washing machine is broken, and all of my clothes are either dripping or have been sitting in a mountain of dirty laundry for weeks. That is a hyperbole by the way. It would be technically classified as a hill as it is less than 1000 feet tall, but it's large in reference to my usual accumulation of dirty laundry." she explained with, perhaps, a hint of exasperation. "I've got a quote for a repair service to fix it, but I wasn't able to call another service provider to get a second quote for comparison before someone interrupted." she added with a sarcastic edge of her own.
"What'd the guy quote you?" he asked, and she could hear that cocky lilt in his voice that he got when he knew something she didn't.
"$300 for him to come out and assess the issue, at which time he would provide an estimate for the parts and labor." His exaggerated groan interrupted her, but she continued to speak over him. "The initial assessment fee will come off the total cost if I should agree to proceed with the repair." she explained, reiterating what the repair man had told her.
Booth's snort, followed by a clearing of his throat gave her pause. "Ah, Bones. That guy saw you coming a mile away." he teased, and she glared at the empty air in front of her, for lack of any other Booth-shaped substitute to glare at. "Look, I betcha I can tell you exactly what's wrong. Let me swing by and have a look." he offered.
"No, Booth. You are an FBI agent, not a washing machine mechanic." she told him firmly. She wanted a professional to fix it, lest she have to replace the whole machine when Booth's display of alpha-male superiority backfired.
"You know what my Pops always says? If you're gonna be broke, you better be handy. There's probably a sock jammed in somewhere it shouldn't be. This guy's gonna charge you a thousand bucks for 30 seconds worth of work just because you're a beautiful woman." he told her, and she felt herself smile. How'd he always do that?
"How would he know that I'm beautiful? I only spoke with him on the phone." She challenged him.
"A guy just knows from the sound of your voice." he told her, brushing it off. "Look, I'm just around the corner from your place anyway. I'll swing by in about five minutes." he told her, and she sighed, agreeing before ending the call.
It wouldn't hurt to let Booth take a look, and anthropologically speaking, he was probably correct. The service repair man, like a mechanic had once done to her, had assumed that she had no idea what she was dealing with, which was correct, and would simply accept an inflated price for a simple job. Though, as a specialist in her own field, she often tried to give other specialists the benefit of the doubt. This repair man clearly had a skill of great value, one which she herself did not possess, and as such, she respected his right to charge what he felt his services should be worth. She wouldn't personally negotiate her own fee should another government agency request her services. Her fee was her fee, and if they wanted their remains identified, they'd pay it.
As promised, Booth arrived at her apartment within the next five minutes. When she opened her door, she was shocked to see him in a pair of basketball shorts and a fitted t-shirt before she remembered he'd been planning to go for a run. She liked this Booth. Suited up Booth was very attractive too, as was full tuxedo Booth, but there was something about casual Booth she enjoyed very much, and workout Booth was all together an entirely different breed of attractive.
"Gonna let me in or stare at me all day, Bones?" He asked, and huffed, pointing in the direction of the offending machine.
If his chuckle as he walked down the hall toward her laundry room was any indication, he was finding her predicament far too amusing. She watched as he lifted the lid and inspected a few still dripping articles of clothing before closing the lid again and turning the knob the spin cycle and starting the machine.
"I did that." she groused, crossing her arms in a slightly triumphant gesture, but he just nodded and let the process run through as if he had to confirm for himself that she wasn't a complete moron. She watched in curious silence as he unplugged the machine and counted quietly before plugging it back and opening and shutting the lid several times, all the while watching his watch, as if timing the action. "What are you doing?" she finally asked when his counting ceased.
"These things are mostly computerized now. The newer machines anyways. Sometimes, if your load isn't in right, the machine shakes around too much, and the computer shuts down to prevent shorting out." he explained patiently, and she nodded. That was an excellent feature, though unnecessary for someone like her..
"I am a scientist, Booth. The washing machine is much like a centrifuge. I would never risk starting either of them without ensuring they were properly balanced." she assured him, and he chuckled again, trying to turn on the machine again. They both listened, and Temperance felt hopeful anticipation bubbling up in her as the motorized whirring began; however, much like the previous times, when Booth lifted the lid, there was no movement within the machine.
"Alright, it's gotta be the drive belt." he told her, and she nodded as if what he'd said made any sense to her. "You got a putty knife?" he asked, examining the front of her washing machine carefully. She shook her head, wondering why on Earth she'd have a putty knife.
Booth laughed and reached into his pocket, pulling out his Swiss Army pocket knife and flicking open the flat blade. She watched in rapt attention as he slid the blade into the top corner of her machine and a latch popped, loosening one side. He repeated the action and effectively removed the whole front of her machine, revealing the large plastic tub and a number of wires and mechanisms that comprised the inner workings of her washing machine.
"Huh." she muttered with curiosity as she took in all the parts. Booth winked at her, obviously amused by her interest in the new discovery before her and nodded at the plug, as he lowered himself onto his knees. She reached over and unplugged the machine again, draping the cord over the top of the machine so it wouldn't fall down behind it and then leaned over to watch.
Booth, now laying on his stomach, had his arms in the machine up to his elbows. After only a brief moment, he pulled them out and held a strip of black rubber. It had jagged edges, as if it had once been a single round strap but had since been snapped apart.
"Drive belt." He told her matter-of-factly as he got up off of the floor and tossed the rubber strip on top of the washing machine. "It goes around a pulley and then around the motor knob to rotate the machine tub when the motor is running. No belt, no rotation, no spin cycle." he summarized for her, and she nodded. "Just saved you 300 bucks." he added with a smirk, leaning over onto the top of the washer and resting his chin in his now dirty hands. Her expression must not have been as amused as he'd hoped for, because he stood back up straight and reached out, rubbing his hands up and down her arms. "It's an easy fix, Bones. I can do it in less than ten minutes." he assured her, and she smiled, enjoying the feeling of Booth's warm hands and the even warmer friction they were creating on her arms. Like one of his guy hugs. "We'll have to order in the part though." he said, and her mood suddenly deflated again.
"How long do you think it'll take to ship?" she asked with a heavy sigh, following him out of the laundry room and back into her living room.
"Probably the standard, 3-5 business days?" he suggested. "Big companies like that are usually pretty good at having expedited options too." he told her matter-of-factly as he leaned casually on her kitchen counter to type into her laptop. She'd be annoyed by the liberty he was taking, especially since she'd already told him he wasn't allowed to read her novel until at least draft 3, but he had just been elbow deep in her washing machine.
Walking around to look over his shoulder, she sighed with relief. He wasn't reading the chapter she'd left open. He was searching for the part number. "Thanks, Booth." she murmured. She felt it before she realized she'd done it, and he tensed almost imperceptibly for only the briefest of seconds before relaxing under the gentle stroke of her palm across the breadth of his shoulders. She rationalized that it wasn't any more intimate than the way he often placed his own hand on the small of her back, but their relationship had been a strange metaphorical rollercoaster since he'd woken from his coma dream and believed they were married.
"It's no biggie." he assured her. He gave a narrow-eyed stare before turning her laptop slightly away from her and covering the screen with his hand as he typed. At her questioning glare, he winked and clicked the mouse button with a flourish. "Expedited shipping. It'll be here in two days."
"Booth!" she grumbled, her mouth open and shutting with indignation. "Did you enter my credit card information? How do you even know it?" she demanded, crossing her arms and recalling his innate ability to guess all of her passwords.
"I did not." he countered, crossing his own arms. "I entered mine. You're welcome." he added as a smirk played at the corners of his infuriating mouth.
"I could have paid for it, Booth." she told him. "I have plenty of money." she added, and he chuckled, as he always did when she discussed her wealth. She knew very well how underpaid he was by the FBI; he shouldn't be spending what precious funds he did have on a stupid washing machine driver belt.
"Bones, it was $5.99." he told her. "You can buy coffee. Let's get all this laundry bundled up and load it in the truck." he told her, and she froze.
"I can manage to get myself to the laundromat, Booth. You don't have to help me do my laundry." she countered, somehow feeling that the domesticity of it would be far too much.
"We're not going to the laundromat." he told her, grabbing a plastic garbage bin liner from under her counter and heading back over to the laundry room. "Those places cost a fortune and you'll either have to sit there and watch it or risk someone stealing your undies." he called over his shoulder as she followed, catching up to him as he opened the lid of the washer and began plopping her wet clothes into the plastic bag. "We'll take it over to my place. You can do your laundry, we can order in and watch the game…" he told her, throwing an invisible football across the room and pretending he'd made a goal by raising his hands in the air and silently shouting in triumph.
She cleared her throat, glancing down at the garbage bag full of her clothes and nodded. "Ok." she agreed quietly, ignoring the strange look he gave her as she turned and headed toward her bedroom to get the rest of the dirty laundry that hadn't yet made it into the wash.
Booth watched as Bones sat on the other end of his sofa, folding the first load of her laundry that had made it through the wash and dry cycles. She'd been quiet since they'd left her apartment, and he wondered if he'd overstepped. Truth be told, a big part of him kind of liked having Bones padding barefoot around his apartment in her little shorts, doing laundry, acting like she belonged there. "You okay, Bones?" he asked for a second time that afternoon. Just like the first time she nodded and continued her task. "Bones… I can tell when something is bothering you." he pointed out, shifting across the couch cushions to sit next to her. "Is it because I sneakily paid for your drive belt?" he asked, trying not to smile.
She paused in her folding, placing the t-shirt back into the basket in front of her and crossed her arms. "It's foolish, Booth. I'm fine." she insisted, but he knew better. He also knew with just a little more probing she would tell him what was really wrong.
"If it's upset you this much, Bones, it's not foolish." he told her, reaching for her chin and lifting her gaze to his so she'd know he was taking it seriously.
"You remember how I was in foster care, right?" she asked, and he nodded, wondering where this was going. "How they– they make you pack your belongings in trash bags…" she started, and he felt his heart plummet into his gut.
"Bones… I am so sorry. I didn't even think." he told her, reaching for her hand as she tried to shrug it off. "I was just trying to contain the water, Bones. I don't think your stuff is trash or unworthy." he lamented, and she nodded, clearing her throat again, as if trying to dispel a lump that had formed there. "I love you stuff. Look how awesome it is, I've even used it as home decor." he added, trying to lighten the mood as he waved his hand in the direction of her items that were hang-to-dry-only laying over the backs of all the dining chairs and his weight bench.
"It's really fine, Booth. I know you didn't mean it that way; it just brought back uncomfortable memories." she explained quietly, that lost little girl expression painting her features.
"Let's take a break. You must have something you can throw on to go for a walk in." he said, lifting a few items from her basket as if to throw them over his shoulder in a hasty search. "Whoops." he said with a blush as she snatched a pair of black satin panties out of his hand and shoved them down to the bottom of the basket.
He silently mused that it was a good thing Parker wasn't due to come until later that evening. He'd probably tell everyone they knew that his dad had tried to steal Bones' underwear.
Two Weeks Later
Booth opened his door and greeted his son, lifting him up off the ground in a bear hug despite how big he'd gotten. "Hey, Buddy!" he exclaimed, putting his boy down and ruffling his mop of curls.
"Parker, why don't you go put your bag in your room while I talk to your dad." Rebecca suggested, stepping into the apartment and closing the door behind her.
They both watched as he hurried off before Booth turned his attention to Rebecca again, looking expectantly at her as she silently reached into her purse and pulled out a small brown paper bag. It looked like the kind greetings card stores gave you, and he smiled awkwardly as she handed it to him. It wasn't his birthday or anything…
"Parker found this in his laundry when he was unpacking last weekend." she explained as Booth reached into the bag and pulled out the gift. "It's not mine, and it's certainly not Parkers, so we can only assume it belongs to you or… someone you know." she explained as a pair of purple lace panties dangled from his fingers.
He felt his face heat as he shoved them back into the bag. "I can– I can explain that." he stammered, wondering what hell his ex was going to rain down on him for this.
"Look, I don't give a crap what kind of women you have roaming in and out of your apartment. Just don't do it around our kid." she told him with a challenging raise of her brow.
"I don't have women roaming– those are Bones'." he blurted out defensively. He rolled his eyes when Rebecca smirked, her mood changing from accusatory to teasing in half a heart beat. "Her washer broke mid-cycle. She came over here to do laundry." he explained, wondering why he felt so compelled to assure her that nothing had happened between them.
"Right." Rebecca said with a chuckle. "Bye Parker." she called toward the back of the apartment before opening the door.
"It's just laundry, Rebecca!" he called after her as she headed for the elevator. "Laundry!" he called again as she waved her hand over her head with a twinkling of her fingers, not bothering to look back at him.
Closing the door, he glanced into the bag again, wanting to confirm he'd seen what he already knew he'd seen. Smirking, he wondered how she'd feel about him returning them to her at the office as revenge for the conversation he was about to have with his kid.