Apologies once again for the massive delay between updates. Internet and I are not getting along well at all. Some objects were thrown, some things were said...and, well, the situation escalated. I'll keep you posted.
Once again, thank you so much for the reviews. They keep me going! And Bones is still not mine. Unfortunately.
He could do this. No big deal really. Somewhere he would find the courage to finally cross the threshold into the brightly lit pharmacy and complete the errand Brennan had set him. A lot easier said than done.
Breathe. That's all he really had to remember. Just breathe.
It had been far easier running into the local newsagent and picking up her favourite magazines. With titles like 'Modern Scientist' and 'Forensic Anthropology Today', Booth had walked up to the cash register with a bit of a swagger, relishing the approving looks thrown his way when people caught sight of the impressive sounding subscriptions.
Which had all come to pieces slightly when some guy had practically skipped up to him, face shining with excitement, and had asked this really complicated, in-depth question about something Booth couldn't even pronounce, and his retort had been, simply, "Yeah. That's the one." Not counting that little incident, the experience had been extremely ego boosting.
This, however…this was different. And not in a good way.
Reminding himself of the band-aid analogy (rip it off quickly and the pain doesn't last as long), he gathered up all his fortitude, puffed out his chest and half-ran, half-fell into the pharmacy.
Good. At least he was now inside. All he had to do was… Oh God. He wanted to die. This was just so humiliating.
Ducking low, he quickly moved down the aisle nearest him. Toothpaste, floss and toothbrushes filled the tightly packed shelves. He had absolutely no idea where to find the items Brennan was looking for. Giving himself a quick mental shake, he straightened up. He could do this. He had been an army ranger for crying out loud. A simple trip to the local pharmacy for his invalid partner shouldn't floor him like this.
He gave a sigh of relief when he found the shampoo aisle. This would be a snap. He didn't even need to consult the list she'd given him. He already knew, thanks to previous snooping in her bathroom, what shampoo she used.
However, when he reached out to pick up the pastel coloured container, he couldn't help remarking to the girl next to him, "This is for my partner. She's a woman." The teenager stared back at him, pierced tongue visible through her open mouth.
"Dude, I don't care."
"Yeah, well, just thought you should know. Just in case you thought I used this stuff. Which I don't. Not that I don't use shampoo. I do. I just use…"
The girl stalked off.
Pleased with himself, Booth began humming as he went in search of the make-up stands. This was easy. What had he been so scared about?
He found the appropriate section very quickly. It was heavily advertised and densely populated. He gave his list a quick consultation before diving into the throng.
He ended up having a, somewhat brief, wrestling match with a spry redhead for the last 'Arabian Amber' lipstick and a fifteen minute conversation with a middle aged housewife about the benefits of good foundation. She'd even volunteered some tips about his own cleansing regime and had given him the name of a fantastic cream to eradicate large pores, which they both agreed were a nightmare to get rid of and extremely unsightly.
Strutting slightly with success, Booth consulted the list again. Razors. Hmm. He ducked in and out of aisles for a number of minutes before stumbling across the correct one. His jaw dropped in astonishment. So many different brands of razors. And so many different types. Some boasting long lasting effects, others that they were suitable for use on sensitive skin. A few claimed they could be used in a multi-directional manner (this caused an impromptu giggling fit, for some inexplicable reason). A couple of the battery operated ones advertised that they were perfect for use in the shower. What good would they be otherwise?
He was determined not to call Brennan. He could figure this out on his own. The only question that really needed to be answered was…he had no clue. How on earth was he going to figure this out? A woman came across him five minutes later, lost in nervous, frantic giggling. Taking pity on the wretched creature, she decided to offer a hand. She almost regretted it when he spent the next minute and a half reassuring her that they weren't for his use, even though she'd indicating nothing to the contrary.
After his third repetition of "I'm a man. I use men's razors." she exploded at him, "Yes, dearie, I've noticed you're a man. I don't need you to tell me. You also don't need to tell every single person who walks past that you're shopping for your partner, who is in fact, a woman. I get it. The whole D.C. area probably gets it. That poor woman that you followed down the aisle, just in case she didn't catch what you said, DEFINITELY gets it."
Booth blushed and nodded in agreement. The woman began asking questions about Brennan's skin type. She couldn't help but notice Booth's undertone mantra of "I'm a man. These are for my partner. I use men's razors." almost as though he just wanted to reassure himself of the fact.
Finally, the two had picked out a suitable one. The woman left Booth frantically turning his head from the package in his right hand to the package in his left, desperately trying to choose between pink and purple. It took a while.
He decided to pick up a shaving cream as well. It hadn't been on Brennan's list, but he figured it would look very professional and thoughtful. As though this whole excursion had been a walk in the park that he'd simply breezed through. Forgoing another twenty-minute decision, he decided to pick the one that had packaging most similar in colour to the shampoo. Ridiculously pleased with his ingenuity, he consulted the hand-written list once more.
His face paled. That last item. The one he'd avoided looking at since the paper had been shoved in his hand. The one he had nearly had an aneurysm over when he first read it and had run, squeaking, from Brennan's presence. She, of course, thought that his reaction was incredibly amusing.
Continuously clearing his throat, he approached a girl wearing a dark uniform, the pharmacy's name emblazoned across the back. He decided to avoid a tentative search around the shop looking for the appropriate aisle and simply bite the bullet and ask someone straight out. It didn't quite work out like that.
"Excuse me, where's the ladies' aisle?"
The girl stared at him. Who could blame her really when Booth had spoken through a hand clamped over his mouth, terrified that someone would hear what he was asking for.
"What?"
"The…" he lowered his hand, but darted his eyes in a very paranoid way from side to side, "the special section for the ladies. You know the one." His voice cracked slightly.
"Oh! You mean the sanitary…"
Booth practically rugby tackled her.
"Shh!" He began waving his arms frantically, bug-eyed.
He gestured wildly down both directions of the aisle.
"People!"
The girl looked slowly down the aisle. A toddler and her mother were at one end, about fifteen feet down. She turned her head in the other direction.
That was it.
Booth was visibly twitching.
The girl seemed to fighting a losing battle against a broad smile. He decided he should explain.
"Not for me, now. See, I'm shopping for my part…"
The girl gave out a quick bray of laughter and caught his arm.
"You! I've heard about you! The shopping for his partner guy!"
Booth blinked. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. If news of his excursion had travelled around the pharmacy, did that mean he has behaving ridiculously? Surely not. Any guy in his position would have done the same.
The girl escorted him personally over to the specific section. She also managed to quickly and quietly pick out the necessary items, albeit with a number of low, wailing noises from Booth.
Four minutes later, Booth staggered out of the shop, two shopping bags clutched in his hands. He made his way haphazardly over to his car. When he was halfway there, Brennan rang, wondering why it had taken him an hour and a half to complete the messages. He practically sobbed down the phone at her.
Brennan spent two minutes consoling him and promising that she'd never ask him to do anything like that ever again. He made her repeat the promise a number of times. Every now and again, a high-pitched keening noise would escape him when he remembered his little adventure. When she finally hung up the phone, she was exhausted. She settled herself back on the couch, adjusting the pillow that was propping up her leg. Within moments, she was helpless with belly-rumbling laughter.
God. Men were such women.