Temperance Brennan did not have a fickle mind. She rarely ever changed her opinion on things. Angela chose a new favorite food weekly - Brennan had stuck with the same one since she was twenty.
The same applied to her soap - she had first picked up the lavender bodywash when she was twenty-three. Since then, she had used it religiously until she smelled of lavender at all times, even when she ran out and used plain soap for nearly a week.
Booth found it intoxicating. That was something that they shared - they were both hesitant of change. Booth remembered smelling lavender the first time he had shaken hands with Brennan, and assumed that he would smell it the last time he saw her. He was comforted by smelling it every morning. To say that he liked the smell of her bodywash was an understatement.
As a person of distinction, Brennan was constantly receiving thank you gifts and fruit baskets. She did a lecture for a university - a bottle of wine and a box truffles made their way to her door. She classified some bones for a new exhibit - a pretty basket of gourmet cookies and coffee was placed on her desk. Last christmas, someone had given her a gift box from some luxury bath and body store.
Being a person not willing to dabble with change, it was stowed away under her sink with at least a dozen similar gifts.
One morning, Brennan had woken up a few minutes too late, throwing off her entire schedule. Her coffee (preset to be made at 6:30) was slightly burnt. She ran to the shower and pressed on the spout of her bodywash, only to find it was empty.
Thoroughly drenched and growing rather cold, she stepped out of the shower and groped around for a bar of soap. Nothing was there. Frustrated, she flung open the cabinet under the sink and pulled out one of the gift sets. She grabbed the bodywash and stepped back into the shower, not even bothering to look at what it was.
She rushed to the Jeffersonian, running her hands through her hair. It was still slightly damp as she hadn't had time to blow dry it completely. Booth strolled through the doors an hour later, whistling jauntily. He had spent the morning on the phone with his mother, who had recently repainted his childhood home in a more adult-friendly way. Why she had waited over a decade until the kids were all gone, he would never know.
He remembered how the house had always had a cinnamon-y smell, fused with pumpkin and apples. It smelled like fall's colours; rich, comfortable and warm. It smelled kind of like... He paused and sniffed the air. Brennan was hunched over an examination table just meters away. It smelled kind of like her.
He did a mental double take as he approached her. He must be hallucinating. Brennan never smelled like fall. She smelled like lavender. He snuck up behind her and took in a long whiff.
She smelled like everything he loved. God, she smelled like heaven.
So, he did the only natural thing to do in such a situation - he turned her around and enveloped her in a hug, breathing in this new and welcome scent.
Brennan stiffened at first, slightly in awe at her partner's strange behavior. After a second, though, she relaxed a little in his arms. Surprisingly, she found herself thinking that she should change soaps more often.