Thanks for reading my story. Your reviews have been very encouraging.
I don't own Bones.
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Booth had rummaged through his dresser twice trying to find his Flyers t-shirt. Not able to find it, Booth walked into bathroom and checked the clothes hamper. Not finding the shirt there, Booth walked out of the bedroom and down the hallway to the staircase.
Looking down, Booth saw Brennan reading a book with Christine and the twins sitting on the couch beside her. Booth thought it was funny that his little family had their noses stuck in a book reading.
Calling down to Brennan, "Hey, Bones, have you seen my Flyers t-shirt, the gray one that I wear to bed sometimes?"
Looking up to where Booth was standing, Brennan shook her head, "The last time I saw it, it was in your dresser."
Sighing, Booth rubbed the side of this head, "Yeah, well it isn't there now. I guess I'll wear something else tonight."
Turning Booth went back to his bedroom and collected another t-shirt from his dresser and went into the bathroom to take a shower.
Brennan noticing that her sons were looking at Christine, turned to Christine to see why. Christine, a look of fear on her face, sat with her book clutched against her chest.
Concerned, Brennan asked, "What's wrong Christine?"
Dropping her book on to her lap, Christine hugged her mother, burying her face in her mother's side. Worried, Brennan hugged Christine and asked again, "What's wrong Christine? Why are you trembling?"
Pulling away from her mother, Christine peeked up at her mother through her bangs and replied, "I may know where Dad's shirt is."
Puzzled, Brennan glanced at the fearful faces of her sons and then back at Christine, "Where is your father's shirt?"
Clearing her throat, Christine replied, "It may be in the laundry room."
Sighing, Brennan stared at her daughter, "What is the shirt doing there?"
Clearing her throat again, Christine responded, "Well . . . I may have been trying to get a stain out of it and . . ."
"What kind of stain?"
"Well . . . paint?"
Standing up, Brennan walked down stairs to the laundry room to look at the t-shirt, her children following behind her.
Arriving in the laundry room, Brennan noticed Booth's t-shirt lying on the table next to the washing machine. Walking over to the table, Brennan looked down at the shirt. Her children, ranged behind her, watched their mother to see what she would do.
Sighing, Brennan held up the t-shirt and turned towards her children, "Christine, how did paint get on your father's t-shirt?"
Hugging herself, Christine glanced down at the toes of her shoes and then back at her mother, "I kind of borrowed Dad's t-shirt and wore it while I painted. I kind of got some paint on it and I might have tried to get the paint out with the stain remover; but, it won't come out."
Blowing air between her lips, Brennan shook her head. "I don't think you were wise borrowing your father's shirt. You know he collects those and he really gets upset if anything happens to them."
"Well Mom . . . . I looked for a shirt that had holes in it because I thought he wouldn't care if anything happened to a shirt that had a hole in it. It's an old shirt. I didn't want to ruin my clothes; so, I looked for something old to wear."
"The hole was very small and on the hem of the shirt. You should have asked me to look for something you could wear as a smock. Your father's clothes are off limits."
"Umm, what are we going to do?"
Laughing, Brennan smiled at her daughter and handed her the t-shirt, "We aren't going to do anything. You are going to show your father what you've done. Tomorrow morning, I want you to give him the shirt and explain what happened."
Swallowing, Christine took the shirt and held it clutched against her chest.
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The next morning, Booth walked into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. Walking over to the counter, Booth poured a cup of coffee and afterward walked over to the island to kiss his children good morning. Noticing his children staring at him in silence, Booth lowered his cup from his lips and asked, "What?"
Christine, lifting her father's t-shirt from her lap, held it up and explained, "Here is your t-shirt Dad. I'm sorry."
Placing his cup down on the kitchen island, Booth rubbed the side of mouth and frowned, "What are you sorry for?"
Still holding the t-shirt, Christine replied, "I borrowed your shirt without permission and I got some paint on it. . . I'm sorry."
Taking the t-shirt from Christine's hand, Booth held up the shirt and looked at it. Sighing, Booth leaned over and threw the shirt into the trashcan. Shaking his head at his daughter, Booth drank some of his coffee and then placed his cup back on the counter. Sighing again, Booth left the kitchen.
Christine, weeping, whispered, "I'm sorry."
Brennan, who had been standing in the doorway watching the scene play out, stepped out of the way when Booth came towards the doorway. Seeing the anger on his face, Brennan followed him to the front door.
Placing her hand on his arm, Brennan remarked, "She should have asked; but, she wasn't deliberately trying to make you angry."
Frowning, Booth replied, "I have to go. I have a meeting in fifty minutes that I have to be at. I'll talk to Christine this evening when I'm calmer."
Putting his hands on Brennan's hips, Booth leaned down and kissed her. A look of sadness on his face, Booth added, "This is the second time she's done this and you know it. I have a right to be mad."
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That evening, Booth walked into the house to find that his children had already eaten dinner and were in the man cave watching a movie. Brennan, cleaning up the kitchen, watched Booth walk over to the island and look at the plate of pasta primavera that she had set aside for him. Smiling he sat down and started to eat.
"Are you in a better mood this evening?"
Looking at Brennan, Booth put his fork down and replied, "Yep, it was just an old t-shirt anyways. I'm just worried that she'll borrow something I really value and ruin it."
Standing next to Booth, Brennan leaned against him, "I've talked to her about asking before taking anything from you again. She just thought you wouldn't care about the gray shirt because it had a hole in the hem."
Smirking, Booth hugged Brennan, "Yeah, well if memory serves me right, you're the one that put the hole in it the last time I wore it."
Bumping her hip against him, Brennan responded, "Serves you right too. I told you take it off; but, you were being stubborn."
"Hey, I was cold."
"I had plans to warm you up."
Laughing, Booth kissed her and remarked, "Yeah, that's true. Still, next time let me take it off. I don't want you wreaking my clothes too."
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Two days later Booth was watching a movie with his children in the man cave when Brennan walked into the room with a manila envelope. Walking over to Christine, Brennan handed the envelope to Christine.
Christine, staring at her father, pushed her lower lip out and pouted.
Smiling, Booth explained, "Ok, normally you might have a chance with that look; but, I didn't rat you out to the Head Daddy. If there's a new rule, it's not my idea."
Turning her head to look at her mother, Christine whined, "Mom."
Shrugging her shoulders, Brennan commanded, "Open the envelope and read it."
Sighing, Christine opened the envelope and pulled the letter out. Clearing her throat, she glanced at her mother and then her father, "Thirteen. It is not ok to borrow Daddy's t-shirt to paint in unless he says you can. Do not borrow any of Daddy's FBI t-shirts, his Phillies shirts or his Flyers shirts."
Hank, whispering loudly to Joseph remarked, "I told her she should have borrowed Mom's ratty old shirt she wears in the garden."
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W.S. – Never a borrower nor a lender be.