(no subject)
Brennan wedged some rolled shirts into her suitcase, and consulted her packing list again. Between one thing and another (most of them involving the investigation at the lab) she hadn’t had time to do any packing during the last week. So here she was, the night before she was to fly to Peru, quasi-frantically putting her bag together.
She went to the dresser, pulled open a drawer, and tosses several pairs of socks onto her bed, before moving on to the closet. She was rummaging around in the corner, among clothes that seldom got worn, when she heard her father come into her room.
“Dad?” Brennan called from the closet. “Dad, by any chance, have you seen my--”
She stuck her head out of the closet to find her father holding out a green twill jacket, neatly folded.
“It smelled a little on the stale side. I tossed it in the wash this morning,” Max said.
“Thanks.” Brennan smiled at her dad. “You know you don’t have to do my laundry, right?”
Max just smiled and shrugged. “It’s not any trouble. I had the time,” he said lightly.
Brennan didn’t push the point any further. She knew it was important for her father to feel that he was being of use. She understood it. As her elder, her parent, he did not want to feel that his child was taking care of him. Even though, in many ways, that was the case. Max had been living with her ever since he had been acquitted of murder-going on months now. He had insisted it would only be a temporary arrangement. Just until he could find employment and an apartment of his own.
But there wasn’t much of a job pool for aging ex-cons, especially one who had recently been at the center of a high profile murder trial ('not guilty' verdict or not). Max had squirreled some money away over the years, but it wasn’t enough to afford a place in the DC area indefinitely. Brennan had argued, time and again, the logic of him just staying where he was. Between her job at the Jeffersonian and her books, she was more than capable of supporting a household of two.
But she knew it hurt her father’s pride to think that he was ‘living off his daughter’ without contributing. Even though Brennan could point out a dozen times over the past months when having him there to lean on was all that kept her standing some days. Emotional support was largely intangible. Doing laundry, cooking, taking care of household errands-those were more easily quantified.
“It’s going to be quiet around here next week with you gone,” he said, taking a seat on the bed, while Brennan tucked her jacket into her bag.
“It’s not too late to change your mind,” Brennan replied. “I can get another plane ticket, easy.”
Not technically true. But she wouldn’t have to pull too many strings.
Max just shook his head. “I’m a bit too old to be traipsing around the jungle,” he said. “Not to mention riding herd on a couple of college kids. You’re brave.”
Brennan smiled. “They’re very responsible young adults, Dad.”
“Well, that Hannah seems to have a good head on her shoulders, at any rate.” Max had met Hannah in passing on a couple of occasions since his trial. “She reminds me of you at that age.”
“Dad, you didn’t know me when I was Hannah’s age.”
“Well.” There was a slight awkward pause. “How I imagine you must have been.”
“Hannah’s a great deal more socially adept than I was at eighteen.” Brennan zipped her bag closed. “You’re sure you’ll be all right here on your own?”
“Tempe. Honey. I’ve been looking after myself for a very long time. I’ll be fine.” He stood up and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “And you’ll have a great time. You can bring me back a souvenir or something.”
Brennan smiled. “And two weeks after I come back, Poco is going to be playing in DC. We should go.”
“You’ve got yourself a date, kid. Breakfast at six? Your flight’s early.”
“Sounds good.”
She went to the dresser, pulled open a drawer, and tosses several pairs of socks onto her bed, before moving on to the closet. She was rummaging around in the corner, among clothes that seldom got worn, when she heard her father come into her room.
“Dad?” Brennan called from the closet. “Dad, by any chance, have you seen my--”
She stuck her head out of the closet to find her father holding out a green twill jacket, neatly folded.
“It smelled a little on the stale side. I tossed it in the wash this morning,” Max said.
“Thanks.” Brennan smiled at her dad. “You know you don’t have to do my laundry, right?”
Max just smiled and shrugged. “It’s not any trouble. I had the time,” he said lightly.
Brennan didn’t push the point any further. She knew it was important for her father to feel that he was being of use. She understood it. As her elder, her parent, he did not want to feel that his child was taking care of him. Even though, in many ways, that was the case. Max had been living with her ever since he had been acquitted of murder-going on months now. He had insisted it would only be a temporary arrangement. Just until he could find employment and an apartment of his own.
But there wasn’t much of a job pool for aging ex-cons, especially one who had recently been at the center of a high profile murder trial ('not guilty' verdict or not). Max had squirreled some money away over the years, but it wasn’t enough to afford a place in the DC area indefinitely. Brennan had argued, time and again, the logic of him just staying where he was. Between her job at the Jeffersonian and her books, she was more than capable of supporting a household of two.
But she knew it hurt her father’s pride to think that he was ‘living off his daughter’ without contributing. Even though Brennan could point out a dozen times over the past months when having him there to lean on was all that kept her standing some days. Emotional support was largely intangible. Doing laundry, cooking, taking care of household errands-those were more easily quantified.
“It’s going to be quiet around here next week with you gone,” he said, taking a seat on the bed, while Brennan tucked her jacket into her bag.
“It’s not too late to change your mind,” Brennan replied. “I can get another plane ticket, easy.”
Not technically true. But she wouldn’t have to pull too many strings.
Max just shook his head. “I’m a bit too old to be traipsing around the jungle,” he said. “Not to mention riding herd on a couple of college kids. You’re brave.”
Brennan smiled. “They’re very responsible young adults, Dad.”
“Well, that Hannah seems to have a good head on her shoulders, at any rate.” Max had met Hannah in passing on a couple of occasions since his trial. “She reminds me of you at that age.”
“Dad, you didn’t know me when I was Hannah’s age.”
“Well.” There was a slight awkward pause. “How I imagine you must have been.”
“Hannah’s a great deal more socially adept than I was at eighteen.” Brennan zipped her bag closed. “You’re sure you’ll be all right here on your own?”
“Tempe. Honey. I’ve been looking after myself for a very long time. I’ll be fine.” He stood up and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “And you’ll have a great time. You can bring me back a souvenir or something.”
Brennan smiled. “And two weeks after I come back, Poco is going to be playing in DC. We should go.”
“You’ve got yourself a date, kid. Breakfast at six? Your flight’s early.”
“Sounds good.”