A/N: this is a reminder that these stories are not in any particular order.

Thank you for reviewing my story. I appreciate it.

I don't own Bones.

Ooooooooooooooooo

He'd had a lot of fun at Billy Cramer's house, but Billy's mother had told him it was dinner time and it was time for him to go home and he did. Entering his house, Hank smelled some delicious aromas coming from the kitchen and raced to the island, climbed on one of the stools next to it and shouted at his mother. "I'm so hungry Mommy, can I eat now?"

Lowering the lid back onto a pot on the stove, Brennan turned to face her son. "First, you must use your inside voice, Hank. I am standing approximately fifteen feet from where you are sitting. Second, you may have a small snack since I am still cooking dinner."

His stomach rumbling, Hank leaned on the counter and whispered. "Thank you."

Her son's antics were amusing and made her laugh. "You may have an oatmeal cookie or some yogurt plus a glass of juice or milk."

Pointing at the cookie jar, he grinned. "One cookie please and milk. Thank you."

Placing a cookie on a napkin, Brennan poured a small glass of milk and placed both on the island in front of her little boy. "Did you enjoy playing at Billy's house?"

A mouth full of cookie, Hank tried to talk around it. "Yea . . . yes." Swallowing the cookie, he drank some milk to clear his throat. "Billy has a basketball hoop in the backyard. Can I have one of those?"

"I don't see why not. It is an excellent way to exercise." Wiping a few crumbs from his lips with her finger, Brennan shook her head. "Please use your napkin."

Wiping his face with the napkin, Hank placed it down on the island and grabbed the rest of his cookie. Once that was finished, he drank the rest of his milk and wiped his face with the used napkin. "Can I watch television?"

"You may watch the National Geographic channel or the Discovery Channel." Brennan turned back to her stove and wasn't aware that her son was still sitting at the island until he spoke.

"Mommy, why don't you and Daddy call each other Dear or Sweetheart?" Hank stared at her and waited for her to turn and face him. "Billy's mommy and daddy call each other Dear and Sweetheart and so does Kerry's parents and so does Mike's. You call Daddy Booth and he calls you Bones. Don't you love each other?"

A little shocked, Brennan moved back over to the island and stared down at her son. "Of course, we do, Hank. We call each other by our names because that is what we like to be called."

"But you love Daddy, don't you?" The child was worried. What if his parents divorced like Kathy's parents had done the previous summer. "I don't want you to get a divorce."

"A divorce?" Brennan was startled that their conversation had taken such a bizarre turn. "Hank, your father and I are not getting divorced. I call your father Booth because that is what he likes to be called. I do love him and he loves me. You have nothing to worry about."

Hank wasn't sure. "But you don't call each other Dear or Honey or Sweetheart and I thought you do that when you're in love."

Frustrated, Brennan wasn't sure how to assure her son that all was well between her and Booth. "I love your father, Hank. I am telling you the truth. We aren't getting a divorce."

Jumping from the stool, Hank looked up at his mother. "I don't want you to get a divorce like Kathy's parents. She cries a lot." Running down the hallway to the living room, Hank didn't notice the worried look on his mother's face.

Oooooooooooooooooooooo

Removing his tie as he entered the house, Booth stuffed it in his jacket pocket and closed the door behind him. He had been in meetings all afternoon and getting rid of the tie helped him relax. As he entered the kitchen, he realized that he was very hungry. Grabbing a spoon, he removed the lid from one of the pots and dipped it into the rice pilaf.

"Booth, you're worse than Hank. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes." She took the lid from Booth's hand and placed it in the sink.

"But I'm hungry." Emptying the spoon into his mouth, he chewed the pilaf and swallowed. "That's good." Moving over to the cabinets, he removed some plates and set them on the counter. "I noticed the table isn't set."

Shrugging her shoulders, Brennan checked on the chicken breasts baking in the oven. "Christine is in her room doing homework. I didn't want to bother her. She has a mid-term test tomorrow."

Booth understood how nervous Christine got before important tests and decided to set the table for her. "Got it." As he carried the plates, forks and knives over to the table, he talked about his day. "That meeting with the Director was the longest we've had so far. He wants us to tighten our budgets a little and of course Jim Sanderson took that personally. Ever since he's taken over my department he acts like I don't know shit about investigations and how to run a division. He thinks he can snow me and that doesn't set well with me or the Director. Anyway . . ."

Racing down the hallway, Hank called out to his father. "Daddy, you're home."

After he placed the plate he was holding onto the table, Booth turned, squatted and caught his son as the boy threw himself at his father. "Hey there Buddy."

Glad to see his father home, the boy hugged Booth then let him go. "Mommy is making chicken. I love chicken."

"Yeah I know." Booth stood up and tousled the boy's hair. "I think everyone knows you like chicken don't they Bones?"

"Yes Dear." Brennan looked at the boy then back at her husband hoping he would follow her lead.

But of course he didn't. "Dear?" Staring at Brennan, Booth tried to figure out what was going on. "Dear?"

"Yes Honey." Brennan glanced at her son then back to Booth. "I believe you are correct. Everyone knows that Hank loves chicken."

"Are you drunk?" For the life of him, he couldn't figure out what Brennan was up to.

Irritated, Brennan gave up and returned back to the stove. "I am not inebriated. I have not partaken any alcoholic beverages since last Saturday . . . I will explain later Booth. Just . . . finish setting the table."

Puzzled, Booth turned his attention towards his son. "Hey Buddy, why don't you go get your sister and tell her to wash her hands, you too. We're going to eat in a few minutes."

After the boy had left the room, Booth walked over to the kitchen. "Okay, what's going on? Did I do something wrong? If I did you have to give me a hint, because I don't know what it is."

After pouring the Pilaf into a bowl, she removed the chicken from the oven. "Hank thinks we don't love each other because we don't use terms of endearment . . . He's afraid we're getting a divorce."

"He's eight years old. How the hell does he even know what divorce is?" His children were bright, there was no doubt about that, but sometimes he wondered just how bright. "Is someone we know getting a divorce?"

Removing the salad from the fridge, Brennan explained. "The parents of one of his friends divorced last year. Kathy Bridges . . . She's a very sad child."

"And Hank thinks we're getting a divorce because we don't slobber all over each other?" He took the bowl of salad from her hands and placed it on the counter. "You don't really want me to call you Dear do you? It seems kind of strange especially when you have a really great name already. Dear and Honey are just so ordinary and you are not ordinary."

"I agree, but Hank is worried and I was trying to assure him. He's just eight years old and he's naturally comparing us to his friend's parents."

Once he had the salad bowl on the table, Booth turned to face his wife. "I guess we can try it out, but it just seems wrong . . . I like calling you Bones."

Racing back into the dining area, Hank shouted. "Christine told me to tell you she's coming."

"Hank! Lower the volume Buddy, okay?"

As he moved his chair away from the table, Hank responded barely above a whisper. "Christine is coming." Seated he waited for dinner to be served.

Brennan carried the chicken and Pilaf to the table, while Booth carried the salad dressing and plate of sliced bread to the table. Just as they sat down, Christine appeared and sat down. "Oh my God, that test is going to be so hard, I just know it."

"You'll do fine, Christine. You always do." Booth pointed at the platter of chicken and spoke to Brennan. "Dear would you please pass the chicken?"

"Yes of course, Dear." Brennan handed the plate across the table to Booth then spooned some pilaf onto to Hank's plate.

Wary about what was going on, Christine first stared at her father then her mother. "What's going on? Are you two arguing again?"

Irritated, Booth handed Christine the plate of chicken after placing a piece on his plate and on the plate of his son. "No we aren't arguing? What makes you say that?"

"You're not calling each other by your name. It's creepy." Christine didn't like it when her parents argued and she wondered what had set them off.

"We're not arguing, Christine." Brennan sighed. "We're showing how affectionate we are."

Placing the plate of chicken on the table, the girl shook her head. "It's weird. It makes it look like you're fighting."

"I give up." Brennan threw her hands into the air. "Your brother wants us to show more signs of affection because he thinks we're getting a divorce and you think we're creepy . . . Booth, please pass the salad."

"Right." As the bowl was passed to Brennan, Booth looked at his son. "Listen Hank. Your mother and I are not getting a divorce. We don't call each other Dear and Sweetheart because it makes us sound weird and creepy. Get it?"

Chewing some chicken, he quickly swallowed and replied. "Okay . . . it does sound weird when you do it."

Rolling her eyes, Brennan poured some dressing on her salad. "This has been a very odd evening."

"No kidding." Booth laughed. "I never know what's going on around here."

Oooooooooooooooooo

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