Thanks to everyone who have reviewed this story. They have been very nice and greatly appreciated.

I don't own Bones.

Ooooooooooooooooooo

Booth had been in the backyard standing on the middle rung of the ladder leading up to the treehouse when he lost his balance and fell. Realizing he was falling Booth tried to relax his body to prevent himself from getting seriously hurt, but in the end, he put his left hand down to catch himself and he sprained his wrist.

The pain causing him to feel faint, Booth sat up and held his wrist trying to see if he'd broken it. Moving it, Booth yelled out, "Son of a bitch . . . Damn it."

Unaware he had company, he heard little gasps nearby. Booth looked up to see his small sons standing a few feet from him. Frightened, Joseph started to cry. "Daddy are you hurt?"

Hank walked closer to where his father was sitting, leaned over Booth's wrist and poked it. "Daddy, should I tell Mommy you need help?"

Pulling his arm awary from his son's finger, Booth grimaced. "No, Hank, whatever you do, do not tell your Mommy I fell out of the tree. She wanted me to get help putting up the swing and I should have listened to her."

Joseph stepped closer, put his thumb in his mouth and continued to cry.

Booth held his wrist with his right hand and tried to calm his son down. "Joseph . . . Sweetheart don't cry. Daddy isn't hurt. There isn't any reason to cry."

Suspicious, Hank stared at his father's wrist. "Are you sure Daddy? You don't sound okay."

Shaking his head, Booth gingerly stood up and kept his left wrist pressed next to his chest. "Nah, I'm okay . . . Look . . . um, I've decided to wait and put up the swing until I can get some help. Why don't you two go into the house and see if Mommy has a snack for you."

The thought of a snack made Hank smile. "Come on Joseph, Mommy promised to make Rice Krispies Treats for us today."

Staring at his father, Joseph took his thumb out of his mouth and considered the way his father was holding his wrist. "Do you want me to tell Mommy that you got hurt?"

Frustrated, Booth once more tried to explain that it wasn't necessary. "No, Joseph. Don't do that. You are not to tell Mommy I fell out of the tree and I didn't get hurt, Okay?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Joseph turned to walk towards the house. "Okay."

Wary, Booth watched his sons walk into the house. Once they were gone, he sat down next to the tree and swore until the air turned a fine shade of blue.

Accomplishing nothing except to shock Mrs. Henderson who happened to be in her back yard watering her Azelias, Booth stood up, snuck into the house and then upstairs. Wrapping his wrist tightly in an ace bandage, he pulled on a long sleeve shirt and avoided Brennan for the rest of the day.

Oooooooooooooooo

That evening, Booth took a shower and decided not to wrap his wrist again. He knew Brennan would demand to know what had happened and he didn't want to get a "I told you so" lecture.

Booth retired before Brennan did and he had fallen asleep before she finally came to bed. Once she was in bed, she decided she wanted to snuggle with her husband, so she turned on her side and grabbed Booth's left wrist to place his arm around her. The second she tugged on his wrist, Booth woke up, grunted and yanked his arm away from Brennan, renewing the pain in his wrist.

Now sitting up, Booth held his wrist in his right hand and felt he was going to be sick.

Startled with his reaction, Brennan stared at Booth's pain filled face and demanded to know what was happneing. "What's going on, Booth? What did you do to your wrist?"

Not willing to look at her, Booth exhaled deeply before answering. "I tripped in the back yard and tried to catch myself with my left hand. I think it's sprained. I'm sure it isn't broken."

She wasn't willing to accept his diagnoses so she held her hand out. "Let me see it."

Booth didn't want her to make more it than it was, so holding his wrist against his chest, he declined. "Nope, it's just a sprain."

Brennan pulled on Booth's left arm and insisted. "Let me see your wrist Booth. I want to make sure it isn't broken. You aren't really qualified to make that determination."

Rolling his eyes, Booth placed his left wrist in her proffered hand waiting for her verdict.

Carefully examining the wrist, Brennan tried not to cause him anymore pain. "I think it's just a sprain, but we really need to get it x-rayed to make sure. You need to put ice on it and then bandage it. We'll go to the hospital and have it checked."

Moving his hand back against his chest, Booth could feel his wrist throbbing. "Sure, okay."

Oooooooooooooooooo

The next day, after church, Booth felt well enough to play with the kids. His left wrist wasn't broken, but it was sprained and he had it in a wrist wrap. Gathering in the backyard they decided to play a little baseball. Booth had been softly pitching the ball to Hank when Hank stepped into the ball and was hit on his shoulder by the ball.

The sting of pain, caused Hank to shout out. "Son bitch, damn it."

Shocked, Booth straightened up and cut his eyes towards Brennan who had been sitting on a lawn chair watching them play. Concerned for her son, Brennan stood up, walked over to where the boy was standing and knelt next to him. "Are you alright, Hank? Did the ball hurt you?"

A tear falling down his cheek, Hank wailed. "It hurt a little Mommy. Daddy hit me too hard."

Booth sighed and walked over to where Hank was complaining. "I didn't hit you on purpose Hank. You walked into the ball."

Looking up at his frowning father, Hank rubbed his eyes. "Okay. It still hurts like son bitch."

Annoyed, Brennan corrected her son. "Hank, you are not allowed to say son bitch or damn it. Those are curse words and they are not used by children."

Puzzled, Hank searched his mother's face. "But why Mommy? Daddy uses those words when he gets hurt."

Booth shook his head vigorously and mouthed the word 'No' at Hank.

Suspicious, Brennan turned to look at her husband. "Hank . . . when did you see your Daddy get hurt.?"

Looking up at the sky and pursing his lips, Booth waited for his son to answer the question.

"When Daddy fell out of the tree."

Abruptly standing up, Brennan placed her hands on her hips and glared at Booth. "I thought you tripped in the yard. That is what you told me."

Caught in a lie, Booth shrugged his shoulders.

Slowly shaking her head, Brennan shifted her attention back towards Hank. "Don't use those curse words anymore, Hank. They aren't nice."

Not understanding why, Hank rubbed the side of his head. "But Daddy uses those words."

Sighing, Brennan glared at Booth. "Yes, I know."

Oooooooooooooooooooooooo

When Tuesday came, Booth found a manila envelope in the mail box. Pretty sure he knew what it was about, he sighed, carried the envelope into the house and searched out his children. Finding them in the kitchen helping Brennan make little pizzas, Booth held up the envelope and glared at Brennan.

Sniffing, Brennan noticed her glare and didn't care. "I see that the Head Daddy must have sent us another missive."

He knew he might as well accept it and move on, so smiling at Brennan, Booth kissed her before asking. "Do you think that Hank should open this one?"

Curtly nodding her head, Brennan folded her arms across her chest and waited for Hank to do what was required.

Cheerully, Booth walked over to where Hank was standing and handed him the envelope. "Hey little man, why don't you read the letter from the Head Daddy this time?"

Nervous, Hank took the envelope from his father's hand and opened it very carefully. Pulling the letter from the envelope, Hank placed the envelope on the table in front of him and slowly read the letter. " Seven. Just because Daddy says curse words doesn't mean that you can. If you're not sure if a word is a curse word ask Mommy.

Amused, Booth stared at Brennan and winked at her. "Now why wouldn't the Head Daddy want the kids to ask me if a word is a curse word or not?"

Brennan smiled sweetly at him. "Because since you use them indiscriminately, you may not be aware that any of the words you use are curse words. "

Guffawing, Booth remarked with just a hint of sarcasm. "Ha Ha, Bones. Very funny."

Oooooooooooooooooooo

Rule 7 is now in the books. What do you think? When my nephew was three years old he almost got his father into trouble by repeating one of the more serious curse words in front of their preacher. Thankfully the preacher laughed it off.