Thank you for all of the wonderful reviews. I'm glad you like this story idea.
I don't own Bones.
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Booth liked to clean his guns when his children were safely in bed. He'd place his guns on the dining room table with his gun cleaning kit and take care of it as quickly as possible. He preferred to have his guns in the gun safe and out of sight of his children, so the only time he had available to clean them was when he was at night when the children were safely out of the way.
Booth had laid out his .45 and .22 on the table and disassembled the .45 when Brennan called him into the kitchen. The refrigerator was leaking water again on the floor and Brennan wanted Booth's help trying to pinpoint where the water was coming from. After he had determined that they needed to replace the ice maker, Booth walked back into the dining area to finish cleaning his guns. Leaving the kitchen, Booth stopped dead in his tracks and felt his blood run cold.
"Hank . . . son, I need you to put the gun down." Booth spoke softly, but firmly.
Hank turning towards his father, pointed the .22 at his father and grinned. "Gee Daddy. I like your gun better than mine. Can I have a gun like yours?"
Nervously, Booth swallowed and remained outwards calm. "Hank, I need you to point the gun towards the fireplace and then slowly put the gun back down on the table. Can you do that for Daddy?"
Sensing that something was wrong, Brennan walked quickly to the doorway and saw her little son pointing Booth's gun towards her husband. Careful not to startle the child, she decided to let Booth handle the situation, but stood next to Booth for support.
Alarmed, Booth realized that Brennan was standing next to him, so urged her to leave. "Bones, go back into the kitchen please. Hank and I are going to take care of this."
Brennan stood her ground and smiled at her youngest child. "Hank, please aim the gun towards the fireplace and then put the gun on the table like you father asked."
Shifting his feet, Hank moved so that the gun was now aimed at his mother. "Look Mommy, I want a gun like this one for my birthday."
Cautiously, Booth took a step towards his son and continued to speak in a quiet but firm manner. "Hank, please do what Daddy and Mommy say. Point the gun towards the fireplace and then put the gun down on the table. Do it for us okay? We'll talk about your birthday present afterwards, okay?"
Hank pointed the gun towards the fireplace and then placed the gun on the table. Smiling at his father, Hank pointed at the table. "Do you want it here?"
Deeply exhaling, Booth strode over to where his son was standing and picked him up. Holding him tightly against his chest, Booth kissed his cheek. "Hank, you are never ever to touch any of Daddy's guns again. Do you understand?" Booth's voice escalating he knew it, but couldn't stop it. " They aren't toys. You could hurt someone if you tried to play with Daddy's guns. Don't ever touch or pick up Daddy's guns ever again. Do you understand?" Breathing hard, Booth was staring relentlessly at his son. Hank, realizing that he'd upset his father, started to cry, not sure why his father was yelling at him.
Brennan, decided that she needed to calm down her husband. "Booth, he understands." Placing her hand on Hank's face, Brennan rubbed his tears from his cheeks. "You understand don't you Hank? You won't ever pick up or touch Daddy's guns ever again will you?"
Tearfully rubbing his eyes, Hank nodded his head and continued to weep. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to play with it. I won't ever touch it again. I promise."
Calming down, Booth hugged his son, feeling guilty he had made the boy cry. "It's late Hank, what are you doing downstairs? You're supposed to be in bed."
His tears finally stopped, Hank looked down at Booth's chest. "I wanted Mommy."
Brennan, her need to hold her child very strong, pulled Hank into her arms and walked into the kitchen with the boy. Sitting on a chair next to the island, she held him tightly against her body and rubbed his back.
After watching Brennan and Hank for a few minutes, Booth turned and walked over to the table. Checking the firing chamber of the .22, Booth was relieved to find it empty. Shaking his head, he quickly disassembled the gun, sat down on the chair next to the table and stared at his guns.
Soon, Brennan moved past Booth with Hank still in her arms and walked up the staircase. Watching her walk up the stairs, Booth finally put his hands over his eyes and tried to block out the thought of what might have happened. After awhile, he felt calm enough to clean his guns. His hands trembling a little, Booth started picking up the gun parts and inspected each one.
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After Booth cleaned his guns and reassembled them, he locked them back in the gun safe, turned off the lights downstairs, made sure all of the windows were closed and locked and checked to make sure that all of the outside doors were locked.
Entering their bedroom, Booth found Brennan sitting up in bed, reading one of her journals. Sitting on the edge of the bed next to Brennan, Booth placed his hand on her knee. "I'm sorry Bones. That shouldn't have happened and it never will again."
Embarrassed that Booth was taking the blame, Brennan shook her head. "No, don't apologize, I was the one who asked you to stop what you were doing and come into the kitchen." Placing her magazine down on her lap, she reached out and touched his hand. "Hank has been told more that once that he is not to touch anything that belongs to you. We just need to make sure everyone in this house understands that."
Clasping her hand, Booth grimly nodded his head. "I think this a rule that needs to go into the book and right away."
In full agreement, Brennan nodded her head. "I agree."
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Two days later, Booth arrived home, retrieved the mail from the mail box and brought it into the house. Walking into the living room, he found Brennan and all of his children quietly sitting on the couches, waiting for him to come home. She had checked the mail box earlier and knew the envelope was in the mail box. Since this was a family affair, she had waited for Booth to come home.
Spying Booth enter the living room, Brennan stood up. "I told everyone that we have a very important rule coming from the Head Daddy today and we were waiting for you to come home."
Booth walked over to where Hank was sitting and handed the envelope to his youngest child. "Hank, please read the letter for all of us." Once the boy had the envelope, Booth walked over to where Brennan was standing and stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders.
Hank opened the envelope, glanced at everyone's expectant faces and cleared his throat. "Nine. It is not okay to touch Daddy's guns. Never touch or pickup Daddy's guns."
Moving so that he was now standing next to Brennan, Booth looked at each of his children. "Does everyone understand what the rule says? No one and I mean no one is allowed to touch Daddy's guns except Mommy. No one else in this house may touch or pick up any guns that they see."
Parker, knowing that his father was still agitated about Hank picking up the .22 earlier that week, nodded his head. "Yes, Dad. Everyone understands. No one will ever touch your guns again."
Nodding their heads, Christine, Joseph and Hank answered, "Yes, Daddy."
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Ok, serious stuff. What did you think?