Yes, I have other stories that need updating. Yes, I have Human Biology I should be reading about. And yes, I should be going to bed right about now. But for the first time in many, many months, I had un irresistible urge to write. This story just flowed out with very little thought. This has not been looked over by anyone but myself, so I apologize for any mistakes. Please tell me what you think

Thump. THUMP. Thump. THUMP. Thump. THUMP.

"Cut it out!" Christine snaps, slamming her pencil down on the table and glaring at her younger brothers.

"what?" the twelve year old boys look up with identical frowns, Hank's pencil squished between his teeth, Zack's foot still thumping against the table leg.

"Stop kicking the table! I'm trying to concentrate."

As soon as his leg stops moving, Zack starts to tap his pencil rapidly on top of his history book. He scoffs at his sister, leaning back in his chair. "You've been on that same page for like twenty minutes. Concentration obviously not working."

"Hey!"

A blast of cold air ruffles the jumbled papers on the table and all three automatically reach out to keep their homework from flying off. Face half covered by his thickest, rattiest black scarf, Booth quickly slides inside and shuts the door with his elbow, his hands busy carrying a large tray of steaks and assorted vegetables.

"Alright, kids, clean up." Unwinding his bar-be-queue scarf, Booth notices the dirty look shared between Christine and Zack as they repack their backpacks. "What's the problem?"

"Nothing," the fourteen year old girl shakes her head, walking close to Zack so only he can hear her. "Jerk."

"Veruca," he mutters back, walking just as far as the living room entry way and tossing his bag in the corner. He can hear her grumble another insult behind him, and usually he would give one back. But tonight he's not up to it, his mind is occupied by something bigger than his annoying sister. He walks back into the kitchen, watching his dad take down plates from a cabinet.

"Here, buddy, set the table."

"Ok."

Booth pauses at his son's easy agreement; there's no token complaint, no smartass remark that is so usual for Zack. In fact, the boy's usual brazen swagger is missing. Booth frowns. Zack looks almost…nervous.

"Something up?" An adolescent shrug is his only answer, so Booth steps closer. "Zack."

"Easy, Dad," he replies with some of usual snark. But his shoulders remain tight and his hands constantly moving in a way that worries Booth more than a little. "I just…I got something on my mind, ok? "

"I'm starving," Hank announces, quickly settling in at the table. He looks back and forth between his narrow-eyed father and his uncharacteristically quiet twin who settles next to him. "Um…should I leave?"

"Do we have to wait for Mom or can we eat now?" Christine asks, taking only two steps into the kitchen before she stops. She's seen her dad look at Parker that way enough times to know that family dinner is definitely postponed. "Oh. Who's in trouble?"

"No one's in trouble," Booth takes his own seat, still sending glances at Zack. "Mom will be here in a few minutes. Sit down, let's say grace."

"I'm not hungry," Zack mumbles, his chair screeching as he hastily stands. "I'm going to finish my homework."

"Whoa," Christine and Hank exclaim softly. Getting high grades has never been a challenge for any of the Booth kids, but Zack being eager to do homework? Almost unheard of. And opting out of a steak dinner? It's enough to cause even his siblings to watch his retreating back with concern.

"Alright you two," Booth rises and follows his son. "Quiet. Eat your dinner."

Zack shuffles into his room, newly liberated from sharing with his twin just the week before. Already the small desk is covered in stacks of papers and pens, dirty clothes tossed haphazard on the floor. He flops onto his bed, his sneakered feet just missing landing on his Flyers pillowcase. He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a folded envelope and tapping it nervously against the palm of his hand.

There's a brief knock before his door is opened, startling the preteen. As quickly as he can, she sits up, whipping the envelope behind his back. But not quick enough that Booth doesn't notice the movement.

"You forgot you backpack in the living room," he says pointedly, holding out the grey bag.

"Oh. Um, thanks," Zack reaches out for it with his free left hand.

Booth sighs, closing the door and sitting at the desk chair, placing the backpack at his feet. "Zack. I know something's wrong."

Zack rolls his eyes, flopping onto his back, the envelope still hidden. "Daad. I just don't feel like eating."

"Since when?" Booth chuckles, relieved to see a smile on his son's face. He moves to the bed, shifting Zack's feet so that he's almost sitting parallel with him. "Hey, buddy. You know you can tell me anything right? I can't help you if don't' tell me what's wrong."

"I'm just thinking, Dad."

"About what?" Booth waits a few moments for answer but when he doesn't get one, he decides it time to get firm. He knows his son, something is bothering him. And if it's not something that has been done to him, then it's something that he did himself. "What's behind your back?"

Zack feebly tries a charm smile. "My hand."

"Zack."

"It's a letter," he reluctantly sits up, bringing the envelope to his lap. "For you and Mom."

Booth sighs, rubbing his forehead. "From your school."

Zack shakes his head. "No."

"Zack?" Brennan's voice flows through the door seconds before she opens it. It is obvious she has just gotten home, her jacket and scarf folded across her arm. "Christine and Hank said you've been acting strangely. Is something the matter?"

"He has a letter that we need to see," Booth answers, getting up to stand next to his wife.

"From school?" Confusion and the beginning of disappointment cloud her tired face. "I thought you learned your lesson about fighting?"

"I did!" Zack protests, insulted. "It's not from school! It's…"

Brennan raises her eyebrows, settling into his desk chair without looking away from him. "Give me the letter."

Zack looks at her warily, tightly gripping the creased envelope. "But you might get mad."

"I will most certainly get angry if you do not give me the letter within the next thirty seconds," she replies smoothly, laying her jacket and scarf over her crossed legs. Booth leans back against the wall next to her, arms crossed. "It is your choice how, but I will read it."

Wisely, he hands it over, face pink and right leg swinging nervously. Brennan opens the envelope, her brow crinkling as she reads the page inside. Booth tries to read over her shoulder but she has the paper angled the wrong way. The continuing silence seems to be too much for young Zack as words start tumbling out of his mouth.

"Remember last month when Parker took us out to lunch? We went to a café and they had this flyer on the wall about an essay contest. They had a category for sci-fi and fantasy, so I copied all the information down. It didn't say you had to be a student at the college or anything!" he points out with feeling, using his whole arms to gesture. "I didn't break any rules! So picked one of my stories, typed it up and mailed it. I, um, I used Parker's address."

Zack squirms as both of his parents pin him with their eyes. "He said it was okay as long as I knew he would open my mail if he didn't trust it."

"I'll be having a talk with Parker."

"Booth."

"Why didn't you tell us about this?" Booth asks baffled, still trying to read the letter unsuccessfully.

"Because you would have been all 'Zack, you're only twelve, buddy' and told me not to so I wouldn't be sad if I lost."

Brennan can't hold back a smile at Zack's perfect impression of Booth, even when her husband frowns at her.

"He's right, Booth."

"You would have done the same thing, Bones," Booth argues.

"Exactly!" Zack exclaims earnestly, standing up. "But I didn't care about that. I wanted to see if I had a shot. I wanted someone not related to me or connected to Mom to honestly tell me how good my stories really are!"

Brennan stares at him in silence for a moment before nodding. "I can understand that. But you should have informed us after you sent in your submission."

"I know," he mumbles, walking around the small space in his room. "I was going to. But I got nervous when I got a letter back. They wanted to know my age and my major and other college stuff."

Booth arches a brow. "Did you lie?"

"No. That's why they sent that."

"It's a permission form to allow his work to be published in the college's book of collected essays" Brennan explains, finally handing it to her husband. "Zack got third place."

"Third place? Third place!" Astonished, Booth skims the letter quickly, pride welling up in his chest. He looks up at his son with a huge smile. "Zack! You got third place! That's amazing!"

"Yes, it is extremely impressive," Brennan smiles widely, eyes sparkling.

At his window, Zack stares at his parents. His stomach is fluttering with emotions, one of them being the happiness he can finally acknowledge about his work. "You…you aren't mad?"

"No," Booth shakes his head, though he points a very stern finger at Zack. "But you are definitely not to do something like this again without telling us first."

"Absolutely not," Brennan agrees, walking to her son and pulling him into a tight hug. "But I am so very, very proud of you. Congratulations."

To his embarrassment, Zack's eyes suddenly fill with tears. He willfully fights them back, but surrenders to his mother's hug. Love had never been in short supply in their family, no the willingness to show happiness or pride in one another. But this exuberant delight in what he has achieved in something that is so close to his heart is overwhelming coming from his parents. From his mother, the successful author with so many best sellers they had to devote a whole bookcase just to her work. His dreams of being able to truly be a writer, to make a living doing so has suddenly become a true possibility.

"Thanks, Mom," he mutters softly into her shoulder. He steps back, quickly wiping his eyes and smiling with his usual cockiness. "You know, third place comes with a cash prize."

"Yes, two hundred dollars," Brennan nods, her smile turning sly. "Just enough to fix the damage to the back yard from you last experiment with Will."

That wipes the smile off of his face. "Mom, come on!"

"You heard her," Booth chuckles, carefully refolding the letter in his hands. "We'll talk more about this tomorrow, but for now you better go down and eat before your brother takes your share."

As Zack hurries out, Brennan looks down at his desk, softly running her hand over a stack of notebooks. Booth's warm arms wrap around her middle and she leans back into him, smiling.

"I'm going to order a copy of the book."

"Yeah. We should have him sign it too," Booth speaks softly, nuzzling into her neck. "The first published work of Zachary Booth. Hmmm, no. Z.M. Booth. That's better."

"I'm…oh Booth," Brennan turns, embracing him. "I am unable to express how proud I am right now. There aren't words."

"I know, Bones. I know." With a kiss to her head, Booth leads her out, arms comfortably around each other's waist. "Are you really going to take his prize money to pay for the flower beds?"

"Of course I am."