"Alright, Tiger, we're gonna wait here until your mom gets out of work, alright?" Booth asks, leading his son into the diner. They head back to their usual table, and he sets Hank in the seat across from him, laying both of their coats in the empty chair next to him.

"Christine too?" Hank asks, looking for his older sister.

"No, Christine is at dance class, remember?"

"I want to do dance," Hank announces.

"Really? I thought you wanted to play hockey like me?"

"I want to do both."

"Well we'll have to talk with mommy, but I think that a dancing hockey player is pretty cool," Booth nods.

Just then the waitress comes by to take their order. Booth orders them a basket of fries to share, himself a soda, and Hank requests chocolate milk. "And a piece of pie," Booth says, eyeing the nearly empty pie case slowly sipping on the back counter.

"All we got is cherry, that okay?" The waitress asks, gum snapping in her mouth.

Cherry wasn't Booth's first choice, but any pie in his mind would be good, especially from this place. "Yeah, sure," he shrugs. The waitress walks away, and Booth asks his son about his day at preschool.

Hank happily tells him about his friend Jacob getting to lead circle time, and that they got to go to music class as their special. That one of the second-grade classes got a salamander as a pet and he got to see it, and that they made a project using paint and old shoes.

"Sometimes, I don't get your school," Booth remarks, remembering the week before when they had painted with shaving cream and Hank had come home with ruined clothes from it.

"You don't go to my school, you go to work with Mommy," Hank says, not understanding his father's comment.

Booth chuckles. "No, bud. I mean I don't understand your school sometimes. You and your sister always have silly stories. Like you don't do any learning at all."

"We learn stuff," Hank says proudly, launching right into the ABC's song. The patrons around them turn to watch the boy, and when he finishes, several clap for him. Hank hides; he doesn't like to be the center of attention and is saved when the waitress arrives with their food.

"Enjoy," she simply says, leaving to attend to other tables. When Booth goes for the fries, pouring ketchup over them, Hank drinks down his milk like he hadn't had anything to drink in days.

"Whoa, slow down there, Hank. You're gonna get sick," he pulls the cup away, ignoring his son's slight whine. "Here: want some of my pie?" Booth spears a bite and holds the fork out. Hank takes the bite, and soon the pie is more on his side of the table than Booth's. The preschooler ate up the sweet treat, capping every bite with a sip of milk, and Booth couldn't do much but watch, and maybe steal every fourth bite.

"Look at your face," Booth smiles, ready to wipe the sticky, pink mouth, cheeks and chin. "Mommy is going to freak when she sees you."

And, as if she'd heard her name, Brennan appears through the door, Christine right behind.

"Hello," Brennan says, kissing Booth first and when she sees her son, her eyes widen, but she maintains a casual smile. "Hank? What did daddy get you? You're turning pink!"

"We had some pie while we waited," Booth says, accepting Christine's hug and scooting in to let her slide into the seat beside him.

"I can see that," Brennan agrees, pulling Hank further onto his lap.

Christine laughs. "Hank looks like he's wearing lipstick!" she announces, still giggling.

"I'm not having lipstick!" Hank protests. "Mommy, I'm not!"

"Your lips are very pink, baby," Brennan explains. "It just looks like you have lipstick on. You don't really have any. Besides, I couldn't kiss you with lipstick on. But with pie?" Brennan kisses her son all over his face, tasting the sweet pie. Hank laughs and squirms, waving his fork all over. "Mmm! Cherry! My favorite!"

Now, it's Brennan's lips that are pink. She settles Hank on her lap and reaches over to pick the crumbs off his plate. "Well, I'm assuming you two are not hungry for dinner now," She asks both her boys.

"Come on, Bones, you know as well as I do that pie is dinner," Booth says, slumping triumphantly back in his chair.

"Yeah, mommy! It's dinner," Christine says, siding with her father and stealing a now cold fry. "It has a carb and a fruit. That's two food groups!"

"And, what, may I ask, will be your vegetable with this pie dinner?"

"Fries! Potatoes are vegetables!"

"Three food groups, Bones," Booth says with a shrug. "I don't make the rules."

Brennan scrunches her nose, knowing Booth is trying to get a reaction out of her. "Can I please get two more pieces of pie over here?" she requests to whoever is listening.

"Yes! Ha! You hear that, kids? Mom said we can ice cream for dinner!" Booth starts, egging on his kids.

"No! Booth, I said no such thing!"