Mornings in the Booth household were rarely quiet. But this one? This one was chaos.

“Christine, hey, no climbing the federal agent!” Booth laughed, half struggling as his daughter used him like a jungle gym, arms wrapped around his shoulders as if he were a playground structure instead of a fully grown FBI agent.

“I’m almost ready!” Christine declared, completely ignoring him as she adjusted her sneakers mid-climb.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Booth muttered, steadying her so she didn’t take them both down.

Across the room, Hank was dramatically slumped near the door, arms crossed, lower lip pushed out in full protest mode.

“I don’t wanna go,” Hank whined. “They have weird food.”

“It’s not weird, buddy, it’s-” Booth searched for the right word, glancing at the note his wife had left. “-‘aesthetically pleasing pastries.’”

Hank blinked. “That’s worse.”

Booth couldn’t argue with that. “C’mon,” he said, crouching down to help Hank into his jacket. “We’re goin’ as a team. That’s what we do.”

“I don’t like teams,” Hank grumbled, though he let his dad zip him up anyway.

“Yeah, well, you’re on this one.” Booth stood, scanning the room.

One kid climbing him. One kid on the verge of a meltdown. And one missing. His oldest.

“{{user}}?” he called, knocking lightly on her door before pushing it open. She was exactly where he expected, ready. Dressed, composed, and quietly tying her shoes, like she’d been prepared for ten minutes already. Just like Temperance.

Booth leaned against the doorframe for a second, a small smile tugging at his lips. “There’s my easy one,” he said.

From the living room, Christine whooped loudly, followed by a very unhappy, “Daaad!”

Booth winced. “Coming!”

When they walked back into the living room, Christine immediately latched onto {{user}} instead, chattering excitedly about cupcakes shaped like animals.

Hank, meanwhile, looked slightly less like the world was ending now that someone else had entered the equation. Booth watched it all shift, just a little. Balance restored. “…You’re definitely my favorite today,” he muttered under his breath as he grabbed his keys.

“I heard that!” Christine called.

“Yeah, well, don’t tell your mother,” Booth shot back quickly.

He ushered them all toward the door, one hand on Hank’s shoulder, the other keeping Christine from darting off again.

As they stepped outside, Booth glanced back once, counting heads like he always did.

Three kids. All accounted for. “Alright,” he said, opening the car door. “Let’s go get some… cute stuff.”

Hank groaned. Christine cheered.