This is likely the most ridiculous fic you'll read all day and I find it funny, since it's my first fic in awhile. Only something totally ridiculous for the best... this gets dedicated to the one and only Some1tookmyname.

Tracy- It's hard to believe it's only been six-ish months since you came to take twitter by storm. Now, I can't imagine not talking to you in a day and my year has been better for it. I hope you get lots of tasty cupcakes and sweet hugs from the kiddos and all the fics in your honor help to make it one of your best birthdays ever! *hugs*

This is, as you'll come to see, totally inspired by Beyoncé, the big metal chicken, which is also such a Some1tookmyname thing. With love. ;)

Thanks to JMHaughey for the read through!


Once they had signed the papers for their new home and begun to move in, these… things… started out small.

First, it was a debate about where to put his seats. Those heavy blue seats she lugged across town and got trapped in an elevator with and hated until he told her they were from the Vet and he had good memory locked in these seats.

Therefore, they had to find room in their new house for the chairs. She smiled when she realized her pregnancy meant she wasn't going to have to move them again. But the chairs, needing a good deal of space, didn't quite fit anywhere right away besides their living room.

She silently cursed those chairs every time her pregnant-self bumped into them.

Next came setting up "their" office. Brennan had a desk that extended from the left side of the room, while Booth's desk extended from the back wall. This way, they could easily see each other when necessary, but they weren't staring each other down either.

They agreed to share the office space when selecting their house, since over the years, they had both adapted to working in each others offices on cases. It seemed logical that they could do so at home too. Or so Booth thought until one day, he came in to see an entire wall being covered in plaques and framed awards bestowed upon one Doctor Temperance Brennan.

"Did you have this many plaques up in your apartment?" he asked.

"I had several of them stored in boxes, because there wasn't room on my walls. But since this room is bigger, there's plenty of space for them all."

Later that day, he went to sit and organize his desk in their new office. He couldn't help but look up at the wall of achievement in his partner's name next to his desk and felt a little twinge of frustration at her marked territory.

Later that week, Brennan walked into her office and sat down to work, only to stop suddenly and turn back to the wall behind her. Besides a small bookshelf that ran against it, there was a set of hockey sticks, mounted over the case in what Brennan had to assume was meant to have decorative value. In someone's opinion.

Feeling her baby kick her kidney, she took it as a irrational sign to just 'let this one go.'

Then, a few weeks after moving in, Angela and Hodgins had arrived with housewarming gifts in tow.

"I painted this with you two in mind. These colors will go great with the paint you've picked out for the bedroom, and the painting will inspire good things, if you know what I mean, in said room," Angela explained with a wink.

Later, Booth made his feelings on the painting well-known.

"Bones, it's a half-man-lion-person…"

"It's an interpretation of Bisu, the Egyptian God of, among other things, music, dance and sexual pleasure."

"It sorta looks like a half-man, half-lion watching two women, you know…"

"Masturbate?"

"Pleasure themselves in a very personal way, was the phrase I was going to use."

"Ah…"

"It's just… what was Angela thinking, painting porn for our bedroom?"

"It's not really pornographic, Booth. It's quite like artwork from it's time period, actually."

"The rule is that you know porn when you see it and those women are naked and doing… things. I see it and it's porn."

"Angela gave it to us to hang in our bedroom specifically. I believe social conventions would deem it rude to not display it."

"What am I gonna tell Parker when he sees this and wonders what the heck it is?"

"That for many centuries, if women wanted sexual satisfaction for themselves, they often had to take the matter into their own hands?"

"You're on a roll today, Bones."

"You can call me jam."

"Wha… you mean butter? You can call me butter? And where did you…"

"Jam is far better for you if preserved correctly, without added sugars, than butter. And Parker."

"Fine. Where can we hide this painting from your snappy comeback instructor?"

"Angela, I expect, will be over here often, and to not have it displayed would insult her."

"But she won't be in our bedroom."

"She might be at some point."

"Why would she need to come into our bedroom?"

"Well… she painted that for our bedroom and there are two women in it, so mayb…"

"You have got to be joking?"

"Yes, because I am very amusing. But there's a bathroom in here and she often forces me to shop and try on things and it's conceivable that she will have reasons, in the future, to walk in here."

"We can just keep a place, a nail somewhere to hang it up whenever she comes over."

"And you're going to remember to hang it up every time she drops by unannounced?"

"..."

"How about we hang it behind the door? That way, someone has to come in and shut the door behind them in order to be exposed to it. That list is likely to just include you and me, most of the time."

"The problem with that is you and I have to look at it. Can't we just tell Angela thank you, but this painting is horrific and can't be in our house?"

"That's a valid option since it seems to be causing you such distress. However, judging by movement of her pelvic girdle, I would estimate that…"

"Oh, come on, she's pregnant again? You can't insult a woman's art when she's pregnant…"

"…"

"So, behind the door then?"

"I think that's the most reasonable option."

"Fine, but anytime we're in here and the door is shut, I'm going to need to be blindfolded."

"I think that can be arranged."

And while the blindfolding thing was an attractive option to Booth some of the time, he wasn't above rebelling in a less-than-subtle way.

"Booth, this isn't the color we selected," Brennan said as she walked into what she dubbed 'his media room,' where Booth's birthday gift in the form of 103 inches of flatscreen heaven was to reside.

"What? We decided to paint the room orange."

"Yes, orange. But the orange shade we looked at was much lighter than this color on the wall. This color is… I believe Angela uses the word 'loud' as a description."

"What are you talking about? This is a great color orange. And besides, I'm already done with the second coat."

"And the black trim?"

"They went well together."

"But you're leaving the wood around the windows white?"

"I bought some touch-up paint to fix them, but I like the white in contrast to everything else."

"…"

"Bones?" he called out, once he realized she left the room. She appeared a moment later holding one of his prized possession in her hands.

"Booth, you painted it the colors of your hockey jersey!"

"The Flyers are a great team and their colors look awesome in here."

"You can tell Angela you don't like the painting yourself!"

"Just roll with the punches, Bones," he shouted as she walked away.

And when the painting stayed in the bedroom and his media room stayed orange, black and white, acceptance was reached in the home of Booth and Brennan. For about a week.

"Bones, where's the coat rack? And why is there a scary wooden man in its place?"

"That's a replica of a famous Native American totem poll, given to me by the anthropology department at the University of British Columbia after I guest-lectured there several years ago."

"Why is it in the place of the coat rack?"

"The symbols on it are meant to greet visitors. And we have a closet for coats."

"Yeah, but… I liked the rack."

"And I liked the original orange we picked for the media room."

"Bones, a coat rack is practical!"

"Just roll with the punches, Booth," she said as she walked away.

Soon after, their daughter was born and the house remained as is while they adapted to the new person in their life. It was months later, when Booth was taking their daughter for a jog (in a jogger, mind you) around the neighborhood, that he came across the next major firestarter.

"Bones, look what I got!"

"…"

"Isn't it cool?"

"Did you steal it from someone's yard?"

"No, someone was having a yard sale and we bought it from them!"

"We… as in you and…"

"Your daughter has excellent taste."

"She's barely a year old, Booth... Did it occur to you that there was a reason they were selling it?"

"Them."

"Them?"

"There were several for sale, but I settled on the largest of them. Although... now that I think about it, the smaller ones were probably the baby flamingos, which made them a family of flamingos, and now I've separated them…"

"Well, then you should take that flamingo back and let someone else buy the whole family."

"I'll go back and get them all."

"And do what with them?"

"Look, I know they're a bit silly, but how quintessentially American is it to have flamingos in your front yard?"

"Aside from finding them in zoos, they're not at all American, unless you're embracing a South American heritage all of a sudden. And most haven't been found in actual yards since the 1980s."

"…"

"Out of curiosity, how old were the members of the home having the sale?"

"They were… older."

"And after all these years of yard sales, they finally found someone to take one of their flamingos."

After scoffing and walking off, Booth returned to the yard sale and bought the rest of the flamingos and put them proudly in the front yard. Within a couple of weeks, most of the smaller flamingos had been stolen… or so Brennan claimed. After a week, however, the tall one which he fondly began referring to as Gus still stood proudly in the yard, staking its claim. As Booth passed it happily on his lawn mower, he smiled at how easy it was getting to charm Brennan into letting him have his way.

And that's when he saw it.

"BONES!"

"…"

"BOOOONES!"

"Booth! What's the matter!" she yelled, running outside, her daughter toddling quickly behind her. When she saw him, she chuckled at the sight of her partner ducking behind a smaller bush in the yard.

"What is that?" he yelled, pointing over the bush into the tree line beside their house.

"Whaa… Booth, it's just a garden gnome."

"A what?"

"A garden gnome. It's thought to protect gardens and homes from evil spirits."

"You don't believe in evil spirits!"

"But you do. Besides, I thought Bertha could keep Gus company."

"You… named it Bertha?"

"No, your daughter named it Bertha when she picked it out."

"…"

"Why are you hiding behind a bush, Booth?"

"I'm not hiding."

"A gnome can't hurt you."

"So you say."

"It's not a clown."

"It's not that different from a clown. And I'm not afraid."

"If you get angry, is there a chance that you'll shoot Bertha?"

"I can't promise that's not going to happen."

"Bertha goes when Gus does," she said, turning around to pick up her daughter and reentered the house.

On down the line, room was made in their office for some of Booth's awards and commendations, which required the hockey sticks to go into the Flyers-themed media room. And when Booth finally decided orange on a jersey was fine, but an entire room of it was a bit much, he repainted, and when they repainted, things got moved around and they managed to make room for the blue stadium chairs within. And in the corner of the newly repainted room, Brennan relented that the large totem she had been given went well with the décor, and moved it in there so there was room for a coat rack by the front entry. And Angela eventually had an art gallery opening of her own and Booth offered their gift back to display as part of her vast repertoire of talent. And someone actually bought it. Anonymously. And the painting was never seen again.

As for Bertha and Gus, they took up permanent residence in the Brennan-Booth yard. Gus left the front lawn that day only to reappear in the backyard, outside the office window with the wall of awards and the decorative hockey sticks.

Which is why Bertha claimed a spot just outside the white-bordered window in his media room.

For their daughter, the stories that had been told to her while she was growing up of how Bertha and Gus came to live in their yard were quite amusing. From her treehouse in the backyard, she told her friends of how her parents let her make all the decorating decisions in the backyard when she was very little.

And since her Mom was an anthropologist who let her pick out Bertha and her Dad let her buy Gus, she was totally sure her parents weren't going to mind when she and her friends grabbed shovels and started digging the yard up in search of dinosaur bones. She was responsible for decorating the yard, after all.


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