There's an entire family in the lab. A mother, father, three little boys, and a baby girl. The neighbor, the oldest boy's best friend's mother, had found them when she went to organize a play date. "We all assumed they'd been gone on vacation," she told Booth, sobbing. "My husband told me he saw lights on in the basement the other day...They were such a nice family. Never did a thing wrong."
They had been beautiful. Angela smooths the final lines out of the toddler's face: round eyes, curly, flyaway halo of hair, the chubby cheeks of infanthood. Beautiful.
"I finished the drawings," she tells Brennan, swallowing hard. "Mark, Amy, Josh, Will, Sam, and Emma."
"Thank you." She takes the sketchbook from Angela's hands, then pauses. "Are you sick?"
"No." Shrugs. "Fine. Why?"
"Your hands are shaking."
"I'm okay." Shoving her hands in her pockets.
"Good. Could you create a scenario? Zack will be by with the case notes."
"No problem." Angela walks purposefully in the direction of her office, but when she's certain Brennan is distracted with something else, she changes course and swerves into the bathroom. She isn't sure how long she's in there—hours?--but after awhile, there's a knock on the door.
"I'll be out in a minute!"
"I was going to go ahead and create a scenario myself, but Dr. Hodgins said that he would sever my hands at the artery if I touched your computer. Then he stalked off with that worried look on his face."
Angela smiles. "I'll be right there, Zack."
"You are sick, aren't you? Go home."
"It's fine, sweetie." She smiles at Zack and Brennan from the doorway of the bathroom. "Let's go."
"I was hoping we could look at Emma," Zack says enthusiastically. He reminds Angela of a Kindergartener, perpetually on his first day of school, so eager to learn. "I want to study the possibilities that could've caused the contortion of her body."
Angela gives the bathroom one last, longing look. "Okay." They'd found Emma's body lodged in the rafters of the garage. "Let's try a couple of possibilities..."
"They were beautiful," she says to no one in particular, looking at the family portrait later that afternoon. "How could anyone just walk into someone's house and...and..."
"It's probably better if you don't think about it," Jack's voice says, coming up behind her. "I was worried about you today."
"Sorry. I know." She turns to face him. "I just keep imagining...what if someone came into our house and just...the oldest kid died on his way to the nursery, running when he heard his mother screaming. He died trying to protect his mom and sister. The house is...our house is huge, Jack. If something like this happened to us—to our family—we might not even hear it."
He grabs her arms. "Angela--"
"We should get a guard dog, or at the very least install an alarm system on the bedroom doors and in the hallway..."
"Angela. What in the hell are you talking about?"
"Maybe we'd better sit down."
She'd come up with a million ways to tell him, a million ways that were different than this—creative without being overly cute—and they had all melted away on the tip of her tongue when she and Jack sat on the couch. "I was planning on telling you—all of you—tonight. I had all kinds of creative ways to tell you and...I lost them. All of them. So there it is. We procreated."
He smiles slightly at her use of such a scientific word, and then the meaning sinks in and he falls silent, stunned. "How long've you known?"
"A couple of weeks. I wanted to be sure and...safe before telling you."
He kisses her forehead. "That's why you were so upset about the kids."
She nods. "I guess the Mom Sense is one of the first things to develop."
He laughs, still incredulous, and stands up on the couch. "Hey! Everyone, listen! I, Jack Hodgins, am about to become a father. If you happen to have any objections, come here so I can punch your face in!"
Angela laughs and yanks him down on the couch, the bodies outside momentarily forgotten. Everything will be okay, she's sure of it.