Hello, again! I decided to post the next chapter earlier than I had originally intended. If you're reading, please don't be shy! Drop a review! I promise I don't bite...

Disclaimer: I fogot to mention this in the first chapter. I don't own Bones. Please, don't sue me, as I cannot afford being buried in lawyer fees. The same thing goes for the fisrt chapter.

CHAPTER 2

Rachel couldn't think; she couldn't feel. And she didn't want to, either. All she wanted to do was cry, so she did. A lot.

They weren't there for her first steps. They weren't there for her first words. They weren't there when she blew out the lone candle on her first birthday. They weren't there when she learned how to tie her shoes. They weren't there when she fell off her bike and broke her left arm. They weren't there on her first day of kindergarten. They weren't there for the last day of kindergarten. They weren't there when she lost her first tooth. They weren't there for any Christmas morning. They weren't there when she won her first science fair. And they definitely weren't there for her now.

Rachel could have handled knowing that she was adopted. She really could have. After all, Rachel was a strong girl. She was capable of dealing with high stress situations. It wouldn't even have been a stressful situation had she known from the get-go. Lots of children were adopted; it didn't make her less of a person.

But did they have to hide it from her? But did she have to find out like this? No. And that's what hurt the most.

Rachel didn't need to steal a glance at the mirror to know she was a wreck. She could feel her swollen, puffy eyes throbbing. Absently, she swiped at the dry, sticky tracks of tears that had escaped from her eyes.

Rachel was certain of one thing: she couldn't let her parents know. She was already in an awkward position as it was; there was no need to add salt to the wound. They'd try and stop her from uncovering the truth. Perhaps they'd even try and cover up their lies. If Rachel was going to do this, she was going to do this right.

Hopping to her feet, she tip-toed over to the bedroom door and opened it a crack. When she was sure that no one was nearby, she made a dash for the bathroom. Showing up at the dinner table looking as she did wouldn't serve to ward off suspicions.

Flicking on the sink, she grabbed a towel from the hamper. She relished the feeling of the cool cloth against her warm face; it solaced her. Rachel knew that things were going to change. She wasn't going to just sit there knowing that her real parents were out there. Maybe they weren't even out there. Perhaps they were dead.

She shuddered. Her parents: dead. Her parents that hadn't existed as of an hour ago: dead. Don't jump to conclusions. Never jump to conclusions. It won't help you. It just won't. You have no evidence supporting that theory, she told herself in a feigned effort to soothe her nerves.

But she knew deep down that there was evidence to prove her parents to be dead. People didn't give up their children for just any reason. There had to be a logical explanation for leaving Rachel in the arms of another. There just had to be.

Rachel could only think of two reasons that fit the evidence. Firstly: her parents were delusional drunks. If they were alcoholics, they wouldn't be fit to raise her. If they weren't fit to raise her, she would be handed over to the system. If she was handed over to the system, she could have very well ended up in the care of the Wood Family.

Still, the people in the picture didn't seem like drunks. They seemed…happy. Those smiles, that undeniable connection between the man and woman…those were all signs of happiness.

Rachel decided that it was safe to rule out that her parents were drunks.

The second reason made her sick to the stomach: her parents were deceased. If they were deceased, there was no possible way for them to raise her. If they weren't fit to raise her, she would be handed over to the system. If she was handed over to the system, again, she was stuck with the Wood Family.

The numbing sensation invading her head told her that there was no evidence allowing her to rule out that her parents were dead.

Who were her parents, anyway? She only had a picture, just a measly picture of them. Oh, and it said"Me and Bones"Who was the heck was Bones?

According to the papers, the adoption was closed. Rachel had nothing, nada, not one ounce of anything that could lead her in the right direction, and she had an eerie feeling that whoever did this wanted it that way.

A glance in the mirror told her that she was ready to face her parents at the dinner table. The puffiness of her eyes had gone down, and her tear tracks were cleaned. But that didn't mean she wanted to join the family for dinner; how was she supposed to face the two people that had deliberately lied to her for thirteen years?

Grabbing the box of Christmas decorations that had gotten her into this mess in the first place, she trotted down the stairs and greeted her dad with a grim smile.

Rachel plopped the box down on the table and listened as the ornaments rattled in between the packaging peanuts. "Here are those decorations Mom wanted from the attic."

Her dad gave her a nod of approval and set a plate of salad on the place mat in front of Rachel. "Eat up," he said. "Beth and Brandon should be down soon. Mom went to the store, so she should be back in few minutes. I polished off the last of the milk last night, and it must've slipped my mind to tell her. She went to get more."

That was another thing: Beth wasn't her sister, and Brandon wasn't her brother. As she munched on the lettuce, she realized that she didn't like that. No, Rachel didn't like that one bit. She wanted a sister. She wanted a brother. But now, Rachel was forced to face the fact that she didn't have any siblings. She didn't even have parents.

Beth came clunking down the stairs, and Brandon followed not far behind. Dinner went on without disruption; Rachel's mom made it home in time before the spaghetti and meatballs got cold.

Rachel was unusually quiet, though no one seemed to notice. Suddenly, she felt as though she was an intruder. Rachel obviously hadn't belonged, and now she knew why. Truth be told, she really didn't belong. She was merely a guest to the Wood household. Beth wasn't adopted. Brandon wasn't adopted. Rachel was, and that made her different.

Do Beth and Brandon know? That was an interesting thought. Maybe they did. Maybe they didn't. But more than likely they didn't. Even if there had been subtle hints along the way, Beth and Brandon would have been too daft to notice. Rachel was a bright girl, and even she had been blissfully oblivious.

"Come on, Rachel," Brandon said after throwing the crust of a slice of garlic bread on his plate. "I wanna play checkers again."

Rachel rolled her eyes. That was all Brandon ever wanted to play. It wasn't so much as she minded playing checkers with her so-called brother. No, it was more like they played the same game every night after dinner. Couldn't he be crazy and pick something like chess? Or even Chinese checkers? Would a little change kill him?

Then a startling thought occurred to Rachel: He's not my brother. I don't have to do anything for him. Rachel had to fight back the urge to let the tears tumble.

Soon her whole family had joined Rachel and Brandon in the family room, as they did every night. The television blared in the background. Her father flipped through the inky pages of the local newspaper, resulting in an irritating scraping sound. Beth was carrying on with her mom about some crazy dance next Friday night.

Rachel could barely concentrate on the not-so rousing game of checkers before her. Her mind kept wandering.

"King me!" Brandon yelled. He took two of Rachel's jumped pieces and greedily piled them with the rest of the jumped checkers on his side of the board. "King me!"

Rachel sighed. She decided that she was going to let the eleven-year-old win tonight. She figured that it would boost his self-confidence. Rachel always won. She was only returning the favor.

Absently, her eyes wandered to the television screen. It was a national news live broadcast. Roadside truck in Baghdad bombed. Two Americans found dead, flashed across the screen. Couldn't they broadcast something happy for a change?

As if in response to that last thought, the voice of a pretty, blond reporter filled Rachel's ears. "Tonight we've got a special treat for you all. I'm here with forensic anthropologist and best-selling author Doctor Temperance Brennan."

Rachel sighed again, this time more audibly. What was a forensic-whatever-the-heck-they-just-called-her anyway? Without much further thought, she slid one of her checkers down diagonally across the board, knowing that she handed Brandon a most obvious jump. He'd have to be blind to miss it.

"In your books, we follow Kathy Reichs, who shares the same occupation as yourself. Would you care to explain, Dr. Brennan, a little bit about what the both of you do as forensic anthropologists?" asked the bubbly reporter.

This Doctor Brennan's voice was deep and husky, and she seemed very abrupt. "I work with decomposed corpses that cannot be identified, sometimes murder victims, sometimes war casualties. Using the victim's bones, my team and I at the Jeffersonian Institute in Washington D.C. are able to give the victim his or her identity back. We also provide the courts with pivotal evidence essential in closing the case."

Rachel's stomach went queasy. What a strange job!

Still gazing at the checker board, Rachel thought that this Doctor Brennan person seemed nervous. Her voice was slightly shaky, and her answer seemed to be well-rehearsed, almost as if she had practiced it many times before sitting down for the interview.

The next question seemed to be more difficult to answer for her. "All of this crime work must mean that you work closely with the FBI. How close is your relationship with them, exactly?"

Rachel was now more interested with the television than she was with the less than riveting game of checkers with Brandon. She lifted her head for a look at the screen. The camera was still focused on the blond reporter. Rachel had to stifle a laugh when she noticed that the woman's tacky, pink lipstick was smudged on her teeth.

Slowly the camera shifted to the pretty doctor sitting opposite of the reporter. Whatever came out of Doctor Temperance Brennan's mouth next was lost to Rachel. She dropped the checker with a clunk, followed by the vibrating thud of a plastic ridge against cardboard.

Rachel would know that face anywhere now. She'd be able to pick it out of a crowd of thousands of people. That auburn hair, those clear blue eyes, that slight frame, that soft smile…They all belonged to the woman in the Polaroid. They all belonged to Rachel Wood's mother.

My mom…alive…she's alive…she's not dead…she's very much living…and her name is Temperance Brennan…Doctor Temperance Brennan. That's my mom. That's my beautiful mother. Mine. All mine.

The voice of her mom, the mom that Rachel had always known, broke through Rachel's thoughts. "Rachel? Honey? Are you alright, dear?"

Rachel could only nod. She wasn't alright. How could she be alright? First she found out that she was adopted, and now she learned that she has a living mother named Doctor Temperance Brennan. And all in the same day! That knowledge didn't exactly provide for a settled stomach.

Rachel didn't even realize that she had opened her mouth to speak. "I'm…I guess I don't feel very well. Just…tired, I guess. I'm going to go to bed now, if that's alright."

"Sure, honey. Good night," her mom said.

Without bothering to murmur a response, she hurried out of the room, unable to deal with anyone, especially the face on the television screen. Rachel just barely made it up the stairs and in her bedroom before she collapsed on the wooden floor. Her whole body shook with sobs.

Rachel had a mother…and her name was Doctor Temperance Brennan…and she was alive and well.

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