Well, it seems I'm not the only one with this idea. Another person has also started Bones Christmas Carol. Hopefully, we'll be different enough! Anyway, thanks for reviewing Mariana D'Arcaii! I hope that you will enjoy this, at least.

And this chapter is a bit more serious than I intended...Oh well...

Disclaimer: Bones isn't mine, nor is the Christmas Carol.

Chapter Two

Brennan stared at the woman before her.

"What?" She asked blankly.

"I thought you knew about this," Angela, or the Ghost of Christmas Past, shook her head. "It's from a Christmas Carol. You know, Ebenezer Scrooge, Jacob Marley, Bob Cratchet, Tiny Tim-"

"I know what you mean," Brennan said hurriedly, cutting her off before she got an entire history of Charles Dickens. "But you are not the Ghost of Christmas Past. You're Angela Montenegro."

"Wanna bet?" Angela grinned. "Accept it, sweetie, I'm a spirit!"

"There's no such thing as spirits!" Brennan cried. "Is this a joke you and Booth are playing or something? Because I don't think it's very funny."

"It's no joke," the artist walked into the apartment. "I am the Ghost of Christmas Past!"

"Yeah, right," Brennan snorted, closing the door. "What's this about Ange?"

"You'll see," Angela waved her arms, and Brennan suddenly found herself standing in the snow, outside a house decorated with Christmas lights and a small Santa Claus in the front yard.

"H-how did you do that?" Brennan asked, looking around in confusion.

"Magic, sweetie," Angela pointed at the front window of the house. "Regarde!"

"Where are we?"

"If you look through the window you'll know," Angela prodded her on the back, until Brennan finally consented to peek through the window.

"This is definitely illegal," she muttered, as she squinted through the glass.

Before her lay a scene of any family Christmas. A tree stood in the corner, surrounded by presents. Two children were ripping open gifts, as their parents looked on happily. Brennan paled. She recognised this scene.

"Yep," Angela said, as though reading her mind. "That's you."

Brennan watched as the 10-year-old version of herself ripped open a pair of pyjamas. Smiling, the girl looked up at her parents, who grinned. Brennan turned away, not wanting to watch any more.

"So, you used to like Christmas," Angela said softly, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"I never said I didn't," Brennan walked away from the window.

"But you don't like it now," Angela shook her head sadly. "And this is the reason."

She waved her arms again, and the scene changed slightly. For one thing, they were no longer standing outside. Instead, they were in the living room. Judging from the photos on the mantle, it was a few years later. Brennan looked around and groaned.

"Oh no," she said softly, as she saw the tree and the presents.

A moment later, the sounds of someone coming downstairs made her and Angela look up. A fifteen-year-old Temperence Brennan had appeared, staring at the decorations and the gifts. Slowly, she smiled.

"Mom?" She called. "Dad?"

Hurrying the rest of the way down, Temperence glanced around, her face shining. She ran to the kitchen door, looking through eagerly. Of course, she found nothing, no Mom, no Dad.

Frowning, the teenager backed up, and sat down, staring at the tree, as though patiently waiting for her parents to appear. Brennan knew they never would. Instead, Russ came downstairs.

"Merry Christmas, Tempie!" He cried, grinning.

Temperence looked up at him. Russ' grin faded at her expression.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

"Where's Mom and Dad?" She asked.

Russ looked taken aback. "W-what?"

"Mom and Dad," Temperence repeated. "Aren't they here?"

Her brother went white. He opened his mouth, and closed it again.

"They're not?" Temperence's voice broke as tears welled up in her eyes.

"I-I'm sorry," Russ looked stricken. "I-I thought-"

"I'm not opening anything until they come back," Temperence leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms.

"Temperence…" Russ started forward, but his sister balked.

"No!" she cried. "They will come back! And until then, I'm not doing Christmas!"

She jumped up, and ran out up the stairs, leaving Russ standing alone.

Brennan turned to Angela.

"Why are you showing me this?" She asked, tears welling up in her own eyes. "I know what happened. I don't need to be reminded."

"I know sweetie," Angela stepped forward, and put an arm around her friend's shoulder. "But, maybe you need to understand. Look at Russ."

Brennan did as she was told. Russ hung his head, looking sad and alone. He glared up at the Christmas tree, and then at a picture of his family on the mantle.

"You idiots," he said in a low voice, addressing his parents. "Can't you see how much you hurt us? Or don't you care?" Angrily, he grabbed the photo and threw it against the wall.

The scene changed. They were back in Brennan's apartment. Angela looked up at the clock.

"Well," she said. "It's time I left."

"What?" Brennan was taken aback. "That's it? We're done?"

"Oh, I'm done," Angela smiled wickedly. "You're just getting started."

"What do you mean?"

Angela pointed to a box sitting on the kitchen table. "Open that," she said, as she slowly faded from view. "And if you don't, it'll open itself, so just do it, Bren."

And then she was gone. Hesitantly, Brennan walked over to the table and picked up the wrapped package. She stared at it for a moment, then shook it. Something thumped inside, and a tiny voice shouted at her.

"Hey! Just open it!"

Eyes wide, Brennan tore open the paper, and lifted the lid.

Who's in the box? OoOoOoOoOoO...We'll see...that is, if you want to see, there's a little blue button that would help A LOT.