Hello. I'm sorry for making you wait for so long. I really, really am! Hope, this chapter will make me a little less guilty in your eyes for taking so much time to post it! =)

Katrina, thank you a lot!

Sourire)

Chapter 6. Angela's reaction

"Ange, dear, wake up. Ange…" – Hodgins knelt on his knees near the couch where Angela was lying. He gently stroked her forehead.

She was slowly regaining consciousness. Her eyelids fluttered and half opened. Angela smiled delightfully, rolled to her side and said:

"Good morning…"

When she noticed her surroundings, she paled and perplexedly looked at her husband.

"What happened? Why am I lying in my office?"

"Mmm…you fainted. With no apparent reason!"

And then she remembered everything. Inhaling through clenched teeth, Angela sat up abruptly and uttered in an uneven voice:

"How long have I been unconscious? I'm not imagining things, right?"

"Just couple of minutes. And if you are talking about the boy, yes, he is real. The thing I don't understand is what caused such a reaction?"

Not answering his question, Angela jumped to her feet. Hodgins stood up, too.

"Where is he now? I need to see him! Where are the others, by the way?"

"Are you sure, that you are alright? Maybe you should lie down again?"

"No, I'm fine." – She smiled and put her hand on his forearm to reassure him. "Now, let's go! I need to make sure!"

"Make sure of what? I don't understand anything!"

"I'll explain later. I promise. Hurry up or I'll go there alone!"

Hodgins looked worriedly at her, trying to remember whether she had hit her head or not after the fall. But her posture and the expression on her face told him that she was absolutely serious. He had nothing to do but to surrender. Angela had no intentions to relax any time soon.

When they came into Cam's office, where the others were, Angela squeezed Hodgins' hand as if her life depended on it. He was afraid that a little more strength and it would be broken. When Angela spoke up, interrupting Booth, her voice sounded muffled and somehow frightened maybe because of all the emotions she was trying to hold inside.

"Tell me that you see the same thing I see!"

Everybody stared at Angela in amusement and perplexity. Booth had already started to tell Alex's story but not the part about his mother. That's why nobody, except Richard, knew the main reason of the meeting.

"Ange, my hand..."

She looked down absent-mindedly, then smiled in apology and weakened her grip. But she didn't let his hand go as she needed his support.

"Answer me! Do you see this?"

"What do you mean? What is 'this'?"

"Him," – her slightly trembling hand was pointed directly at Alex.

"Yes. We can see the boy. But…"

"Look more attentively!"

"Ange…"

"She sees the resemblance…" – Booth said it so quietly that only Alex had heard him. The boy looked up at the special agent curiously. All other people in the room were looking at the artist who, in her turn, stared at Alex. Angela continued:

"These features! The nose, eyes, ears…even the hair colour! If I could judge objectively, I would have said…but it can't be! Can't be…or can it?!"

"Angela, you are rambling. Tell me, what can't be?"

"Brennan…"

Bewilderment appeared on their faces. But before she had a chance to explain Zach had exclaimed:

"How could I miss it? Angela is right! The skull structure clearly indicates the resemblance!"

Three pairs of wide eyes now were looking from Angela to Zach. The artist stood there without moving apparently thinking over something. Alex tried to hide behind Booth's back. Booth himself was on the verge of tears. Now he was completely sure that it was all true. After a short pause Cam couldn't take the silence any longer.

"Care to explain what is going on here?!"

When nobody else said anything, Richard spoke up:

"I suppose that both Angela and Zach saw that Alex looked a lot like Dr. Brennan."

"I don't understand…"

"He is her son. As a matter of fact it was what Booth wanted to tell you at the first place."

Hodgins, Cam and Sweets stared at the boy in shock. Angela exhaled, let go of Hodgins' hand, ran to Alex and hugged him before he could react.

"Don't come closer!" – Diora stood in the middle of the room in a defensive posture: one leg in front of the other, arms bent and fists clenched. All her body was tensed. All emotions were hidden under the mask of imperturbability so that only the most meticulous person could have seen her confusion and fear.

Having seen her, Donald burst out laughing. He laughed loudly and pejoratively. She narrowed her eyes. Her nostrils palpitated. And he noticed it.

"And what will you do? Hit me?"

He made a step forward.

"I said, don't come closer!" – Diora talked through clenched teeth not to let her voice tremble.

"Or what?" Another step forward. "Why aren't you doing anything?"

Suddenly, she remembered a phrase her karate instructor used to say many years ago: 'Relaxed muscles and mental peace stand for life. Tensed muscles, fear and pain stand for death…'

'I should relax. Inhale. Exhale. He is trying to piss me off. Calm down, Diora, don't let him win…'

While she was trying to relax Donald took another two steps and now was standing in a meter from her. There was a self-complacent smile on his face.

"Just like I thought. You won't do anything! You are too cowardly for it, too apprehe…"

And she lost it. Taking two steps forward, Diora hit him in his face with all her strength. Then she kicked him in the groin. For some moments it seemed like she was herself again – a self-conscious, strong person standing against any injustice and always ready to defend herself…

When he bent down in pain, she hit him in the face again. He fell on the floor. Having made sure Donald was unconscious, Diora opened the door and ran out into the corridor. 'To the left. Downstairs. To the right.' She had been in this part of the house only once but she remembered clearly where to go. It was the way to her baby's room and she couldn't leave her daughter there.

Diora pulled the door-handle but the door was locked. With a groan of despair she looked around to find something that could help. After she had found nothing useful, she decided to knock the door out. But beforehand she needed to make sure her baby was safe.

Diora knocked quietly and asked:

"Scarlett, sweetie, are you here?"

After some moments a thin little voice answered:

"Mommy?"

"Yes, baby, it's mommy. I want you to go as far away from the door as you can. Will you do it for me?"

"Why, mommy?"

"Just do it, sweetie. I'll tell you why later."

"Ok."

A quiet sound of eighteen-months-old foot steps could be heard and then the same voice proudly said:

"There, mommy."

Diora stepped back, inhaled deeply and kicked the door. It was rather loud but ineffective. She was far too weak: lack of sleep and food, isolated life, sleepless nights – none of it made her healthier or stronger. But the last thing Diora was going to do was to give up. She kicked it again and again…finally, it started to give away. 'A little bit more and I'll…' At that moment two arms grabbed her shoulders and pushed her. Diora lost her balance and fell forward hitting the door first with her face then with her chest. And that unfortunate door chose that exact moment to open. But Diora didn't see it.

Snow. White, practically weightless flakes whirled in the air forming fantastical quaint curls due to the changeable wind. From time to time small tornadoes appeared here and there only to settle down in the nearest snowdrift. Flakes' movements were more noticeable in the light of the lanterns, which stood out against the darkness.

Spinning snowflakes settled on a young woman's clothes softly. She was slowly going down the street. It would seem like she didn't even notice the snow, if she didn't wipe moisture from her face with a back of her hand. There was a bright open smile on her face that was barely suitable for the darkness and snow around her.

She was happy. Extremely happy. No concerns and unrest, no fear and danger, no worries and troubles. Only pacification and a strange, almost forgotten, feeling of safety and freedom.

She walked and walked never looking back or reducing the pace. The scenery remained the same. One lantern was replaced by another similar to the previous one, the snow continued to whirl around…

Peace. This was how she could describe her inner world. Peace and safety.

Suddenly her measured steps were interrupted. The woman slowly stopped and looked at the strange, half-degraded man figure some meters in front of her. She couldn't see his face but something inside of her stirred and painfully clenched at the sound of his voice, so quiet but also so familiar from her past.

"We are looking for you. Don't give up. We'll find you. Hold on…"

She couldn't understand why he was saying those words, why he was waking long time ago forgotten memories. Why did he make her to suffer, to feel, to think again? She had been so happy in peace and silence. Why?

As suddenly as he appeared, he vanished. But the peace didn't return. She could still hear his last words:

"You are Dr. Temperance Brennan. Don't forget it. And hold on…"

She fell to her knees, squeezing her head. Different pictures, sounds, even smells flashed by in her mind…each of them so familiar and so unimaginably distant…

The weather changed. Heavy wind appeared that seemed from nowhere. It threw snow onto her unprotected face. It didn't matter where she looked, she saw an impenetrable and firm looking snow wall everywhere. But she had made a decision. She wouldn't let this world of peace catch her in its cruel meshes.

It took a giant effort to get up. The wind tried to knock her down again, to press her to the ground. But no wind could have overpowered her inflexible will and newly discovered craving for freedom. She made a step forward breaking through the wall. Sharp cold flakes hurt her face and got under her clothes but she stubbornly went forward not paying attention to the raging weather.

And after a few moments, which were like an eternity for her, the snow wall gave away as if admitting defeat.

Temperance Brennan opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was a pair of brown shoes, one of which was covered in blood.