A/N: And now the moment we've all been waiting for! Thanks for the reviews, guys.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

-CHAPTER 7-

"Can I help you, Miss?" Rachel was startled to hear the gruff voice of a woman sitting at a desk.

The first thing that Rachel noticed about the woman was her unruly hair: the grayish-black wisps flew this way and that. She wore a coarse, beige suit with five square buttons that closed over a hideously tacky red shirt. Her excessive amounts of makeup didn't do much to conceal her old, warn face. If anything, it only made those features more pronounced.

The woman locked her brown eyes with Rachel's, probably in a futile attempt to intimidate her. Much to the woman's surprise, Rachel stared right back.

Gathering up her courage, Rachel answered the receptionist's question with vehemence. "I'm looking for a Mrs. Angela Montenegro-Hodgins. I'm told she works here as a forensic artist."

"You've been told a lot then, haven't you?" the woman retorted, falsely trying to make herself appear busy by flipping through a bunch of papers. "May I ask who's looking?"

Rachel squared her shoulders and approached the woman at her desk. "You can tell her that there's a Rachel Brennan who wishes to speak with her. It's of high priority, I assure you."

"She may be very busy; I'm not entirely sure that she'll be available—"

Rachel cut her off abruptly. "Then she'll make time. Of that, I am certain."

The woman gave her a sour look before surrendering. She dialed a few buttons on her phone with her boney fingers. "Yes…This is Rhonda Philips from the main lobby…Fine, thank you…I have a young girl here…Rachel Brennan, can't be more than fifteen…No, she's insistent upon speaking with Angela Montenegro-Hodgins…Yes, that would be fine."

The woman smiled cheekily and said to Rachel, "They're transferring me to her right now."

Rachel could only nod. She could feel her chest slowly tighten. She was so close!

Rhonda continued on with her discussion on the phone. "Yes, Mrs. Montenegro-Hodgins?…Rhonda…Yes, the receptionist…Um, there's a girl here who wishes to speak with you…Says it's urgent…Name?...Rachel Brennan." A long pause followed. "Yes, I'm certain that's her name…Are you alright? Mrs. Hodgins? Are you alright? Oh, good…I'll be sure to tell her…Yes, bye now."

Rhonda slammed the phone back on the receiver and scribbled something on a sheet of paper. Finally she looked up and said, "Mrs. Montenegro-Hodgins should be down momentarily. Have a seat while you wait, please."

Rachel smiled weakly and found the nearest chair with her wobbly legs.

Oh, dear Lord! What am I doing here? This…oh dear God! This is nuts! Have I completely lost my mind? Stop it! You can't lose a mind…you can go crazy, but you can't physically lose a mind…it's hyperbole…and figurative language…and now you're rambling…to yourself. Shut up already, will you? You're here. What's done is done. There's no going back now.

Rachel shook herself free of her scattered thoughts. Now that she was here, things just seemed all the more real. It would have been different had it not been kept secret. She was bound to find out eventually, and eventually was today for Rachel. Wouldn't it have just been easier to tell her rather than to go through all of this trouble?

Looking for a distraction, Rachel glanced around the waiting room nervously from her own seat. It was spacious; she had counted sixteen identical overstuffed chairs lined up in equal rows, four glass side tables piled high with old, crumpled magazines, and nineteen portraits of various types of fruit and dogs.

The room was awkwardly shaped: its walls curved together in circle. The mahogany desk in which Rhonda was sitting at stood at the head of the ring, commanding attention with its height and shiny finishing. The single skylight hovering above the room cast streams of bright light against the walls, causing the golden paint to glitter.

Rachel sunk her flip-flops into the velvety carpeting. The floors had likely been recently vacuumed and shampooed; the thick strands of crimson fabric stood straight, and footprints left their imprints in the strings.

The room smelled heavily of cheap perfume. Rachel wagered that it belonged to Rhonda. The stench of it climbed up her nostrils, and soon, she felt nauseas. She tried to rationalize that it was just the effects of the perfume that was making her light-headed, nothing more, but she secretly was simply unwilling to admit to herself that she was in way over her head. This was far too much for any thirteen-year-old to handle, regardless of how mature she might be.

Suddenly, the elevator doors opened with a chirpy ding, and out came a woman wearing high heels. Her curly, black locks of hair rested lightly on her shoulders. A flicker of fear flashed through the woman's eyes, and when they found their way to Rachel, they widened with sheer, unadulterated panic.

Rachel stayed frozen in her seat. What was she supposed to do now? Angela obviously didn't know what to do, either, for she just stayed with her feet planted firmly in one place. Suddenly tears began rushing freely down Angela's pale face.

"Look at you…" she hiccupped, "…all grown up and whatnot. Rachel…Oh, I haven't seen you in…in…thirteen years!"

Before it even registered with Rachel, Angela managed to make her feet move, and soon she was barreling through the lobby, arms outstretched. She managed to even knock down a plaster statue of an ugly bird with her clumsiness. Ignoring the fallen parrot, she embraced the frightened girl in her chair, nearly choking Rachel in the process.

Angela was now at the point of full blown bawling. "You're so gorgeous…Just like your mother! I…Wait till your father…Oh dear God…Your father…Booth! Oh, screw it…Just look at you!"

Slowly, Rachel retracted from Angela's firm hold on her shoulders. "Hello, you must be Angela, right?"

Hastily Angela brought up a finger to wipe a tear from her eye. "Yeah. Guilty as charged." After another exaggerated sniffle, a rush of worry seemed to crash down on Angela's face. "Wait—w-where are your p-parents?"

Rachel hung her head down and kept her eyes fixed on the carpeting. She knew that it would come up eventually, but she hadn't expected it to be so soon. This was one of the many complications that would inevitably ensue before all was said and done.

Knowing that only the truth would do, Rachel spoke barely above a whisper, "They…they're at home. In Camden, a suburb of Philly."

"So that's where you ended up?" Angela fidgeted with her purse, and with a grunt of triumph, she pulled out a crinkly tissue and dabbed her eyes with it. She chuckled softly. "You know, I had always wondered about you. What you'd turn out to be, I mean. Your mother didn't want me to pry, and as her friend, I knew it was my duty to respect that. Still…I couldn't help but to wonder, you know? I mean, you were gone in an instant. All I remember is this…this innocent baby with dark, fuzzy hair and angelic blue eyes. I didn't even get the chance t-to be all of things I wanted to be for you."

Rachel couldn't help but to cast Angela a confused look. As usual, things weren't adding up. She came here to find answers, not more questions.

Before Rachel could open her mouth, Angela beat her to it. "Do they know you're here? Your parents, I mean?" she asked.

With a heavy heart, Rachel shook her head no.

Much to Rachel's surprise, Angela laughed softly. "Yeah, it figures. Just like your mom. Always breaking the rules." She paused before bringing herself to her next thought. "You shouldn't be here, though. Don't get me wrong, I'm…obviously ecstatic, but they must be worried sick. I can't imagine the pain I'd feel if my Lissie ever went missing."

Rachel asked what seemed to be a safe question. "Who's Lissie?"

Angela smiled fondly. "Alyssa Hodgins, my daughter. Lissie's eight, and the little brat is already driving us all up a wall. You'd like her though. Rambunctious and feisty—just like her mother, I suppose."

Rachel grinned back. For the first time in awhile, she felt safe—some may even say content. "My mother breaks rules?" That comment had struck a chord with Rachel, and knowing that there was a story, maybe even more than one, behind it, she felt compelled to ask.

Angela laughed again, and upon finding it to be contagious, Rachel was soon giggling along side of her. The two had even earned a rather disagreeable glare from Rhonda, who was busy sweeping the dusty remnants of the parrot's wing.

"Ah, yes. She simply feels that the rules just don't apply to her. Booth keeps her grounded, though. He always has—" Suddenly Angela stopped short.

"Has what?" The question hung in the air for a moment

"Nothing, Sweetie," Angela replied hastily. Then, as an after thought, she said, "Look, the lobby is no place for this. How's about you and me go and mull this over somewhere more fitting…say the mall?"

Rachel was utterly mystified. "But…don't you have work? And what about my parents? The ones in Philly, I mean. We can't just get up and leave. Right?"

Her fears were momentarily forgotten when Angela swatted her hand in a gesture to ward off any worries. "With time you'll come to realize, Sweetie, that employees here at the Jeffersonian have infinite connections. Your father can be very persuasive, I'll have you know. I'll see to it that your parents know who you're with.

"Come on." Angela took Rachel's hand and led her to the elevator. "Unfortunately, your mother—come to think of it, my husband, too—would kill me if I didn't come up to tell them what we're up to. They'd call in the bomb squad or something. Don't want that, do we? I'll be five minutes tops, promise."

Rachel was thoroughly bemused. "Wait…won't she see me?"

Angela raised her left brow in equal confusion. "Who, Sweetie?"

"My mom!"

Angela curled her lips into a sympathetic smile. "Yeah…I suppose you're right…I'm just so happy! I was like this when I found out I was having Lissie, too. I just lost myself in the bliss of it all, you know?" She stopped to sigh. "You're my niece named…Emma, m'kay? If anyone asks, you're visiting here for the week, alright, Emma?"

Her words of comfort did nothing to solace Rachel; she was still trembling. What about me? I'll be seeing Mom! Mommy…Mommy Dearest—Doctor Mommy Dearest, really. I can't handle that! No—not yet! And what about those questions you had, Missy? Huh? How come you didn't ask 'bout those? Shoving her frets aside, she put on a fearless façade and mustered a somewhat pained smile. "Alright."

After a few moments of an awkward silence, Angela took "Emma's" hand and smiled. "I know you have questions. Lots of 'em. I wager you wouldn't be here if you didn't. I have a few myself. We'll find our answers as a team, okay, Rachel?"

Rachel grinned back. "That's Emma to you, Auntie Ange."

Instead of smiling or even giggling at the half-joke, Angela began to bawl all over again. Rachel was immediately mystified. Panic numbed her muddled thoughts. Oh dear God, now what have you done? Maybe she doesn't like the name Ange. Mental note: Don't call Angela "Ange," or "Auntie Ange." Ugh…get it together, Rachel! This should be easy!

"I'm sorry," Rachel sputtered. "I—I won't call you that anymore. People tell me that I never know what to say to people. I guess they're right." She hadn't paused long enough to breath to realize she was talking a mile a minute. "I mean, I'm always putting people off, insulting them, degrading them, sometimes to the point where I make them cry. It's not intentional. Really, I'm sorry, Angela."

Between her muffled sobs, Angela managed to say, "No…No, that's not it. You are perfect. You're perfect beyond anything I could've ever imagined. I'm just…God, you're really here aren't you? You're really his daughter!" She squeezed Rachel's hand tighter. After a sniffle or two, she continued. "That smile…It's just like his. You're so beautiful. You're more beautiful than I could have ever imagined. I bet you're smart, too. How many boyfriends have you had? Booth wouldn't approve of any of them, just for the record—"

The conversation came to an abrupt halt when the elevator doors inched open, revealing the silver glazed room that was the lab. Rachel could barely make complete thoughts. The lab…it was so vast! The sunlight streamed through the windows that melded together as the roof. Sterling silver lined the walls in the form of anything from tables to scalpels. She smiled weakly as Angela coaxed her over to the platform.

"No, the victim died of a gunshot wound to the distal radius, not from a gunshot wound to the ischium. The bullet to the ischium already shows remodeling, so the victim was probably a soldier or in a pretty ugly scuffle. See the callusing? And the hairline fractures found on the distil phalanges are postmortem, so the victim's hand was crushed after he or she was dead. There isn't evidence of blood flow. See?"

"Yes, I see, Dr. Brennan."

Rachel studied the pair on the platform with wide eyes. There was her mother, babbling on about something in scientific jargon. She was breathtakingly beautiful. Well, to Rachel anyway. Even if her biological mother was old and crippled, Rachel's eyes would have thought her to be beautiful.

There was another girl with blond curls framing a pretty, blue-eyed face. Her features were slight, though somewhat hidden underneath the blue lab coat. Rachel wagered that the girl couldn't have been older than twenty. She didn't recall reading about this woman.

"Dr. Brennan?" Rachel smiled when she saw Doctor Zachary Addy step onto the platform, carrying some x-rays in hand. "I examined those x-rays you asked me to. I agree. Postmortem."

Angela interrupted the scientists with a loud, "Ahem!" Rachel assumed that they were far too engrossed in their work to pay any mind to the two women standing silently on the platform, or that they had noticed and simply didn't care to acknowledge their presence.

Rachel's heart skipped a beat at the low voice that undoubtedly belonged to her mother. "What is it, Ange?"

"Everyone, this is my niece Emma. Emma, this is Dr. Brennan, Dr. Addy, and Miss Sara Greene, Dr. Brennan's grad student. Emma will be staying with me for the week, and it would do you all good to at least be civil. That means best behavior." She paused momentarily as if a new thought had occurred to her. "Zach, it's best you just not speak to her."

He looked up from his pile of bones and squinted at Rachel. His eyes seemed to glaze over, and for a moment, he was perfectly still. In response to the strange behavior, Rachel said, "Hi. I'm Emma."

Instead of extending a normal, kind pleasantry, Zach resumed his work. While polishing a femur, he said quietly, "I'd speak directly, but I'm following the instruction. Angela, tell Emma that she's standing too close to the biohazard waste basket. Tell her to step away immediately."

Rachel knitted her brows together in deep confusion. Glancing at Angela for help, she stepped away, trying desperately to ignore the rush of defeat and rejection that numbed her body.

"Zach! I said best behavior! Best behavior! Which part of that didn't you understand?" Angela lashed out.

Before he could come up with an appropriate response, a new voice echoed through the glassy walls of the lab. "Bones! Where the hell are you? New body, here. Chop, chop!" Two abrupt claps of the hand accompanied the words, "Chop, chop."

Rachel froze. She lifted her head lightly, tilting it so as to see the source of the voice. He had said "Bones." He had clearly, without a doubt, uttered the word "Bones," in reference to the woman standing on the platform. Only one person called her mother Bones, and the sickening feeling spreading through her stomach reminded her of the identity of that person. That person was none other than her father, Special Agent Seeley Booth.

Slowly, almost robotically, she moved her head in rhythm with the man's steps. As he trotted up the steps, his face seemed to contort in confusion.

Making his way closer to the center of the platform beside Rachel's mother, he said to nobody in particular, "This a new squint?" He gestured absently to Rachel.

And all she could do was stand there, stunned, her face growing paler and paler by the second.

A/N #2: Never thought I'd be able to pull off a cliffhanger. Hmm...Anywho, I hope that this sufficed. This chapter was by far the most difficult one to write. Angela is a delicate character; I hope I didn't butcher her. Rachel's easy to write about because she's my character, one that I made up. But the squints throw me for a loop sometimes...Well, if you can, feel free to drop a review!

-Susan :o)