She truthfully hadn't even considering cutting herself again, having found that satisfying biological urges and taking up all types of martial arts were much healthier ways of combating the loneliness, the emptiness, the despair, the insecurity. Yet here she was sitting in the bath, years later looking at a fresh batch of cuts on her wrist. She could barely remember coming home from visiting Booth in the hospital and seeing the space where her had once stood and then there was a flash of the agony she'd felt knowing she was going to die for no reason and the worry she'd felt for Booth, and next thing she knew she had several shallow cuts on her wrist. She knew they were shallow enough to pass off as some scrapes from when she was restrained by Kenton, and she could only hope that Booth and Ange didn't notice her lie or think too much about what was used to tie her up.