When Angela felt the doors open the razor slipped, and she cut deeper than was intended. She whispered "shit" and tried to wish herself out of there. So, in an attempt to launch damage control, she had grabbed a tissue and tried to cover her foot, and pull her trouser leg into place all at once. But Hodgins was on her in an instant, pushing her hands away, and pressing Kleenex over the damage. He knelt before her so he could meet downcast gaze. "What happened?"

This entire time Angela had done very little to acknowledge her beau's presence. She had not said anything, nor had she tried to explain herself. She didn't fight him, though, so that was good. Hodgins glanced up from her foot and saw her trying to bury the razor into the sofa cushion. He gripped her wrist and pried the metal piece from her fingers, but he still held down on her cut, stopping the blood flow. Hodgins removed the paper so he could get another look at the wound, and he wished he hadn't. He was taken aback by what he saw: not only were these cuts deep, but they formed a pattern, an "A".

"Angela?" Hodgins tried, in vain, bring his love back to him. "Okay, sweetie, I'm gonna get a first aid kit." He turned to leave but turned back to could help her move her legs onto the bench and stretch out. "Just try to relax, and keep your foot elevated." Hodgins pushed a pillow under Angela's feet, and left her in search of the kit.

Dr. Hodgins scurried to his work station only to find that he doesn't keep any first aid supplies. But Dr. Brennan was bound to have something. So he darted off to Brennan's office. He was out of breath by the time he got there. "Dr. Brenan," he panted, sticking his head in the door way, "I need… do you… have a first… aid kit?"

Brennan stood to retrieve the metal lunchbox that she uses to house her bandages, and other lab essentials, but had to stop and ask; "What's wrong?" She looked past her collogue, "I didn't hear anything explode but…"

Hodgins stepped into the office. "It's… It's Angela." He whispered, "I think she cut herself." He stumbled over the words.

All the color drained from Brenan's face, she turned and grabbed her purse. "Is she in her office?" (Hodgins nodded.) "Okay. The kits on the bookshelf, blue tackle box, I'm going to go talk to her." Brennan had her hand on the door, Hodgins had his on the bookshelf, and she stopped, didn't even turn back, but gave instructions to the room. "I'll need you to wait five minutes. And, please. Don't. Tell. Anyone." And with that she ran into the hall.

Brennan rushed into Angela's office and screeched to a halt, giving herself time to think, even she knew to handle this carefully. Her friend was crashed on the couch. She lay with her head resting on one armrest, and her foot on the other, blood staining visible on the linen slacks. Her left side was to the wall. She had her left wrist over her eyes and her right arm clutched to her abdomen. "Angela? It's me." Brennan whispered across the room.

"Sweetie?" Angela asked, barely moving her lips, her whole body stiff and still.

"Yeah, it's me. Can I come in?" She answered and asked, knowing that Angela needed as much control as she could get. "Hodgins told me what you did." Not an accusatory statement, but a factual one.

"It's okay, you can come in." Angela tipped her chin a bit. "Are you mad at me?"

"I'm not mad, Ange, I could never be mad at you, not for something like this." Brennan lifted Angela's legs slightly and sat, then settled the legs across her lap. In a hushed voice Brennan asked for permission again. "Can I see?"

Angela's initial reaction was to retract her foot, but she gave it back, trusting her long-time ally. And with this motion she whimpered "Help", not "help me", just "help". She could feel the cool air hit her leg and marginally moist foot when Brennan pushed the cotton pinstripe away. Angela jumped slightly at the sensation.

Brennan, on the other hand, showed no surprise, disgust, or anything else that gave some impression of it affecting her. Her expression of unconditional love and concern stayed when she laid eyes on the severe cuts. Instead, the anthropologist dug through her purse and pulled out an Always maxi pad. She unfolded the green wrapped, but didn't pull it away. Angela had moved her arm and was watching, but she didn't question, remembering philo-genetic systematic, as Brennan pressed the sanitary napkin over the injured area.

"You're still loosing blood, Angela. You've cut really deep this time." Brennan lifted the makeshift bandage to look again. "You'll be okay." She reassured. "But, can you tell me what happened? I want to help."

Angela sighed, her cheeks pinking up a bit, and vehemently shook her head. "Nothing, nothing happened." Angela muddied. "No one said or didn't say anything. No one did or didn't do anything. Nothing happened or didn't happen." She stopped to inhale, "I just felt… dull." She lifted her head and the two almost held eye contact, but broke it quickly.

"And how do you feel now, Angela?" It wasn't a critical or teasing inquiry, it was an actual prompt asking Angela to run a self inventory of sorts.

"I feel…" How do I feel? "A little foolish. Kind of embarrassed. Worried that Jack'll tell, or hate me, or something. But, still, I feel pretty. Better."

"First I'm glad you feel better, you should have come to me, but I'm glad you're okay." Brennan looked over her best friend: From the dark waves of tresses all the way to the pad still pressed to her foot and the painted red toenails that shared real-estate with it. "And, be rational, Hodgins loves you. He is 'over-the-moon, stupid in love' with you, his words. He wouldn't tell, Okay?"

Angela nodded. "But he did tell you, didn't he?" She murmured, then looked away again. She leant back against the arm rest, wishing she hadn't been walked in on, caught.

"Yes, but I asked, and he wouldn't have old me if he'd had his own Band-Aids." Brennan checked the cuts, "He probably doesn't even know that you did it on purpose. Mean, think. How--"

"He knows, Sweetie, he's not an idiot." Angela interrupted, definitively. "He took the razor from me."

It was at that moment that moment that Hodgins knocked on the glass. Brennan held up a finger, telling him to wait, and asked Angela, "Can he come in? He just wants to help you." When Angela nodded, Brennan waved Hodgins inside. He was toting a white lunchbox, the first aid kit. On his way to the back of the room, Hodgins grabbed a chair and drug it with him.

Hodgins watched Dr. Brennan as to what to do, to say. But she barely nodded to him before talking to Angela, distracting her while her damaged skin was being doctored. He removed the makeshift bandage and listened to the girls talk.

"Angela?" Brennan started, rubbing Angela's shins, "It's been so long, what happened?" Angel a shrugged. "Well," Brennan tried again. "How long has been?"

Uh… Three years, ten months. But its over now." Angela watched her fiancé rub an alcohol swab over flesh.

"No. You can't think of it like that," Brennan corrected "you're restarting. That's it." They pause to check Hodgins' progress. HE, in turn, kept glancing up at them.

"What should we tell him?" Angela asked, cutting Hodgins out of the discussion. "Everything?

"Everything."