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It started out as a kind of thought experiment. So far, the most reliable way to change was when her life was in immediate danger. From anything, but injuries especially. But she didn't know where the line was crossed, if it really was only when she crossed into life-threatening territory or if any injury that was serious enough would trip off an episode. She told herself this was something she should know.

(The truth was she knew, she knew, and there was no way she would have tried it anywhere near the city if she thought for one second she would be inducing a transformation and endangering other people. She just needed to hurt.)

She knew the most common ways people broke their wrists, how to treat it once it was broken. She was careful about it, methodical, like conducting an experiment. The break was a clean one, something that would heal easily without complications. She picked her left wrist so her dominant hand would still be free for use and took careful notes about how much pain she was in, whether or not she felt the beginning of a change, if any green bled into her skin tone or eyes. Then she put everything away with care and ignored the ice pack she'd made up and put in the freezer. Instead, she went straight for her bed, where she lay on her side and held her wrist in front of her, watching with morbid interest as it swelled and bruised.

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Not ten seconds after she'd slipped into bed, the front door opened and a familiar step made it's way in.

"Bryce! Hey, Bryce! Where are you?!"

He was early.

Bryce didn't answer, partly because she couldn't quite summon the energy to and partly just to prolong the moment before she had to figure out what to say to him. Instead, she curled up a little, making herself smaller and less easy to notice.

There was the sound of him pounding around the house and finally his step on the doorway.

"Hey, should I turn up the heat? I mean, if you're that col--"

Because he'd come around the side of the bed and he saw her wrist.

"Bryce, jeez, are you-- do we need to go to the hospital? I can drive you to the doctor no problem."

Going to the hospital... would be a good idea, honestly, but right now she couldn't think of many things less appealing than the idea of waiting in an emergency room for an x-ray.

She couldn't quite bring herself to look him in the eye. "It's okay, Steve."

He watched her for a moment more, mouth open but the words couldn't come out. Not with the way she looked. Not with how she was curling in on herself.

Finally--

"Bryce? Bryce, how did you break your wrist?"

She... she couldn't answer that. Not now.

Instead, she flicked her gaze away, like if she wasn't looking at him she wouldn't have to explain.

He looked at her for a moment without speaking again.

"Bryce... please."

"Steve - "

Her voice came out in a whisper, a plea. Don't make me answer that.

He had been leaning down but now he knelt, reaching over very carefully to put his hand on her side. He started rubbing up and down then, not speaking, just... waiting.

"Bryce."

He leaned in and closed his eyes for a moment before looking over at her again.

"You didn't-- were you--" he looked at her wrist again, glad that he didn't see any cuts.

"Bryce, please talk to me."

She grabbed his hand with her good one and laced her fingers through his, giving it a light squeeze in response to his words. It had been too long since she had to have this conversation with someone; she couldn't remember what to say, how to make someone worry less, if she ever knew at all.

He breathed out with relief when she held his hand and he gave her fingers a little squeeze.

"You can nod. If you need to."

He gave her hand another squeeze.

"Did you hurt yourself... on purpose?"

She breathed in and out a few times slowly before giving a tiny nod, barely even a motion.

He breathed in deep before speaking again.

"Was this part of an experiment, or were you really trying to hurt yourself?"

Then he paused before adding--

"Or was it both?"

She'd almost forgotten how this could feel. Like there was a gulf between the two of them that she couldn't cross even if she wanted to. "I don't - " I don't know. I don't want to talk about this.

Another deep breath, followed by a sigh as he leaned in and rested his forehead against her shoulder.

"Okay. I'm gonna... I'm gonna go find something to wrap it with and some ice and some water for you and... can you take ibuprofen?"

She should take some. It would help lower the swelling in her wrist, make it heal easier. But the thought of anything dulling the pain in her wrist made the air constrict in her lungs. "Not - not yet."

He was very clearly keeping himself calm through visible effort.

"Because it'll muck up the experiment?"

She winced slightly at the look on his face. There wasn't anything she could think to say that would make this better, so she didn't say anything.

His patience was wearing just a little thin, but he knew that getting angry wouldn't help anything. He did make plans to head to the gym as soon as he could, though, because he was going to kick the living shit out of a punching bag.

"Because you want to make yourself be in pain... or because you want to continue the experiment?" he asked this time.

Softly: "Would it matter?"

He swallowed hard enough to be audible before he nodded.

"I would really like to know."

"Steve..."

She squeezed her eyes shut, because it might be easier to tell him if she didn't have to look at him. "The first one."

He couldn't help that his fingers clenched in at that, but he didn't otherwise react. Instead, he looked at her, looked right at her face whether she had her eyes shut or not, and kept looking.

"Why?"

She shook her head slightly. "I don't... I don't know how to explain."

He leaned back until he could sit on the floor.

"How about you go slow and we'll see if we can get through it."