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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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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."

Her eyes blinked open briefly. "I don't think I can. Not now."

He nodded.

"Then I'll wait until you're ready. Or, better yet," he stood up slowly, "I'll go get you some water. And then I'll wait until you're ready."

After a moment, she said, "I'm sorry." For being so fucked up. For putting him through this, too.

He'd been halfway to the door but he turned to look at her.

"I don't want you to be sorry," he said gently, "I just... want you to be as happy as you can be."

Then he slipped through the door and closed it behind him.

It was like his words broke something inside her. Instead if the semi-emotional numbness she'd settled into, everything just boiled over until she'd curled up into as small an area as she could manage so she wouldn't feel too open and exposed when she started to cry.

He came back a minute later, moving slow and careful, and brought with him a cup of water and two ibuprofen that he placed on the bed table.

"You should drink the water. But you can take the ibuprofen when you want to."

His hand ran up and down her shoulder, gentle and careful even if he was still... not happy. Anger had washed out of him in his time out of the room.

She reached up again after a moment and grasped hold of his hand. "I'm... I am sorry. I don't know how to be better."

He gave her hand a little squeeze.

"You don't have to be better either," he said, though it was obviously an effort.

"But maybe, if you want to, we can figure it out."

At some point, her voice had been reduced to a hoarse almost-whisper.

"How?"

"That's part of what we figure out," he said, keeping his voice low, "though... it sounds like you might need that water at least."

He gave her a soft smile.

"Yeah."

She managed a rueful smile, if only for a few seconds. "Probably."