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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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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."

He reached up and stroked her hair then.

"Eh, a broken clock's right twice a day."

"I'm not sure which of us is the broken clock in this scenario."

Although she was fairly certain she knew which of the two of them qualified more as broken.

"I was referring to myself," he said with a small, careful smile.

She didn't quite smile, but something in her face relaxed a little bit. "I think you underestimate your clock prowess."

"There's always room to get better, though, isn't there?" he offered with a little grin.

"I suppose so."

After a moment, she tugged on his hand, wordlessly inviting him to come closer.

He came closer, looping his arm around her carefully, avoiding the wrist.

"Thank you," she said, somehow managing to make it sound like I'm sorry all over again.

He shrugged and gave her a little squeeze.

"You're always welcome. Always."

At some point, she finally took the ibuprofen he gave her and let herself fall asleep as she went from too-keyed-up still to incredibly exhausted.

She didn't wake up until a couple hours later, still tired but feeling... better, at least emotionally. Like she managed to break through a wall and come out on the other side. Physically, on the other hand - she would have been more than happy to just fall back asleep, but now that the shock had worn off, the pain that had been helping her keep herself together earlier now just hurt.

The idea of having to deal with her broken wrist was too much, still. Instead of getting up and finding ice, she pressed into Steve more and bit back a soft hiss of pain when she managed to jostle the wrist.

He woke up with a short jolt and turned sleepily towards her, making sure not to roll at her.

"Bryce? How's... how's your wrist?"

"It's..." Visibly worse than when she went to sleep, honestly. "...not good."

He seemed to wake up more at that and he rolled out of bed, turning to look at her and examine the wound. He seemed both satisfied and disatisfied with it before he actually stood up and tipped his head outside the door.

"You're going to need more ibuprofen, and I'm going to grab something to wrap it up in as well as some ice. How're you feeling?"