Bucky, after a particularly terrible nightmare, had once told Rose what it felt like to be frozen.

HYDRA had perfected their cryo-freeze technique over time, but the initial process had been….slow.

He'd said it had started out in his hands and feet, a sort of sharp, stunning burn that spread quickly up his arms and legs. The sensation only intensified once it reached his torso, the sharpness becoming pain, like millions of little needles were injecting lidocaine coated glass under his skin. Sound and sensation faded from his mind, a terrible, ringing white-noise replacing his thoughts while his heart settled like a stone in his chest.

Then the numbness set it in- and he became nothing.

She felt like she kind of understood him better now.

Only, she didn't get the luxury of nothing- she still saw and felt everything.

She felt the dirt and grass matted in her hair and skin. She felt the blood dribbling from the puncture in her side and the sting from her burnt hands and feet.

She felt when Steve stopped breathing.

She felt his ribs crack when she did chest compressions because he wasn't allowed to leave her-

She felt everything.

Dr. Cho insisted that her CPR had saved Steve's life- that it had bought him time for the medics to arrive, for him to be intubated and carted off to the OR.

Rose didn't buy that for a second.

She wasn't a medical professional. She'd never gotten more than her AA, never studied anything more than basic biology and human anatomy-but she wasn't fucking stupid. She didn't know what "absence of pupillary response" and "absence of respiratory drive" meant, or what a "lack of electroencephalographic reactivity" was- but she could put the pieces together.

She had managed to keep the man she loved breathing, but she hadn't saved his life.

Steve, one of the men she loved- that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with- was clinically brain dead.

The only thing worse than the things that she felt, were the things that she knew. She knew that love, when the connection was torn- either by choice or by chance- hurt worse than any mortal wound could hope to compete with. She knew that she'd gladly go through every terrible moment of her life just to see his eyes open again. She knew that the time they'd had would never- could never- be enough.

She knew that this was her fault.

-_-_-_-Page-Break-_-_-_-

The things that she wanted and the things she deserved were fighting in her head.

She wanted to get out of the supply closet she was hiding in. It was cramped (even for her), the shelves and supplies crowding in on her like chemical gargoyles. The smell, in particular, was extremely overwhelming. The scent of artificial lemons and industrial strength bleach was so strong that it was almost a physical presence, making the space even more claustrophobic. Every part of her body hurt, though the puncture wound in her side and the burns on her feet were probably the worst of it, throbbing with her every breath and leaving a puddle of golden blood on the cement floor.

She didn't deserve to leave.

She wanted to apologize to Darcy. She knew that her friend had only been trying to help her when she'd tried to force her to bathe, but she hadn't particularly cared at the time. Punching her had been way over the line, but she'd felt like she couldn't leave the waiting room. She'd had to stay, had to know that Steve was still alive- that she hadn't killed one of the men she loved. What was a little dirt and blood when he was lying cracked open on a table? She'd felt him die- how could she leave without knowing he was going to be okay? (He wasn't okay- not at all and it was her fault-)

She didn't deserve her friend.

She wanted Bucky. She wasn't sure how long it had taken for him to get to the Compound, she just knew that she'd blinked and he was suddenly there. He'd been so incredibly beautiful, hair pulled out of his face, her favorite dark suit on. Seeing him had hurt her all over again- not just because he was handsome, but because it had reminded her of how their day should have gone. He should have been in the city, bar hopping with the rest of the male Avengers. Steve should have been with him, just as beautiful in blue and happy and whole and safe. They should have been commiserating and bitching like the old married couple they so definitely were, loudly talking about "back in my day" just to piss off Tony while buying Clint shots to piss off Darcy. They should have been dancing and drinking and living.

Instead, Steve had a hole in his head.

She didn't deserve him.

She didn't deserve the love he'd tried to show her. She didn't deserve the tender way he'd caressed her face or the way he'd worried over her. She didn't deserve the way he'd said her name, Rosie, with so much relief- like she was something precious. Like she hadn't fucked up like she always fucked up- like she wasn't a clumsy, useless, thingwho ruined everything she fucking touched. Like she wasn't the reason that the man he loved- who'd saved him over and over- his last concrete link to his past, his soulmate, was lying on an operating table with his fucking skull cracked open.

She'd broken him- broken them both.

He'd barely had a chance to look her over before Dr. Cho had given them the news. Brain dead. It sounded almost hopeful by itself- like only one part of him was dead. She knew better. Bucky knew better. She'd seen the realization come over his face, that the other half of his heart was gone, and she'd seen the light go out in his eyes, something cold and hollow taking its place.

She hadn't seen much else.

She'd run.

She'd wanted to comfort him and be comforted by him. She'd wanted to sit with Steve (Steve's body, not him- he was gone), wanted to hold his hand and feel his pulse. She wanted to start the day over, or take his place or be something other than useless.

She wanted the pain to stop.

It didn't.

And that? That she did deserve.

-_-_-_-Page-Break-_-_-_-

Bucky finds her an hour later. It had been admittedly pretty easy- Rose was a creature of habit- and had only taken him a grand total of 5 minutes to actually do. What had taken him so long had been the process of piecing himself back together. Cho had barely gotten the news out and he just- he couldn't. Couldn't handle losing a piece of himself. Couldn't handle the uncertainty. Couldn't process everything.

Letting go had been easier.

He'd shut himself down, pulling the persona of the Soldier on like he was a comfortable winter coat while he struggled to just deal. All of the extraneous information in the room had disappeared, his focus narrowing down to Cho's explanation and what his options were.

Steve being gone wasn't one of them.

He just…he couldn't think of anything else.

Noticing that Rose had disappeared had been the push he'd needed.

He finds her all but folded in half in the corner of a janitor's closet, the smell of cleaning supplies, dirt, and tears smacking him the face when he opened the door. There was a half of a second where he found himself furious with her- furious that she'd run when he needed her, when Steve needed her, that she'd hidden herself away when she was so very clearly injured- but it disappears as soon as he catches sight of her face.

She looked as broken as he felt.

Every inch of her was caked in dirt and blood, enough so that it almost acted like a camouflage in the dark space. The single clean part of her that he could see was made by the tears slowly seeping out of her eyes, cutting paths down her cheeks until they fell off the tip of her chin, landing on the cement to mix with the small puddle of golden blood beneath her. The only sound that escaped her was tiny, hiccupping breaths, her bottom lip clenched tightly in-between her teeth, like she was doing her best to choke back sobs.

He wasn't even sure that she was aware she was crying.

"Rosie…" He trailed off, at a loss with how to proceed. Taking a deep breath he crouched down in the small space, lowering himself down to the dirt caked blonde's eye level. Desperate, but still unsure about how to coax her out, he continues. "Angel…"

He doesn't need to say anything else.

The sound of Steve's nickname for her punches a wounded noise from her chest, the hands wrapped around her knees spasming as her eyes squeeze shut.

"Don't- don't call me that." Her eyes open, almost against her will, and she takes in the gutted look on his face with another pained noise. "Don't look at me like that either! How can you do that? Why are you doing that?!" Confused and more than a little pissed by the blonde's apparent attitude, Bucky finds himself snapping at her, mechanical hand whirling as his hands clench against his knees.

"Do what, Rose? Sit here? Hunt you down when you decide to hide instead of face your problems?" Choking on the sobs stuck in her throat, Rose responded, her voice almost a shout in the cramped space.

"No! That's not- just stop!" Bucky grit his teeth, fighting the urge to walk over and shake the petite woman as he barked at her.

"Stop what? Talking to you? Trying to get you out of this fucking closet? Well, let me tell you right fucking now- if you think I'm just going to let you sit here and bleed to death you've got another thing fucking comin'-" Rose cut him off with a strangled scream, hands coming up to clutch desperately at her chest in a futile attempt to hold herself together.

"Stop looking at me like you care! Like I'm something good and precious- like I didn't take away the man you've loved your whole fucking life!" She broke off with a shattered whine, fingers spasming in their place on her chest. "Stop looking at me like I'm not useless…Like I don't ruin everything I touch. Stop looking at me like this isn't my fault." The declaration had barely passed her lips before she was sobbing openly, heaving gasps leaving her chest along with inarticulate noises of pure pain.

He feels what's left of his heart crumple like sand.

Fighting back his own tears he quickly shoulders his way into the closet, cleaning supplies falling and scattering as he bumps past the shelves to reach the hysterical blonde. Rose struggles slightly when he pulls her into his lap, the things she wants and the things she deserves screaming at each other in her head, but Bucky ignores her pathetic wiggling, single-minded in his desire to just hold her. Despite her protestations, Rose finds the fight all but bleeding out of her, curling up tightly in his lap, her hands finding purchase in the silk of his dress shirt as she sobs into his chest. He doesn't try to hush her, only pressing a kiss into her hair before speaking, voice rough with barely restrained emotion.

"You remember the first thing you ever said to me?" Rose made a confused noise, sobs quieting the slightest bit as she fought to hear his voice. "You said you 'weren't a boy'." He let out a gruff sounding chuckle, pressing another kiss into her forehead before continuing. "Screamed it really. Course' you had to. Stevie and I-" He broke off, emotion tightening his throat to the point that he couldn't speak. Determined, he cleared his throat before pushing on, deliberately ignoring the tears fighting to break free from his eyes. "We kept talkin' all over you like a buncha' mooks. Don't know how I didn't see it then- you're so beautiful, I musta' been blind." He gave her gentle squeeze, eyes tenderly tracing what he could make out of her face. "I may not have loved you as long as I've loved Stevie, but that doesn't mean I love you any less." Rose let out another wounded sound, eyes squeezing tightly as she curled more firmly into him.

"How-" Her voice came out quiet, the syllables cracking as they pushed past her raw throat. "How can you not…" She trailed off, struggling to find the right adjective. Bucky finished her sentence for her.

"Blame you? Hate you? Baby doll, I would sooner tear what's left of my black heart from my chest than do either of those things." He pressed her hands more firmly into his chest, right over the slow beating of his heart. "This beats for you- for both of you. Steve may be the light that guided me home, but you are home."

Home…

The word is like knife directly in her heart. Steve had told her that she was their home on more than one occasion- that she'd made them feel like they weren't just guests in this century; like they hadn't just wandered to this time by chance. The Avengers had given them a purpose, but she'd given them an anchor- something more concrete than "the greater good" to fight for.

She'd never gotten the chance to tell him she felt the same way.

Her battles may not have been quite as epic as theirs, but she'd been fighting just the same. There had been so much pain in her life- so much uncertainty- but they had been her bright spot. For her, home wasn't a place, it was people. Home was sky and silver eyes, musicals on the sofa, and terrible puns while she brushed her teeth. Home was kisses under fairy lights and the sound of the ocean while they made love.

Home was Bucky.

Home was Steve.

Now half of her home was gone.

Your fault.

She crumples again.

"I'm so sorry- I'm sorry- I'm so-" This time Bucky hushes her, making soothing noises as he brushes some of the tears off her cheeks.

"Hey- baby doll- why are you sorry? Were you the one who hurt Stevie?" She let out a hiccupping whine, shaking her head in the negative before blurting out.

"No! Yes? I'm just so stupid- I tripped like a fucking idiot and he pulled me out of the way-" Bucky cut her off, tone deliberately soothing.

"Sounds like an accident to me, sweetheart." When Rose made a protesting noise he cut her off again, voice borderline stern. "Sounds to me like Steve made a choice- and he chose you."

He shouldn't have.

It should have been me.

She must have said the last part aloud because Bucky abruptly stiffened, jaw tightening to the point that she swore she could almost hear his teeth crack under the pressure. When he finally speaks she can't tell if he's holding back tears or trying not to scream, his voice so strangled that its like someone is pressing on his throat.

"I don't ever want to hear you say that again. Steve made a choice and, given the same circumstances? I would have chosen you too." Rose froze at the severe tone, shooting him a wide eyed look as he continued. "He and I both lived in a world where we thought you were gone- where we'd failed you- and it was almost too much for either of us to bear." Her expression twisted up miserably, face pressing into his shirt as her crying began anew, fingers twisting so harshly that she felt the fabric of his shirt tear under the pressure.

"I don't want to live in a world where he's gone." The righteous rage he'd been clinging to vanishes without a whisper at her quiet statement, the pulsing agony in his chest roaring to life with a bitter vengeance. He finally gives up his hold on his tears, pulling Rose as tightly to his chest as he dared, her head tucked under his chin as he whispered his reply.

"Me neither."

-_-_-_-Page-Break-_-_-_-

Steve doesn't look like himself. Frankly, if Cho hadn't told her it was him she wouldn't have recognized him. The swelling in his face and head was obscene, bruising and edema spreading down his whole left side from the now closed wound in his head. She'd lost count of the number of tubes going in and out of his body, each tasked with helping to keep the man she loved breathing.

All they really had was hope.

Helen had told them that there was a minute chance that Steve could recover. They still knew so little about the serum that it was entirely possible he might be able to heal himself. Any other man would have been killed nearly instantly by the blow that her love had taken, but Steve was made of harder stuff. She'd decided to wait five days and see how much (if) he'd recovered and then try and make a decision from there.

Rose felt like there was a bladed pendulum hanging above her head, slowly drawing closer with every second- only her neck wasn't the one waiting on the chopping block.

She'd spent close to four days almost constantly by his side, counting his breaths and caressing the now cool digits of his hand. Bucky was just as dedicated as she was, if not slightly more aware of the fact that they were both mostly human and required things like sleep and food. Truthfully, Rose thought that Bucky was using taking care of her as a way of coping. The wound in her side had healed almost instantly once she was cleaned up, but he continued to act like she had some sort of gaping wound in her side, alternating between hovering over Steve and hovering over her.

She let him.

At least he had figured out some way to cope.

Rose felt like she just existed. Bucky had tried his best to console her, but her self-loathing and her guilt were constant companions, only dwarfed in intensity by the sheer helplessness she felt. She was vaguely aware of other people visiting (including Darcy, who Rose still had to apologize to), an ever growing pile of flowers and brightly colored stuffed creatures making their home in the otherwise sterile room, but her entire world was narrowed down to his breathing and the slowly clearing bruising on his face.

On the fifth day, Rose's world implodes again.

"I'm so sorry, but there hasn't been any neurological or cognitive improvement." Next to her, Bucky sucks in a sharp breath, hands tightening minutely around Steve's cold ones.

The vice around her heart squeezes.

"That's not- look!" Bucky shot out of his chair, gesturing helplessly at their loves pallid face. "The bruising is almost gone- he's getting better!" Helen sighed, dark eyes sadly glancing between the both of them.

This isn't happening…

"The serum is working- but the damage to his brain is simply too extensive for it. I thought it might be able to mend the neurons but it's simply unable to heal gray and white matter." She gestured to the cacophony of machines attached to him. "Right now the only thing keeping him alive are the machines hooked up to him. He's not able to regulate his heart rate or keep himself breathing. If any of those were disconnected he would pass within a couple of minutes." She took a deep breath before continuing, face set in a grim mask of sympathetic professionalism that Rose had become so terribly familiar with. "Captain Rogers is not going to get better. His quality of life will very likely only deteriorate as time moves forward. As his proxy's, at this point there are only really two options available to you both. The first is that we continue with life support and keep his body alive. The second option, and the one Captain Rogers has specified a preference for in his Living Will, is that we discontinue the life support and let him pass." Next to her, Bucky goes sheet white, sitting down hard in the hospital chair.

He feels like part of his world is ending.

There had been so many times that he'd thought he'd lost him- so many times that he'd almost died. He'd sat at his bedside when he was small and sickly, counting his wheezing breaths and cherishing every shaky beat of his heart. He'd applied pressure to knife wounds and prayed to a God he wasn't sure he'd believed in when a damn building collapsed on him. He'd survived everything that had ever been thrown at him, beating absolutely impossible odds over and over- so much so that Bucky had almost fooled himself into believing the other man was invincible.

Now he was gone, and the only thing left behind was a husk.

He feels himself go cold, but the Soldier never makes an appearance. Instead, grief surges up and seizes him by the throat, his denial and his practicality competing for space in the cavernous spot where his heart used to reside.

He doesn't want to let him go- doesn't think he can- but there doesn't seem like there's much other choice.

In contrast, Rose feels like she's on fire.

The rage is so sudden, so intense, that it almost explodes out of her, the petite blonde pushing back her chair with a thunderous 'crash' as she surges to her feet. Her hands unconsciously clench at her sides, eyes unintentionally flashing rose-gold as she snarls at the startled doctor.

"That's bullshit!" Bucky, still trembling in shock from the news, let out a quiet whisper of her name, clearly trying to sooth the irate woman. Rose just hisses in response, angrily gesticulating with her hands as she continues. "No! No! I refuse to believe that those are our only two options! When I was fucking dying everyone tried- they didn't just roll over and let me go. There's got to be something else! Nanobots? The cradle? Fucking time travel?!" Dr. Cho gave a small shake of her head, tone deliberately soothing so as to not further piss off the agitated goddess.

"All of that technology is still in its infancy and is untested on something as delicate as the brain. I'm afraid we've reached the limits of what science is currently capable of." Rose froze in place, inspiration striking her with the intensity of one of Jane's lightning bolts.

Science hadn't saved her life either.

Magic had- and they were currently living with the greatest magical healer on the planet (granted, it was against his will).

Rose just hoped that he would be more successful saving the man she loved….and that she could convince him to do it.

`~`~`A/N`~`~`

Surprise! Not dead! Just clinically ~depressed~. I'm trying! Just alternating between being crushingly anxious and debilitating existential dread about the futility of my own existence. A bitch is tired and missed you guys. Thoughts? Comments? Double update, so look out this week. Love you guys!