Darkness is cool and sweet, relief from the life I have been half living. But then the pain comes, slow at first, then surrounding me, robbing me of my peace and forcing me to realize that unfortunately I am not dead.

But I should be. I deserve it, because how could I?

I resist. I beg to stay in the rolling waves of darkness but slowly I am pulled from my darkness to the world I no longer want a part of. I can feel the bullet wound in my stomach and one in my shoulder. They have been bandaged. Pain radiates off them, seeping into the rest of my body. I embrace the pain, wish it to intensify, for the darkness to take me back.

My eyes blink open to a white ceiling. The paint is chipping, and the white is turning cream in some places. I try to sit up, but the pain holds me back.

"Take it easy," says a male voice from off to my right.

I try to sit up again, alert at the sudden possible threat. The man comes to sit at my right side.

"You're going to make it worse, you know," he says.

"Who are you?" I can barely get the words out.

He takes a minute to respond. "James Barnes," he says.

My brain is fuzzy, but the name clicks. "Like James Barnes, as in Bucky?" I ask. Excitement begins to bubble up inside me without my permission. I force it down again. This could be Captain America's best friend Coulson.

Stop, I tell myself, but my brain finishes the sentence anyway. Coulson fangirled over Captain America. Stop, I tell myself again, don't think about it.

His face swims into my vision, shoulder length hair, scruffy unshaven face, old jeans and worn out t-shirt. Bucky, Captain America Bucky. Of all people.

"Huh," I say without really meaning it. "Aren't you dead?"

He frowns at me.

"I am not presently dead," he pauses. "Thank you for asking."

"Okay," I say slowly.

"What is your name?" He changes the subject.

"Daisy," I reply.

"How do you feel?" he asks.

"Like I got shot," I push myself up on my elbows slowly. "You know Captain America?"

I can feel my old self trying to push through the layers of guilt and pain that have taken hold of me. He frowns at me again.

"Go back to sleep," he says and walks away.

"Hey," I call after him, "You can't just walk away."

"Watch me," he calls back.

I growl in frustration.

"Bucky," I call, then almost instantly he's back, his hands around my throat choking me.

"Don't call me that." His voice is low and his eyes frighteningly blank.

I try to nod. "Okat," I gasp. He releases me and walks away.

"Why am I here?" I call after him. "You save me to kill me?"

"Hydra didn't want me to." Then he's gone.

"Okay," I mutter to myself.

This is great, just great. I try to remember everything I know about Captain America's Bucky, but I'm still not entirely sure this is Captain America's Bucky. He could just be crazy. I relax back on the pillow behind me and ponder my next move. I am confined to the bed, injured. My body will take time to heal, especially since I haven't been taking care of it. I give myself two weeks until I leave, assuming Bucky doesn't kill me before then.

But then again what does it matter anyway. I deserve to be dead. I should be dead, should have died in that plane, should have paid for my mistakes. I should have been an outcast, should have been thrown out, hated for what I did. Mack shouldn't have forgiven me, I didn't deserve that. Fitz shouldn't have given me his coat, because I deserve to be cold. Lash shouldn't have given his life to get me back, Lincoln shouldn't have died.

How could I let this happen? How could I?

I can remember a fuzzy picture in the back of my mind, a girl in a dress and boots and a box in her arms, and she handed over the keys to her van to a stranger. Handed over her freedom and her life to a stranger because he had wanted her, risked his reputation for her, because she had wanted to. That girl didn't know anything. Didn't know pain, or loss, or even love. That girl asked for an adventure and boy did she get one. She didn't know then what she would become. I laugh at her, at Skye. She thought she was invincible, and everything would work out in the end. But Daisy learned the hard way. How could I let this happen? My team, my family, they paid the price of my mistakes. How could I go so wrong? Mess up so bad? Hurt so many people? How could anyone forgive me? How can I ever forgive myself?

I squeeze my eyes shut and press my fingers to my temples. The tears creep in my eyes, but I refuse to let them out. I had wanted to be an agent so bad, I had gotten everything I wanted. But I had ruined it all.

The guilt sits on my chest, crushing the breath out of my lungs, how could I? Coulson. I gag and roll on my side.

I push up on my elbow and brush my hair behind my ears. I force myself to take a breath. Don't think about it, not yet. Just heal, and then you can pay for what you did, I tell myself. I'm sorry Coulson, I whisper to myself, but that's all because how could I say anything else?