I opened my eyes and it was dark. Not pitch back, but there were no lights on in the room. Natural light came in through one large window, moonlight falling on a plain white wall and a small chair in the corner with a coat tossed over it.

There was a soft, intermittent beeping. A motor whirred for a few moments and shut off again.

It took a few moments for me to realize I was lying down. I was in bed, but it wasn't my own.

I felt like I was surfacing from deep water, slowly becoming aware of my body again. I felt my head heavy on a pillow, some of my hair uncomfortably bunched under my neck. I felt the weight of several blankets layered over me, keeping me almost uncomfortably warm. My hands felt almost numb, I couldn't feel the blankets around them even though my arms told me they were under the covers.

I had never been so confused or disoriented. I could not recognize where I was, and there was a frightening, almost unnatural heaviness in my body that didn't feel like normal sleepiness.

Up until now I had only moved my eyes as moving my neck to look around seemed impossible with such a weight in my body. I took a deep breath, and that felt good, filtering a little bit more energy into my body.

It was then, the smell of the room, that did it. That smell of disinfectant and cafeteria food, the scent of a place deep-cleaned far too often to be truly welcoming.

I was in a hospital room, at night, all alone, with no idea of what had brought me there.

"Hey, are you waking up?"

Okay, so I wasn't as alone as I'd thought. I summoned the energy to turn my head.

It was Sam, the man I'd kicked. He was sitting in the armchair maybe an arms length from my bed. A small lamp next to the chair was on and he had a book of crosswords in one hand. He smiled when I met his eyes, set the book and his pencil aside, and came over.

"How are you feeling? Do you know where you are? Remember me?"

It took me a few moments to find words, and when I spoke my voice was weak, like a whisper, and didn't even sound like it belonged to me.

"I'm in the hospital. I remember you. What happened?"

He glanced at the monitors near my head briefly. "The reason you're in the hospital is because you had severe hypothermia and went into cardiac arrest. You also had a mildly infected gunshot wound and several broken bones in your foot, which was a surprise to me, to be honest."

I frowned. I could remember being cold...

"Bucky," I said suddenly. It all flooded back, running through the woods, trying to help him get away, to protect him. The river, the cold, Captain America, and... "Where's Bucky? Did you find him? Is he okay? Did Hydra take him?"

I weakly tried to sit up and Sam put a hand on my shoulder to stop me. "He's here, it's okay, it's all over. He's safe."

Safe. It was like a foreign language. Looking back it felt like I'd spent my whole life running through the woods with him, scared and hungry and growing weaker by the day. In reality it had been...I didn't even know...two days? Three?

"What about the Hydra agents?"

"Most of them have disappeared, but S.H.I.E.L.D. managed to get a few of them. I doubt they'll tell us anything but at least we have them. You guys really got them, they're pretty beat up."

I laughed but it came out as barely more than a gust of breath. "It was mostly Bucky. I didn't do much."

Sam pulled the chair closer and sat down, resting his arms on the bed. "I don't know, one of them has a pretty bad shiner, eye swollen shut and everything. Said something about a lady hitting him with his own gun? Of course he used language I won't repeat here..."

I snorted.

"Don't sell yourself short, that's all I'm saying."

"Uh-huh. Where's Bucky? Is he all right?"

He sighed. "No, not really. The thing is, knowing you were in danger was what got him back to himself enough to get him on the chopper. Once we got here and the doctors took you away...well it kinda set him off again."

My heart sank. I'd been hoping he would be much better, back to the Bucky who'd watched Netflix and baked cookies with me. I realized that had been a foolish thing to hope for, but I was still disappointed.

"He had to be sedated. He's in a holding room under observation for now."

"...Oh...okay."

He chuckled. "Seriously though, how are you feeling?"

Before I could answer, the door to my room opened and another familiar figure entered.

"You're awake." Natasha said, looking a bit surprised. She had a styrofoam coffee cup in each hand, and once she was in the room she handed one to Sam.

"She is. How's Barnes?"

"Sedated. They're going to taper the meds down a little, maybe get him awake soon, but he's still sleeping for now. I tried to talk Steve into getting some rest, but he won't leave that window."

"Window?" I asked.

Natasha glanced at me like she'd forgotten I was there. I wondered how many conversations they'd had in here with me asleep.

"The holding room he's in is monitored and extremely secure. They can't allow anyone in except essential doctors and nurses. The only way to see inside is a bulletproof window. Steve's been camping outside it since we got here."

"Oh..."

She looked back to Sam. "I came to let you know Steve could probably use you right about now, if you're up for it."

Sam sighed and stood up. "Maybe I can talk him into resting."

"You'd have to bring a stretcher to him and put it right outside the window. And probably sedate and restrain him."

"That could be arranged." Sam stood and stretched, ambling out of the room like a zombie.

"I think he could use some more rest, too." I commented when he was gone.

Natasha smiled and sat down in the chair Sam had left. "No one around here ever wants to take care of themselves. Speaking of which, how are you feeling?"

"I'm fine."

She raised her eyebrows, said nothing, and sipped her coffee.

"Okay I'm not totally fine, but I'm better than I was."

She nodded. "Now that I can believe."

I sighed, moving my arms and legs a bit, experimentally. I still felt weighed down but I was at least more alert. "I was in pretty bad shape, huh?"

"Mm."

"How close did I come to dying?"

"Pretty darn close. Actually though, having the hypothermia was probably a good thing, in a way. It stopped the cardiac arrest from causing more serious damage," She sipped her coffee thoughtfully, "although of course the hypothermia caused the cardiac arrest."

I reached up to brush some hair out of my eyes, and discovered exactly why my hands felt so numb. They were bandaged, wrapped up from mid-forearm over my palm and over a few of my fingers. Startled, I forgot about the annoying hairs and frowned at the wrapping.

"Your hands were pretty torn up, your arms too. It looked like you got in a fight with a window, or barbed wire fence. What happened?"

It took a minute for my brain to supply the answer. My body was awake but parts of my brain were still slogging through mud. "Ice," I managed after a while, "I had to break some ice when I was in the river."

"Must have been more than just some."

I let my hand drop back down onto the bed. "I don't really remember," I commented, trying to blow the stray hairs out of my face, "details are pretty fuzzy right now."

She reached over and brushed the hair away. "Understandable. Eventually though, S.H.I.E.L.D is going to want to ask you some questions about all of this."

"When am I going to be able to get up and go see Bucky?"

She sighed. "They won't be taking him off sedation for a while now. By the time they do I'm sure you'll be-"

"I don't need to see him awake right now, I just need to see him. I just...I need to."

My voice had turned embarrassingly watery. I swallowed and looked away.

"Sit up."

I blinked and looked back at Natasha.

She put her coffee down on the small side table and stood up. "Sit up. If you can sit up without passing out or something then I can put you in a wheelchair and you can go see Bucky. Only for a minute or two, since you're technically supposed to stay in bed, but it's something."

It was a small consolation. What I really wanted was to be next to him until he was finally allowed to wake up. I wanted to hold his hand and promise him over and over that he was safe, until he finally believed it. If knowing I was in danger had been enough to get him to come here, then maybe my being there would be enough to calm him down.

The bed was reclined almost all the way down, I was only propped up on a couple too-soft hospital pillows. Sitting up would be an effort, and it was embarrassing to admit to myself that I wasn't sure I would be able to do it. But Natasha was waiting and Bucky was...somewhere. I had to try.

The bed had wide plastic side rails, flat in the middle with buttons for things like calling a nurse or moving the bed up and down, but the ends were both molded into rounded handles. They were probably for wheeling the bed around. I reached out and grabbed the left-side handle, pausing to take a small breath before attempting to pull myself up.

I couldn't remember another time I'd felt so weak. One hand wasn't going to cut it. I reached out to grab the right-side handle, and was startled when Natasha took my hand instead. She ended up pulling me up more than supporting me, but one way or another I ended up sitting straight up in the bed.

A rush of dizziness overtook me, but I rode it out, and moments later I was fine. None of the monitors made any more noise than usual, I didn't pass out, no alarms went off. After a moment, I looked back at Natasha and smiled.

"Well I guess that proves it then. I'll get a wheelchair."

I learned that it was nearly four in the morning, which partially explained the stillness of the hospital. But it was still eerily quiet, without any of the bustle I would have expected even from late night at a hospital.

"Are Bucky and I the only ones in here or something?" I asked while Natasha pushed me down the empty hall past dark rooms. I was nestled in a cocoon of blankets, and if it weren't for the situation with Bucky, I probably would have felt pretty good.

"No, but close. This is a S.H.I.E.L.D facility. Not open to the public. The only ones treated here are S.H.I.E.L.D agents, and some special exceptions."

I nodded slowly. "I thought S.H.I.E.L.D had been destroyed? They seem to have a lot of resources for an organization that technically doesn't exist."

"It's better not to dwell on it."

"All right then."

We headed down a few more long corridors, then got on an elevator.

"It might not seem like it from how he acted the last time you saw him, but Steve does like you."

"Like me? Really?"

"Well...maybe like is a strong word. He has an interest. I think all the red tape he was having to break through in his searching for Bucky was making him think he was the only one who cared about him. Finding out a total stranger had taken him in, and then not only taken him in but rescued him, and gone on the run with him...it really struck him once he had time to think about it."

"He shouldn't get too excited- most of the rescuing was on Bucky's end. I didn't do much."

The elevator doors opened to a brighter floor, and I actually saw a nurse walking down the hall.

"Didn't do much? You took in a dangerous fugitive, you sheltered and fed him, went on the run, got shot and kept going, jumped into a freezing river, punched through some ice, took down a guy twice your size with one kick, led us back to Bucky which probably saved him again, and only gave up when your body physically could not handle any more."

I snorted.

"And even when your whole body was giving up on you, you still pulled through and here you are. Sounds like you did some things to me."

We went around a corner and suddenly we were in a wide hallway. A wide door was set in the left side of the hall, a multitude of warning signs plastered onto it.

Steve was standing in front of the large window beside the door. He leaned against the window, resting his forehead on the glass.

Sam was standing a step or two away, and looked up when we came around the corner. He glanced briefly at Steve before saying anything.

"I don't know if going ambulatory so soon is a good idea," He said, gesturing at me in the wheelchair, "but I'm also not surprised."

Natasha shrugged. "She had so much energy she was practically jumping out of bed on her own, what was I supposed to do?"

Sam rolled his eyes.

Natasha wheeled me to the window. It was large enough that I could see into the room just by sitting as straight as I could in the chair.

The room was rounded, sort of a semicircle with the door's wall the only flat side. At a slight angle from the window was a bed surrounded with all kinds of monitors reporting on who knows what. Only one light was on, on the wall directly over the bed.

Bucky was on the bed, still except for his slow, even breathing. His arms and legs were wrapped in wide black restraints. A strap went across his waist, another across his legs, one more over his chest and shoulders. There was even one holding his head.

My chest and throat both tightened at once and I swallowed hard.

"It's no wonder he panics every time they take him out of the sedation." Steve said softly.

For some reason his talking startled me. I guess that after the way he'd acted the last time I'd seen him, I'd expected more of a stony silence and less conversation. Maybe he really did like me.

"How bad is it, when he comes out of sedation?" I asked, not really sure if Steve would even respond at all.

There was a long silence. I could feel Natasha and Sam watching us...I could also see them in the reflection on the window.

"Bad." Steve said. He lifted his head from the glass and sighed.

"They need to let him out of the restraints," I said, focusing on Bucky again, resting my arms on the narrow sill beneath the window, "that's just going to make things worse. Although I guess they can't just let him destroy the room and hurt himself."

Steve 'hmm'ed softly, then fell silent.

I leaned forward, resting my head on my arms, watching Bucky though the thick glass even while my breath fogged against it. It still felt like my body weighed a thousand pounds, and even just sitting up was an effort. Watching Bucky, my heart and mind felt twice as heavy as my body.

"Thank you," Steve said suddenly, "for whatever you did for him. If someone had to find him, I'm glad it was you."

It took a minute for the words to really sink in. When they did I fought the thousand-pound weight on my spine and lifted my head to look up at him.

His head was turned just a bit to face me. His eyes had that dark, sickly look of someone who's very, very tired. There were bags under his eyes, his face almost entirely drained of color. He needed rest, but wouldn't leave the window. Wouldn't leave Bucky.

My sarcastic response, reminding everyone that Bucky was the one who'd done the most, died on my dry lips and I swallowed it without a second thought. I struggled to come up with any response. Captain America was thanking me? How do you respond to that?

"I'm just glad he's okay...or at least safe," I said after a while, "but thank you."

"What was he like, when he was with you? Did he remember anything?"

It hurt to contrast the Bucky I'd known only a few days ago with the sick-looking figure strapped to the bed on the other side of the window.

"He was starting to, just a little. I think he remembered more than he realized, but he couldn't make the connections, y'know?"

Steve nodded. He'd turned to look back at Bucky again.

I rested my head down on my arms, but continued.

"We made cookies. He liked Netflix. He helped me chop wood. He liked pizza." Facts tumbled out of my mouth like water dribbling from a faucet. They were random and disconnected but I kept them coming until I very suddenly ran out, except for one.

For a moment I hesitated, but I was too tired to stop myself completely. "He called me Steve a couple of times."

I heard Sam come over slowly, like he might be needed.

I was too tired to lift my head to meet Steve's eyes but I could glance towards him and see him staring at me.

"He...he called you Steve?"

"Yeah...I don't remember when but a few random times." The weight was getting heavier and my eyes kept drifting closed without my permission.

Steve fell silent, turning back to the window, mouth set in a firm line like he was angry or holding back tears.

Suddenly there was a hand on my shoulder. It was Sam's. He gently nudged me to sit back in my wheelchair.

"I think it's time to go back to your room and get some rest."

He was right, but I wanted to stay, to be near Bucky in case he woke up again. Maybe if I was there I could calm him down? Maybe talk to him?

"No, I wanna stay here." I mumbled.

"You can come back after you sleep a little, remember you're still recovering yourself. And your parents are on their way- you'll want to be awake when they get here."

My parents. How were they feeling right now? How would they react to the fact that not only had I harbored a dangerous stranger who had broken into the house, but I'd also been on the run in the forest, shot at, and nearly drowned? Not to mention almost dying. They would be in hysterics. I was not looking forward to that meeting.

But I didn't have the energy to argue, and sitting up was a chore. As much as I hated to admit it, being in bed was a really really nice idea.

I relaxed in the chair and tugged the blanket wrapped over my shoulders closer to my body. "Fine. But just a little nap," I pointed at Steve, "and you should sleep too."

He didn't even acknowledge me.

Sam turned the chair to face down the hall, told Steve he'd be back in a few minutes, and we set off.

Back in my room he lifted me back into bed like I weighed less than nothing, which was the exact opposite of how I felt, and immediately began layering the blankets back on.

"I'm really not that cold." I protested.

He raised his eyebrows. "Nah, you get lots of blankets for the next few days, we're not taking any chances. Do you want know what your body temp was when we got you in here?"

I shrugged weakly.

He tucked the tops of the blankets over my shoulders. "Eighty. That's it. Ten degrees higher than lethal. You're getting extra blankets."

I was stunned into silence.

He smiled. I liked his smile, it was comforting.

"Just get some rest, okay?" He turned off the lamp above the bed so that the room was lit only with the moonlight coming in through the window. "I'll check on you in the morning."

He left the room, and I was alone with the thought that I had been ten degrees away from almost certain death. I stared at the ceiling, memories of the cold forest and the river floating lazily through the syrup that was my brain at the moment. My eyes drifted closed and I felt my body relax under the warmth and comforting weight of the blankets.

My parents are gonna kill me.

Author's Note:

Hey guys! Sorry for disappearing for so long. I don't really have an excuse, I just sort of lost interest in the story for a while. But after seeing the Civil War trailer I'm all back and raring to go! Thanks so much for sticking around and I hope you enjoy the next few chapters, because there's only a couple more until it's finished! Ahh! I'm so excited!

If you guys like my writing, I would appreciate it if you would go check out my original fiction on my FictionPress account under the same name. I have a story called Tailfins about an art school and some mermaids, and it's so much fun. Click!

Also I'm candy-salad on tumblr if you feel like dropping by and saying hello. :D

Guess that's all! I promise I won't disappear before posting the next chapters, so hang in there, and thanks again for reading! ;D

-HungryBear