MISSOURI, LOCATION UNKNOWN
2015

     ". . . BUT DID you see what happened . . .?"

     ". . . she needs a doctor . . . can't find . . . not a pulse . . ."

     "LAURA . . . ! do you . . . defibrillator . . . it's June . . . she's . . . she's not . . ."

     ". . . on the Quinjet . . . there's one on the Quinjet . . ."

     "CLEAR!"
     THUMP.

     "Do it again! She's not breathing!"

     THUMP.

     THUMP.

      June woke with a strangled gasp. She choked down a gulp of air and thrashed out wildly, only to be firmly settled by several pairs of hands. She inhaled sharply, once, then let out a panicked exhale that was more of a shout. Everything around her was a nauseating blur, but after a minute or two, the world more or less came back into focus. She gathered she was in the Quinjet, on a gurney, with pain like no other in her chest. "What —?" she sputtered. "Where's Steve?"

     "Your heart stopped," Bruce said breathlessly, two defibrillator paddles gripped tightly in his fists. A heavy sweat was broken out on his brow and he looked as confused as June felt. Pain throbbed in her skull and pins and needles stabbed angrily through her fingers and toes as she struggled to piece together what had happened.

     June rubbed a palm over her chest. "My . . . my heart?"

     Slowly, she surveyed the horrified eyes surrounding her: Bruce, Tony, and Bucky watched her unceasingly, all three of them trembling, sweating, shock slapped on their faces like snapshots frozen in time.

     "Yes," Bruce finally managed, dropping the paddles and shakily adjusting his glasses. "Your heart."

     June brought a quivering hand to her lips. Without forethought, she reached behind her and lifted the hem of her shirt. The air was warm on her goosebumped skin. "Is . . . there a bruise? Right near my spine? Where Clint tased me?" The three of them stayed quiet. June shifted her stare to Bucky, eyes demanding. "James? Tell me."

     Bucky blinked. "Yeah."

     Cold terror washed over June. It came in reverberating waves, knocking her innards around like they were abandoned clutter in the midst of an earthquake. Somehow, her earlier suspicion became jarringly clear. Burned out, a faceless whisperer crooned. She should have burned out years ago. June's lower lip and chin trembled as she tried to speak. "She — she did it. Wanda. She . . . ."

     "What?" Tony urged, flinching like he wanted to grab her shoulders. "What? She did what?"

     June felt overwhelmingly dizzy and knew she needed a hospital at once. "She's . . . she's finally doing it. Burning me out. She took away my enhancements."

     "That's not possible," Bucky decided at once with a firm shake of his head. He lowered June's shirt. "So a bruise didn't heal? That's not —"

     "She's thirty-one and had a fucking heart attack, Barnes," Tony said. "She went from rapid healing on par with yours, to cardiac arrest. She's right."

     "So what —?" June watched panic begin to fill Bucky's face. "So what does that mean?"

     "We don't know," Bruce supplied, though it went without saying. "I can do an evaluation back in New York —"

     "No way," June cut him off. Her arms shook up to her shoulders and her fists curled on her thighs, but no matter her fear, she could not let it swell. Overtake. "We have to stop Ultron. This is bigger than me. Just take me to an urgent care —"

     "You're funny," Bucky said dryly, but the anxiety lacing his tone was not lost on her. "We're taking you back to the tower. Nowhere public is safe."

     "You need the jet to get to Oslo," June reminded Tony through grit teeth; every cell in her being seemed to burn.

     "I have more than one way of getting around, Junebug," Tony answered, doe eyes disapproving, like she should definitely know better.

     June sighed and it sent an atom bomb of pain through her chest, down her arms and all her tingling nerves. In her mind's eye she pictured herself a very wilted houseplant with only a few green leaves left, straining not to droop, and all her dear friends were overly thoughtful babki that saw use in keeping a tiny brown plant alive.

     "So it's settled," Bruce said tersely. "June, Barnes, and I are going back to New York." He gave her a rare, stern look. "Don't argue."

     June pressed her lips tightly together. "Fine," she said. She made to stand, but Bruce settled her firmly.

     "No, June," he said. "You're staying right here."

     "I want to talk to —"

     "Everyone knows," Bruce interjected. June wasn't sure if he meant to sound cold, but his tone was so uncharacteristically rigid that she shrunk and conceded. "I'm hooking you to an IV and then you're not moving until we get back to the city. You have no idea how haywired you are right now."

     And Bruce did exactly that. In a matter of moments, June had a pulse monitor clipped on her finger and an IV pumping small doses of painkiller through her blood. Tony and Bruce went back outside, June guessed to amend their arrangements, and left her and Bucky alone on the Quinjet with a terse silence between them. Bucky paced back and forth a few feet away, brow so furrowed it smushed his eyelashes. He was so quiet, June was half-convinced he'd decided not to speak at all, but then he said in a voice so soft and over-controlled, "Do you want to die, June?"

     June blinked. Her limbs went stiff. "I —"

     "Why don't you care when you're hurt?" Bucky asked, crossing the floor so swiftly June flinched. "You've gotten . . . so hurt these past few days, June. Starting back on the night of the party. And I don't think . . . I don't think you worry about yourself."

     June was almost speechless. The frustration in his voice was unmistakable. She could not recall the last time Bucky was angry with her, and it filled her with a guilt so heavy she felt she might be pushed to the core of the earth.

     "I care . . ." she said feebly.

     "Do you?" he challenged, mouth hard. "Do you really? Because two days ago you were ready to shoot yourself. And now —" he broke off. June realized in limp horror that there were tears in his clear blue eyes. Bucky took in a shuddering breath. "And now . . . you have a goddamn heart attack, and it's a fight to get you to accept help. So maybe I'm wrong, and you have a profound appreciation for life. But that's not what it looks like. So 'fess up, June, and tell me what's going on."

June's instinct was to lie. Flat-out. But the longer she looked at Bucky, saw his desperation and hurt, she realized he was only trying to help. Hadn't she wished for that for years? And here, now, she was pushing it away? Maybe she truly was unhinged.

"I . . ." she began feebly, struggling to speak past the lump in her throat. "I just . . . James, I get so tired."

Suddenly she was sobbing, and her tears would not stop no matter how she willed them to.

     "I get so tired of being — being this per — being this person," she sniffed. She felt like a petulant child. "All I do is make everyone's life so hard. I feel — I feel so vapid and — and like I'm just slipping all the time —"

     Bucky perched himself beside her and gathered her against him, and June wept quietly into the crook of his arm. He held her tightly and pet her hair until she could take in a full breath again, promising her she was going to be all right.

"Breathe, June, breath," Bucky ordered her steadily. "You can't pass out again."

"I'm sorry," she wailed. "I'm sorry I'm like this."

Bucky shook his head. "Stop."

June choked through another sob. "No, let me —"

"June," Bucky said faintly, his hand smoothing down her hair, "stop apologizing. It's not your fault."

June wanted to scream and scream until her voice was flayed beyond use. He just didn't understand. He didn't understand how truly destroyed she was on the inside, what was eating her alive, what a heart attack couldn't cover up.

"Steve told me he still loves me," June croaked. "He told me — he told me — and I just feel so guilty. I don't want him to, I don't want to be this person. I wish he'd never met me." She wept and sniffed and couldn't stutter out a word without hiccuping a sob. "I was so wrong to keep you hidden from him last year. I — I was so wrong. I hate myself for it. I should never have let him kiss me, I was just so lonely and I missed you so much I couldn't — I couldn't take it. And — I almost died without apologizing. I have to apologize."

She broke down in tears beyond words once again. Bucky said nothing, just stroked her hair and cheeks and let her cry and cry until his sleeve was a sodden mess.

"Steve's feelings aren't all your fault, June," he said softly.

"But I lied to him. For so long. And he forgave me when he shouldn't have. I wouldn't have forgiven me."

"You never forgive yourself," Bucky whispered. "It's part of your problem, doll. You think you deserve to be crucified for everything you do."

June let out a strangled cry and buried her face. She didn't know why it was such a relief and still such an agony to hear him put her feelings into words. Bucky let her wheeze and wail, muttering gentle things and keeping her close against him. "Try to calm down, okay? Sh-h-h . . . try to calm down. . . ."

"Can . . . can you get Steve? I don't know what's going to happen to me, James, and I — I need to apologize. I have to take responsibility."

"I'll get him," Bucky told her. He was quiet for several moments. "Nothing's gonna happen to you, okay?"

June sat up. "Just in case."

Bucky thumbed the edge of her cheek. "All right. Yes ma'am. I'll get him."

He stood and slid silently out of the Quinjet, moving on cat's feet, always the soundless shadow Hydra had groomed him to be. A confusing mix of love and guilt and shame and gratitude consumed June. Why did he stay with her? Why did he bother with her at all? What on Earth did she give back? She was beyond thankful for Bucky — she adored him more than her soul could contain — but she could not for a moment put herself in his position and see what it was that made him want anything to do with her.

And to think, June had believed she was getting better.

A few moments later, another tall shadow crossed the room. June looked up and found Steve. Stalwart and perfect Steve. His brow pinched with concern and his face was drained of color.

"June," he ventured slowly, "June, I'm . . . ."

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, tears blurring her eyes once again. "I'm so sorry. For everything. For keeping James a secret and kissing you and — and for lying for all that time. I let you and Sam risk your lives for a month. I was trying to do the right thing, but — " June inhaled sharply and smeared her tears away with the heel of her hand. "You have done so — so much for me. I pay for it in dust. You were the first friend I had in such a long time . . . and I've treated you like you're expendable." Her eyes stared vacantly at the floor; absently, she touched a hand to her chest. "If something happens to me, I wanted you to know that I regret ever lying to you. I don't know why you forgave me. I'll never understand it. I don't deserve — "

Steve silenced her by crouching before her and taking her hands gently in his. "I forgave you because you're my friend," he said. "Before anything, we were friends. I overreacted. I shouldn't have kicked you out. Those were the actions of a . . ." he sighed and shook his head. His mouth curved at the edges. "Of a stupidly jealous man. It was an intense fifteen seconds. I'd thought Buck was either dead or fucked off somewhere in Ukraine, so when I came back to find you and him . . . I had never been so happy to see someone and so inclined to punch them in the face at the same time."

June was stunned. She did not dare speak. This was the first Steve had ever talked about that day.

"But that wasn't right of me," he went on. "And it wasn't right of me to ask you to leave. In fact, I regret it more than anything. More than continuing to tell you how I feel when you're happily in a relationship. But I'll stop doing that, too. Really, June, all I want is for you to be happy and safe. If you are, then that's more than I could ask for."

June's mouth quivered. "Stop being so good. I've been so selfish."

"Everyone is selfish," Steve said calmly.

"But I shouldn't be," she insisted. "Not when so much has been done for me. I used to fall asleep in the Underground imagining what it would be like to be rescued, taken to a home. To be cared for. And now when I have friends who do just that . . . I take it like I'm entitled." June freed her hands from Steve and dropped her head in them. "I'm just a black hole. Nothing is ever enough."

Steve got to his feet with a sigh and made her lift her face. "You're not. You've made mistakes. Name one person here who hasn't."

     Tears slid down into June's hair, behind her ears. "If we make it through this, and we figure out what Wanda did to me, I think I need to go to therapy. For real this time."

     "I think you do," Steve said quietly. "Honestly, I think we all should give it a shot." He sighed again and put his hands on her shoulders. "You're going to be all right, June. I have faith in that."

     She nodded softly. "Thank you."

     Steve stepped back. "I'll send Buck back in here." He smiled wryly. "I think him and I are going to have to have a very uncomfortable conversation soon."

     He left it at that. Steve ducked out of the Quinjet, and June was alone, feeling better and worse at the same time. Along with the reconciliations and confessions, she was forced to think about what they would find back in the lab. She knew Wanda had triggered something horrible — she could feel some change deep within her, like a single match thrown at the base of an unlit bonfire. Something was going to erupt.

     June had the bone-chilling suspicion that not much of her would be left when it did.

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