There's a curious lack of pain that comes with dying, apparently, but it does nothing to keep animal fear at bay. Horrifying numbness spreads through her arms and legs and torso, and it's all she can do to keep breathing, to try and push away the gray film that's trying to sweep across her vision.

She can hear Nakia and Ross talking, but can't tell what they're saying, can't feel Nakia's gentle hands on her back. The fear coils up around her, tightening a little more with each terrified gasp for air. The cement floor is cold against her forehead, but she can't lift her head. She can't do anything at all; she can't even feel her hands or feet or legs or arms.

There's a scuffle of noise, and then a dear voice that sounds so frightened it makes her want to cry. "Bucky," she says, or tries, but though her lips move, she can't seem to force the word past them. Sharon only manages a whimper, low, her breathing just a series of labored gasps, feeling cold all over. She can't even turn her head to look at him.

No, no, no, she wants to say, to scream. No, she won't die. No, she won't leave him behind. No, she's not going anywhere. Any second now she'll be able to pull in a full breath and laugh and smile and tease him that she's fine, that he's worried over nothing, like always.

Any second. Any second. Any –