They don't keep me overnight, not even for observation. Spencer has to see someone though, to get another set of crutches. He was going to move to the cane soon, but his leg is so badly damaged after running on it that he's back to crutches. Again.

He orders food for us to eat at his, and we pick it up on the way back. The pizza warms my lap. Back in his place, my head hurts too much for the bright lights, so he pulls out every candle he can. Match after match, and lights them all. His whole place is a fire hazard. I go get cleaned up, showering and changing into more cozy clothes. Washing my hair to get out the dirt. Cleaning my whole body.

Then, he goes next. As he does, I set back up the blanket fort. I don't have the best memory. Realistically, I should be sitting down and taking it easy, but it feels wrong.

I'm halfway through when Spencer comes out, dressed in pajamas and he cocks an eyebrow.

He doesn't say anything, but then moves in step beside me, fixing what I've done and pinning things in place. He plugs in one lamp. No candles in this room, not with so many blankets strewn about. I don't think it's exactly the same at the end. Spencer would know. He hasn't said anything though. The food's gone cold, so we reheat it in the oven and then crawl in across from each other. The space feels a bit bigger than last time. More room for both of us. I breathe in deeply and release.

Lungs are working fine.

The food comes back out. With only a record on, we eat. The noise isn't as annoying now. My headache has subsided. My hunger satiates.

"I am sorry for yelling," I say. My throat feels dry. "When we... I said that I didn't want you looking at me differently. And I meant that, but I wasn't... it wasn't just about Rachel."

He looks at. Eyes soft. He swallows, "it was about Karine, wasn't it?"

My spine feels cold. I shrug the cardigan tighter around me. It wasn't about Karine. I feel my throat squeezing. I'm in the basement. I'm in the basement and he has me, and everyone in my small town is staring at me, everyone knows how I've been defiled, how I've been ruined, and everyone knows I'm beyond repair.

I clear my throat, "well, in Australia..."

My hands are shaking. I shove them underneath me.

He doesn't interrupt. I wait for him to push, to ask, but he doesn't.

Not the basement. If I don't talk about it, it means I'm not bothered about it. But now I know I am. If I don't talk about it, that means Spencer can't treat me any differently. But he already does. If I don't talk about it, that means I don't have to admit I lied to him. To everyone.

I can't.

"In Australia, in my undergrad, I drank a lot," I admit. "It was hard. After Québec, and my Dad was dying too. And I would get black out drunk. A few times. And I would wake up in... well, I didn't know how I got there, but I'd be in some guy's bed. I'd leave. And I was so messed up at the time that I don't think I really cared, but now I do. Now, I know it was wrong, but I kept putting myself in that situation because I didn't think what happened to me really mattered."

Spencer lifts his hand from his lap. Slowly. I push mine forward, letting him take it.

It's a test. If he can handle this, he can handle Québec. It just needs a few weeks to settle in, to make sure it's all perfect and good.

"Thank you for sharing that with me," he says. He takes in a breath and then another. "It's um... I know you can't., or that you don't, rather that it's really hard for you to talk about that kind of stuff. And I want to be that person for you, you know?"

I lean forward. We hold each other, again, sitting on the floor.

We don't break the hug. Our plates still have food on them, sitting between us on the floor, and slowly we lean away from them, resting our sides on the sofa, bodies still entwined. He's okay, I'm okay. Rachel, hopefully, is gone, and so then those threats will be. No wonder she sent them again; she knew she'd be contacted me.

Spencer presses a kiss into my hairline.

"I love you," I tell him. It's more like I promise. It's not just that I love him, but that I'm going to keep loving him. Especially when I make it hard for you.

"Don't get into trouble again, please," he says. "I can take everything else. I can take you keeping secrets, and you fighting with me, your snarky comments and your long hair getting stuck in my carpet. But Colette, I get why you hate hospitals now. I hate them too. I hate seeing you in one."

I lean in closer, "I promise."

He finally pulls back. Spencer's eyes rake over my body. He grabs the plates and shoves them out from our tent. Then, he crawls out. I listen to the sounds of his crutches hitting the floor, one step and then the next. While he's gone, I poke at my face. Still swollen to Hell.

When Spencer comes back I sit up. He has the necklace he bought me in his hand.

I feel my neck for it. Of course it gone. I take it off to shower, and I don't remember when I last wore it. It had to have been recently. I furrow my brow. He sits across from me and beckons me in closer. I twist myself so he can put the necklace on.

"This morning, when I saw it on the bathroom counter, and when I came out, I thought you might be done with me," he swallows.

The weight readjusts. I feel it on my neck.

"We're going to fight without it meaning the end of us," I adjust myself, spinning back around to look at him. "I'm not done with you."

Spencer takes my hands in his. He pulls them into his lap, thumbs rubbing the tendons in my own hands, pressing deep into them.

"Marry me," he whispers.

I blink, hands still in his, "pardon?"

"Marry me," he says again. "Colette Marie Claude Bouchard, marry me."

My heart thunders in my chest. I hold his hands tighter, "Spencer, the last twenty-four hours have been traumatic, and-"

"Be mine," he cuts me off, holding me in closer. "And I can be yours, because that's what I want. I want to be your medical proxy-"

"I can just fill out a form to sw-"

"I want to be your husband," he insists. "I want to fight with you and love you until we die. Do you still want kids?"

"Spencer-"

"Do you?" he asks.

I bite my lip. We haven't even had sex yet. Still, I nod. He leans in even closer.

"I want my children to be yours too," he says. "I'm genetically ruined. The whole schizophrenia and addiction, and all of my other horrors. You are everything good in the world. So I'm hoping all of the bad of me will be washed out by all the good in you. You're beautiful, so beautiful, and you have such wonderful and loving siblings. Bash is brave and funny and smart like you, Caro is loyal and passionate and fiery, and Stéphane is caring and protective and self-sacrificing. They are all parts of you, and I want that in my children, or even just at my side.

"I've started learning French," he continues, and my jaw is agape. "I'm really, very bad at it, and I can read it basically fluently but I can't necessarily process the words when they are spoken and I certainly have awful pronunication but I want to know all of you. I'd learn anything for you. I'd do anything by your side. I'd fight and cry at parties, and I'd dance and laugh and make eye contact with you across rooms when I'm supposed to be paying attention to something else. As long as I'm doing it with you, we'll be alright."

My heart curls. The speech I made at Caro's wedding. He remembers it. Spencer remembers every conversation we've ever had, ever moment of it, all towering over him. Insurmountable. Somehow, he finds so much goodness in all of it that he is willing to marry me despite all of the bad moments. Not willing, I should say. Asking. Pleading.

"You know better than I do that you shouldn't be making these kinds of decisions today," I manage.

He looks at me, "don't say no. Please."

I remember too. I remember rejecting him. Every time I've done it. He'll never forget this one. This final time. The day wears at his face though. I can see bags under his eyes. His hair isn't even dry from the shower. Everything is still wet. We haven't let the day dry out, the moments fade into the background.

"Not no," I agree. "I'd never... not even not now. Just... don't ask me when you thought I might be dead hours ago. Ask me when... not when you're afraid to lose me but when you're afraid to have me. Okay? And then I will say yes. I promise."

Now that I fucking mean. I mean it with every single part of me.

~~~~~

I mean, wow. Some talking, for sure. Please lodge complaints here.