She tips her head to one side, some of her regular self filtering back in as she stares at him in mild disbelief. "Cal," she says, almost warning. She knows that five years is a long time, but she's already lost weight and if she feels like this now, how is she going to feel closer to the end. "We all die. Maybe this is what will take me. Maybe one day a machine from my future will put a bullet through my brain, but right now, I need you to at least accept that I'm sick," she says, sternly.

"I'll find someone, I will," she insists stubbornly, brushing two fingers lightly through his hair again and again. "Okay?"