She turns on her heel, giving him an incredulous look. "Cal, listen to me," she says sharply. "I love you the way you are. I'm so beyond screwed up that I don't even know what's normal anymore, but all I know is that I want to wake up some mornings and not think to myself 'what's going to go wrong today'. That is my happy, so yeah, I guess I have a bullshit preconceived notion," she admits. "I don't want to mother you," she says sharply, taking a dangerous step closer to him, right in his personal bubble.

"You know what I think is wrong? I think you having amnesia is wrong. I think you being dealt a shitty hand in life is wrong, but I don't think you are. So, get that through your head," she grits out, her throat thick and her jaw tight with stress. "This isn't about you being someone else. You say you're fine with things, so I believe you because I trust you. So believe me right back, Caliban."

"But I'm not fine, okay? And I'm not happy and I can't cope with that, but I will. I've made do with worse," she says, stripping the emotion down until she's left with nothing but the stoic truth.