"I don't ever want to put you in a situation where you'd hurt me." She trusts him, the man under her arm, the man who bruised so much of her body, who makes her feel like she doesn't have to hate herself if she can't put one foot in front of the other some days.

She knows this is not all there is to him, too. She takes his fear seriously.

"But I like you. Who you were, because it's helped make you who you are. I don't want you to feel like you have to protect me. I want to become someone who doesn't need protecting." But even as she says it her smile falters. She believes she could lead a pack again (at least here, now, in this perfect night she does). But she has always been under someone else's thumb. Even when they ran for their lives, the boys tucked her up in the middle, took bullets and executions for her, and she could do nothing except allow it.

She chalks this one up to overconfidence, to too much enthusiasm for a future she doesn't really believe in. A misstep she would have made if she was drunk; happiness, it turns out, is as inebriating as a shot of tequila. She needs to rein that in.

To her credit--and Sweeney's, and even Godric's--she doesn't backpedal and doesn't yank the conversation away from tricky ground.

"Pick a day. But I don't want it to be just because I'm fragile." She's so tired of being fragile.