"You're scared because you're in love with me like you've never loved any of your husbands. And unlike a Bart Bass, someone like me can break your heart, and that's terrifying." He swallows. "And I know that because right now you're breaking mine."

She really is. Lily Bass, who would walk on knives to get through a social occasion -- whose Rhodes powers are such that she could literally do that -- does not throw a wedding for just anybody. Not if she'd just spent the night with the man of her dreams, would she fuck up all that planning. (He knows that: he was there. He was that man.) She is breaking his heart. Again. They are fragments, repeating: Only the parts of the story they could agree on, before the cold pulled her away again. She's Lucy van Pelt, snatching that football out from beneath him, once again; refusing him to let him leave, or grow, or change:

Not a man, just a photograph. A picture of a boy, hair in his eyes: Not like they are now, but when she was young. When she was happy, she holds him there: fixed in place. So tightly, like a photograph. Have you ever seen a romantic comedy? There's a scene that comes right before you chase after him, and tell him that you can't believe how blind you were this whole time. It's a fairytale. He's the only man that ever lived that believed otherwise. She hated him for that.

She loved him for that. She stares at him, barely able to believe it's still true -- barely able to believe that he, that a person, could actually say those words out loud and mean them so much, certainly it's not done that way, not after all this time, certainly this is just fragments repeating of the story he likes best; certainly we don't know who we are, or what we want, not really, and certainly not like he does: we just live. Her heart's a mess; he's desperate to connect. He can't live like this.

She's made him live like this. She asked him to live this way, so many times: as a favor, as a threat, as a means of survival, as a carrot. He did it gladly, again and again. And there goes the football, one more time, and she's just some lovely woman on a street corner, afraid to breathe. Afraid to start.

Around the corner, the bus. Rufus spots Scott, and goes running after him, but the kid keeps walking. He grabs at Scott's shoulder, smiling wildly, and Scott turns to face him angrily. "Stop. This was a mistake." Rufus begs him not to say that, but he doesn't stop. "All my life I wondered about my real parents. When I found out that they were you and Lily, that you were back together and you were getting married, I guess I hoped that I'd find out that you gave me up because you weren't ready. Not because you didn't love each other." Lily approaches; she slows at this. Rufus shakes his head: "Look, the difference is now I know we both want you -- need you -- in our lives. Sure, we've got our problems, but Lily and I love our children. And despite what you just saw, we love each other."