I do not own Me Before You.

I do own a warning label.

180 Days, Give or Take

Clark's Warning Label

I think my father felt oddly proud of me when Clark moved in a few days later.

A helpless C-6 quadriplegic with only weeks to go on his life sentence steals away a voluptuous young beauty away from her four-percent-body-fat running boyfriend.

That's my boy then, eh? Ruddy tosser never stood a chance, huzzah!

But it wasn't like that.

Okay, it mostly wasn't like that.

Alright, maybe just a little.

But I wasn't trying to steal her away from him, I truly was not.

I simply enjoyed her company. Listened to her. Laughed with her.

Made her important.

Not some bloody stupid fitness obsession to the detriment of all else.

So she couldn't go home because her sister's lad wailed in the night until they all shuffled beds like 'Shaun of the Dead' zombies.

And she couldn't go to Running Man's, (yes, I had relapsed) because he was jealous of me.

When all this time if he had been treating her like he should have, she wouldn't have responded to my attentions so readily.

And I said to her bloody hell, Clark, for the last time, I'm safe in taxis. Just take the bloody room when you need it.

And she finally listened.

And, only slightly embarrassed, bid goodnight to me that first night.

In her Minnie Mouse tshirt and modest Chinese lounge pants.

And I had never seen anything so adorable and sexy in all my days.

"Good night, Clark. Sleep well."

And that big, lovely, gentle smile of hers.

"Good night, Will. And thank you."

That would surely accompany me into sleep.

"Think nothing of it. I can't very well have you snoring through any more movies, can I?"

My father, of course, accidently greeted her in his pajamas and dressing gown Monday morning, I later found out.

Nearly gave her heart palpitations from embarrassment.

My father, on the other hand, was too old and too self-assured to be bothered by little things such as embarrassment.

I think he just appreciated that she made me happy.

And most likely it didn't hurt that she was so lovely and yet so unaware.

My mother didn't say anything at all regarding the matter.

Her eyes, however, spoke volumes.

Leech. Parasite. Gold-digger. Opportunist.

Her worries.

But then again, what did it matter if it kept her talking head potato of a son happy and breathing?

I don't think Nathan noticed or cared.

"Got you some new nightcream in the cabinet there, Mr. T.?"

Other than to jest me for it.

And so Clark stayed while everyone else came and went.

She and I stayed on.

And I loved it, I truly did.

And loved her.

It wasn't all sunshine and roses however.

It was Clark, after all.

And Clark was Clark.

"AHHHHHH!"

And followed by a frighteningly loud crash.

Nathan jumped to his feet, having just completed my morning routine.

And raced toward the sound of Louisa's scream.

My laboring heart pounding as I rolled on behind.

To find them in the tiny kitchen.

Nathan kneeling over Louisa.

Prone on the floor.

My heart veritably exploded in my paralyzed chest at the sight . . .

Oh bloody hell, we're going to have matching wheelchairs!

. . . of my Molahonkey sprite laying askew.

". . . move," Nate the Great was saying calmly. "you might have a head or neck injury."

Oh bloody hell, we are going to have matching wheelchairs!

". . . fine," Clark was replying. "I didn't hit my head . . ."

An upturned chair lay at her feet.

"I was dusting on top of the cupboards . . ."

I blinked her in pure aggravation.

"Bloody hell, Clark! You do know nobody can see up there-"

She started to wave a hand at me, then flinched, hissing in pain.

"Okay, then," Nathan interrupted, rising. "We need to go to the hospital and x-ray that arm."

He looked at me, as if feeling guilty caught caring for another's medical wellbeing.

"Oh, uh, Mr. T, let's get you ready to g- "

I interrupted him.

"No, Nathan. You go ahead. I'll be fine."

Louisa started to fuss . . .

"Oh, it's nothing, I'm f- . . ."

. . . until I interceded.

"Clark, I really must insist you go with Nathan. I'll only slow you down."

I saw the fear in her eyes. And knew she was thinking.

And just kept going.

"I've got the injury dance card full and there simply isn't room for you on it."

Louisa squished up her lovely little face in worry . . .

"Look, I promise not to off myself while you're gone."

. . . and exasperation.

"You'd better go or I'll call your mother."

Opened her mouth.

"I'll call my mother."

Then closed it over all her unspoken words.

And went.

They returned a scant few hours later.

Louisa pale but composed.

"Just a light wrist sprain, Mr. T," Nathan announced mildly.

Oh thank bloody hell.

One thin wrist wrapped in athletic tape.

A yellow strip on the other.

Reading, "Fall Risk".

I swallowed my anxiety for my Molahonkey girl.

And in the driest tone I could muster, spoke thusly.

"Brilliant, Clark! They've finally made a proper warning label for you!"

She glared at me prettily before allowing Nathan to guide her away.

As I continued.

"Perhaps we should revisit the tattoo shop, what do you say?"

She didn't dignify me with an answer.

I watched her go, drawing the first easy, full breath I had since her scream.

Nothing could slow down my Clark, though.

In only a day or two, she had pulled off the athletic tape, saying it made her itch.

While I insisted she leave the yellow band around her wrist indefinably 'as a gentle reminder".

But all that staying and waiting, as Dr. Seuss would say, was no longer Clark's cup of tea.

"I've got the best trip for us to go on!"

She looked so proud of herself.

And she should be.

Which she had every right to be.

It was a fantastic trip.

Designed especially for a former thrill seeker, current quadriplegic.

There was white water rafting. Bungee jumping. Swimming with dolphins.

And so many other activities and adventures, the old Will would have, and already had, enjoyed.

Unfortunate the new Will didn't care about those things.

But she had gone to so much trouble.

And promised she would try them herself.

And she asked.

With that beautiful voice. And big, round eyes.

So I said yes.

Just to see her smile.

The injury section? Yeah, that's DinahRay helping me turn a frown upside. Today, I was on a footstool putting Christmas decorations on a shelf and overbalanced. No, I was not drunk or anything, gravity just kicked my ass for a second. Long enough to dislocate and break a finger. In the same spot. OMFS. 'Cause im an overachiever, that's why. So DinahRay suggested this as mental health therapy. Thanks, sweetie, I love you!

Also, Emilia Clarke busted a hip during filming and had hitch around on crutches. Because, of course.

Anyway, hope you all enjoyed this chapter. And remember, kiddies, cleaning is bad for you. ;)

Thanks to DinahRay, shortie1211, FanFicFan305, rafam, rapunzelclayre, maria190, and sprog101 for these wonderful reviews.