Well sometimes you can't change and you can't choose
And sometimes it seems you gain less than you lose

Morning, March 24th, 1890 — Crouch Flat, Paris
Reuben Crouch

She hadn't slept. Ben had undressed and laid in the bed they used to share, and Melody remained in a motionless heap on the sofa struggling to make sense of how she could have ruined them this completely. Well, she knew how she ruined them intimately — with two potions nevertheless. What she hadn't been able to comprehend was why. The marriage made at least some sense. She was a terrified, tipsy mess who's life was crumbling around her. At the time that decision seemed like the only lifeline, her only way to maintain some semblance of control over her life.

This decision, however, hadn't made sense in hindsight. Not after the card game. Not after she cried in his arms and they agreed to find some sort of normalcy. Her insane, selfish actions weren't made out of any love she held for him (did she even love him?) or because they weren't ready. No. Melody had intended to drink the potion because she, and she alone, didn't want a child. Not right now, and maybe not ever. What was worse was that desire ran so deep she hadn't wanted to consult Ben out of fear of what he would choose. Out of fear that she might actually have to go through with the pregnancy.

She didn't deserve him.

Melody laid in her heap for as long as possible until the urge to vomit became too strong to ignore. She pulled the pot stashed under the sofa for this revolting purpose out and heaved until any and every crumb remaining in her system had left her. Fuck. Melody despised being pregnant.

  

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Ben woke up to the sound of Melody vomiting, which wasn't an ideal start to the day. He squinted at the shuttered windows and tried to see whether he needed to get up, or whether he could ignore the noise and go back to sleep. He didn't want to talk to her any more than he had the night before, and he certainly didn't want to crawl out of bed to go hold her hair back and play the supportive, loving husband. He'd get enough of that when they returned to England — and the thought, coupled with the noise of her retching on the couch, was nearly enough to make him want to vomit.

Was this a pregnancy thing, or was she sick? He hadn't stayed up to see whether or not she'd taken the potion last night, and he didn't know what side effects it would have or not have if she did. It could have made her sick. She could have even been dying, for all he knew. Maybe he should get up even if he didn't need to get dressed and leave just yet. He was still angry at her, but in a sort of distant, abstract way — he didn't want to actively cause her any additional pain, and he certainly wasn't ready to condemn her to dying alone in a hotel room in Paris while he gave her the cold shoulder from the bed ten feet away.

Ben pushed himself up into a sitting position and leaned back on the headboard, letting the sheets pool around his bare stomach. "Are you alright?" he asked.

  

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As it was, retching was perhaps amongst the worst ways to begin the day. Adding Ben's sulky presence to the mix did little to help matters. This was why she scurried off and disappeared whenever she could before their fight, as pregnancy was particularly unglamorous. (And, she was attempting to make it a non-issue for him then, but that clearly was no longer a thought.)

Melody's head hung over the bowl only briefly once the vomiting subsided. The scent of bile was enough to turn her stomach again, and she refused to spend the entirety of the morning hunched over because of it. She made quick work of vanishing the mess and stood to find something - anything to wash her mouth out with. "Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry to wake you." She replied once water was found without turning to look at him. "That's ... it happens often now." Not for long, if she took the potion. (When she took the potion, more like.)

She sat at the dining room table, her thin nightgown her only protection against his gaze and the chill of the room. Samuel supposedly had a warm honeymoon planned for them and the clothing packed in her trunks reflected it. "Did you mean what you said last night?" It wasn't how she prepared to start this conversation with him. They weren't dressed and sitting across the table from one another like civilised adults. In fact, one glance down towards her nightgown reminded her how sheer the material was. Fuck.

  

If it was happening regularly, it was probably a pregnancy thing, Ben figured. She wasn't dying, then, but it wasn't as though he could just roll over and go back to sleep now that he'd sat up and started talking to her. He watched as she moved to the kitchen, but looked away after he noticed the vial of potion still sitting where he'd left it on the table the night before. She hadn't taken it, even after he'd told her to. Why not? Did some part of her want to keep this baby? Maybe the whole scene from two nights ago had really been staged for his benefit. Perhaps she was hoping that he would come in and stop her, and that he'd come up with some soothing, sentimental words about how they were going to pull through no matter what came. Then if everything fell to shit when the baby was born, she'd be able to absolve herself of any of the associated guilt — because then it would be his fault that the baby was there at all, after he'd talked her out of taking the potion.

If that was her plan, he'd thrown quite a wrench in it during their fight, and then with his continued insistence that she make her own decision about the potion. Maybe she was putting it off hoping that he'd change his mind and she'd get her comforting speech after all. Maybe some part of her even thought, before she'd had reason to know better, that he would be happy or excited about this.

Ben shifted his attention to the nightstand and reached out for the pocket watch he'd left there, to check the time. "Which part?" he asked distantly.

  

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Melody sighed heavily and reached for the potion bottle. Truthfully, she wished she would've taken it when he suggested last night, if only as an escape from the painful conversation they were doomed to have. She left the stopper in place for now, though she wasn't sure why. It wasn't as though there was anything left in her to vomit if the foul smell became too much. Nor did she feel sentimental towards the baby presently ruining her life. Ridding herself of it would be a relief.

All she had to do was drink the potion.

Still, she needed to have this conversation with Ben, first. Then, she could drink it and deal with the consequences, which hopefully didn't include death.

"Wanting out." Melody answered steadily. She had a plan if he did, though he most likely would fight her on it.

  

Ben hesitated. His pocket watch was in his hand still, and he ran the edge of his thumb along the inside of the cover as he tried to think of how to answer her. In the light of the morning, he regretted having said it. It didn't help either of them, because there was nothing either of them could do about this marriage and the frankly hopeless shambles it was in after less than two months. The only thing it would do, being spoken aloud, was sting, and he should have kept it to himself.

That being said, he couldn't tell her now that he hadn't meant it, because he had. Out was the only thing he wanted, because he could see no future in this that allowed either of them to ever be happy again.

"Yes," he said eventually, closing his pocket watch and replacing it on the nightstand without looking in her direction.

  

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Despite knowing his answer before asking the question, Melody could do little to stop the sharp intake of breath at the blow. Confessions like his were easily made in the darkness and harder to rationalize in the light of day. To still desire separation above reconciliation meant there was little left between them. She turned her head towards the wall opposite the bed and took a handful of calming breaths. Panic had ruined them. Panic had created this problem in the first place. There was no longer any room for panic.

"Okay." The potion bottle was cold between her hands. The baby would no longer be a concern after today, or so she hoped. There was no way to tell its success until the obvious conclusion occured. Though, Ben needn't know that presently.

In a rather unladylike fashion, Melody leaned her elbows on the table with her hands holding the weight of her chin. After several long minutes of silence, she finally said, "I have an idea to get you out, if you're willing to hear it."

  

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Ben wasn't overly enthusiastic about another of Melody's plans, but stayed silent for a minute. If he refused to hear her out, she'd just do it anyway, he was convinced. That was what had happened every time she'd faced a problem in the past two months: she came up with a terrible solution, moved forward with it on her own, and left him to deal with the aftermath once he'd eventually figured out what was going on. So hearing about something before she'd gone three steps past the point of no return was a nice change, at least. If it was really stupid, maybe there was a chance that he could talk her out of it — but probably not. She'd demonstrated on several occasions that she held his thoughts and opinions in such low regard it never occurred to her to even stop and ask for them.

"There isn't a way out," he said with a sigh, shifting his gaze back towards her. "But alright. Go ahead."

  

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"I don't know if I've ever told you, but I've been studying to become an animagus since learning what they were." She began, her nerves betraying her only slightly. "All my friends know it. Some have even studied it with me. I've been going through it all night, and it seems like the only plausible way..."

Melody moved little as she spoke. The exhaustion of early pregnancy and little sleep overwhelming any adrenaline rush she might have gotten from this. "You can't return to England without me, not without causing even more of a scandal anyway. Too many questions. So, we have to go back together, much as I know you'll resent me for it...but, once we're back I'll make my preparations for the attempt obvious. And as soon as it's feasible you can say I botched it."

Publically being shamed for her wrongdoingd towards Ben wasn't possible, not with his morals being what they were. However, he could shame her failings, he could lash out about her lifelong dream taking her life. "I wouldn't, obviously. I'll leave and go somewhere, and you'll be free." He would still have to go through mourning, but what was a year compared to the rest of his life?

  

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Ben hadn't known that she was interested in becoming an Animagus, and for a split-second the revelation surprised him. Then he reminded himself that he didn't know anything about her, not really; even the things he thought he'd known and liked about her before the marriage seemed false now, as though he'd just constructed them in his head based on what he wanted to see in her, not what was there. She could have told him she was a convicted murderer, at this point, and he would have no reason to disbelieve her. It wasn't as though they had ever really known each other the way he'd thought they had.

Her plan was a suicide attempt, in more ways than one. He wasn't sure from her explanation whether she really intended to try the Animagus transformation (which could very well be a form of suicide, particularly if she rushed it) or only pretend that she had, but her follow-up was so poorly thought out that it would kill her all the same. Leave and go somewhere, she said, but where? And what did she intend to do once she got there? Living in Paris in the conditions that they had been must have been uncomfortable for her, but it was nothing compared to what one could accomplish with no income and no reputation to fall back on. She'd be destitute on the street, and she'd starve — or she'd turn to prostitution, perhaps, in order to avoid starving. He couldn't condemn her to that, no matter what she did or what headache and heartache her actions caused him.

Ben let out another heavy sigh. "You keep talking about leaving like it's a valid option," he pointed out. She'd suggested something similar in the aftermath of their marriage, when she thought divorce was still a possibility. "You'll die on your own. And I don't — I'm not saying that to be mean," he clarified, shaking his head. "It's just a fact. You can't just ship yourself off somewhere with no plan and think you'll make it through."

  

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She huffed. Of course, Ben found a way to poke holes in her plan. Of course, he thought he foolish once again for what she believed was foolproof. "Not everywhere is against women." She added stubbornly. America, maybe, though it would be horribly ironic if she wound up there. "I can pass myself off as a widow and find a job. I'm not entirely helpless, despite what you may believe."

While she hadn't thought about where she would go, Melody spent half the night considering her skills. She could sew faster than any of her sisters, and her embroideries weren't the worst. Were she to leave, she could find work as a widowed seamstress. It was a possibility, anyway.

"It's the only out I can give you that doesn't ruin you. I can't turn back time. I can't stop myself from dosing you. Believe me, I've thought about trying to find a way to do that too." Though, after Florida Man Melody wasn't particularly willing to mess with time too much. "You said you wanted out, I'm offering you an out. I don't know how else to fix this...not after this." She held up the potion to emphasize what she was talking about. "We can't spend our lives living in resentment."

  

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Her tone as she replied set him on edge, and Ben sat up a little straighter in the bed as he replied, mentally readying himself for a fight. "Sure we can," he said sarcastically. "People do it all the time. You were gearing up to do it yourself, weren't you, with that American fiance, before we ran off together and got our happily ever after."

This was likely not the sort of dynamic she had envisioned when they'd exchanged their wedding vows, that much was obvious. It hadn't been his ideal of how he would spent the rest of his life, either. He would have much preferred to find some resolution and mend things between the two of them, so that they could eventually be happy together — but that just didn't seem possible, under the circumstances. And while this was far from ideal, it might be the best case scenario left to them: quiet and relatively functional resentment. Better, anyway, than explosive fights when she tried some new scheme and surprised him again. Better than him trying to build up hope that things were getting better only to be repeatedly disappointed.

"And pulling some stupid scheme that makes you into a martyr and leaves me saddled with the guilt of that for the rest of my life isn't better," he pointed out bitterly. "You can fake your death if you want, Princess — it's not like I could stop you — but don't do it for my sake."

  

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"The American Fiance who treated me no better than a head of cattle to be bargained? Is he who you hope to emulate?" Melody snapped back heatedly. She leaned back in the chair and glared at him. He wanted out, he wanted his life back as how it was. Why fight her on a genuine possibility to achieve it? Even if it did result in her death.

"Enough with the Princess." Seeing the nickname scrawled on the top of the page used to bring her such joy. Now, whenever Ben had a particularly vicious or bitter retort to make he tore another hole in the memories.

She sighed heavily, her gaze dropping to the floor between them. Perhaps it was a foolish plan. Perhaps it was a pipe dream, but she could do little else. "I'm sorry." Melody said after a minute, her shoulders sagging in defeat. "It was an idea, that's all. A way you could get back to a vague sense of normal. If you don't think it will work, fine. We'll just resent and avoid each other for the rest our lives."

  

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Now that comparison was utterly unfair, and Ben thought they both probably knew it. Her fiance had kicked her to the curb at the slightest sign that something was amiss, less than a week before their wedding, while Ben had put his entire life on hold and gone to fucking Paris, essentially exiling himself for several weeks, to try and make things easier for her. Ben had done so much for her, both before their elopement and afterwards — and if he was being cruel now, it was only because she'd pushed him to this by her continued refusal to treat him like her husband, or even like a human being. She'd planned to kill his child without even telling him she was pregnant, and while he was in no hurry to be a father, he couldn't just take something like that in stride and pretend everything was still fine between the two of them.

"If I do, I'll just be playing the role you cast me in," he bit back bitterly. "I've fucking tried, Mel, so don't sit there glaring at me and pretending like this is all my fault."

  

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"You gave up less than two months in!" She accused bitterly. Melody hadn't had to consider anyone outside of herself before. Where she thought she was acting selflessly, he saw it as an unforgivable act. Where she thought it was prudent to give him space, he saw as her purposely remaining distant. Marriage was an adjustment for them both, and he'd given her no slack to make mistakes.

No. Instead he disappeared to Timbuktu for days at a time.

"I didn't ... " Again, she was about to repeat herself from the argument days before. But, she could think of little else to say. "I thought it was best if you didn't know - I realize now it wasn't. I understand. I just. It's a baby - our baby, and I was trying to minimize the impact, I guess. Talking about it made it real in a way I wasn't ready for it to be, and I fucked up." Talking about it made her resent having to make this decision at all, regardless of whether or not she wanted the pregnancy.

"I'm learning. I never had to think with someone else before." She said finally.

  

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Her accusation hit him like a physical object, and Ben barely even heard the rest of what she said, much less took the time to process it. You gave up. A part of him wanted to argue with her, but he didn't know what he would say if he tried, because she was right. He absolutely had given up. He'd left the flat because he didn't want to fight with her anymore, and then he'd stayed out drinking because he didn't think there was anything else to do. No way to fix things, no hope in sight. He had given up, and he hadn't even felt guilty about it because he felt, deep down, that he'd already done enough. He'd given up on enough of his hopes and plans for the future, and made enough sacrifices, and tried hard enough already. He'd compromised on enough, and if he wanted to be done — if he wanted to give up — that was his prerogative, wasn't it? Didn't he have that right?

When she put it like that, though — less than two months in — it suddenly forced him to see how pathetic that seemed. Had he really exhausted his entire store of mental energy in less than two months? Had he really gotten to the point where he had nothing else to give, as he'd thought, or had he just stopped trying? He wasn't the only one who had made sacrifices, either — he was quite painfully aware of how their future differed from the one Melody had probably anticipated, and from the one she deserved. She'd given up quite a bit, coming with him to Paris — and she hadn't given up. Well, at least not in the same way he had; she'd stormed out of the room during their fight, but she hadn't stayed out on a two-day bender to drown her sorrows, so.

"Alright," he eventually said, quietly. "I —"

He probably should have said I'm sorry, but he wasn't quite there yet. He couldn't bring his mouth to actually form the words and make them a reality.

"I won't leave again," he said instead, a concession. Something to show that he was willing to move in the right direction, at least, even if he wasn't making progress yet.

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   Melody Crouch

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