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.