Ben considered her answer. A part of him thought that if she was going to be here in pain, he ought to at least offer to stay with her (though whether she would find his presence comforting or not, after everything they'd just gone through, was debatable). Another, more practical part of him knew that he had to go do his job, or risk losing it. Jameson was a fairly lenient boss, but if Ben lost this lead that he had worked so hard to obtain and came back from France empty handed, after having taken off without a moment's notice — well, even that would be too much, Ben figured. And Aldous wasn't going to get him a job, given that he'd just pissed off the American liaison by stealing his fiancee away a week before their wedding. None of his friends were well-poised to find him employment — hell, Art was nearing the point of retirement himself. Ben really needed to keep the job he had.

He couldn't offer to stay with her, but at least he could be here now, and for the next few hours or so. Awkwardly, Ben scooted a little closer to her and wrapped his arms around her. It seemed like the right thing to do, but the impulse had been a mental one, not one he felt in his gut. Maybe it wouldn't matter; maybe it was the thought that counted. Or, maybe it at least counted for something.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Is there anything I can get you to help?"