She reached out to touch him, just briefly, and it was a strange touch. It wasn't the first time that she'd done it (well, obviously; he'd fathered her child) because she'd been brushing up against him fairly frequently during his last visit and had even reached over and touched his arm in this same fashion once or twice. This felt different, though. Maybe it was just the moment, and the conversation they'd just had about dueling — which wasn't a light thing to talk about, no matter what jokes he made, and it was dangerous, despite all his reassurances. Maybe it was that slight tension in the air carrying over into this and making it feel different. Maybe it was something about her that was different. Maybe it was something about him.

Then she opened the door, and Ben's breath hitched slightly as though he expected to see Elliott right there on the other side of the frame. Of course that was silly. What he saw first was just a room. He looked at Elliott's mother briefly for permission, and after an encouraging glance he went in. He walked as softly as he could, so as not to wake him, and in a few short steps he was hovering at the edge of the crib, looking down at his sleeping son.

He stood for a long moment just looking. Elliott's hair was falling across his forehead in a way that made him look so big, suddenly — like a proper kid instead of a toddler. He had his mouth open while he slept. He was adorable.

"Thanks for this," he eventually said, keeping his voice quiet enough not to disturb Elliott.