Arthur swallowed. He could try to care about Melody Crouch's well being, he could - because she mattered to Ben and he wanted to be what Ben needed him to be. He'd appropriately prepared himself to do so by the time Ben stopped talking. Melody Crouch was a person who existed, and Arthur could pretend he felt neutrally about her, and he could talk about pregnancy.

"Dez was sick in the morning for the first couple of months, he said, because it was easy to talk about Dez - easy to think about her when she had been pregnant with Gwenog, and annoyed with him for much of it. It was not easy to think about her second pregnancy - his brain skipped over it like a rejected fact. So, he could talk about the time with Gwenog instead. He shifted in his seat. "It eases up when they're a few more months along, or at least it did for Desdemona. But hers wasn't as bad - maybe a healer could help a bit?"

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Ben nodded as Art talked, trying to absorb the information and factor it in to his constant evaluation of the situation at home with Melody. The first couple of months was a vague timeline, but they were already almost two months in, weren't they? So maybe it would be getting better soon. If that was the case, he could stick it out — as long as Melody could stick it out.

"We had a healer come before. Said it was normal and gave her some potions for nausea," Ben explained. "But it seems like they don't even help, so I don't know. But I'm — I'm sort of worried that — well," he said, cheeks flushing a bit in embarrassment at having to admit this part out loud. "I don't know if she's in her room all the time because she's really that sick, or she just hates me."

  

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Arthur nodded, once, because maybe the potions just weren't working for her. He frowned at Ben's second sentence, though, and felt the heat of his irritation re: Melody Crouch well up again. He pushed it back down, but was still frowning when he conjured an answer. "I think - well, I think she's really sick," Art said, which was probably the most credit he'd ever given her, "Broth would be a lot of commitment if she wasn't, right?"

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Ben laughed at that, not because he thought it was funny but because he felt as though it was supposed to be funny; it was framed like a joke. He framed his response like one, too, although it was hitting much closer to home than a joke had any right to do: "I think you're underestimating how much she hates me."

  

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Arthur laughed, because that felt like the only thing to do. He wasn't sure what to say to that: If she does hate you, then she shouldn't have eloped with you was too mean, she hates me more so you're still winning something was too close to saying that he disliked Melody Crouch, and I don't hate you was too obvious and too earnest. "Alright, well," he tried instead, "She'll have to talk to you eventually, you're pretty likable." Was that still too earnest, or too hopeful? He couldn't tell.

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   Reuben Crouch

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For a moment, it had seemed like they were teetering on the edge of a dark conversation. There were ways Art could have responded that might have lead to them unpacking the reasons why Melody hated him: how she would probably never forgive him for telling Art as much as he had about the potion; how he'd told her he loved her and he didn't think she believed him; how she had no real reason to believe him, anyway, because he'd never said it before. And if they got into that then Art might say something like not even when you married her? and there was no way at all to answer that, because he wouldn't lie to Art (couldn't; Art knew him to well and would see through it) but he also couldn't tell anyone else about the potion, not if he was serious about trying to fix things.

But Art didn't ask; he made a joke. Maybe he could sense that they were teetering, too, and had made a conscious choice not to go down that path. Maybe they were out of sync enough now, after Ben not asking where he'd gone when he left their house in Irvingly and avoiding him most of that month, that he didn't realize it at all, and it was just Ben's good luck that he responded the way he did.

It was easier not to talk about it, at least for now. "Yeah," Ben said, with a laugh that was only a little superficial. "I am. So let's hope."

  

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Art still wasn't sure if that was the right thing to say, but mulled it over in his head, trying to think of a better way to approach, and could not come up with anything. He tried something else instead: "It's exciting, though, about seeing the baby. He's a little younger than Gwenog, I think." Toddlers were cute, little people with big opinions that they could not yet manage to express right, and he liked to think about what Ben's kid - Ben's real, already-existing kid - would maybe be like, if he would have Ben's crooked expressions.

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This was not the first time that Ben had thought about his children and Art's, and the comparatively small age gap between them, but the last time this had come to mind it had been him internally realizing that the baby the Pettigrews had lost would have been the same age as the baby he and Melody had decided not to have. They would have been in the same year at Hogwarts, if they'd both lived — but he'd never said that to anyone else. Not to Melody, and certainly not to Art. Art still didn't know about Melody's first pregnancy, at least not explicitly. After the events of late January, he might have guessed something of it.

"Yeah, I think you're right," he said. This was strange to consider, too. Thinking about Desdemona's miscarriage, when it had happened, had made the loss of their own pregnancy feel real for the first time since it had happened — though he had always felt guilty thinking about them in the same light, as though they were equivalents when he and Melody had made a choice and the Pettigrews hadn't. Still, it had filled him with what ifs — and those what ifs, ultimately, had lead to the realization that he did want children after all. Thinking about Gwenog and Elliott opened up similar what ifs, but more distant ones. What if Ben had been married, years ago, like Art was? What if he'd been there when his son was born, gotten to hold him as a baby, gotten to watch him learn to walk and talk? What if he'd been ready to commit to a life with someone back then, and he'd settled in to a house and a career and a family instead of being shipped off to Canada? What if he'd — met someone that he cared about the way Art cared for Desdemona? What if he'd been in love with someone?

But he loved Melody. He'd told her he loved her, and he'd meant it. He just hadn't realized it at first. Right?

Ben took another drink. "I'm excited to meet him, too."

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   Arthur Pettigrew, Melody Crouch

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“They’re kind of little people at that age,” Art said, “With opinions, and everything.” He grinned. Even with the difficulty that toddler tantrums could bring, Art was charmed by Gwenog and her little options and tantrums and the way she looked particularly like Desdemona when she was thinking hard.

He liked to think that his kid and Ben’s kid would have liked one another, given the chance - but it was hard to say whether or not they would when Art didn’t even know who the mother was.

He didn’t want to ask, though - Ben would tell him when he was ready, if he was ready. Art had to have this faith in him.

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Ben smiled genuinely at this, distracted from his less-than-sunny thoughts at how enthusiastic Art was about toddlers. And he was looking forward to it, too. He didn't have a wealth of experience with children in anything more than a superficial capacity, but he had always liked kids when he'd interacted with them before, and the way Art phrased it made it sound even more rewarding. Little people, with big opinions. It made Ben feel like he was actually going to get to know Elliott, rather than this meeting only serving as tacit confirmation that he existed and could feasibly have been Ben's offspring.

"I'll let you know how it goes," he said with a grin.

  

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