"Maybe you shouldn't" and the rest is be here for this, be here at all, see this, know about this. But she stares him down even though he can't see her eyes behind those thick goggles and he nods and shrugs and gets to it.

She doesn't know how she feels, or even if what she feels is what she should be feeling. She knows what she isn't feeling and it isn't dread or anger, it isn't guilt. They aren't from the same place Muffin had said and she knows that means he isn't from her world, so he won't know anything of what she does, but maybe that doesn't matter. It's another complication.

She can't bring herself to wish he wouldn't have had the same children, because it's not her life, and the children, the precious children had never been the problem, it was what the boy became. She blames herself for that more than the prone grey form lifeless on the table.

When there is life, it still hurts more than she'd been expecting to hear him ask, to grasp her wrist and squeeze and -know- her. "Mer, where are my children?"

Well they aren't here. She shouldn't be here either. Muffin was right.