[She gnaws her lip, still staring at the teddy bear, not quite taking it yet. It's too-tangible proof of their connection; in that way it frightens her a little, to be that connected that deeply where other people can see it.]

[Only briefly does she look up at Ben, meeting his eyes with some unspoken question--is it okay? is it really mine? She doesn't say a word, though, until he says he's not angry.]

[She can't imagine why not. Unless it's pragmatism. Unless it's faith.]

[Slowly, she reaches out and takes the bear, then pulls it tight to her chest, tucking her chin against its head. It's a familiar gesture--to Ben, not to her--one of comfort.]

I knew who you were before. Not before I--you know. After I stabbed you, I figured it out. You gave me that knife, didn't you? You gave me the knife and this and . . .

You trust me. You said you shouldn't have crowded me, not that I shouldn't have done it. [There's a question in this, too. Why?]