we couldn't make sense

It feels like some cruel joke when the island decides to change itself on the first day of the month. Not that she'd been thinking about breaking the news to Dean then, not really. Too much of a chance that it'd be misconstrued as some ill-timed and tasteless joke, and Faye thought that it was probably better that she come to a point where the very thought didn't make her want to hurl. It never came, of course. Every night passes with her stomach twisting unpleasantly, even with Dean's warmth pressed against her back, comforting and constant. Every meal has her trying to subtly tally up what she's eating, keep away from foods she once loved that wouldn't be good for the baby, putting the life of another before her own even when Faye feels like she can't even begin to think of it, of this, as creating something separate from the two of them. She looks normal in the mirror. Fatigue is a job hazard, a life hazard.

Yet the doctor was sure.

If there's one thing she's grateful for, it's that being tired all of the time means that she slips into sleep easily. Nightmares will occasionally strike as they do, but there's always this chance of ignoring the problem for a day longer. Two.

Faye waits a week before she decides, just out of conscience, that she can't wait anymore. Curled on the side of their bed, she stares at the patterns in the wall, blanket pulled high and over her shoulders as she waits for Dean to slip in as he always does when she stays over.