"You make sure you can't ever have it!" She screams. She's literally seeing red, but is temporarily blinded by what he says next.

"Wanna go to the park?"

"What?" She spits. The park? What the hell could the park have to do with any of this? "It's like fourty degrees out. Come on. I'll take you home."

He grabs her arm again, harder this time. "I don't wanna go home," he whispers. "And I don't wanna let you go."

She jerks her arm and steps away from him, holding a hand up over her shoulder as if to silently signal an end to this conversation. She stops halfway to her car.

"So, wait. YOU want to go to the park. YOU don't want to go home. YOU don't want to let me go. YOU don't want this relationship to end," she catches herself. She doesn't want it to end, either, but she's come so far and can't admit that, now. "So...I'm supposed to waste more money taking you to the park, and then home, and then probably take your hung-over ass to bed just because it's what YOU want?"

"We could walk?" He laughs softly.

"I don't want to walk. Jim. I don't want to go to the park. When the hell are you ever gonna think about what I might want?"

"No, no, no. You don't get to play that card, Beesly. No. YOU didn't even think about what you wanted until I kissed you --"

"Yeah, you kissed me and ran off. Thanks, Jim, for teaching me to fend for myself. You know what I went through while you were invisible? The fucking HELL I had to endure while you were busy playing the quiet game? Of course not. Because you won't even let me talk about it."

"So tell me," he steps towards her, she backs up.

"I'm done with this," she whispers..

He asks why she can't just tell him now, and is afraid to touch her and stop her walking away a third - fourth? - time, but he can't chance her really leaving. He runs, and steps infront of her, blocking her car door. "Why?" he demands.

She touches her stomach, and tears fill her eyes. She looks up at him, and through blurred vision, sobs. He doesn't reach out to her, hold her, console her. He just stares. That fucking stare.

"This," she looks at her stomach. "This can't happen with us like this."

"This," he asks carefully, reaching out and touching her hand.

She winces. "Move. I'm going home."