Maria is curled up in a ball in the bed she and Michael share, staring at the wall, seeing nothing.

He's leaving soon.

He's leaving to fight another war she can't help him win.

She's oddly numb.

It's hard to write music without a guitar, but Maria's trying anyway, curled up in a chair in their place in the Staff Quarters, scribbling illegible notations on paper acquired from Bar.

The bebe, as usual, is not far away.

Maria is sitting in a chair in the bedroom she and Michael share on Antar, feeding Alex and singing to him, quietly.

Occasionally, the singing is replaced by laughter, as Alex swats at her chin.

Perhaps he doesn't like pop.