"Too much," Marian admitted. "I hate how much space he's taking up inside of me, especially when I thought I was getting better." But then she corrected herself. "Was getting better." There was no 'thought'. Marian was sure she'd been improving. She certainly hadn't been having these fucked up dreams in any case.
Frowning, Marian said, "fix it, Robin," and she sounded annoyed and sad. Wouldn't it be just wonderful if he could?