Her passionate reaction takes Ben aback, but he hides his surprise nearly as well as he'd hidden his earlier distress. That's just how Ben handles emotions, when in doubt.
He had stopped walking just a few paces after her, and then had closed the distance to better see her despite the lack of light. It is a tremendous relief, not only that her answer is 'no', but that she is so very offended he would ever think otherwise. That says a lot about her that he likes. And he likes that she is going off on him like this, not hesitant about her convictions.
Ben feels a twist of pain, somewhere in his gut, when she says there is no loophole or excuse for hurting animals. She is so sure of herself and what is right and wrong. All that absolute, decisive judgment means that Ben can't help wondering which side she would come down on, for him, for his past. For the experiments done to him. Would she declare him the victim of cruelty, or cruel, himself? Did motives and free choice matter, or only actions?
He shuts his eyes a moment, because he can feel the lid on that can of worms starting to lift a little and now isn't the time or place. But for that moment, when he has to shut it out and compose himself, draw a little, slightly shaky breath, it is clear he is much less calm than he is trying to appear.
Then he opens his eyes, the tension leaving his shoulders, and he says quietly, "That's why I asked. To make sure..." He can't quite bring himself to keep looking at her, letting his eyes drift down to the cat carrier in her hand, head bowed, "If you'd told me you were going to hurt them, I wasn't going to help you after all. So... we're good. Same page."
no subject
He had stopped walking just a few paces after her, and then had closed the distance to better see her despite the lack of light. It is a tremendous relief, not only that her answer is 'no', but that she is so very offended he would ever think otherwise. That says a lot about her that he likes. And he likes that she is going off on him like this, not hesitant about her convictions.
Ben feels a twist of pain, somewhere in his gut, when she says there is no loophole or excuse for hurting animals. She is so sure of herself and what is right and wrong. All that absolute, decisive judgment means that Ben can't help wondering which side she would come down on, for him, for his past. For the experiments done to him. Would she declare him the victim of cruelty, or cruel, himself? Did motives and free choice matter, or only actions?
He shuts his eyes a moment, because he can feel the lid on that can of worms starting to lift a little and now isn't the time or place. But for that moment, when he has to shut it out and compose himself, draw a little, slightly shaky breath, it is clear he is much less calm than he is trying to appear.
Then he opens his eyes, the tension leaving his shoulders, and he says quietly, "That's why I asked. To make sure..." He can't quite bring himself to keep looking at her, letting his eyes drift down to the cat carrier in her hand, head bowed, "If you'd told me you were going to hurt them, I wasn't going to help you after all. So... we're good. Same page."