Ben takes the handkerchief when she presses it into his hand, more out of reflex than acceptance of the gesture. But he doesn't use it; just clutches it tightly in his hand and blinks hard, fighting with all his will to force the tidal wave of awful feelings back into a manageable little container that he can bury again, deeper this time, deep enough that a conversation with a kind stranger wouldn't accidentally unearth it.
But Cho just keeps talking and every word is like a twist of the knife. Ben wants to believe her, but again he thinks, that he was not born a clean slate. He was born a baby connected to another world, full of unspeakable horrors. Had his slate never been blank? When she touches his face, Ben goes still, wary and alarmed by the intimacy of it. The gesture is a kind one, but kindness is such a foreign thing, to him. Kindness that is not Grace, acting on her programming, or Klaus, making it bearable much of the time by mixing it with humor and smiling cynicism.
Then she talks about choices, people choosing to do bad things... he wonders again if the things he had done with the Academy had been bad, had been good, had been necessary, had been cruel. He thinks that he can't entirely blame his father, for the people he'd killed on missions. Sure, he'd been a child, been trained, had been given no choices. But killing is still killing and maiming is still maiming and there must be some level at which pointing the finger at somebody else just didn't cut it.
He doesn't hug back, when Cho suddenly hugs him, but he doesn't pull away or tense up, either. He just stands there, breaths shaky and thin, wondering how he had let this whole situation get so far out of his control. Just accepting the comfort, believing her, doesn't feel like an option. No matter how nice it would be if he could. He forces himself to exhale, as slowly and deeply as possible. The words are hard to summon up, but he manages a few.
"I think... the way you see the world is very... humane. And I think - you're a very good person."
Which is decidedly not the same as saying he agrees with her. But that would be a lot to ask, on the spot. She's given him some things to think about. He folds the unused hanky up, very neatly, and offers it back to her, with the smallest smile, all tinged with sadness at the edges still.
"Thank you. For- what you said."
That had been a lot of vulnerability for Ben to show, and particularly to someone who wasn't even family. His eyes are a little red but he pulls himself together, collecting the scattered threads of his dignity and forcing himself into something resembling calm. God, if he had known talking about his mother would set him off this badly, he would have avoided the topic more carefully. At least he knows now, for the future.
"Do you... do you have enough?"
And he gives a little gesture to the carrier with the animals she had collected in it.
no subject
But Cho just keeps talking and every word is like a twist of the knife. Ben wants to believe her, but again he thinks, that he was not born a clean slate. He was born a baby connected to another world, full of unspeakable horrors. Had his slate never been blank? When she touches his face, Ben goes still, wary and alarmed by the intimacy of it. The gesture is a kind one, but kindness is such a foreign thing, to him. Kindness that is not Grace, acting on her programming, or Klaus, making it bearable much of the time by mixing it with humor and smiling cynicism.
Then she talks about choices, people choosing to do bad things... he wonders again if the things he had done with the Academy had been bad, had been good, had been necessary, had been cruel. He thinks that he can't entirely blame his father, for the people he'd killed on missions. Sure, he'd been a child, been trained, had been given no choices. But killing is still killing and maiming is still maiming and there must be some level at which pointing the finger at somebody else just didn't cut it.
He doesn't hug back, when Cho suddenly hugs him, but he doesn't pull away or tense up, either. He just stands there, breaths shaky and thin, wondering how he had let this whole situation get so far out of his control. Just accepting the comfort, believing her, doesn't feel like an option. No matter how nice it would be if he could. He forces himself to exhale, as slowly and deeply as possible. The words are hard to summon up, but he manages a few.
"I think... the way you see the world is very... humane. And I think - you're a very good person."
Which is decidedly not the same as saying he agrees with her. But that would be a lot to ask, on the spot. She's given him some things to think about. He folds the unused hanky up, very neatly, and offers it back to her, with the smallest smile, all tinged with sadness at the edges still.
"Thank you. For- what you said."
That had been a lot of vulnerability for Ben to show, and particularly to someone who wasn't even family. His eyes are a little red but he pulls himself together, collecting the scattered threads of his dignity and forcing himself into something resembling calm. God, if he had known talking about his mother would set him off this badly, he would have avoided the topic more carefully. At least he knows now, for the future.
"Do you... do you have enough?"
And he gives a little gesture to the carrier with the animals she had collected in it.