[ Ben actually appreciates that she gives him push-back on his wording; she's not letting anything slide and as someone who doesn't let shit slide himself, he can respect that. ]

You're right. No 'might have' about it.

[ He rubs more at his neck, feeling guilty and awkward and knowing there is more that should be said but hating that he has to say it. Why are words so impossible sometimes? They get all tangled up in his throat and it's so awful, trying to put them in the right order, make them come out. There is a long stretch of silence in which Ben clearly has more to say but is having a hard time just spitting it out. Eventually, he manages: ]

He told me you helped him. With the oxy. I guess... it's easier for him to come to you than me about that kind of thing. So. Thank you.

[ Ben sighs, short and frustrated, more at himself than anything else. He'd dealt with all that and now it is long past time to change the subject. ]

Those boneys. They're from your world?