[Ben listens intently, the process of sorting out what he does understand from what he doesn't understand by now almost easy enough that he barely needs to devote attention to it. There is, he's found, startling little that Abigail says that he is completely without context to understand; when he glances down at the motions her hands are making, he's gratified to find that he even understands that half-formed, instinctive language. He watches them until they stop, then looks back up at her face.

The moment he understands that the faces she claims to wear are not literal faces, it all clicks into place and he straightens slightly with a kind of eagerness that is subtle, difficult to discern. She hides herself to keep herself safe. She does not present as a soldier, as a civilian, as a human, but other things. Harmless. Whole. Weak. All things that she is not, but that others would like to see her as, so she lets them so they look no deeper.

He is less certain what to do with the pleasant surprise that coils in his chest when she says she missed him; a moment later he understands the importance, of course he does, although it might seem strange for him to comprehend that when so many other things that run parallel to it are mysteries to him. He considers it carefully, along with the implicit offer, and finally makes a decision.]

I have missed you as well. Would it be more acceptable to teach me how to carve a pumpkin if I were to offer to share something with you in return? A private tradition for a private tradition.