[He doesn't answer with words; he forces his fingertips to relax on the file, his arm to extend, and he offers it to her. She can read for herself, even if she already knows what's in it. Maybe the question is sincere, though he doubts it; he'll watch how she reacts, he thinks, and be sure to catch any hints there.
Abruptly he remembers the first time they did this, Abigail satisfied and smug in the chapel pew, Ben's skin creeping with discomfort and electricity snapping in the air that he wasn't entirely convinced actually existed; he remembers her pointed, coy questions, remembers her fishing, poking, prying for a weak spot. She hadn't found any because for some reason he didn't understand at the time, she couldn't identify the ones most people did, she didn't know that all of him was vulnerable, that it's how he learned to be strong. They hadn't been friends, then.
He holds the file out, pushes thoughts of its actual contents aside for now, and wonders if they'll be friends now.]
no subject
Abruptly he remembers the first time they did this, Abigail satisfied and smug in the chapel pew, Ben's skin creeping with discomfort and electricity snapping in the air that he wasn't entirely convinced actually existed; he remembers her pointed, coy questions, remembers her fishing, poking, prying for a weak spot. She hadn't found any because for some reason he didn't understand at the time, she couldn't identify the ones most people did, she didn't know that all of him was vulnerable, that it's how he learned to be strong. They hadn't been friends, then.
He holds the file out, pushes thoughts of its actual contents aside for now, and wonders if they'll be friends now.]