There could not be a more offensive combination of words. Peter's face contorted all over again, the expression a jumble. He was stricken with the pressing urge to slap her because what the fuck, you did not tell somebody their dead uncle was standing behind them.
Yet that was just it. Jessica was him - Ben was her uncle too. She would slap anyone who said the same just as hard as Peter would, and that turned every word from her mouth just now into sobbing gibberish. What was she even talking about? He whipped his head around to be sure (taking more care for his ribs this time), but there was nothing there. He faced her again, mortification dropping his jaw.
She was literally crying out a flood. She was pale and she was pushing at him and he had no idea what she was playing at or what might be playing with her, but it terrified him. The panic on her face was like something he'd see in New York. Innocent people staring down the barrel of a gun, or looking down at someone unfortunate enough to get more than just the barrel. That look on her face (his face), the tears and having Uncle Ben come into this - at exactly the moment when Peter was in no fit state to handle a frigging ounce of it - it was freezing him in his seat. Stabbing ice in his chest.
Frantically, he caught her again by both the wrists and fought valiantly to stop the shoving. "Stop! What are you - there's no one there! What the hell, Jess?!"
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There could not be a more offensive combination of words. Peter's face contorted all over again, the expression a jumble. He was stricken with the pressing urge to slap her because what the fuck, you did not tell somebody their dead uncle was standing behind them.
Yet that was just it. Jessica was him - Ben was her uncle too. She would slap anyone who said the same just as hard as Peter would, and that turned every word from her mouth just now into sobbing gibberish. What was she even talking about? He whipped his head around to be sure (taking more care for his ribs this time), but there was nothing there. He faced her again, mortification dropping his jaw.
She was literally crying out a flood. She was pale and she was pushing at him and he had no idea what she was playing at or what might be playing with her, but it terrified him. The panic on her face was like something he'd see in New York. Innocent people staring down the barrel of a gun, or looking down at someone unfortunate enough to get more than just the barrel. That look on her face (his face), the tears and having Uncle Ben come into this - at exactly the moment when Peter was in no fit state to handle a frigging ounce of it - it was freezing him in his seat. Stabbing ice in his chest.
Frantically, he caught her again by both the wrists and fought valiantly to stop the shoving. "Stop! What are you - there's no one there! What the hell, Jess?!"