Macmillan not having written since the duel was a thin silver lining — and about the only one that existed in this situation, apparently, because nothing that followed was anything he wanted to hear. It pained him to think that November felt she needed to defend herself or justify herself to him, so even the more tame beginning of her speech hurt him. He'd told her before their last conversation that he could never think poorly of her, but he ought to have expected that she wouldn't have believed it. Even so, he didn't want to hear anything about what her — relationship, for lack of a better term — with Macmillan had been like. Whatever had occurred was his fault, because he had taken advantage of November's sentimentality and her vulnerability, and that was all he needed to know about it.
He almost protested when she drifted off, and he opened his mouth to do so, but before he could find the words she had started walking across the room. Ben shut his mouth and swallowed against how dry it had become. He suspected what was in her hands before she announced what the bundle of papers was, but his stomach dropped at the revelation all the same. So many. He ought to have expected, when he'd heard how long it had been going on, but still. Oh, November, he thought with a surge of grief for her. She really could have been ruined, and it wasn't as though Macmillan would have done a thing for her if she had found herself turned out on the streets. How could she have been so foolish? How could she still be so foolish, to think that despite having revealed their — whatever it was — to Ben in the middle of a street brawl, that Macmillan was honorable? That he was a gentleman? That he respected her?
Then she thrust the bundle of papers out towards him, and Ben stiffened. This was too large of a burden for him to take. He couldn't take her letters. He had been willing to duel for her sake — willing to die for her sake, if it came down to it — but this was something larger, something he couldn't bring himself to even consider.
"Nova, I can't," he said softly, tone almost pleading.
MJ made this <3
He almost protested when she drifted off, and he opened his mouth to do so, but before he could find the words she had started walking across the room. Ben shut his mouth and swallowed against how dry it had become. He suspected what was in her hands before she announced what the bundle of papers was, but his stomach dropped at the revelation all the same. So many. He ought to have expected, when he'd heard how long it had been going on, but still. Oh, November, he thought with a surge of grief for her. She really could have been ruined, and it wasn't as though Macmillan would have done a thing for her if she had found herself turned out on the streets. How could she have been so foolish? How could she still be so foolish, to think that despite having revealed their — whatever it was — to Ben in the middle of a street brawl, that Macmillan was honorable? That he was a gentleman? That he respected her?
Then she thrust the bundle of papers out towards him, and Ben stiffened. This was too large of a burden for him to take. He couldn't take her letters. He had been willing to duel for her sake — willing to die for her sake, if it came down to it — but this was something larger, something he couldn't bring himself to even consider.
"Nova, I can't," he said softly, tone almost pleading.
MJ made this <3