Ben was never good at admitting when he was wrong. He was too stubborn and he didn't want to damage his pride. However, he couldn't lie to himself. He'd underestimated you. Big time. When he first saw you, he assumed you were just some broad. You were way too sweet and, well, innocent. There was no way you were a killer. Ben saw you as nothing more than a pretty face ─ eye candy. He didn't even want to bring you along on a mission, but Butcher insisted you were good. Hell, even the rest of The Boys told him how great you were. Ben didn't believe them. He was so very wrong.

You were an absolute killing machine. You were practically unhinged, taking down enemies like it was all a game to you. If he'd been someone else, he might go as far to say that he was frightened. You were fucking terrifying. Good, but terrifying.

Ben cleared his throat as he stood behind you, simply hovering around as you washed your hands in the bathroom sink. You were cleaning the aftermath off of your hands, crimson blood changing the color of the water as it disappeared down the drain. You hummed in response, acknowledging the fact that you'd heard him. He watched you for a moment, green eyes lingering on the blood you scrubbed off of your hands.

“I'm…” I'm sorry, is what he should've said, but he couldn't. He'd said some cruel things to you in the past, but now he regretted them fully. “You're good. Real good.”