This has gone wretchedly, Benedict already knows he's far overplayed his hand and made a fool of himself like he always does, and he shoves another bite in his deeply frowning mouth to stop it from either talking or quivering.
Abby thus gets a word in edgewise, and although he bristles in response, he doesn't argue-- say what you will about Benedict Artemaeus, but he'll never talk with his mouth full. By the time he's finished chewing again, Abby has said her piece, and the wind has left his sails.

"Well," he says in an attempt at his usual primness, "I don't. Want anything bad to happen to you. ...guys." He's thrown off momentarily by the colloquialism, squinting as if he isn't sure he's saying it right, or that he should be saying it at all.