With every 'gift' she lists, Tommy's jaw drops lower, his eyes grow wider, and the vein in his temple throbs just a bit harder.

There are a few things that he's learned from being with a woman from the Victorian era. Kate isn't exactly a prude, no, but she's a lot more sensitive than other women Tommy's dated, and he's had to adjust to that. But something else he's learned is that he can't expect her to turn into a modern day woman just because such-and-such a thing is the norm where he's from. And he's been with her long enough to care about how she responds to these things.

But really?

What in everloving fuck was Voodoo thinking by giving condoms and porn to his (not)girlfriend?! His Victorian (not)girlfriend.

And as he looks at Kate, how distraught and uncomfortable she is telling him this, he recalls all those times the letter came up in conversation, how hurt she was, how humiliated she was even mentioning it, how close she came to tears over it. Because ultimately, the way Kate saw it, and the way she still sees it, Voodoo's message to her was that she was a whore.

Suddenly the thought of Voodoo eating that letter is just too lenient a punishment.

Tommy is having a hard time deciding if he's more infuriated or incredulous, but eventually settles on the fact that he's both.

"Oh. Oh, this's-- this--"

He has no words.

He snatches the his sunglasses off his face and pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head, his teeth on edge.