Shots

ONE

I am a shoulder now.

"A shoulder to cry on." Well, I'm pretty sure he's crying on most of me. So therefore I am a shoulder.

I am sitting here as someone I barely know is having a mental breakdown. Just a regular Tuesday.

This guy – albeit cute, but still a near stranger – came into my tent. I said, "Wrong tent," and he said, "Oh. Sorry." Then I saw that he looked like he had been crying. So I said, "You wanna sit down?" and he told me, "That would be nice."

Now here I am, being the shoulder. I am proud of myself. One of my grandmother's embroidered pillows said "Reach out to ones in need, for they will reach out to you." (My grandmother has – had? – the 3rd largest collection of embroidered throw pillows in the world. All have sayings like such.)

He sits down, and I'm laying on my back, so he follows suit. Then he said, "I wish none of this ever happened," and I see the tears. I don't know what to do, so I roll closer to him and wrap my arms around him as best as I can, and instead of screaming "CHILD MOLESTER" at me like any sane person would do, he lets me.

So that's why he's crying into my chest and I'm running my hands over his back and I think this looks much, much worse than it actually is. It's nice, just to have another human being, especially a cute boy. I don't really have anyone, I'm just that random bystander you see watching the drama.

There's something on his back. Like...ridges. I look closer – it's hard in the dark – and I see that they're the spikes that the de-harnessed kids have. The only two de-harnessed kids that haven't had their spikes fallen out are Rick, that kid that's kind of creepy, and Ben Mason, middle child of the infamous Mason family. This boy is obviously Ben.

I've met Ben once, I think. I dropped my gun, because who am I kidding, I'm a fourteen year old girl that's never held a weapon other than a kitchen knife in her life. He smiled at me and told me how to hold it, and I smiled back and thought "He has a girlfriend, doesn't he?"

I think we're having a nice moment here when he pukes on me.

Wait. Hold up. Crying, getting into a tent with a random stranger, puking...this guy's drunk.

Which kind of sucks, because I really did think we were having a moment. And the fact that he looks fourteen. Since he's drunk and he probably won't remember a thing tomorrow morning, I calmly take off my vomit-stained sleeping shirt and roll him over – he's staring at me in disbelief – and pull on a thick, woolly sweatshirt.

I'll have to get the poor person on laundry duty to clean up the blanket that he's on. I try to gently pull him up. "Come on. Up you go."

He doesn't protest, and I can't help but wonder how I didn't realize he was drunk earlier. I mean, no person in their right mind would do...well, whatever that was. I put my right hand on the small of his spiky back and my left on his left shoulder to turn him where he needs to go.

We're on our way to Charleston, and we're camped out in an airplane hangar. Most people are in tents. Dr. Glass is in the med bus. I guide him to there, where it looks like she's finishing bandaging someone. Dr. Glass looks at Ben, then me, then where my hands are. She says a few more words to the patient, and the bandaged man gets up. She then turns her focus on us.

"Ben? What are you..." I have to use all of my strength to keep him up. I think he's falling asleep.

She turns to me. "I'm sorry, but what's your name?"

"Glory Marsh. And it's fine, I'm not really anyone. But...well, it's a long story, but he's drunk."

She raises her eyebrows. "What makes you say that?"

"He went into a near stranger's tent, had a mental breakdown, then puked on me. I'm about ninety percent sure he's drunk." His back arches beneath my hand. "Trashcan."

Dr. Glass, her eyes wide, takes Ben from me, and he heaves again into a trashcan. "Did you see him drinking?"

"No, but I've seen drunk people before, and this is pretty much a stage of drunk." I've only seen one person before, this guy coming out of a bar when me and my mom went to New York City. He screamed something about the end times and puked on the sidewalk. It was not pretty.

Dr. Glass sits Ben down on the sofa. He was pretty much out of it now. She shined a light in his eyes, ears, throat. "Doesn't seem to be anything wrong with him. I'd say you're right, only that I have no idea why Ben would be drinking."

I shrug. "It's a war, Dr. Glass. Plenty of people are drinking their sorrows away. Especially him, I mean, with Jimmy and all..." I'm not a stalker or anything, but I'd heard that Jimmy Boland was the closest thing Ben Mason had to a friend, and I mean, with the spikes, the death of your best and only friend...that's gotta be something.

She purses her lips. "I wish you were wrong, but you have to be right, I can't think of anything else... Thank you, Glory." People have to get used to my name. What can I say? My mom was a die hard patriot.

I smile at her, but hesitate before I leave. "Just take care of him, okay?"

She smiles back. "It's my job."

Hello Falling Skies fandom! I have been a part of your fandom for quite some time now since I discovered the show, November, I believe? In that time my dad and I have watched 2 and a half seasons, and I have fallen in love with Ben Mason, along with the other Masons and everyone else. Since this is my first time writing for this fandom, there will most likely be some OOC-ness (out of character) until I can really learn to write them well. So please, bear with me. I'm also trying my hardest not to make Glory a Mary-Sue (perfect character) because it seems every Ben/OC story I read is horribly written and has a perfect, smart, beautiful female OC whom I can't help but hate. Please tell me if you think Glory is too perfect, because I will fix that!

Feedback/reviews are welcomed and spraypainted rainbow!

Nova