AN: Here's the continuation to Fire Light. Took me long enough right. Thank you to all of those who reviewed the last chapters of Fire Light. I'm sorry that I was MIA for the past couple weeks and worried some of you. I'm alive, I swear! Just didn't have much time, or motivation to write. Struggling a bit because we're in the home stretch but the boys still have a long ways to go. For those of you worried, I assure you, the boys will not be separated the entire story. They'll be apart for a little while, and then they'll be together pretty much the entire rest of the story. No fretting.

This is dedicated to all those people that read, review, and remind me why I'm still writing this thing after so long.

Summary: "Do you understand what it is to lose someone you love?" Jimmy searches for his future. Ben drowns in his past. Somewhere, the signal grows stronger.

Warnings: See previous stories.


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Fourth period let out and Ben hovered around the back of class, waiting for the other students to exit. At the door, Artie paused and shot him a questioning look, but he shook his head, gestured for Artie to leave. Miss Grayhaus had her back to Ben, busily erasing the chalk board. Her red hair was twisted up into a loose bun held together with a few pencils, a few strands hung loose, brushing against the collar of her white and pink paisley blouse. Ben approached hesitantly, cleared his throat, and she startled, squeaked in her surprise. She spun round, her glasses slipping down her button nose, a hand flying up to lay across her chest.

"Benjamin, you scared me. I thought everyone had left," she laughed.

"Sorry, Miss Grayhaus, I didn't mean to," Ben hastily said.

"It's alright. Did you have a question or…"

"No. I mean…yes," Ben stammered, lowered his head as color flooded his cheeks, "I was wondering about last week's free write assignment…you gave everyone else's back and I never got mine."

"Oh. Yes. Right," Miss Grayhaus frowned momentarily, and darted her eyes over the items on her desk as though searching for the paper, "I actually was meaning to speak to you about that…"

Ben perked a brow, fidgeting uncertainly. Miss Grayhaus pulled at one of the pencils in her hair, moving it back and forth to readjust. She moved around her desk, shuffling through a few of the papers.

"Was there a problem with it?" Ben wondered, a sudden panic in his chest.

The free write assignments were done in class every Monday. They were meant to be impromptu, with no word count or planned direction, simply a means of getting the creative juices flowing for the rest of the week, at least, that's what Miss Grayhaus envisioned of them. Most of the kids in class squandered the time, usually writing a sentence or two, and spending the rest of the time talking in low whispers or passing notes. Some even turned in papers covered in doodles at the end of class, so long as something was on the paper, they received credit for the assignment.

As with all of his class work, Ben tried his best each Monday, though sometimes he drew utter blanks and had to fight the urge to goof off with his classmates. He had no interest in being a writer, but he need another elective for the year, and creative writing was the most appealing – or least unappealing – of the remaining open classes. His other choices were cooking and choir. Writing didn't require four performances in front of the entire school, nor the possibility of him giving a teacher food poisoning. Being a good student was just Ben's nature. Not to mention, it was Miss Grayhaus's first year teaching creative writing, she'd petitioned for the class three years in a row and finally got the green light. Ben liked Miss Grayhaus, and he knew how much the class meant to her, so he wanted to help as best he could.

Per Miss Grayhaus's recommendation, Ben attempted to pour as much of his raw emotions and thoughts into his Monday free write, treating it as though she wouldn't be reading it later – which she claimed she wouldn't but everyone knew she did. Maybe that's what possessed Ben last Monday to write nearly ten pages about his most recent personal experience with unrequited love. He may have waxed poetic on the subject, gone overboard to an extreme, and when the time came to turn the paper in, he realized he wasn't entirely sure what he'd written and was fairly certain most, if not all, of the paper would completely humiliate him. Mostly he wanted to get the paper back and burn it before anyone else got their hands on it. He didn't want to know what Miss Grayhaus thought of him now after reading such an exposing piece, but he was sure it wasn't pretty.

"A problem?" Miss Grayhaus parroted, wrinkling her nose and puckering her lips in a confused expression, "Oh no. Gosh, Benjamin, no. Is that what…ah, no, you're fine."

Ben heaved a sigh, "Then what did you want to talk about?"

"Your paper," Miss Grayhaus said, finding what she was looking for on her desk, a crumpled piece of paper, and smoothing it out, "It was good. It was really good."

"Really?" Ben furrowed his brow, crossed his arms over his chest. His heart gave a strangely proud jump.

"Why yes. You sound surprised. Of course it was good. You're one of my best writers," Miss Grayhaus said.

"I am?"

Miss Grayhaus burst into a fit of high-pitched giggles, gently brushing a hand across Ben's shoulder.

"Yes, you are. You're very talented! Didn't you know?"

"No, I had no idea. Talented? I didn't think so, not at all. All of your feedback on my writing wasn't very positive, and you don''t usually leave comments like that on other people's work," Ben said.

"That's exactly why I write so much on your papers, because you're so talented," Miss Grayhaus explained, "And because you always put so much effort into your work, I can tell you really like to write."

Ben forced a smile, mentally noting, 'not really'.

"I give you that kind of feedback because I want to help you become a better writer and I think, out of all of the students, you'd appreciate it most," Miss Grayhaus concluded.

Ben wrinkled his brow and nodded, heart raging in his chest, and frustration edging his features. He'd had sleepless nights because of Miss Grayhaus's harsh comments, picking apart everything he wrote. He didn't care about bettering himself as a write, he just wanted to be told how good his work was and that it deserved a higher grade than the scale allowed.

"Was that all then? You just wanted to tell me my writing was good?" Ben asked, absently smoothing his hands over one another, tugging his sleeves down past his wrists.

"No, no. Well, yes, I wanted to tell you your writing was good, but I also wanted to ask you about the piece you wrote."

"Yes? What about it?" Ben shifted anxiously from one foot to the other, worried about the questions Miss Grayhaus could possibly ask.

"There's an anthology for young writers in Boston that publishes quarterly, I wanted to submit your piece for their consideration," Miss Grayhaus said, "But I'll need your permission."

Ben gaped.

"I know, I know, you're probably worried it won't be good enough, that it'll be rejected. Everyone is their own worst critic, trust me. Your work deserves to be published," Miss Grayhaus continued.

"I don't know…"

"Of course, you'll have to change Hannah's name," Miss Grayhaus went on, and Ben's heart dropped to the floor.

"What?"

"Yes, well, I don't think she'd want her name published in the anthology, especially considering some of the things you wrote about her. It might be a little sensitive, you know. But that's alright, we can use another name or figure out how to take the name out altogether."

"I didn't realize I used her name," Ben mumbled, finding it suddenly hard to form words or breath.

"You did, yes. Trust me, though, Benjamin, she is the one who's lost out and she'll realize that later in life, I'm sure, when she grows tired of the athletic pretty boys and realizes what she needs is a smart and reliable young man," Miss Grayhaus said, smiling cheerfully, "By then, you'll have moved on and found someone who appreciates you for exactly who you are, don't you worry about that."

"I can't believe I used her name," Ben whispered, barely registering Miss Grayhaus.

Ben's crush on Hannah had only been three weeks tempered, they'd shared a moment in the library during study hall, wandering the aisles, talking about the books on each shelf that they'd read. She became uncharacteristically excited when it turned out they were both huge fans of the Dune series. Ben was taken aback that Hannah, with her cherry flavored lip gloss, perfectly manicured nails, and pencil skirts, even read sci-fi. He was immediately smitten, and convinced she felt the same, especially when she said 'hi' to him the next day in class. She never said 'hi' to him. Feeling brave, emboldened by the sudden change in the status quo of their relationship, Ben asked Hannah to a movie. Her answer was a quick and unflinching, 'no'. She didn't elaborate, and went back to ignoring Ben the very next day.

Monday had marked the second day after the entire Hannah fiasco. Ben still felt a little sore over it, and he poured all of his feelings into the free write, without thought or care for who the audience might be on the other side. Now, after a week to heal, Ben remembered what a shallow ditz Hannah was, and his heart had moved on to another. It was mortifying enough that he'd immortalized his momentary lapse of good judgment into written word without making a public spectacle out of it.

"You know, Miss Grayhaus, I really just want the paper back," Ben said.

"Are you sure? I think you'd be chose for publication for certain," Miss Grayhaus persisted.

"Yes, I'm very sure. I didn't really write it for a bunch of people to read and it's kind of private," Ben insisted.

"They pay the writers, too, something like twenty dollars," Miss Grayhaus said.

"That's alright, I don't need the money."

"And it would look good on a college application," Miss Grayhaus added, and Ben faltered.

True, having a piece of writing published would look really good on a college application. Ben shook his head, attempting to shake the wayward thought out. The last thing he needed was public consumption of his pathetic lament on love's labor lost.

"You know, nothing speaks more clearly to readers than unrequited love," Miss Grayhaus said, "Nothing is more relatable, or tugs at the heartstrings more."

"I understand that, Miss Grayhaus, I just really don't want…"

"Nothing, except maybe the death of a lover."

"What?" Ben frowned, glanced warily at Miss Grayhaus. She stared distantly out the window, hand still against her breast.

"Not everyone has experienced it, but they certainly can understand the feelings. It's everyone's greatest fear, to lose a love tragically," she said, "To love someone whole heartedly and watch helplessly by as they slip slowly away. That is the only emotion that draws people in and tears them apart inside more than unrequited love."

Ben closed his eyes, and let his heart hammer away in his chest. A darkness swarmed over him, a feeling of loss and abandon. He didn't know what to say or do, all he knew was he wanted his paper back, and he wanted the conversation to end. Losing a lover, he didn't want to think about it. Something in the idea of it haunted him, ached through him. To lose a lover, he could cry right then and there, for days on end and still have more tears to shed.

"Can I please have my paper back?" Ben whispered.

"They say it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. Would you agree with that, Ben? Do you understand what it is to lose someone you love?" Miss Grayhaus asked.

"No," Ben said.

"Are you sure?" Miss Grayhaus questioned.

Ben opened his eyes and pushed himself up from the sleeping bag he was wrapped inside. Nearby he could hear Matt snoring softly. Hal and their father were nowhere near; out around camp most likely. Ben sighed, and slumped back into bed, squeezed his eyes closed and let his relentless depression creep through his body and mind.

It had already been four weeks since leaving the airplane hangar, and Jimmy. Twenty-six and a half days. Six hundred and thirty six hours. Too many minutes and seconds, heart beats and strained breaths to count. Yet it still felt like just yesterday Ben had sat beside Jimmy, begging the other boy not to go but somehow an eternity since last laying in his arms.

There was a rustle at the door, and Ben closed his eyes again, laid motionless, pretending to sleep. He listened to the newcomer quietly moving into the tent. Whether it was his father or Hal, didn't matter, he wasn't in the mood to deal with the typical interrogation he got lately about his well-being and what he'd been doing all day, followed by the recommendation to get out more and move on as though Jimmy were just some momentary thing that didn't work out.

After several minutes of rummaging around the tent, the newcomer knelt beside Ben and lightly touched his shoulder.

"Get up, Ben, we've got a meeting," Hal whispered.

Ben sighed, pushed himself up into a sitting position, and glared disgruntled up at his brother. Hal returned the expression.

"You've been sleeping all day."

"I'm tired," Ben said.

"Really?" Hal remarked, unimpressed, "Because you haven't been tired since they cut that thing off your back. You've been spending more and more time sleeping. Why is that?"

"What else am I going to do when I'm not on patrol?" Ben hissed demand.

"Hang out around camp. Make friends," Hal suggested.

Ben shook his head, and then climbed to his feet and pushed his way out of the tent. He heard Hal fall in step behind him.

"I'm fine," Ben said, glancing over his shoulder once, "I don't need to make friends. I just need to rest, so that I can be ready to face the enemy. What is this meeting about?"

"Don't know. I'm assuming where we're going, how we're getting there," Hal answered.

After Jimmy had been injured and his would-be killer escaped, Captain Weaver worried the enemy would be tipped off to the 2nd Mass's location, leaving them vulnerable to another attack. He had wanted to move as soon as Jimmy was stable, but Jimmy never stabilized. They ended up leaving very shortly after the funeral. Unfortunately, the move had been an abrupt decision, and they hadn't thought much as to where they might go from there. They'd been wandering around ever since, weaving in and out of enemy strongholds they happened to stumble across. It would be a relief for most of the group if Weaver finally picked a place to set up base camp.

For Ben, it would be more than a relief, because it would mean they'd set up a base camp and finally get back to arranging attacks on the enemy. It was hard on him, going for so long a time without fighting. Now, more than ever, Ben needed the hunt. Without Jimmy, he couldn't keep the restless monster within at bay.

"I know it's hard right now," Hal said, clearing his throat and picking up his pace a bit to walk shoulder-to-shoulder with Ben, "We all miss him, you know. But you have to find a way to put it behind you."

Ben bristled.

"I don't want to talk about this."

"I'm worried about you. What you said before, after it happened," Hal persisted, "I know your head was all over the place, and I need to make sure that…."

"I wasn't serious? Because I was," Ben said, pausing and facing his brother, "Ending this war, destroying the aliens, it's all that matters to me right now. I don't need to make friends. I don't need to do anything other than fight. I need to finish this war."

Hal took a deep breath, warily studied Ben for a few seconds.

"You really think that's what he'd want?"

"No," Ben said easily, turning on heel and continuing towards the meeting, blinking away unshed tears as he stubbornly stated, "But I'd never have gotten anywhere with him if I always did what he wanted."

When the truck ran out of gas along an empty stretch of highway after about a day and a half, Jimmy was forced to leave it. The two men robbing his grave weren't heavy-laden with supplies. He assumed they had a larger group somewhere nearby, or were storing resources somewhere. They couldn't have been traveling with the sparse items they had with them.

There was the gun he'd stolen from them, and an extra box of bullets under the seat. He found a bag of half-eaten jerky in the glove compartment along with a small switchblade, pocketed both of them. In one of the cup holders was an open, mostly full bottle of water which he took. There were a couple sleeping bags rolled up in the bed. He slung one over his shoulder and started walking.

Rationing the water and jerky, Jimmy was able to make them last about a week. He came upon a few gas stations, and one urban area, that had already been looted. But after traveling so long with the 2nd Mass, spending countless hours having in-depth survival conversations with Dai and Anthony, sometimes Weaver, and a Klick way back at the start of the resistance, Jimmy knew better where to find resources. He refilled his bottle with water that had collected in house pipes.

In the closet of one house, Jimmy found an old school backpack, emptied it of the homework, pens, pencils, and textbooks. It had belonged to a high school student, tenth grader. Under the kitchen sink, he found a pack of steel wool and stashed it. In one of the other houses, he found a small stash of canned foods. From the looks of things, someone had intended to return for them, but the thin layer of dust suggested they never had the chance. Jimmy pried one open with his knife and slurped down its innards, peas and carrots, then stuffed the rest in his newly claimed pack as well.

What other few things Jimmy could find and knew a use for, he pocketed. He didn't linger long anywhere. Every minute that ticked by was another minute the 2nd Mass moved farther away from him. Of course, Jimmy had no way of knowing he was even heading in the same direction as them. He trekked along the roadway clutching Captain Weaver's compass, pleading for it to point him the right way. At night, he curled up in the sleeping bag, wrapped his fingers around the bullet charm at his neck, and stared skyward searched out those constellations Ben showed him what seemed an eternity ago.

If he had to walk the entire globe to get back to Ben, he would. Moving forward was his only option.


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AN: Let me know what you think. Um...there might not be an update next Sunday. No, I jest, I jest! I only just finished this chapter, but I'm going to have the week off from Christmas to New Years Eve, so I should be able to get some writing done. Knock on wood.

I'm also updating Raising Skies today, because I feel kind of bad about leaving you guys with no update for so long, so don't forget to go read and review that as well!