DISCLAIMER: I do not own Falling Skies or the characters... if I did, then I'd be rich. :D Anyway. No slash or other romance, just pure angst and possible violence. Actually, make that probable, because I write violence a lot. Season 2 ish I'd suppose. Anyway. Read & Review...

A/N: Well, finally got back around to Hal... and I decided to make a very low key, quiet fiction for once. However, you should be able to spot the tension growing! Ahem! I am aware I have barely put Matt in this at all... I find it hard to. D: Anyway. I haven't seen tonight's episode yet. It's on right now but someone is hogging the TV... meanies. :( Anyway. Shall force myself not to read any of this episode's fictions! (and why is this site loading so slowly?)

HAL POV

Three days later, I found myself watching Ben limp around. I wasn't sure how he had gotten hurt but he wouldn't say anything other than having twisted his ankle. This was the first time I had seen him in days. My dad didn't really know what Ben was up to either. My brother would walk off and not come back for hours, then return looking just as dejected and uncertain as before. I would sometimes catch him staring at me like he expected me to drop dead at any moment but he wouldn't talk to me. I wasn't sure why. Was he mad at me? Did he not trust me? I wasn't sure if I trusted myself anymore. The thing with the red bugs had been kept a secret between my dad, Anne, Maggie, Ben and Weaver. No one else had to know, and it would only spread further panic and distrust around the camp. That was probably a good thing, otherwise people would be looking at me like I was about to betray them at any moment and go run back to my "skitter friends" like they said to Ben a lot. As long as I didn't find any more of those "bugs" anywhere, I'd be all set. I'd be happy to never hear about them again.

Maggie called to me. I looked up and over, and she walked towards me with her scouting clothes on and her guns ready. "Hey, Hal. We're setting up at an ambush. Weaver wants you to come," she said, hanging me a gun. I looked at it with mild interest for a moment, feeling uncertain. What if I did something to expose us all? But I wouldn't, would I? This would be just like old times, except for the fact that I could hardly run, crouch, or jump. I had reached the end of my healing with my leg injury. That would stay the same, unless I could somehow get used to the pain enough to force myself to do any of those. If I lived long enough, I probably would.

"Great. That sounds nice," I tried to say, as excitedly as possible. It did, really. The idea of putting a few bullets in the heads of some of the skitters who had done all this crap to them would be really satisfying. Seeing as mechs weren't alive, the only satisfaction I could get from that was the knowledge that the specific mech killed wouldn't be taking down some of our people any time later. There was another thing I had since learned. If the aliens were reacting so aggressively towards us, then it was probably because we had made a significant dent in their line of defense... or offense, I supposed. Which would explain why they were so angry, but at the same time, didn't justify it. They attacked us. They had no right to get pissed off just because we managed to put up more of a fight than they expected. Not after murdering all of our friends, families, and taking away the most important parts of us.

We headed out, taking a truck with a mounted .45 cal and several bikes. The group consisted of Maggie, Ben, Tom, Weaver, Anthony, Dai, the Berserkers and I. We would eventually split up into two teams – one to draw the fire of any nearby skitters and mechs, and the other to take down everything that came once they brought them out into our line of fire, usually a building. I was always put on the latter, with Maggie, Ben, and usually one other person. Today was no different.

We found a nice, stable building with several stories and made our way to the top, careful to check for guarding skitters and mechs in the process. It had a nice view, displaying the enormous city of wreckage and dirt and mayhem. I had no idea where we were. All I could do was try to imagine this city before the invasion. The buildings were all probably pristine and unspoiled, trees blossoming, green grass lawns being mowed by early rising families. People would drive, walk, or bike to their destinations, sometimes stopping for food or a chat with a friend or family member. The sky would be gentle – or perhaps stormy – and offer some relief from the usual everyday sights. For those people, all of whom were either dead, dying, or wishing they were dead, we fought. There was no fairness.

"Here we go!" Weaver's shout jolted me from my thoughts, forcing me to focus on what was happening. A thick line of skitters was moving down the road, chasing back Weaver's team. Two mechs were following suit. I put my targets on one of the mechs and fired, feeling the kick, watching as the bullet of the rifle – reinforced with the "special" mech bullets – shot a hole in the head of the mech. Another three followed, and it crumpled to the ground, just another useless heap of metal.

The other carried on, indifferent of its fallen comrade, and the bodies of already dead skitters, as it continued blasting away at where Weaver and his team were ducking. Ben took a few shots, and I followed. The mech dropped. The skitters no longer stood a chance. I watched in quiet satisfaction as the dropped, one after the other, into motionless heaps on the ground.

"You're right, Ben. It does feel good to kill every single one of them." I said, though I didn't share the same excitement or amusement that he had on his face every time he killed one. It wasn't... exciting for me... it was simply justified. Like a mother watching as the killer of her child was put away once and for all.

Later that day...

We set up one more ambush that day, which went just as well as the first, surprisingly. These things never tended to come without consequences. The fact that they had was surprising to me. Usually someone got hurt or shot or killed. Anne was pleased when we came back with zero casualties. She seemed tired of being the one to take care of the dead or ease the death of the mortally wounded. I would be too. I would never have made a good doctor.

I was walking out of the med bus when I felt it. The ground shifting and shaking beneath my feet. Puzzled, I looked down. There didn't seem to be anything. Perhaps someone had just blown up something, started a car, or did something else to make the ground tremble. Perhaps it was something as simple as an earthquake. Whatever the case, I ignored it and went on my way.

I found Matt sleeping in bed already. I was about to go to my own when I heard him whimper quietly in his sleep, and I saw his face contorted into an expression of fear and pain. He was having a nightmare. I walked quietly over to his bed, sinking slowly down in beside him, and wrapped my arms around him. After a little while, he quieted, then snuggled up close to me, laying his head against my shoulder. I lay there, holding him and thinking, until I fell asleep, reveling in the fact that I had finally had a normal day.

As I slept, I was unaware of the small tremours moving underneath us throughout the night.