A/N: Update, update! Yay! Um...not a lot of review lately, but the views are up a lot, so I'll take that as a good sign.
That, and the reviews I have gotten are awesome! Thank you to the reviewers, your dedication to this story keeps me dedicated to writing it!
And a huge thank you to Greg for beta-ing.
XXIX.
After sitting Jimmy down, Weaver took a seat of his own, and silently stared at the young boy for several minutes. Jimmy folded his arms across his knees and leaned over them, leering glumly at the floor. It was difficult to breathe, difficult to think, difficult to lift his eyes and meet that weatherworn expression boring down on him. He felt like a pristine white carpet splattered with thick paint; irrevocably and eternally stained by this one deed, in its moment quick, effortless, watered down so as to be near desensitized, but afterwards, everything dragged, every second felt like a lifetime and was excruciatingly painful.
Weaver stood and paced a few times. Jimmy could hear the older man shuffling across the floor, but he couldn't bring himself to look up. It seemed as though every time he were close to finally washing his hands, of finally being able to forgive himself his sins, he somehow always managed to get them dirty once again. He sunk down farther across his knees and squeezed his eyes shut.
"My dad…" Jimmy started in a low croak.
Weaver shifted, his clothes rustling noisily, as he turned to peer curiously at the young boy. He didn't say anything, waiting patiently for Jimmy to gather his thoughts and continue.
"He didn't believe in guns…that they solved anything. He always said…he said…real men didn't need a gun…that they…they solved things with words or fists," Jimmy finished. He took a deep breath and turned his face up to meet Weaver's sympathetic gaze, though he was clearly confused on where his sympathy should lie: did he pity the young boy for ending a life that night or for the father and, as an extension, the family he lost countless months before? Jimmy shrugged, as if in a sort of answer, and buried his face in a palm, "All I mean is he'd be disappointed in me too."
"I'm not disappointed in you," Weaver said evenly.
Jimmy sniffed softly and nibbled on his inner cheek. Weaver moved back to his chair and took a seat.
"I'm sorry, son," Weaver stated gently. He reached out his hand, as if he intended to take Jimmy's own or to touch his shoulder, express some form of condolence, but he hesitated and pulled back. Jimmy shrunk away regardless, straightening somewhat and drawing his arms inward to wrap protectively around himself.
Minutes ticked by wherein stretched another eternity of silence.
"There are a lot of things I could tell you right now," Weaver spoke again, "Sayings that are meant to comfort a person in times like these," he snorted bemusedly at that and bitterly repeated, "Times like these. When the hell has there ever been a time like this?" He shook his head, was quiet a couple minutes and then suddenly sat up, leaned back in his chair and asked, "Tell me something, Jimmy…where did you go to school?"
Jimmy blinked, shrugged. He never talked about himself, about his past before joining the 2nd Mass, it had for the longest time been his single rule for getting through the war and Weaver never questioned, not taking special interest in his fighters was in a way the old man's own rule for getting through the war. Jimmy knew mentioning his father moments before had been a break in his rule; he just didn't anticipate that it might cause Weaver to break his own.
"Um…Saint Vincent's," Jimmy mumbled answer. Weaver furrowed his brow, nodded his head.
"That's in…uh…in Cambridge, right?"
Jimmy made a small noise in his throat as confirmation.
"It was private," Weaver noted.
Jimmy remained silent.
"That's a good school," Weaver mused and then questioned, "How'd you do there? How were your grades?"
"Okay, I guess," Jimmy answered. It was a lie, he barely passed his classes, but he wasn't certain about the line of questioning, it was disconcerting to say the least. It was hard enough sharing this information with Ben, considering everything else of himself he'd shared with Ben.
"Did you like it there?" Weaver wondered.
"It was school," Jimmy returned plainly.
Weaver laughed, a stilted noise that sounded harsh and dry from too much whiskey-drinking, "Yeah, I guess it was. You had a lot of friends, I suppose?"
"Enough," Jimmy answered quietly.
"Did you play any sports…maybe a member of any clubs?" Weaver questioned.
"I played baseball for a while…but I quit the semester before the invasion," Jimmy replied, and then carefully asked, "Why are you asking me all of this?"
"I don't know," Weaver honestly answered, he leaned forward and wrinkled his brow, explaining, "I'm just…trying to remember."
"Remember…what, sir?"
"The world," Weaver said vaguely, and Jimmy shifted to glance curiously up at the older man, "Where we came from, who we were…aliens dropped on our heads and suddenly…none of it mattered anymore. It does matter, though, doesn't it?"
"I hope not," Jimmy replied haggardly, dropping his gaze to the ground again. There were too many things in his past he regretted that he could never repent for, and too many things about the boy he'd been that he was too ashamed of that it would devastate him to think that he couldn't escape that person.
"You…and the other young fighters in this camp…" Weaver trailed off, smirking solemnly and shaking his head, "We take for granted how cruel this world has truly become, when a young boy has to end the life of another human to spare himself and his friends and a man like me has to tell that young boy that he did the right thing…even though…even though…no one really knows what the right thing is, alien invasion or no, and you're a smart kid, you know that. I'm standing here looking at you, trying to think of something to say that'll take that blood off your hands, but all I can think is, why would I tell you what you did was right when we both know that's bullshit? Right. Wrong. It wasn't so cut and dry before the world ended. Hell, in the goddamned apocalypse, does it even matter anymore?"
"Isn't it supposed to matter, sir…?" Jimmy murmured, "Caring about others…about life…that's what makes us human…right?"
Weaver ran a hand over his face and smiled wryly up at Jimmy, "What do you think?"
Jimmy shrugged, fidgeting with the sleeves of his shirt. He knew what he thought about the subject but he wasn't sure how he was supposed to respond. He almost felt as though Weaver was testing him and given the circumstances, it was certainly a possibility that Weaver was trying to gauge Jimmy's mental state, wanting to determine if Jimmy was fit to fight, or trying to discern if Jimmy was a psychopathic killer. Regardless the reason, Jimmy wasn't certain what answer Weaver would approve.
"I think…" Jimmy stammered, closing his eyes and thinking back to that moment, gun in his hand, leveled on that man, a threat only because he was a stranger, "I think…if that's what makes us human, not many people would qualify."
Weaver snorted softly, leaned back in his chair, and smiled somewhat at Jimmy. Jimmy vaguely returned the expression, and then lowered his face again.
"Is there anything I can tell you to ease the guilt?" Weaver questioned earnestly.
Jimmy shook his head and Weaver nodded.
"Then let's discuss the mission," Weaver decided, clearing his throat and asking, "How did they look out there, our four contenders?"
"Okay, I guess," Jimmy answered. He took a deep breath, straightened, and met Weaver's eye, feeling far more comfortable with the conversation shifting towards less personal matters, "Kelsey worries me. She's…complicated."
Jimmy frowned, picturing the bucktoothed girl and recalling their conversation in the truck. He wasn't certain if she was really so weak or if she was only pretending. She'd been unconscious when he'd reached the girls, the man he'd killed standing over her with his gun at ready, so Jimmy couldn't exactly pass accurate judgment on how well she'd handled herself in the thick of things.
"Gia…pushed to the wall will fight back, but she lost her head out there. She let her emotions get to her and..."
Gia had taken one of the men down before Jimmy arrived with a swift kick in the groin it seemed, from the way he'd been clutching himself and howling bloody murder, but she hadn't been willing to finish that first man off and was on the run from another of the men.
"Douglas is calm under pressure but…I don't think he knows his place in battle. He's not a very good shot, so he won't use the gun, but he's not likely to go hand-to-hand with an enemy either."
Douglas reached the girls about the same time as Jimmy, rushing to Gia's rescue though rather clumsily. Between the two of them, they managed to wrestle the man to the ground and knock him out with the butt of a rifle.
"Roman…" Jimmy faltered, heart squeezing in his chest.
When the men on the north end of the grocery store had opened fire, Roman had grabbed hold of Jimmy, dragging them both down and pinning Jimmy to the ground under his bulky mass for several fluttering heartbeats before Jimmy had gathered his wits enough and stammered instruction to crawl behind the cheese shelves.
"Roman…handled himself well," Jimmy admitted, carefully saying, "He reacted quickly when things got hot. I think…"
Jimmy closed his eyes and drew his breath in then let it out slow and steady, an attempt at alleviating a sudden swelling pressure in his chest.
"I think he and Ben could work well together," he quietly confessed then amended, "That is…if they could ever learn to work together."
"What do you mean by that?" Weaver wondered.
"They don't really like each other, sir," Jimmy explained.
"Ben indicated something along those lines when I spoke to him the other day about this assignment," Weaver said, folding his arms over his chest and severely wrinkling his brow, "Why is that?"
"I don't know," Jimmy lied. Roman's words from their impromptu stop just outside of camp rang loud and clear in his ears: You want to know what I think…
"You're sure Ben hasn't mentioned anything? Given any kind of reason whatsoever?" Weaver pressed.
"No," Jimmy said, ducking his head to hide the color that warmed his cheeks as he flashed back to the bookstore, his back pressed firm against the wall of books, Ben hot and heavy against him: I don't like the way he looks at you…
"I see," Weaver sighed, standing and stalking away a few paces, "I want you and the others to take tomorrow off, rest and collect yourselves. Then I think I'm going to have you finish those four kids' training."
"Sir?" Jimmy murmured, confused. He felt certain he'd failed utterly. A simple practice op had gone from bad to worse under his command, and he'd nearly gotten his four rookies killed. He'd be surprised if they weren't too traumatized to want to continue training as fighters.
"That's only if you feel up to it," Weaver gently remarked.
"I…" Jimmy caught himself, his thoughts jumbling in his mind.
He wasn't sure where Ben stood anymore on the subject of his training the other unharnessed children. It occurred to him he could ask for time to think about it until he'd spoken to Ben.
Jimmy gave a short nod and whispered, "I'll finish it."
"Alright, good," Weaver stated, "Now, you can stay in here awhile if you'd like, clear your head. I feel compelled to recommend you visit Dr. Glass, she's pretty good with the talking."
"Yeah, she is," Jimmy conceded.
"And you can always talk to me, if you need it, you know that?" Weaver concluded.
"Yeah, I know, sir. Thank you, sir," Jimmy mumbled.
"Good," Weaver sighed. He came to stand in front of the seated younger boy, put his hand on Jimmy's shoulder, and stared at him for what seemed a long time, before finally saying in a quiet, weary voice, "You did good out there."
"It doesn't feel like it," Jimmy confessed.
"I wish I could tell you it will one day but…" Weaver shrugged, pacing away and halting near a window. He gazed out in the cold night, distantly remarking, "You never stop questioning if there could've been another way."
"Sir?" Jimmy started uncertainly, worrying his inner cheek and folding and unfolding his hands as he spoke, "You were in…in a war, right? I mean…before."
"I was," Weaver confirmed, "I served during the Gulf War."
"Did you ever…" Jimmy closed his eyes and forced the words out of his throat, "Did you ever kill anyone?"
"I don't know," Weaver admitted easily, though his features were harshly etched, "I fired a lot of bullets at a lot of men during that war and it's possible I killed at least one."
"Oh," Jimmy said. He rubbed his eyes as if wiping away tears though his face was dry and asked, "Is it okay if I leave, sir?"
Weaver looked at Jimmy intently before nodding shortly. He watched as Jimmy stood and shakily walked towards the door, and then turned his gaze back out the window. Jimmy stumbled out into the hallway, letting the door fall heavily shut behind him. He halted, suddenly paralyzed under an intense hawk-eyed gaze.
Of all the people in camp Roman was the last Jimmy would have expected to find waiting outside of Weaver's door. Yet there he was, a few paces down the corridor, squatted down and leaned back against the wall. They stayed in a standstill like that a moment, eyes locked on one another. Jimmy was certain Roman could hear his heart thundering erratic in his chest, he knew the older boy could see how flushed his features had become with the growing warmth in his cheeks. Then Roman rose to his feet, his steady gaze never leaving Jimmy, as Jimmy took a few tentative steps forward.
"How are you?" Roman spoke first.
The question caught Jimmy off-guard, he could think of several unscrupulous, justifiably anger-induced reasons for Roman to be there, but concern for Jimmy's well-being never came to mind.
"I'm okay," Jimmy murmured. He paused in the middle of the corridor, Roman moving towards him and closing much of the comfortable distance between them, "How are the girls?"
"Gia will be alright. She's stronger than she acts," Roman answered easily.
"She acts pretty strong," Jimmy pointed out and Roman simply smirked.
"She's shaken up, but Doug will take care of her," Roman continued. He snorted softly and murmured, "He always does."
Jimmy quirked a brow, taken aback by the comment but, as he thought about it, he wasn't exactly surprised, just a little disappointed in himself for being so oblivious. Of course something was going on between those two, the way they hovered around one another, stood shoulder to shoulder, much like Jimmy and Ben often would.
"Kelsey…?" Jimmy prompted.
"She's with Dr. Glass," Roman answered, "Still out cold, there's a bump on her head but the doc doesn't think it's anything too serious."
Jimmy shuddered, closed his eyes and whispered haggardly, "I'm sorry."
"For what?" Roman demanded, pulling his shoulders back and folding his arms over his broad chest.
"I messed up…and I put your friends in danger…" Jimmy mumbled, "You guys put your trust in me…"
"Gia and Doug told me what happened. You saved their lives," Roman interjected, "As far as I'm concerned, our trust wasn't misplaced, though I'm a little concerned about where your trust is at."
"It wasn't Ben's fault," Jimmy protested, voice breaking slightly as cold, cleaving feelings overwhelmed him; "It was mine."
"He didn't follow the plan. The selfish bastard didn't care about anything but his own interests out there…"
"You're wrong," Jimmy cried, "It wasn't because of the plan…we just…we shouldn't have been in that situation in the first place. Ben should have heard those men coming so that we could've left long before they got there…"
"And that's not his fault?" Roman seethed.
"But instead of paying attention we were in the back of that bookstore making out," Jimmy finished, then clamped his mouth shut quickly on the pronouncement, dropping his gaze and flustering, as Roman flinched back and glared down the corridor.
"I'm still not seeing how that's not his fault," Roman grumbled.
"He was distracted by me," Jimmy whispered explanation. He grimaced and his stomach turned over in sickness. He buried his face in his palm, tears stinging at the edge of his eyes, as the image of that man and the bullet plunging into his chest burned searing white across Jimmy's vision, "I'm sorry…I was the lead, I should have stayed focused and I should've kept him focused. I'm really sorry…I messed up."
"Hey, cut that out," Roman hissed, a strange sudden panic in his tone. Jimmy shook his head, furiously brushed away a stray tear.
"I just…" Jimmy stammered, struggling against the half-sob caught in his throat, burying his face in his palm as words spilled out unbidden from his mouth, "I killed someone today and…and I don't know…I keep thinking it's not real and I keep thinking…and then I picture it…I don't really feel anything and I should feel something, right? Shouldn't I? And…but…I don't…I don't feel anything…"
Jimmy faltered as a strong, calloused hand suddenly clapped warm and secure around his neck. He peeked around his hand, his heart halting altogether in his chest, the air swiftly exiting his lungs and refusing to draw back in, a strange icy feeling settling through him. His wide, shimmering eyes studied Roman as the older boy gave a gentle squeeze and traced a thumb across Jimmy's jawline.
"How are you going to cry over some shit like him?" Roman demanded, arguing, "He was a bad guy, ganging up on a couple little girls. You did the world a favor taking someone like him out of it."
Another stray tear fell trembling off Jimmy's chin and Roman sighed exasperatedly, against all obvious reason, dragging Jimmy forward, stumbling into his chest and wrapping an arm across the back of Jimmy's shoulders. Jimmy stood rigid against the older boy. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he should pull from the embrace, but there was a foreign and confusing comfort in Roman's gesture and Jimmy just couldn't find the strength to slap it away.
"Come on, stop it. If you keep this up I might start thinking you aren't as tough as they say," Roman murmured.
"I'm not," Jimmy muttered bitterly.
Regaining himself at the comment, Jimmy took a step back, wiping his eyes dry with the keel of his palm. Roman's arm slipped away though his hand remained firm at Jimmy's neck. When satisfied the tears were gone, Jimmy let his hand fall from his face and seized back in surprise, a feeling like jagged barbed wire constricting in his chest.
"Ben," he whispered, breathless.
The other boy stood several feet down the hall, watching Roman and Jimmy's exchange with a dark and unreadable expression, brow perked and mouth quirked in a small, taut frown. Roman turned slightly to glance once at Ben, though he didn't seem too startled by Ben's arrival, he'd probably heard Ben coming long before reaching out for Jimmy and something in that realization soured the prior moment entirely.
"What's going on?" Ben questioned, his words stiff and forced. He strode closer a few steps, paused and asked in a harsh tone, "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"
"No," Jimmy mumbled, brushing Roman's hand away self-consciously, "We were just…"
"Talking," Roman cut in, meeting Ben's even glare with a cool one of his own, "Not that it's any of your business."
Jimmy darted an anxious look from Roman to Ben, stammering quickly, quietly, "We were done, actually."
"Yeah, I was just leaving," Roman confirmed, smirking at Jimmy and speaking in a loud tone obviously meant more for Ben's sake than Jimmy's, "Thank you, brat, for cleaning up your razorback's mess out there. I'm sorry you have to suffer because of him," then without warning he placed a hand on a stunned Jimmy's shoulder, pausing momentarily and leaning in to whisper hot against Jimmy's ear, obviously emphasizing the action over keeping the words discreet, as Ben could hear them regardless, "Remember what I said," and finally breezed by, striding quickly out of sight down the hall and around the corner.
Jimmy fixed his eyes on the ground, his breath hitched in his throat. He was too afraid to look at Ben. He could only imagine the terrible, mutinous thoughts of betrayal roiling around in that other boy's head and he didn't want to see them swirling through Ben's features. Jimmy sorted through his mind for some viable explanation for what Ben had just witnessed but he couldn't think of a single reason as to why Roman held Jimmy so intimately and, more importantly, why Jimmy had let him that would be remotely believable and the gravity of it all just sat in Jimmy's gut piercing right through him to the floor below.
Seconds ticked into minutes ticked into eternity.
"You okay?" Ben finally broke the silence. He sounded distant but not angry.
Jimmy dared a quick glance. Ben had turned his back to Jimmy. He was staring at something faraway down the hall. There was obvious tension in the muscles along his back and shoulders. He held himself straight, his chin tilted down, his hands balled in loose fists at his side.
"Yeah," Jimmy mumbled. His voice was so soft he worried for a moment Ben might not have heard him, but then remembered Ben could hear everything. He felt a tightening in his chest as he thought of his conversation with Roman. He ran a hand across his eyes and fumbled for the words, "He…just…Roman was…here…about the girls…"
"Yeah. Right," Ben muttered.
"It's been a long day, I don't want to argue about it right now," Jimmy stated, tone small and solemn.
Ben turned to glance back at Jimmy.
"You know, I wanted to be here to make sure you were okay, but I guess I wasted my time," Ben remarked bitterly, "Is there anything left for me to say or do, or has he already taken care of anything? Do you even need me here right now or should I just go to my tent?"
"Stop that," Jimmy whispered, haggard, it was starting to hurt just thinking of what to say next, forming the words was torture, "It wasn't like that…I already told you… I can barely stand that guy…"
"Yeah, I saw how much you can't stand him," Ben grit out, "You looked so very miserable when I got here, being held in that bastard's arms."
"That's not how it was," Jimmy shook his head, staggering back a few steps, and feeling at a loss, "I don't know what you want me to say…I mean…it's not like I went looking for him. I came out here and he was waiting for me. What was I supposed to do? And you weren't here…"
"I didn't know I was going to have to race someone to be the one there for you," Ben snapped, "Maybe next time I shouldn't be late."
Jimmy grimaced, that old gray feeling spreading through his chest, cold into his limbs. Ben's features were darkening as his words became more heated, more forceful; his expression twisting into something unfamiliar, something so far removed from the gentle, sweet-natured boy that was Ben.
"Or you know what? Maybe next time I won't even show up at all," Ben seethed, it seared right through Jimmy, "Give you plenty of 'unbearable' time with him. Hell, why wait for next time. I'm done now."
The finality of Ben's words slammed right through Jimmy, sent him reeling, as Ben started away. This wasn't right. This wasn't Ben. Something was wrong. Ben wouldn't do this. Ben wouldn't say these things, not so soon after what had happened at the complex.
"Ben, no, wait, don't say that…" Jimmy cried, hurrying to reach forward and catch hold of Ben. His hand barely brushed Ben's arm when Ben spun suddenly round, furling a fist in Jimmy's collar and slamming him back against the wall. Jimmy gasped in pain, the impact shocked down his shoulders, spine and cracked the back of his head, rattled in his chest and rang in his ears, tears springing unbidden from his eyes, and then he flinched as Ben cocked back an arm. Instinctively, he pressed himself flat and tensed his shoulders, squeezing his eyes tightly closed when Ben's fist crushed plaster and drywall, so close to Jimmy's face he could feel the rush of air brush his cheek.
They stood like that a few seconds, Ben holding Jimmy firmly in place, Jimmy seized in a foreign kind of fear, locked in darkness.
Then Ben breathed out a stunned, "Shit."
He loosened his grip on Jimmy but it took several rapid heartbeats before Jimmy could open his eyes. Ben's expression was tormented, haunted. He kept flicking his eyes at the shattered wall, at his fist still tangled up in Jimmy's shirt collar, at his other hand, the knuckles split and bleeding, looking anywhere and everywhere but Jimmy's face.
"I'm sorry," Ben murmured, finally letting Jimmy go and taking a step back. He ran his hands over his face, rubbing his features loose, "I don't…know…how…I'm so sorry."
Jimmy said nothing, gaping. He pleaded silently with his heart to slow in its fitful race. He couldn't move from the spot where Ben had slammed him so violently, he could feel the wall cracked and tender beneath his back. His legs felt ready to give out under him, his head spinning, it was a struggle to remain standing let alone conscious, black splotches exploding across his vision.
Ben took another step away, staring blankly at the ground, shaking his head every now and then and fighting for air.
"I have to go," he whispered, his voice small and faraway.
"What? Go where?" Jimmy questioned, fear swarming through his daze. This wasn't how this conversation was meant to go. Ben was his support, his security. He wasn't supposed to feel so afraid, so paralyzed with uncertainty, not right then, not ever around this boy that he cared for more than he ever thought it possible to care about another person.
"I just…I have to go," Ben repeated, staggering towards the exit.
"No, Ben, wait, please, please don't leave," Jimmy called out, though it came out little more than a hopeless croak. He attempted to chase after Ben but halfway through the first step his vision spun, nausea and abrupt faintness a serious threat. He had to lean against the wall for support.
"No," Ben insisted, he returned for a split of a second, stumbling a few paces towards Jimmy, his body close enough that Jimmy could feel his heat, smell his familiar, soothing scent, and suddenly Jimmy knew he couldn't let Ben walk away, that if he did, he might lose Ben forever.
"Please don't leave me," Jimmy quietly begged, hand reaching out to weakly grab hold of Ben's shirt. He needed Ben. Everything he thought he knew about himself, and about Ben were starting to crumble around him and he needed Ben more than anything in that moment to help him sort it all out and put it back together again.
"Just…just stay away from me right now," Ben hissed, a note of threat underlining his tone, then he turned and strode swiftly away, ignoring Jimmy's distressed pleas at his back not to go.
Eventually, after Ben was long gone, Jimmy collapsed to the ground and buried his face in his knees, giving in to the darkness swirling across his eyes.
.
.
.
A/N: OH NO!
I hope Weaver and Jimmy's dialogue came off alright, I can't imagine anyone knowing exactly what to say in a situation like that, and I don't see Weaver being the type to throw out bullshit words of encouragement. Personally, I think Weaver did kill some men during the Gulf War and knows it, he just doesn't want to admit it, it would explain his alcoholism and strained relations with his family.
Righty-o, let me know what you think please!
Reviewers: WhisperMaw, you know, I can't be too down on the low reviews when you find the time to drop in! Wow, it seems you were angry at everyone except Jimmy (finally!) last chapter. Yeah, Ben was a very angsty little boy, and he had plenty of reason to be...and, wow, you were feeling feisty last chapter, wanting to punch everyone. I hope Jimmy and Weaver's convo came out good. Yup, dog, you know I always think of you when I drop in Easter eggs about Jimmy and a dog. Which kind of sounds like I'm lying, but I promise, I'm being sincere. SassySavanna190, ah...two AM reading...I been there, but what are you talking about? The review was awesome as always. Yes, Ben's emotions are starting to overwhelm him, I think it culminates in this chapter, where he realizes things are getting really bad. And I promise, there's a reason for it, and it won't be what anyone is expecting, I think. It's funny you should say that about the rumor-spreading 2nd Mass-ers fighting their own damn war, and you'll see why in several chapters. You're really picking out the character's emotions, I love that. And yes, of course, Ben and Jimmy are going to defend eachother to Weaver. They always do. JDMlvr1, I was a little worried when I didn't see your review for a while. Yes, creepy is exactly what I was going for...maybe. The "visions" are going to start getting perpetually stranger, I hope people are still intrigued about what's going on with those, because I assure you, it's not what you think. I'm glad to hear the other story you were reading was amazing, I hate investing my time in reading a story, only for it to turn out terrible in the end. My meeting went alright, I think...I'm not entirely sure how it went. I think I'm interning in the zooarch lab, but I guess I'll just have to wait and see if I get an email about it soon.
Okie...I have to get ready for work, clean the kitchen, eat breakfast, and get a few lines typed up on Chapter 42 of Fire Light...I know, I know, I'm grievously behind on writing the story. Right? It's about five chapters away from 200,000 words right now, though...that's a lot of writing, and in between I've been working on another Falling Skies fanfic, one I mentioned a while back, it's on chapter five right now...it's a dark future fic, take a very different tone from First Patrol and Fire Light, will involve far more characters from the show, and his heavy laden with political ideology...caters more to my own genre interests. I hope people read it when I post it after Fire Light...and then I'm thinking there might be a third part to Fire Light, but that'll depend on how people feel near the end of the story and how I feel towards the end of the story, but if there is a third part, then Fire Light will end on a cliff hanger, so prepare yourselves.
That's all folks! See you all on...Sunday? Sunday, Sunday...better than Monday...
