AN: Thanks for the reviews you guys.
And Greg is back! Thanks to Greg for beta-ing.
LIII.
The next day, when word reached Ben that his father was awake and cognitive, Hal was out on scout and Matt had already spent the entire morning in the medic van with Tom and was in desperate need of a break. It seemed appropriate in a way, that Ben face his father alone, as though marching up those van steps like a criminal on his way to sentencing. Dr. Glass gave him an encouraging smile when he entered.
"He's been asking about you," she whispered, leading the way towards the curtain his father rested behind. She ducked in to check that Tom was still awake and to let him know he had a visitor then ushered Ben inside.
"Hey, son," Tom greeted weakly, propping himself up slightly and offering a tired smile.
A tiny smile ghosted across Ben's lips and abruptly vanished. Vaguely, he wondered if Tom was aware who fired the bullet. Though rationally he knew his father looked right at him that day before falling into shock, through the medication, adrenaline rush, and blood loss, it was possible Tom couldn't remember. At the forefront of Ben's mind, he felt at a loss. Briefly, during his most recent intimate encounter with Jimmy, Ben had somewhat imagined that when his father woke up, he wouldn't be alone to face him. He'd sort of thought, hoped maybe that Jimmy would be standing next to him. Possibly holding his hand, a quiet comfort, a reminder of who he was and who he no longer had to be.
Because if there was one thing Ben's father was good at, despite all best intentions, it was making Ben feel like the smallest, most defenseless child. He'd been the sickly son, a bit air-headed at times, off gallivanting in his fantasy worlds. His parents felt they needed to shelter him more than the other two. His entire life they'd been unabashed in constantly reminding him that the things he did now in the 2nd Mass, with the alien genetic alterations to his body, things he always wanted to be able to do, were things he was not and would never be capable of doing.
Dr. Glass looked between the father and son and quietly excused herself, gently touching Ben's shoulder in passing.
"Dad," Ben started apology, his voice quaking with the effort.
"It's okay, son," Tom interrupted; extending a hand which Ben hesitantly took hold of, "I'm okay."
"What did they do to you?" Ben asked.
"Don't worry about that," Tom replied, his words slightly cracking, and Ben furrowed his brow, silently adding: even if it was because of you that they took me, "Matt's gotten tall since I've been gone."
"I guess."
"You're all getting older," Tom murmured, leaning back on the bed again and shaking his head at the ceiling, lamenting, "Growing up in this world."
Ben gave his father's hand a small squeeze, but said nothing. There was an eerie strangeness to Tom, as though the aliens had taken something from him. He seemed almost resigned in a way.
"I don't want you to blame yourself," Tom declared, sitting up again, and locking eyes with his son, "My decision to go with the aliens…"
"I don't," Ben hastily cut in, setting his jaw, telling himself it wasn't altogether a lie for his father's benefit, "I blame them. When they took me…"
Ben faltered, shook his head, and pulled slightly away from his father, pacing a couple steps, terrible thoughts and dark emotions tumbling through his head. He let himself remember for a moment, a fraction of a second, the turmoil of being snatched by the aliens, held hostage, harnessed. The memories felt so real that he could smell the stale air of the warehouse they'd kept him in, feel the cold ground and rough touch of the Skitter claws, and still feel the agonizing pain of the harness biting in for the first time, attaching itself. He took a deep breath.
"I want to show you something," Ben determined, steadying himself. He turned around, considered what he was doing a moment, and then delicately lifted his t-shirt up over his shoulders to reveal the spikes that lined his back. Those repulsive barbs, forever a part of him, marked for the rest of his life as something less…less human, serving as keepsake of the torment he'd gone through and the horrible things he was forced to do.
"Ben," Tom whispered, clearly uncertain of what to say.
"I hate them," Ben said, "It's how I get through it. I hate them. I think about all of the things they've done…to me…to everyone I care about, and I keep thinking about it, constantly, how much I hate them, and I use that hate to fuel me, to keep fighting."
He dropped his shirt and turned to his father.
"That's what you have to think about," Ben continued, as his father gaped up at him, "What they did to me, and to mom, and to everyone. It'll help, I know, it helps me."
"Oh, no, Ben," Tom murmured, his features dropping a moment, then lighting again, "No, son. Hating them is not the answer. What kept me going out there, what brought me back to you boys; it was love, Ben, my love for you and your brothers. You can't spend your life hating, you can't let that be your motivation, it'll just lead you down a dark path."
Ben fell back a step, feeling as though he'd been slapped in the face for the umpteenth time that week.
Love.
He could feel himself in that moment again, standing in that abandoned insurance company, staring hopeful and anxious into blue eyes the size of saucers, drowning him in their cool depths. The words tumble off his tongue but even before he says them he knows they're falling on deaf ears. What the hell had love ever gotten him? A broken heart? More like a feeling akin to being emotionally eviscerated to the point that he was numb to everything that happened beyond that moment. He could die the most painful death possible a thousand times, and it would never come close to watching Jimmy walking silently away from him. As if he hadn't watched that boy walk away from him enough times to last the rest of his sad, pathetic, lonely life.
"You're wrong," Ben mumbled, stepping away from his father and shaking his head emphatically, "You don't know what you're talking about. Love doesn't help anything."
"Ben," Tom pleaded, but Ben was done. He tore out of the medic van, leaning against its side panel for support, gasping for air. He hadn't realized the tears that sprang to his eyes until he ran a hand across and smeared them. Would it really have been the worst thing? To smile? To kiss him? Hold him at least? Even if he didn't return the emotion, Jimmy could've at least pretended to accept Ben's.
Composed, Ben started away, only for his feet to clamp hard to the ground, locking him securely in place. In the distance he could see Jimmy, leaned against one of the surrounding buildings, smoking a cigarette and watching Ben, his expression gave nothing of his emotions away. They held one another's eyes for several seconds, a powerful ache stretching across Ben's chest and urging him to go to the other boy, but then Ben noticed Jimmy's company, Roman and the other two. He jerked his gaze away and stalked across camp the opposite direction, until he was far outside the perimeter, and burst into a blind sprint. He didn't care where he went or what he met along the way.
Seconds later, gasping for breath, Ben collapsed to the field. His chest felt constricted his lungs like they were filling with water. His vision blurred and panic set in. He couldn't get air. He would black out soon. He was going to die. He barely acknowledged the large, warm hand that plopped down on his shoulder, straightening him upright, or the plastic mouthpiece that brushed insistent to his lip. He shook his head stubbornly, ground his teeth together which only made his attempts for air harder. But he knew he didn't need it anymore, he was fine.
"Take your medicine, Ben," his father whispered in his ear, worry lining his tone.
This wasn't right. His father couldn't be here. Everything was wrong. Felt wrong, looked wrong, smelled wrong, tasted wrong, and sounded wrong. He was in an open field. The sun beat down, almost ninety degrees. Ben was certain it wasn't supposed to be that hot outside. The air smelled of pollen, burning up his sinuses even though he felt it had been ages since his allergies had flared. The air smelled crisp, like fresh cut grass, not of smog or dust, the way a city center should smell. There were sounds of people. Lively, laughing, and chatting loudly. And his father was there. He shouldn't be there.
Yet, Ben couldn't remember where his father was supposed to be or why he felt so out of place. If this wasn't right, then what was?
Bursts of black splotches exploded across Ben's vision. Bitterly, he bit onto the offered inhaler mouth and his father pumped the medication down his throat. It took three pumps and a few minutes before Ben could breathe regularly again, his father gently rubbing circles in the middle of back.
"Take it easy, son. Take it one breath at a time," his father instructed and Ben felt hot tears of frustration and embarrassment spring to his eyes. He swatted them away, but he could still feel them burning in his cheeks and the back of his throat.
All around them broke out a rash of low whispers. A small crowd of people had gathered, watching with interest. Hal and Matt's voices were nearby. Matt was answering a few questions it seemed, trying as best an eight year old talking to a group of adults could to disperse the crowd. Meanwhile, Hal laughed and joked with his friends at his dork little brother spazzing out. They were at the park for a lacrosse practice. Ben had pushed himself too hard.
Again.
As if there was a level he could push himself that wasn't too hard.
"I was just a little out of breath," Ben complained, pushing his father away and stumbling to his feet, nearly tripping over himself as he reeled on the older man, "That was all. I was going to be fine. Why do you always treat me like that? I'm not an invalid!"
"Ben, I think you ought to sit out of the game for a bit," Tom suggested, disregarding the outburst altogether.
The crowd of onlookers, seeing that Ben was fine, broke away and returned to their own play. Nearby, Hal and his friends muffled snickers and Ben darted a look to them. Nate and Cole slapped on abashed expressions, but Hal smirked at Ben.
"I think dad's right," Hal said, "Also, it's probably the best thing you could do for your team. You hand us so many points, you might as well be an honorary member of ours."
"Hal," Tom growled warning. Ben tilted his chin down, hands balling into fists, and he trembled in his anger and mortification as the other boys laughed cruelly.
"What, dad? I'm trying to help you," Hal persisted.
"No, you're trying to get yourself grounded for the weekend," Tom returned sharply, "You're partly to blame for this. You should've been paying better attention to your brother. You didn't notice his asthma was acting up? You know, Hal, if you had stopped caring about yourself and winning this game for five seconds, maybe you would've seen that he was lagging behind everyone because of his condition and not his athletic ability."
Something dark passed over Hal's expression and he shrugged, dropping his eyes and commenting in a lazy tone, "Well, hell, dad, you're the one who said every time you pass to him you might as well just be passing to me and that it's almost sad Matt's always your MVP."
Everyone fell silent. Nate and Cole sought something to look at that was anything but the Mason family. Matt took a few steps back, contemplating the distant playground. He always said he liked the swings better than lacrosse anyhow. Ben felt cold, nausea washing over him. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry or just scream. It wasn't fair.
"Is that what you really think, dad?" he whispered question.
Hal glared at the ground. Tom couldn't look at Ben, and that was all the answer Ben needed. He spun from the group, kicking his fallen lacrosse stick in passing, and hurrying towards their car.
"Ben," Tom called after, his voice a strangled plea, "That is not what I said! Hal, you are grounded, young man, forget about whatever plans you had this weekend."
"That is not fair! Just because he's a little baby that can't handle the truth…"
"Shut it, Hal. Ben, come back here," Tom cried.
Ben reached the car, mad at himself for the steady stream of tears cascading down his cheeks. He tried the door, though he knew it was locked, and then slammed his hand against the handle, collapsing to the ground and burying his face in his knees. It didn't make him feel any better that his eyes were starting to itch and his sinuses were clogging up. His vision was blurred enough without the allergies. A sob escaped his throat, and that was it, he succumbed to his sorrow, shaking with barely containable dismay.
Several tens of minutes passed, and Ben's crying slowly died away. He leaned back against the side of the car, staring blankly across the parking lot. Not too far away, he could see a few boys about his own age smoking cigarettes and trying to appear as though they weren't staring at him, whispering amongst themselves and laughing. Great, he bitterly noted, now everyone at the park knew what a loser he was, they would pass it onto others, and soon the whole world would be aware of what a lame, crybaby Ben Mason was.
The sound of footsteps nearby shook Ben from his depressed musings. He glanced at his approaching father then hastily jerked his head away.
"You okay?" Tom asked.
Ben sniffled, and shrugged. Tom sighed. He knelt down near Ben and tilted his head to one side, peering thoughtfully at the younger boy.
"You did score that point earlier, remember? It was a really good play," Tom started.
"I scored one point. Go me," Ben grumbled, biting sarcasm.
"Well, you know what your mom says. One is better than none, and none is better than not even bothering to try," Tom said.
"Can we go home now?" Ben demanded, turning a heated glare on his father. Tom tipped his head down.
"You know, Ben, you're good at a lot of things that Hal is jealous of, too," he attempted.
"Like what?" Ben scoffed.
"Like school. You're grades are always…"
"Great, dad thanks a lot. Why don't you just pin a sign on my back that says 'World's Biggest Loser'?" Ben groaned.
"You think being smart makes you a loser?" Tom challenged, "Because if that's the case, then I'm a loser too. I graduated high honors in high school, Dean's List every semester in college, graduated Suma cum Laude."
"Oh my God, dad, will you stop? Just stop. You think you can relate to me? You think you're going to pull out your list of accomplishments and somehow we'll connect over that? You're never going to understand how I feel. You don't know what it's like to be me and you never will. You were captain of your lacrosse team in high school. You were Homecoming King, for crying out loud," Ben snapped, "I'm captain of the chess club. I probably won't ever go to homecoming, if I'm lucky I'll get to be dungeon master the night of the big dance."
"Ben…"
"Will you just admit that I'm your worst embarrassment and take me home?"
"No," Tom said, "Because that is not true. I am very proud of all of my sons, you are each special in your own ways…"
Ben rubbed his hands over his face, grinding his teeth and fighting the urge to shout or lash out violently. He pushed his emotions down as far inside of himself as they could squeeze, took a deep breath, smoothed out his features and forced a half-smile.
"Okay, dad," he grit out lie, "Okay. You're right. I know you're proud of me. I was just a little upset and my allergies are acting up. Can we go home now? Please? I'm tired and I want to take a shower."
Tom considered Ben for a few seconds, and Ben squirmed somewhat under the scrutinizing stare.
"I know you don't believe me, son, but I want you to listen anyway. In ten years, twenty, it won't matter who could run the longest distance, or who scored the most points, but it will always matter who knew the most answers and got the best grades. Maybe right now it means something to impress your peers demonstrating physical prowess, and it's not so cool to know big words, read a lot of books, but in the long run, it means so much more to be smart," Tom said, patting Ben's shoulder and grunting in a strained effort as he lifted himself to his feet, "I'll go get your brothers, let them know we're leaving."
Ben turned his head, listened to his father's retreat as he swatted away fresh tears strolling carelessly down his cheeks. He'd heard the same lecture enough times, that the meek would inherit the earth, from enough people to know that it was a rose-colored glasses kind of pep-talk that discarded reality. People weren't sorted into these perfect categories of nerds, jocks, geeks, and stoners, whatever. You were either a winner or a loser. Tom was a winner. Hal was a winner. And Ben was a loser.
At the crunch of approaching footsteps, the sound of his brothers' and father's voices, Ben climbed to his feet and wearily scanned the scenery, trying to look nonchalant, and uninterested in his family. His eyes swept across the boys smoking in the distance and his heart caught at a glimpse of blue. Without thought, he started forward, his feet carrying him towards that strangely familiar boy of their own accord.
"Ben, where are you going? I thought you wanted to leave," Tom called after, but he was fading into the distant background.
The boy disappeared into the public restroom, and Ben hurried after, not even realizing he'd started running until he burst through the bathroom door and fell head first into a sea of white, crashing into the young blonde woman. They tumbled to the ground and Ben flustered, looking down at her beneath him. He scrambled back and she sat up, smiling at him in a cool and unconcerned way.
"Where…?"
Ben bit his tongue. That question never got him anywhere.
"That boy, I know he was here, where did he go?"
"There's no one here but us, Ben," the girl replied coyly.
Ben growled low in frustration, "You did something to him, didn't you?"
"No."
"You're lying," Ben roared, "Where is he? I have to find him!"
"Why?" the girl wondered.
"I don't know," Ben whimpered, "I just know that…I do."
"You need to stop fighting, Ben," the girl replied, taking Ben's hand in her own. He stared blankly at their twined fingers, "You need to realize that maybe you can't find him, because you aren't supposed to find him. Give up, Ben. Give up. Give in. You can't save him. You can't save any of them. This is where you belong."
Ben ripped his hand away, stepping back from the girl, horror written in his features. A searing pain cut across his vision, a shrill ringing erupted in his ears, just barely muffling the sound of nearby screams, a noise like a child crying. Ben clutched his head in his palms, squeezed his eyes tightly closed.
"No," he cried, and lunged as though to attack the girl, stumbling into the side of a crumbling office building overrun with creeper vines, debris and shrapnel clinging in its leaves. He clutched the wall, stone dust grinding into his sweaty palms, and blinked away the final remnants of his reverie. He couldn't recall what he'd seen or where he'd been. He stood in line for the mess tent at camp. A few people nearby eyed him strangely. He wasn't sure how he'd gotten there; last he could recall he'd left camp for a run and possibly a hunt. He hurried from the line, rubbing at his face.
You're not the hero…he wasn't trying to be.
This is the future…he didn't know what his future was anymore.
You can't save him…but there was nothing could stop him from trying.
.
.
.
AN: Didn't like this chapter, personally, really didn't like the scene in the show either, but please, let me know what you guys all think!
Reviewers: Maben00, ah, yeah, a lot of sighs in this story. But if they're together and happy, then there's no story to tell, right? I'm glad to hear you liked it, though you didn't know what to say! Maybe you'll have things to say about this chapter? Not that I mind either way, so long as I hear from you, I'm happy! TyphoonBoom08, yeah, I get the impression a lot of people were flabbergasted that Tom and Hal were so anti-Matt-learning-to-shoot. Personally, I'm still baffled how there were adults in the camp that didn't know how to shoot. Another rant for another day, though. Aw, I guess I write tragic tales...hm...there might be a happy ending at some point. Maybe. I don't know. Dee, awwww, I hate when computer glitches make me lose my reviews. I'm glad you didn't lose yours, it's immensely impressive. I really liked your insight on Ben, that a huge part of what's happening to him is probably just normal teenager hormones. Normal teenager hormones on alien overdrive, maybe, but still just teen hormones. Very good catch with Jimmy. He can't let himself want the happy ending, that would be the most depressing thing he could do, because in his heart and mind, he doesn't believe he deserves it. I never understood a lot of Hal's character in the show. I'm trying not to turn him into too much of a jerk, but it just comes naturally to him. Oi, I'm biased. Honestly, a (possibly subconscious) part of Hal may be slightly struggling with the relationship between Ben and Jimmy. He's got contrasting views in his head. I want to go on a philosophical/psychoanalytical rant right now, but I'm fighting the urge. His dismissal of the book, though, might've had more to do with it being a sex book and in the western world we're taught that sex is disgusting and material on it is "garbage". Anyhow, while privately we know Hal has a stash of naughty porn in his duffel bag, publicly he's got to reject this smutty book as garbage. Maybe, I don't know. And yes, I won't say too much, but I did land Jimmy with that sex book for a reason. Facepalmer, that's what needs to happen? Hm...I think I've got a great deal more heartache in mind. Maybe. Still around a see. Fluff is coming up fairly soon though, so stick around. Er...well, one update a week makes it less soon than it is for me, but...eh, you know what I mean. Right? Right.
Later people. See you...uh...Sunday.
