So George was back home, safe, with his family. And, thanks to the Lockwood family's policies, policies that George himself had encouraged through his participation in the Children of Liberty, Charlie was not. If Charlie was even his real name.
George couldn't seem to get that out of his mind. His best friend's terrified voice, begging him to let go. Charlie escaping out the back door of the bar only because of George's pity and loyalty toward him. He couldn't just see someone that looked so human, flickering lizard eyes or not, and pretend they had nothing in common. Alien or not, Charlie was his friend, and he hoped to god that he was still Charlie's. And that Charlie would get through tonight alive.
But images of his best friend's bleeding, broken body in a sewer, beaten by Children of Liberty and slowly dying, wouldn't leave him. It could happen, so easily. How many other aliens had that happened to? How many wouldn't make it home safe, were sleeping in refugee camps so they wouldn't be taken and subjected to god knows what kind of atrocities? Who would fight for them? How were they so different from his best friend? Didn't they have friends and families and hopes and dreams, too?
His mother smiled warmly, brushing hair out of his face. "I know that crease in your brow. What's bothering you?"
Ben Lockwood would never listen to an alien. But he might listen to his wife and son. Especially if it were two against one.
"Do you...do you ever wonder about...um, like...Dad's policies?" George asked quietly, avoiding her eyes. He wouldn't use Charlie's name - his best friend seemed pretty determined to keep his alien status a secret, particularly from the Lockwood family, and any attempt to apologize or make amends would be completely screwed up by another betrayal. He was honestly kind of amazed that Charlie had even been his friend at all, knowing who his father was. George was no earth traitor, but the last thing he wanted to do was convince an alien that had never done a thing to hurt him that he was just Agent Liberty, junior. He thought about how to phrase this in a way that would protect Charlie but also let his parents know that how they'd been acting was not okay. "Like maybe we're doing this wrong?"
Lydia Lockwood seemed baffled by the question, and for a second a mental image flashed through George's mind of Charlie on a dissection table. "Of course not, George. Your dad is saving this country." She seemed proud and haughty, a fact that made George feel nauseated. "And the raid at the bar didn't go as planned, but you helped smoke those roaches out of their hole and your father is so proud of you."
He avoided her eyes. He loved his dad, but he'd never want him to be proud over something like this.