Fire Running Through My Veins

Vivien rolled the ball across the floor to Thalia, the toddler booting the ball back, crowing with delight, clapping her chubby hands together with glee. It was early morning, Vivien back on childcare detail, stationed in the gym hall this time, helping the other women with the younger children, Vivien as isolated as ever. Nearby, science class was being taught, a middle-aged woman with a crop of iron curls and pince-nez glasses dangling around her neck holding court, pointing at an annotated chalked diagram entitled 'The Cell' with a ruler, tapping the blackboard every two seconds to emphasise a point, the sound drilling into Vivien's skull.

Amongst the small crowd of children surrounding the blackboard, was a moody looking Matt, his lower lip jutting out, brow furrowed. Vivien glanced at him from time to time, concerned, sensing the tension emanating from him. She didn't think it was the science lesson that was making him frown, but something more serious, his body language negative, all hunched shoulders and narrowed eyes, arms folded across his chest.

Ever since her outburst at the clinic, she had kept her distance from Matt, Vivien suspecting that Tom had told his son to stay away from her in turn. And so she'd continued to carefully keep her distance, avoiding Hal as well, an arrangement that suited both parties. Yet she'd become peculiarly fond of Matt in the brief time she'd known him, amused by his little oddities and the streak of mischief that ran through his nature. He didn't look anything like Tom, his face cherubic, his golden brown curls equally angelic, but he had Tom's brown eyes and something of his serious manner when speaking, sending a strange pang through Vivien, remembering her own lost children.

"Am I boring you, Mr. Mason?" the teacher said sarcastically, making Matt glance up, lowering his arms to his sides.

"Yeah, you are," Matt said sulkily, his response making Vivien roll her eyes, picking up Thalia as she got to her feet.

"I think you need some time-out, Matt," the teacher said, not wasting time on admonishing him anymore, "go and sit on the bleachers. I'll speak to you after class."."

Without a word, Matt got up and stalked over to the bleachers, ignoring the hushed giggles and mutters that followed in his wake. The teacher told everyone to be quiet, her order hastily obeyed, the children falling into studious silence. As the teacher droned on, Vivien hesitated before making her way over to Matt, only to almost walk smackbang into Tom, Vivien taking a swift step back, balancing Thalia higher on her hip as she regained her balance.

"Sorry," Tom apologized, swapping his book and breakfast bar to his other hand, anxious to conceal the former from Vivien's sight, "you're the third person I've nearly knocked down in five minutes."

Vivien studied his exhausted face, slightly startled at his civility, only for her surprise to be replaced by struggle, reluctantly wanting to reach up and cup his bearded cheek with her hand, to smooth away his tiredness with her touch. "I like to live dangerously," she said smartly, "keeps my existence exciting. Playing with matches is my favourite past-time."

"I wouldn't recommend playing with matches as a past-time," Tom said, raising his eyebrows, "metaphorically speaking of course."

"I don't mind getting my fingers burned," Vivien said carelessly, edging closer to Tom, making him take a step back. "My unearthliness isn't infectious," she said, rolling her eyes again, "you're not going to lose your humanity by breathing in the same air as me."

"I said I don't give a damn about your alien origins," Tom said through gritted teeth, "I just don't like your insidious sidling."

"Sidling doesn't automatically equal seduction," Vivien said, edging even closer, reaching out and turning his book over, confirming her suspicions. "I see you've changed your tune," she said, indigo eyes mockingly exultant, "but I shouldn't be surprised, should I?"

"Why shouldn't you be?"

"The desire for knowledge is your weakness," Vivien said, "your Waterloo – metaphorically speaking of course."

Tom looked away, fighting himself, his weakness standing right in front of him. He'd paced the floor for hours last night, replaying his interview with Vivien over and over in his head, half regretting his reaction, half grateful for not giving way. She knew full well what she was doing, playing games with his head, Vivien all too aware he was looking at her when he shouldn't have been.

"How now, Lia-Lia," Vivien reprimanded Thalia, the toddler's lower lip trembling threateningly at not being the centre of attention, "you don't want me to bring out the tickle-tickle, do you?" She tickled Thalia's tummy gently, making the little girl crow with laughter instead, the temper tantrum avoided, the sound making Tom turn around, amused against his will.

"The tickle-tickle?" Tom said sceptically, giving Thalia his finger to hold, reluctantly caught by the tender smile tugging at the corners of Vivien's lips, the expression altering her appearance entirely, softening her face.

"She bites by the way," Vivien said, making Tom immediately tear his finger away, Thalia lunging at him, making Tom take a panicked step back. "Still scared, then?" Vivien then asked, referencing Tom's earlier admission of being afraid of having daughters.

"I don't know who's more terrifying," Tom said sarcastically, recovering himself, "you or her."

"Oh, it's me, hands down," Vivien said, snapping her teeth, making Tom flinch. "Want me to cure you? They say the best way to fight your fear is by confronting it."

"I confront you on a daily basis," Tom snapped, "and it doesn't seem to be working any wonders for me."

"Maybe you need to approach me from a different angle," Vivien said provocatively, "gird your loins and make that move."

"Maybe I need to move away."

"You shouldn't run from your fears, Tom," Vivien said flippantly, "you should face them."

"So you keep saying," Tom said impatiently, "but if you don't mind, I have to attend to other matters" -

- "You really hate me, don't you?" Vivien said suddenly, her voice cracking, startling him. "You can hardly bloody stand being near me" -

- "Of course I don't hate you," Tom snapped, feeling like he was going round in circles, "I'm just sick of your stupid games. If you acted even the slightest bit civil instead of unleashing your cheap impersonation of Aphrodite on me every two minutes, everything would be much easier. As it is, every second sentence that comes out of your mouth is an innuendo aimed in my direction, and it's annoying, Vivien, really annoying."

"You enjoy it really" -

- "That's exactly what I'm talking about," he hissed, looming over her, "but I suggest you search for fresh material. Your little joke is running thin."

"It's not my fault you don't have a sense of humour" -

- "Is this conversation going anywhere, Vivien?" Tom cut across her. "Or shall we end it here for both our sakes?"

"Maybe you need to speak to Matt," Vivien said sulkily, glancing over at Matt who was watching them, his brow furrowing further, "something's bothering him."

"Oh," Tom said, glancing over at Matt, wrongfooted at seeing his son sitting separately from the others. "I'll go and speak to him, then."

As he made his way over to the bleachers, Vivien followed him, Tom shooting her a warning glance over his shoulder at her, one which she ignored. Exhaling sharply, he sat down next to his son, Vivien standing next to him, shifting Thalia higher on her hip, the toddler chewing on a chubby fist; Tom involuntarily taking Vivien in from head to toe, bitter want making him forget himself for a moment, only for his eye to catch Vivien's knowing one, making him colour hotly.

"Hey buddy," Tom said as he hurriedly turned to Matt, "what's with the long face?"

Matt just scowled, hunching his shoulders further.

Tom bowed his head, knowing he wasn't exactly winning father of the year awards. No matter how much he tried, he knew too well he was never around enough for Matt, that damage was slowly but surely being done with his increasing absences. He checked in with Matt as much as possible, but again, it was always in passing. Now his son seemed to be starting to shut him out, the thought striking sudden fear through Tom's heart.

"You weren't here this morning," Matt said suddenly, straightening up. "You said you would be."

Tom buried his bearded face in his hand, remembering pacing the floor over Vivien, and then the broken sleep that had followed, only to be woken up at four in the morning by Anthony, the group heading out on a supply run, Tom only returning now. "I'm back now," he said tiredly, lowering his hand, "happy?"

"You were going to have breakfast without me," Matt snapped, gesturing at the book and breakfast bar in Tom's hand, "when you said" -

- "I know what I said," Tom cut across him, "and I'll make it up to you, I promise."

Matt looked at him, eyes narrowing again. "Monopoly marathon," he said abruptly.

"Fine," Tom quickly agreed, "whatever you want."

"Yo, Master Mason," Vivien drawled, making Matt glance sharply at her, "I hope you're including me in this Monopoly marathon."

"My name's Matt," Matt snapped, "Matthew to you."

"Well, Matthew," Vivien said, placing her foot on the bottom bleacher, "what's with the long face?"

Matt instantly shrunk into himself.

"C'mon, we can take it," Tom pretended to wheedle, gently nudging Matt in the side, unconsciously including Vivien.

Matt's shoulders were now hunched up to his ears. "One of the other kids said when you take the harness things off, you die," he mumbled, forcing Tom to lean forwards to hear his words.

"You think that's going to happen to Ben?" Tom said astutely, instantly catching Matt's meaning.

Matt nodded, scrunching up his eyes, fighting the tears.

Vivien watched as Tom drew Matt to him, the little boy rigid before suddenly burying his face in his father's shoulder. Biting her lip, she carefully made her way up the bleachers, before sitting down beside Matt, shifting Thalia to her lap. "Hey," she said, making Matt glance up, furiously rubbing his eyes with the inside of his wrist, "your dad's going to find your brother. And when he does, the Doctor's going to take that harness off, easy-peasy, no problemo."

"Vivien" -

"Tom, just trust me for once, alright?" Vivien snapped, making Matt glance between her and his suddenly furious father. "But most importantly, trust the Doctor, he knows what he's doing."

"What, he can help Ben?" Matt said suspiciously. "Dad," he said, turning to Tom, "can the Doctor do that?"

"He can," Vivien said firmly, before Tom could frame an angry negative, "and he will, I promise."

"What is it?" Tom said abruptly as he all but slammed the door behind him, making Weaver glance up from the map he'd been studying, brow furrowing beneath the brim of his skip hat.

"What's with the sour grapes, Mason?" Weaver demanded, rising to his feet. "You look like the world's come to an end."

"It has," Tom pointed out tersely.

"So it has," Weaver said, feigning shock, "thanks for reminding me. I'd forgotten all about that."

Tom just looked at him, feeling a vein starting to tic in his temple.

"I summoned you here because it's high time for your review," Weaver then said, clapping his hands together with uncharacteristic levity, "to go over your strengths and weaknesses."

"Does Danner have anything to do with this little tête-à-tête by any chance?" Tom said through gritted teeth.

"No, he doesn't," Weaver said, brow furrowing further, "and why would he?"

"He doesn't seem to think I can hack it as second-in-command," Tom said with a bitter laugh, "that he'd be better at the job than me."

"I don't really give a damn what Danner thinks," Weaver snapped, "I only follow Colonel Porter's orders, not some jumped up jock's. Danner makes a good soldier but a piss poor leader. There's a chain of command for a reason, and Danner is precisely that reason. He would lose this damn war if he was in charge."

Tom stared at Weaver in surprise, taken aback at the venom in his voice, having always taken Danner to be Weaver's star soldier.

"I admit, I didn't think you could cut it either," Weaver reluctantly admitted, holding up his hands as he paced the floor, "but... but you're not doing too bad. You could do better though."

"Thank God," Tom said, exhaling sharply, "I thought for a minute the Skitters had replaced the real Weaver with a puppet king."

"Hey, I give praise where praise is due," Weaver snapped, "you haven't screwed up too much, so that's a plus in my book. You handled the whole Doctor/Vivien shit-storm better than I did for starters. It was you who got the civilians to stand down and it was you that got that beatnik and his piece of alien ass pulling their weight around here. Now look at them, they could almost pass for humans."

"Vivien is human," Tom snapped back, "she can't be blamed for what she's become; what was inflicted upon her by others."

"Then why is she all over the beatnik?" Weaver accused. "He's an alien, isn't he? It was aliens who so called inflicted their shit on her!"

"Vivien said the Doctor can help us win the war," Tom choked out, startling Weaver, "that if we just gave him the chance" -

- "What, do you think we should?" Weaver said, suddenly suspicious, remembering the occasions the Doctor had held court, all but taking over.

"No, I don't," Tom said, his voice cracking again, "but desperate times call for desperate measures. Vivien said this morning that the Doctor can safely remove Ben's harness once we find him. She promised he can save my son" -

- "If you want to let him loose on your son, that's your choice," Weaver cut across Tom, shocking him into silence, "but I'm in charge of the 2nd Massachusetts and we're going to win this war, humans, Mason, not aliens. Porter wants intel but Porter's not here so any intel the Doctor feels fit to impart is going to fall on deaf ears. Do you understand my angle?"

Tom nodded, swallowing hard, feeling like he was being torn in two. Part of him recoiled from trusting the Doctor, an alien, but the other side of him, battle-hardened and bitter, remembered the old adage the enemy of my enemy is my friend. But he was yet to be that man he was slowly but surely becoming, the warrior, the general, and so Tom stayed silent, biding his time.

"How are you handling this second-in-command shtick anyways?" Weaver said abruptly, studying Tom, his grey eyes narrowing.

"I'm just finding my feet that's all," Tom said, shaking his head, "it's not that much different from being a history professor, juggling everything at once. The only difference is I'm not grading papers."

"I think Uncle Scott would like you to lend a hand in that direction," Weaver said dryly, "him and the other teachers – they don't have your depth of expertise."

"Well, they're going to just have to whistle," Tom said tiredly, "I've got enough on my plate as it is."

There was a long silence before Weaver spoke again. "You know, we can't stay in this school forever," he said quietly, holding Tom's gaze, "the food will run out, there'll be no more places to scavenge and we'll have to hit the road again."

"I think I figured that out on my own," Tom said coldly, "it was never my intention to stay in Acton when Ben wasn't here. Going to ground is not going to find my son" -

- "I understand that, but our first priority is to obey orders," Weaver said, his jaw tightening, "but with Porter's continuing radio silence..." He ran his hand down his face. "My hands are tied, Tom," he said, shaking his head, "as long as we can hold the fort here, we stay. But when we can no longer stand our ground, we have to leave, orders or not." The words were wrenched from his lips, going against everything he believed in, all he'd lived his life by.

Tom forced himself to nod, caught between duty and desire, to lead and leave, sacrificing so many for the sake of his son.

Before either man could say anything else, there was a sharp rap on the door, Weaver exchanging an irritated glance with Tom before shouting for those outside to step through. The door opened, only to reveal Pope flanked by two female fighters. Surprisingly, Uncle Scott trailed behind them, looking extremely uncomfortable, his wife and Maggie on either side of him, eyes angry, arms folded across their chests.

"Mason, we meet again," Pope declared, making Tom turn away, "much to my misfortune."

"What fresh hell is this?" Weaver demanded, aiming his accusation at the first of the fighters, a blonde woman in her forties.

"Ask Uncle Scott," the blonde woman said coldly, refusing to be intimidated, her tanned face impassive.

"Fine, I will," Weaver snapped, before turning to Uncle Scott. "What's the score with Sinbad here?" he said, gesturing impatiently at Pope, who pretended to examine his nails.

"He doesn't like the food I prepare," Uncle Scott said simply, shaking his head.

"Who does, buddy!?" Pope said in disbelief, raising his head from his hands. "You murder the meals, man!"

"I put paprika on chicken, so what" -

- "What are you, Hungarian!?" Pope exclaimed, throwing his hands up into the air. "You have to poach the chicken first before anything, preferably with some chicken-stock, maybe some herbs and spices, just let it absorb everything, and you can grill it or whatever afterwards, because all that moisture and flavour is already packed into it" -

- "Enough with the cookery class," Weaver said, holding up his hand. "What's the point of this debacle?"

"The point is, Ponytail, I am officially certified in the culinary arts," Pope said, enunciating every word, "as in a chef, not a cook. I made Thanksgiving dinner for three cell blocks, which is 170 inmates, so do the math. They no likey, me deadey" –

- "What does that have to do with anything?"

Pope dared to take a step forwards. "You need me," he said quietly, spreading his hands wide, "but more than that, the stomachs of the 2nd Massachusetts need me. Anymore of that pap you've been serving the civilians and whatnot, and you'll have a bonafide riot on your hands."

"Mason?" Weaver fired at Tom, startling him. "What are your thoughts on Uncle Scott's culinary skills?"

Tom hesitated, not wanting to hurt Uncle Scott's feelings, but knowing he was going to. "That he doesn't have any," he said in a rush, wincing as Uncle Scott exhaled sharply, looking shocked, "and so say all the civilians. Unfortunately, Pope has a point."

"Finally, we agree on something at last," Pope said dramatically, rolling his eyes.

Weaver didn't say anything, his face becoming thoughtful as he studied Pope, finally finding a use for him. "We'll give you a trial run," he said abruptly, "Anthony will show you our stores, so you can see what you're up against."

"Are you serious?" Maggie blurted out, lunging forwards, Uncle Scott's wife grabbing her arm, holding her back. "He'll poison us all!"

"He'll be under armed guard at all times" -

- "You need eyes in the back of your head around him" -

- "You were with him for a while," Weaver said, making Maggie pale, Tom frowning at Weaver's turn of phrase, "can he cook like he says he can?"

"When I could stomach eating with a bunch of degenerate psychos, yeah" -

- "That's all I needed to know," Weaver cut across her, "you're dismissed."

Maggie just shook her head, before Uncle Scott's wife led her out of the classroom, winding her arm around Maggie's waist, Uncle Scott trailing at their heels, shooting Tom a hurt look over his shoulder as he went, Tom guiltily dropping his gaze to the ground. "That wasn't necessary," Tom then said, turning to Weaver, "flinging it in her face" -

- "How's Vivien, huh?" Pope interrupted, making both men turn to him this time. "I heard it on the grapevine you're giving it to her real good" - The next thing he knew was Tom's fist in his face, sending him sprawling to the ground, everybody else standing there stunned at this abrupt turn of events, Tom then booting Pope in the stomach, once, twice, making him double up in agony. "You fucking dick!" Pope gasped, rolling onto his side, blood pouring from his nose.

"That is enough!" Weaver yelled, recovering himself, grabbing Tom by the shoulders, trying and failing to drag him back.

"No, it isn't," Tom said through gritted teeth, swiftly pulling out his gun, pointing it at Pope's head. The fighters instantly froze, Weaver backing away, hands raised, something in Tom's eyes stopping him from interfering further. "I know what your brother and that other bastard did to Maggie, what you let them do," he hissed, holding Pope's gaze, "what you were going to let happen to Vivien" -

– "Oh, my baby brother had a taste of that pie," Pope said, spitting out blood, "really sank his teeth into that one" - Tom slammed his boot into Pope's stomach again, cutting off the rest of his sentence.

"Yeah, I heard that," Tom spat, "how he was going to break her in before breaking her nice and slow" -

- "For what it's worth, I stopped Billy from having anything more than a quick feel of our dear Vivien," Pope said with great difficulty, "but then again, maybe I should have just set him on her, what with the bitch being a Skitter slut and all" - Tom's foot connected with his skull, silencing him, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

"Don't tell me he didn't deserve that," Tom said, turning to Weaver, face feral.

"I'm not saying anything," Weaver said, lowering his hands to his sides, the female fighters backing away from Pope, their faces filled with revulsion.

Tom looked at him for a long moment before stowing his gun away. "There's nothing left to say," he said coldly, before leaving the room, slamming the door behind him.

And I feel it running through my veins
And I need that fire just to know that I'm awake
Erased, I missed till the break of day
And I need that fire just to know that I'm awake…