A/N: Right, here's the long chapter. :) Hopefully, it will tide you over until Sunday...
Thank you to the reviewers, you guys are the only reason I keep writing this thing. And, also, because I'd like to finish it for Ben and Jimmy and then start working on my other fanfic...
Big thanks to Greg for beta-ing around his insanely busy schedule. Forgot to share this link with you guys last chapter, but this is Greg's independent movie project thing facebook page, you guys should all check it out (paste to your browse bar and remove spaces) and hit the "Like" button:
www . facebook . com \ TheRoadLessTraveledIndepende nt
Otherwise, read.
XIII.
It takes several rounds from an AK-47 to drop a Skitter, barring a clean head shot of course, but the 2nd Mass also packs magazine clips that carry thirty, forty, and if you're real lucky, seventy-five rounds a pop. Those get doled out according to which fighters Dai likes the most.
To field strip an AK-47, one must first start by detaching the magazine and clearing the chamber of any rounds. Next, remove the receiver cover, press the button in the back until there's a popping noise and slide that piece off, set it aside. Inside is the recoil spring assembly, remove it by…
Jimmy fumbled with the rifle in his hands, working at pushing the back piece of the rifle in order to clear the tracks so he could pull out the spring coil, but he was having difficulties; his fingers kept slipping, and his arms felt weak, like jelly, he didn't have the strength to do it. He chewed his inner cheek, his heart jackhammering away in his chest, as he cursed mentally and wondered fervently why those four teenagers felt the need to stare so intently at him like that.
Okay, maybe they weren't all staring so intently. Douglas was leaned back in his chair, balancing on two legs, gawking at the ceiling, and Gia was examining her nails. Kelsey couldn't keep her eyes on one thing; they flittered all around the room anxiously. Really, it was just Roman whose eyes were locked on the stuttering, fumbling young boy at the front of the room, but he was certainly enough to make Jimmy want to put the gun quietly down and simply leave.
Finally, the coil flung upward and Jimmy flinched back in surprise, Douglas snorting at the display. Jimmy pulled it out and set it next to the receiver cover on the table top in front of him. He paused to shoot a pointed glare at Douglas a moment before continuing.
"…once you have the coil out," Jimmy mumbled instruction, "You have to get out the bolt carrier…so to do that…"
Jimmy lifted the gun up and looped his fingers round the handle of the bolt carrier, trying to get a proper hold on it and struggling to tug it loose. Douglas slammed his chair onto four legs again and Jimmy startled.
"Why do we need to know this?" Douglas asked his tone lazy. He had his arms folded across his stomach, his mouth hung open, the tip of his tongue pressed behind his top front teeth.
Jimmy crinkled his brow and raised his eyes to meet Douglas's own.
"What?" Jimmy returned blankly, his hand pausing in its feeble attempts to remove the bolt carrier.
"We've been sitting here listening to you for almost an hour," Douglas said haggardly, "You've been talking ad nauseam about the history of this gun, and the different parts of it, and now you're showing us how to take the gun apart and, I was just wondering, why the fuck do we need to know all of this?"
"Dougie," Gia hissed warning and Douglas winced, smirking lopsided at the girl.
"Sorry, Gee," he replied with a shrug, "But this kid is really starting to grate my nerves. I'm still waiting for him to speak a full sentence, he can't complete a thought and every other word is unintelligible or a monosyllabic grunt; I'm seriously starting to think that he isn't capable of big people speak."
"I'm telling you all of this because…because…it's important," Jimmy haughtily explained, "I'm not just going to hand you a gun, man, you have to know these things."
"Why?" Douglas retorted.
Jimmy opened his mouth, and then clacked it closed once more. He fidgeted with the rifle a moment, running a finger over the exposed bolt carrier and fingering the trigger. He tried to remember the reasons Dai gave him when he was learning all about that particular assault rifle, but he had never actually asked the question and Dai rarely offered up information when actually prompted, almost never when not.
"You wasting our time, brat?" Roman inquired sharply.
Jimmy sighed, shook his head. He put the gun down and shoved his hands in to his pockets.
"This is how I'm going to teach," he whispered response, "Maybe it's not what you expected, but if it was what you expected, then you wouldn't need me to teach you, you would already know how to do it."
"If you can't even tell us why we need to know all of this, then how are we supposed to believe you when you say we need to know all of this?" Douglas pointed out, "All I want to know is how to shoot the damn thing – sorry, Gee – and I fail to see the relevance of when and where a gun was manufactured to using it to put a bullet through a target."
"Well…I…" Jimmy trailed off and glared at a scuff mark on the floor, grumbling, "Maybe we should take a break."
"More time wasting?" Roman seethed.
"No, I just…" Jimmy chewed his inner cheek and balled his hands into tight fists, "I need a break is all. We'll meet again in…like…I don't know, ten minutes?"
The four teenagers shuffled from the room grumbling and complaining loudly to one another, and the door fell heavily shut after their departure. Jimmy began putting the pieces back together on the rifle, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slow. Fully assembled, he set the gun down on the table and ran his hands over his face, slumping to the ground and burying his face in his knees. This was a fucking disaster; he had no clue what he was supposed to be doing.
Jimmy took a few more deep breaths to calm his tumultuous mind, and then climbed to his feet once more. He figured he would take a walk; maybe he could find Anthony and ask why it was important to know the history of a gun. He was sure there was a good reason for it, he just couldn't think of one. On his way out of the center, he ran into a different and much better sight for sore eyes.
"Maggie," Jimmy all-but-cried out, fighting the sudden uncharacteristic urge to throw his arms round the young woman and squeeze all the air from her lungs.
Maggie had been gone for the past two days on her assignment with the nine other fighters, searching out a new location for the 2nd Mass. Though Jimmy hadn't really wanted to admit it to himself, and would certainly never say it aloud, he'd missed her a great deal, and seeing her right then shot through him a whole stream of jittery feel-good emotions that he instantly and vehemently pushed away. Instead of hugging her, he put his hands in his pockets and nibbled his gum wall. She smiled, absently reaching out and brushing his hair from his face, causing a shiver to race up his spine. She'd recently started doing things like that – grooming him in a way, her touch almost exactly like his mother's, if not a little warmer, a little more gentle, and while he wanted to believe he hated it, he never said anything to stop her.
"Hi, you. What's up?" Maggie replied. Jimmy sighed, shrugged and she laughed, "Talkative as ever, I see."
"When did you get back from scout?" Jimmy asked.
"Not long ago, maybe…fifteen minutes," Maggie answered, and smirked, "We're just reporting in, stocking up. We plan to head out again in a few hours."
"Oh," Jimmy muttered, slumping a bit and lowering his face. She nudged him with her shoulder and sought out his eyes, smiling broadly.
"Everything okay, soldier? You look like someone killed your dog," Maggie commented.
Jimmy gave her a withered look, then sighed and asked, "Can we talk?"
Maggie drew her brow together, studying the boy in front of her, and nodding unhesitatingly. They found a secluded area in the main gym of the community center to sit down and Jimmy filled Maggie in on the details of his new assignment. She nodded every now and then, but remained silent until he finished his explanations.
"…and I don't get what they want from me! I mean all the stuff I went over is important to know, right?" Jimmy concluded, folding his arms over his chest, "What should I do?"
Maggie blinked a few times, her brow raised slightly, then said, "Let me get this straight, you're teaching them to shoot a rifle. So…you started with the history of the gun…"
"Right."
"Then you went into the anatomy of a gun, including…technical terminology and a…breakdown of mechanics…"
"Yeah…"
"…and wrapped it all up with a field strip demonstration?"
"And they didn't care about any of it," Jimmy raged.
Maggie burst out laughing and Jimmy felt a pang of hurt at the bizarre outburst.
"I'm sorry, Jimmy, but I'm bored just hearing about it," Maggie gasped, "And I didn't have to listen to it for an hour."
"This is stupid; I don't know what I'm doing. Weaver never should've picked me for this assignment, I shouldn't be teaching anyone to be a fighter. I'm just going to tell him he needs to pick someone else," Jimmy griped, bolting to his feet and readying to storm off, but Maggie grabbed hold of him by the forearm.
"No, Jimmy, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, just sit down, okay," Maggie pleaded, gaining control of her mirth. Begrudgingly, Jimmy plopped back down in his seat and glared the opposite direction, unwilling to look at the young woman next to him, "You're a great fighter, and you know your stuff. You know more about the weapons in our inventory than people three times your age and you're one of the best shooters in the 2nd Mass. You are going to do a fantastic job teaching these kids, you just need to try a different approach."
"I don't know how else to do it," Jimmy complained.
Maggie furrowed her brow.
"Really? The only way you know how is to start with Russia?" she demanded, incredulous.
"Well, yeah…" Jimmy rubbed his arm absently and elucidated, "That's how Dai taught me."
"With…Russia?"
Jimmy nodded.
"And then the anatomy of the rifle?"
Jimmy shrugged nonchalant, "Yes. We went over the anatomy of a lot of different gun types. Rifle, shotgun, hand, submachine, machine, Gatling. He went over bullet caliber with me, difference between semi-automatics, automatic, bolt-action, you know all those. But I'm kind of strapped for time, I couldn't exactly go over all of that, I had to simplify."
Maggie gaped at Jimmy, "And, when Dai was droning on about all of that, you weren't bored out of your mind?"
"No," Jimmy murmured, fidgeting with his sleeves, "I thought it was great. We field stripped three different assault rifles and two hand guns and then we went over calculating bullet trajectory based on distance, velocity, wind speed and direction, and air-resistance."
Maggie blinked several times.
"Which you…understood?"
Jimmy winced, meekly responding, "Well…yeah…it's just a differential equation…I could never calculate it in my head, too many variables, it would take a super computer, but…I mean the theory behind it is pretty simple."
"I, honestly, do not know what to say," Maggie whispered. Jimmy felt grayness settle in the pit of his stomach and he scowled, tensing his shoulders, trembling slightly.
"Sorry…I just… it's weird, I know…I should know…it was stupid…"
"You're an amazing kid," Maggie commented. Jimmy faltered, peeking up at her, a blush crossing his cheeks. She gazed at him with a softened expression, endeared.
"Oh," he mouthed.
"No one's ever told you that," Maggie surmised and Jimmy said nothing. She placed a hand on his shoulder, causing him to look up, "Well, it's true. You are an amazing kid. You really want to know why Weaver chose you for this assignment?"
"I already know. It's because of Ben," Jimmy mumbled answer, "I'm the chosen ambassador to the unharnessed kids because in my spare time I make-out with one in storage closets."
"No," Maggie said, then paused, scrunched her features and fought to stifle the laughter struggling to burst out at Jimmy's comment. She shook her head and told the young boy through a toothy grin, "Maybe Ben is a small part of it, but Weaver wouldn't stick someone on an assignment like this if he didn't think they were the right person for the job. He doesn't want piss-poor fighters in his unit; he wants the best he can muster. He chose you because he knows you can train the best fighters. And you can, Jimmy, you just have to figure out how to get through to them."
"I don't know how," Jimmy grumbled, slumping forward with his elbows on his knees and glaring at the floor, "I could barely get them to agree to let me teach them anything in the first place and I've got this really bad feeling that I'm going to go back to that classroom in a couple minutes and none of them are going to come back."
"You just have to put yourself in their shoes for a moment, figure out how they think, try to understand what it is that they want from this mini-boot camp," Maggie suggested.
"That's the thing; I don't get how they think. None of them are anything like what I expected," Jimmy complained.
"What did you expect?" Maggie earnestly wondered. Jimmy shrugged.
"I don't know," he confessed, "I didn't expect them to hate me outright."
"They don't hate you," Maggie assured him and he scowled.
"They do," he insisted.
"They don't even know you," she reasoned.
"Apparently they do," Jimmy cried, "They seem to know more about me than I do about them. They knew my name, my battle history; they seem to know all the right things to say to get under my skin…I seriously think they've been spying on me."
"Well, I guess you have been the center of a lot of recent gossip lately," Maggie commented with a reproving cluck of her tongue, "But what about you is there to hate?"
"A lot of things, I guess," Jimmy muttered, "My young age, my short height, my relationship with just about everyone in the 2nd Mass, including...no, especially, Ben, my face, my scrawniness, the warehouse thing…"
"You saved the 2nd Mass in that warehouse," Maggie interjected, "How could they possibly hate you for that?"
Jimmy flinched and glared up at the young woman through his lashes and loose strands of hair. He didn't save the 2nd Mass; he helped save the 2nd Mass. There was a big difference. Just because he almost died doing it but didn't, and he doesn't have alien spikes, didn't mean he did it single-handedly. There were other fighters out there that day that risked their lives, some that gave their lives, and the fact that everyone wanted to shower Jimmy with all the gratitude for a 'job well done' just because he pushed a fucking button was really starting to piss him off. In a way he kind of thought his four 'pupils' were justified in hating him for the warehouse thing, truth be told, he hated himself for it.
"They find new and inventive ways to hate me every day," Jimmy grumbled.
"Wait. Back up a minute. Why do they hate you because of Ben?" Maggie asked, wrinkling her nose, "I mean, I would think that that at least…"
"I don't really understand it," Jimmy answered, with a shrug and a lost expression, "I guess they've got something against him. They keep insisting that they're nothing like him…" he wrinkled his nose and murmured, "They even call him…'razorback'."
Maggie perked a brow and made a soft noise of surprise.
"Have you asked Ben about it?" she wondered. Jimmy frowned and lowered his eyes, chewing his inner cheek again and fidgeting with his sleeves.
"We haven't really talked about any of this," he admitted, "I don't even think Ben knows I'm training the other unharnessed kids."
"Why haven't you told him?" Maggie asked.
"It's not like I'm hiding it from him, it just hasn't come up," Jimmy said, though his voice wavered somewhat, then he abruptly stood and announced, "I should probably go back now, find out if they bolted."
"Alright," Maggie agreed, "Hey, Jimmy, just teach them how to shoot, okay?"
"That's what I'm trying to do," Jimmy griped.
"No, you're trying to incite a mutiny," Maggie teased, and then almost apologetically explained, "Put a gun in their hands, show them a target, and tell them how to pull the trigger. The rest can come later."
Jimmy sighed haggardly, "Okay, whatever. I'll see you later."
Maggie called a salutation at Jimmy's retreating back and he waved a hand over his shoulder acknowledging it then headed back towards his designated classroom.
Outside the classroom door Jimmy took a deep breath, then pushed the door open and strode in. The four teenagers had returned, and he wasn't sure if that made him feel better or worse. They watched him with dark, indecipherable glowers, and he swallowed back his anxieties and took up position in the front of the room, lifting his rifle off the table.
"Okay," he murmured and glumly announced, "Let's go to the shooting range."
-0-0-
Weaver was listening to reports from the relocation scouts when the recon unit arrived, so Dai slipped in to hear the meeting and Hal and Ben waited outside. For the most part, Ben tried to keep a distance between himself and his brother, pacing the length of the hall as though restless, which wasn't entirely an act. Lately it had been getting harder and harder being at camp, like there was this itch inside of him growing increasingly incessant, and the only way to scratch it was to go out and kill Skitters.
"Just so you know, Dai is reporting your insubordination today," Hal said quietly and Ben paused in his anxious stride, glaring down the corridor to his older brother leaned back against the wall.
"That is so typical…" Ben growled.
"You know, you're so quick to think it's my fault. I actually asked him not to," Hal replied, scoffing and shaking his head, glaring at the floor, "Even if you don't want to believe it, I am on your side, Ben."
"Then stop treating me like some dumb kid," Ben shot back, "I can make my own choices, I can handle myself-"
"But that's exactly what I'm trying to get you to understand. You don't have to handle yourself," Hal interjected, "You're not alone."
"You don't understand-"
"You're not the only one dad left behind!"
Ben clamped his mouth shut hard, the clack of his teeth slamming together resounding in his mind. He sought out a blank spot on the ground to glare at as he heard Hal shuffle, repositioning himself. Between the both of their pounding heartbeats, Ben felt certain they could power a small steam engine.
"We never talk about dad," Ben noted solemnly.
"No. We don't," Hal confirmed.
Ben had found that sometimes, if he just stood there and let his focus drift, he could hear everything. Every sound made, loud or quiet, within roughly a one mile radius around himself reverberated in his ears and shuddered through his body, together this melodious white noise that disturbed him in the way it brought a strange clarity to his mind.
This is the world: every whisper of wind, every simper of plant life dancing in the breeze, every child's shrieked laughter, a young man crying in a bathroom stall because for one second – just that one second – he realized the world had ended and there was nothing he could do about it, a grizzled older woman bragging about wrestling a doe to the ground with her bare hands and slitting its throat – venison for dinner it seemed, every report of gunfire from carefully aimed practice shots at the range, every callous caw of a blackbird glaring ominously down at the camp from its perilous perch on a nearby tree limb. It coursed through every heartbeat, in every 2nd Mass individual, in every critter flying, billowing through the sky, in every insect or rodent rummaging through the earth. And in that riptide of sounds, beautiful chaotic orchestra, he wondered what it meant to be human, and if it really mattered anymore what he was when the world around him was itself so inhuman and incredible and connected and in this alien form, with these alien ears, he could see its connection and could he really desire to be that detached human anymore, so separated from this world…his own world?
"Because it's my fault he's gone," Ben admitted, his voice quaking softly.
"It's his own fault he's gone," Hal silently corrected.
The words fluttered through Ben, an unknowing confirmation of his own worst dread. Their father climbed aboard a space craft in hopes that it would save Ben, and the very fact Hal saw that as a faulty action meant Hal believed Ben beyond salvation.
"Dad didn't know exactly what he was doing," Ben growled, "The alien manipulated him, and it used me to do it. If I hadn't been taken by the Skitters in the first fucking place than he never would've needed to climb on that spaceship."
"And if the Skitters never invaded in the first place, they never would've taken you, and we would still be at home fighting about who gets to use the bathroom first in the morning," Hal returned sharply, his eyes boring into Ben, though Ben refused to meet the steady gaze, "We can do this all day, Ben, you look for someone to blame and in the end all you have is a long list of names and nothing to do with it."
Ben flinched, hot tears springing to his eyes. Petulantly, he bit out, "Don't quote mom to me."
"I'm going to say this once," Hal seethed, "Because I really don't want to have to say it again. You have nothing to prove to anyone."
"I'm not trying-"
"Going out today by yourself like that, in the middle of an op, was reckless and stupid," Hal continued, "But worse is the way you happily volunteer yourself up for the most dangerous of missions, no questions asked."
"Don't start on me about that," Ben cried, "I already hear enough about it from Jimmy."
"Jimmy's right to give you shit about it, Ben. Weaver's intention might not be to come up with new ways to get you killed, but that doesn't mean you have to humor him every time he says, 'hey, Ben, stick your neck out here'," Hal roared, "You've already proven yourself to anyone who matters in this camp, and everyone else will fall in line."
"That's not why I'm doing it," Ben insisted.
"Then why the hell are you doing it? Because I cannot think of any other reason-"
"Because I'm the only one that can," Ben snapped, "I'm not normal anymore, remember? The Skitters turned me into this supercharged freak and I sure as hell intend to use it to our advantage. And regardless of whether you like it or not, that means I have to risk my life and do whatever it takes to keep the 2nd Mass safe."
Hal put his hands on his hips and shook his head, his face splotched white.
"Regardless of whether you like it or not, you're still my little brother – supercharged freak or not, and you still have to follow orders. What you did today could have compromised this entire operation," Hal raged.
"What is the big deal?" Ben demanded, "I told you I heard a Skitter."
"Then you should have alerted us!"
"That doesn't even make sense. I could handle it myself," Ben snarled.
"You shouldn't have left without…" Hal griped.
"Give me one good reason why!"
"Because I thought they took you again!"
Ben fell back, spinning away from the words and walking a few steps down the hall, before pausing and folding his arms over his chest. Hal was quiet and after a few moments, Ben peeked over his shoulder at him. Hal had leaned against the wall once more; he was staring at the ceiling, his mouth screwed into a terse frown.
"So what if they had," Ben whispered, he stiffened, tightened his arms around himself, "They could take me. They could take you. They could take Matt. Anyone of us. All of us. You can be afraid of it all you want, run around pretending like you can protect us, prevent it, by being the world's most overprotective jackass, but I refuse to live in fear," he spun round to eye his brother fiercely and proclaimed, "Because then I might as well just surrender and go with them quietly. I have to fight this war, Hal, and I have to win it."
"You have to win it? Just you?" Hal pressed.
"If that's what it takes," Ben decided, "If I'm the only one that can…if humanity needs a hero and I can be that hero, then fine, I'll do it…" He dropped his chin and glared at the ground, finishing silently: even if I'm not human myself.
"Ben…" Hal began in a low growl, but the office door opened and Dai appeared. He looked between the two brothers, standing apart from one another with a tension stretched the entire distance from one boy to the other, then he beckoned them into the room, and begrudgingly, they trailed inside.
Weaver was finishing up discussions with the scout leaders, Damien and Maggie. They glanced at the newcomers briefly, and continued their low conversation. From the sounds of things, the scouts had turned up zilch for ideal settings of a new base camp location and though they planned to push out again shortly, there didn't seem to be much hope they would turn up anything on their next outing either. When Ben and Hal approached, the conversation ended and the scout leaders nodded and murmured their acknowledgments to the brothers.
"Dai tells me he feels we should scrap our mission to destroy that alien structure," Weaver stated, cutting right to the chase, "I want to hear your boys' opinions. What're your thoughts on the matter?"
"It needs to be destroyed," Ben immediately spoke up, fervent and agitated, and Weaver perked a brow at that, Hal sending his younger brother a warning look, "Forgive me, sir, but Dai is making a rash decision based out of a fear of the unknown. We don't understand this thing, what it is, what the aliens are using it for, so he wants to run? That doesn't make any sense! We don't understand most of the aliens' tech, but that's why we gather intel, isn't it? I thought that was our mission out there, to figure out what we can about this thing, so that we can bring it down."
"You didn't see what this thing was doing, Ben, you don't know what you're talking about," Hal interrupted.
"And what's your take on this, Hal?" Weaver boomed question, halting the fiery argument just starting to light up on Ben's tongue.
"Dai is right. We need to pull off this mission and focus on relocating the group as far away from that thing as we can. We don't know what it is, we don't know what its purpose is, and most importantly, we don't know what it's capable of," Hal stated firmly, "If we had greater numbers, better armaments, more information, more time, then maybe we could muster an attack and have some slim chance at success, but facts are simple and clear, we don't."
"You're wrong," Ben cried, "We have plenty of time to get information and we don't need any more fighters. Captain, send me down in there; I can get in fast, get in close. I'll gather the intel we need, and, if need be, I'll destroy that thing on my own, you know I can."
"Ben," Hal growled warning.
"That is not an option I want to explore," Weaver cut in, "I'm sorry, Ben, but I think Dai and your brother might be right on this. We're going to pull back-"
"This is so stupid," Ben moaned, slamming one of the classroom desktops with his open palms, and startling some of the other fighters in the room, "I did not waste two days surveying that thing to turn back now! We need to hit the enemy, and we need to hit them hard, and this is the way to do it, and you know that."
"You may want to re-evaluate your tone, soldier," Weaver barked out, "Need I remind you who makes decisions about what is necessary for our people. I understand your frustration, Ben, I do. I want to hit them bugs with everything I got just as much as the next person, but I need to think about what's best for our group right now, what'll keep us alive, give us another day to fight, not about evening scores and settling vendettas."
Ben clenched his jaw, folding his arms over his chest and glaring at the classroom window, its blinds were tugged closed though light shone through the slits in slender lines across the tile floor. His heart pounded furious in his chest and adrenaline kicked through him, demanding he do something, anything, to expend the quickly building energy in his chest and overflowing through his limbs.
"You couldn't possibly understand my frustration," Ben grit out.
A hush pulsated through the room, all eyes suddenly on the captain.
"Everyone out. Ben, you stay," Weaver commanded.
"Captain…" Hal started protest, but he was quickly and evenly cut off.
"Your brother is a fighter, Hal, and as much as I know you want to protect him, he has to be responsible for his own actions if he's going to stand in this unit. Leave with the rest, you can wait outside," Weaver said, and begrudgingly, Hal followed orders, falling in line with the others as they all trudged out of the classroom.
Ben folded his arms over his chest and leered brazenly across the room at the captain. Weaver put his hands on his hips, tilted his head to one side, set his jaw and studied the young boy with a hard-lined expression that made more pronounced the grayness and wrinkles of his wizened countenance.
"Lecture me all you want, it's not going to change my mind," Ben challenged, "I'm destroying that thing with or without the 2nd Mass's help."
Weaver smirked, "You're very much your father's son."
Ben flinched, dropped his eyes and loosened his stance. He hadn't expected that soft sentiment.
"You've got that same passionate streak," Weaver went on, "Same fire in your eyes. Your brother, Hal, he gets it too, but not quite like you. I imagine he takes more after your mother."
"People always used to say the opposite," Ben murmured, shrugging.
"Dai tells me you took off during the recon," Weaver commented, "That you claimed you heard a Skitter during a rest break, and went to take care of it without alerting the group."
"It's not a 'claim'," Ben haughtily replied, "I had to go kill a Skitter. It could've compromised our position, our entire mission-"
"I'm not going to argue about what the truth is," Weaver interrupted, "Because that's not the issue. You never should've left the base of operations without permission from your unit leader."
"What about extenuating circumstances, sir?"
"Was there reason to be concerned for the immediate safety of the unit?" Weaver returned.
Ben hesitated, swallowed hard and meekly answered, "Yes."
Weaver perked a skeptical brow and stroked his chin, glaring appraisingly at the young boy in front of him. Ben shifted his position, taking a couple steps back and folding his arms over his chest, his eyes darting across the floor.
"I don't get what the big deal is. I heard a Skitter in the area, I went to kill it," Ben complained, "I'm fine. The unit is fine. Everything turned out fine."
"The big deal is that you broke protocol and when an expedient retreat was required, your decision hindered that escape and further put at risk your team. I'm putting you on probation until we move to the new location – wherever the hell that ends up being," Weaver decided, "I'm grounding you to camp. You can serve night watch with Valerie on the east perimeter, keep you from getting restless."
"This isn't fair," Ben groaned shaking his head at Weaver's every word.
"Being a soldier in war isn't about what's fair to the individual, it's about what's best for the good of the unit, and you'll do well to remember that," Weaver snapped, then he gently remarked, "You're right, Ben."
"About…what, sir?" Ben whispered, dually taken aback and overly irritated. Judging from Weaver's lecture, apparently the old man felt Ben was wrong about everything, he couldn't fathom what one, little thing there was that he'd actually gotten right in the old man's eyes.
"I can't understand your frustration. Not fully, anyhow," Weaver admitted, "You were taken from your family, held captive against your will, forced to do things…sometimes horrible things, that you can't remember doing but some of which others around you can, and the worst is the things that were or might have been done to you that you can't remember and might not even know anything about. It's a terrible cross to bear, and I'm sorry you've got it on your shoulders, I truly am."
Ben tightened his arms around himself and stared blankly at the tiled floor. He felt a coldness settle over him suddenly, a strange feeling that wasn't altogether terrible but wasn't exactly great either. He certainly understood the intention of Weaver's words, they were meant as a comfort in a way, or perhaps a compromise of conflicted ideologies, but the true effect was a searing confirmation of: yes, Ben, you really are alone in the world.
"I apologize but I am going to have to pull back on this mission," Weaver said and then firmly amended, "For now. We'll keep our ears to the ground on that structure; keep a weathered eye on it, but we need to re-focus our efforts on finding a new camp. I do agree with you that it would be nice if we could take that thing down, and I'm hoping that if Jimmy's assignment is a success-"
"Jimmy's assignment?" Ben interrupted, raising a brow. He thought of the 'project' Weaver mentioned putting Jimmy on in lieu of current missions, but wasn't entirely certain of how it could possibly connect to that alien structure. Weaver scrunched his features, his lip pursing into a severe frown.
"He didn't mention it to you," the old man surmised, stunned by the revelation and Ben wasn't sure what hurt more in that moment, the fact that Weaver had simply assumed Jimmy would've passed the information on and hadn't or that Ben would've assumed the same.
Ben tensed again, lowering his face completely to hide his features suddenly contorted with confused heartache as he shook his head: no, Jimmy did not.
"Okay…well…I've got him training the other unharnessed kids," Weaver supplied.
"You've got him what?" Ben cried, once more bursting with agitation, "Why?"
Weaver blinked repeatedly and then repositioned himself, shifting his weight a few times and furrowing his brow once the initial stun of Ben's reaction had worn off.
"Because I think they could make great fighters," he explained, "There is a potential that they might have abilities similar to your own, and that would make them ideal partners for you out on the battlefield or during ops where we need your highly specialized skills but no one else is capable of going with you."
"Who is he training exactly? Rick?" Ben demanded, growing increasingly anxious. He paced a few times, shaking his head and glaring at the floor. He had to bite back his desire to verbally lash out at the older man; he was on thin ice as it was, what with being relegated to probationary work.
"No, no. Not Rick. He's expressed no interest in becoming a fighter and he's too unpredictable anyhow. He's making progress but he's a little unstable still. Damn it all if that wouldn't be a perfect scenario, though," Weaver answered, though Ben felt no relief in that new knowledge, "It's the other four…what were their names…ah…Kelsey…Romeo, no, Roman, uh…Doug, and um …uh…Gia, it was."
"Why didn't you ask me before giving him this assignment?" Ben seethed.
"I wasn't aware I needed your permission," Weaver responded curtly, "Mind explaining your problem with it?"
"I just…I don't want Jimmy around them…is all," Ben said, having difficulty forming words with his suddenly thick tongue. Weaver offered Ben a long, drawn out blink, and then he cleared his throat and took a slow breath.
"Funny, I thought that might be Jimmy's decision to make, not yours," Weaver calmly retorted, "It wasn't a mandatory assignment, Ben, I offered it and he accepted. You got issue with it, you can take it up with him, but I'm sure we both have a pretty clear idea of how well that'll go over."
Ben grimaced but remained silent, churning with a simmering rage. He wanted to direct his anger at the old man, it seemed the easier of his two options, but he knew Weaver was right, and that if he really wanted to confront the issue, he would need to do so with Jimmy.
"If Jimmy's mission proves a success, my plan is to send you in with those four as your back-up. Is that going to be a problem?" Weaver wondered.
Ben scowled, "I don't know."
"Is there something I'm missing," Weaver demanded, "On the outset, this looked like a good solution, and while I didn't expect you to be best friends with them all, I got to say, I'm a little surprised by your reaction. I would almost venture to guess that…you…hate these other kids."
"I don't hate them," Ben mumbled, "its fine with me. Can I…go?"
Weaver examined Ben a moment, hands on hips and head tipped to the side. Ben fidgeted slightly, attempting to keep his features apathetic, even though he wanted to explode with his stir of angry, frustrated, heartbroken emotions.
"Meet with Val for watch tonight at twenty-one hundred. I'll let her know," Weaver declared, "You're dismissed."
Ben strode briskly from the room and felt oddly upset to find that the hallway was empty. Hal hadn't waited for him after all; the older boy had probably gone off to check on Matt. Ben calmed his furious heart, and tugged out of his pocket the compass Jimmy had lent him that morning. He needed to return it, which provided the perfect excuse to seek out the other boy. So he shoved it back in his pocket and hurried from the community center.
Outside, Ben knew he could probably ask a few fighters as to Jimmy's whereabouts, but he rather preferred avoiding the discomforted looks that other people wore whenever forced into conversation with him, no matter how brief. Instead, he focused on the sounds of camp, listening for the muted, mildly rasped tone of his lover. The tracking technique didn't take nearly as long as it usually did – Jimmy wasn't very verbose on his most talkative days – and Ben easily surmised that the other boy was at the shooting range. He smirked and started that direction.
Several yards away from the range, Ben faltered in his approach. Jimmy was there alright. And so were his four unharnessed disciples.
For a moment, Ben watched, wary-eyed and senses on edge. Jimmy was directing his charges in the basics of shooting an assault rifle, they were lined up along the range with their own guns at the ready, firing sporadically and for the most part, missing their targets altogether. Sometimes they would stop and shout at Jimmy and he would shuffle over to them and answer whatever questions they had, help them line up their shots, an uneasy tension in his gestures and facial expressions.
One, a stout, dark featured boy, seemed to demand Jimmy's attentions the least but in those rare instances when he did call Jimmy over, he would lean close and leer penetratingly at the younger boy. And Jimmy's reaction was obvious. He shyly ducked away, avoided looking at the other boy directly, his body quivering ever so slightly, and it shuddered through Ben a sickening, heated feeling; it curled his fingers firmly into his hands, tight fists, and coursed through his veins like molten rage.
Ben's eyes narrowed on that dark featured boy, his mind and heart hammering into him tumultuous, violent thoughts. He growled low in the back of his throat, took a deep breath, unfurled his clenched fists, and marched unsteadily towards the group.
.
.
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A/N: I'm a little uncertain about Maggie's part. I'm worried she might be a little OOC, but I kind of really wanted to start pushing how she'd stepped into a semi-mother role for Jimmy. I've ranted about this before but they really didn't play up much of Jimmy's relationships with the other 2nd Mass members when they killed him off, which was one of the things I really hated about that episode, it seemed remiss. But, and this is just my opinion, they tend to treat all their characters with this disregard, sweeping their deaths under the rug as this - yawn - thing that happened. As I understand, Dai's death was given just as much nonchalance, and I should've known with the way they treated Klick's death in the first few episodes of the show. That scene where he moves into the building, gets shot with an arrow and...oh, now he's dead. Well, he was a...character, he was there and...had lines and...yup.
Sorry, off on a rant tangent. Moving on. Let me know what you thought of the chapter! I love writing the split perspective chapters, a bit of Jimmy and a bit of Ben.
Anyhow, reviewers: Facepalmer123, meh, okay. :) SassySavanna190, good, I hoped you would find it interesting. Yeah, I hope this chapter gave a bit more perspective on Hal's feelings at the moment. Ben's relationship with his family, and the unintended conflict presented by his relationship with Jimmy is going to play a major role in everything that happens next. JDMlvr1, awesome! Thank you! IcicleLilly, it was meant to be a bit confusing...but I also had dividers in there that disappeared...I hope you liked the extra long chapter, sorry to make you wait so long for it. Haley, hehe, yeah, he is a little clingy. Cookie97, glad you liked it. The flashback/dream/memory things are going to start getting prevalent about middle of this story, so I hope you are all enjoying scratching your heads over those. I really do like writing sibling scenes, its one of my favorite things to write, and I'm sorry that Hal has seemed such a jerk in this story thus far, he will redeem himself at time though...he always does.
Right. Need to print my essay, proof it, finalize it, and print again, then run to class. Oi, no time! Got to run, see you all Sunday!