A/N: I got to make this quick, was out late last night at a birthday party for an old friend and realized how old I'm getting...called it a night at midnight...only had a few drinks and I feel groggy and sore. Now I have to write a paper on the Neolithic...oh joy.

Thank you to the reviewers for dropping in last chapter, glad you all were excited to see Rick!

And a big thank you to Greg for beta-ing this chapter, awesome as ever!

Read.

XX.

Jimmy nodded to a few fighters in passing as he slipped into the community center restroom marked "Men". He was relatively relieved to find it empty but he wasn't really surprised; it was fairly early in the morning, roughly two or three and the few people awake were out on patrol.

As usual, Jimmy couldn't sleep. He splashed some water on his face and examined the injury left over from his scuffle with Roman in one of the severely scratched and graffiti-covered mirrors. He furrowed his brow, tracing his fingertips along the left side of his face and across the corner of his lip.

The bruising and swelling had gone down significantly, but curiously, his lip appeared entirely mended. He leaned in closer across the sink, trying to get a better look. He knew there had been a cut there; he'd spent most of the afternoon sucking on blood, yet there was no evidence that the skin had been recently split, not even a scab. There was however a strange, almost glossy look to his flesh, evident at certain angles in the light. He brushed at it but nothing happened, then blinked a few times and squinted his eyes, decided he was seeing things.

Jimmy sighed, rubbing his face with the keel of his hand, attempting to grind away his weariness while recalling Dr. Glass's assessment weeks earlier in regards to his healing injuries from the warehouse escapade with a scoff, "Malleability of youth…"

At least he wouldn't be fending off questions from concerned fellow-fighters for days on end.

Jimmy left the restroom and wandered aimlessly through the darkened community center corridors. There was a strangely disorienting feeling to those hallways, still plastered with posters, lined with bulletin boards covered in obsolete postings: pottery class, swimming lesson schedules, 'Join the Community Theater', cooking, self-defense, jazzercise, 'Let's Keep Our Community Green'.

There was a poster advertising the upcoming production of The Nutcracker that coming Christmas, and shaken, Jimmy suddenly felt the need to get out of the community center. He strode hastily through the halls and burst out one of the exits, heart pounding erratic in his chest, his breath sharp and strangled. On the outskirts of camp he could see Ben's tent and the image brought an all new clench on his heart, as their fight earlier echoed in his mind.

Jimmy folded his arms over his chest and meandered the opposite direction of the tent a few steps, eyes on the ground and thoughts tumbling through his head. Ben had no place telling him to drop an assignment because they screwed around together every now and then or because they attached some stupid meaningless label to explain that screwing around.

Jimmy sighed, ghosted a hand over his features and scowled inwardly.

Ben had been under a lot of stress in recent days, his mission scrapped and his brother constantly ragging on him, Jimmy probably could've cut him some slack and just agreed to it. After all, his exchanged blows with Roman pretty much made his deal with the four unharnessed teens null and void; it wasn't like he would be continuing training any of them anyways. But, as always, he had to push.

Jimmy faltered, his shoulders trembling slightly as he recalled the last words he threw at Ben and that blank look, it felt like a knife plunging into his heart all over again. That surprise at the question, would you ever lie to me, as if Ben had never expected Jimmy to ever figure it out, to ever doubt him for a second. And with a strange aching pain, Jimmy realized, he never would have figured it out, noting with a taste like bile in the back of his throat, because he trusted Ben. For once in his life, he'd finally let himself fully trust someone, only to have it whip back at him, a scathing, toxic thing that ripped right through him and left nothing unmarred in its wake.

A stray tear tumbled down Jimmy's cheek and he swiped it angrily away, muttering, "Fuck."

Bastard still had Weaver's compass.

Jimmy needed to get it back. He turned to look at the tent, a hazy gray settling over camp as the sun just began to kiss the horizon. He took a deep breath, let it out shakily. He wasn't sure he was ready to face Ben yet, not with their fight so fresh in his mind. But he couldn't leave the compass in Ben's possession, not when it was supposed to be in his, it would be a betrayal of Weaver's trust.

After all, the compass was Jimmy's responsibility. And it wasn't like he would really have to talk to Ben. All he had to do was demand the item and then leave. He smirked sardonic and shook his head in agitation.

Of course, Ben might not even be in the tent. He was probably out hunting, alone, again. Hell, he probably considered himself fortunate he didn't have to come up with a lie to get rid of Jimmy for the night.

That settled it. Jimmy would just go to the tent, if by some miracle Ben was there then he would demand the compass and leave, and if not, he would just find the fucking thing himself and be done with it and done with Ben.

Jimmy flinched, hating the small gasp that escaped the back of his throat as he tightened his arms around himself.

Maybe not done-done with Ben.

Jimmy shook his head again and ran his hand across his eyes, smearing unshed tears. He didn't know anymore. His heart hurt too much, and he couldn't make sense of his thoughts, managing to precariously straddle the line between sheer anger and severe depression. This was not fair, why did he have to feel so much emotional turmoil.

And Ben, who the fuck knew what Ben felt. Half the time Ben acted like he had no cares in the world, the other half he seemed perpetually irritated with his older brother. Where did Jimmy fit on that spectrum? Halfway between apathy and annoyance? Maybe all Jimmy really meant to Ben was someone to talk to when the rest of camp wouldn't, something to do when he got restless and couldn't slip off to go hunting.

Taking another deep, steadying breath, Jimmy started forward, keeping his arms crossed and shoulders tense. Each step spread a growing dread through him starting at the pit of his stomach and swarming outwards. Mentally, he begged and pleaded with the God he no longer believed in for Ben to not be in that tent, but when he finally reached it, and tentatively slipped through the flap, there was an inexorable disappointment that dropped over him to find it empty inside; which, of course, meant one thing.

Jimmy closed his eyes and fought the urge to collapse in some foreign, overwhelming sorrow. Shaking away the dark feeling, he opened his eyes again and swept his gaze over the tent. He smiled faintly a moment, and then dismissed it quickly with a hard frown.

It was kind of a disaster in there.

Ben's clothes were strewn about haphazardly, though mostly gathered around his duffel bag sitting open on the ground towards the far back of the tent. His sleeping bag was rumpled, bunched up slightly, the travel chess board set that Matt typically toted around camp set atop it. In one corner of the tent there was a small pile of empty food-packages, wrappers from granola bars and plastic juice bottles. He had a couple books stacked to one end of the tent, they were wrinkled and smashed on one side, their pages torn and folded, worn from use.

It didn't seem like something that mattered, that the books were so damaged, considering they would be tossed as soon as Ben was done with them because the 2nd Mass didn't have room to carry around useless items like books, but for whatever reason the lack of care with which Ben treated those items, and the mess in its entirety irritated Jimmy. He didn't even know where to begin to look for Weaver's compass amidst the chaos.

With no other apparent choice, Jimmy set about straightening up. He started by sorting through the clothes, partially hoping that the compass would be in the duffel in plain view and he could just snatch it up and go, but no such luck and he didn't feel comfortable digging through the bag and Ben's belongings therein, purposely hidden from sight. He imagined such an intrusion wouldn't go over well with the other boy, even though he told himself he didn't really care.

There weren't a lot of garments, just a few dark colored t-shirts, a pair of cargo pants, and a light-green long sleeved shirt. He shook them out, folded them up, and stacked them in a neat pile. There were some undergarments scattered around and Jimmy left those for the most part alone, nudging them with the toe of his boot into a pile across the tent.

Then he went about rearranging 'the furniture' so to speak. There was an electric lantern with a hand-generator attached that Jimmy put in the center of the tent, then the small duffel bag of Ben's personal belongings, toiletries and presumably clean clothes, he pushed to the far back of the tent. Ben had a gun or two tossed in one corner and Jimmy inspected them, checked their clips and chambers, all clear, and then neatly laid them next to the duffel bag.

Sighing, and still unable to locate the compass, Jimmy straightened out the sleeping bag and sat on top of it, grabbing one of the nearby books and smoothing out its cover to read the title: The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Jimmy made a face. He'd never read the book but he'd seen the movie, so he had a good idea what it was about and wondered how it was that Ben hadn't yet had his fill of aliens.

Jimmy set the book aside and picked up the next one, checked the title: Metamorphosis. It had been listed assigned reading on his syllabus for his eighth grade English class, but the aliens had invaded before they got that far into the semester. He thumbed through a few of the pages, attempted to read, but only ended up with a headache trying to understand how anyone could be interested in so much whiny rambling, so he set that book aside and reached for the next one: Paradise Lost. He paused, looking puzzled at his hand.

There was a patch of skin at Jimmy's wrist that didn't look right; there was something – on him maybe? – discoloring it. He brought his hand back, used his thumb to try rubbing away whatever it was he'd gotten on himself but to no avail, and then furrowed his brow, rolling his sleeve back to inspect the area closer only to discover that the discoloration ran the entire length of his forearm.

And then it struck him, there wasn't something on his skin. What he was looking at was his skin: all at once iridescent and translucent. He'd seen this before, the other night in the back of the truck. He closed his eyes, his head suddenly swimming with a vague dizziness. He felt as though plunged in a bath of ice, and suddenly found he couldn't hold himself upright, falling with a soft thud back across Ben's sleeping bag, noting mildly that the bag was drenched in Ben's scent of citrus and pine, and in a way, it brought him a small reprieve from his sudden, inexplicable pain. He tugged his sleeves over his hands, rolling them in his fists and wrapping his arms tightly around himself. Sickness rippled through him and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, an effort to fight the nausea, body shivering uncontrollably.

There was a sound at the front of the tent, a shuffle of footsteps, a rustle of the flap being pulled back. Someone entered and then there was a pause. Jimmy grimaced, fought back the terrible feeling surging through him, further aggravated by the knowledge of who stood in that tent's entryway, and sat back upright. He peeled his eyes open in minute slits, and glared out at Ben. The other boy wore a mixed expression of stunned confusion and uncertain concern.

"Jimmy…?" Ben started quietly.

"Where were you?" Jimmy spat out, his head didn't feel nearly so light anymore and the chill had left him but the nausea remained.

Ben dropped his gaze, flickered his eyes back and forth a moment across the tarp floor covering, as if his lie were written there.

Jimmy scowled, shaking his head and hissing, "Don't bother."

He struggled to make an appearance of effortless ascent to his feet and fixed Ben with the most spiteful look he could muster, relying heavily on the pain still ripping through him and the focused effort to stand upright to twist his features into a hard line.

"Where's the compass?" Jimmy demanded.

"Oh," Ben mumbled, sounding almost disappointed.

He shook his head and never raising his eyes, maneuvered to the back of the tent where Jimmy had pushed his duffel bag and squatted beside it, opening one of the side pockets and procuring the requested item. He trudged reluctantly toward Jimmy and held the compass out, eyes still downcast. Jimmy reached for the compass, grabbed hold of it and readied to spin on heel and hasten retreat, but Ben refused to let go.

"The only reason I would ever lie to you is to protect you," Ben whispered, lifting his eyes up to lock on Jimmy's, shadowed with emotion and burning intent, "You should know that."

"Whatever," Jimmy grumbled, tugging the compass out of Ben's grasp and starting for the exit. He paused, his hand on the flap, and the compass clutched to himself. The silence between them cut like a guillotine, heavy and exacting. Bitterly, he asked, "How many Skitters did you get?"

"Three," Ben murmured, somber and unhesitant.

Jimmy spun round to face Ben again and seethed, "Why?"

"Because that's how many were there," Ben answered uncertainly, brow wrinkled in confusion. Jimmy shook his head, furious, took a step forward and hesitated.

"No, you asshole. Why? Why lie to me about it? Why?"

Ben shrugged, searched the floor again, shoving his hands into his pockets, shoulders slightly slouched.

"How long have you known?" he asked and Jimmy flinched, his free hand balling into a fist, his other wrapping tight enough around the compass to turn his knuckles white.

"How long have you been lying to me?" he shot back.

"You haven't known that long," Ben stammered, surprised, his eyes darting up to Jimmy's face.

"What the fuck does that matter?" Jimmy snapped, "What does it matter how long I've known? What matters is that you looked me in the eye and lied to me, you bastard …"

"Jimmy," Ben began, a desperate plea.

"And the whole time…the whole fucking time…" Jimmy spat out, "I can't believe I trusted you. What else have you lied to me about? Fuck, have you ever told me the truth? How could I trust anything you've ever said to me…?"

"You're overreacting," Ben protested as a contortion of emotion creased his features, "This is the only thing I ever lied to you about and I only lied to you about it because I didn't have a choice."

"Why was the truth not a choice?" Jimmy sputtered, flabbergasted by Ben's admission, "The only thing you could do was lie to me every fucking night about where you were and what you were doing, and like a fucking idiot, I just took your word for it, even when I knew…deep inside I knew…"

"I couldn't tell you the truth because if I did you'd want to come," Ben rattled off, and then fell silent, dropping his eyes once more as his words slammed hard through Jimmy's chest.

"Because that would have been the worst fucking thing in the world?" Jimmy whispered harshly.

"No, it's not that…it's just…"

"That's how much you think of me then," Jimmy murmured realization, a stinging in his eyes, his throat clenched, hardness formed in his chest, "That you're so much better than me. Go ahead and finish the sentence, Ben, go ahead. I couldn't keep up; I'd just get in the way. You're the super-powered half-Skitter freak and I'm just some brat kid that everyone expects'll get himself killed before the day's out."

"That's not it; you're putting words in my mouth. I'm trying to explain," Ben cried.

"I get everyone else thinking it…but you? Even you really think I'm that fucking worthless?" Jimmy cried out, squeezing his eyes shut, unable to take anymore he turned to leave again.

"That's bullshit, Jimmy, you're worth more to me than pretty much everyone in this entire fucking camp put together," Ben argued, rushing forward to grab hold of Jimmy's wrist, and Jimmy halted at the touch, his body quaking with terrible emotions, "Please don't go. Let me explain, please. I can explain."

Jimmy drew his breath in, it trembled and burned all the down his throat and into his lungs. A couple stray tears escaped down his cheeks and he ground them furiously into his skin with his open palm. He felt as though his entire world were unraveling. Hell, he knew he wasn't good enough for Ben, he'd always known, but for Ben to validate it in so many words, it hurt too much, he couldn't stand it.

"Let me go," he bit out in a low growl.

"No," Ben whispered petulantly, "Not until you agree to listen to me."

Jimmy flinched, a jolt of pure rage ripping through him. Where did Ben always get off telling him what to do? He jerked his arm from Ben's loose grasp and reeled round to connect his fist across the other boy's jaw. It couldn't have hurt Ben, Jimmy knew he didn't have the strength to ever really do any damage to that other boy, but Ben still looked pained all the same from the strike.

"I was going to tell you," Ben said, his voice soft and distant.

"Yeah, when?" Jimmy sneered, taking a step back and wrapping his arms self-consciously around his body.

"When you were ready," Ben murmured.

"Never, then," Jimmy bit out.

"No, I mean…" Ben shook his head at the ground. Certain that Jimmy wasn't about to take off again, he stalked to the back of the tent and attempted clarifying, "It hasn't even been a month since you almost died, Jimmy. You were in bad shape. You're still in bad shape-"

"I'm fine," Jimmy protested.

"No, you're not. You're…alive. But you're not fine," Ben shot back, "You think you are because you're too goddamned stubborn, you just push yourself too hard, and you never want to admit when you've had enough."

"That's bullshit," Jimmy interrupted, "Dr. Glass gave me a clean bill of health, and you think you know better than her? Why don't you just admit what the real reason is, Ben? The Skitters turned you into a super-charged freak and now you don't need anyone, right? Including me?"

"That's not true," Ben intonated fiercely, turning round to face Jimmy once more, "I do need you. I don't get why you think like that! I need you, Jimmy, that's why I couldn't tell you the truth, because I need you so much and…" He faltered, lowered his face and looked up at Jimmy through a haunted expression, "It's me, not you. I'm not ready. I'm not ready to face the possibility of losing you again."

Jimmy fell quiet, dropping his eyes to scan the ground. It was a little difficult to come up with an argument against that kind of confession. His heart pounded rampantly in his chest, heat flooded his cheeks and swarmed his limbs. He startled when a gentle touched brushed across his shoulder, looking up to meet Ben's eyes.

"You're still favoring your right leg," Ben mumbled, "Every time you take a step, you get this wrinkle under your eye, it's so small, but I see it every time. Same way I see how often you bring a hand up to rub your shoulder, when we're out on patrol, when you're just sitting around camp. You're still hurting, Jimmy, I know that you are, and I think you're just so used to pretending like you're not in pain that you don't even realize when you are anymore but I do."

Jimmy shook his head, ran a hand across his face. He didn't respond.

"I'm sorry I lied to you. I shouldn't have done that. It was wrong. I'm so sorry for that," Ben continued, his voice becoming firm and unwavering, "But I will never apologize for caring about you, for wanting to protect you; never."

Jimmy shoved his hands in his pockets, maneuvering around Ben and wandering into the tent a little ways. He chewed his inner cheek thoughtfully, his head felt light, he was struggling to keep his breathing steady. It was all he could do to keep his expression unmoved, because he wasn't sure what emotion was ready to pour out.

Ben stayed paralyzed near the tent entrance, waiting silently, probably for a reply, a gesture, a look, anything that might confirm Jimmy had heard and understood him.

"What about me?" Jimmy murmured.

"What?" Ben prodded, following Jimmy with his eyes, and quirking a brow.

"I'm just supposed to be okay with you going out there alone?" Jimmy returned, facing Ben again. His tone remained low and soft; his shoulders trembled as he spoke, "Know that you're out there with no back up? Watch you return every night with bruises and gaping wounds, covered in your own blood and who-the-hell knows what else? Wonder if you're even going to come back at all..."

"I'll be okay, I take precautions," Ben replied.

"Really? Didn't you just come back from a hunt? Where's your rifle, Ben?" Jimmy questioned, "You faced off against three Skitters without a gun or backup? What the fuck kind of precautions are you taking?"

"I'm careful," Ben insisted, "I never take on mechs. I always count the enemy before I go in; if there's more than I can handle by myself then I walk away. I promise. I'm being safe."

"'Safe would be not going out there at all," Jimmy said sharply, "Why are you even doing this? I know you get restless but this…"

Ben opened his mouth, closed it again and shrugged.

"I don't know," he whispered.

"Goddammit, Ben, what the hell…?"

"I hate them," Ben interjected, seething, "I hate them. I hate what they did to me, to my family. What they did to you."

"I hate them for all of those things too," Jimmy replied haughtily, "And that's why we're fighting the war, that's why we're in the resistance-"

"But it's not enough. We're not doing enough to fight back," Ben raged, "Like this alien structure, it was the perfect opportunity to strike and Weaver pulled us back because he was too afraid. I keep thinking I should just go in there by myself and tear it down…"

"No," Jimmy shouted abruptly, crossing the tent and grabbing hold of the front of Ben's shirt, but not entirely sure what he intended to do from there, he stood frozen with the fabric balled in his fist and his eyes desperately pleading Ben. In a harsh rasp, he whispered, "Don't even joke about that."

"Why? You think I can't do it?" Ben challenged.

"No, I don't know. But I don't want to find out," Jimmy rattled off. He hesitated, and then placed his hand gently over Ben's eyes, effectively blinding the other boy, and closing his own, resting his forehead against Ben's, he confessed quietly, fervently, "I need you too."

Ben said nothing. Jimmy dropped his hands to his sides, studying the ground, the inches that spanned between them. Their breath was the only sound for several heart-pounding seconds.

"I'll quit training the other unharnessed kids," Jimmy murmured.

Ben perked a brow, remained silent.

"If you promise to stop hunting by yourself," Jimmy pressed on, his stomach turned with sickness. He knew it was a terrible trick, offering up a bargain that basically meant he would give up nothing, but if it meant Ben's safety, he didn't care, "I'll stop training the other unharnessed kids."

"I thought it was important to you," Ben said bitterly.

Jimmy shrugged.

Ben slumped a bit, as though all the energy, all the crashing emotions, from their fight suddenly left him all at once and he barely had anything left in him to hold himself upright. Several seconds ticked by, several heartbeats pounded relentless against Jimmy's chest, and then finally, Ben gave a stiff nod.

"Fine, I'll stop," Ben whispered, "I promise."

Jimmy sighed in relief, closing his eyes, "Thank you."

"Tomorrow you'll tell Weaver?"

"Yeah," Jimmy murmured, "I will."

The quiet that followed was less tense, relaxed almost. Ben moved farther into his tent and took a seat on his sleeping bag, Jimmy turned to watch his movements.

"I guess this was our first real big fight," Ben noted.

"We've gotten in fights before," Jimmy muttered.

"Not like this," Ben remarked, then smirking, he teased in an almost uncertain tone, "So…you need me?"

"Shut up," Jimmy grumbled, rolling his eyes, and flustering.

"Are we okay?" Ben wondered.

"Sure," Jimmy answered, "I guess."

Ben pulled his knees up, balancing his arms across them and saying, "Come over here."

"Why?"

"Just get over here," Ben insisted.

Begrudgingly, Jimmy trekked towards Ben and plopped on the ground beside him. For a moment, they sat side-by-side in silence. Ben turned slightly towards Jimmy, hesitated for a few heartbeats, and then reached forward to curl his fingers under Jimmy's chin, tilting Jimmy's face to the side and brushing a kiss across his lips.

Jimmy sighed, "You should probably do something about that cut on your chest."

"Probably," Ben agreed, pressing another, more firm kiss against Jimmy's mouth and lingering there a few seconds. Tentatively, he joked, "See, that's why I need you. To point out the obvious."

Jimmy snorted softly, pushing Ben away as though angry, even as he covered a small smile in the palm of his hand. He had never been needed before, not in that way and he wasn't sure exactly what it meant, but the feeling inside of him was overwhelming and somehow, as frightened as he felt by it, he liked it. He would do anything for Ben; give everything of himself if that's what Ben needed, without hesitance, and he knew he could do it so easily. But it scared him how much he needed Ben, he who prided himself on never needing anyone before, and it scared him not knowing if Ben would or even could do the same, give everything for him.

Ben had so much power over Jimmy and Jimmy wondered if Ben was even aware that he could break Jimmy with something as simple as a word or a look, and that, perhaps, scared Jimmy more than anything else.

Because Ben said these things so effortlessly, 'I like you', 'I care about you', 'I need you', and though he sounded sincere and heartfelt, Jimmy couldn't shake the image of those books crammed carelessly along the edge of the tent, tattered and torn, ready to be thrown out the moment they'd exhausted their use.

.

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A/N: Right, there we have the long overdue big fight scene. Let me know what ya'll think please!

Reviewers: For the Rick thing, because most of you commented on it, you all know I agree that Rick was a character killed off in his prime...at least, I would feel that way if I'd seen the episode where he died. Anyhow, I've ranted about it before and I will again because I'm highly opinionated. I feel like the Falling Skies writers are really trying to set this show up as "dark and edgy", unafraid to kill characters off all willy-nilly, and it's not to say there's anything wrong with that, some shows do a fantastic job of it (see Walking Dead for instance, or Misfits is a great one), but I don't feel like Falling Skies really builds up their characters enough to give the viewers reason to feel anything but robbed when a character dies. I don't know, for me, from the beginning they would have things happen that were supposed to be a huge SHOCK but I was always like, "hm...okay, whatever." I think its mainly because the characters don't feel it, so it all just comes off as contrived. For example, when Jimmy died, none of the characters cared! Ben was pained, but it was hard to tell if it was because he blamed himself or if he was really just sad to lose Jimmy. Weaver was briefly sad at the end in a not at all touching moment between Ben and him, where they exchanged a few awkward lines referencing something about Jimmy's character (his terrible sense of direction) that we didn't previously know because it was NEVER established in the show! We see Tom upset only because his son is upset. That fight scene with Pope over the compass made me want to find a Falling Skies writer and punch them in the face. And then we see Dr. Glass sad in the worst scene of the entire fucking episode because, goddamn you, Jimmy, having the audacity to die on her son's birthday, boo-fucking-hoo, and oh look, now Tom is taking advantage of the death to get some nookie! And then we don't see anyone else greiving the loss although he associated with other characters. It's like, "Jimmy died? Jimmy who?" Damn Hollywood writers, to think some of these guys are making six-figures for this crap. End rant.

Haley, you're so right about Ben. It's hard to say if Jimmy would or wouldn't understand, but Ben should at least give him the opportunity. SassySavanna190, I love random questions. Um...although I think it would be cool to be deharnessed and have those super powers, I really wouldn't want the dark worry of "am I still under alien control" and I definitely wouldn't want to have to go through the horrors of being harnessed to get there. I would much prefer being a fighter and I'd probably put a bullet in my head before ever letting myself be harnessed (kind of like Jimmy). Brief side-note, one thing I never got about the show, why are there civilians? I understand elderly and small children not being able to fight, but not all the civilians are elderly, small children, or in any way, shape, or form incapable of fighting. In this scenario, anyone able-bodied would be a fighter. It's the apocalypse for crying out loud. JDMlvr1, of course I will continue to update through finals. Your guys' reviews help me get through mine! Greg, you don't by any chance think Ben is adorable do you? Cookie97, thanks for kicking me into full-blown rant mode. I'm so glad you're happy to see Rick. IcicleLilly, lol, I'm glad you found the chapter interesting. I know you were hoping Jimmy would lay into Ben with all his frustrations, so here it is, I hope you enjoyed it!

Thanks for stopping in you guys. I have an essay to write! Hope to hear from you all and I'll see you guys...Thursday, at which time my finals should be over and I will be getting my ass in gear pumping out chapters on this fic!