A/N: Thank you to the reviewers, awesome as ever.

Thank you to Greg for beta-ing.

Read.

XXVIII.

When they reached the 2nd Mass campsite, Roman immediately left to carry Kelsey over to the medic van. She was still unconscious, and, although Ben felt guilty and somewhat worried, none of her friends seemed concerned that she'd suffered too serious injury. If anything, they only seemed upset that her life had been endangered, for which they unabashedly blamed Ben. Gia and Douglas remained with the truck to unload the newly gathered supplies with a few civilians that had been elected 'Resource Management'.

Jimmy insisted Ben should visit Dr. Glass while he went to report in with Weaver, but Ben refused. So together they stood in front of Weaver more-or-less relaying, through quiet muffles, distressed silences, and worrisome fidgeting, those terrible events that had unfolded at the shopping complex. Weaver listened with a grave expression and furrowed brow, arms folded over his chest. His eyes darted every so often between the two boys. The summation of their story: a group of people snuck up on them, following protocol they assumed the group hostile, plans were made to escape, plans went wrong, and now a man was probably dead.

"It was my fault, captain," Jimmy finished quietly. He had his arms stiff at his side, his hollow gaze fixed on the floor. He shuddered, sniffed absently, and whispered, "I'm sorry. I messed up."

"No, sir, I'm the one that screwed up," Ben cut in heatedly, "Jimmy had a solid plan and…"

"It wasn't a good plan," Jimmy interrupted, sharp-tongued, "I made the call to go in to battle with four rookies, when we should've just retreated while we still had the chance."

"The plan was fine but I made the choice to go against the plans," Ben retorted.

"Which is why it's my fault," Jimmy persisted, "Because I couldn't control the people in my unit," he slumped somewhat and murmured, "You shouldn't have made me point on this assignment, sir, and…and I shouldn't be training Rome and the other unharnessed kids either. I'm sorry, I didn't want to disappoint you, but it needs to be someone with more experience…someone who's a better fighter…"

"Stop that," Ben hissed at Jimmy, then reeling on Weaver, ranted, "Captain, don't listen to anything he says. He's wrong. He had control of everyone except me and you know that's because I don't listen to anyone. He had a good plan and I'm the one that fucked it up."

"And I'm the one that killed a man," Jimmy stated plainly.

"Okay, enough, both of you," Weaver finally spoke, and both boys fell silent, hanging their heads and awaiting the coming tirade. He took a moment to assess them in quiet, before continuing, "While I got to admit, you two always impress me with the new ways you come up with to confuse the hell outta me – fighting over who has to take blame is one thing, but who gets to is a new one for me. Fortunately, far as I can tell, neither of you boys is entirely with or without fault in what took place out there at the shopping complex. So, congrats, boys, I've deemed you both responsible. Though, if anyone's going to take full responsibility for what happened out there, well, it's going to have to be me."

Ben peeked up curiously at the older man, relaxing slightly and darting a glance to Jimmy, but Jimmy remained tense, eyes trained on the ground, hands balled into fists at his sides.

"Ben, I grounded you to camp for a reason, it seems I was premature in my decision to pull you off. I'd thought I'd been too harsh, we all make mistakes in the moment, but discipline, following orders, working in a team, these are quickly becoming your weakest points," Weaver chastised, "Before, you asked me what the big deal was about following protocol and orders, so let me put things into perspective for you right now. You changed the plan handed down to you by your superior and now a man is dead – whether that would have happened or not had you followed the plan, we can't know, but the way his death came about was most definitely directed by your decision and now your friend has to live with the consequences of your actions. I could say, luckily it wasn't one of those girls you left alone that died, but it almost was and very well could have been. Not getting through to you yet? Well, let me put this into further perspective for you, the person who could've died out there could've been your good friend Jimmy, hell it could've been all of them. Next time you think to break protocol or make a quick change of plans, keep this in mind, whose life are you willing to gamble for your own edification? One of your brothers'? One of your friends'? Because those are the lives you're putting at risk, don't ever forget that. Am I understood?"

Ben set his jaw and gave a stiff nod.

"Ben, I asked if…" Weaver pressed.

"It's understood, sir," Ben said firmly.

"Good," Weaver murmured, readjusting his stand and stroking his chin, digesting the moment, "Why don't you go check in with Dr. Glass, right now? You're bleeding on the carpet. Then go pay Hal a visit. I think it'd be better if he heard from you what went down at that complex."

Ben bit back the inward groan and shook his head but, regardless, grit out concession, "Okay, sir."

He hesitated to leave, focus lingering uncertainly on Jimmy. The other boy didn't lift his eyes, his expression was too heavily shadowed to read, but the despair and self-loathing were evident, sickly grayness dripped off him in droves.

"Go, Ben," Weaver commanded.

Ben trudged to the door, darting furtive glances over his shoulder to Jimmy, hoping to at least catch a glimpse of blue, some reassurance of the boy's emotions, but there was nothing. He slipped outside and could hear Weaver gently direct Jimmy to 'sit' before the door clicked shut behind him.

Ben stood in the hallway, anger rippling through him, Weaver's words burning through his veins, smoldering in his chest and thoughts. As if he needed a fucking lecture on how badly things could have gone wrong because of his screw up. As if he didn't understand in that moment, when Jimmy went back for the girls and that single gunshot rang through the store, what he could have lost by his screw up. As if he could have controlled himself from screwing up in the first place when those first gunshots spliced the silence and sent his adrenaline on overdrive.

And now, Weaver was separating Ben from Jimmy when Jimmy was plummeting headfirst into a concrete floor of misery, sending Ben on his merry way to report in to Hal, as if the older brother was suddenly the dictating authority in Ben's life. And for that moment, just that moment, Ben hated Weaver in a way he'd never hated anyone before. It ripped through him, it seeped out of every pore in his body, it churned in his stomach, and sweltered from his feet and hands. Containing that hatred, fighting the devastating urge to do something about it, was almost physically painful, excruciating even.

Maybe Ben didn't work well on a team because he didn't need to be on a fucking team. Like hell he was going to 'pay Hal a visit', he didn't answer to his brother. Fuck, maybe he didn't need to answer to anyone. And where the fuck did Weaver get off, barking at Ben to 'go' so that he could talk with Jimmy, probably attempt to comfort Jimmy? The person who was supposed to be comforting Jimmy right then was Ben and Weaver should know that considering he always acted as though he knew everything.

Ben grimaced, flinching back to reality, startled by his own thoughts. The heat in his stomach died down and turned into a sudden heavy cold feeling. He closed his eyes, drew his breath in and let it out slow. It took him several tries to remind himself he didn't hate Weaver. Weaver had given Ben more chances than anyone else in his position would have given. He was a good captain, he could be wrong at times, but he would admit when he was wrong and do what he could to make things right. Ben relaxed his muscles and ran a hand over his face. And, loathe as he was to admit it, whatever Weaver might say to Jimmy at that moment in that room was probably more likely to reach the boy than anything Ben attempted saying.

With a hefty sigh, emotions under-wraps once more, Ben decided he couldn't stand outside that door forever, not that he wasn't willing to stand there until Jimmy exited; but people were passing through the corridor giving him far warier looks than normal. He really was not in the mood to be gaped at like a dangerous exotic animal in a barred cage; 'look at the vicious razorback, mommy'.

Despite Weaver's recommendation that Ben go see Dr. Glass, it wasn't really necessary. Weaver's observation 'you're bleeding on the carpet' was a bit of an exaggeration. Ben had been grazed by a few bullets, but no serious damage was done. He'd taken to wearing fingerless gloves on duty, which protected his hands for the most part when he put them through other people's faces, so no split knuckles in need of tending to. There was blood, but not enough to warrant medical concern.

Ben started to meander down the hall, weighing his options. He could go find Hal and give his older brother a summary of how things went at the complex. Or, he could stick his hand in a meat grinder. One of the classrooms originally meant for cooking classes, but now serving the purposes of the 2nd Mass cooking staff, had a meat grinder collecting dust that he could use. It seemed like it would be a more productive use of his time; a lot less painful also.

People passed hurriedly by Ben, averted their eyes or glared openly at him. Children paused when rounding corners, doubling back. A group of teenagers paused in their chatter to watch him stroll by. One of the girls in the group whispered something about him at least being "cute" when he'd moved safely passed and all the girls burst into giggles as the boys muttered different comments of disgust or dissent, another brought up Jimmy and the laughter flourished anew. Ben rubbed a hand over his face, an attempt to wipe away his sordid emotions. Despite what his brothers and Jimmy constantly insisted, that he just needed to settle in to the 2nd Mass, ignore them, give them a chance, they'll fall in line, Ben knew staying out of the center and essentially separating himself from the larger group was his only option.

Outside one of the classrooms, its door closed but light on inside, Ben came to a sudden halt. He could hear static inside the room, its pitch and frequency identical to the buzzing in the back of his mind, but he could hear it with his ears, an actual sound. Ben hesitated, listened for a few moments. There were voices in the room, two of them, speaking in hushed whispers.

One of the voices was easy to recognize, he was a well-known figure around camp, Dr. Glass's Uncle Scott. He often spent time teaching the 2nd Mass children, a make-shift teacher to supplement their lost education due to the alien invasion. He also served as a handy-man of sorts. It almost made sense his being in that room with the strange static; he'd been working at repairing an old radio transmitter-receiver. He'd gotten it fixed for a time, but it busted after picking up the 'brainwaves' of a captured Skitter. He still fiddled with it from time to time and had managed to find some parts in an abandoned Radio Shack and in one of the community center classrooms during their travels. Having it up and running again would prove invaluable for getting in touch with other members of the resistance

The other voice was not quite so easy to pinpoint, but Ben recalled it from hiding in the back of that bus days ago with Jimmy. It was the voice of the young man who'd climbed into the First Night with Lourdes. Jamil was his name, if Ben was remembering right. From the sounds of things, they were puzzling over the static.

Ben opened the door and entered the room. Both men startled, they were hovering around the radio, which was propped up on one of the tables, surrounded by different delicate tools and parts. They turned their attentions to the sudden intruder.

"What is that?" Ben demanded, letting the door fall shut behind him.

"Ben. Hey. How are you?" Uncle Scott returned, straightening and seeming to disregard Ben's questions altogether.

Ben's father and Uncle Scott had been something of friends, they were both the scholarly types, and could converse comfortably on a number of intellectual topics. The Mason patriarch's relations with Uncle Scott's niece went a little ways to cementing their friendship as well. In that, Uncle Scott felt a sort of responsibility towards Ben and his brothers. If Dr. Glass wasn't the one watching over Matt, then it was usually Uncle Scott or his wife Kate.

Jamil stiffened somewhat, slinking back a few paces. He and Ben weren't exactly familiar, they'd encountered one another on occasion, even exchanged a few words, but overall, Jamil was much like the rest of the 2nd Mass in his opinions about Ben. He wasn't entirely sure he could trust the 'razorback'.

"I'm fine," Ben snapped, pointing at the radio agitatedly and once more asking, "What is that?"

"Oh yeah, this old piece of junk," Uncle Scott laughed, putting his hands on his hips and motioning at it accusingly, "Jamil and I were tinkering around with it again. I know, everyone thinks it's a waste of time. Kate's been on me to toss the thing, just a waste of space, but I got to hold on to hope, you know. It got us closer to understanding how the minds of those alien creatures work than anything else we've done and it got us briefly in touch with other resistance groups. If we can get it working again…and I thought we might've gotten it, it lit up and started making noise, looked like it may have even caught a signal, but all we can pick up is this awful screeching. We've been twisting these dials, hoping to zero in on the signal, clean it up but…"

Ben wasn't really listening as the older man prattled on about the radio. He took a few steps closer to the table where the radio sat, his eyes slipping closed as he focused intently on the buzzing. Though it sounded like white noise, meaningless and monotonous, for Ben it very clearly wasn't. There was a slight, almost imperceptible pattern to the static, in fact, it didn't sound like one pulsing tone but instead like several tones pulsing together at altering frequency, pitch, and tempo. The longer he listened to it, the clearer it became; no longer was it a whispered static in the back of his mind, now the sound had become more like a sweet, melodious song.

A clear blue ocean stretched before Ben. He could smell the cool water – clean and fresh, taste the salt on his lips, and feel the hot sand between his toes. His mother sat digging in the sand, Matt in her lap piling her sand into his little pail, flipping it over to build towers and turrets. Hal and his father ran through the tide, tossing a Frisbee. Hovering on the horizon, sitting far into the distance like the setting sun, was a silver spacecraft lit in fiery blues and whites.

"This isn't where I was," Ben whispered, squeezing his eyes closed to shut out the blinding sunlight reflecting off the water's surface.

"What's that, hon?" his mother questioned from where she sat, clawing her hands into the sand, digging out a moat around Matt's castle.

"Stop, I'll do it myself," Matt whined.

"Why am I here?" Ben wondered, pushing his voice up a decibel, "I wasn't here before. I was…"

"Ben, what are you talking about? You wanted to come out here," his mother replied. She sighed, concern edging her tone, "Sweetheart, maybe you should go sit in the shade for a little while. You've been standing out in the sun too long. You know it makes you dizzy."

"I wanted…" Ben murmured, furrowing his brow, trying to recall why he felt so out of place.

This was right. This was correct. Everything was exactly as it should be.

It was Sunday morning, they were at Carson Beach. Ben remembered, he had begged and pleaded with his father the night before that they come out. His father had been against it. Hal had lacrosse practice earlier that morning, and Ben had a doctor's appointment in the afternoon, but then Hal's coach cancelled the practice, something about the field needing to be groomed for an upcoming tournament.

"Ben, hon, don't go in the water," his mother called, "You're sensitive to the cold. Remember last time, you got hypothermic, I don't want to rush you to the hospital again."

"I was five, mom, and it was the middle of fall. I'll be fine, it's almost eighty outside," Ben replied, haggard. He took a few steps forward and let the returning tide rush over his bare feet. Tiny shivers raced the length of his spine.

Not too far in the distant waters, there were kids and teenagers, a few adults as well, swimming, diving, and jumping through the crashing waves. Girls sunbathed higher up on the beach in little string bikinis. Young children, toddlers mostly, sprinted in circles near the tide line kicking up muddy sand with floating devices secure on their arms or pulled snug around their waists. Clouds wisped overhead, folding and curling into themselves, pulling and pushing out, spreading themselves so thin that they eventually faded from existence. And the stretch of sky was so blue, Ben felt himself drowning in it. He continued forward, the tide rolling back into the chilled over ocean and dragging him with it.

"Where are you going, son? Don't go into that water," his father called out to Ben, holding the Frisbee in one hand, shielding his eyes with the other.

"I'll be fine," Ben returned, a harsh whisper crossing his lips, "Why is everyone always telling me what to do?"

A few more steps out into the ocean, thigh deep in water now, the sand beneath Ben's feet gave way and he slipped under. He fell deep into the churning waves, he couldn't see the ocean floor beneath him and the surface was too far above to reach. The ocean's embrace was like ice, the sunlight's warmth couldn't cut through the waters he was sinking into. Through the murky black, the flurry of bubbles rushing upwards, he could see a creature writhing, and billowing in the deep. As large as a whale, it resembled an eel in shape; its skin shimmered like the hardened shell of a beetle, its teeth gnashed the water, foam roiling from its every orifice, its countless tentacle-like legs rippled and quaked. Its eyes, milk-white pearls, locked on Ben.

Ben closed his eyes, let himself float a moment, relished in the melancholy feeling of buoyancy. His lungs demanded air; they burst with flame erupting from within. Ice seeped through his skin and bit into his veins. He kicked his legs, thrashed his arms, and aimed for what he hoped was skywards. Seconds felt like minutes felt like hours, an eternal ocean sliding through his fingertips. His heart beat furious, his lungs screamed desperate danger, and his limbs grew weak and weary.

Ben burst the surface of the water and gasped for air. The porcelain squeaked beneath his skin. He opened his eyes and glared, breathless and pained, at the bathtub tiled walls. His bathwater sloshed around him, spilling out onto the floor and splashing into his face. It had long ago cooled to room temperature, sapped him of all body heat. His teeth clattered noisily, and he quivered uncontrollable. His brother banged on the bathroom door.

"Hurry the fuck up, you little waste of space," Hal shouted outside.

"I'll be out in a minute," Ben murmured response, swiping his drenched hair and the slurry of water from out of his face. He attempted to pull himself out of the tub, felt dizzy a moment and slipped back down. He waited, staring starry eyed out at the bathroom he shared with his brothers.

Matt chose the décor, Spongebob curtain and throw rug. Toothbrushes lined the sink, a bottle of mouthwash beside them, and a toothpaste tube spilled its innards over the marble countertop. There were cologne bottles, aftershave and a bottle of hand soap. A few towels hung from the rung, the boys were only supposed to use their own towels, color coded for each: Hal's were the blue ones, Ben's the red, Matt's were all the yellow, but Hal would use whichever one he grabbed first.

"Get out now," Hal insisted, "You've been in there for the past fucking hour and a half! It's my turn."

Ben slunk back in the water, tilting his head to stare up at the ceiling. He had caught his breath, his head felt a little less light, but his heart and thoughts were heavy. Tears were rising to the brim of his eyes; he had hoped that they'd finally stopped but it seemed he was wrong. He slipped under the water to wash them away again, effectively muffling his brother's persistent pounding on the door.

If he could only stay like this until the water filled his lungs and pressed out all air, drifting away into an endless abyss, but he couldn't overcome his body's natural instinct to survive. He lifted himself out of the tub, water dripping off his slender naked form into the sloshing bath below. He tore his towel off the rung and buried his face in it; it smelled of fresh laundry detergent. Then he patted it over his feet and legs and wrapped it round his waist. He stepped up to the sink and stared at himself in the mirror over it.

"Dammit, you know that I have plans," Hal complained, "If you make me late…"

Ben choked down a bitter sob. Because that was exactly what he needed right then, a reminder that it was Friday night, and Hal would be going out with friends or whatever girl he had picked out for the occasion and, once again, Ben would be staying in watching Matt, reading some book and dwelling on the memory of the only person he'd felt brave enough to let himself love ripping his confession up before his eyes earlier that day.

Who was going to accept a confession like that anyway? For someone so smart, straight A's in nearly all honors classes, Ben was always making such an idiot of himself. He had foolishly poured his heart out on wide-ruled loose-leaf paper with fumbling lines about conversations and chance encounters that he had known even before the shredded pieces of paper flittered to the floor – if he'd just admitted it to himself before writing them down – only held any meaning to him, and then littered the forgettable reminiscing with clips of poetry. Who was he kidding, pilfering those stanzas, as if anyone actually liked reading sonnets and love ballads?

Ben glared hatefully at his reflection. It was no wonder he'd been rejected…again. He was always being turned away, overlooked, or outright ignored. He had such dull eyes, gaunt features, and bony frame, he was repulsive really, sickly looking, clumsy and all around awkward. He couldn't even make up for his failings of appearance with a good personality. No one liked talking to him, and why should they, he had nothing of worth to add to the conversation; maybe some boring fact, a scientific explanation or a historical note that no one cared to know. He couldn't make anyone laugh or smile, unless they were laughing at him of course. No one would cry over him, yearn for him. Thirteen years old and he was already condemned to a life of solitude.

"You fucking pain in the ass, I'm going to break down this door if you don't get out of the bathroom right now," Hal shouted, pounding his fist against the door. It rattled noisily and Ben flinched.

"Okay, I'm going," Ben snapped, but the anger in his words fizzled and died in his throat. Frustrated, he ran his hand over his face, and then he turned around, unlocked the door, twisted it open, and stepped out.

Into a field of alien flowers, stretching until forever, the girl in white dress stood with her head tilted back and eyes staring up into the far-reaching skies, a sea of black swarming with tiny silver stars. Ben approached her tentatively. He could hear his heart pounding, feel it thumping against his chest, and up into his throat.

"I'm not sure where I am," Ben confessed, "I'm not sure where I'm supposed to be going."

The girl turned towards Ben, her eyes peering up into his own. She extended her hand to him.

"I'll take you where you need to go," she assured him. Ben swallowed hard, furrowed his brow. He started to reach for her hand but stopped inches short, remembered himself, and pulled back, taking a step away.

"This isn't right," he murmured, "This isn't where I want to be."

"It's where you need to be. It's where you're supposed to be," she replied, "Stop fighting and accept it."

…

Hal had heard from some of the other fighters that Ben and his group had returned to camp. That was an hour ago, plenty of time for Ben to report in to Captain Weaver then seek out his family for dinner or, at the very least, to check in. Yet, an hour passed and still no sign of Ben. So Hal left Matt enjoying some beef stew with Dr. Glass in the mess, while he wandered camp in search of his brother. He finally decided to check Ben's tent and, for once, Ben was actually there. Ben stood with his back to the entrance when Hal entered, didn't even bother turning or speaking up to acknowledge his visitor.

"What the hell, you don't think it could be somewhat courteous to stop by after you return from a mission and say 'hi' to your…" Hal started, striding swiftly forward and grabbing hold of Ben's shoulder, aiming to twist the younger boy around with a hard jerk, but Ben spun suddenly, grabbing Hal by the collar and slipping a knife blade up under his chin.

Hal's heart staggered to a halt in his chest, the blood drained from his face. Ben's eyes were dark and unfocused, his grip like iron.

"Ben," Hal began in a low warning growl, "Let me go."

Ben blinked once, twice, and his eyes fluttered back into focus. He flicked his eyes to his brother, to the knife, then all around the tent. He released Hal's collar, took several steps back, looking discomforted, and sheathed the knife.

"Why are you here?" Ben questioned, coughing slightly to cover the tremble in his words.

"Why are you sticking a knife to my throat?" Hal returned sharply. He folded his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes on his little brother.

Ben took another step back and turned away, running a hand over the back of his head, almost sheepish.

"You startled me is all," he stammered response.

"I startled you," Hal repeated incredulous, "So you stick a knife to my throat!"

"Sorry. Shit, Hal, it was a rough mission, alright," Ben growled return.

"How rough?" Hal demanded, and then noting his brother's agitation and anxiousness, questioned, "Are you alright?" and then gently added, "Is Jimmy alright?"

"No. I don't know," Ben murmured, shrugging, and quietly explained, "Another scout group, strangers, showed up at the complex. They were armed and looked hostile. We were worried they'd follow us back to camp if we tried to run, so we thought we'd subdue them, maybe talk to them…I don't know."

Hal groaned, grinding the keel of his hand into his face. He didn't like where he sensed this story going.

"Things got complicated…they opened fire and…and I screwed up and…and Jimmy shot someone," Ben rattled off, folding his arms over his chest and pacing as he spoke.

Hal darted his eyes up to meet his brother's, his brow furrowing heavily, his head suddenly felt heavy and clouded. That wasn't exactly the ending he'd expected.

"Shot someone? Who? How bad…?"

Ben scowled, grimaced, and answered, "One of theirs. Bad. He's probably dead now."

"Oh," Hal murmured, sighed, and lifted his brow in mild stun, "Shit. How is he? Jimmy, I mean…how's he handling it?"

"I don't know," Ben mumbled.

"You don't know?" Hal noted, slightly bemused.

Ben was always attesting to how close he and Jimmy were, how strong their bond, that their 'relationship' ran deeper than the physical, but Jimmy was going through something so emotionally shattering as possibly ending another human being's life and Ben wasn't there with Jimmy, didn't even know where Jimmy's mind was at.

It was typical Ben, as far as Hal was concerned.

When they were younger, Ben believed he could empathize with their family cat. He thought the mangy old tabby understood him, and cared about him but when their father got his job at the university and they were forced to move to Boston, the cat ran away. Ben cried for days about it, and their dad's attempted explanation that the cat probably felt more at home in the old house and decided to return there only made matters worse. Wasn't home with the people you cared about? Did that mean the cat didn't care about him?

Jimmy wasn't exactly a cat and Ben was five at the time, but Hal couldn't help worrying if Ben might be attaching more meaning to their relationship than actually existed. They were in their early teens, at an age when relationships lasted on average two weeks and while they had miraculously managed to surpass that mile marker, the month or so they had lasted didn't exactly earn them bragging rights.

Relationships were in constant flux around the 2nd Mass. There were a lot of teenagers, and almost no adult supervision – basically none if you didn't count the adults who truly could not care less about anyone they weren't directly related to. Teenagers were hooking up and breaking up all the time, and everyone was having sex with someone, the possibility of death looming constantly over one's head tended to have that effect on people.

Hal knew why Ben hated the constant interfering in his relationship with Jimmy, who wouldn't hate it, but Hal really was just trying to protect his brother from an unnecessarily difficult heartache in already difficult times.

Ben could be an intense and sensitive kid, always had been, regardless of what the harness did to him. For Hal, it was distressing how deep Ben seemed to be falling for Jimmy, coupled with his ominous do-or-die thoughts, and it looked like an impending train wreck in Hal's mind.

It didn't help that Jimmy was a tough read. By all outward appearances, Jimmy was a good kid, but for Hal it was alarming how little he knew about the boy considering how long they'd served in the 'trenches' together, and some of the things he did know were mildly disconcerting: he was an orphan, held his liquor well, smoked if he had 'em, dead shot with almost any gun – only recently on the battlefield, liked dogs. He hadn't treated Ben well when the harness was first removed, his sudden change of heart seemed random at best, so it wasn't much of a stretch to assume that for Jimmy, this 'relationship' of theirs might just be a release from the stress of war, and ending it, moving on to someone else, for whatever reason or none at all, could be as easy as flicking away a cigarette butt burnt to its end. What with everything else Ben had been through, it almost wouldn't seem fair to throw that kind of devil-may-care rejection on his shoulders too.

So Ben could hate Hal all he wanted, but Hal would continue to do whatever it took to spare his brother as much of that pain as possible, by putting in every effort he could to keep both boys grounded in reality.

"I haven't had a chance to talk to him. He's with Weaver right now," Ben griped, "But, come on, man; how the fuck do you think he's handling it? Not good, I know that."

Hal ran a hand over the back of his neck, paced through the tent a few times. He wasn't certain what to say. He'd struggled with shooting a Skitter at first. His father had told him that ending a life, no matter how alien, was never easy. But even just thinking about actually ending another human life turned in Hal's stomach a very different and raw emotion. He could chastise Ben for not being with Jimmy and comforting the boy he proclaimed so heartily that he cared for during a time of obvious need, but it really was an impossible expectation. What could Ben possibly say to comfort Jimmy? Hell, Hal wouldn't even know what to say.

"Weaver'll take care of him," Hal said carefully.

"Yeah," Ben muttered, folding his arms over his chest and sniffling loudly. He glared at a spot on the tent's tarp flooring; brow wrinkled severely, expression shadowed and unreadable.

Hal shifted uncomfortably, sought something more to say. It was becoming increasingly difficult adjusting to the changes in Ben's personality. Ben had always been a bit on the quiet side – it was difficult to find people to relate to when his intelligence level was above and beyond that of most, but the disturbing pensive stares and the sudden bursts of anger were new and perturbing. Hal had shrugged away when Ben tossed him against the wall; they were in the middle of a fight and even before the war Ben had taken at least one swing at Hal, ironically during a phase when he claimed to be adopting a lifestyle of 'total pacifism', but Ben pulled a knife on Hal; it was sudden and without provocation. The scariest part had been the expression on Ben's face, the look in his eyes. It almost felt as though Ben wasn't really there, that although he was looking right at Hal, he wasn't seeing Hal.

Hal cleared his throat, "Hang out with me and Matt tonight."

"I kind of wanted to spend time with Jimmy," Ben replied quietly.

"You know he's going to be talking with Weaver for a while," Hal persisted, "Just spend time with us until he's done, it might help take the edge off of everything that happened on that mission. There's going to be a movie playing in the community center main atrium tonight, we can go watch it and by the time it finishes Weaver will probably be finishing up his pep talk with Jimmy."

"I don't know," Ben mumbled. Hal sighed, shaking his head.

"Come on, Ben. You're never really around and even when you are, you aren't. Matt misses you," Hal argued, and then dropping his gaze, said, "I know you're worried about Jimmy but…but family matters too and right now all the family we have is each other. You can't neglect that."

"I don't. I spent the other day playing chess with Matt," Ben returned, then lightheartedly noted, "And I never miss my daily fight with you."

Hal smirked.

Ben ran his hand over his face and sighed.

"Fine," he relented, "We'll go watch the movie…but as soon as Jimmy leaves Weaver, I want to be there."

"Alright, alright," Hal muttered, shaking his head. He started for the tent flap, expecting Ben to follow, but faltered when he realized his brother wasn't moving. He furrowed his brow, "Ben…?"

"Sorry," Ben mumbled, still intently studying the floor. He shrugged, and lifted his eyes, admitted in a hushed lament, "It's just…we had a date tonight."

"A date?" Hal parroted, quirking a brow, "You and Jimmy?"

"Yeah," Ben whispered, "It was supposed to be our first…actual...because we never actually…had…one. And now I guess we still won't…" He scowled, sighed, "I know it sounds stupid."

"It does," Hal confirmed and Ben darted a glare up at him, "But, you know, everything in a relationship basically sounds stupid to everyone else."

A small smile flitted across Ben's features and then quickly flew away, "You're willing to accept that Jimmy and I have a relationship then?"

"I'm willing to accept you're a dork," Hal replied mock-earnest, "Now let's go. We have to hurry and grab Matt if we want to get a good seat for the movie."

Ben moved forward and Hal let him pass to exit the tent first. Following behind, all Hal could see were those spikes in Ben's spine, as thoughts tumbled through his mind of how alien his brother was truly becoming.

.

.

.

A/N: Going to make this quick, I'm watching some video on creationism...I don't know why.

Right...every time I look at this chapter, I'm like...this shouldn't be as long as it is. But it is. Right, more vision stuff, and then...Hal.

Thank you for stopping in! Please let me know what you think!

Reviewers: Sassysavanna190, yes...I know. I'm trying not to think about the length of this story right know, that's what tends to freak me out. I'm glad the cliffhanger was worth the wait! Don't apologize for writing long reviews, I love that you write such long reviews, it shows you've got a lot of passion for the story. Also, I keep forgetting to mention, a while back you made note of it and I thought it was awesome you caught it, it is pretty important that Ben can make Jimmy laugh, it's important to Ben anyhow, and it comes up in the story way, way, way near the end-ish. typhoonboom08, ah, I feel so lucky right now to be getting so many reviews from you! Yeah, I think it became pretty obvious to Ben in this chapter that his emotional impulses are getting insanely out of control. Glad to hear the action turned out good, and yeah...Roman needed that clocking. JDMlvr1, yes he is. Oh, Ben and Roman cannot be left alone together, that would be dangerous for both of their health..physically for Roman, emotionally for Ben...though he would finally be able to relate with Jimmy on the 'killing another person' bit. I jest, of course, I don't think Ben has it in him to kill someone else. We'll see. No problems on the birthday wishes, I take it you didn't finish reading because you were out hardcore celebrating? I hope it was wonderful!

Thanks for stopping by guys! I hope to hear from you all this chapter and I will see everyone...Thursday. Hah, I remembered. I have a meeting on Tuesday for an anthropology internship at school, so, wish me luck!