Falling Skies 1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Falling Skies **

Chapter 1

**Hal Mason **struggled to stay awake. They had sedated him, trying to push him back under the hazy veil of sleep. Why? His eyes searched the bland infirmary of Charleston's base until he found the blurry face of his father looking over him with chilled concern in dark eyes. A sensation of revulsion flared in Hal's head, and he jerked away from his father, not wanting to look at him.

In a very small corner of his mind, Hal knew something was wrong. Very wrong. But what? He wanted to tell them, tell them about the cold feeling that would slither down his back and writhe in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to tell them, but they wanted the darkness to overcome him instead.

"Anne…" Hal's sluggish tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He swallowed hard, attempting to vanquish the thick saliva that clamped his mouth shut.

Hal felt a cool hand on his forehead, and he tried to flinch away but his muscles were too heavy, too slow…He was weak and vulnerable. And he hated it.

"I'm right here, Hal," he heard her say soothingly. Soft hair fell into his eyes causing his eyelashes to flutter in confused irritation.

"It's okay, Son. You can sleep. It's okay," his father said to him, gripping his hand.

Hal wanted so badly to pull his hand away, but he couldn't. His body was stiff, and he was slipping. His vision blackened, and he inhaled sharply widening his eyes. He had just woken up, woken up from a nightmare, to tell them. Why would he want to return down into the depths, where he had no control? Why wouldn't they let him tell them?

He couldn't fend it off any longer. The darkness claimed him, and his eyes fell shut.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Thanks y'all for all the reviews and follows! And I agree! I thought it was my civic duty to create more Hal w/ Ear Bug stories. So…here it is! I apologize for another short chapter, but I just gotta get things rolling, ya know? **

Chapter 2

"There's something wrong with him," Tom Mason exclaimed quietly for fear of disturbing his son from the other room. The severity in his voice, however, wasn't lacking. He was afraid. Attempting to stop the trembling in his fingertips, he grasped the insides of his shirt. He would_ not_ lose another son to the aliens that destroyed his world.

Anne shifted uneasily, sympathy in her eyes. "I know, Tom. But I'm not sure if it is something that can be so easily fixed."

Tom furrowed his brow. There was a crash of metal from the corner of the infirmary, and his eyes darted towards the makeshift nurses scuttling to clean up whatever they had dropped. He turned his eyes towards the room that held his eldest son. When he was satisfied that the noise had not troubled him, he returned his gaze to Anne, someone he had grown to call more than friend. But that Anne was now gone, masked by a firm professionalism that could have only been conjured by much pain and loss.

Tom's stomach twisted. "What do you mean?"

Anne bit her lip, her mask faltering only slightly, "I don't know. Physically, there's nothing wrong with him."

"_Physically_," the incredulity was heavy in Tom's voice.

The doctor touched his arm gently, "You have to listen to me, Tom. He's been through a lot and—"

"We've all been through a lot," He interrupted angrily. He couldn't believe what Anne was insinuating—that his son, his first child was…He shook his head quickly, jaw pulsing.

Anne grimaced, "Some can't cope as well as others, Tom. You know that."

"He was fine!" He couldn't help but bark at her. Only when she tightened her hold on his arm did he realize he'd lost his composure, that the nurses and doctors were bound to be watching now. He sighed and lowered his voice, "What about the warehouse? Karen kissed him and he fell unconscious." Tom denied the urge to spit out the sour taste in his mouth. Once they had found out Karen's parents were killed in the initial attack, he had taken responsibility for her, laid awake at night, in a cold sweat of guilt, for days when he had found out her fate…and to think she harmed his son? It was disgusting to say the least.

Anne nodded her head slowly, watching him carefully. "It's possible. Which is why we're continuing to monitor him. But Tom."

He reluctantly met her hard gaze.

"What if you're wrong?"

The fear was icy shards in his stomach, but he managed to shake his head at her, "I'm not." But what if he was? Tom stepped away from her, and she reluctantly allowed him. He brushed past a doctor who nearly dropped a bottle of rubbing alcohol, muttering apologies. He has to get out of here. The stench of blood and peroxide from the recent battle was still thick, and it was sickening.

Once he was out of the infirmary, he settled on a brick wall and slid down to the floor, resting his thumbs against the bridge of his nose. Inhaling deeply, he looked up to the ceiling. Hal Mason, his son, was a fighter. _Is _a fighter. When Tom had to tell Hal the tragic fate of his mother, it was Hal, with tears in his eyes, who volunteered to go look for Ben. To think that after all Hal had gone through, only _now, _when he had come so far, to lose himself, seemed cruelly unfair.

He had to believe that Anne's suspicions were wrong. Hal would have to be okay. Even when no one else was, Hal was okay.

_Post Traumatic Stress_, Tom let the words that Anne did not dare to speak mingle in his mind. _Hal. _

The combination seemed almost silly.

_Almost. _

The word stuck in his mind likea ton of bricks.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: A longer chapter this time! As promised! Thanks for all the reviews and follows! They seriously make my day! J**

Chapter 3

Hal Mason didn't understand why there was the sound of beeping. After a few moments of counting the rhythmic sound, he concluded that it wasn't a bomb. That didn't make sense. Its sound would give itself away, and…wasn't he in Charleston? Maybe it was an alarm clock…the whining, hollow tone began to prickle his ears causing him to furrow his brow in annoyance. But what kind of idiot would just leave it running?

Hal cracked open an eyelid. Concrete walls, plain floors. He frowned when he realized he was in the infirmary. No clock in sight. He tried to sit up; he was laying too flat on his back, and the limp pillow under his head barely made him feel secure. Hal grunted when his back straightened and he slid his feet to the floor.

He immediately regretted the decision. His vision tinted black around the edges, and his ears started to ring, emanating a monotone trill that he could not escape. He shook his head quickly, scrunching his eyes shut.

God, his head hurt. Is that why he was in the infirmary? Did he hit his head?

Hal's hand reached upward to probe the flesh of any possible wound, but something tugged his arm against his will. Glancing towards his hand warily, he noticed chords and wires tangled around his arm, leading to a machine.

Ah. So it was his heart that was beeping. But why was he…

Hal jerked his head to the sound of scraping metal. Lourdes had suddenly appeared, pulling back the curtains, and entered his little confinement.

"Hal," she smiled at him, her brown eyes twinkling, "You're awake. Good." She was holding a plastic cup with a straw and offered it to him.

Hal took it gratefully, bringing the tip of the straw to his lips. The cold water soothed his aching throat. He returned the cup to Lourdes, frowning. He hadn't notice it before. Why did his throat hurt?

"Are you all right?" She asked, placing the cup on the bedside table, before sitting beside him.

Hal tensed when her shoulder brushed against his.

"Yeah," he said hoarsely, nodding his head. With his free hand, he rubbed his eyes tiredly and pulled away when he felt something wet on his cheeks. "What is this?" he asked, looking down at the slight moisture on his hand.

"I think they're called tears," Lourdes teased, "Sometimes that happens, you know."

"But…" Hal's head pounded with thought. He knew he was forgetting something. He just didn't know if it was important or not. He hastily wiped his hand on his pants. "Why was I crying, Lourdes?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her grimace. Regret flickered across her face for a brief moment before she said, "Maybe it happened why you were sleeping?"

Sleeping. He was sleeping, having a nightmare. But he woke up. But…sedation. Anne and his father had sedated him. Why? Was he sick? Did he almost die? He remembered…needing to tell them something. Was it his last goodbyes? He shook his head tersely, positioning himself so that he was facing Lourdes at a sideways angle. "Why am I—why did they—" Hal forced himself to swallow his frustration, he knew by her wide eyes that he was only scaring her…or maybe that was beeping noise growing in speed. He didn't know. He didn't know what was happening. He was so confused. He felt so... "What happened?"

Lourdes bit her lip, sliding off the bed, "I'll go get Anne."

The muscles in his jaw tightened, but he just continued to stare at her.

On her way out of the room, Lourdes turned to him and smiled weakly, "I'm really glad you're awake, Hal."

When she was gone, Hal sighed with irritation. Since when did Lourdes need Anne's permission to simply tell him what was going on? Unless…was he dying? He didn't think so. He had a headache, not a hole in his head after all.

Dr. Anne Glass greeted him with a glowing smile. She was wearing a white lab coat, something Charleston must have supplied. Her long hair was pulled into a bun, small strands framing her cheekbones. She looked like an official, approved _doctor_, and it unsettled him deeply.

"Hi, Hal," she stopped walking towards him when she was about a few feet away. "Would you like to lie down?"

The tone of her voice suggested it was more of an order than a question, but Hal pretended not to notice. "I'm fine."

Anne nodded slowly, "Alright. Is there anything I can get you? You must be—"

"You can tell me what happened," Hal suggested flatly. Both Lourdes and Anne were avoiding something, something about _him_. And it scared him. He just needed to know.

Anne twisted her lip, her calculating eyes looking him over swiftly. "What…what do you remember?" She took a few steps backwards, catching a wheeled stool with her palm and pulling it towards the bed.

Hal looked up to the ceiling, thinking. He was hoping maybe he would have grasped another memory since his conversation with Lourdes but to no avail. "I was sleeping, but I woke up. Then you sedated me." He frowned at the now sitting Anne.

"You're right," Anne said, watching him, "I did."

"Why?"

"Hal…" Anne slid a hand down her face, "You woke up screaming, and you wouldn't stop. We tried to calm you down, Tom and I, but it was like you couldn't see us. You didn't even notice we were there. Sedating you seemed like the best decision at the time."

"I…" Hal fumbled for what to say. Shattered memories were flooding back to him, trying to stitch themselves together. "I had a nightmare," he finally decided on saying.

"I know," Anne replied sympathetically, "But I think it's more than that. I'm not going to make any diagnosis just yet though. I'd like to keep you overnight for observation."

Hal cracked a smile morbidly, noting her medical authority, "Sounds like you've settled in."

Anne laughed lightly, "Yes, I suppose I have."

Hal glanced down at his clasped hands as dread seeped into his chilled flesh. He felt fine. Given their circumstances, it was perfectly natural for someone to have an occasional nightmare. He didn't like the way Anne was looking at him. She was almost _too _understanding. "What's wrong with me?" he asked softly, not daring to meet her gaze.

He heard her sigh softly. "Hal—"

"Do you think I'm crazy?" He jerked his head up to see the expression on her face, quickly stomaching his fear.

"No, Hal," she shook her head, eyebrows raised. "We're only being cautious. For once, I feel like I don't have to keep taking risks with the Second Mass' health. We're not on the run anymore, at least for now. We're no longer as vulnerable."

Hal nodded curtly, but he completely disagreed. He did not feel secure. Doubt riddled his thoughts plaguing him with uncertainty, but if they would just give him some answers!

Anne seemed to take the hint from his desperate eyes. "Do…do you remember the warehouse?"

Hal's lips parted in confusion, "The…_warehouse?"_

Anne frowned, "Yes. That's why I'm keeping you here for the night. Hal…when we went there, Karen kissed you and you lost consciousness immediately afterwards."

Acting on instinct, Hal tentatively touched his cracked lips with shaky fingertips. He took in a ragged breath, closing his eyes tightly. Flickering images bombarded his mind, but they all too quickly left before he could clearly look upon them. He distinctly noticed the color red, branding the back of his mind. His head throbbed mercilessly. Why hadn't he remembered? Why was everything so hazy? No. Not everything. Some pieces of memory were sharpened distinctly. Like the curdling screams, the pooling blood, the boiling rage…

"Hal!"

Something gripped his shoulder hard, and he gasped, recoiling, pulling away. He had to run, he wasn't safe here, and he needed to—

Cold hands pressed against each side of his face, and he forced himself to open his eyes. Anne's concerned gaze met his and he flinched. He blinked hard, panting heavily. The beeping from his heart was wailing in his ears, and his teeth wouldn't stop hammering away at each other.

"Just breathe, Hal, alright?" Anne said to him softly.

Hal obeyed, closing his eyes, and sucked in air through his trembling mouth. He twisted the thick fabric of his sweat pants in his hands, trying to find some sort of grounding. He was in the infirmary. At Charleston's Base. He was…safe.

"Anne," Hal rasped out once she had released him.

"Shhh," she whispered, "Deep breaths. Good, that's it."

Anne patted Hal's arm when she was satisfied with the rate of his heart beat and steady breaths. His muscles stiffened involuntarily under her touch. "How do you feel, Hal?"

"Like Hell."

Anne smirked half-heartedly at that. "I promise you, Hal, we will figure this out. We will do whatever we need to in order to help you. I give you my word."

Hal swallowed hard, "Anne…there's something wrong. I…I don't know how to explain it." He motioned to his head exasperatedly. "I think…I think Karen must have..." Hal bit his lip. Why did he have reason to suspect Karen? What could she have possibly done to him? He shook his head helplessly.

Anne pressed her lips together, pity in her eyes. "We'll figure this out," she repeated quietly, but this time, her words were hollow and lingered in the tense air. Hal could only interpret it as doubt.

Both of them turned their heads to the sound of the glass door being slid open. Someone entered through the gap in the curtains and stopped a few feet behind Anne, hands stuffed into pant pockets.

Someone that made Hal's stomach twist. Someone that made anger bubble in his chest and made icy hatred coil around his throat. Someone he knew very well.

Ben.


	4. Chapter 4

Hal swallowed hard. _He's my brother_, he reminded himself, suppressing his unprovoked anger. _What the hell is wrong with me? _

"It's good to see you, Hal," Ben greeted almost awkwardly. Could he tell what his brother was feeling towards him? Hal hoped not.

"Ben," Hal smiled weakly, "You too, man."

"I'll leave you two to catch up," Anne smiled as she rose from the leather stool. She grasped Ben's shoulder encouragingly before pulling shut the curtains behind her. Her movements were followed by Ben's watchful gaze.

"Take care, Anne," he said softly.

Hal narrowed his eyes, perturbed by Ben's seemingly protective manner over the doctor. "What's that all about?"

Ben blinked at him, "What?" He filled Anne's vacancy on the stool, before continuing, "It's just been a rough few days."

Hal wondered if any of it had to do with him, but he ignored the dark thought and forced out a laugh, "How much could I have missed?"

Ben's eyes widened and lost focus, "A lot."

Hal clenched his hands into fists and bit back the unexplainable frustration towards his brother, "Well, what happened? Anne and Lourdes won't tell me a damn thing." He regretted that his words were still clipped with hostility.

Ben sighed, rubbing his hands down his face, "How are you?"

"_Ben._"

Ben grimaced, puffing out an exhalation of air, "Fine. Would…would you believe that an entirely new species of alien landed right here in Charleston?"

"Don't screw with me."

Ben lifted his hands in surrender, "I'm not."

Hal couldn't hide the shock from his face, but when he really thought about it, a new alien deciding to raid Earth didn't seem that out of the ordinary anymore. Curiosity trembled within him, but for some reason, Hal was anxious about his curiosity being too evident to Ben. "I take it that since you're alive, it's friendly?"

Ben shrugged, "Don't know for sure. It's in our custody now though."

Chills fingered down Hal's spine, and his heart pounded in his chest. Ben's eyes wavered upon the machine that read his heart rate before hiding the concern in his critical eyes. Hal mentally cursed. He couldn't hide anything with his heart translating his every thought into rhythmic wails.

"In custody, huh?" Hal scratched his head with a humoring smile, "Interrogations and all?"

Ben's brow wrinkled from thought, "No, not yet. We don't know how to communicate with it."

"But don't you speak alien?"

Ben glowered at him half-heartedly, "No. Didn't you hear what I said? He's a new species. He doesn't communicate in Skitternian."

Hal couldn't help but chuckle, "Skitternian? You _named_ their language?"

Ben blushed, frowning, "It needed a name…"

Hal stifled another laugh, his smile broadening, "Ben. You are _such _a geek."

Ben's lip lifted slightly, "You'd think with me saving your life so many times, you'd be nicer to me."

Hal stared at him with incredulity, "Right. Because strangling me definitely calls for a high-five and a pat on the back." He had intended his words to be said teasingly, but he couldn't help but notice the undertone of bitterness as the words spilled from his mouth.

Thankfully, Ben didn't hear it, or at least, didn't let on that he did, and responded with, "Darn."

"What?"

"When Lourdes told me your memory was a little foggy I was hoping you'd forget about that little…_incident." _

Hal smirked, "I wouldn't dream of forgetting that juicy piece of blackmail, _Ambassador _Mason."

Ben rolled his eyes, shaking his head, "You know, just because I can communicate with the Skitters does not make me an ambassador."

Hal raised his eyebrows, "It kind of does, actually."

Ben eventually sighed, "Yeah…"

"Have you talked to Red-Eye about the new alien?"

Hal could visibly see the energy leave his younger brother. Ben's shoulders hunched inwards and his head bowed to his chest. His hands, unlike the rest of his body, were tense and turning white. "Hal. Red-Eye's dead."

"God, Ben. I'm sorry." But Hal was not sorry. He thought he should have been, but he wasn't. Not only was he not remorseful, but pride strained in his chest and his heart fluttered with giddy jubilation. He felt the urge to grin, but retained his stony expression. Hal told himself that he must have been relieved because Red-Eye would no longer be able to influence and control Ben. Never again would the Skitter Rebellion come ahead of healing the Mason family.

Ben nodded, "It's alright," he said optimistically, straightening his back. "The Skitters will need some time to regroup, but then we can continue what he started."

Hal cocked his head to the side and watched him, pressing his lips together firmly. "Has anything else—"

Anne returned to the room, pulling away the curtains, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but Hal," she turned to him with glinting eyes, "You should get some rest."

"I'm not tired," Hal said quickly. He wasn't satisfied yet. He needed to know what was happening. He didn't expect all of this to happen while he was unconscious. So much Ben had told him, and it was clear that there was so much more to tell.

Anne shrugged, "Either way, I'm requesting that Ben leaves."

Hal began to protest, "Anne—"

Ben gets off from the stool, "It's okay, Hal. I have my shift in the kitchens soon anyways. I'll be back later today, I promise. And I'm sure Matt and Maggie will want to see you too."

"Maggie?" Hal echoed in confusion. He knew Matt was his brother, obviously. And he knew Maggie. But why would she want to visit him?

Ben smiled crookedly at him while he walked towards Anne, "Yeah, she didn't dump you after you kissed your ex-girlfriend. I too, was shocked."

Hal glared.

Ben's laughter rang against the concrete walls of the room as he brushed past the curtains and to the glass door. Anne gave Hal a sympathetic smile before following after Ben.

Hal sighed, falling onto his back, his head hitting the pillow beneath him. His head still hurt, but the pain had tapered off into a dull ache. Only when he heard tense mutterings between the beeps of his heart did he realize he never heard Anne or Ben leave. He craned his neck and scrunched his eyes shut, hoping to catch any of the words they were speaking. Hal managed to hear one phrase, and it chilled him enough for him to tug the wool blanket close around his chest.

"Be careful around him," Anne had told Ben.

. He was not safe. There was something wrong with him. And they knew it, but they would not tell him.

He needed answers.

Hal Mason was growing desperate.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Good day, everyone! As always, thank you for reading! It means a lot. Also, sorry if some context or believability in this chapter is shaky. I just needed things to happen and I wasn't sure how to accurately create them…Anyways…**

He was not made of glass. He was not a doll crafted from porcelain. He was not a budding flower stranded in a warzone. He was not weak. Hal Mason was not fragile.

Hal laid on his side, curling in on his growing anger. Anne's words had bothered him deeply. She wanted Ben and everyone else to lie to him, to be _careful_ around him, just so he would not break. Did she really think he would shatter under any amount of stress? Had she forgotten who he was, where they were? There was no escaping the constant duress of their lives. Hal did not need protection, he needed the truth.

He bit the inside of his cheek, frustrated. Anne didn't seem to understand what he was going through. Fleeting memories had escaped him, he was confused, and Anne wanted to keep him in the dark? It didn't make sense. What was she afraid of him knowing? Hal was determined to find out.

The alien. The new, unknown alien. He could not stop thinking about it and what its arrival could mean for him and…the 2nd Mass. If it allowed itself to be captured and held hostage, it clearly didn't mean them any harm…but who _did_ it mean harm? Hal's flesh crawled. That's what troubled him the most.

Hal sat up, grimacing at the achiness in his limbs. He needed to know. Anne certainly wasn't going to let anyone tell him, so he had to find out himself. He had to know. He shut his eyes, trying to remember the lay-out of Charleston's Base. As a growing military leader in the 2nd Mass, he was given tours of all the armories, the drawing rooms and the training facility. He figured that the alien would be held somewhere near the holding room that Maggie was held in. Glancing at the IV that held him hostage, Hal bit his lip. He wouldn't be as aloof as necessary, lugging it around the base, but he knew from several doctors telling him in the past, that ripping out an IV from a vein was not a very intelligent decision. He was told it hurt like Hell, and he definitely didn't need to worry about any resulting bleeding.

Carefully, he dropped to his feet and steadied himself by holding onto the IV stand. His legs shook beneath him, but he gritted his teeth and pushed both the stand and the cart holding the heart monitor towards the metal drawer shoved in the corner of the room. He nearly fell, slipping from the lack of friction between the smooth tile and his socks. He inhaled deeply, trying to soothe his nerves. If his heart rate increased, and if Anne or any of the other doctors or nurses could hear from the other room, he wouldn't stand a chance in leaving the infirmary. He opened the top-drawer and was relieved to find that it was filled with medical supplies from gauze to scalpels. Pulling out a pair of sharp scissors, he squeezed tightly and snipped the cord a few inches away from his wrist. He let the rest of the cord fall, saline dripping onto the floor.

His stomach clenched at the sight of the remainder of the IV line still attached to his skin, but he shook the dread away. He would return to the infirmary and Anne would take it out along with a stern scolding, but he knew seeing the alien for himself would be worth any form of punishment.

He then searched the heart monitor, trying to find the source of its power. Smiling to himself he found the button on its side and pushed down, silencing the damn thing for good.

He quickly ripped off the sensory pads from his arm, and allusively moved towards the curtains. He peeked through the slight gap between them, and watched through the screen door, the rest of the infirmary. He cursed softly. It wasn't as busy as he's seen it, but it wasn't empty. Two nurses sat at a bench, wrapping medical packs and were chattering amongst themselves. At least Anne was nowhere to be seen. He pressed his lips into a firm line, thinking. If he could escape the detection of Skitters and Mechs, he shouldn't have a problem avoiding distracted nurses.

Hal lifted his chin, searching for the exit. Luckily, the women had their backs to the door and were on the opposite side of the room. But if he made the slightest of sounds, they would demand answers, and Hal wasn't even sure if he knew them himself. He needed to see the alien.

He swallowed thickly before leaving his confines, and towards the glass door. He stopped suddenly, and cursed again, quietly. The door would make a sound when it opened. Either they would ignore it like the rest of the infirmary's background noise, or they would notice him. He expected the worse and hastily came up with a story and prayed they would believe it, or create enough doubt for him to break for the exit before they made a decision.

Hal pulled open the door and stepped out.

The nurses didn't turn to look at him until he was halfway to the door. They were talking about Charleston's majority leader, his father's former professor. Something about him resigning. Hal didn't pay much attention, not wanting to distract himself from the task on hand, but when their questioning eyes met his, he froze.

"What are you doing out of bed?" One of them asked, eyes narrowing. Both of them were young. Naive. Inadequately trained. They were probably like Lourdes and never had the chance to finish Medical School.

"Would it sound suspicious if I said the bathroom?" Hal smiled charmingly.

The nurse with ponytail raised an eyebrow, "It would."

Hal chuckled easily, "Well then I won't say that. Dr. Glass released me, actually."

The nurses looked at each other questioningly. It appeared both of them had started their shifts after Anne left, and neither had yet to bother and check his medical file.

"Since when?" the other, blonde, asked.

"An hour or so ago," Hal shrugged. "I just wanted to get a quick nap in before I had to share a room with my brothers again." He feigned annoyance, rolling his eyes.

"Dr. Glass didn't mention this," Ponytail said warily.

Hal smiled at her. "Look, you can check my files if you won't believe me."

The nurses glanced at each other.

"Alright," Blondie sighed, "We will." The nurses started leafing through the files on the counter, "Stay put."

"Not gonna happen," Hal quipped before sprinting towards the door.

"Stop! Where do you think you're going?" One of the nurses cried, but Hal did not look back to see who it was.

He pushed through the door and ran left towards the stairway that would lead to training facility in the lower level. As far as Hal knew, Charleston didn't have telephones, so he would have plenty of time to get to the alien before either of the poorly trained nurses could notify Anne or his father. Hal knew they would be pissed when he returned. A smirk played on his lips at the thought.

His heart thrummed against his chest, appreciating the burn in his legs as he leapt down the steps. If he ran into anyone down there, except if it were Ben or his father, they would have no way of knowing whether he got released or not.

There was no one. He was completely surrounded by grey concrete. A few storage crates lined the walls and there were some trucks down by the tunnels that lead back up to the surface, but other than that, it was empty.

Hal slowed his pace to a saunter, regaining his breath. He felt the urge to bellow, wanting to hear his voice ricochet off the strong walls. Sweat snaked down his temple from exhaustion. He wondered where everyone was, thinking it must have been no later than afternoon before he remembered that Ben said he had kitchen duty. It was the lunch hour, then.

At the other side of the basement, he found the metal door that revealed a short staircase, leading up to the holding room. When Hal visited Maggie there, he distinctly remembered a joint room. He had peered in the window of the door, and saw an empty room with a large mirror. A one-sided window. If there was any place in the base that had the intent of interrogations, it would be that room.

Hal climbed the steps carefully, holding onto the railing with one clenched hand. His eyes squinted from the dim-lighting. It was difficult to see where the steps would end and link to a stout hallway that would lead to another door. Fatigue seeped into his skin. His eyelids sagged, and just behind them, pain erupted yet again. He didn't know why he was doing this, wasting his strength. He didn't know if he could make it. But he needed to see the alien.

He made it to the door efficiently enough, only tripping over his feet once before catching himself on the wall of the hallway. He pressed his hands against the cold metal, feeling for the handle before jerking it open.

Another hallway. The light increased, filtering itself through the crack of the door, but it wasn't bright enough for him to unsettle his sight again. He entered the hallway, and began walking slowly, tracing his fingertips down the seams of the cement in the walls. These walls were constructed from grey brick.

He wondered if Charleston ever contemplated redecorating. _Hot pink walls, _Hal thought humorously, _Now that could make someone's day. _

He soon came across three doors fairly close to each other. One led to the room where they held prisoners, and the one next to it held the mirror. He figured the one at the farthest end must have held the people watching the ones being questioned. Anxiously, he took steps towards the middle door, and stood on the balls of his feet, so that he could easily see through the window, wondering what awaited him, if anything at all.

Hal's heart seized in his chest.

The room was empty no more.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thank you so much for reading! And special thanks to all my reviewers! You guys are the best and make my day! **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Falling Skies. **

The alien was sitting in a chair. Two Charleston guards stood beside it, fully armed with machine guns and protected with bullet proof vests. Hal didn't understand the reasoning behind the armor until he saw the large talons curling into the metal of the armrests.

It was clear the alien wasn't Skitter. Or Fish-Head. Or anything he'd ever seen before, but he couldn't shake off the feeling that he knew it. The muscles swelling under its hardened skin proved it a more than threatening opponent, and Hal knew it was hiding even more secrets. Yet it chose not to attack. But to be humiliated and become captive to a seemingly ignorant race.

The alien's omniscient eyes met his, and he jolted away from the window, sputtering for breath as fear pulsed through him. Hal leaned up against the wall, gasping. He couldn't breathe. Terror had stolen the ability to intake oxygen. He was going to die. Pain invaded his skull, and he nearly fell, knees buckling. With stiff fingers, he attempted to grip the crevices between bricks to hold himself steady. He knew this alien, but he didn't know how. He had to be mistaken. Ben said this alien was new to Earth as far as anyone knew—he had to be mistaken. But he had to run, he needed to warn…

He pushed himself away from the wall's support and pressed his palm into his searing forehead. He should get back to the infirmary. This was a terrible, ridiculously stupid idea…

"Well, if it isn't the Sleeping Beauty."

Hal knew who it was before he swung around to confront the person. Pope. The guy looked tired, on the verge of breaking into insanity. But what else was new? He held a wiry smirk and it looked like he hadn't had a decent wash in weeks. But that wasn't new either.

Hal's eyes narrowed at the intrusion, "What are you doing here?"

"I could be asking you the same thing, young Mason," Pope took a dominant step closer, and to Hal's dismay, his foot slipped back, earning him the bright sheen of Pope's yellow teeth.

Hal's face heated with shame. Straightening his back, he said, "I came to see the alien."

"And interesting enough, I'm here to guard the little iguana from peepers like yourself," Pope pointed a finger at him, lifting his eyebrows.

Hal stiffened, "What are you talking about? I have the right to—"

"Don't be a dumbass," Pope said before grasping Hal's arm and yanking it towards him. Hal stumbled forward from the force, sharply inhaling.

"By the looks of this here," Pope began, examining the IV tube trapped to Hal's wrist before flicking it with his finger, "You were never supposed to leave that cozy bed of yours."

Hal ripped his arm back to his side, gritting his teeth. He glared angrily at the man. Why Weaver and his father put up with the bastard for so long, he'd never know.

"Naughty," Pope smiled mischievously.

Hal hated that smile. He wondered morbidly if blood streaming from the man's nose would fold away the sickening grin, but then Hal realized that Pope could be of use. Bitterly, Hal knew that the reason Anne would not be honest with him was because she thought she was protecting him. Pope didn't give a damn about hurting anyone's feelings. So Hal returned the smile.

"You're one to talk," Hal retorted smoothly.

Pope barked out a laugh, "Touché, Mason. Touché."

"What do you know about this alien, anyway?"Hal asked, his eyes glinting darkly.

Pope cocked his head at him before saying, "He came down with some mushroom-lookin' ship after we blew up the Fish-Head weapon, and after _you_ were knocked out cold."Pope shrugged.

He reached into his shirt and pulled out a flask. While he unscrewed the cap, he said, "So it just stands there like some freaking statue until Mr. Savior, your papa, finally mans up and demands what it wants."Pope took a long sip from the flask, jerking his head as the fire scorched his throat. "And you know what it does? Guess, Mason."

Hal's lip twisted, "Ben said it surrendered."

Pope's incredulous laughter was stifled to a long hiss, "It raised its bloody arms up to the sky and let us drag its sorry ass down here." Pope offered the flask to Hal.

"No thanks," Hal responded curtly, pushing Pope's grimy hand away.

Pope looked at him, "There ain't laws in Hell, kid."

Hal gave him a crooked smile, "It's more of that I don't trust where your mouth's been, actually."

Pope rolled his eyes, returning the flask to the inside of his shirt, "Suit yourself. Any more questions, Einstein?"

Hal shifted uncomfortably, fiddling with the draw strings of his sweat pants. "Why…why won't they tell me what's happening to me?" He glanced up nervously at Pope, looking to read his expression.

Pope scratched at the bristles on his jaw, "I reckon they don't know themselves, Mason."

Hal's stomach clenched uneasily, but he continued, "But they're worried. They think that by telling me what's going on, that I'll break."

Pope grimaced slightly before clamping his hand on Hal's back. Hal flinched, nearly jumping away from his grip. Pope looked him in the eye, serious, "Then I suggest you prove them wrong."

Hal stiffened and he looked away from the man gazing so heavily upon him. To prove them wrong…But by the wary look in Pope's hazel eyes, Hal frighteningly knew that he only had to prove them wrong because he had already given them evidence that proved he would, in fact, break. Was it his screaming from the nightmare and Pope had somehow heard about it? Or did something else happen? Why couldn't he remember? Why would no one tell him?

Hal took a step back, sliding Pope's hand off his shoulder. Gritting his teeth, he hissed out defensively, "Like you? Is that why you're here, pretending to _care_? By guarding this alien?"

Pope shook his head with a humored smile, "That's more of a personal agenda. I don't trust it. And I'm going to make sure that Tom Mason and the rest of his gullible followers don't screw us over even more and start believing the thing."He gave Hal an almost ominous look that Hal transfigured into, _I'll do the same with you, if you give me a doubt in my mind._

Hal shivered, looking darkly into the man's eyes.

"Get back to Dr. Glass, kid," Pope said as he started to turn away.

"Not yet," Hal replied coolly. He wanted to get whatever information he could out of Pope before he left. He didn't want to commit to this frustrating venture more than once.

"Golden Boy, getting stubborn, eh?" Pope raised an eyebrow.

Hal struggled to stomach his anger. He swallowed harder. "What happened after Karen kissed me?" He asked, before quickly adding, "In the warehouse," in order to protect his question from any dirty remarks Pope would be likely to share.

"Asian man's dead, did ya know? What was his name?" Pope scratched his head with an uncaring smile.

Hal's hands clenched into fists. He remembered that Dai got hurt, but he had hoped, he had hoped that he would have been okay…"Dai."Only then did Hal realize he was trembling.

"If that isn't ironic, I don't know what is. Dai. That's exactly what he did, die." Pope chuckled at his own clever observation.

Hal couldn't contain it anymore, his rage boiled over, and he slammed into the man, pressing him up against the rough wall. Hal held Pope's throat hostage with his forearm, warningly pushing the bones of his wrist into the man's windpipe. Pope wheezed while brittle laughter escaped his shaking lips, "You never cease to amaze me, Junior," Pope gasped out.

Hal looked up and could still see the amusement in his eyes. He needed to change that. He squeezed Pope's throat tighter with his arm, causing Pope to gag on his laughs. A moment passed and the amusement in Pope's bright eyes faded into cold doubt. Hal could accept that. Before releasing him, Hal leaned closer to the man's face and growled out, "It's Hal, you son of a bitch."

Hal stepped back, and Pope crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath. He watched the man curiously before turning back towards the hallway that led to the steps he had climbed only minutes ago.

Doubt. Hal had given Pope doubt. Pope had doubted whether or not Hal would have truly killed him, and that was enough to satisfy the spitting anger within him. John Pope may doubt whether or not Hal could be trusted, whatever that meant, but he would not doubt that Hal would do whatever it took to defend the 2nd Mass.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thanks everyone! I'm in the two-digits with reviews now! Oh yeah! You are all very sweet! If you have thoughts on the story, such as opinions, things you want me to change, or things you want me to add, please let me know! I'd love to hear your ideas! I had fun writing this chapter. Hehehe. And my nerdy-self pointed out that I created foreshadowing for this chapter in chapter 5 unknowingly and thought that was pretty awesome. **

** Have a splendid day, my dears! **

** Disclaimer: In case you were wondering if the rights to Falling Skies finally belong to me since yesterday, they don't. Sorry to disappoint! J**

The pride soon dissipated, replaced by fear.

Hal hesitantly stepped down the stairs towards the training facility. He had attacked Pope, nearly killed him. Why? His mouth parted, trying to form reasoned words that could soothe his unsettled mind. He couldn't. Pope had warned him that he needed to prove his sanity to the others. Hal knew he had crossed the line.

Hal stopped in front of the metal door. Pope would tell his father and Anne. Why wouldn't he? The man clearly had a hobby for making trouble for his dad, and he definitely had a strong paranoia when any sort of alien influence was involved. Karen had kissed Hal. That would be enough for Pope.

Hal fell back on the wall, tugging at his hair to release the growing pressure in his head. Sulkily, he looked up to the dim lamp hanging on the dank ceiling. He would lose everything. All Weaver needed was one doubt, one measly doubt that Hal's sanity was in question, and he would lose his place in the 2nd Mass' militia. He would never become a leader like his father. Hell, they might even take away his gun. He would be forced to become a citizen. And do what? Root on his family from the sidelines? Maybe he could become a doctor. But he quickly pushed that thought of his mind knowing that Anne would never allow it. Someone unstable should never be responsible for someone's life.

Was that what he was? Unstable?

The only thing he could ever be responsible for was cleaning the floors. He would become vulnerable and helpless. He would have to rely on others.

Hal dug his fingers into his shirt, and a groan of frustration fell from his lips. He was crazy, surely. No sane person should break down like that, and he did. He would be a burden for the rest of his life. His father would be disappointed in him. Hal slid to the ground, staring blanking into the opposite wall. His dad would have to keep watch of him when he should be caring for Ben and Matt. It was Ben who was harnessed and held captive for months. Not him! He had no right to crumple under the loss when Ben had remained strong. And Matt. It was Matt who was young and innocent. Pure. Hal needed his dad to nurture him, comfort him, to ensure that his younger brother would _never _lose himself.

Hal didn't want to ruin that. He glanced down at his wrist thoughtfully, eyeing the IV tube clinging to his skin. Hal bit his lip before shaking his head firmly. No, he couldn't do that…he couldn't ruin Matt. He would never forgive himself. He had to be strong and stay out of the way. Make amends with the nurses and Pope, even. Avoid trouble at all costs.

Hal's skull flared with pain and his neck strained, holding back the scream. His head reared back, hitting the concrete, so that white light flooded his vision. He shook it away, rigorously, and his vision swam.

He wasn't in the hallway anymore. But a large dark room, orange light pooling in from high above. He jumped from his spot on the floor and pushed through the hard surface he couldn't identify. Terror ran its fingers down his spine and he stumbled forward, his sense of direction tilting.

His legs suddenly stung and he fell on his back, gasping like a fish. Hal was relieved to see his father, standing over him.

"Dad," he croaked, shaking. He held out a hand for his father to lift him up with, but slowly returned it to his side when he saw the fury in the man's brown eyes.

His father raised a long staff, slamming it against Hal's chest. Hal couldn't hold back his scream this time, his hoarse voice darted against the walls of the strange chamber. His rib cage burned, and he dreadfully began to wonder if his bones were disintegrating under the staff's fiery touch. Hal tried to jerk away, but he couldn't move. He was in so much pain, he couldn't breathe, tears squirted from his eyes.

His father raised the staff over his head again and swung down. Hal didn't notice he had screamed until he heard the agonizing remnants of the echo linger in his ears. His chest felt warm and wet, and he skimmed his fingertips across his chest to find that they were drenched in blood. He looked up at his father blearily, feebly wondering what he had done to deserve this death, this much pain.

Tom Mason's jaw clenched before he rammed the staff, one more time, into his eldest son's chest, piercing his heart.

A blood curdling shriek ripped out of Hal's mouth. He knew he should be dead, but he continued to scream, taking small comfort in the only way he knew how to release the stinging betrayal and the excruciating fire tearing through his chest. He knew he should be dead. It was what Tom Mason had wanted. If only his scream did curdle his own blood. He was soaking. Sticky and red. Rust and burnt flesh filled his nostrils.

"Hal!" Someone yelled at him, gripping his shoulder tightly. "Hal, look at me! Hal!"

Didn't the he know Hal was dying? Hal couldn't possibly be saved. The man needed to give up.

Something hard hit his face, sharp. A slap, Hal concluded, foggily. He was dying, no need to hurt him further; he was already going to die. Hal glanced up to the staff, protruding from his flesh. Why wasn't he dead yet? He reached out limply, trying to touch the staff, but something else grabbed his hand. Hal cried out from shock, his voice cracking. He struggled to pull his hand free, but whatever was holding him would not let go. Hal's eyes finally found the captor of his hand, his father. The grip's pressure increased, the tendons of his hand straining in protest. Tom was not yet satisfied, Hal realized sickeningly. Tom wanted to make the very end of his life maddening torture.

A small whimper reverberated through Hal's mutilated chest. Cold blood fell into his face, causing him to sputter for shaky breaths. Where did that come from? He moved his head to the side, searching for air.

"Hal, please! Look at me!"

He felt callused hands on his face, and suddenly everything changed. He was no longer in the eerie room, but the training facility. There was no staff embedded in his chest. No blood. He was wet, but the liquid was clear. It was water. Hal gasped in disbelief. He had to be sure. He urgently ran his hand down his chest. No sign of any damage. He was fine…That's when he realized there was still a warm pressure surrounding his right hand. His murderer was still there.

Hal yelped, trembling, pulling away. Tom Mason was going to kill him. He was not safe. Tom Mason was still going to kill him.

His father grabbed a hold of his waist, pulling Hal into his arms. Hal cried, scrunching his eyes shut, tugging at his father's arms, attempting to escape the man's grip.

"Shhhh. It's okay, son," his father said gently, _deceptively. _"I got you, Hal. It's okay." But that's exactly what Hal was afraid of. It was not okay. Tom Mason was holding him, restraining him, trying suffocate him.

Hal sobbed openly. The situation was so helpless. He was at the mercy of this man, and there was nothing he could do about it. Hot, salty tears dripped into his mouth and his throat grew swollen. He felt a strong hand, stroking his hair and flinched, cowering away.

Another hand, this one smooth and slender, was placed on his feverish forehead. Hal glanced up to see that the hand belonged to Anne Glass. A deep grimace wrinkled her copper skin and her eyes were dark and misty.

Hal watched her. He stopped fighting his father and froze, his whole body stiffening. He managed to slink an arm around Tom's and wiped the tears from his face, "Please save me, Anne," he whispered, "_Please."_

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she nodded, not daring to look at him directly. She clasped her hands together. She was shaking like Hal had done. She was so close to the man gripping him. A hazy fear flickered in his mind, wondering if once Tom Mason had killed him, he would kill her as well.

Hal shuddered against the man's warm chest. Hal could feel his heart beat against his own shoulder, pounding and fast. Tom Mason began to carefully rock Hal, and it was almost soothing to him, but he couldn't forget what this man had done to him, what this man was still going to do to him.

_Save me. _

The mental exhaustion finally caved in on Hal, dragging him to the depths of haunting and troubling darkness.


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey guys! Thanks for readin' and reviewin'. Ya'll are the bee's knees. From now to about mid-May, I'll only be updating weekly, but then I'll be able to update more frequently because it will be Summer Break! Alright! **

Anne Glass was at a loss.

She adjusted the new IV before letting out a soft sigh. He didn't even glance up in recognition of her mild exasperation. But actually, Anne was worried. She turned away from him, walking towards the wall before bending over and absently wiped at the puddle of saline with a now wrinkled towel. Anne frowned at her own handiwork; her hand had clenched so tightly around the cloth that parts of it had molded into a crumpled mess.

The towel was soaked when she pulled it away, causing her to wonder how long Hal had been on his own. How long he had been like _that. _

It had scared her. Both her and Tom. Before the flaring thought of scolding the young nurses had crossed her mind, she had run out of the infirmary with no sense of where to start searching for her missing patient. She nearly bumped into Tom too, who had been showing up at her work more than often, considering. She had just barely told him about his son when they had heard the agonizing screams. At the time, she had found it strange how the emotion on Tom's face had slowly fled into a flat numbness before they had started sprinting towards the training facility. Now, it just brought her chills.

They had found him flat on his back, wide-eyed and vulnerable. Screaming. He would not stop. She could have sworn she had felt the intensity of his pain in the thick air. It had made her sick to her stomach. It had her shaking and her eyes watering.

_Save me_.

Anne shook her head quickly and closed her eyes ensuring that the tears would not escape. She straightened her back slightly before resting her hand against her stomach, seeking the comfort that would usually follow. Hal was awake now. He was stable—physically, he was stable. He was back in reality. For now.

Anne bit her lip before tossing the towel into the plastic hamper. Hal's condition was worse than she had originally thought. He was either having flashbacks or hallucinations, and it was hard for her to tell what she preferred. She didn't know what to do. Giving him information about what was happening around them could distract him from whatever troubles he was facing until Anne was confident in her prognosis and could find a suitable treatment, but she didn't yet know how he'd react to it. She glanced down at her stomach, fluttering her eyelids. Briefly, she had considered telling him of her pregnancy. That was good news, she hoped, something to look forward to. But truth be told, Anne couldn't be sure. She had no idea what would make the boy _snap_, and she did know that Tom's presence only escalated Hal's sudden psychosis. She had to be more careful.

_Save me. _

Anne stuffed her hands into her lab coat, inhaling deeply. Hal Mason was in his father's warm embrace and he was begging to be saved. From _him._ His fragile, hoarse voice still rang in her ears forcing her to cringe internally. If only she could figure out was going on inside his head.

She finally turned to face him, and dread slid into her gut. His back was pressed against the headboard, knees pulled halfway to his chest and head hanging. She strode towards him and only waited until his dull eyes glanced up at her, before she flipped his arm over and carefully removed the rest of the IV tubing.

"What were you thinking?" she asked almost harshly before discarding the needle and tube. She was hoping that mild anger would perhaps force him to abandon his vulnerability and defend himself.

He watched her for a long moment, eyes blinking. "I needed to see the alien," he replied softly.

Anne snipped off a piece of gauze from the roll and wrapped it around his wrist, watching his expression. There was something haunting in the tone of his voice which brought her to ask, "_Needed_?"

He nodded curtly and pulled his arm away from her touch.

"Why?"

He shrugged uncomfortably.

"Hal," Anne sighed, "If you want my help, you're going to have to be honest with me."

Hal grimaced, his brow crinkling in reluctance, "I just…you wouldn't tell me anything. And when Ben told me about this new alien, I had to see it, alright?"

Anne met his firm gaze, "Okay." She wasn't convinced but decided to let it go for now. There was no use in upsetting him. "And did you see it?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

The skin around his eyes tightened noticeably, and he shifted position uneasily, "And what?"

Anne shook her head slowly. "Don't be like this, Hal."

"Don't be like what?"

Anne pressed her lips together. Well, at least he _was _being defensive. "Your father and I found you on the floor of the training facility screaming. What happened, Hal?"

Hal bit his lip hard, paling the skin. "Nothing…" he sighed, "Nothing happened."

Anne ignored him, "What were you _seeing, _Hal?"

Hal lowered his gaze. He shrugged. Again, to Anne's disappointment.

Anne rested a hand on his knee, causing him to jerk backwards and pull away, panting and wide-eyed. Anne smiled grimly, "Hal, please. Let me help you."

"I…I don't know," he said softly.

"But you do."

Hal met her gaze painfully. She could see the confliction creased in his face. "Not…right now," he managed to whisper after a long moment.

"Later," Anne agreed.

Hal's lip twisted in response and Anne patted his knee. There was a knock on the glass window, and Anne slowly looked up to see the visitor. Tom. Quickly, she rose from the stool she had been sitting on and began to leave, "I'll be right back," she said distractedly, praying that Hal would not see his father looking at him through the pane of glass. "Don't run out on me again."

"It's a deal," Hal replied quietly.

She glanced back at him and beamed encouragingly before pulling the curtains closed behind her and sliding the door open. She didn't speak until it was fastened shut.

"Hal's awake. He's talking. And calm," she answered the anxious questions in Tom's eyes.

Tom exhaled, running a hand through his hair, "Good. When can I see him?"

Anne's gaze wavered to her feet. Not a situation she wanted to be in, not at all, but she needed to remain strong in her decision.

"Hey," Tom gently grabbed her arm, forcing her to look up at him, "What's the matter?"

Anne huffed out air, "Tom, I can't let you see him. I'm sorry, but I have to believe that it's necessary for now."

Tom's dark eyes clouded with confusion, "Anne, what are you saying?"

Anne pinched the bridge of her nose with thin fingers, "He's terrified of you, Tom. You saw how he reacted. I'm afraid I can't let you see him until I can figure out the reason why."

The hurt on the man's face tightened her chest. She bit her lip, reaching out to comfort him, but he stepped away, shaking his head.

"My own son," Tom exclaimed incredulously, moving a hand down his face to mask the moisture spilling from his eyes, "He can't even stand the sight of me, can he?"

"Tom, listen to me. We're going to find out what's wrong with him. We're going to help him." Anne was finally able to link an arm around the man's back, pulling him closer.

She waited expectantly, and his mouth trembled open, like was about to say something.

"Tom."

Both Anne and him turned towards the voice to see Weaver, suited in a camouflage uniform, looking…almost unsure.

His eyes glinted.

"You're gonna want to see this."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Hi...sorry for the incredibly long wait. But, I guess I just needed a little butt kicking. And now that season 3 is out, this story is obviously AU. So forgive me for the now awkwardness of this story, and I'll try my best to branch it away from the canon plot line as best I can given the already declared direction of this fic, and maybe add in some new twists! **

**As always, thank you for your support. And...Brace Yourselves! **

Tom Mason couldn't think straight. Not with all that's happened. He was weary, exhausted from the amount of work needed to take over control of Charleston. Stressed from the surprising expectancy of another child, and worried because of the inability to watch over all of his sons constantly. And now, sickeningly lost with the fear for his oldest.

He slowly blinked away the haze in his eyes and focused on Captain Weaver in front of him, leading his path to...wherever they were going. Tom hadn't bothered to ask. Because how could it possibly matter more than his son? Hal, who had been unconscious for two days. Hal, who had found the idea of escaping the infirmary, rational. Hal, who could not only no longer stand the sight of Tom, but who was also terrified of him. And what was more important than fixing that disgustingly wrong perception?

Tom Mason knew he was losing his son, and did anything ever feel _more _like deja-vous? Because what else could Tom do besides sit back and watch his son's life fall away, just as with Ben's, just as with his wife's? He couldn't think of anything he could do, and that feeling was much worse than realizing Ben had been kidnapped by Skitters. Because Tom _couldn't _ have been able to stop that, not with all the chaos in their town, not when Ben was at a friend's house miles away. He _could_ do something now for his son, he just didn't know what. The only thing he had thought of was comfort and support, and after Hal's..._mental break_-Tom cringed as he reluctantly thought the words-in the training facility, that was no longer an option.

What was he suppose to do now?

His jaw clenched and he quickened his pace to catch up with Weaver, determined to figure things out with Anne once whatever the Captain had needed him for was done with.

Tom nearly ran into Weaver when the man abruptly stopped in the middle of the hallway, turning towards a metal door with a rectangular window.

_Ohh_, realization clicked in Tom's head as his brow furrowed. Honestly, there was so much happening in the last couple of days-who could blame him for not realizing they stood in front of the alien's holding cell. _The new alien. _How much more could the 2nd Mass and the rest of Charleston take? How much more could _he _take?

"What's happened?" He asked warily, glancing to the captain.

Before Weaver could reply, Pope pushed off the wall from the shadows, and approached with a grim smile, "Iguana Man's learnin' to communicate."

Tom Mason startled at the man's grotesquely bruised throat, "Did-did it do that to you?" he asked incredulously, exchanging concerned glances with Weaver. Tom didn't care much when it came to Pope, but if the alien was hurting people, that was an obvious problem.

Pope barked out a breath of mirthless laughter, shaking his head, "Nuh-uh."

"Get to it, Pope. What happened?" Weaver asked, slightly irritated.

"It's a family problem, Ponytail," Pope responded gruffly, shrugging, "Ain't nothing to do with you."

Tom was about to protest the secrecy when the door to the interrogation room pulled open and Colonel Porter greeted them.

"Glad you could make it," he smiled gravely, clasping his hands together, and his crystal green gaze met that of Tom's own. "Mr. President. That's sure gonna take some getting use to."

"Not necessary, Porter. You can always call me Tom," Tom responded and outstretched his hand.

Porter gratefully took it in his own and shook.

"How adorable," Pope commented sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "Really. I wish I had brought my camera phone."

"Pope, when will you learn to shut your mouth?" Weaver questioned condescendingly.

"When you folks stop making me gag from your tragic love stories. Glad you asked, Captain," Pope grinned crookedly as he saluted the man and eased back to his post, away from sight.

All three remaining men sighed tiredly.

"I've always appreciated the irony of the bastard's name," Weaver said dryly as Colonel Porter led them into the room.

White tile covered the floors, steel the walls, and cement the ceiling. A one-way mirror nearly took up the entire adjacent wall, and directly across from it stood the alien. Tom's heart stuttered a beat at the size of the creature-he had forgotten how tall it was, looming at least a foot over him. Guards stood around it, severely armed but with paled faces. Tom frowned when he noticed blood the color of red wine curdled around the alien's long talons. That's when he noticed Porter's gaze to the ground and followed it. He breathed in slightly, his mind riddled with thoughts in the haze of confusion. For why had the alien ripped up a piece of the tile work? Was it trying to escape? No, Tom thought, shaking his head, if it wanted to escape, why would it have come willingly into captivity in the first place? And why was it just standing there, staring at him with large, glinting eyes?

Tom brushed a hand down his beard, turning his gaze to the rest of the room, wondering if he missed anything important. His eyes narrowed when he saw past the creature's scaly stature and noted the metal chair. The removed white tile sat harmlessly on top of it.

"What are we thinking?" Tom asked the two men, giving them a sideways glance.

"No clue, Tom," Porter shrugged uneasily, clearing his throat. "We hoped you might have some ideas."

Tom nodded curtly, thinking. He took a few steps to circumvent the guards and the alien, feeling his neck prickle as the alien's blank gaze continued to follow him. He stepped closer to the back of the chair, and hesitated when the tips of his fingers grazed the smooth tile. Tom glanced up at the colonel, "May I?" he asked.

"Of course," Porter nodded, before looking meaningfully towards both of his guards. The two men gripped their machine guns tighter.

Carefully, Tom picked the piece of stone up. Tilting it at its sides, he examined the top and bottom, fingers pressing into the rough texture from the cracked cement. He looked up at the alien watching him closely, and bit his lip hard, returning his gaze back to the tile. Clearly, the alien wanted Tom to figure something out...but what?

_"Iguana Man's learnin' to communicate," _Pope's earlier words echoed in his head, and Tom nearly gasped, his chest straining from the realization.

"White," he whispered, urgently meeting Porter's and Weaver's gaze.

"Tom?" Weaver asked, taking a step forward.

Tom's blood pulsed with adrenaline, and he stared at the alien, mind running in all sorts of directions and arriving at all sorts of possibilities. He could have sworn he saw the alien smile.

"It's...it's white," Tom repeated, fumbling for the right words because...unbelievable, "The tile's white."

"And?" Porter raised a wispy eyebrow.

"And..." Tom said, gently placing the tile back on top of the chair. "I think it's a symbol of truce. Like a white flag. I think he's trying to tell us he doesn't mean us harm."

Both soldiers looked strikingly confused. "Hold up, Tom," Weaver began uneasily, "You mean to say you think this thing knows what's symbolic to _us_?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Tom replied, blinking.

"But how?"

"I don't know..." Tom admitted, grimacing. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "It's learning. Just like what Pope said."

Weaver's eyes furrowed troublingly, "But how could it learn a symbol of truce from being locked away in here?"

Tom shook his head, "I don't know. But it's a start. It could be trying to help us."

"Help us-" The word stuck in Weaver's throat as the alien slowly approached Tom Mason.

Tom swallowed hard, his body tensing in wariness as he watched with a steady, confident eye, the alien kneel in front of the chair. It rested its hand on the tile, sharp talons clicking against the stone. Purple blood seeped onto the white, forming a small puddle, and only then did the alien smear the tip of his thinnest claw and began to move his hand across the tile.

Tom stared at the work in progress, his heart beat hammering. He wished he could keep up with the alien's intellectual process, desiring to understand what the alien was trying to communicate. But so much had happened. So much. And Tom was so tired and...the alien dropped his talon in the blood again and continued moving along the tile, twisting his wrist in odd formations.

"Tom, what's it doing?" Weaver asked anxiously.

Tom's brow twisted in frustration with himself, "I-I...I don't..." But then he saw it. As clear as a word on a page. Because that's it exactly what it was.

With the ink of its own blood, the alien had scribed a word:

_Danger. _

And how poetically satisfying it was, for Tom Mason's own blood grew cold with dread.

**Yay! Sorry for the awkwardness. Hopefully, I can make it up with an upcoming Hal chapter! Yay. Hal always makes any crisis better. Right? Right. Please tell me what you think! And I promise the next chapter will be out sooner... (but that's not saying much...heheheh) sorry again! **


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

**A/N: Hey! Seeeee! What did I tell you? Did anyone place bets on my return? Because if so, pay up, my friend. Pay up. Anyways, I had a dream about Hal last night so...(yeah, you are jealous) I figured I should start this. **

**Episode 6 of Season 3 was by far the best episode of Falling Skies. Personally. Maybe it's just because I like looking at Hal...I don't know...**

**Anyways: A forewarning. I'm starting college VERY soon. So depending on my work load, my updates could be few and far between. But if you nag me, I'll probably give in(ehem, makaylaloveswaffles). So...onwards!**

With disbelief, Hal stared down into the neat pile of clothing on his lap. _His clothes _and not some loose and flimsy infirmary sweats washed too many times in heavy disinfectant. His mouth parted as he looked up to see Anne Glass standing in front of him with a mild smirk and arms crossed.

Hal was afraid to ask, but he couldn't contain the surging flutter of hope, "I can leave?"

"I don't see why not," she replied flatly, "I can't force you to tell me what you hallucinated-" Hal inwardly cringed at the word, "And since I don't know, and it doesn't seem like you'll be telling me, I can't really have a reason for keeping you, right?"

Hal nodded tersely, before pulling the grey shirt over his head and tossed it half-heartedly towards the large trash can that substituted for a laundry basket.

Anne pursed her lips before frowning slightly, "But I mean it, Hal. If anything like that happens again, you let me know, okay?"

"Yeah," Hal muttered as he pulled on a shirt. Slipping into his jeans after he removed the sweat pants once Anne had taken the hint, she turned away. "Thanks, Anne," he said quietly, slipping his arms into the sleeves of his jacket.

The doctor returned his gaze causing his own to waver to his shoeless feet. There was a part of him that wanted to tell Anne-that part felt guilty. She was only trying to help him with...whatever twisted his mentality after the kiss with Karen. And Hal was smart enough to know that something _was _wrong with him. He was terrified of his father. And that wasn't right. He was enraged with his father. And that wasn't right either. In fact, just thinking about Tom Mason sent chills racing down his spine and blood boiling up. It was disconcerting, to say the least. But that was one part. Every other part of him sternly prohibited any mention of this to anyone because...well, he wasn't exactly sure why; it just wasn't their business.

Anne handed him his boots, and Hal smiled gratefully, pulling them close to his chest.

"Take care of yourself," Anne advised to the near point of begging. Had Hal really freaked her out _that _much? He bit his lip hard, pushing the memories away. He had lost control, and he was determined to never let that happen again.

"I will," Hal promised and left the infirmary without even bothering to shove on his boots.

He found himself outside of the bunker, sitting at the trunk of a dead tree. Everything looked incredibly bleak. It was difficult to think this was once the warm and fertile South, where flowers were nearly always in bloom, and plants and trees nearly always a crisp green. Charleston looked like a war zone. Which is exactly what it was. Hal pressed his head into the rough bark, grimacing against the dry cold. He spotted only a few citizens and a couple of soldiers roaming the grounds-most still uneasy about surfacing into the real world. Hal shook his head, disgusted with the delusion of sanctuary Charleston had conjured. Sure, they had a nice place to stay, but that always changed once the aliens found them. They always found them.

Charcoaled and collapsed buildings lined the torn up street. Some of them looked reparable, but the majority were a loss cause. Hal puffed out a sigh. There was so much work to do. Where to begin? He didn't know if there was even a point to start.

He sucked in a breath, digging his heels into the gravel. His head continued to buzz with thoughts he could not cling to, and he felt at a lost. What was happening to him? And why was he feeling so utterly indifferent about their situation? Surely, it wasn't _that _hopeless. Surely, something could be done.

"Hal! Hey, Hal!" He was stolen from his quiet contemplation as a young woman sat down beside him. Hal tensed, feeling exposed, and he glanced to his side to get a better look at her.

"Maggie..." he trailed, and she smiled at him; blonde hair flittering in the weak breeze.

"When did you get vertical?" she nudged him teasingly.

Hal swallowed thickly, shifting uncomfortably, "This morning...I think."

"What? _You think_?" Maggie grinned at him, her tongue pressing into the back of her front teeth. "Well, it's good to have you back, Hal."

"Yeah, feels good," he barely mustered a smile. But why was she talking to him? Didn't she have something more important to do? Hal was starting to grow suspicious of her motives.

"You feeling okay?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Well..." she bit her lip, looking to her knees, "You scared me, you scared all of us when you were out cold after that bitch kissed-"

"Don't call her that," Hal retorted heatedly, immediately flushing because of his impulsive, _nonsensical _reaction.

Maggie recoiled, leaning back to get a better view of her scout partner's face, "Why are you defending her?" she asked incredulously.

Hal's mind floundered on what to say, for in truth, he wasn't completely sure why he was defending her either. "It's...it's just that...she's not Karen. Not anymore. It's not her fault." He turned straight ahead, eyes focusing on a citizen struggling with a cart of supplies.

"I know," Maggie replied sympathetically, her voice quiet. "I...I remember her too, you know. Before she...got taken." Hal's stomach twisted at the haunting memory, "I know it's not her fault. But there's nothing anyone can do for her now."

Hal's jaw knotted at her words. Not like _she _cared. Hal could see it in the girl's eyes. She was perfectly content Karen was gone. Perfectly satisfied if Hal would just forget Karen, think of her as a '_bitch', _and choose not to remember that this was all of his fault.

They remained in tense silence, listening to the upheaval of gravel from boots and scraps of metal from stranded buildings. Maggie stared at the back of Hal's head confusedly, because why was he feeling guilty _now_? Why was he still thinking of Karen as _Karen _after everything that happened? All of it, had been months ago. Karen was dead as far as she was concerned, but the sadistic whore of an alien host was very much alive. Maggie frowned, troubled. Maybe it was the coma. Maybe it had pushed forward those much-since-buried-memories and brought them to the forefront of his mind. Anne had briefly mentioned in between their busy shifts that he was experiencing nightmares. Maggie didn't think much of it-she had more than her fair share of them-but to find Hal sitting alone on the deserted surface, sulking...well, Maggie began to wonder how _bad _his nightmares really were.

"Hey," she said, breaking the silence once and for all. It had disturbed her greatly. She was use to the silence between them, on scout missions and surprise attacks against the aliens, but nothing like what she just experienced. This silence was foreign and uncomfortable, feeling the void between them, and was he actually miles away? "Do you know when you'll get off your lazy ass and back to work?"

Hal shrugged, "I don't know. Hopefully soon though."

"Yeah," Maggie agreed warily, "We definitely need you now since we blew up the fish heads' weapon. I'm sure they'll be trying to stick it to us in every possible way."

"I bet," Hal responded evenly. "Anything been happening while I was out?"

Maggie nods, "A lot more Mech patrols. But we aren't sure if they know our exact location or not. Everyone's on edge about it. Because we sure as hell don't have the kind of artillery to take down an entire Mech army. But so far, they don't seem to be noticing us. And so far, we're definitely fine with keeping it that way."

"A stalemate," Hal concluded with a mirthless grin, pulling his knees up from their previously flat position.

"Exactly," Maggie agreed grimly, because stalemate's were always impossibly frustrating. And terrifying. Wondering when the enemy decides to make their next move and what that is and if they'll be able to defend themselves from it-the severity of the situation really hits to the bone.

"The generals coming up with any fool-proof plans to end it?" Hal asked casually, propping his body up with a study elbow.

Maggie visibly flinched at the phrase, 'fool-proof.' Because it always seemed whatever plan they had was tied to some unforeseeable collateral damage, didn't it? She couldn't help but think of Dai on their last mission. But also Hal, because what exactly happened to him? People don't usually go into a coma after being kissed, even if it was by that slut.

"Uh, they're working on a few ideas," Maggie cleared her throat of the forming lump of dread, guilt and worry, "But mostly they're trying to figure out whether the new alien is..."

"Wanting to kill us?" Hal suggested with a slight smirk, his eyes glinting darkly.

Maggie nodded curtly, tightening the leather jacket around her. It was getting much colder all of the sudden. And the murky gray overcast of clouds certainly wasn't helping the already eerie demeanor of the abandoned town. "Why are you out here anyway?"

Hal shrugged again and it was really starting to piss Maggie off. "I just needed some time to think."

"Think about what?" Maggie demanded, feeling her face flare hot against the cold air.

Hal shook his head, rolling his eyes, "Things."

"What _things, _Hal?" Maggie hissed through her gritted teeth because why was he acting like this? She was Maggie! His Maggie. And he was treating her like they weren't even friends. "Hal-" Maggie sighed, tossing her thick, wavy locks over her shoulder, "Is there something you-"

The ground shook violently, jerking Maggie to the sideways. Frail roofs collapsed inwardly, woods and metal screeching from the shifting vibrations of the Earth. Lone citizens in the street cried out in alarm, covering their heads from bits of falling debris. Hal's breath caught in his throat when he fell on his side. Coughing from the the raging wave of dust, Hal pushed himself off the ground and onto his feet.

"What the hell was that?!" Maggie screeched, shakily getting up once she was sure the quivering of the ground had stopped.

"I don't know," Hal responded gruffly, scanning his surroundings carefully. Because an Earthquake in Charleston? Even with aliens invading the Earth, that was still a rarity.

People started yelling, soldiers pooling out of the tunnels from the underground fortress and to the edge of the city. Hal's eyes widened when he soon saw his father and Weaver running from behind, guns pressed tightly to their chests.

"It's the Mechs!" Hal heard someone cry faintly from far ahead.

Dread seized his gut. Maggie and him exchanged concerned glances before moving off in a sprint, following the cluster of frazzled soldiers and avoiding the on-rush of a few groups of panicky citizens.

He could see the upper bodies of the mechs as the street widened. There were at least a dozen, maybe twice as many depending on the way they were positioned the hilly terrain. The color fled from Hal's face as his stomach lurched. He hadn't eaten in how long, and he was beginning to feel the toll of the lack of nourishment.

He stumbled forward, tripping over a chunk of concrete, barely managing to catch himself with an outstretched hand.

"Hal!" Maggie exclaimed, gripping his arm tightly and pulling him upright. Hal wheezed, trying to find his breath and some stability between his ground and feet.

"Hal, are you all-Oh my God," Maggie breathed, "Shit."

"What?" Hal gasped, finally forcing himself to look away from the ground and forwards.

What he saw made his heart stutter, made him choke on his breath, made him tremble with a clammy sweat.

For Hal Mason was staring into the pale face of Karen, surrounded by the towering forms of Mechs.

He saw his father, Tom Mason, take a step forward, making him visible from the crowd of wary soldiers. Karen waved her cloth of white into the air before letting it flutter to the ground.

"What do you want, Karen?" his father's voice bellowed.

"Hello, Tom," Karen's bell-like voice rang in the thick air, "I'm here to collect my investment."

In that moment, Hal had found it so strange, how Karen Nadler, in the midst of the crowd, had so easily locked eyes with him.

**To be continued! :) Tell me whatcha think, my lovelies! **

**Thanks for stopping by! **


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Falling Skies, Drama, Hurt-Comfort