Falling Skies 1. prologue: eyes of the children

**HEART OF A _SOLDIER_**

**fandom: falling skies.  
>pairing: hallourdes.  
>rating: t for violence, mild swearing, and kissing.<strong>

**disclaimer: falling skies does not belong to me. and, sadly, neither does drew roy. also, the song **_**this = love **_**by the script, which lends its lyrics to the title and chapter titles, is not mine either.**

**for your information: this story is set post season one, and i'm trying to keep it as canon and realistic as possible. it basically picks up right where season one left off, except hal decides to leave the school early to catch up with the civilians who'd left before the mech attack. this is all pretty much taking place at the same time that tom was out rescuing weaver and then getting captured by the aliens, which also means, for reference, that it's nighttime.**

**prologue: **_**eyes of the children**_

_**it got cold and then dark so suddenly and rained  
>it rained so hard the two of us were the only thing<br>that we could see for miles and miles  
><strong>_**... the lightning strike, snow patrol ...**

* * *

><p>It's over, he realizes.<p>

Secretly, he's kind of glad that he missed the attack. The camp is quiet, a couple of dead mechs littering the streets surrounding the area, the rest having retreated. He rocks the metal chair back onto its legs and shoots Ben a hesitant glance across the table. "Everyone else went forward, then? All the civilians?" _And Matt? _The question and its unspoken counterpart settles thickly between them and Ben nods once, quick and silent. Hal lets the legs of the chair fall forward. "I'll be right back. I – I have to go see about something."

He stands, walks from the room, wanders down the hall. Something stirs in the pit of his stomach. Something _bad_. He can't explain it, but he needs to see Matt. He needs to see his little brother with his own two eyes.

He needs to make _sure_.

He needs to make sure that Matt's okay. He bites down on his lip, shoving down the feeling in the pit of his stomach as he enters the make-shift hospital room. Anne is there, as he suspected she would be, tending to a few of the soldiers with the last of the medical supplies, the ones Lourdes didn't take. He stumbles over his words, at loss for what to say to voice the feelings in the pit of his stomach. "What's the plan? Are we … are we waiting for my dad to return with – with the rest –"

He doesn't need to finish. She understands. "I think so. We have a rendezvous point, that's where we're supposed to meet the rest of the civilians. Tom – your dad, I mean – should be back soon. I think." Her voice wavers, unsure, and she turns suddenly, fixing her gaze intently on a patient's wrist as she wraps a gauze bandage around it.

He swallows. "I think I'm going to go ahead. Now, I mean. Assuming my dad gets back by tomorrow morning, the rest of you won't be far behind. And, well, someone needs to see that, make sure – I can't, I mean, it's just –"

Anne interrupts again, her tone soft. "You need to make sure that Matt is okay." It's not a question, but a statement.

Hal coughs. "Yeah, that."

"Then go ahead." She looks up, meets his eyes, and a smile quirks at the corner of her lips, threatening to break through. "I'll look after Ben for you, alright? You go do what you got to do. Just … be careful. Your dad would want me to say that."

He re-adjusts the straps of his backpack and starts walking toward the door. "Alright, I will. And, um, thanks." He lifts his eyes to meet hers. "_Really_. I mean it."

And then he's gone.

. . .

"Lourdes?"

A small, sweaty hand reaches up to grasp her own, fingers entwining with hers. She squeezes, a gesture of comfort. "What is it?"

He takes a moment to respond, thinking deeply in that way of his. "Is Ben going to be okay?" The words spill from his mouth, hanging in the air around them like a thick veil. She looks up at the sky, the clouds that grow steadily darker as day turns to night, and then down at her shoes as they trudge along the dusty road, scuffed and dirty and tired. Just how she feels.

"Ben is strong," she answers finally, avoiding the question. She doesn't know how to tell him that the skitters are actually harnessed, themselves, that they still have control over Ben, that the whole situation is much, much worse than they initially thought. "Ben's going to do whatever he has to do." Only she's not sure, exactly, what she means by that. _Is it good, or is it bad?_

Matt takes the answer in stride, seemingly satisfied. "What about Hal? And my dad? And Doctor Glass?" He tightens his grip on her hand. "What about everyone else, who stayed back? Are they going to be okay?" And then, he summons the courage to ask the question that he's been wondering all along: "Am I going to see them again?"

She doesn't know what to say. Because the truth is, she's worried too. _So, so worried._ They have no way of knowing if everything went off without a hitch, or if something happened and – she can't think that; she can't think that way. _Positive_. She needs to be positive. Faith and love and hope. That's what she needs. For Matt. For everyone. "You'll see them again," she assures him. This, at least, she is sure of. They'll see _all _of them again, everyone. Whether it be in three days at the rendezvous point, as planned, or whether it be tomorrow or a month from now, in Heaven.

One way or another, they'll all see each other again.

. . .

He hates being out on the road.

It's too empty; the pavement cracked and broken, like the remains of another life. No other vehicles for miles and miles and miles. The dark of the sky is haunting, as if inviting something bad to happen. It almost makes him feel like he's alone in all this. Like that Will Smith movie, _I Am Legend_. He thinks about how he used to laugh at that movie with his buddies; they used to talk about how ridiculous it was, while secretly admiring all of the fight scenes.

_But not anymore._

The motorcycle purrs beneath him as he cruises down the road. _South for two miles_, he chants to himself, Anne's instructions repeating over and over in his head, _then west for another eight, take the right fork, south for twenty-four miles_, _south-west for a half mile, take the fourth left, south for another seven_, _and then to the rendezvous_.

Of course, he doubts that they've reached the rendezvous by now, seeing as how they're all on foot. Probably, he thinks, they're on the second or third stretch at this point. It shouldn't take him long to reach them, not with his motorcycle.

And he's right.

He's been riding for maybe twenty or twenty-five minutes when he spots the group. They're far off, still, little specks and dots of color in the distance, only visible in the night because of his headlights. It should only take him another couple of minutes to reach them. _Matt's there, _he reassures himself. The engine revs beneath his fingers as he increases his speed the tiniest bit. They can't hear him, yet, but they will soon; the motorcycle is loud.

And then, less than a moment later, everything changes. There's a crash. A stomping sound. He's close enough at this point that they could hear him, could hear the motorcycle, if they were listening. They'd see him if they turned around. But they're not listening, and they're not turning around.

Because there's an army of mechs coming down the road towards them.

_Panicked screams._ People dive for the ground, scrambling off of the road towards the high grass, looking for cover. Giant bursts of light fly through the air, accompanied by loud, ear-shattering explosions. The mechs are shooting, he realizes. And suddenly, he's right there. In the middle of it all. He drops his motorcycle and climbs off, running into the mass of civilians. Someone flies backwards towards him, hit by a mech maybe, and he ducks instinctively. It's like the invasion all over again.

And he needs to find Matt.

. . .

It's unmistakable.

They're walking along slowly, surely, following the intended route to the rendezvous point when they hear it. The stomps are loud and mechanical. Horror washes through her as the first mech comes into view. And then another. And another and another and another.

_Oh, God_. People start screaming, hysterical sounds of horror. The first shot is fired from the front mech, a resounding blast, like a terrible explosion of fireworks. Instinctively, she pulls Matt behind her. "Hold on to me," she instructs him and he grasps her hand in one hand and the back of her jacket in the other, his fingers fisting around the material, trembling fearfully. "Don't let go. Whatever you do, don't let go, alright? Stick with me."

There's more shots, screams. Lots and lots and lots of screams. Someone falls to the ground next to them, crimson blood pooling all around, seeping onto her shoes. Behind her, Matt lets out a strangled sound. "We have to _run!_" she screams. She yanks on his hand and starts dragging him along next to her as they run. They need to find cover, she thinks. But she doesn't know where.

Others are running for the grass, but it seems no use; the mechs follow slowly, as if they haven't a care in the world, continuously firing shot after shot. She bites back the scream that bubbles up in her own throat. A blast rings out right next to them and she ducks down for the briefest of moments, yanking Matt with her, before they're up and running again.

_Too slow_. They need to go faster. Matt trips over his feet, stumbling in his haste to keep up and without a second thought, she scoops him up in her arms. His legs wrap around her waist, his arms coming to rest tightly around her neck as she stumbles blindly forward as fast as she can, looking for a safe haven. Matt buries his head in her shoulder, as if he's afraid to look.

She's afraid to look, too.

. . .

He's sorry.

_Really _sorry. He wants to take back every bad thing he's ever said or thought about his little brother. All the times he was horribly embarrassed when he had friends over and Matt kept peeking in on them, wanting to hang out with the 'big boys.' All the times he screamed at Matt to get the hell out of his room and all the times he laughed along with his friends at Matt's expense. _He's so, so, so sorry_.

And then, he spots him. With Lourdes. _Thank God. _He doesn't think he's ever been so glad of anything in his entire life. He ducks to the ground as an explosion sounds out, watching as Matt trips and Lourdes stops for less than a moment to pick him up before continuing to run. Her eyes are frantic, scared, searching.

"LOURDES!" The cry is loud and hoarse, his throat dry and thick. He begins to run towards them, crouching and covering his head, swerving to avoid the shots from the mechs. "_LOURDES_!" Finally her head snaps in his direction, her eyes meeting his as she stops in her tracks. He reads the confusion in them, the unspoken question.

And then he's next to her. "Keep running!" His hand finds the small of her back, pushing her forward, and together they stumble in search of shelter. "The grass!" His voice is loud and quiet at the same time, distinct through the sounds of explosion and screaming around them. "We have to find a thick patch of it and _get down_." It's the only way, he's sure of it. They'll have to lie down in the grass, still as statues, and hope the mechs pass them by.

Because, at this point, hope is all that they have left.

. . .

_Oh, God_.

She doesn't know what to think. She clutches Matt tightly, holding the boy in her arms and tripping forwards in the direction Hal leads her. Her shoulder is wet, soaked, and she realizes, suddenly, that Matt is _crying_. She squeezes his shoulder with one hand. "It's okay," she whispers, pressing her face to his hair as they run. "I'm here. Hal's here. We've got you."

"Get down!" Hal cries; and then he's pushing her down, sending them sprawling onto the grass. "_Crawl_." His voice is sharp, taking command. Where she's scatter-brained and confused and unsure what to do next besides _run_, he's formulating a plan, all military tactics and survival instincts.

She unwinds Matt's arms from around her neck but keeps a hold of one of his hands. Behind her, Hal pushes them both forward. "_Go_, to the bushes," he hisses, and they scoot forward on their hands and knees. _Almost there. _And then, suddenly, there's a blast of light right above their heads. Hal's hand is on her back immediately, shoving her down flat against the ground. She squeezes Matt's hand and yanks him closer to her, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as he tucks into her side, shivering with fear.

"Stay still," Hal whispers from behind them. "No noise, no movement, flat against the ground." She nods lightly and then there's another burst of light and explosion flying over their heads. They freeze, silent. Every nerve is on end, everything amplified. The stomps of the mechs sound like cannonballs, the screams of the others like echoing shrieks of despair. The grass feels rough beneath her, the long strands tickling her cheeks and her hair. She can feel Matt's hand distinctly curling into a fist around the material of her jacket, Hal's hand still and reassuring on the small of her back.

_Everything will be okay. Everything will be okay. Everything will be okay_. She repeats the phrase over and over to herself, a mantra of sorts. It's the only thing anchoring her, the only thing keeping her from screaming out. She bites her lip, hard, not letting go even when she tastes blood. This is the first time she's been in a mech attack since the invasion, and she's scared shitless. _Everything will be okay. _

But she's not so sure anymore.

. . .

_Fighter_.

That's what he is. That's his job. _Literally_. But right now, he feels like anything but a fighter; he feels like a scared little boy, cowering under the covers after a bad nightmare. Except, this nightmare isn't over. It won't _ever _be over. Sometimes, it all feels like a terrible dream. After all, an alien invasion was always the sort of thing that happened in television, in movies, in those action books that Ben liked to read – but not in real life. Not to _him_.

Other times, though, it all feels real. _So real_. Times like these, when he's cowering in the grass, hiding, and praying to something, anything, that they won't find him and kill him or, worse, _harness _him. He longs for the nights, at this point. He longs for the nights when he can sleep and forget and dream of better days.

That is, when he isn't having nightmares.

Another explosion sounds over their heads, though farther away this time, not as close. His right arm is wrapped tightly around both Loudres' and Matt's legs, squeezing reassuringly, while his left hand rests on Lourdes' back. He's keeping them down, keeping them safe, he tells himself, although he wonders if, right now, maybe he just needs human contact; maybe he just needs to hold onto something solid to anchor him to reality.

The screams are starting to die down, the explosions becoming less and less intense. All of his hairs stand on end. And then, suddenly, there's a mech walking towards them. The ground shakes with the stomping as it comes nearer, _nearer_. He feels Lourdes stiffen, feels Matt shaking. He presses his arm down tighter over their legs, a silent warning to keep still and keep quiet.

The mech walks over them, pausing for an excruciating moment before moving on, stomping past them. A few screams ring out from the direction of the road and Hal dares to lift his head for less than a moment, eyes widening at what he sees before he presses the side of his face back against the grass. _More kids_. They're taking more kids, grabbing them and hauling them off to who-knows-where. It's all he can do to remain absolutely still because he knows, at this point, that getting up and trying to get the kids back by engaging the mechs will do more harm than good.

No matter how much he wishes that he _could _get them back.

* * *

><p><strong>a word from our author: i hope everyone enjoyed reading the prologue as much as enjoyed writing it! chapter one should be up sometime within the next few days, so keep your eyes peeled for that. reviews, by the way, are absolutely lovely and make the world go round, so i'd love to receive one or two … or fifty. lmao, just kidding. although that would be pretty amazing. <strong>

**this chapter's playlist:  
><em>all those pretty lights <em>****by andrew belle  
><em>ordinary world (duran, duran cover) <em>****by red**  
><em><strong>meant to live<strong>_ **by switchfoot  
><em>tyrant <em>****by onerepublic  
><em>the lightning strike <em>****by snow patrol  
><strong>

**next time on heart of a soldier:**

"Lourdes?" Hal's voice sounds distant, far away. "Lourdes, what is it?" She doesn't answer, caught in a trance as she reaches two fingers out, pressing them against a cool neck. She waits for a moment. _Nothing_. "Lourdes, what – _oh_." Above her, Hal's voice cuts off abruptly. She moves her fingers to rest against another cool neck, waiting for a pulse. Again, _nothing. _Something catches in the back of her throat._ Oh, God._

**see you later alligators,  
>tangledinthe<em>sun<em>**


	2. chapter one: after it crumbles and burns

**chapter one: **_**after it crumbles and burns**_

_i always seem to forget  
>how fragile are the very strong<strong><br>**_**bird's song by ingrid michaelson**

* * *

><p>It's been hours.<p>

Glimmers of sunlight scatter across the ground as night turns into day. They haven't yet moved, still and quiet, faces pressed tightly into the grass. Tucked safely against her side, Matt is asleep, having drifted off an hour or two after the attack. Lourdes swallows hard and turns her eyes up to the sky: pinks, purples, oranges, blues; it's all the colors of the rainbow, beautiful, stunning. Something pulls at her heart. For one brief, breathtaking moment, she's transported back to another time; to lazy summer days, visiting her grandparents in Connecticut, getting up early to watch the sunrise with her grandfather before going back to sleep and waking up two hours later to the smell of eggs and bacon and _bliss_.

Beside her, Matt lets out a soft sigh in his sleep, shifting slightly to the left. The moment is broken and just like that, she's back in reality. She turns her eyes from the sky and back down to the long strands of broken grass. "Hal?" Her voice is small, hesitant; she's the first one to break the silence, the first one to speak since the mech attack the night before. "Is it … safe?"

He doesn't answer for a long moment. "I think so." His voice is hoarse and he clears his throat a bit before continuing. "We should probably head out. Find some real shelter." His hand slides from her back; the spot where it had rested suddenly feels ice cold. A shiver runs down her spine. He lets go of his hold around their legs and sits back on his knees, running a tired hand through his hair. "Do you think anyone else made it?"

"I don't know." Lourdes doesn't voice the doubtful thoughts that they're both thinking as she gently untangles Matt's hand from her jacket and sits up, facing Hal. "I'm sure, though, that everyone at the school is probably okay. Ben, Doctor Glass. Your dad." She's not sure and he isn't either, but she knows that, right now, it's what he needs to hear.

He nods, almost imperceptibly, and then she remembers the question that's been on her mind since she first heard him calling out to her during the attack last night. "Hal?" she asks, quietly. "Why are you here?" She curls her fingers around a few strands of grass, yanking them from the ground. "It's just – I thought you were going out with Weaver, to the city." _I thought you wouldn't make it back_. She didn't think _any _of them would make it back. A suicide mission, Anne had called it, although Lourdes had her doubts that even the school would be much safer with the looming mech attack.

Then again, being on the run hadn't turned out to be that safe either.

Hal doesn't look at her as he answers. "I did go. I went with Weaver and the other fighters who volunteered. We stopped just outside the city." He looks up at the sky then, his expression hard. She wonders if maybe she shouldn't have asked, but it's too late now to take it back. "It wasn't pretty. Nothing was going right. The fourth and fifth, they didn't show up. At all. No signs, no messages."

He pauses then, his voice thick, taking a moment to compose himself. "Weaver told me to go back, to tell my dad and the others. I – I didn't want to go," he adds bitterly, a touch of anger and annoyance lacing his words. "But I did. I went back. No trouble on the road back to the school, and I got there in record time." It's at this point that he finally looks at Lourdes, their eyes locking. "When I got there, the mech attack was over. Ben told me that they used nearly all of their bullets on the first mech." Her eyes widen, but she says nothing, letting him continue. "They got lucky, though. They used the radio transmitter thing, I don't understand how it works, exactly, but they used that to confuse the mechs. Sent them packing, Ben said." Something like a smile of admiration graces his lips and he stops for a moment, as if lost in a memory.

"There's more, though." She nods, a silent plea for him to continue. She wants to hear more. _She wants to hear it all_. "Anyways, I told my dad everything. He insisted on going back for Weaver and the others, told me to stay back." Again, his tone is bitter, but he manages to shake it off quickly. "It was maybe an hour after he left that I decided I wanted to catch up with the rest of you. I told Doctor Glass that I had to go, that I needed to – " _Silence_. He tears his eyes away from her and looks at the ground for a long moment, biting down on his lip. "I had this feeling, Lourdes," he whispers, raising his eyes once more to meet hers, "I can't explain it. I just – I needed to check on Matt. I knew _something _was up." He slams his fist on the ground then, pounding down hard on the grass. "I knew something bad was going to happen. I _knew _it."

"Hal." Hesitantly, Lourdes lifts her own hand out to cover his fist. "You didn't know. You couldn't have known. You couldn't have predicted it." She smiles, but there's something sad there, hidden beneath it. "You just needed to check on your brother. There's nothing wrong with that."

"I knew it," Hal repeats; there's a note of finality in his tone, something that tells her that their conversation is over – for now, at least. He lets his hand sit under hers for a moment longer before gently sliding his fist out from under her palm. He stands up slowly, looking around as he does so. She bites her lip and stares up at him and they're both still for a moment, waiting; but nothing happens. No mechs come running. He shrugs his shoulders and shoots her look, a grin beginning to tear at the corner of his mouth as he stretches, flexing his arms and letting out a yawn. "Well, I didn't sleep at all last night. Not like him." He motions towards Matt, who is still fast asleep, head buried in the grass. Something passes across his face, but before she can decipher what it is, the look is gone. "You didn't get any sleep either, did you?"

She shakes her head and, unable to say anything at the moment, flips her hands over and stares at her palms. _So many lines. _She used to have this book. It talked all about the heart line and the life line and the fate line and a million other little lines. She used to trace her palms for hours, trying to discern what everything meant. She used to read her parents' palms, too. Her father would sit still and laugh at whatever she read from the book, his eyes twinkling with mirth. Her mother would sigh and check her watch and fidget, flushing at whatever she read and denying it vehemently before proclaiming that she had to go get dinner ready or email a colleague or run to the grocery store. _Those were the days._

He waits, watching her curiously, but not prodding. After a long moment, she finally brings her eyes up to meet his. "We made it," she whispers; and then, louder, she repeats it. "We made it. We _really _made it." A laugh bubbles up in her throat and, before she can stop herself, she's clutching her sides and laughing uncontrollably. "I can't believe we made it. Can you believe we made it? I can't believe it."

Hal watches her silently as her laughs begin to die down. Finally, Lourdes stills, her eyes falling down to the palms of her hands once more. "We made it," she repeats.

"We made it," he affirms, an amused grin stretching across his features. She looks up at his words, eyes wide. "We were always going to make it. We made it the first time, didn't we?" But it's not the same and they both know it; this feels different. It's different, this time, because there's not as many people around, since most of the world's population has been wiped out. It's different, this time, because it's harder to hide with less people around. It's different, this time, because none of the fighters are around.

It's different, this time, because they know what to expect.

"Yeah," she answers finally, standing up and stretching her arms out in front her. "Yeah, we were." But even as she says the words, she's not sure about them. She lets her arms fall to her sides and then stuffs her hands in her pockets. "Hal," she whispers, looking at her shoes, the ground; anywhere but his eyes. "I don't think we would've made it if you hadn't shown up." She bites her lips, takes a deep breath. "I would've tried, really, but I don't know if I would've been able to save Matt. I don't even know if I would've been able to save myself." _I don't know if I would've been able to save anyone. _She swallows hard. "I didn't survive the first invasion on my own." She's never told him, never told anyone, the story of how she survived the first invasion. "It was because of someone who … someone who helped me." She leaves it at that, knowing that she can't share anything else. Not now, at least. _Not yet._

"You would've made it," he insists. She doesn't answer. She doesn't know _how _to answer. "I _know _you would've. Lourdes," he says, fingers curling around the sleeve of her jacket so that she can't walk away, "I _saw_ you. I saw you running with Matt. I saw you picking him up. I saw you carrying him. You didn't have to do that." He pauses for a moment, loosening his grip on her jacket. "But you _did _do that. And that's something a fighter would do."

She pulls her arm from his hand and turns, glancing up at the sky and the rising sun as she takes a step back. "I'm no fighter." _I'm a coward; I run, I flee._ She takes another step back from him. "We should see if there's anyone else around."

"Hey," he says, as she continues taking steps back. "Lourdes. You would've saved Matt. You would've saved _yourself_. I know you would have."

She doesn't address his words. It's better, she thinks, to just let the subject drop. It's easier to forget that way. She turns away from him completely, each step giving her the distance that makes it just a little bit easier to breathe. "We really should check for survivors. I'll look over …" Her voice trails off as she spots the bodies on the ground, hand reaching up to cover her mouth. _Oh, no_. She can't look. She doesn't _want _to look. It's too hard, it's too much. But it's too late, because she's looked now, and she has to check. She leans down and reaches a hand out, tentative and trembling.

"Lourdes?" Hal's voice sounds distant, far away. Like he's in another lifetime. "Lourdes, what is it?" She doesn't answer, caught in a trance as she reaches two fingers out, pressing them against a cool neck. She waits for a moment. _Nothing_. "Lourdes, what – _oh_." Above her, Hal's voice cuts off abruptly. She moves her fingers to rest against another cool neck, waiting for a pulse. Again, _nothing. _Something catches in the back of her throat._ Oh, God._

She stares down at the bodies. Mutilated, bloody. But she can still recognize them. It's Sarah, eyes wide open, clutching her newborn baby in her arms. It's the eyes that get her: scared, staring with horror. The baby's mouth is open as if mid-scream. "Lourdes …" She feels Hal take hold of her elbow, but she shrugs him off, instead running her shaking hands over Sarah's face to close her eyes._ How did this happen? _Her fingers reach up, gently, to close the baby's mouth.

Behind her, Hal is still. She rests her trembling hands on Sarah's chest and closes her eyes, bending her head slightly. _Lord, please welcome this kind woman and her beautiful baby with open arms; let them awaken full of love and peace on the shores of paradise. _She keeps her eyes closed for a moment longer after the unspoken prayer before finally lifting her head and standing. "They shouldn't have gone this way." Her voice is jaded, dark, full of contempt; completely unlike her. "_No one_ should go this way. It's absolutely disgusting."

Hal reaches out for her again, but she steps away. "You should wake Matt up," she tells him, voice now empty and devoid of emotion. She feels sick to her stomach. "We need to head out soon. Find some real shelter. I'll try and gather up some supplies before we go."

She turns sharply on her heel and begins walking away. It's not long until she's stumbled across yet another civilian casualty. She takes a moment to check the pulse and say a quick prayer before grabbing the unfortunate man's backpack and salvaging whatever food and supplies she can, dumping her findings into her own large pack.

She goes from person to person, checking each pulse, gathering more supplies. _Nobody else made it_. Or, if they did, then they'd ran off already. She can tell Hal is watching her, can feel his eyes penetrating deeply into the back of her head as she moves from casualty to casualty. She can't bring herself to look back over in his direction. It's too much. It's all just _too much_. The casualties are too many. Why is everyone dying? Why is this alien invasion happening? What did all these people do to deserve this? What did _she _do to deserve this? And for the first time since this all happened, it suddenly feels like her faith is slipping away, falling from her grasp.

And she doesn't know what to do about it.

"I've got everything I can salvage, I think," she says, walking back over to Hal and a sleepy-looking Matt. "It looks like we're the only ones who–" She pauses, and then continues, voice heavy. "–who made it."

Hal nods once, quickly. "Right. I was thinking we should find an abandoned house, someplace secluded, and stay there until tomorrow morning. We can decide our next move from there." He pulls off his backpack, letting it drop to the ground with a thud before turning around and squatting down so Matt can grab onto his shoulders. "We doing this piggy-back style?" Matt laughs and latches on, legs wrapping around Hal's waist as the older boy stands back up to his full height.

"I'll take your backpack," she offers, reaching for the discarded bag on the ground.

Hal shakes his head. "I can take it. You already have your own."

She raises an eyebrow and points to the boy on his back. "So do you." He laughs then, a rare sound these days, and she grins; the gesture is hollow, though, her mind elsewhere. She reaches to adjust her own backpack so that it rests on one shoulder before slinging his over the other shoulder. "See? I've got this."

For the first few minutes of the walk Matt chatters animatedly about the attack, regaling his brother with the details of what happened before Hal swooped in and saved the day, glorifying everything in that way that only eight year-olds can. "Lourdes and I were walking and talking about dad and you and Ben and then _bam_! It came out of nowhere! So big and loud!" He pulls on his brother's hair lightly. "I thought we were goners, you know. But then Lourdes knew what to do. Right?"

_Wrong. _"Yeah, buddy," she answers, squeezing one of the feet he has wrapped around Hal's waist. "You were going pretty fast there." She pauses, shooting a grin up in the direction of the giggling boy. "Until you tripped."

He sticks his tongue out. "My shoelace was untied!" he protests. "_Really_!" Laughter rings out between the three of them and, for just that moment, everything is blissful and peaceful and _perfect_. But then the laughter dies down and Matt settles down to sleep against Hal's shoulders, leaving her and him and an unbearable abyss of silence between them.

Once again, she's the first one to break it. "I'm sorry," she says, clearing her throat lightly before continuing. "About before, I mean. I shouldn't have taken out my frustration on you. It wasn't right."

There's more silence for a moment, although she can _swear _that she hears Hal chuckling quietly. "Is that what you call taking out your frustration?" He shakes his head, turning his almost laugh into a cough and biting down on his lip to prevent a smile. "You were just a little cold, that's all. It wasn't anything bad."

"Still," she persists, "I feel bad about it." _And about everyone who died_.

He grabs her elbow then, halting her in her tracks. "Hey," he says, and she turns to look at him. "Don't feel bad. It's fine. It was nothing. If _I _was taking out _my _frustration, it would've been a lot worse." He lets go of his hold on her elbow, his hand dropping back down to his side slowly as they continue walking. "There would've been screaming and yelling. I might've even punched something." The serious tone has left his voice now and there's a lightness in it, a joking smile hidden behind the words, and she finds that she's incredibly thankful for it. Anything to get her mind off of all the casualties.

"Not me, I hope."

He laughs and throws her a look, _that _look, that she can't decipher. "No, not you. One of the mechs, maybe." _I wish_. And then, just like that, there's silence between them again. But this time, it's a pensive one, a calming one. She doesn't know what makes her do it, but she finds herself reaching for his hand. It's warm and nice and inviting. It makes her feel like maybe she's not all alone in this; like maybe she still has some faith left in her after all. He doesn't miss a beat, squeezing her hand the moment she entwines their fingers.

_Everything will be okay. _

And hand in hand, they walk down the road.

* * *

><p><strong>a word from our author: okay, i have a couple of things i want to address. first off, thanks for all the lovely reviews you guys left on the prologue; each one truly had me smiling like a giant goofball. i really love getting those things; they make me feel so warm and fuzzy inside. and, well, the warmer and fuzzier i feel … the more i write. and the more i write … the more i update. circle of life, baby. so review if you want more updates. or, you know, if you just want to make me feel warm and fuzzy inside. either one works.<strong>

**and now, moving onto more serious issues: why is there less than **_**thirty **_**stories in the falling skies fanfiction section? seriously. wtf is up with this world. this show is freakin' genius. aliens **_**and **_**hottie drew roy? steven speilberg has stumbled upon pure gold, lemme tell you. and also, why are only **_**three **_**of those stories hal/lourdes, including **_**this one**_**? wtf. wtf. wtf. guys, we gotta get our act together. where is the hal/lourdes lurve? i know, i know. at first, i wasn't crazy about lourdes either. well, actually, that's a lie. i thought she was pretty, though mostly i was indifferent for the first few episodes, until i finally jumped on the hal/lourdes boat of love. but we hardly ever even **_**see **_**her, that's the problem, and i really think there's a shitload of potential with her character. and, besides, hal **_**obviously **_**does not even care very much about karen because he wasn't even that beat up about it when she was skitter-captured; he was all 'whatever' and i was all drooling 'omigod omigod you're so hot wtf it is a crime to be that hot.'**

**plus, lourdes is way prettier than karen. so there. suck on **_**that**_**, karen-luvahs.**

**anyways, what this brings me to is: we need more hal/lourdes fics. like pronto. and also we just need more falling skies fics in general. seriously. like i'm not even kidding. so: everyone reading this, go write a falling skies fanfic. preferably a hal/lourdes one. i don't even care if it's a half-assed oneshot. _just. write. something._ because we need more falling skies fics on here. i even promise that i will write more. i'll write a bunch of one-shots for everyone's reading pleasure. most of them will probably be cutesy hal/lourdes fluff, but i might also do a couple of ben or rick centered angsty skitter stuff if i'm in an angsty mood.**

**and oh, yeah. don't forget to review. please. i beg you.**

**/end rant.**

**.edit: omigod, that rant was literally like a full page on ms word. –dies-**

**this chapter's playlist:  
><em>pieces <em>****by red**  
><strong><em>heaven forbid<em> by the fray  
><em>marchin' on <em>****by onerepublic  
><em>bird's song <em>****by ingrid michaelson  
><em>drops of jupiter <em>****by train**

**next time on heart of a soldier:**

There's footsteps then, crunching down the road. Her hand curls around the gun and even though she knows it's silly, she feels something like fear tighten in her chest. _It's probably just Hal_, she reassures herself, but that doesn't stop her hands from growing clammy and her heart from jumping into her throat. She presses a finger to her lips, a silent plea for Matt to be silent. Shifting around so that she's sitting on her knees and facing the direction of the road, she cranes her neck up and peeks out over the top of the bush, looking for the source of the footsteps.

**see you later alligators,  
>tangledinthe<strong>_**sun**_


	3. chapter two: face of a mother

**chapter two: **_**face of a mother**_

_just close your eyes_  
><em>and count to five<em>**  
>set down your glass by snow patrol<strong>

* * *

><p>Hal's the one that spots it.<p>

It's half hidden up a winding road, obscured by trees and bushes and mounds of weeds. But it's there, nonetheless; waiting for them, beckoning them. _Shelter_. It feels like they've been walking for hours on end, although his watch is broken and she never had one to begin with, so they really can't tell for sure. "Lourdes," he says, voice soft and hoarse, tugging on her hand to make her stop walking. "Look. Up there." He points up to the house, to the tiled roof peeking out between a myriad of trees. "Should we check it out?" He's got two guns, she knows this much. A rifle, slung around his neck, and a pistol, tucked into his left pocket for safekeeping. The guns, she thinks, will protect them against other people, maybe even a skitter or two if he manages to get close enough to shoot the creature in the right spot. But what it _won't_ protect them against is the mechs.

They don't have the right bullets for that.

She steals a peek up at the house, not answering him for a long moment as she tries to think of what their course of action should be. Part of her wants to keep walking, to put more distance between themselves and the mechs, wherever they are at this point, but her back is aching and the straps of both packs are digging painfully into her shoulder blades and all she wants to do is lie down and go to sleep for a thousand years. "Alright," she finally agrees. "Let's check it out." She shifts her right shoulder up, adjusting the strap of Hal's backpack, and starts towards the hilly road that will take them up to the house.

"Wait. _Don't_." He grabs her elbow and hauls her back. She shoots him a quizzical glance. "You and Matt wait down here." He skims the area around them, eyes stopping to rest on a patch of bushes a little ways off the road. "Behind those bushes over there. Out of sight." Gently, he crouches down and unwinds Matt's arms from around his neck. "Hey buddy, time to wake up." A groggy Matt slips off of Hal's shoulders and looks around, confused. "You and Lourdes are going to wait down here while I check out that house up there, alright?" Matt nods and rubs at his eyes tiredly. "Lourdes," Hal says suddenly, eyes meeting hers in a piercing gaze as his hand reaches into his left pocket. "Here. I want you to take this, just in case."

And then he's handing over the pistol, depositing the gun in her shaking hands. She wants to protest, but can't find the voice to. She's never shot a gun before in her life. It's against her beliefs. But then again, a lot of things that have been happening lately are against her beliefs. Things that she would have shuddered at before. Things that she would never have condoned before, back when life was normal, back when her biggest worries were whether or not she was going to get to class on time and whether or not she was going to get that last essay done before three in the morning; back before, when everything was _different_. "I don't know how to shoot it," she admits, turning the pistol over delicately in her hands as if she's afraid it might go off if she so much at looks at it in the wrong way.

"It's easy." A grin finds it's way across Hal's features. "It's instinctual, really. When the time comes to use it you'll know how. It'll be like second nature." But he shows her how to turn the safety on and off anyways, and points out the trigger and explains which way to hold it just right so that she can get proper aim. She nods and practices holding the gun out in front of her, poised to shoot. With a last laugh and a fleeting grin, he turns and starts heading up the hill, rifle held securely in front of him, and suddenly it's just her and Matt and a pistol that, despite Hal's instructions, she really has no idea how to use.

"Come on, let's go hide behind those bushes." She grabs Matt's hand and leads him over to shrubs. They slide down onto the thick grass and Lourdes slips the pistol into her jacket pocket. "How are you feeling?" She brings her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them, observing the small boy next to her.

Matt moves to sit criss-cross applesauce. "Alright, I guess." A long pause. "Why do we have to hide?" He knows the answer. _She _knows that he knows the answer. But she also knows that it's not the answer he's looking for.

It's not even the question he's looking for.

"I don't know," she finally answers after a long moment of silence, "I don't know."

Matt pulls up a fistful of grass from the ground and tosses it in no particular direction. "This is dumb," he says, a bitter, jaded tone to his voice that makes her think that no eight-year-old should have to go through what he's going through; what they're _all _going through. "Skitters are dumb. I don't even know why they exist." He rips up another fistful of grass, clenching the strands in an angry fist. "Why'd they have to do their stupid alien invasion, anyways? Why couldn't they have just left us alone? Why'd they have to come and ruin everything, Lourdes? Why'd they have to kill _everyone_?"

Lourdes can't answer. She doesn't know _how _to answer, because these are the questions that she's been asking God every night since the first invasion, and she _still _hasn't found an answer.

They sit in silence for an agonizing amount of time. Matt continues to pull up fistfuls of grass and toss them in any direction, the frown on his face growing more and more pronounced with each throw. She rests the side of her face on her knees, cheek pressing into the denim material of her jeans, and then reaches a hand into her pocket to take a hold of the gun. Her hand runs along the smooth contours of the pistol and around the trigger. She doesn't want to have to use it. She doesn't even know if she _can _use it. The thought of using it scares her. _It's risky. _

And she's never been a risk tasker.

There's footsteps then, crunching down the road. Her hand curls around the gun and even though she knows it's silly, she feels something like fear tighten in her chest. _It's probably just Hal_, she reassures herself, but that doesn't stop her hands from growing clammy and her heart from jumping into her throat. She presses a finger to her lips, a silent plea for Matt to be silent. Shifting around so that she's sitting on her knees and facing the direction of the road, she cranes her neck up and peeks out over the top of the bush, looking for the source of the footsteps.

_It's Hal_.

The breath she doesn't realize she's been holding falls from her lips in a sigh of relief and she stands up, holding out a hand for Matt and pulling him up with her. They walk towards Hal while he walks towards them. "All clear," he says as they meet in the middle, "I checked all of the rooms, both the back and front yard, and even the basement. There's a bunch of stuff down there that we can stock up on, by the way. Lots of cans of beans and stuff and more water bottles than we can probably carry with us. It's like they were prepared for a tornado or something." He shoots them both a grin, trying to lighten the otherwise dark mood that seems to have settled down over them ever since the attack.

"Sounds great." She reaches into her pocket as she says this, producing the pistol. "Here," she tells him, holding it out in his direction so that he can grab it, "I didn't even have to use it."

He shakes his head as she holds it out, pushing her hand back. "No. You hang onto it Lourdes, just in case. You never know when you're going to need it." She balks at the thought. She doesn't _want_ to keep the gun. It makes her nervous, even just having it in her pocket. "Don't worry. I'll teach you how to shoot it correctly when we get a spare moment, alright?"

She nods then, sticking the gun back into her pocket as the three of them begin to head up the road towards the house. He doesn't understand, she thinks. She's not worried about whether or not she knows how to shoot it. In fact, she doesn't want him to give her lessons on how to shoot it. She doesn't even want to _know _how to shoot it. And she especially doesn't want to have the thing sitting in her pocket, so tangible, weighing everything down and making her feel sick to her stomach.

She pushes the thoughts from her head, trying to ignore the gun in her pocket, trying to pretend that she can't feel it pressing against her side with every step they take. _It's not there_. _It's not there_. She tells herself that she's not going to use it, that she's not going to _need _to use it. Just in case, that's what Hal had said. _Just in case_.

It doesn't take them long to reach the house. It's on the smaller side, but it's nice too, with a bright red brick exterior and a neatly tiled roof. It's the kind of house she always pictured as her _first _house, the one she would live in after graduating medical school with her dog and maybe even a boyfriend. The place would start out empty, but it would slowly begin to fill up with little pieces of her life: birthday cards displayed on the counter, piles of receipts and probably a few bills on the kitchen table, her favorite books stacked up on the small table in the living room, the smell of coffee ever-present throughout the halls.

Something clenches in her stomach and then they're walking up the steps and through the door and into the foyer. "It's nice," she says and Hal sends her another one of those looks that she can't decipher.

"There's a piano," he says. "It's in the living room."

She stares at him for a few moments. And then: "I'm going to go check out the basement." She turns on her heel and finds herself wandering through the kitchen and what must be the living room – she avoids looking at the piano that she can see out of the corner of her eye – before she finally manages to find the door that leads down to the basement.

It's damp and dusty, as if no one's been down to the place in months. Probably, she thinks, because no one _has _been down to the place in months. She takes the steps two at a time and, once she reaches the bottom, she opens a door on the right side. It turns out to be a pantry of sorts, overflowing with cans and cans of beans and vegetables. They'll definitely have to grab as many of those as they can later. She turns away from the pantry and looks out towards the main area of the basement. There's a small futon couch, piled with throw pillows, an old television, and a game console of some sort.

She was never one for video games, though, so she can't tell _which _game console it is.

Next to the console, there's a pile of game discs and cases, stacked haphazardly and scattered around. And next to that, against the far wall, there's a bookshelf. She walks closer, pauses in front of the shelf. The top few shelves are filled with all sorts of children's books. _The Giving Tree _and _Where the Wild Things Are _and _Green Eggs and Ham_. Classics. Favorites. _The Hungry Catterpillar _and _Goodnight Moon _and _Curious George_. She scans all the titles and then her eyes widen as they come across one in particular.

Tentatively, she pulls the book off of the shelf. She runs her hand over the flimsy cover. _Love You Forever_. That's the title. She knows this book like the back of her hand. She remembers every night for years when her mom would come up to her room and sit down on the end of her bed to read the book. And when she finally got too old for bedtime stories, she would simply repeat the phrase every night: _I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as I'm living, my baby you'll be_. Through the I'm-too-old-for-this pre-adolescent years, through the angsty teenage ones; no matter how many times they fought and yelled at each other, at the end of the day, they _always _had that phrase.

With trembling fingers, Lourdes opens the book. The words jump out at her from the first page and suddenly, it's all too much. She lets the book drop to the floor. It feels like she's been burned; her fingers are tingling, there's a fire in her throat. She turns abruptly, crossing the room in a few quick strides and heading straight back up the stairs. She pauses at the top, taking a few moments to compose herself, and then she leaves the basement, closing the door firmly behind her.

"Park Place!" The voice is unmistakably Matt's and she follows it to the living room. "You landed on Park Place! Pay up!" A monopoly board is set up on the coffee table, pieces scattered about. Matt is jumping about, counting his money. "I'm rich, Hal! Richer than you!" She finds that she envies Matt. She envies his ability to forget everything, to let it all go at the drop of a hat. She envies his ability to immerse himself in a game of Monopoly and to forget, even if only for a few hours, all the horrors that are happening around them.

Hal glances up briefly as she walks past them and settles down onto one of the couches. "That's it pal." His voice is laced with laughter. "I'm broke. You beat me."

Matt cheers and tosses his money on the board. "I win! I win!" He jumps around the living room, waving his arms around and proclaiming himself the winner, before finally dropping down onto the smaller couch across from Lourdes. "I'm hungry. Do we have anything to eat?"

She picks up her backpack from the floor and digs through the contents, producing a handful of granola bars. "We can make a fire and try to heat up some beans for dinner, but these will have to do for now." Or is it dinner already? She has no sense of time anymore. Everything has blurred together. She can't even remember the last time she laid down for a nap. Suddenly, her eyelids feel incredibly heavy and all she wants to do is curl up into a little ball and forget everything.

Matt's face swims in front of her. "Can I go explore?" he asks through a mouthful of granola.

"You can explore in the house." Hal's voice comes from right next to her and she realizes, with a start, that he's now sitting on the couch too. _When did that happen_? "No going outside, alright?" She hears Matt scampering off and running up the stairs, probably to search through some of the rooms. She wants to tell him not to disturb anything, to leave this family's house in peace, but she finds she doesn't have the voice to yell after him and instead settles for leaning back against the pillows on the couch.

"You look tired." Hal's voice sounds close and far at the same time. She struggles to keep her eyes open, his form blurring in front of her.

"I should be used to it," she comments, surprised to hear the humor in her own voice. "College never did give me much in the way of sleep."

On the other side of the couch, Hal shifts into a more comfortable position. "How was that?" he asks finally after a long moment. "College, I mean." There's something in his voice, something that she can't apprehend, exactly, but it makes her sad, all the same. Hal will never get to go to college. _And she will never get to graduate._

"It's not all it's cracked up to be." She pauses for a moment, thinking. "It's great at first. Then the novelty wears off when you realize that you actually have to do your own laundry _every_ week and that you actually have to eat dining hall food _every_ night." She feels a strange mix of humor and nostalgia mix in her stomach at the words. "I mean, I'm probably not the best person to ask. I wasn't even all the way through my first year when the … invasion happened." It's hard to talk about, she thinks. It's hard to even think about life before the invasion. How different life was then. _How easy_.

"Where were you in school?"

Hal's question catches her off guard, though she doesn't know why. It's a logical question. "Harvard," she finally answers, "I was on the pre-med track, majoring in biology." He looks impressed and it makes her stomach feel funny. She decides to change the subject, to move the spotlight off of herself. "And what about you?"

He laughs. "Good old Somerville High." The corner of his mouth lifts up into a grin. "I was on the lacrosse track, flunking biology."

She finds herself grinning along with him. "Your parents must have been so proud."

"Trust me, they were."

They both laugh and, for a few blissful moments, she doesn't think about the skitters or the mechs or the invasion. She finds her eyes growing heavy, her lids dropping. It's been at least twenty-four hours, she thinks, since she last slept; probably more. Her head sinks deeper into the pillows, her eyes finally falling closed. "I think I'm going to go to sleep," she tells him. "Sleep sounds good right now." She thinks she hears him laugh, but she can't tell for sure, and the next thing she knows something solid is being placed over her body. Her eyes open halfway for less than a second, just enough time for her to see Hal draping the blanket from the back of the couch over her. "Thanks," she tries to whisper, but it comes out mushy and incoherent in her half-asleep state.

But still, he hears. "No problem."

* * *

><p><strong>disclaimer: i do not own the book <strong>_**love you forever **_**nor the quote used from it; both belong to author robert munsch.**

**a word from our author: omigod, you guys are absolutely flooring me with your reviews! i was worried about the reception this story would receive because, first of all, the falling skies fanfiction section is not even that big and, second of all, hal/lourdes doesn't seem to be a majorly popular pairing. although i suppose that probably has something to do with the fact that there are, like, no falling skies stories on here at all. i don't know, though, could just be me. ;) anyways … i was SO GLAD to hear that a bunch of you are looking into writing falling skies fics. do it, do it: **_**i urge **__**you**_**. if you say in the reviews or send me a pm once you've posted a falling skies fic, i **_**promise**_** to read and review it!**

**also, since i'm curious: would you guys read a ben/oc fic if i wrote one? cause i have had this plot bunny swimming around in my head for a while and i started writing the first chapter today … so if anyone's interested in reading that, then i'll def post it.**

**p.s: review and i'll love you forever and ever and ever!**

**this chapter's playlist:  
><strong>c<em>orner of your heart <em>****by ingrid michaelson  
><em>friend like you <em>****by joshua radin  
><em>strawberry swing <em>****by coldplay  
><em>set down your glass <em>****by snow patrol  
><em>trust me <em>****by the fray****

**next time on heart of a soldier:**

As Matt settles back down with his crayons and crackers, Lourdes goes about the room, setting up candles on whatever surfaces are available. As she's lighting the last apple-scented one, Hal stirs, rolling over and stretching his arms in front of him. "Sucks not having electricity," he notes and while she laughs lightly at his comment, she can't help but feel the truth of it settling thickly into her stomach. Because he's right. It does suck.

_Everything_ about the invasion sucks.

**see you later alligators,  
>tangledinthe<strong>_**sun**_


End file.

Falling Skies, Romance, Suspense