Part Four: The Truth About Lies

He hesitated outside the bedroom door and then wondered why. It wasn't as if Dexter was going to bite him, though he had seen his friend snap often enough. Even if he did, Ben still had three years, seven inches, and at least thirty pounds on the redhead. Was he afraid? Perhaps a little, he reasoned. This was probably the most genuine friendship he'd ever had, and to have the admiration and respect of someone as brilliant as Dexter meant a lot to him. He didn't want to lose that connection or have their easy camaraderie change in any way. It had been a dramatic and emotionally traumatic day. His feelings had run the gambit from happy to confused to furious to anxious. Here at the end he just felt drained, as if everything had been poured out of him and all that was left behind were dregs and numbness.

Faint giggles reached his ears. Clearly the girls were enjoying themselves. Ben was fairly certain he'd been lovingly thrown under the bus by the Powerpuffs. Most likely Dexter had been tossed down there with him, too, but he was all right with that. He certainly wouldn't deny them their fun after their evening out with their brother had been spoiled, but he knew Dexter's sisters wouldn't be laughing when they found out exactly what had happened. He wondered if his grandfather had considered the full extent of the consequences that went hand in hand with focusing on the long run and not the people involved along the way. Professor Utonium was angry at Max, Dexter out-and-out loathed him, Ben's confidence in him was sorely shaken, and it was likely that the Powerpuff Girls would want Max's head on a platter. All that before bed time.

Great. Just great planning there, Grandpa, he thought, shaking his head. Considering that the short run was presently comprised of geniuses and ultra super powered siblings capable of giving anything Ben could turn into a run for his money, the long run didn't bode too well for Max Tennyson if the Utonium clan got it in their heads to start a vendetta.

Ben sighed, staring at the plain door. Now that he thought about it, he realized he'd never stepped a foot into Dexter's bedroom before. That was surprising given the amount of time he spent here and in the company of the Boy Genius. It certainly couldn't be messy – Dexter was OCD about certain things being in their proper place. More than once Ben had seen his friend rearrange his tools or reset the dinner table to get things just so. Professor Utonium never said anything; he just let the boy get his compulsion for order out of his system (though of course Ben had to mess with the little runt and move the salt every time he passed by the table, effectively driving Dexter nuts).

The Professor had told him to knock and just go in – Dexter couldn't always hear voices through the door and he couldn't answer loudly enough to be heard anyway. Mustering his courage, Ben rapped hard on the door and waited a few moments before he entered the twilit room.

It was positively boring. Ben had expected a lot more of Dexter's personality to be revealed in what was supposed to be a private setting, but he was in for a disappointment. Save for some pictures of the DexLabs NASCAR team and concept designs for aeroships on the walls, it was more like a fancy and comfortable hotel room with a dash of Star Trek thrown in than a teenaged boy's bedroom. There weren't nearly as many books as he expected, and the few pieces of scientific equipment he could see looked like reproductions of period pieces. Ben wondered at the sheer bland, impersonality of it all. His own bedroom back in Bellwood – and even the quarters he used here in DexLabs - was set up for his own tastes so as to be a haven from the pressures of school and being a hero and now a war. The things he liked and valued the most were in there, and since he had been a little child his room had been the place where he felt safest. This . . . this was just a place to sleep.

Of course it was, he abruptly realized. Dexter's haven was his laboratory. At least it had been until his Fusion doppleganger had invaded and destroyed it. Ben knew the laboratory had been rebuilt but he couldn't help but worry that Dexter wouldn't be quite as content there now as in the past. This room was a perfect reflection of his friend the genius – small, organized, efficient, and the perfect camouflage for what lay so deep beneath the surface.

And speaking of his friend . . .

There was a smaller room attached to the bedroom that seemed little more than a work shop in miniature. Faint light spilled from the alcove, casting the bedroom into shadows. Ben approached cautiously, trying to figure out how not to alarm his friend since he figured Dexter hadn't heard him knock. The owner of DexCorp International was seated at a work bench that ran the length of the back wall, consulting a computer as he constructed a model that looked vaguely like the aeroships and gunships he was so fond of building. Ben glanced at the computer screen facing him and realized that this was a scale model for Dexter's masterpiece, the Terror. Very few people knew about his plan to build a battle cruiser to use in the war against Planet Fusion. When Ben had found out about it, he had not appreciated the level of trust Dexter had displayed by giving him details about the project. It wasn't until later that Dexter's tutor, Mr. Green, enlightened him as to the secrecy surrounding the plans.

He watched as Dexter, preparing to cut a piece of plastic for the mock-up's gun deck, measured it against the partially constructed ship. Ben had no notion of how big the Terror was destined to be, but knowing Dexter it would be huge. The model was about three feet long and even at that size it looked formidable. Dexter paused to push his glasses back into place and run his hand through his hair. His posture was tense, as if he was forcing himself to focus, and Ben could tell by his body language that he was tired. That he was working came as no surprise since Dexter equated building things to recreation, but Ben knew his friend well enough to know that in this case at least Dexter was keeping himself occupied to avoid thinking about what had happened with Max.

Dexter looked back at the computer screen, giving Ben a view of his profile. There was still a shiny patch of skin where the Ur-Dexter's mind probe had burned into his temple as the Fusion hunted through Dexter's mind and memories for information on the Omnitrix. Would the scars ever really fade? Just as Dexter hadn't been alone in being tortured, he wasn't the only one to bear the wounds of that brutal encounter with the enemy, though certainly he had endured the worst of it. Ben sighed. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. Of course life wasn't fair, but Dexter at least deserved a bit of a break. Today was supposed to have been just that for him, and here they were ending the day a pair of emotional wrecks. Hungry emotional wrecks no less. Ben's stomach growled and for once he was glad Dexter's hearing was reduced.

His own hearing wasn't, however, and he heard a faint sniff coming from the direction of the work bench. With a pang he gazed again at Dexter's profile and realized that if his friend hadn't been crying, he was certainly close to it now. Certainly he was justified in venting. Ben remembered that Dexter's upset was not for his own sake. He was upset for his father and friend. He blinked, wondering if anyone had ever cared so deeply about him and what he thought as to be so distraught over what he might be feeling. It was rather humbling.

Dexter growled in frustration when the plastic he was cutting shifted beneath the exacto knife and he went off the line he had so carefully marked. Holding the piece up to examine it, Dexter abruptly gave in to his annoyance and whipped the damaged piece away, throwing down the knife and slamming his fists onto the bench. He hung his head, trying to master himself, and Ben couldn't stand it any longer.

"Can I help?" he asked.

Sucking in his breath, Dexter faced him. Ben regretted alarming the younger teen. Dexter had a look in his eyes Ben had seen only once before, and then under desperate conditions as he was held prisoner by Fusion copies of his adopted father and sisters.

"Sorry," Ben quickly said. With more meaning he repeated "Sorry" again in an attempt to convey at least some of what he felt at the moment. "Okay if I come in?"

Immediately he wished he hadn't asked because Dexter looked faintly hurt. Self-consciously, the redhead nodded as he looked down. "Always."

"Can I help?" he asked again as he gestured at the model.

A long sigh left Dexter and he shook his head, sniffing and blinking. "I shouldn't be working on this right now. My concentration is . . . lacking. Computer off," he ordered, pushing his glasses up to rub his eyes as he turned away from the project. As the computer powered down, Ben leaned back against the bench and watched Dexter as the younger teen stowed the cutting tools safely away even as he tried to regain control of his emotions.

"I had a long talk with my grandfather."

Dexter made no reply but he paused a moment, waiting for Ben to continue.

"He was wrong to do what he did to you and the Professor."

There was a fierce gleam in those blue eyes as Dexter looked up. "And to you."

"Yeah. That was wrong, too. He's got some serious issues with putting trust in people."

"Trust and faith!" snapped Dexter, his anger evident even though his voice hardly rose above a raspy squeak. "It's all right for us to lead and fight in a war but we can't be trusted to make decisions directly affecting our own lives and the people we love."

Ben blinked at that last word, realizing Dexter was absolutely right. He definitely had a knack for hitting on plain truths, and he was the sort of person who could get away with such a declaration and not have it misinterpreted. If Ben had said it he would have sounded girly, but Dexter managed to make it a simple statement of fact.

"I think . . . I think the fact that we do love, that we set that above everything else, is what made him hold back the truth."

"Is it so frightening, then?" demanded that Russian accent. "Do strong bonds make us weak? As if we would betray everything we've sacrificed for already! What else are we fighting for if not each other, Ben? Our families, our friends - what else matters? And what happens when family and friends are gone? There will be nothing left to fight for." His wrath increased as he spoke, and despite his injured throat he managed to raise his voice. He slapped his hand down on the worktable. "By his machinations Max undermines our purpose and intent against Planet Fusion!"

Ben gazed at him. "I know," he answered softly.

Dexter froze in place, stricken and horrified with himself for yelling at his best friend. Ben was the last person who needed to be reminded of his grandfather's shortcomings. There was a long pause before he managed to choke out, "I'm sorry."

"We don't have anything to be sorry for, Dex."

His voice was a whisper. "But we've been made to pay regardless."

Ben cast the redhead a small, wry smirk. "We knew what we were getting into when we signed up."

"We just didn't sign up for betrayal," was the bitter reply.

"Especially not for our own good."

The light flashed off of Dexter's glasses as he stared at the Wielder of the Omnitrix. Tightly he demanded, "How can you smile as you say that, Ben?"

"Because I know how you feel - I've been there. Because in the end we still won. I'm not saying it isn't upsetting. This isn't the first time Grandpa Max has done something like this to me. He gets tunnel vision. Nothing matters to him but the goal. But he's still my grandfather."

"I hate that you and my father were made to be ignorant," Dexter exclaimed. "I hate that you were hurt by his actions. How could he look my father in the eye and tell him we were fine? How could he not let you know your friend's whole race was threatened?"

"I don't know. I get what you're saying. What he did hurts. But it would hurt a heck of a lot more to lose your friendship over a misunderstanding." He swallowed, wishing he was better with words and could express the fullness of what he felt without sounding sappy or silly. At least he was calmer than Dexter right now and he used that to his advantage. He thought of Utonium and how he could still Hurricane Dexter with a single look or word, and he kept his tone low like the Professor so often did when dealing with this high-strung genius. "I'm not my grandfather. I'm not anything like him."

"I know." Dexter's fire faded, leaving him weary and overburdened. "I apologize for doubting you. Even for a moment. You did not – do not deserve that."

"Just like you don't deserve to be put in a position where you would think that." Ben smiled faintly. "I think we're arguing the same side of the issue. You're just better at it than I am. Can I?" he asked, gesturing at the work space.

His reward was a small, sad, tired laugh. Dexter waved him to sit and Ben hoisted himself up on the table, his long legs dangling down. Ben knew Dexter didn't want to argue any more than he did. They weren't really. Everyone dealt with stress differently and Dexter had been served more than his fair share this past month. He was simply reacting to the day's events. Given his friend's personality, it was best to let him explode and get it over with. The downside of venting, though, was that depression often followed in its wake. The pressures of business and school and the war and just being a teenage boy sometimes overtook Dexter and left him disheartened and miserable. Ben had seen it happen before. He didn't want to see it happen now.

"And you're better at dealing with this than I am," was the younger teen's under-his-breath comment.

"I've had more experience. I think you're doing a fine job, personally. You haven't zapped him with your laser gun or sicced your sisters on him."

"Tempting but ultimately pointless." All traces of tears were gone from his face as Dexter gazed at Ben. He had a faded, pinched look about him and the brunet could tell he was exhausted in every way. "My father has forbidden Max to come here again unless the situation demands it."

Ben nodded, not in the least surprised. "I know he sent your dad two letters."

"Yes. The Professor told me. He offered to let me read them but I have no desire to hear Max's justifications for such infamous conduct and overstepping his authority. Professor Utonium is not inclined to forgive easily where his children are involved."

"And the apple didn't fall far from the tree, I take it. Yeah, I'm not exactly thrilled with him right now and he knows it."

"This goes beyond the pale."

"Yeah. But Dex?"

"What?"

"Let it go."

Dexter's blue eyes narrowed at the suggestion. Ben ignored the reaction and went on talking, deliberately keeping his tone low and reasonable.

"Don't let this consume you. I know you. You'll brood over it and get cranky and you won't give yourself a moment's peace. You weren't wrong, you were wronged. Let Bloo and Max have all the guilt. They're the ones that deserve it. Not you."

He stared at his purple-gloved hands. "Professor Utonium said the same thing in so many words."

"You told me he's the smartest guy alive. Advice from him has got to count for something."

"It's so hard to do."

"Is it so easy to hold on to anger?"

He considered and then stated with authority, "Yes, it is."

Ben grinned at his matter-of-fact tone. "Is it worth it?"

"Provided I don't get an ulcer," he replied, folding his arms to pillow his chin.

"Fair enough. How's that working for you?"

With a grunt that sounded like, "Nyff," Dexter closed his eyes. He was still for so long that Ben though he might have fallen asleep. Cautiously the young man reached out and touched Dexter's arm.

"You okay?" he asked.

Without opening his eyes or lifting his head, Dexter shrugged. "No, but I will be." Slowly he opened his eyes and peered up at his best friend through his tinted glasses. "You're right."

"What about this time?" he asked, knowing he was about to get teased and glad of it.

"I get cranky."

Ben tried his best not to laugh. He failed. With a happy chuckle he gave Dexter a nudge, rocking the younger teen. Dexter rolled with it and sat up straight again.

"You are right, though," he repeated. "They don't deserve the effort I would put into being angry."

"Being angry is Mandy's job, kiddo."

Dexter finally smiled. "She's quite good at it." He grew serious again and even a little anxious. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive your grandfather for doing this to you and Dad."

"That's fine," Ben replied, giving his friend the answer that was honest and that he needed to hear. "I'm a long way off from that myself."

There was relief in Dexter's eyes even though his remorse was genuine as he said, "I'm sorry I managed to spoil your day."

He shook his head, dismissing the apology. "I'm not. This was bound to happen. Better sooner than later. Besides, the day wasn't spoiled, just dinner out." He slid off his perch on the bench as Dexter rose from his seat. Ben watched as Dexter dusted his sleeve free of plastic flakes with his usual careful fussiness. It was amusing to see his friend do something so normal for him. "You look a lot better than the last time I saw you."

A snort escaped the short teen. "Compared to a month ago, I'm the picture of health. Did Julie accompany you?"

"Yeah. She's with your sisters."

Dexter arched an eyebrow at his friend as if to question the sanity of so reckless an act. "You realize of course, Benjamin, that we are going to be their sole topic of conversation."

He shrugged, having already surrendered to the inevitable. "Yeah, I know. I figured we could present a united front when we went down for dinner. You know - solidarity and strength in numbers and all that stuff."

"Turn into Echo Echo if you want numbers."

"Or we could hide in here and ask your dad to send dinner up."

"Good idea," Dexter said brightly. "Let's do that."

Ben clapped a hand to Dexter's shoulder to keep him from escaping. "Not on your life, Dex. Get moving."

The physical contact and his choice of words gave the redhead pause and for a moment Ben found himself the focus of all the intensity that was Dexter, Boy Genius. He wondered if he was going to be subject to another explosion, but Dexter made no attempt to dislodge his hand. Instead he gave him a small, grateful smile and he bowed slightly in acceptance of Ben's determination to keep him from locking himself away again. It was an eloquent gesture, one that wordlessly conveyed his thanks to Ben for his friendship and understanding and stubbornness.

He found himself smiling in return, glad beyond telling that their friendship was intact despite the throes of the day. Maintaining his hold, he pressed Dexter's shoulder gently.

"You're welcome."

-Fin-