Thick as Thieves, chapter 9
Title: Thick as Thieves (9/?)
Rating: T just in case for later
Warnings: None for this chapter
Characters: Lucas Taylor, Michael Taylor (OC), Nathaniel Taylor, Skye Tate, Alicia Washington, possibly the Shannon family
Summary: This is an AU story about Lucas having a twin brother. Instead of rebelling like Lucas, Michael - his brother - remains loyal to their father. This fic explores their relationship and what would have happened in the series had Michael existed.
This Chapter: Syncillic Fever hits Terra Nova and Michael is faced with with a difficult decision as someone he loves dearly is affected by the virus.
or read at ff.net
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7812172/9/Thick_as_Thieves
Memorial Field.
It had been a lot emptier up until now. The Fever had hit so suddenly that they hardly had time to warn people before they started dropping like flies. Now the field was full of graves, each one fresher than the last. Today they were burying a Corporal, so various members of the security team had gathered in order to pay their respects. Michael shivered from the winter chill, standing on the cold ground beside Lieutenant Washington as he listened to his father's speech. He watched Skye stand sadly beside her mother as Taylor's voice echoed through the crowd.
"Corporal Alexander Tate was an excellent soldier as well as a loving husband and father…"
It all sounded so formal. So…impersonal. Michael couldn't stop thinking about Skye and the sadness in her eyes, the trembling in her features as if she were trying hard not to cry in front of her mother. His heart broke for her. Of course, he knew all too well what it was like to lose a parent. He had been around the same age when he lost his mother. He wished he could tell her things got easier, but in all honesty, it never did. You could put on a brave face, but that sadness would always be there, deep within the heart, threatening to resurface at any time.
The illness brought to Terra Nova by the Seventh Pilgrimage had caused nothing but tragedy. They were still working on inoculating the remainder of the colony and there were strict orders that anyone suspected of contracting the illness be confined to bed-rest. As far as they knew, there was no cure for Syncillic Fever, as Skye and her mother had cruelly discovered, but Commander Taylor was doing everything in his power to remedy the situation and to stop it from escalating any further.
"Alexander's memory will live on at Terra Nova, and also within his loving wife, Deborah and daughter, Skye. Our thoughts will be with them during this difficult time."
At that point, Skye gave up on trying to be brave and buried herself in to her mother's arms, her muffled cries causing a lump to form in the back of Michael's throat. As if sensing his discomfort, a warm hand came in to contact with his, giving him strength, and he turned to see Alicia smiling supportively at him. He squeezed her hand gently. Thank you.
She got struck with the illness almost a month later, along with Skye's mother. Michael sat by her bedside each day, holding her hand, talking to her, but she was getting weaker as time went on. Taylor pulled him aside one day and warned him that she might not have much time left. He could see the pained glint in his eyes, the sorrow in his voice, but Michael refused to believe it. There had to be a chance that she would recover. There had to be.
One day he sat with her, squeezing her cold hand, stroking her pale face, her dry lips. She was barely conscious. She had been delirious the past couple of days, mumbling nonsense, thinking Michael was Taylor, or even Lucas, and talking to him like he was ten-years-old again. Today she could hardly string a sentence together.
"Remember when I first met you?" he asked her, knowing he wouldn't get a reply. "I could hardly speak. I knew from that very moment that I wanted to be with you." He glanced over at her still frame. "You were amazing. So supportive, even when I screwed up during training and you promised not to tell my dad." He chuckled to himself. "Even after days out in the jungle, smothered with dirt, you were beautiful." He brought her hand to his lips, kissing her sadly. "I just wish there was something I could do. I'd be lost without you, Alicia. You're my best friend. You have to get better, you just have to." He felt his throat close up, his eyes moistening, and he held her hand tightly within his own.
"Son?"
He cleared his throat, dropping her hand suddenly back on to the mattress. His father was at the bedroom door, staring at him. He sniffed, swiping at his eyes before the Commander noticed how upset he was. "I was just…saying goodbye."
His father smiled sadly at him, understanding. "Could you give us a minute?" he asked, stepping in to the room. "I'd like to sit with her for a bit."
"Sure."
Truthfully, Michael was relieved that his father had interrupted them. Seeing Alicia like that was proving to be difficult for him, and whilst he still had the smallest bit of hope that she would recover, he was becoming more and more convinced that she would die. He was starting to feel suffocated. Alicia didn't deserve a death like that. It seemed so…undignified for such a proud and courageous woman.
He walked outside in to the fresh air, inhaled deeply as if a weight had been lifted from his chest and he was finally able to breathe again. It was out there he saw Skye drifting through the market by herself, her blue eyes sad and vacant. Michael frowned, remembering that she must be going through hell at the moment too. He approached her, smiling, trying to seem supportive.
"Hey, Kid. What are you doing out here? You okay?"
Her eyes snapped up to meet his, widening in surprise. She seemed tired, nervous. "Yeah, I'm okay."
"How's your mom?"
She swallowed. "Not great. I was just…picking up some things for her." Michael stared at her. She didn't seem like the inquisitive and energetic young girl he had met on the day of the fifth pilgrimage. It was as if she had aged a few years already, fast becoming an adult before she really had to be one. He felt for her. When his mother died, he felt like he had to be the one to take care of Lucas and their father. Because he hadn't witnessed her murder like they had, he felt as though he should be the strong one, the one to let them know that life could go on. He wished he had someone to do that for him now, to help him through this, to help him be strong.
"How's Lieutenant Washington?" asked Skye, noticing Michael's distracted gaze.
For a moment he was unsure how to answer. He didn't want to upset her any further, but what could he say? So in the end he opted simply for the truth. "Not good either."
She frowned. "I'm sorry…You and the Commander must be so sad." Skye bit her lip, watched Michael's despondent gaze, his drooping shoulders, his tired eyes. Then she said something he never thought he'd hear her say: "What if I told you I knew where you could find some medicine?"
"Skye, what are you talking about?" he questioned, his brows furrowed. "There isn't any medicine for Syncillic Fever."
She pursed her lips together, her blue eyes wide as they stared intensely in to his. "I know there is. And I know who has it."
And that was how Michael found himself on Mira's doorstep. He still wasn't entirely sure how Skye knew about Mira's secret cure for the disease, or how the woman had come across a cure at all. He had always been unsure about her ever since she arrived on the sixth pilgrimage. He didn't see her around very often, but when he did he noticed she seemed very hostile and secretive. Michael guessed now he knew why.
She didn't seem happy to see him. She greeted him with that usual scowl, although she tried to cover up her annoyance with a forced politeness. "Corporal Taylor? What can I do for you?"
He kept his voice low and calm, but there was desperation in his eyes. "I heard you have medicine for Syncillic Fever. I don't know why you've been keeping it a secret and quite frankly, at the moment, I don't care. All I want is enough to cure a friend of mine."
"A friend?" she repeated curiously. "This wouldn't happen to be Lieutenant Washington, would it? I know you and the Commander are close with her…"
He frowned. "Can you help me or not?"
She paused, considering it. Then she smiled at him and opened the door a little wider. "Come in, Corporal."
He hesitated for a moment, unsure of whether he should trust her, uncertain about going through with this. He considered abandoning this altogether and telling his father everything, but then he thought about Alicia, dying in that bed, barely holding on, and so he followed Mira in to the house. Some things he just had to do by himself.
He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but he was surprised to find it was just like any other of the houses there. There were potted plants, piles of old books, even photographs, including one of a small girl who looked much like Mira herself.
"Who's that?" he asked, indicating towards the picture.
Mira scowled. "Nobody. Now do you want the medicine or not?"
Michael remained quiet as she headed to another room and started rifling through what he guessed was a cabinet. Eventually, she found what she was looking for and then she reappeared to hand it over to him.
"I want something in return," she snapped, withholding the medicine from him.
"How much?" he muttered bitterly, expecting this. He began to pull out some terras from his jacket pocket.
"Not that. If I give this to you, I want a favour."
"A favour?" he spat. "What kind of favour?"
She smirked at him, her dark eyes gleaming. "That's all I can say for now, that sometime in the future I'll need something from you. And you have to give it to me."
He furrowed his brows suspiciously. "And if I refuse?"
"Let's just say that by then you won't be in a position to refuse. Now do we have a deal?"
Michael stared at her, every instinct of his telling him that this was a bad idea. She was oozing with confidence, thriving off the sudden power she had over him. She was in complete control. He knew he couldn't trust her. But he had no choice. If he wanted to save Alicia, he would have to accept.
"Okay," he murmured. "Deal."
She smirked again, placing the medicine in his hand. "Pleasure doing business with you, Corporal Taylor."
He pocketed it quickly, resenting the smug look on her face, contemplating what this so-called favour was going to be. But he couldn't worry about that now. He had what he came for. Now he could save Lieutenant Washington. He headed for the door.
"One more thing," he heard Mira's conceited voice slither in to his ears again. "You won't tell your father about any of this."
He chewed his lower lip, glaring back at her. Of course. He nodded slowly, although he was completely against the idea. But he wasn't at all surprised. He knew Mira was up to something, but he was desperate. And so he agreed, and he left.
It was miraculous. Within days, Wash began showing signs of improvement. Her fever had gone down, she was awake, she was talking. The recovery process was slow; she was still too weak to walk or eat properly, but it was a start. Michael was there to keep her company, to talk to her, to help her through it. He was just happy to see her warm smile and hear her comforting voice again.
Michael was sat in the Command Centre with his father, discussing her recovery and the reduction in Syncillic Fever over the past few weeks. It seemed the worst was finally over.
"I don't know how it happened but I'm glad it did," Taylor smiled. "Maybe we can finally get things back on track round here, uh?"
Michael nodded, relieved. "For a while there, I thought…" he trailed off, the anguish in his green eyes returning at the thought of what could have been.
"I know," his father sighed, empathising. He paused, watching his son from the other side of the desk, his gaze becoming even more sombre. "I'm glad you're alright too."
"Me?" Michael questioned, bemused. "Of course I'm alright."
"I just mean if you'd got struck down with that damned fever too…I'm not sure what I would have done, that's all," he explained, frowning again.
"Dad…" Michael said gently, noticing the sorrow in the old man's eyes. "You have nothing to worry about. I didn't get sick, I'm still here."
"And I'm glad," his father replied, his pale eyes shining. "Which brings me to this; I need to talk to you about something." He lowered his voice: "Have you noticed anything suspicious about some of the folks who came on the sixth pilgrimage?"
Michael's stomach turned. His chest tightened. He instantly thought of Mira. "What do you mean?" he asked hoarsely.
"I think they're hiding something," Taylor confessed, peering through the window at the crowds outside. "We've been noticing some odd behaviour from them lately. Not to mention the various supplies that have disappeared in to thin air over the past few weeks."
"And…you think they stole them?"
"We've had reports of some of them sneaking around at night. Turning up in places they shouldn't be. We're keeping a close eye on them."
Michael felt his muscles tense, his skin crawling. What if Mira's deception was part of something bigger? What if his father was right and they were planning something? He was suddenly filled with dread when he contemplated what exactly he had agreed to with Mira that night.
As if having read his mind, his father added: "We think Mira's the one calling the shots."
His whole body ran cold. His suspicions were confirmed. "Why didn't you tell me about any of this?"
Taylor released a long, drawn out sigh. He shook his head. "Your friend was dying. I didn't want to burden you with anything else."
"You should have told me," Michael almost snapped.
"Right now it's just speculation," his father replied in an authoritative tone. "But I need to know, has Mira said anything to you? Anything that might suggest she's up to something?"
Michael flashed back to that night. Mira's secret miracle cure for Syncillic Fever. The mysterious favour he now owed her. You won't tell your father about any of this.
He knew now was the time to tell his father everything, that he had gone behind his back and made a deal with the devil in order to save Wash. But he kept hearing Mira's voice in his head. That deal he made. Let's just say that by then you won't be in a position to refuse. It still concerned him that he didn't know precisely what she meant by that, and by now he was beginning to worry just how much power Mira really had over them. After all, she had dozens of lives in her hands; she was the only one who had medicine for Syncillic Fever. There were people still out there who were suffering from the illness, Skye's mother included. If Mira caught on to their suspicions, the cure might be lost forever. He feared what would happen if he told his father the truth, if he exposed Mira, so for reasons beyond his control, he lied.
"No," he answered, holding Taylor's interrogating gaze.
Taylor didn't question it any further.
Of course, in the end, the lie had made no difference at all. Mira and her followers had caught on to Taylor's suspicions and so one night, they ran. They took everything they could - weapons, food, medical supplies, vehicles - and then left the colony without ever looking back. Taylor referred to them as the Sixers from that night on.
Michael retreated back to Wash's house to check on her the next morning. He was devastated with himself. He and the rest of the Security team had been tracking the Sixers all night, but with no luck. In the end, Commander Taylor told them to let them go. Let them survive out there by themselves. See how far they got without Terra Nova.
Michael knew that wouldn't be the last time he'd see Mira. He guessed his father knew that too.
The front door opened and Wash was standing there, fully-dressed, smiling. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" she asked. "Literally."
"Hey," he beamed. "You're up."
She breathed in the cool air. "Course I am. Never felt better."
"Good." He grinned, his eyes still adjusting to the wondrous sight of her standing there, alive and healthy. "I'm glad."
Her dark eyes met his and they stood for a while in comfortable silence. She smiled at him, but this time it was a more meaningful smile; it was a smile that told him she was grateful. She leant forward to kiss him on the cheek. Thank you. He savoured that kiss as though it would be their last, closing his eyes, remembering the brush of her lips beside his ear. He intended to treat every moment like this from now on. Just in case.
When he felt her warmth disappear, he opened his eyes to see she had withdrawn, and was now looking with concern at something behind him.
"Is that Skye?"
He turned to see the troubled girl floating past the house, bags under her eyes, frowning deeply. She looked as though she hadn't slept in days. Her tangled hair fell down past her shoulders in knots and her skin was so pale, she looked ghostly. Michael walked briskly towards her and stopped her in her tracks.
He took her by the shoulders. "Skye, what's wrong? What is it?"
"She's gone, Michael," she frowned.
"What?"
"My mom." Her blue eyes raised to meet his, shimmering in the sunlight. "She's…dead."
His shoulders fell in realisation, his lips parting, his eyes beginning to prick with tears at the agony she must be going through. No child should ever have to feel pain like this. But they both had, and he was so sorry she had to go through it too. She fell in to his arms and he held her tightly as if trying to communicate to her how much he felt for her in that moment; how much he wanted her to know that she wasn't alone. As long as he was here, she'd never be alone again.
TBC
Rating: T just in case for later
Warnings: None for this chapter
Characters: Lucas Taylor, Michael Taylor (OC), Nathaniel Taylor, Skye Tate, Alicia Washington, possibly the Shannon family
Summary: This is an AU story about Lucas having a twin brother. Instead of rebelling like Lucas, Michael - his brother - remains loyal to their father. This fic explores their relationship and what would have happened in the series had Michael existed.
This Chapter: Syncillic Fever hits Terra Nova and Michael is faced with with a difficult decision as someone he loves dearly is affected by the virus.
or read at ff.net
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7812172/9/Thick_as_Thieves
Memorial Field.
It had been a lot emptier up until now. The Fever had hit so suddenly that they hardly had time to warn people before they started dropping like flies. Now the field was full of graves, each one fresher than the last. Today they were burying a Corporal, so various members of the security team had gathered in order to pay their respects. Michael shivered from the winter chill, standing on the cold ground beside Lieutenant Washington as he listened to his father's speech. He watched Skye stand sadly beside her mother as Taylor's voice echoed through the crowd.
"Corporal Alexander Tate was an excellent soldier as well as a loving husband and father…"
It all sounded so formal. So…impersonal. Michael couldn't stop thinking about Skye and the sadness in her eyes, the trembling in her features as if she were trying hard not to cry in front of her mother. His heart broke for her. Of course, he knew all too well what it was like to lose a parent. He had been around the same age when he lost his mother. He wished he could tell her things got easier, but in all honesty, it never did. You could put on a brave face, but that sadness would always be there, deep within the heart, threatening to resurface at any time.
The illness brought to Terra Nova by the Seventh Pilgrimage had caused nothing but tragedy. They were still working on inoculating the remainder of the colony and there were strict orders that anyone suspected of contracting the illness be confined to bed-rest. As far as they knew, there was no cure for Syncillic Fever, as Skye and her mother had cruelly discovered, but Commander Taylor was doing everything in his power to remedy the situation and to stop it from escalating any further.
"Alexander's memory will live on at Terra Nova, and also within his loving wife, Deborah and daughter, Skye. Our thoughts will be with them during this difficult time."
At that point, Skye gave up on trying to be brave and buried herself in to her mother's arms, her muffled cries causing a lump to form in the back of Michael's throat. As if sensing his discomfort, a warm hand came in to contact with his, giving him strength, and he turned to see Alicia smiling supportively at him. He squeezed her hand gently. Thank you.
She got struck with the illness almost a month later, along with Skye's mother. Michael sat by her bedside each day, holding her hand, talking to her, but she was getting weaker as time went on. Taylor pulled him aside one day and warned him that she might not have much time left. He could see the pained glint in his eyes, the sorrow in his voice, but Michael refused to believe it. There had to be a chance that she would recover. There had to be.
One day he sat with her, squeezing her cold hand, stroking her pale face, her dry lips. She was barely conscious. She had been delirious the past couple of days, mumbling nonsense, thinking Michael was Taylor, or even Lucas, and talking to him like he was ten-years-old again. Today she could hardly string a sentence together.
"Remember when I first met you?" he asked her, knowing he wouldn't get a reply. "I could hardly speak. I knew from that very moment that I wanted to be with you." He glanced over at her still frame. "You were amazing. So supportive, even when I screwed up during training and you promised not to tell my dad." He chuckled to himself. "Even after days out in the jungle, smothered with dirt, you were beautiful." He brought her hand to his lips, kissing her sadly. "I just wish there was something I could do. I'd be lost without you, Alicia. You're my best friend. You have to get better, you just have to." He felt his throat close up, his eyes moistening, and he held her hand tightly within his own.
"Son?"
He cleared his throat, dropping her hand suddenly back on to the mattress. His father was at the bedroom door, staring at him. He sniffed, swiping at his eyes before the Commander noticed how upset he was. "I was just…saying goodbye."
His father smiled sadly at him, understanding. "Could you give us a minute?" he asked, stepping in to the room. "I'd like to sit with her for a bit."
"Sure."
Truthfully, Michael was relieved that his father had interrupted them. Seeing Alicia like that was proving to be difficult for him, and whilst he still had the smallest bit of hope that she would recover, he was becoming more and more convinced that she would die. He was starting to feel suffocated. Alicia didn't deserve a death like that. It seemed so…undignified for such a proud and courageous woman.
He walked outside in to the fresh air, inhaled deeply as if a weight had been lifted from his chest and he was finally able to breathe again. It was out there he saw Skye drifting through the market by herself, her blue eyes sad and vacant. Michael frowned, remembering that she must be going through hell at the moment too. He approached her, smiling, trying to seem supportive.
"Hey, Kid. What are you doing out here? You okay?"
Her eyes snapped up to meet his, widening in surprise. She seemed tired, nervous. "Yeah, I'm okay."
"How's your mom?"
She swallowed. "Not great. I was just…picking up some things for her." Michael stared at her. She didn't seem like the inquisitive and energetic young girl he had met on the day of the fifth pilgrimage. It was as if she had aged a few years already, fast becoming an adult before she really had to be one. He felt for her. When his mother died, he felt like he had to be the one to take care of Lucas and their father. Because he hadn't witnessed her murder like they had, he felt as though he should be the strong one, the one to let them know that life could go on. He wished he had someone to do that for him now, to help him through this, to help him be strong.
"How's Lieutenant Washington?" asked Skye, noticing Michael's distracted gaze.
For a moment he was unsure how to answer. He didn't want to upset her any further, but what could he say? So in the end he opted simply for the truth. "Not good either."
She frowned. "I'm sorry…You and the Commander must be so sad." Skye bit her lip, watched Michael's despondent gaze, his drooping shoulders, his tired eyes. Then she said something he never thought he'd hear her say: "What if I told you I knew where you could find some medicine?"
"Skye, what are you talking about?" he questioned, his brows furrowed. "There isn't any medicine for Syncillic Fever."
She pursed her lips together, her blue eyes wide as they stared intensely in to his. "I know there is. And I know who has it."
And that was how Michael found himself on Mira's doorstep. He still wasn't entirely sure how Skye knew about Mira's secret cure for the disease, or how the woman had come across a cure at all. He had always been unsure about her ever since she arrived on the sixth pilgrimage. He didn't see her around very often, but when he did he noticed she seemed very hostile and secretive. Michael guessed now he knew why.
She didn't seem happy to see him. She greeted him with that usual scowl, although she tried to cover up her annoyance with a forced politeness. "Corporal Taylor? What can I do for you?"
He kept his voice low and calm, but there was desperation in his eyes. "I heard you have medicine for Syncillic Fever. I don't know why you've been keeping it a secret and quite frankly, at the moment, I don't care. All I want is enough to cure a friend of mine."
"A friend?" she repeated curiously. "This wouldn't happen to be Lieutenant Washington, would it? I know you and the Commander are close with her…"
He frowned. "Can you help me or not?"
She paused, considering it. Then she smiled at him and opened the door a little wider. "Come in, Corporal."
He hesitated for a moment, unsure of whether he should trust her, uncertain about going through with this. He considered abandoning this altogether and telling his father everything, but then he thought about Alicia, dying in that bed, barely holding on, and so he followed Mira in to the house. Some things he just had to do by himself.
He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but he was surprised to find it was just like any other of the houses there. There were potted plants, piles of old books, even photographs, including one of a small girl who looked much like Mira herself.
"Who's that?" he asked, indicating towards the picture.
Mira scowled. "Nobody. Now do you want the medicine or not?"
Michael remained quiet as she headed to another room and started rifling through what he guessed was a cabinet. Eventually, she found what she was looking for and then she reappeared to hand it over to him.
"I want something in return," she snapped, withholding the medicine from him.
"How much?" he muttered bitterly, expecting this. He began to pull out some terras from his jacket pocket.
"Not that. If I give this to you, I want a favour."
"A favour?" he spat. "What kind of favour?"
She smirked at him, her dark eyes gleaming. "That's all I can say for now, that sometime in the future I'll need something from you. And you have to give it to me."
He furrowed his brows suspiciously. "And if I refuse?"
"Let's just say that by then you won't be in a position to refuse. Now do we have a deal?"
Michael stared at her, every instinct of his telling him that this was a bad idea. She was oozing with confidence, thriving off the sudden power she had over him. She was in complete control. He knew he couldn't trust her. But he had no choice. If he wanted to save Alicia, he would have to accept.
"Okay," he murmured. "Deal."
She smirked again, placing the medicine in his hand. "Pleasure doing business with you, Corporal Taylor."
He pocketed it quickly, resenting the smug look on her face, contemplating what this so-called favour was going to be. But he couldn't worry about that now. He had what he came for. Now he could save Lieutenant Washington. He headed for the door.
"One more thing," he heard Mira's conceited voice slither in to his ears again. "You won't tell your father about any of this."
He chewed his lower lip, glaring back at her. Of course. He nodded slowly, although he was completely against the idea. But he wasn't at all surprised. He knew Mira was up to something, but he was desperate. And so he agreed, and he left.
It was miraculous. Within days, Wash began showing signs of improvement. Her fever had gone down, she was awake, she was talking. The recovery process was slow; she was still too weak to walk or eat properly, but it was a start. Michael was there to keep her company, to talk to her, to help her through it. He was just happy to see her warm smile and hear her comforting voice again.
Michael was sat in the Command Centre with his father, discussing her recovery and the reduction in Syncillic Fever over the past few weeks. It seemed the worst was finally over.
"I don't know how it happened but I'm glad it did," Taylor smiled. "Maybe we can finally get things back on track round here, uh?"
Michael nodded, relieved. "For a while there, I thought…" he trailed off, the anguish in his green eyes returning at the thought of what could have been.
"I know," his father sighed, empathising. He paused, watching his son from the other side of the desk, his gaze becoming even more sombre. "I'm glad you're alright too."
"Me?" Michael questioned, bemused. "Of course I'm alright."
"I just mean if you'd got struck down with that damned fever too…I'm not sure what I would have done, that's all," he explained, frowning again.
"Dad…" Michael said gently, noticing the sorrow in the old man's eyes. "You have nothing to worry about. I didn't get sick, I'm still here."
"And I'm glad," his father replied, his pale eyes shining. "Which brings me to this; I need to talk to you about something." He lowered his voice: "Have you noticed anything suspicious about some of the folks who came on the sixth pilgrimage?"
Michael's stomach turned. His chest tightened. He instantly thought of Mira. "What do you mean?" he asked hoarsely.
"I think they're hiding something," Taylor confessed, peering through the window at the crowds outside. "We've been noticing some odd behaviour from them lately. Not to mention the various supplies that have disappeared in to thin air over the past few weeks."
"And…you think they stole them?"
"We've had reports of some of them sneaking around at night. Turning up in places they shouldn't be. We're keeping a close eye on them."
Michael felt his muscles tense, his skin crawling. What if Mira's deception was part of something bigger? What if his father was right and they were planning something? He was suddenly filled with dread when he contemplated what exactly he had agreed to with Mira that night.
As if having read his mind, his father added: "We think Mira's the one calling the shots."
His whole body ran cold. His suspicions were confirmed. "Why didn't you tell me about any of this?"
Taylor released a long, drawn out sigh. He shook his head. "Your friend was dying. I didn't want to burden you with anything else."
"You should have told me," Michael almost snapped.
"Right now it's just speculation," his father replied in an authoritative tone. "But I need to know, has Mira said anything to you? Anything that might suggest she's up to something?"
Michael flashed back to that night. Mira's secret miracle cure for Syncillic Fever. The mysterious favour he now owed her. You won't tell your father about any of this.
He knew now was the time to tell his father everything, that he had gone behind his back and made a deal with the devil in order to save Wash. But he kept hearing Mira's voice in his head. That deal he made. Let's just say that by then you won't be in a position to refuse. It still concerned him that he didn't know precisely what she meant by that, and by now he was beginning to worry just how much power Mira really had over them. After all, she had dozens of lives in her hands; she was the only one who had medicine for Syncillic Fever. There were people still out there who were suffering from the illness, Skye's mother included. If Mira caught on to their suspicions, the cure might be lost forever. He feared what would happen if he told his father the truth, if he exposed Mira, so for reasons beyond his control, he lied.
"No," he answered, holding Taylor's interrogating gaze.
Taylor didn't question it any further.
Of course, in the end, the lie had made no difference at all. Mira and her followers had caught on to Taylor's suspicions and so one night, they ran. They took everything they could - weapons, food, medical supplies, vehicles - and then left the colony without ever looking back. Taylor referred to them as the Sixers from that night on.
Michael retreated back to Wash's house to check on her the next morning. He was devastated with himself. He and the rest of the Security team had been tracking the Sixers all night, but with no luck. In the end, Commander Taylor told them to let them go. Let them survive out there by themselves. See how far they got without Terra Nova.
Michael knew that wouldn't be the last time he'd see Mira. He guessed his father knew that too.
The front door opened and Wash was standing there, fully-dressed, smiling. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" she asked. "Literally."
"Hey," he beamed. "You're up."
She breathed in the cool air. "Course I am. Never felt better."
"Good." He grinned, his eyes still adjusting to the wondrous sight of her standing there, alive and healthy. "I'm glad."
Her dark eyes met his and they stood for a while in comfortable silence. She smiled at him, but this time it was a more meaningful smile; it was a smile that told him she was grateful. She leant forward to kiss him on the cheek. Thank you. He savoured that kiss as though it would be their last, closing his eyes, remembering the brush of her lips beside his ear. He intended to treat every moment like this from now on. Just in case.
When he felt her warmth disappear, he opened his eyes to see she had withdrawn, and was now looking with concern at something behind him.
"Is that Skye?"
He turned to see the troubled girl floating past the house, bags under her eyes, frowning deeply. She looked as though she hadn't slept in days. Her tangled hair fell down past her shoulders in knots and her skin was so pale, she looked ghostly. Michael walked briskly towards her and stopped her in her tracks.
He took her by the shoulders. "Skye, what's wrong? What is it?"
"She's gone, Michael," she frowned.
"What?"
"My mom." Her blue eyes raised to meet his, shimmering in the sunlight. "She's…dead."
His shoulders fell in realisation, his lips parting, his eyes beginning to prick with tears at the agony she must be going through. No child should ever have to feel pain like this. But they both had, and he was so sorry she had to go through it too. She fell in to his arms and he held her tightly as if trying to communicate to her how much he felt for her in that moment; how much he wanted her to know that she wasn't alone. As long as he was here, she'd never be alone again.
TBC