Terra Nova - Things Lost in the Fire ch27 [Skye/Lucas]
Title: Things Lost in the Fire
Fandom: Terra Nova
Ship: Skye/Lucas
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: bad language, sexual situations, AU
Chapter: 27/?
Summary: AU story. Skye meets a strange man at Snakehead Falls and ends up falling in love. But can happiness built on anonymity last, when the world around them is on fire?
Author's Note: Finall the Taylor vs Taylor I've been craving to write for months!
Things Lost in the Fire
27. Tourniquet
Another nightmare invaded her rest. She twisted in her sleep, holding onto her blanket with an agonized expression, turning from one position to another. Waves crashed in her ears still, an unforgiving sea of sound penetrated by whispers: his words to her. And Mira was afraid she'd never hear his voice again.
Nothing had quite explained his fascination with her at first, she remembered. James Carter had been like anyone of them, appearing to be an ordinary pilgrim, yet held talent at keeping secrets. She remembered being hauled from the jungle, restricted to her bed for days after her discovery. Lucas' words had kept her alive, given her something to hold onto. By the time she could live in her house again, she'd noticed that the others were looking at her with suspicion, as if asking how she was still alive.
She had condemned those men for their cowardice, for their avarice and lack of compassion. The mission had been secondary in her mind for awhile then, only revenge had filled her mind. She had stalked her prey, paid attention to the slightest detail. And then one night she'd been at Boylan's, drinking with the rest, laughing, smiling. The drinking game had turned rougher than intended, alcohol had clouded her judgment. She recalled fumbling to the bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror, hiding her knife in her boot, and then following one of them outside.
But James Carter had sharp eyes; he noticed her when no one else would, saw the contempt behind her smile. And it was him, who joined her as she walked, leading her astray from the path of vengeance.
You don't want to do that now.
She remembered struggling, attempting to turn his intervention into a fist fight. It had been a bad attempt at best in her drunken state. He'd pinned her down to a wall, forced her to look at him and see the clarity in his eyes. This man she hadn't known had stopped her, held her down, and told her not to do it.
What do you want, James?
You listen to me, Miranda, and listen good. You don't want to go down that path, trust me.
And with trembling lips, she had acquiesced. Since then he would always calm down her anger, pierce her raging emotions with his clarity, and be there to say things like they were.
The anxiety that constant fear for his safety brought her was choking her now, piercing through her dreaming state. Mira had asked him to find her daughter, trusting her most valued possession in his hands. But it had been over a week since he had gone, and she was finding his absence paralyzing.
"Mira!" a terrified voice called for her in the night, shaking her awake from her restless sleep. Mira opened her eyes, trying her best to calm herself, discard the nightmares, and put on her emotionless mask as always. It didn't seem as easy this time though.
"Mira!" the voice called again, sounding out of breath, full of urgency. Mira sat up on her bed quickly, pulled on her boots and belt, and set to find this source of disturbance outside. She walked with haste, tasting the outside air and soft rain that fell on her back. In a moment she was already wet, standing on the platform, gazing down at the figure that approached from the jungle, guided by a flashlight.
Others awoke as well, appearing into view on the platforms, searching for the source of noise. It was Kiya, she realized as the soaked woman appeared into view, panting almost violently. Mira leaned over the rope rail, fingers clutching the rope with bruising strength.
"They've returned!" Kiya shouted, catching her breath and trying to keep her voice steady. There was little joy in her announcement though, worry spread through the ranks of the Sixers quickly.
"Is everyone… alright?" Mira asked, feigning calmness, even as her fears clutched her chest unlike ever before. Kiya had been running through the jungle alone, her expression was haunted, distressed. It didn't bode well for the others.
"Taylor was waiting," Kiya responded, and tried to swallow her anguish. "The troops took them. They took them all to Terra Nova!"
Mira felt defeat wash through her, leave her weak in its wake. So Skye had failed. Taylor didn't appreciate the word of his adopted daughter like he used to, and clearly didn't trust the travelers, even after they had returned with a ragtag group of civilians instead of an army. What hope was there now?
"Did everyone make it?" someone asked from the sidelines, inducing new fear into Mira. Her fingers felt numb as the held onto the rope, waiting for the answer.
"I did a headcount the best I could," Kiya responded, pushing her wet hair behind her ear. She appeared uncertain, was driven by nothing but fumes at this point. "I believe everyone came through, not all the civilians on the list, but probably everyone they could bring."
Her answer drew sighs of relief from the crowd, but Mira saw their relief as premature. She could see it in the way Kiya stood there, beaten by the rain, avoiding looking at Mira's inquiring eyes. Something wasn't right.
"I'm sorry Mira," Kiya then said, tears climbing into her eyes. "Carter collapsed as soon as he got through the portal. Looked like he'd been shot," she revealed, shattering everything for their leader.
Everything seemed to freeze still. Raindrops descended her face and back, leaving a chill in their wake. But her eyesight was blurry for another reason; her own tears clouded it. She blinked, trying to grasp this news. Everyone was looking at her, expecting her to brush off the news coolly as usual. She couldn't this time though, for he was the one who got her to calm down and think clearly. He was the one who kept her out of trouble.
The waves crashed in her ears, prevented her from hearing the whispers around her. Kiya's voice had stood out because of its volume, but now everything was too silent to break through.
She imagined Carter standing by her, helping her walk to her hut, squeezing her hand.
Don't scare me like that.
"We leave at first light," she then commanded, turning to gaze at everyone around them. Her voice was harsh and cutting. She was the Amazon again, riding into the settlement to deliver ultimatums to Taylor, just like in old times. No one dared to object, not when she looked at them like that, so driven.
It was the morning sun that woke him; it painted his eyelids scorching orange and red, depriving him of the restful dark. Lucas moved slowly, his limbs feeling incredibly heavy, probably due to a drug haze. But once his eyes were open, everything seemed to clear right before him. It was the infirmary, buzzing with doctors and nurses, running around the hospital beds with haste. He turned his head to his right, blinded by the sun that the window gave access.
Lucas turned from the sun quickly, choosing to look the other way instead. What he saw froze him though, snapped him right back to reality. A body rested on a bed next to him, a breathing tube helping to secure its breathing, countless wires connecting it to the computers. And by this bedside a small child rested, lost in sleep, clutching a hand.
Lucas flexed his muscles, tried to rise from the bed with the realization that Carter was the in the bed beside him, but something held him back; metal dug into his wrists, keeping him from sitting up. He glanced down and saw handcuffs that connected him to the bed, rendering him into nothing but a prisoner here. Lucas relaxed himself on the bed, tried moving his legs only to realize they were restrained as well. A bitter aftertaste of defeat filled his mouth. His father was taking no chances with him, was he?
He calmed himself down, searched his muddled memory for answers until he remembered the great escape from the future, the portal blowing up, the bullet rain they had run from. Lucas scanned around the room the best he could, locating others in the hospital beds: a few civilians, but mostly the Sixers involved in the mission. Ludmila passed out a few beds away, also restrained. Dyson shouting at the doctor further away, expression full of pain.
He then saw movement from the corner of his eye, noticed how the doctor stood over Sienna, probably contemplating whether it was possible to relocate her yet. Lucas imagined the kid putting up quite a fight to stay by Carter.
"Leave her be," he grunted weakly, gaining the attention of the doctor looking over Sienna. It was a woman with darker complexion, long hair. Her name tag said 'Shannon'. Lucas rolled his eyes in frustration, realizing this was Elizabeth Shannon, the same doctor who had implanted Skye with a tracker just awhile back.
Elizabeth walked up to Lucas' bedside, leaning in to examine him. She shone a light to his eyes, pulled at his eyelids to expose his eyes to the light better. "Can you hear me, Lucas?" she asked, sounding almost worried.
"You leave her be," he hissed back, eyes still cast on Sienna. His body felt incredibly worn, his veins burned as if full of poison, and there was a hammering headache in his head. He didn't trust the good doctor.
"I see," she answered, turning her attention to his hand. "I gave you a local anesthetic for the hand, but it looks bad. It would be easier to amputate and replace it," she then said to him, looking straight into his eyes.
"Over my dead body," he told her, giving no room for the thought. "What did you do to my people?" he then asked with contempt, unwilling to show her an ounce of fear.
"They are alright," Elizabeth assured. "We didn't harm anyone after they surrendered peacefully. But you were being fired at on the other side, weren't you?"
Elizabeth's eyes shifted to Carter's unconscious body. "He was like that when you came through, carrying that child in his arms, refusing to let go of her," she explained, a tinge of respect in her voice. "We had to operate to save his life. The bullet missed his vest by an inch. It nearly killed him."
Lucas looked past her, eyes set on Carter. "But he's going to make it?" he then asked, hostility replaced with uncertainty. It had been clear to him for awhile now that Carter cared deeply for Mira, but couldn't find the voice or words to tell her this. As a man of action, he had probably thought it better to show her rather than tell her.
"It's too early to say, but his chances are good," Elizabeth answered, unable to see the cruel terrorist Taylor had painted his son as in the man strapped to his bed. Lucas Taylor bore a striking resemblance to his father, but it wasn't just looks - it was also the way he concerned himself with the safety of those who followed him.
Elizabeth then spotted the man himself entering the infirmary. Taylor approached as a threatening figure, eyes locked with his son. She acted quickly, pulling a curtain between Lucas and the rest of the ward, and meeting Taylor halfway to stop his advance.
"Commander, a word," she said, finding difficulty in keeping her annoyance contained. Taylor tried to look past her and keep going, but she effectively stopped him when she stood in his path, claiming his attention forcefully.
"Doctor," Taylor said with a tensed voice.
"Let's talk in my office," she suggested.
"I need to have a word with my son first," he politely told her and tried to move past her, but she put herself in his path yet again.
"This can't wait," she claimed, staring him down until he gave in.
"Alright, make it quick."
Elizabeth guided them both to her office where it was quieter and safe from prying ears. She motioned him to sit, but Taylor didn't follow the suggestion; he leaned against the wall stiffly, crossing his arms over his chest. She closed the door behind them, and proceeded to sit on the edge of her desk.
"You wanted my medical expertise, so I'm offering it to you now," she started, recalling being awoken in the middle of the night to receive patients at the infirmary. At first panic had claimed her, rumors had spread about the Sixer army at their gates, and she had asked Josh to make sure Maddy and Zoe were safe. But it had become very clear that the only patients were Sixers and unknown civilians.
"This is not an army," she said, drawing a mocking laughter from the Commander.
"Yes, Dr. Shannon, I can see that all on my own," he remarked, unimpressed with her insight so far.
"Your son was stabbed through the hand with a sharp instrument. The wound looks about a week old. They did some surgery on it in 2149, salvaged what they could. The smart thing would've been to amputate the hand and replace it, yet he didn't do that," she explained, trying to make him understand what she was seeing. Taylor listened with great interest, yet he didn't grasp her intention at first.
"Why wouldn't he do it?" she asked him with a frown.
"I don't know," Taylor admitted.
"Because the artificial hand would've been difficult to maintain in the jungle. What if it broke, where would he get the parts to fix it? I believe that he intended to return here without the army all along," she theorized, noticing disbelief all over the Commander's face.
"You can't know that," Taylor countered her theory, disapproving her implication here.
"What about the other injuries this party sustained? They were all exhausted from running. All the shots fired at them came from behind. We pulled countless slugs from the Sixers' vests, and they were all in their backs, like someone was trying to stop them," Elizabeth tried next, putting her discoveries into words.
"These people didn't come here to invade, Commander. They were running for their lives," she then concluded.
Taylor let the words sink for a moment. He could recall the group at the portal, tired soldiers barely able to stand on their feet. They had rushed the ones that needed medical care to the infirmary and locked the rest in cells, but the civilians they had locked in house arrest, providing them with the former Sixer houses that stood abandoned even after all this time. Taylor had been waiting for the second wave, but the portal had remained shut; nothing had emerged from the future.
"I hear Skye has been begging you to give a chance to diplomacy," Elizabeth then said.
Taylor rolled his eyes. Where these rumors originate from? How was everyone always so clear on what happened behind closed doors? "I cannot trust her judgment at this time," Taylor settled to comment.
"I also hear she was injured when you brought her here. Can I finally examine her and make sure she's alright?" she requested next, expressing worry over the fate of the young woman, who had betrayed them all.
He'd moved her out of the isolation room and back into her cell shortly after they had brought the Sixers to the colony. He'd then filled the isolation room with the Sixers that were in best physical shape and started questioning them. It hadn't heeded any real results yet. Taylor knew Lucas was the one who would give him answers though.
"Fine," he agreed, seeing no harm in Elizabeth seeing Skye. "She might have a broken finger. There's a splint in her hand," he informed her, watched as Elizabeth embraced the piece of info with decisiveness.
He then lowered his arms and begun making his way out of her office. She stopped him again, calling out, "Sir?"
Elizabeth paused for a second, seeking the right words. "Nothing I've seen today suggests that your son had any intention of harming us," she concluded.
Taylor didn't respond, just stepped outside as if he hadn't even heard her words. She was certain he'd heard them though, just didn't know what to make of it yet. Elizabeth followed him outside shortly, gathering supplies in her kit as she set out to see Skye now that she finally could.
Taylor waited for Elizabeth to make her exit, before he motioned for the soldiers to approach. "Did you check his medical condition?" he asked them.
"Just some bruising from the sonic blast, sir. No irreparable damage. He's in fine physical condition," one of them answered, handing the report over to Taylor.
"Is he restrained?" he asked next, almost managing to sound uninterested in the topic, just almost.
"Yes sir," the response came quickly.
"Fine then, move him away from the rest of them. I'll begin the interrogation shortly," Taylor instructed.
The two soldiers saluted him and set off to fulfill their orders, but Taylor was left in the middle of the room, watching the Sixers bound to their beds. These filthy, tired and bruised creatures looked half-dead, and his son was no exception. According to Elizabeth they had been escorting the civilians to safety at the expense of their own lives. He didn't take Sixers for the sacrificing type; in fact, most of them were mercenaries in the first place: nameless, expendable people.
None of this made sense to him.
Lucas heard the approach of the combat boots from a distance. They pulled the curtain aside, serious faces scanned him for threats, and one of the soldiers pushed a wheelchair into view. "Lucas Taylor," one of them called. "We're bringing you in for questioning."
He didn't object, just nodded lazily, surrendering his body. He was useless whilst bound to a bed, but this gave him a chance, an opportunity to exploit. Lucas watched intently as they opened the restraints on his legs. He stared down the barrel of a gun by the time they started opening the handcuffs. And then he was finally allowed to sit up. His head wailed in response, dull pain reminding him of the sonic blast he'd been greeted with upon his return here.
One of the soldiers helped him into the wheelchair, pulled the IVs from him, shut off the computers. Lucas gave a lingering gaze to Carter; made sure his chest still rose and fell. Confident with these vital signs he let the soldiers transport him into the morning sun outside, towards the prison area further away.
He was still wearing his party outfit, this extravagantly expensive rented suit that was now smeared for good with dirt, sweat and blood. His tie was nowhere to be found, and he'd lost the glove as well, but a piece of dignity remained in the way he held himself. Of course he knew where he was going; face to face with his father, a final showdown with the old man basking in his failure. He didn't mind.
No one had perished this time, he'd been able to keep his word to her, and that was what mattered. Not his feud with his unrelenting devil of a father, not his failure to destroy this monument of his father's dreams - just the fact that he could face everyone with an elated heart.
They wheeled him into a building and down the long corridors inside. Guns were pointed at him at all times. At the end of the road a cell waited, and he was let in quietly. The soldier who'd been pushing him stepped out of his shadow and put the brakes on the wheelchair to keep it still, before he exited the room with the rest of them.
Lucas crossed his hands over his lap patiently. He could feel strength returning to his legs, but he bid his time, chose to play weak. He knew what this was about now, and saw his chance suddenly. He wasn't a good man by any measure, so one more sin shouldn't dip the balance too much, he thought to himself as he listened to his father entering the room.
"I'm surprised you didn't order them to fire at will," Lucas remarked, his back turned to his father.
"There were children, women. I figured you might resort to using them as human shields," Taylor responded with equal disrespect.
His expression faltered though, didn't match his cruel words. He could see the scar on Lucas' hand (just like Skye had told him) as it rested on arm of the wheelchair. Lucas appeared listless, so defeated. It was difficult to see him that way.
"Didn't have any trouble shooting me though," Lucas mused cynically.
"Why don't we skip this beat, son? Let's just be honest," Taylor suggested, having grown tired of this constant struggle.
Lucas chuckled back. "You're incapable of looking me in the eye, old man. It's you who can't be honest," he nearly spat the words from his mouth. Contempt was such poison. "So don't blame me for being incapable of believing a word you say."
Taylor approached now with hands behind his back, supporting a straight posture as he walked. "I've given no reason for this mistrust," he said, truly believing his words. In his mind, Lucas had drifted from him before he'd even known what had happened. He hadn't believed he could ever lose his son, until that night in the jungle when Lucas had pointed a gun at him, finally exposing his true feelings.
"Of course you didn't," Lucas mocked. "You're a hero, father. Lying is beneath you."
Taylor reached his side, witnessed the true extent of Lucas' weariness. And while Lucas held onto his vicious anger with every fiber of his being, it was less intense than before. Something had peeled that hatred from him, transformed it. It no longer burned in every word, every struggling breath.
"You lied to me Lucas," Taylor reminded him with sadness, recalling the shock of discovering Lucas' work, his betrayal.
"That makes us even, doesn't it?" Lucas simply stated.
"Even for what?" Taylor questioned.
"Coup de grace, father," Lucas responded in an instant. He turned to look at his father now, still sitting as he looked up at the figure he'd once worshipped in his adolescence. "I saw you that day. I saw you with the smoking gun," his voice faltered, the horrible truth shook his façade.
"And you lied to me about it. You lied, and lied, and lied until you had me suspecting my own sanity!" Lucas roared.
It was evident that the accusation was correct; Taylor embraced it mutely, stood bare beneath Lucas' piercing gaze.
"No child should go through that," Taylor finally spoke, expressing his regret, his utmost guilt.
"Well, I did," Lucas responded aggressively.
For the first time in ten years, Taylor allowed himself to return into that moment, that sweltering hot day where his world had come to an end. He could see the rebels organizing the civilians into a row, keeping him and a few other high-ranking officials on their knees in the sidelines. All he could do was watch in horror as they forced both Lucas and Ayani on their knees. One of the rebels hit Lucas in the face with his gun for staring back too defiantly.
"I chose you for love, son," Taylor confessed, recalling Skye's words.
He frowned as he went further into the memory, saw Lucas screaming as they dragged him off with the rest of the chosen, and left him to watch as they abused his wife. Every second of her torture was vivid in his memory, a stain that never washed away.
"And I shot her down for love."
When given the choice to continue watching them hurt her or ending it, he remembered wanting to die. Her bruised and broken body lying on the sand, barely recognizable as the woman he'd loved. The rebel leader holding his hand over Taylor's to ensure he didn't point the gun elsewhere. The recoil as he fired it and saw the bullet hit its target.
Lucas had turned his gaze. His eyes were red, and his heart was burning. He'd imagined this scene many times in his youth, seen his father beg for forgiveness. He'd snuck downstairs to see his father passed out from drinking, holding his gun on his lap, and wondered why he didn't have the courage to pull the trigger. But this time his anger couldn't withstand his father's presence - Not when he imagined Skye in his mother's place. The conflict tore at him, mocked him, and yet he couldn't deny that he would've ended her suffering as well, committed the final act of love.
He was supposed to be interrogating his son, but instead they were talking about events that were strangely tied to everything that still happened today. Taylor shook himself awake from this spell, this confusion he'd allowed Skye to cast on him.
"When is the army coming, son?" he asked, a threatening dimension sneaking into his voice.
Disillusioned, Lucas answered, "There's no army. We blew up Hope Plaza."
Taylor's eyes widened with disbelief. Was this another trick? Did Lucas expect him to believe such a blatant lie?
"I don't believe you."
The irony of his father's words didn't escape Lucas. Round and round they went in this mad carousel, a carnival of death.
"Skye told you she killed Curran, I take it?" Lucas asked without expecting an answer. "Well, Curran didn't just make his move. He was inspired, manipulated. Because an operative from the Company thought she was the reason I was compromised. They wanted her dead because of me."
Genuine hurt crept into his voice. "I couldn't live with that, the constant fear that I could lose her. You see, she means more to me than hurting you. So I went to them and got everyone their loved ones, and I ran back as fast as I could."
It was starting to make sense in a crazy way to Taylor. He watched his son's discomfort at telling this story. Suddenly he no longer knew if he should discard Lucas' words by default.
"And we blew up Hope Plaza to keep everyone safe," Lucas concluded.
The clues in this puzzle were supportive of Lucas: His hand, Elizabeth's theories, Skye's claims, and the civilians with them. He didn't think his son that good a liar.
"What do you want Lucas?" Taylor questioned: all ears with the answer.
Lucas took a moment to consider. Everyone safe, Skye smiling at him, plenty of days with her in Paradise (just like their first meeting), Mira reunited with her daughter, Carter pulling through so he could finally tell her what he felt, and Skye being able to see her mother - yes, that was all he wanted. Hurting his father wasn't even in the top ten. It was a miserable remnant of his old life, this wish.
But he didn't voice his thoughts; his dark eyes didn't betray anything. Taylor observed him, unable to decide, whether letting Lucas go was even an option at this point. Lucas was dangerous, directly involved with all the deaths and suffering they had been put through since the Sixers had broke free from the colony.
"Do you think you can even begin to live up to Skye's expectations?" he asked. His question snapped Lucas right out of his thoughts though. "She thinks so highly of you, son. Even as the portal opened, she begged me to save you."
Lucas bounced on his feet, catching his father off-guard, grabbing the collar of his shirt with rage in his eyes. Taylor responded to the aggression by grabbing Lucas' wrists and tearing his hands off. Their eyes battled for domination, their bodies remembered each punch exchanged in the past.
"Yes, she's here," Taylor confirmed Lucas' doubts, and was instantly punched into the gut by his son.
He retaliated by punching Lucas in the jaw. The younger man staggered backwards a bit, taken aback by the hit, but he launched himself at his father again shortly, pushing him at the wall with his body. He tried to hit, but was blocked.
"She came willingly!" Taylor claimed, yet the damage was done.
"I doubt you housed her in anywhere but the cellblock!" Lucas shouted, grabbing his father by the throat with his hands.
Taylor jabbed him to the gut twice before punching Lucas in the injured hand. Pain pulsated through Lucas, the nerves were aflame again, and his grip was lost. His father pushed him off, catching his breath.
"She came as a prisoner, Lucas," he said, like it explained everything.
"You're not the enemy to her! You never could be!" Lucas shouted back, pain on his face, and insult in his voice. "But she comes anyway, knowing you'll just disappoint her!"
At this point the room was flooded with soldiers. Two of them quickly restrained Lucas' hands behind his back, effectively ending the fight between father and son. Taylor stared at Lucas intently, and his stare was met with equal intensity. It was like Lucas was telling him not to disappoint Skye. That he'd already lost one child.
Did Lucas really desire him to remain in Skye's life? Did he want Taylor to reconcile with the girl? For the first time Taylor saw a hint of selflessness in Lucas that didn't scream falsehood to him. It served no good to Lucas to mend his and Skye's relationship, not when he himself hated his father so. But nevertheless he desired this for the both of them, knowing it was impossible for him and his father now.
"Let him go," Taylor instructed, never taking his eyes from Lucas.
Lucas didn't struggle as they released him, or launch himself at his father again. An understanding bloomed between them.
"You asked me what I want," Lucas said. "I want to see her."
A sincere request, Taylor realized. If he wanted to, he could end it all now: Tear them apart for good, destroy the Sixers, and identify his enemies - anything he wanted.
"You won, old man," Lucas continued. "Just let me see her."
TBC
Fandom: Terra Nova
Ship: Skye/Lucas
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: bad language, sexual situations, AU
Chapter: 27/?
Summary: AU story. Skye meets a strange man at Snakehead Falls and ends up falling in love. But can happiness built on anonymity last, when the world around them is on fire?
Author's Note: Finall the Taylor vs Taylor I've been craving to write for months!
Things Lost in the Fire
27. Tourniquet
Another nightmare invaded her rest. She twisted in her sleep, holding onto her blanket with an agonized expression, turning from one position to another. Waves crashed in her ears still, an unforgiving sea of sound penetrated by whispers: his words to her. And Mira was afraid she'd never hear his voice again.
Nothing had quite explained his fascination with her at first, she remembered. James Carter had been like anyone of them, appearing to be an ordinary pilgrim, yet held talent at keeping secrets. She remembered being hauled from the jungle, restricted to her bed for days after her discovery. Lucas' words had kept her alive, given her something to hold onto. By the time she could live in her house again, she'd noticed that the others were looking at her with suspicion, as if asking how she was still alive.
She had condemned those men for their cowardice, for their avarice and lack of compassion. The mission had been secondary in her mind for awhile then, only revenge had filled her mind. She had stalked her prey, paid attention to the slightest detail. And then one night she'd been at Boylan's, drinking with the rest, laughing, smiling. The drinking game had turned rougher than intended, alcohol had clouded her judgment. She recalled fumbling to the bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror, hiding her knife in her boot, and then following one of them outside.
But James Carter had sharp eyes; he noticed her when no one else would, saw the contempt behind her smile. And it was him, who joined her as she walked, leading her astray from the path of vengeance.
You don't want to do that now.
She remembered struggling, attempting to turn his intervention into a fist fight. It had been a bad attempt at best in her drunken state. He'd pinned her down to a wall, forced her to look at him and see the clarity in his eyes. This man she hadn't known had stopped her, held her down, and told her not to do it.
What do you want, James?
You listen to me, Miranda, and listen good. You don't want to go down that path, trust me.
And with trembling lips, she had acquiesced. Since then he would always calm down her anger, pierce her raging emotions with his clarity, and be there to say things like they were.
The anxiety that constant fear for his safety brought her was choking her now, piercing through her dreaming state. Mira had asked him to find her daughter, trusting her most valued possession in his hands. But it had been over a week since he had gone, and she was finding his absence paralyzing.
"Mira!" a terrified voice called for her in the night, shaking her awake from her restless sleep. Mira opened her eyes, trying her best to calm herself, discard the nightmares, and put on her emotionless mask as always. It didn't seem as easy this time though.
"Mira!" the voice called again, sounding out of breath, full of urgency. Mira sat up on her bed quickly, pulled on her boots and belt, and set to find this source of disturbance outside. She walked with haste, tasting the outside air and soft rain that fell on her back. In a moment she was already wet, standing on the platform, gazing down at the figure that approached from the jungle, guided by a flashlight.
Others awoke as well, appearing into view on the platforms, searching for the source of noise. It was Kiya, she realized as the soaked woman appeared into view, panting almost violently. Mira leaned over the rope rail, fingers clutching the rope with bruising strength.
"They've returned!" Kiya shouted, catching her breath and trying to keep her voice steady. There was little joy in her announcement though, worry spread through the ranks of the Sixers quickly.
"Is everyone… alright?" Mira asked, feigning calmness, even as her fears clutched her chest unlike ever before. Kiya had been running through the jungle alone, her expression was haunted, distressed. It didn't bode well for the others.
"Taylor was waiting," Kiya responded, and tried to swallow her anguish. "The troops took them. They took them all to Terra Nova!"
Mira felt defeat wash through her, leave her weak in its wake. So Skye had failed. Taylor didn't appreciate the word of his adopted daughter like he used to, and clearly didn't trust the travelers, even after they had returned with a ragtag group of civilians instead of an army. What hope was there now?
"Did everyone make it?" someone asked from the sidelines, inducing new fear into Mira. Her fingers felt numb as the held onto the rope, waiting for the answer.
"I did a headcount the best I could," Kiya responded, pushing her wet hair behind her ear. She appeared uncertain, was driven by nothing but fumes at this point. "I believe everyone came through, not all the civilians on the list, but probably everyone they could bring."
Her answer drew sighs of relief from the crowd, but Mira saw their relief as premature. She could see it in the way Kiya stood there, beaten by the rain, avoiding looking at Mira's inquiring eyes. Something wasn't right.
"I'm sorry Mira," Kiya then said, tears climbing into her eyes. "Carter collapsed as soon as he got through the portal. Looked like he'd been shot," she revealed, shattering everything for their leader.
Everything seemed to freeze still. Raindrops descended her face and back, leaving a chill in their wake. But her eyesight was blurry for another reason; her own tears clouded it. She blinked, trying to grasp this news. Everyone was looking at her, expecting her to brush off the news coolly as usual. She couldn't this time though, for he was the one who got her to calm down and think clearly. He was the one who kept her out of trouble.
The waves crashed in her ears, prevented her from hearing the whispers around her. Kiya's voice had stood out because of its volume, but now everything was too silent to break through.
She imagined Carter standing by her, helping her walk to her hut, squeezing her hand.
Don't scare me like that.
"We leave at first light," she then commanded, turning to gaze at everyone around them. Her voice was harsh and cutting. She was the Amazon again, riding into the settlement to deliver ultimatums to Taylor, just like in old times. No one dared to object, not when she looked at them like that, so driven.
It was the morning sun that woke him; it painted his eyelids scorching orange and red, depriving him of the restful dark. Lucas moved slowly, his limbs feeling incredibly heavy, probably due to a drug haze. But once his eyes were open, everything seemed to clear right before him. It was the infirmary, buzzing with doctors and nurses, running around the hospital beds with haste. He turned his head to his right, blinded by the sun that the window gave access.
Lucas turned from the sun quickly, choosing to look the other way instead. What he saw froze him though, snapped him right back to reality. A body rested on a bed next to him, a breathing tube helping to secure its breathing, countless wires connecting it to the computers. And by this bedside a small child rested, lost in sleep, clutching a hand.
Lucas flexed his muscles, tried to rise from the bed with the realization that Carter was the in the bed beside him, but something held him back; metal dug into his wrists, keeping him from sitting up. He glanced down and saw handcuffs that connected him to the bed, rendering him into nothing but a prisoner here. Lucas relaxed himself on the bed, tried moving his legs only to realize they were restrained as well. A bitter aftertaste of defeat filled his mouth. His father was taking no chances with him, was he?
He calmed himself down, searched his muddled memory for answers until he remembered the great escape from the future, the portal blowing up, the bullet rain they had run from. Lucas scanned around the room the best he could, locating others in the hospital beds: a few civilians, but mostly the Sixers involved in the mission. Ludmila passed out a few beds away, also restrained. Dyson shouting at the doctor further away, expression full of pain.
He then saw movement from the corner of his eye, noticed how the doctor stood over Sienna, probably contemplating whether it was possible to relocate her yet. Lucas imagined the kid putting up quite a fight to stay by Carter.
"Leave her be," he grunted weakly, gaining the attention of the doctor looking over Sienna. It was a woman with darker complexion, long hair. Her name tag said 'Shannon'. Lucas rolled his eyes in frustration, realizing this was Elizabeth Shannon, the same doctor who had implanted Skye with a tracker just awhile back.
Elizabeth walked up to Lucas' bedside, leaning in to examine him. She shone a light to his eyes, pulled at his eyelids to expose his eyes to the light better. "Can you hear me, Lucas?" she asked, sounding almost worried.
"You leave her be," he hissed back, eyes still cast on Sienna. His body felt incredibly worn, his veins burned as if full of poison, and there was a hammering headache in his head. He didn't trust the good doctor.
"I see," she answered, turning her attention to his hand. "I gave you a local anesthetic for the hand, but it looks bad. It would be easier to amputate and replace it," she then said to him, looking straight into his eyes.
"Over my dead body," he told her, giving no room for the thought. "What did you do to my people?" he then asked with contempt, unwilling to show her an ounce of fear.
"They are alright," Elizabeth assured. "We didn't harm anyone after they surrendered peacefully. But you were being fired at on the other side, weren't you?"
Elizabeth's eyes shifted to Carter's unconscious body. "He was like that when you came through, carrying that child in his arms, refusing to let go of her," she explained, a tinge of respect in her voice. "We had to operate to save his life. The bullet missed his vest by an inch. It nearly killed him."
Lucas looked past her, eyes set on Carter. "But he's going to make it?" he then asked, hostility replaced with uncertainty. It had been clear to him for awhile now that Carter cared deeply for Mira, but couldn't find the voice or words to tell her this. As a man of action, he had probably thought it better to show her rather than tell her.
"It's too early to say, but his chances are good," Elizabeth answered, unable to see the cruel terrorist Taylor had painted his son as in the man strapped to his bed. Lucas Taylor bore a striking resemblance to his father, but it wasn't just looks - it was also the way he concerned himself with the safety of those who followed him.
Elizabeth then spotted the man himself entering the infirmary. Taylor approached as a threatening figure, eyes locked with his son. She acted quickly, pulling a curtain between Lucas and the rest of the ward, and meeting Taylor halfway to stop his advance.
"Commander, a word," she said, finding difficulty in keeping her annoyance contained. Taylor tried to look past her and keep going, but she effectively stopped him when she stood in his path, claiming his attention forcefully.
"Doctor," Taylor said with a tensed voice.
"Let's talk in my office," she suggested.
"I need to have a word with my son first," he politely told her and tried to move past her, but she put herself in his path yet again.
"This can't wait," she claimed, staring him down until he gave in.
"Alright, make it quick."
Elizabeth guided them both to her office where it was quieter and safe from prying ears. She motioned him to sit, but Taylor didn't follow the suggestion; he leaned against the wall stiffly, crossing his arms over his chest. She closed the door behind them, and proceeded to sit on the edge of her desk.
"You wanted my medical expertise, so I'm offering it to you now," she started, recalling being awoken in the middle of the night to receive patients at the infirmary. At first panic had claimed her, rumors had spread about the Sixer army at their gates, and she had asked Josh to make sure Maddy and Zoe were safe. But it had become very clear that the only patients were Sixers and unknown civilians.
"This is not an army," she said, drawing a mocking laughter from the Commander.
"Yes, Dr. Shannon, I can see that all on my own," he remarked, unimpressed with her insight so far.
"Your son was stabbed through the hand with a sharp instrument. The wound looks about a week old. They did some surgery on it in 2149, salvaged what they could. The smart thing would've been to amputate the hand and replace it, yet he didn't do that," she explained, trying to make him understand what she was seeing. Taylor listened with great interest, yet he didn't grasp her intention at first.
"Why wouldn't he do it?" she asked him with a frown.
"I don't know," Taylor admitted.
"Because the artificial hand would've been difficult to maintain in the jungle. What if it broke, where would he get the parts to fix it? I believe that he intended to return here without the army all along," she theorized, noticing disbelief all over the Commander's face.
"You can't know that," Taylor countered her theory, disapproving her implication here.
"What about the other injuries this party sustained? They were all exhausted from running. All the shots fired at them came from behind. We pulled countless slugs from the Sixers' vests, and they were all in their backs, like someone was trying to stop them," Elizabeth tried next, putting her discoveries into words.
"These people didn't come here to invade, Commander. They were running for their lives," she then concluded.
Taylor let the words sink for a moment. He could recall the group at the portal, tired soldiers barely able to stand on their feet. They had rushed the ones that needed medical care to the infirmary and locked the rest in cells, but the civilians they had locked in house arrest, providing them with the former Sixer houses that stood abandoned even after all this time. Taylor had been waiting for the second wave, but the portal had remained shut; nothing had emerged from the future.
"I hear Skye has been begging you to give a chance to diplomacy," Elizabeth then said.
Taylor rolled his eyes. Where these rumors originate from? How was everyone always so clear on what happened behind closed doors? "I cannot trust her judgment at this time," Taylor settled to comment.
"I also hear she was injured when you brought her here. Can I finally examine her and make sure she's alright?" she requested next, expressing worry over the fate of the young woman, who had betrayed them all.
He'd moved her out of the isolation room and back into her cell shortly after they had brought the Sixers to the colony. He'd then filled the isolation room with the Sixers that were in best physical shape and started questioning them. It hadn't heeded any real results yet. Taylor knew Lucas was the one who would give him answers though.
"Fine," he agreed, seeing no harm in Elizabeth seeing Skye. "She might have a broken finger. There's a splint in her hand," he informed her, watched as Elizabeth embraced the piece of info with decisiveness.
He then lowered his arms and begun making his way out of her office. She stopped him again, calling out, "Sir?"
Elizabeth paused for a second, seeking the right words. "Nothing I've seen today suggests that your son had any intention of harming us," she concluded.
Taylor didn't respond, just stepped outside as if he hadn't even heard her words. She was certain he'd heard them though, just didn't know what to make of it yet. Elizabeth followed him outside shortly, gathering supplies in her kit as she set out to see Skye now that she finally could.
Taylor waited for Elizabeth to make her exit, before he motioned for the soldiers to approach. "Did you check his medical condition?" he asked them.
"Just some bruising from the sonic blast, sir. No irreparable damage. He's in fine physical condition," one of them answered, handing the report over to Taylor.
"Is he restrained?" he asked next, almost managing to sound uninterested in the topic, just almost.
"Yes sir," the response came quickly.
"Fine then, move him away from the rest of them. I'll begin the interrogation shortly," Taylor instructed.
The two soldiers saluted him and set off to fulfill their orders, but Taylor was left in the middle of the room, watching the Sixers bound to their beds. These filthy, tired and bruised creatures looked half-dead, and his son was no exception. According to Elizabeth they had been escorting the civilians to safety at the expense of their own lives. He didn't take Sixers for the sacrificing type; in fact, most of them were mercenaries in the first place: nameless, expendable people.
None of this made sense to him.
Lucas heard the approach of the combat boots from a distance. They pulled the curtain aside, serious faces scanned him for threats, and one of the soldiers pushed a wheelchair into view. "Lucas Taylor," one of them called. "We're bringing you in for questioning."
He didn't object, just nodded lazily, surrendering his body. He was useless whilst bound to a bed, but this gave him a chance, an opportunity to exploit. Lucas watched intently as they opened the restraints on his legs. He stared down the barrel of a gun by the time they started opening the handcuffs. And then he was finally allowed to sit up. His head wailed in response, dull pain reminding him of the sonic blast he'd been greeted with upon his return here.
One of the soldiers helped him into the wheelchair, pulled the IVs from him, shut off the computers. Lucas gave a lingering gaze to Carter; made sure his chest still rose and fell. Confident with these vital signs he let the soldiers transport him into the morning sun outside, towards the prison area further away.
He was still wearing his party outfit, this extravagantly expensive rented suit that was now smeared for good with dirt, sweat and blood. His tie was nowhere to be found, and he'd lost the glove as well, but a piece of dignity remained in the way he held himself. Of course he knew where he was going; face to face with his father, a final showdown with the old man basking in his failure. He didn't mind.
No one had perished this time, he'd been able to keep his word to her, and that was what mattered. Not his feud with his unrelenting devil of a father, not his failure to destroy this monument of his father's dreams - just the fact that he could face everyone with an elated heart.
They wheeled him into a building and down the long corridors inside. Guns were pointed at him at all times. At the end of the road a cell waited, and he was let in quietly. The soldier who'd been pushing him stepped out of his shadow and put the brakes on the wheelchair to keep it still, before he exited the room with the rest of them.
Lucas crossed his hands over his lap patiently. He could feel strength returning to his legs, but he bid his time, chose to play weak. He knew what this was about now, and saw his chance suddenly. He wasn't a good man by any measure, so one more sin shouldn't dip the balance too much, he thought to himself as he listened to his father entering the room.
"I'm surprised you didn't order them to fire at will," Lucas remarked, his back turned to his father.
"There were children, women. I figured you might resort to using them as human shields," Taylor responded with equal disrespect.
His expression faltered though, didn't match his cruel words. He could see the scar on Lucas' hand (just like Skye had told him) as it rested on arm of the wheelchair. Lucas appeared listless, so defeated. It was difficult to see him that way.
"Didn't have any trouble shooting me though," Lucas mused cynically.
"Why don't we skip this beat, son? Let's just be honest," Taylor suggested, having grown tired of this constant struggle.
Lucas chuckled back. "You're incapable of looking me in the eye, old man. It's you who can't be honest," he nearly spat the words from his mouth. Contempt was such poison. "So don't blame me for being incapable of believing a word you say."
Taylor approached now with hands behind his back, supporting a straight posture as he walked. "I've given no reason for this mistrust," he said, truly believing his words. In his mind, Lucas had drifted from him before he'd even known what had happened. He hadn't believed he could ever lose his son, until that night in the jungle when Lucas had pointed a gun at him, finally exposing his true feelings.
"Of course you didn't," Lucas mocked. "You're a hero, father. Lying is beneath you."
Taylor reached his side, witnessed the true extent of Lucas' weariness. And while Lucas held onto his vicious anger with every fiber of his being, it was less intense than before. Something had peeled that hatred from him, transformed it. It no longer burned in every word, every struggling breath.
"You lied to me Lucas," Taylor reminded him with sadness, recalling the shock of discovering Lucas' work, his betrayal.
"That makes us even, doesn't it?" Lucas simply stated.
"Even for what?" Taylor questioned.
"Coup de grace, father," Lucas responded in an instant. He turned to look at his father now, still sitting as he looked up at the figure he'd once worshipped in his adolescence. "I saw you that day. I saw you with the smoking gun," his voice faltered, the horrible truth shook his façade.
"And you lied to me about it. You lied, and lied, and lied until you had me suspecting my own sanity!" Lucas roared.
It was evident that the accusation was correct; Taylor embraced it mutely, stood bare beneath Lucas' piercing gaze.
"No child should go through that," Taylor finally spoke, expressing his regret, his utmost guilt.
"Well, I did," Lucas responded aggressively.
For the first time in ten years, Taylor allowed himself to return into that moment, that sweltering hot day where his world had come to an end. He could see the rebels organizing the civilians into a row, keeping him and a few other high-ranking officials on their knees in the sidelines. All he could do was watch in horror as they forced both Lucas and Ayani on their knees. One of the rebels hit Lucas in the face with his gun for staring back too defiantly.
"I chose you for love, son," Taylor confessed, recalling Skye's words.
He frowned as he went further into the memory, saw Lucas screaming as they dragged him off with the rest of the chosen, and left him to watch as they abused his wife. Every second of her torture was vivid in his memory, a stain that never washed away.
"And I shot her down for love."
When given the choice to continue watching them hurt her or ending it, he remembered wanting to die. Her bruised and broken body lying on the sand, barely recognizable as the woman he'd loved. The rebel leader holding his hand over Taylor's to ensure he didn't point the gun elsewhere. The recoil as he fired it and saw the bullet hit its target.
Lucas had turned his gaze. His eyes were red, and his heart was burning. He'd imagined this scene many times in his youth, seen his father beg for forgiveness. He'd snuck downstairs to see his father passed out from drinking, holding his gun on his lap, and wondered why he didn't have the courage to pull the trigger. But this time his anger couldn't withstand his father's presence - Not when he imagined Skye in his mother's place. The conflict tore at him, mocked him, and yet he couldn't deny that he would've ended her suffering as well, committed the final act of love.
He was supposed to be interrogating his son, but instead they were talking about events that were strangely tied to everything that still happened today. Taylor shook himself awake from this spell, this confusion he'd allowed Skye to cast on him.
"When is the army coming, son?" he asked, a threatening dimension sneaking into his voice.
Disillusioned, Lucas answered, "There's no army. We blew up Hope Plaza."
Taylor's eyes widened with disbelief. Was this another trick? Did Lucas expect him to believe such a blatant lie?
"I don't believe you."
The irony of his father's words didn't escape Lucas. Round and round they went in this mad carousel, a carnival of death.
"Skye told you she killed Curran, I take it?" Lucas asked without expecting an answer. "Well, Curran didn't just make his move. He was inspired, manipulated. Because an operative from the Company thought she was the reason I was compromised. They wanted her dead because of me."
Genuine hurt crept into his voice. "I couldn't live with that, the constant fear that I could lose her. You see, she means more to me than hurting you. So I went to them and got everyone their loved ones, and I ran back as fast as I could."
It was starting to make sense in a crazy way to Taylor. He watched his son's discomfort at telling this story. Suddenly he no longer knew if he should discard Lucas' words by default.
"And we blew up Hope Plaza to keep everyone safe," Lucas concluded.
The clues in this puzzle were supportive of Lucas: His hand, Elizabeth's theories, Skye's claims, and the civilians with them. He didn't think his son that good a liar.
"What do you want Lucas?" Taylor questioned: all ears with the answer.
Lucas took a moment to consider. Everyone safe, Skye smiling at him, plenty of days with her in Paradise (just like their first meeting), Mira reunited with her daughter, Carter pulling through so he could finally tell her what he felt, and Skye being able to see her mother - yes, that was all he wanted. Hurting his father wasn't even in the top ten. It was a miserable remnant of his old life, this wish.
But he didn't voice his thoughts; his dark eyes didn't betray anything. Taylor observed him, unable to decide, whether letting Lucas go was even an option at this point. Lucas was dangerous, directly involved with all the deaths and suffering they had been put through since the Sixers had broke free from the colony.
"Do you think you can even begin to live up to Skye's expectations?" he asked. His question snapped Lucas right out of his thoughts though. "She thinks so highly of you, son. Even as the portal opened, she begged me to save you."
Lucas bounced on his feet, catching his father off-guard, grabbing the collar of his shirt with rage in his eyes. Taylor responded to the aggression by grabbing Lucas' wrists and tearing his hands off. Their eyes battled for domination, their bodies remembered each punch exchanged in the past.
"Yes, she's here," Taylor confirmed Lucas' doubts, and was instantly punched into the gut by his son.
He retaliated by punching Lucas in the jaw. The younger man staggered backwards a bit, taken aback by the hit, but he launched himself at his father again shortly, pushing him at the wall with his body. He tried to hit, but was blocked.
"She came willingly!" Taylor claimed, yet the damage was done.
"I doubt you housed her in anywhere but the cellblock!" Lucas shouted, grabbing his father by the throat with his hands.
Taylor jabbed him to the gut twice before punching Lucas in the injured hand. Pain pulsated through Lucas, the nerves were aflame again, and his grip was lost. His father pushed him off, catching his breath.
"She came as a prisoner, Lucas," he said, like it explained everything.
"You're not the enemy to her! You never could be!" Lucas shouted back, pain on his face, and insult in his voice. "But she comes anyway, knowing you'll just disappoint her!"
At this point the room was flooded with soldiers. Two of them quickly restrained Lucas' hands behind his back, effectively ending the fight between father and son. Taylor stared at Lucas intently, and his stare was met with equal intensity. It was like Lucas was telling him not to disappoint Skye. That he'd already lost one child.
Did Lucas really desire him to remain in Skye's life? Did he want Taylor to reconcile with the girl? For the first time Taylor saw a hint of selflessness in Lucas that didn't scream falsehood to him. It served no good to Lucas to mend his and Skye's relationship, not when he himself hated his father so. But nevertheless he desired this for the both of them, knowing it was impossible for him and his father now.
"Let him go," Taylor instructed, never taking his eyes from Lucas.
Lucas didn't struggle as they released him, or launch himself at his father again. An understanding bloomed between them.
"You asked me what I want," Lucas said. "I want to see her."
A sincere request, Taylor realized. If he wanted to, he could end it all now: Tear them apart for good, destroy the Sixers, and identify his enemies - anything he wanted.
"You won, old man," Lucas continued. "Just let me see her."
TBC