Terra Nova - Things Lost in the Fire ch22 [Skye/Lucas]
Title: Things Lost in the Fire
Fandom: Terra Nova
Ship: Skye/Lucas
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: bad language, sexual situations, AU
Chapter: 22/?
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: Probably the longest chapter yet. It was a tough one to write, but I hope I succeeded with the action (it's not my forte really). I'm more of a relationship writer.
Things Lost in the Fire
22. The New Deal
Lucas walked Skye to the infirmary, felt her stiffen at the sight of the lone hut, the place of slaughter that was now forever etched into her memory. He didn't try and force her forwards when he realized why she was suddenly unresponsive, he settled to observe her instead. Skye's eyes were made of glass, she seemed lost. Even the pain in her throbbing finger vanished for the moment.
"Skye," he called her, waking her from her thoughts. She stirred and shook off the confusion and the darkness that had sought to emerge. Drops of sweat had risen to her forehead, her skin felt flustered. Lucas didn't force the issue, just pulled her hand towards him to get her to walk again.
She let him take her inside the hut, but she didn't go inside fully, choosing to linger at the doorstep instead. Lucas realized her reluctance, but made nothing of it. He searched the medical supplies for everything they needed, gathered the necessary items in his hands.
Skye couldn't seem to keep her eyes at any one spot, couldn't turn her back at the doorstep, almost like she was expecting someone to burst in here through it. Seeing her like this made his heart heavy, reinforced the decision.
"Hey," he called to her, smiling at her. "Do you need anything else?"
She shook her head, eager to leave already. The dark shadows beneath her eyes were the testament of this ordeal's effect on her. Hidden scars, restlessness, that hollow gaze - all were familiar signs to Lucas. He nodded to her approvingly and guided them out then, recognizing what he needed to do. He noticed her breathing deeper outside, like relief was returning to her body after a prolonged moment of breathlessness.
Lucas motioned one of the Sixers to him, leaned in to whisper something into his ear. The man's name was Villiers, and Skye remembered hearing he was a genuine soldier of fortune (not that you'd believe in the gentle way he often looked after the kids at camp). Skye saw him disperse quickly after he and Lucas exchanged knowing looks, but she didn't ask about it. The pain was back, and the sun had begun its retreat in the horizon. She just wanted to lay by him for awhile.
He led them to his hut, lit the lantern on the table and sat her by it. At this point Skye tried to argue she was more qualified to splint the finger, but he didn't listen to her. Lucas manipulated her finger, checked the others as well to see how bad it was. She gripped the table as he did this, blocked the pain by gritting her teeth, pushing back the moans of pain. Lucky for her it had been just her middle finger.
Skye rolled her eyes at him when he explained to her how glad he was that this might slow her down for awhile, keep her out of trouble. He then proceeded to splint the finger after rubbing a lotion on her finger that helped with the swelling. They didn't exactly have ice here in the jungle, but the lotion helped in every temperature. It stung at first, spread a prickling sensation on her skin, but by the time he started to splint the finger, it already felt much better.
Silence prevailed while Lucas worked on her injury. Despite the kind words before and the understanding they'd had, neither knew where to even begin sorting everything out. Skye avoided looking him in the eye, while Lucas scanned her for more subtle signs of trauma, shock. Having been through horrible things, he just knew this had left a mark on her.
When he was finally done, Lucas placed his hands over hers to warm them. Her fingers felt ice cold underneath his. Skye was staring at the wooden desk, at the carvings she'd made. It reminded her of the other wooden surface she'd carved, of the message she'd left Hicks.
"Bucket," Lucas called to her. Skye's eyes snapped to him immediately.
"We need to talk about it," he then told her, bringing his hand to her cheek, feeling her shiver beneath his touch. Tears followed this contact eagerly, filling her eyes.
"I killed someone Lucas," Skye told him. She leaned into his touch, enjoying the comfort him being here. "It's not going away. Not with any justification."
He pushed himself closer, both his hands on her cheeks now. Her tears fell on his hands, but his hold was strong. Lucas appeared determined to convince her, show her the light in the darkness she was engulfed in.
"I used to think that too," he whispered, jade eyes glowing with pain. "That if I had given my life my mother could've lived."
She listened to him fully now, trying to read into his expression. Just the feel of his thumbs caressing her cheeks drove away the poison in her gut, the burning sensations guilt left behind.
"Survivor's guilt is tricky. It's like a cloud that covers everything. But I need you to believe me when I tell you that you didn't have a choice. Your choice was robbed from you," he then explained to her.
"I just don't see a happy ending anymore," she confessed. "I keep trying to think of ways to get through this, but no matter what, someone always gets hurt."
And she was about to say more, about to bury him in words, in destructive thoughts. Lucas beat her to it by kissing her. Their lips crashed together violently, Lucas fighting to reassure her and Skye eager to take every reassurance she could get. He held her head with his hands, his fingers sunk into her hair, released it from its hold. Skye brought her healthy hand to his neck, ran her fingers across his scars, eliciting a toothy grin from him.
Her pain melted into a hurricane of emotions, desire fuelled her. Even with everything going to hell around them, this made her feel alive. Lucas pressed soft kisses on her lips, her nose, and her forehead. He pressed his own forehead against hers, closing his eyes for a moment to breathe in deep. Skye pushed her lips against his anxiously, unwilling to back out. She inhaled his scent, pushed her tongue into his mouth to drown her senses with his taste as well. It disconnected her from the painful reality, from her own body.
He pulled her closer from her waist, felt her push onto his lap from her chair. But when he looked up at her, there was no smile on her face. Lucas froze. Skye tried to kiss him again, but Lucas took hold of her face instead, keeping her at a distance.
"I'm going to fix everything Bucket," he promised her. "Not just Morris. I mean everything."
Skye examined Lucas with awe. Was this really the same bitter and angry man she'd encountered once? Was he the same man, who'd let his hate define him? Did Lucas finally admit that the terrible events in Somalia hadn't been anyone's fault? This hope was brighter than any word of consolation or justification. Skye held onto it.
Skye rested in his lap, facing him with sad eyes. "It's not the same… I mean, with your mother," she said, looking down at him. Lucas brushed her hair behind her ear when it tried to block his view of her face.
"It's the same," he reassured her. "I saw your face Bucket. I know the need to blame someone other than you. But I can't lose you to such darkness. I won't."
Skye blinked, bewilderment spread across her body. That lump inside her, a place she'd buried her hopes concerning Lucas and his father, unraveled. It unleashed something, a reaction she didn't recognize, and dispelled the lust from her system. The self-pity washed away as she looked at him. Skye lifted her hand to his face, cupped his cheek and felt his hand move over hers.
"Are you saying…," she swallowed between her sentences, nearly losing her voice, "that I can't become like you?"
That was it, wasn't it? He didn't want anyone to go through what he had. To see her survive only because she wanted revenge, because she needed to hate something to sustain herself, it would kill him. Maybe he understood what she saw in him now, what had driven her to betray him.
"When you hit him, all I could see was me, crazy from grief. My father didn't make it possible to hold onto him when my mother died; he made it easy to hate him," he recalled. For once, Lucas' voice didn't shiver nor did anger emerge when he spoke of his father. Actually he sounded almost tranquil.
He slid her hand to his lips from his cheek, and kissed her hand palm gently. "I'm here for you Bucket. You don't need to take that road," he told her, truly meaning every word.
It was true. Hatred had been easier than feeling grief without end. Hatred had been easier than wallowing in pity or dealing with what had happened. Because Morris was an outsider she didn't feel anything but resent for; because she was a murderer now and Morris deserved death.
She cast her eyes down, finding his devoted stare just too much at this time. A moment later she hugged him with both arms, tying them around him as carefully as possible. She pressed her body close, landed her jaw on his shoulder and held him tight.
"I'm with you, Lucas," she said.
All of this had been impossible from the start. It had sparked from a random encounter one beautiful day. And the spark had survived six months of separation, the lies told in fear, the actions taken because of it. The spark had remained, grown into love against the odds. Skye recognized it was madness, that things could've gone wrong so many times already.
But for the first time she considered that maybe they hadn't lied to one another that day on the Falls. She'd been more honest to him than anyone. He'd shown her a side of him no one seemed to know. Everything that had come since hadn't changed the people they loved. Actually they'd just given each other the chance to be who they really were in the open. She was fearless and capable, freed from the chains that had previously held her down. He was caring and responsible, no longer pushing everyone away because he was too scared to trust others.
There was a knock. Lucas let her go, turned to look around his shoulder while she climbed off him. She was curious about the intrusion as well. Lucas rose to his feet and walked to the entrance, finding Mira behind it.
She looked listless and mute, nothing like her usual self. Her eyes scanned Skye, yet it wasn't an assessment of threat, but a genuinely worried inquiry. Once she realized Skye was alright, her posture became more relaxed.
"I think it's time," Mira told Lucas, speaking of something she considered unfortunate. Lucas placed his hand on her shoulder reassuringly, actually offering solace to her for the first time and without a hidden agenda.
"I'd say it's well past due," he then answered, and they shared a knowing look between two allies. It made Skye feel like things could turn out good again.
Cards followed rules, rules were predictable. People didn't follow rules, but they were so very predictable once you had them pegged. His purpose here was to read the people, see what rules they followed and then fix it. But the thing was people didn't follow his rules, cause and effect didn't meet his intensions with so many variables.
Morris took a swig off the bottle, anointed his lips with the alcohol. It wasn't much, just enough for a taste. The surface of the bottle fell. He placed the bottle by his - Carter's - desk and continued to deal the cards in his private game. Queens and jacks embraced, the kings were unwanted. He made one move and another, mind engulfed in other things completely.
His cheek was supporting a bruise, his jaw was tender. Skye Tate had packed a punch with her untrained hand whether she'd known how to inflict maximum damage or not. But what really had him thinking was Mira. Her support could've ended everything. For a moment there, Morris had felt her uncertainty, her willingness to join him. She'd slipped away though, choosing these people over her child, placing her trust in someone she really shouldn't have.
Everyone here was different; it was the root of his problem. Even little Skye Tate wasn't the easily manipulated teenager she was supposed to be. They had constructed a castle of cards carefully before he'd come here, made a plan, issued the orders. Now that castle was falling apart, because apparently there were too many variables, too many rules to consider.
Outside rain pounded against the wooden platforms, playing a melancholy tune. According to Mira they were approaching the rainy season, that the rivers flooded and the wildlife escaped the risen water levels to new territories. They moved the camp fully into the trees this time of year to avoid animals wandering into anyone's hut at night. Mira had warned her he might need to share his hut with someone if he was still here. Morris fully planned to still be here.
A presence shook him from his thoughts, a breeze of wind, something disrupting the fall of the water. Morris turned a bit hastily, grasping his gun that rested in his lap while his eyes scanned the entrance of the hut. Lucas Taylor stood right behind him, hands in the air, peace on his lips. It didn't make Morris turn his gun from him, but it killed the tension somewhat.
"It's time we talked," Lucas said with conviction, stepping inside carefully. Morris raised a surprised brow at this; he hadn't expected Lucas to come up to him like this. Fear over the safety of his girlfriend had to be driving him to recklessness.
Lucas was wet; his skin glistened with moisture in the lantern's light. He didn't seem to carry a weapon, but Morris was certain it was simply concealed. Water dripped down from Lucas' boots into the hut. The rain water had a unique stench, sharp like freshly cut grass.
Morris gave him a nod and pointed him at the seat on the other side of the desk. Lucas followed this sign of admission and took the seat, fully aware that he had a gun pointed at him through-out this.
For a moment they just stood there, staring at one another, evaluating. Morris dealt another hand into his game, showing no signs of nervousness or distress. He appeared even more driven and devilish in the lantern's light. His olive skin was darker, his eyes more focused and the tattoo on his arm was more vicious. Lucas knew he was physically more imposing, even if Lucas had spent five years in the wild. Morris was disciplined, strong in ways that he couldn't conceive. Words were a weapon more suited for him in this fight.
"We need to renegotiate," Lucas stated, crossing his hands on the desk.
"You need to get your act together and work on those calculations, Taylor," Morris responded. He'd leaned back on his chair, and was eyeing Lucas suspiciously now. Then a smile curved over his lips as he licked the alcohol from them slowly. "Unless you want to admit they've been done ever since I arrived?"
Lucas didn't react visibly. It was the truth though. He had been buying time, unwilling to open the gate until he knew what to do next. He could've prevented everything, but he'd wanted to know more.
"They're sound now," Lucas responded, ignoring the taunt and insight Morris had shown.
"Then give them to me and all will be over," Morris assured. He wasn't that interested in the calculations though - he could've made a play at them earlier, could've pushed harder. No, people were this man's specialty.
"I think we need a new deal," Lucas pointed out, placing something on the desk. It was a device of some sort, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. Morris didn't seem that interested in it.
"They're paying you enough to be a king." Money was meaningless to men like them though. They craved for challenges, for chances, for change. The real payment had always been a chance to usurp his father, a way of destroying what he held dear.
"I want sanctuary for every member of the advance team and any relatives of theirs they desire. And Skye of course," Lucas announced, feeling a surge of fire in his veins as Morris seemed to focus on him for real now.
"From an angry son to a humanitarian, that's quite a change Taylor," Morris threw back venomously. He didn't care about the Sixers or about anyone caught in this mess. He'd considered Lucas a worthy opponent, but felt bitter disappointment when he'd realized Lucas was a changed man.
"That's my price," Lucas confirmed. He didn't pay any heed to the way Morris had reacted.
Morris' eyes fell to the device on the desk. "What's that?"
"It's for you," Lucas replied. "You take my deal and that device, get the hell out of this camp and go through the gate. I never want to see you again."
Morris actually snorted at this, finding the suggestion incredibly funny. His grin revealed his teeth, that sadistic smile made a return. It chilled Lucas. He knew the response before he even heard it.
"I take your word and that toy, and get myself gunned down at the portal. That's your plan Taylor?" he asked with disbelief, nearly spitting the words.
"We're not your private army," Lucas hissed back. "We're not expendable."
Morris chuckled viciously. "Of course you're expendable! Why else would've they sent you here first instead of trained soldiers?"
He offered Lucas the bottle and Lucas took it in anger. The alcohol burned his throat when he took a drink hastily. His eyes never left Morris during the action. He couldn't afford to take his eyes off the enemy.
"Well that will change," Lucas declared, wiping his lips clean to the sleeve of his shirt. "We've been loyal servants, we've endured hell. I think we all deserve to stay here with the people we love."
"So you're sending your liaison through the jungle alone with some kind words and a promise?" Morris countered, clearly unable to trust any of them.
"Take the deal Morris," Lucas advised with little emotion. "You wouldn't like us when we're not co-operative."
He glanced at Lucas again, finding no sign of deception on the young man's face. Of course he knew Lucas Taylor wanted to consider himself a great thinker and leader underneath. He was more alike to his father than he wanted to admit. Honor was important, keeping your end of the deal was essential. That's how you built dynasties, on the trust of others.
So he could accept that the device would help with the gate. Too bad it meant he needed to put an end to this charade.
"The thing is Taylor…," Morris begun, something predatory flashing in his eyes, "The jury's been out on you awhile now. My associates at Terra Nova found a copy of the calculations in the memory banks of the Eye. So I don't really need you for anything."
The information sunk in, a surprise that wanted to halt Lucas. Of course his father hadn't erased the files completely even after he'd shot the hard drive to pieces. Of course it had been their intention to secure the calculations when they realized he was slipping away from their reach.
Lucas hesitated for a moment, but it was enough for Morris to act. Seconds later as cold steel stabbed through Lucas' hand on the desk, he felt Morris' hand press against his mouth, muffling the guttural scream of pain that erupted from his lips. The knife had penetrated his hand and dug deep into the wooden desk beneath; he could see this before the pain flooded his senses, forcing his eyes shut.
Morris allowed him to take in the pain, to feel every aspect of it. He watched with gleeful delight.
Lucas opened his eyes again after his consciousness seemed to shift into his hand. Blood pooled all over the table, and more kept bleeding from the wound. He tried to move his hand, but nothing happened. Judging from the position of the knife, there would be nerve damage if he didn't bleed to death before that, Lucas realized in agony.
Morris' fingers moved from Lucas' mouth next and the bastard looked at his handiwork calculatingly.
"It was decided that I should terminate our contract if you proved to be uncontrollable," Morris explained calmly.
He'd placed his gun on the desk when he'd risen on his feet to stab Lucas. Now he took the gun and pointed the barrel at Lucas's forehead. All Lucas could see was the gun, everything around it was a blur. He was glued to his seat, nerves aflame because of this assault, mind slipping because of the pain.
Morris pulled the trigger, but his gun didn't fire. Once again the rules didn't apply, there were too many variables.
Lucas cracked a hysteric smile and cackle, having held it back. Now the relief was immense. Mira had disabled Morris' gun just in case, because Lucas hadn't wanted to go against this madman. He should've known better, should've expected Morris to assault him. He'd assumed Morris would make it clean, so clearly he had underestimated the sadistic streak in this man's personality. He should've known things couldn't go down that smoothly.
It made sense now, Morris realized. He hadn't baited Lucas, Lucas had baited him.
Morris moved quickly, oxygen burned in his lungs as he rushed at the exit. He ran through with too much force, hitting something, someone. His elbow smashed against their face, a nasty crunching sound marked the breaking of their nose.
The dark all around them, it blurred the details, but he could make out shapes all around him; they had been lying in wait. He could make out sounds though. Guns were pointed around him, but he continued to move, knowing they would not shoot until they had a clear shot - couldn't risk injuring your friends.
He grabbed someone's hand, pulled the gun to his defense and fired it three times at the nearest figures. Grunts and screams sounded and bodies fell. Morris head butted the person behind him, tearing the gun from their limp hand. The action was a blur. It was hard to make out friend from foe. Morris was glad he no longer needed to consider such things; he could just rip through them one by one.
A pain struck his lower back, a kick that made him swagger. Then he felt the cold cruel feel of barbwire around his neck, a body behind him pushing against him to strangle him. A familiar scent invaded his senses; all he heard was controlled breathing by his ear. Was it Carter perhaps? So when they couldn't gun him down safely, they tried to strangle him, was that it?
Morris moved his fingers between the barbwire, pushing against it to keep him from being strangled. Blood was all over and the barbwire had already grazed his neck badly. Now the barbwire was sinking into his hand. He hit blindly at the person behind him with the gun, the blunt force blinding his opponent for a second. Their grip faltered, Morris pulled the barbwire away and retreated back inside the hut where his opponents couldn't shoot him without risking killing their leader.
Lucas was still sitting there, blood pooling around his hand. He hadn't attempted to remove the knife yet, knew it would help him bleed to death faster. His eyes were full of hostility; panic seemed to have grasped his insides. Morris didn't blame him. He hadn't intended to sit here, had he? He'd actually thought they would get a clean shot and end it quickly.
Morris pointed the gun at Lucas again as another figure pushed through the entrance: Mira. She held a gun, but hesitated, knowing Morris was threatening Lucas. Everything had gone to hell despite their plans. Even while outnumbered, Morris succeeded at holding onto life desperately. He was good at evading them, dealing damage with little things. And no one dared to shoot while he moved, fearing friendly fire.
Mira's eyes showed the truth; how she froze with shock when she saw Lucas by the desk, applying pressure with rags to stop the frantic bleeding (for a moment there she'd feared the worst when Lucas hadn't sounded the signal). Then her eyes returned to Morris, his banged up face, the bruises and cuts on his neck, his bleeding hands. She knew he'd pull the trigger before she did.
"Good plan, Lucas," she called to her ally, looking straight past their enemy.
"Didn't expect him to stab me," Lucas responded, sounding out of breath, barely keeping himself from falling apart. Mira knew his injury; it was of the painful sort, made for an extremely dreadful way to die. Lucas put on a brave front in spite of it.
"Should've sided with me, Mira," Morris commented, arm still extended towards Lucas, his aim unfaltering even when he didn't look at his victim.
"You don't have a future, Morris," she smiled back, kicking him in the knee, darting at him to wrestle the gun from his hands.
He kneed her in the stomach immediately, saw her gun fall on the floor, but she reached for his instead. Morris grabbed her hand, his nails tearing at her skin while she tried to yank the gun from his hand. He was stronger than she was, her strength failed her and the gun began slipping from her reach as Morris pushed it towards Mira's face. But Mira pulled the trigger, trying to empty the clip while it was still possible.
Thunder sounded in the hut, the bullets tore through the roof. But the worst was the bang that tore her hearing; it left a ringing in her ears.
Morris tossed the useless gun away, as if unaffected by the sound that set her ears aflame. Somehow she saw another knife in his hands, realized a moment later he'd grabbed it from her belt.
Mira backed away towards the exit, Morris standing between her and Lucas. She wanted to warn Lucas against what he was doing, but knew he wouldn't listen. Mira saw Morris' lips moving; the ringing covered the words, yet the sardonic look when he realized she didn't hear anything conveyed everything he wanted to say.
Behind them, Lucas pulled the knife from his hand whist trying to hold down the nausea, feeling nothing but numbness from his injury. He gripped the knife, feeling the dizziness that was willing to claim him. Yet he held onto to consciousness, fought to stay calm, stay awake. As Morris swung his knife at Mira, Lucas darted at him, ramming the knife into Morris' back, pushing them all outside the hut and onto the wooden platform outside.
Lucas fell almost immediately, strength fleeted from his limbs, left him bleeding on the wood. But Mira and Morris were struggling still, both going for the knife. Morris was pushing her towards the ledge, the safety rail made of rope. Mira pushed herself against him to prevent him from stabbing her, and twisted the knife on his back. He smashed his forehead against hers, a hammering headache tearing at her eyes. His knees didn't buckle, his grip didn't falter.
Another gunshot thundered in the air. Mira felt Morris convulse against her as the power of the shot hitting him pushed them both further towards the ledge. The rope snapped when it met the knife, the support behind her back faltered and disappeared. She pushed her hand through a loop of the cut rope, holding onto it as the fall wanted to pull her down. Mira's grip left her hanging in the air, but Morris' grip on her remained. He struggled to hold onto her, hold onto life.
Mira was down to the last ounce of her strength, and she couldn't pull herself up. It wasn't her hands holding her up anymore. She'd locked her arm in position, held it still by gripping her wrist with her other hand. The rope was digging into the crook of her arm whilst Morris' weight pulled her down.
Mira glanced down at Morris, noticed how his grip faltered. He was hanging onto her belt now; his hands shook violently while he tried to keep holding. She knew he didn't have much left in him, but that she was close to falling as well. So Mira tensed her muscles, lifted her legs onto his sides, clamping him between them, and yanked once, twice.
She saw Morris' face look up at her, defiant even in the face of death. Mira kicked him to the side of his head with her knee, a last ditch effort to drop him before her strength ran out. Her knee connected with his head, his expression cleared. He fell then, and the darkness swallowed him in an instant. Just like that she was left there alone, hanging in the rain.
Her ears were ringing, the rain sought to drench her, and all she could think of was how tired she was. She just wanted to hold her child finally, to know this had all been worth it. Amidst her exhaustion she wondered whether it'd be easier to just let go.
Hands reached for her, eager to relieve her from the burden of choice. Her vision was beginning to blur when they got a good grip of her arms and began hauling her back up on the platform. She felt weightless for a few passing seconds as her comrades lifted her from the mouth of the abyss, and returned her to platform.
All sound was distorted, questions missed. Her muscles burned from the exertion, she had trouble just breathing. She pulled the front of her shirt loose a bit, rubbed her ribcage and grunted at the pain this action brought forth. Her ribs felt bruised, which was no wonder after she'd wrestled with Morris.
Mira's eyes found Lucas passed out further away; others leaned over him, bandaging his injury, trying to wake him. There were others with injuries, some gunshot wounds but she didn't see any dead.
"Mira, Mira!" Carter tried to get a response as he studied her face and hands for damage. She didn't seem to hear anything though, just stared away lost in her own world.
Carter's face supported a sore bruise, but he was otherwise alright. He'd pulled through and acted quickly when Morris had emerged from the hut, wrestling Mira and Lucas. Carter had shot him in the back, hoping it would disable him enough to allow Mira to escape. Of course even after he'd been shot and stabbed, he'd still tried to take Mira with him, nearly stopping Carter's heart as he'd watched them fall off the ledge helplessly.
Carter noticed blood dripping down from Mira's hairline and he moved, finally appearing in Mira's line of sight. Mira recognized him, relief washed through her. Carter sat down on the platform in front of her and took a small towel that was handed out to him. He pressed it against her forehead to stop the bleeding.
"Don't scare me like that," he told her.
Mira merely pointed at her ears, shaking her head. She couldn't hear a word he was saying, and she didn't even try to read his lips. But for a moment there Carter was tempted to say the things he'd been holding back aloud, just to get them off his chest. He decided against it though, pushing it back yet again. He was content with the knowledge that she'd survived.
Skye appeared over them, drenched in blood once more. "Couldn't save Grier," she said darkly. "Cross and Villiers both got shot as well." Considering the situation, Morris had shot with frightening accuracy.
Carter nodded at her. "Mira's alive," he then concluded, like it was all that mattered.
"Lucas?" Mira asked with a foreign voice. It was odd to hear, didn't fit with her person.
"You need to let me take him to Terra Nova," Skye pleaded, glancing at the Sixers who were with him now. "If we just cauterize the wound by ourselves, he could lose a lot of nerve function in that hand. He might never be able to use it again."
Carter contemplated. Their plan had taken more casualties than expected. Lucas had been adamant that they continue with plan B no matter what if Morris turned him down though. According to Lucas it was the only way to survive.
"No," he said, facing Skye's pained eyes. "We carry on as intended. They have the tech to fix Lucas' hand. We'll need to stay there longer, but it's alright."
Carter's gaze met with Mira's again, an understanding bloomed between them.
"We need to get to the portal and end this," he then concluded, taking on leadership.
TBC
Fandom: Terra Nova
Ship: Skye/Lucas
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: bad language, sexual situations, AU
Chapter: 22/?
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: Probably the longest chapter yet. It was a tough one to write, but I hope I succeeded with the action (it's not my forte really). I'm more of a relationship writer.
Things Lost in the Fire
22. The New Deal
Lucas walked Skye to the infirmary, felt her stiffen at the sight of the lone hut, the place of slaughter that was now forever etched into her memory. He didn't try and force her forwards when he realized why she was suddenly unresponsive, he settled to observe her instead. Skye's eyes were made of glass, she seemed lost. Even the pain in her throbbing finger vanished for the moment.
"Skye," he called her, waking her from her thoughts. She stirred and shook off the confusion and the darkness that had sought to emerge. Drops of sweat had risen to her forehead, her skin felt flustered. Lucas didn't force the issue, just pulled her hand towards him to get her to walk again.
She let him take her inside the hut, but she didn't go inside fully, choosing to linger at the doorstep instead. Lucas realized her reluctance, but made nothing of it. He searched the medical supplies for everything they needed, gathered the necessary items in his hands.
Skye couldn't seem to keep her eyes at any one spot, couldn't turn her back at the doorstep, almost like she was expecting someone to burst in here through it. Seeing her like this made his heart heavy, reinforced the decision.
"Hey," he called to her, smiling at her. "Do you need anything else?"
She shook her head, eager to leave already. The dark shadows beneath her eyes were the testament of this ordeal's effect on her. Hidden scars, restlessness, that hollow gaze - all were familiar signs to Lucas. He nodded to her approvingly and guided them out then, recognizing what he needed to do. He noticed her breathing deeper outside, like relief was returning to her body after a prolonged moment of breathlessness.
Lucas motioned one of the Sixers to him, leaned in to whisper something into his ear. The man's name was Villiers, and Skye remembered hearing he was a genuine soldier of fortune (not that you'd believe in the gentle way he often looked after the kids at camp). Skye saw him disperse quickly after he and Lucas exchanged knowing looks, but she didn't ask about it. The pain was back, and the sun had begun its retreat in the horizon. She just wanted to lay by him for awhile.
He led them to his hut, lit the lantern on the table and sat her by it. At this point Skye tried to argue she was more qualified to splint the finger, but he didn't listen to her. Lucas manipulated her finger, checked the others as well to see how bad it was. She gripped the table as he did this, blocked the pain by gritting her teeth, pushing back the moans of pain. Lucky for her it had been just her middle finger.
Skye rolled her eyes at him when he explained to her how glad he was that this might slow her down for awhile, keep her out of trouble. He then proceeded to splint the finger after rubbing a lotion on her finger that helped with the swelling. They didn't exactly have ice here in the jungle, but the lotion helped in every temperature. It stung at first, spread a prickling sensation on her skin, but by the time he started to splint the finger, it already felt much better.
Silence prevailed while Lucas worked on her injury. Despite the kind words before and the understanding they'd had, neither knew where to even begin sorting everything out. Skye avoided looking him in the eye, while Lucas scanned her for more subtle signs of trauma, shock. Having been through horrible things, he just knew this had left a mark on her.
When he was finally done, Lucas placed his hands over hers to warm them. Her fingers felt ice cold underneath his. Skye was staring at the wooden desk, at the carvings she'd made. It reminded her of the other wooden surface she'd carved, of the message she'd left Hicks.
"Bucket," Lucas called to her. Skye's eyes snapped to him immediately.
"We need to talk about it," he then told her, bringing his hand to her cheek, feeling her shiver beneath his touch. Tears followed this contact eagerly, filling her eyes.
"I killed someone Lucas," Skye told him. She leaned into his touch, enjoying the comfort him being here. "It's not going away. Not with any justification."
He pushed himself closer, both his hands on her cheeks now. Her tears fell on his hands, but his hold was strong. Lucas appeared determined to convince her, show her the light in the darkness she was engulfed in.
"I used to think that too," he whispered, jade eyes glowing with pain. "That if I had given my life my mother could've lived."
She listened to him fully now, trying to read into his expression. Just the feel of his thumbs caressing her cheeks drove away the poison in her gut, the burning sensations guilt left behind.
"Survivor's guilt is tricky. It's like a cloud that covers everything. But I need you to believe me when I tell you that you didn't have a choice. Your choice was robbed from you," he then explained to her.
"I just don't see a happy ending anymore," she confessed. "I keep trying to think of ways to get through this, but no matter what, someone always gets hurt."
And she was about to say more, about to bury him in words, in destructive thoughts. Lucas beat her to it by kissing her. Their lips crashed together violently, Lucas fighting to reassure her and Skye eager to take every reassurance she could get. He held her head with his hands, his fingers sunk into her hair, released it from its hold. Skye brought her healthy hand to his neck, ran her fingers across his scars, eliciting a toothy grin from him.
Her pain melted into a hurricane of emotions, desire fuelled her. Even with everything going to hell around them, this made her feel alive. Lucas pressed soft kisses on her lips, her nose, and her forehead. He pressed his own forehead against hers, closing his eyes for a moment to breathe in deep. Skye pushed her lips against his anxiously, unwilling to back out. She inhaled his scent, pushed her tongue into his mouth to drown her senses with his taste as well. It disconnected her from the painful reality, from her own body.
He pulled her closer from her waist, felt her push onto his lap from her chair. But when he looked up at her, there was no smile on her face. Lucas froze. Skye tried to kiss him again, but Lucas took hold of her face instead, keeping her at a distance.
"I'm going to fix everything Bucket," he promised her. "Not just Morris. I mean everything."
Skye examined Lucas with awe. Was this really the same bitter and angry man she'd encountered once? Was he the same man, who'd let his hate define him? Did Lucas finally admit that the terrible events in Somalia hadn't been anyone's fault? This hope was brighter than any word of consolation or justification. Skye held onto it.
Skye rested in his lap, facing him with sad eyes. "It's not the same… I mean, with your mother," she said, looking down at him. Lucas brushed her hair behind her ear when it tried to block his view of her face.
"It's the same," he reassured her. "I saw your face Bucket. I know the need to blame someone other than you. But I can't lose you to such darkness. I won't."
Skye blinked, bewilderment spread across her body. That lump inside her, a place she'd buried her hopes concerning Lucas and his father, unraveled. It unleashed something, a reaction she didn't recognize, and dispelled the lust from her system. The self-pity washed away as she looked at him. Skye lifted her hand to his face, cupped his cheek and felt his hand move over hers.
"Are you saying…," she swallowed between her sentences, nearly losing her voice, "that I can't become like you?"
That was it, wasn't it? He didn't want anyone to go through what he had. To see her survive only because she wanted revenge, because she needed to hate something to sustain herself, it would kill him. Maybe he understood what she saw in him now, what had driven her to betray him.
"When you hit him, all I could see was me, crazy from grief. My father didn't make it possible to hold onto him when my mother died; he made it easy to hate him," he recalled. For once, Lucas' voice didn't shiver nor did anger emerge when he spoke of his father. Actually he sounded almost tranquil.
He slid her hand to his lips from his cheek, and kissed her hand palm gently. "I'm here for you Bucket. You don't need to take that road," he told her, truly meaning every word.
It was true. Hatred had been easier than feeling grief without end. Hatred had been easier than wallowing in pity or dealing with what had happened. Because Morris was an outsider she didn't feel anything but resent for; because she was a murderer now and Morris deserved death.
She cast her eyes down, finding his devoted stare just too much at this time. A moment later she hugged him with both arms, tying them around him as carefully as possible. She pressed her body close, landed her jaw on his shoulder and held him tight.
"I'm with you, Lucas," she said.
All of this had been impossible from the start. It had sparked from a random encounter one beautiful day. And the spark had survived six months of separation, the lies told in fear, the actions taken because of it. The spark had remained, grown into love against the odds. Skye recognized it was madness, that things could've gone wrong so many times already.
But for the first time she considered that maybe they hadn't lied to one another that day on the Falls. She'd been more honest to him than anyone. He'd shown her a side of him no one seemed to know. Everything that had come since hadn't changed the people they loved. Actually they'd just given each other the chance to be who they really were in the open. She was fearless and capable, freed from the chains that had previously held her down. He was caring and responsible, no longer pushing everyone away because he was too scared to trust others.
There was a knock. Lucas let her go, turned to look around his shoulder while she climbed off him. She was curious about the intrusion as well. Lucas rose to his feet and walked to the entrance, finding Mira behind it.
She looked listless and mute, nothing like her usual self. Her eyes scanned Skye, yet it wasn't an assessment of threat, but a genuinely worried inquiry. Once she realized Skye was alright, her posture became more relaxed.
"I think it's time," Mira told Lucas, speaking of something she considered unfortunate. Lucas placed his hand on her shoulder reassuringly, actually offering solace to her for the first time and without a hidden agenda.
"I'd say it's well past due," he then answered, and they shared a knowing look between two allies. It made Skye feel like things could turn out good again.
Cards followed rules, rules were predictable. People didn't follow rules, but they were so very predictable once you had them pegged. His purpose here was to read the people, see what rules they followed and then fix it. But the thing was people didn't follow his rules, cause and effect didn't meet his intensions with so many variables.
Morris took a swig off the bottle, anointed his lips with the alcohol. It wasn't much, just enough for a taste. The surface of the bottle fell. He placed the bottle by his - Carter's - desk and continued to deal the cards in his private game. Queens and jacks embraced, the kings were unwanted. He made one move and another, mind engulfed in other things completely.
His cheek was supporting a bruise, his jaw was tender. Skye Tate had packed a punch with her untrained hand whether she'd known how to inflict maximum damage or not. But what really had him thinking was Mira. Her support could've ended everything. For a moment there, Morris had felt her uncertainty, her willingness to join him. She'd slipped away though, choosing these people over her child, placing her trust in someone she really shouldn't have.
Everyone here was different; it was the root of his problem. Even little Skye Tate wasn't the easily manipulated teenager she was supposed to be. They had constructed a castle of cards carefully before he'd come here, made a plan, issued the orders. Now that castle was falling apart, because apparently there were too many variables, too many rules to consider.
Outside rain pounded against the wooden platforms, playing a melancholy tune. According to Mira they were approaching the rainy season, that the rivers flooded and the wildlife escaped the risen water levels to new territories. They moved the camp fully into the trees this time of year to avoid animals wandering into anyone's hut at night. Mira had warned her he might need to share his hut with someone if he was still here. Morris fully planned to still be here.
A presence shook him from his thoughts, a breeze of wind, something disrupting the fall of the water. Morris turned a bit hastily, grasping his gun that rested in his lap while his eyes scanned the entrance of the hut. Lucas Taylor stood right behind him, hands in the air, peace on his lips. It didn't make Morris turn his gun from him, but it killed the tension somewhat.
"It's time we talked," Lucas said with conviction, stepping inside carefully. Morris raised a surprised brow at this; he hadn't expected Lucas to come up to him like this. Fear over the safety of his girlfriend had to be driving him to recklessness.
Lucas was wet; his skin glistened with moisture in the lantern's light. He didn't seem to carry a weapon, but Morris was certain it was simply concealed. Water dripped down from Lucas' boots into the hut. The rain water had a unique stench, sharp like freshly cut grass.
Morris gave him a nod and pointed him at the seat on the other side of the desk. Lucas followed this sign of admission and took the seat, fully aware that he had a gun pointed at him through-out this.
For a moment they just stood there, staring at one another, evaluating. Morris dealt another hand into his game, showing no signs of nervousness or distress. He appeared even more driven and devilish in the lantern's light. His olive skin was darker, his eyes more focused and the tattoo on his arm was more vicious. Lucas knew he was physically more imposing, even if Lucas had spent five years in the wild. Morris was disciplined, strong in ways that he couldn't conceive. Words were a weapon more suited for him in this fight.
"We need to renegotiate," Lucas stated, crossing his hands on the desk.
"You need to get your act together and work on those calculations, Taylor," Morris responded. He'd leaned back on his chair, and was eyeing Lucas suspiciously now. Then a smile curved over his lips as he licked the alcohol from them slowly. "Unless you want to admit they've been done ever since I arrived?"
Lucas didn't react visibly. It was the truth though. He had been buying time, unwilling to open the gate until he knew what to do next. He could've prevented everything, but he'd wanted to know more.
"They're sound now," Lucas responded, ignoring the taunt and insight Morris had shown.
"Then give them to me and all will be over," Morris assured. He wasn't that interested in the calculations though - he could've made a play at them earlier, could've pushed harder. No, people were this man's specialty.
"I think we need a new deal," Lucas pointed out, placing something on the desk. It was a device of some sort, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. Morris didn't seem that interested in it.
"They're paying you enough to be a king." Money was meaningless to men like them though. They craved for challenges, for chances, for change. The real payment had always been a chance to usurp his father, a way of destroying what he held dear.
"I want sanctuary for every member of the advance team and any relatives of theirs they desire. And Skye of course," Lucas announced, feeling a surge of fire in his veins as Morris seemed to focus on him for real now.
"From an angry son to a humanitarian, that's quite a change Taylor," Morris threw back venomously. He didn't care about the Sixers or about anyone caught in this mess. He'd considered Lucas a worthy opponent, but felt bitter disappointment when he'd realized Lucas was a changed man.
"That's my price," Lucas confirmed. He didn't pay any heed to the way Morris had reacted.
Morris' eyes fell to the device on the desk. "What's that?"
"It's for you," Lucas replied. "You take my deal and that device, get the hell out of this camp and go through the gate. I never want to see you again."
Morris actually snorted at this, finding the suggestion incredibly funny. His grin revealed his teeth, that sadistic smile made a return. It chilled Lucas. He knew the response before he even heard it.
"I take your word and that toy, and get myself gunned down at the portal. That's your plan Taylor?" he asked with disbelief, nearly spitting the words.
"We're not your private army," Lucas hissed back. "We're not expendable."
Morris chuckled viciously. "Of course you're expendable! Why else would've they sent you here first instead of trained soldiers?"
He offered Lucas the bottle and Lucas took it in anger. The alcohol burned his throat when he took a drink hastily. His eyes never left Morris during the action. He couldn't afford to take his eyes off the enemy.
"Well that will change," Lucas declared, wiping his lips clean to the sleeve of his shirt. "We've been loyal servants, we've endured hell. I think we all deserve to stay here with the people we love."
"So you're sending your liaison through the jungle alone with some kind words and a promise?" Morris countered, clearly unable to trust any of them.
"Take the deal Morris," Lucas advised with little emotion. "You wouldn't like us when we're not co-operative."
He glanced at Lucas again, finding no sign of deception on the young man's face. Of course he knew Lucas Taylor wanted to consider himself a great thinker and leader underneath. He was more alike to his father than he wanted to admit. Honor was important, keeping your end of the deal was essential. That's how you built dynasties, on the trust of others.
So he could accept that the device would help with the gate. Too bad it meant he needed to put an end to this charade.
"The thing is Taylor…," Morris begun, something predatory flashing in his eyes, "The jury's been out on you awhile now. My associates at Terra Nova found a copy of the calculations in the memory banks of the Eye. So I don't really need you for anything."
The information sunk in, a surprise that wanted to halt Lucas. Of course his father hadn't erased the files completely even after he'd shot the hard drive to pieces. Of course it had been their intention to secure the calculations when they realized he was slipping away from their reach.
Lucas hesitated for a moment, but it was enough for Morris to act. Seconds later as cold steel stabbed through Lucas' hand on the desk, he felt Morris' hand press against his mouth, muffling the guttural scream of pain that erupted from his lips. The knife had penetrated his hand and dug deep into the wooden desk beneath; he could see this before the pain flooded his senses, forcing his eyes shut.
Morris allowed him to take in the pain, to feel every aspect of it. He watched with gleeful delight.
Lucas opened his eyes again after his consciousness seemed to shift into his hand. Blood pooled all over the table, and more kept bleeding from the wound. He tried to move his hand, but nothing happened. Judging from the position of the knife, there would be nerve damage if he didn't bleed to death before that, Lucas realized in agony.
Morris' fingers moved from Lucas' mouth next and the bastard looked at his handiwork calculatingly.
"It was decided that I should terminate our contract if you proved to be uncontrollable," Morris explained calmly.
He'd placed his gun on the desk when he'd risen on his feet to stab Lucas. Now he took the gun and pointed the barrel at Lucas's forehead. All Lucas could see was the gun, everything around it was a blur. He was glued to his seat, nerves aflame because of this assault, mind slipping because of the pain.
Morris pulled the trigger, but his gun didn't fire. Once again the rules didn't apply, there were too many variables.
Lucas cracked a hysteric smile and cackle, having held it back. Now the relief was immense. Mira had disabled Morris' gun just in case, because Lucas hadn't wanted to go against this madman. He should've known better, should've expected Morris to assault him. He'd assumed Morris would make it clean, so clearly he had underestimated the sadistic streak in this man's personality. He should've known things couldn't go down that smoothly.
It made sense now, Morris realized. He hadn't baited Lucas, Lucas had baited him.
Morris moved quickly, oxygen burned in his lungs as he rushed at the exit. He ran through with too much force, hitting something, someone. His elbow smashed against their face, a nasty crunching sound marked the breaking of their nose.
The dark all around them, it blurred the details, but he could make out shapes all around him; they had been lying in wait. He could make out sounds though. Guns were pointed around him, but he continued to move, knowing they would not shoot until they had a clear shot - couldn't risk injuring your friends.
He grabbed someone's hand, pulled the gun to his defense and fired it three times at the nearest figures. Grunts and screams sounded and bodies fell. Morris head butted the person behind him, tearing the gun from their limp hand. The action was a blur. It was hard to make out friend from foe. Morris was glad he no longer needed to consider such things; he could just rip through them one by one.
A pain struck his lower back, a kick that made him swagger. Then he felt the cold cruel feel of barbwire around his neck, a body behind him pushing against him to strangle him. A familiar scent invaded his senses; all he heard was controlled breathing by his ear. Was it Carter perhaps? So when they couldn't gun him down safely, they tried to strangle him, was that it?
Morris moved his fingers between the barbwire, pushing against it to keep him from being strangled. Blood was all over and the barbwire had already grazed his neck badly. Now the barbwire was sinking into his hand. He hit blindly at the person behind him with the gun, the blunt force blinding his opponent for a second. Their grip faltered, Morris pulled the barbwire away and retreated back inside the hut where his opponents couldn't shoot him without risking killing their leader.
Lucas was still sitting there, blood pooling around his hand. He hadn't attempted to remove the knife yet, knew it would help him bleed to death faster. His eyes were full of hostility; panic seemed to have grasped his insides. Morris didn't blame him. He hadn't intended to sit here, had he? He'd actually thought they would get a clean shot and end it quickly.
Morris pointed the gun at Lucas again as another figure pushed through the entrance: Mira. She held a gun, but hesitated, knowing Morris was threatening Lucas. Everything had gone to hell despite their plans. Even while outnumbered, Morris succeeded at holding onto life desperately. He was good at evading them, dealing damage with little things. And no one dared to shoot while he moved, fearing friendly fire.
Mira's eyes showed the truth; how she froze with shock when she saw Lucas by the desk, applying pressure with rags to stop the frantic bleeding (for a moment there she'd feared the worst when Lucas hadn't sounded the signal). Then her eyes returned to Morris, his banged up face, the bruises and cuts on his neck, his bleeding hands. She knew he'd pull the trigger before she did.
"Good plan, Lucas," she called to her ally, looking straight past their enemy.
"Didn't expect him to stab me," Lucas responded, sounding out of breath, barely keeping himself from falling apart. Mira knew his injury; it was of the painful sort, made for an extremely dreadful way to die. Lucas put on a brave front in spite of it.
"Should've sided with me, Mira," Morris commented, arm still extended towards Lucas, his aim unfaltering even when he didn't look at his victim.
"You don't have a future, Morris," she smiled back, kicking him in the knee, darting at him to wrestle the gun from his hands.
He kneed her in the stomach immediately, saw her gun fall on the floor, but she reached for his instead. Morris grabbed her hand, his nails tearing at her skin while she tried to yank the gun from his hand. He was stronger than she was, her strength failed her and the gun began slipping from her reach as Morris pushed it towards Mira's face. But Mira pulled the trigger, trying to empty the clip while it was still possible.
Thunder sounded in the hut, the bullets tore through the roof. But the worst was the bang that tore her hearing; it left a ringing in her ears.
Morris tossed the useless gun away, as if unaffected by the sound that set her ears aflame. Somehow she saw another knife in his hands, realized a moment later he'd grabbed it from her belt.
Mira backed away towards the exit, Morris standing between her and Lucas. She wanted to warn Lucas against what he was doing, but knew he wouldn't listen. Mira saw Morris' lips moving; the ringing covered the words, yet the sardonic look when he realized she didn't hear anything conveyed everything he wanted to say.
Behind them, Lucas pulled the knife from his hand whist trying to hold down the nausea, feeling nothing but numbness from his injury. He gripped the knife, feeling the dizziness that was willing to claim him. Yet he held onto to consciousness, fought to stay calm, stay awake. As Morris swung his knife at Mira, Lucas darted at him, ramming the knife into Morris' back, pushing them all outside the hut and onto the wooden platform outside.
Lucas fell almost immediately, strength fleeted from his limbs, left him bleeding on the wood. But Mira and Morris were struggling still, both going for the knife. Morris was pushing her towards the ledge, the safety rail made of rope. Mira pushed herself against him to prevent him from stabbing her, and twisted the knife on his back. He smashed his forehead against hers, a hammering headache tearing at her eyes. His knees didn't buckle, his grip didn't falter.
Another gunshot thundered in the air. Mira felt Morris convulse against her as the power of the shot hitting him pushed them both further towards the ledge. The rope snapped when it met the knife, the support behind her back faltered and disappeared. She pushed her hand through a loop of the cut rope, holding onto it as the fall wanted to pull her down. Mira's grip left her hanging in the air, but Morris' grip on her remained. He struggled to hold onto her, hold onto life.
Mira was down to the last ounce of her strength, and she couldn't pull herself up. It wasn't her hands holding her up anymore. She'd locked her arm in position, held it still by gripping her wrist with her other hand. The rope was digging into the crook of her arm whilst Morris' weight pulled her down.
Mira glanced down at Morris, noticed how his grip faltered. He was hanging onto her belt now; his hands shook violently while he tried to keep holding. She knew he didn't have much left in him, but that she was close to falling as well. So Mira tensed her muscles, lifted her legs onto his sides, clamping him between them, and yanked once, twice.
She saw Morris' face look up at her, defiant even in the face of death. Mira kicked him to the side of his head with her knee, a last ditch effort to drop him before her strength ran out. Her knee connected with his head, his expression cleared. He fell then, and the darkness swallowed him in an instant. Just like that she was left there alone, hanging in the rain.
Her ears were ringing, the rain sought to drench her, and all she could think of was how tired she was. She just wanted to hold her child finally, to know this had all been worth it. Amidst her exhaustion she wondered whether it'd be easier to just let go.
Hands reached for her, eager to relieve her from the burden of choice. Her vision was beginning to blur when they got a good grip of her arms and began hauling her back up on the platform. She felt weightless for a few passing seconds as her comrades lifted her from the mouth of the abyss, and returned her to platform.
All sound was distorted, questions missed. Her muscles burned from the exertion, she had trouble just breathing. She pulled the front of her shirt loose a bit, rubbed her ribcage and grunted at the pain this action brought forth. Her ribs felt bruised, which was no wonder after she'd wrestled with Morris.
Mira's eyes found Lucas passed out further away; others leaned over him, bandaging his injury, trying to wake him. There were others with injuries, some gunshot wounds but she didn't see any dead.
"Mira, Mira!" Carter tried to get a response as he studied her face and hands for damage. She didn't seem to hear anything though, just stared away lost in her own world.
Carter's face supported a sore bruise, but he was otherwise alright. He'd pulled through and acted quickly when Morris had emerged from the hut, wrestling Mira and Lucas. Carter had shot him in the back, hoping it would disable him enough to allow Mira to escape. Of course even after he'd been shot and stabbed, he'd still tried to take Mira with him, nearly stopping Carter's heart as he'd watched them fall off the ledge helplessly.
Carter noticed blood dripping down from Mira's hairline and he moved, finally appearing in Mira's line of sight. Mira recognized him, relief washed through her. Carter sat down on the platform in front of her and took a small towel that was handed out to him. He pressed it against her forehead to stop the bleeding.
"Don't scare me like that," he told her.
Mira merely pointed at her ears, shaking her head. She couldn't hear a word he was saying, and she didn't even try to read his lips. But for a moment there Carter was tempted to say the things he'd been holding back aloud, just to get them off his chest. He decided against it though, pushing it back yet again. He was content with the knowledge that she'd survived.
Skye appeared over them, drenched in blood once more. "Couldn't save Grier," she said darkly. "Cross and Villiers both got shot as well." Considering the situation, Morris had shot with frightening accuracy.
Carter nodded at her. "Mira's alive," he then concluded, like it was all that mattered.
"Lucas?" Mira asked with a foreign voice. It was odd to hear, didn't fit with her person.
"You need to let me take him to Terra Nova," Skye pleaded, glancing at the Sixers who were with him now. "If we just cauterize the wound by ourselves, he could lose a lot of nerve function in that hand. He might never be able to use it again."
Carter contemplated. Their plan had taken more casualties than expected. Lucas had been adamant that they continue with plan B no matter what if Morris turned him down though. According to Lucas it was the only way to survive.
"No," he said, facing Skye's pained eyes. "We carry on as intended. They have the tech to fix Lucas' hand. We'll need to stay there longer, but it's alright."
Carter's gaze met with Mira's again, an understanding bloomed between them.
"We need to get to the portal and end this," he then concluded, taking on leadership.
TBC