A/N: My first Terra Nova fanfic, but definitely not my first fanfic in general. I've been in the fanfiction world for about five years now. I've never written a fic quite like this one, though. There is no real plot, it is a one-shot, and there is no conversation. This is, quite simply, a character study that I couldn't get out of my head. Please keep that in mind. I hope you enjoy this insight into what I think Lucas's mind is like. Please review and thanks for reading.
Disclaimer: I do not own Terra Nova or anything associated with it.
He closed his eyes and leaned against the tree trunk, breathing steadily but not deeply. Shallow breaths were the only thing that seemed to dull the pain even slightly. Even then, it felt as though flames were licking at his skin. The pain that riddled him seemed almost fitting. He'd failed, again. It was only fair that he should be punished like this.
At that thought a bitter, sadistic chuckle rose from him. Although it made his side hurt even more, he couldn't stop the laughter that bubbled up. He wasn't quite sure why he was laughing. Perhaps it was anger, or maybe it was a coping mechanism to help with the pain. Or maybe it was because of the disbelief that washed over and throughout him.
His father had won.
Lucas had felt sure that he had the upper hand this time. He had played the part of the tearful, confused, anguished son quite perfectly if he did say so himself. Taylor had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. He'd pulled Lucas into his arms and welcomed him back as the prodigal son. And then Lucas had stabbed him in the back… literally. Well, almost literally: he'd actually stabbed him in the side.
He'd stabbed him: thought for sure that this time would finally be the end. Lucas had thought that he'd finally get to exact his revenge and watch his father die. But that fucking bastard… he'd had something up his sleeve yet again. It wasn't as though his father had planned for Skye to come bursting out of nowhere, gun blazing and eyes full of fear, but he still blamed Taylor. The man had a magnetic force about him that demanded loyalty from nearly everyone he came into contact with. Skye, traitor though she was, was not exempt from that magnetic field. She'd betrayed Taylor, yes, but she still felt the need to rescue him from his wayward son.
Lucas tilted his head up and watched the passing clouds. His father may have won, but the war was not yet over. Lucas had managed to slip right from under his father's nose, with two bullet holes to hinder him. He wasn't quite sure what he was going to do about that, yet. They were through-and-throughs, but he wasn't a medic: he didn't know if they'd hit anything vital. He was still alive, so he assumed they hadn't hit anything that he desperately needed, but perhaps he was wrong. It had happened once or twice before, after all.
He'd been wrong about the ease with which he would bring down his father. He'd assumed at first that the man would crumble as soon as his precious Terra Nova was torn from him. Looking back, he should have known that his father was far too stubborn to just let it go; he should have known that his father would fight tooth and nail to gain it back. Lucas was willing to admit that they were similar in one way: both were stubborn as hell.
Lucas chanced a quick glance down at his chest and grimaced. It wasn't looking good. There was far too much blood and not much to work with. He looked at his surroundings, cataloguing everything he saw and noting what might help to stop the bleeding and heal his wounds. It took him a few moments to coax his body to move, but eventually he managed to make his way to an old, rotting log. Using the very knife that he'd stabbed Taylor with, Lucas cut off a small portion of bark and scooped out a handful of the maggots within. The prehistoric cousins to the white, disgusting creatures of 2149 would help the wounds avoid infection. A nearby plant provided the leaves and vines he needed to make bandages. He hoped it would be enough to keep him alive until he could get treatment from a real medic. He had some faith in his abilities to care for his own wounds; he hadn't survived five years alone in the jungle solely by luck. However, he still knew that these bullet holes might cause him more trouble than any other wound he'd received so far.
With his wounds finally tended to, Lucas once again leant against his tree and closed his eyes. He'd lost far too much blood, and he could feel the exhaustion that was caused by it. He'd need food and water, along with sleep, to allow his body to replenish his blood supply.
As soon as he was feeling a bit stronger, he'd begin to make his way to the Bad Lands to regroup with Mira and The Phoenix Group and begin his work once again. For now, though, he would stay sitting against this tree and allow himself to drift and dream of the day he would take away everything that mattered to Taylor. He'd already taken Washington; it was a shame, really, the woman would have been a nice asset, but she had been far too loyal to Taylor to ever turn her back on him. It was that damn magnet effect again.
Lucas shook his head to rid himself of those thoughts. It didn't matter how many people his father had on his side. They were cut off from the future; they didn't have the kind of resources that Lucas had. It didn't matter what Taylor did; it didn't matter how many battles he won: when push came to shove, Lucas would ultimately win the war that was being waged. This he was sure of.