A/N: This story is written for a Skye/Lucas Valentine Challenge back in LJ. Ryuuichimitsuka's prompt: "It's better to be unhappy alone than unhappy with someone. -Marilyn Monroe"

This one is more akin to darkfic than shippy, but since the prompt wasn't that romantic, I'm hoping this'll be ok. As usual I got kinda carried away with the characters.

PRETEND

The crying just won't end; Skye has lost control over her tears, over her restraint. It's because she knows it is her fault, knows she is the cause of this. If she hadn't met with Lucas, Josh wouldn't have gotten in that fight, Jim wouldn't have exposed himself to save his son, the Shannons wouldn't have needed to escape last night, and Wash, oh god, Wash wouldn't have had to die.

There is nothing in her heart but contempt now, even as Tasha tries to hold her still and make her see she couldn't have done anything differently. "That man is a monster," she whispers in Skye's ear, trying her best to shift the blame, "He was just looking for an excuse to kill someone, anyone."

But no words will help her; no contact will bring her back to the way things were. All she can see is the way she'd watch Wash smile mischievously at Taylor, winking back to her, promising she'd turn his stubborn head around. All she can see is the way Wash would protect her even when she knew what Skye had done, the way she'd stepped between her and Lucas, fierce and unyielding. All she can think is that Lucas had killed her on a whim, a fucking breakdown.

And there's a knock on their door, neither of them making a move to open it, because they both know what it's about. "I won't open it," Tasha promises, squeezing her harder. Skye clings onto her hopefully, relishing this moment where she believes she'll be as strong as Wash was, that she can still be better.

The door opens a little later with a click, the correct sequence of codes overwritten so easily when one has the access level of Commander. He steps in quietly, almost polite in his approach. Skye doesn't look, her face is buried in Tasha's chest, cradled in her arms, but Tasha does. She can see the soldiers by the front door, each armed and ready to act if they cause trouble. Fear clutches her when she looks up into Lucas Taylor's expressionless face and hears him call, "May I have a moment with Skye?"

And she's so scared, her body feels stiff suddenly, it alerts Skye no matter how hard Tasha tries to fight it. Skye lifts her head gingerly, bringing her devastated face into light for Lucas to see. She swallows hard and wipes the tears into her sleeves of her cardigan, gathering what little pieces she has left of her dignity.

"Go Tasha, go see Max," she says weakly, knowing it's either this or having to watch them drag Tasha away against her will. Tasha can't believe what she's hearing, but she sees the intense glare Lucas shares with Skye and chooses to follow Skye's wishes. Washington stood against him and look what happened to her? Tasha flees while she still can, touching Skye's arm with her fingertips until she's too far and she lets go, walking outside. They close the door behind her, leaving Skye and Lucas alone.

Nothing about Lucas betrays his emotions. He is collected, hands slid in his pockets, yesterday's clothes rumbled on him (he's probably slept in them) and his whole appearance speaking against his vicious nature. He looks weary, a bit bewildered actually.

"I don't want you here," she tells him, hands lain on her lap, strands of her curly hair glued to her wet cheeks. She looks like a mess: a beautiful broken girl as pretty as a painting even in her current state. She hopes he'll find her ugly, be disgusted with her weakness, and resent her earlier rejection, because she can't handle him now.

And yet Lucas moves closer to her, sadness visible in his eyes. He ignores her words, doesn't let them change his mind about how he needs to be here for his little sister, his devastated, suffering Bucket.

"I was worried about you, Bucket," he says, like it explains everything, gives him forgiveness for being what he is.

Her eyes dart at him, visibly hostile and her expression is distorted in rage. "Get the fuck out Lucas!" she yells, pointing her hand at the door, mustering the little strength she has left.

He just takes that hand in his, caressing her hand palm gently and squatting at her feet, looking up to her hurt eyes. "I can see that you're hurt," he muses to her softly, not quite seductive like before, just compassionate. She wonders where that compassion was when he executed one of the few people she looked up to here.

Skye tears her hand from his, repelled by his touch. She pulls her hands over her heart, feeling it beat wildly in her chest, just about to burst. Tears climb into her eyes again, she turns away from him. "Go away. You don't exist to me," she whispers with resent, finally getting through to him.

He stands up and pulls her face back to him by grabbing her jaw firmly into his grip. "I understand you're hurting, but please let me help you," he says without a trace of his earlier kindness. He's demanding her to let him comfort her, to let him try and fix this mess he made. Skye looks up to him and feels her eyes burn with rage.

"I would rather be miserable alone than miserable with you," she says with unheard of crudeness, cutting him deep. He struggles with what he's hearing, not knowing how to process it. He can recall the feel of her lips painfully from just yesterday and even the smile she would give him in secret, whispering her longing in his ear, like a hidden truth.

Then he yanks her up to her feet from her hand, pulling her forearm forcefully. His breathing hastens, his emotions run across his head, turning into a maddening blur. He stares into her bewildered eyes, observes how vulnerable she looks as he holds her.

"You're wrong," he says, squeezing her forearm a bit too tightly. "I can take your misery away," he then promises, his hands finding their way to her flushed cheeks. He's holding her too close again; his body is eliciting unwanted responses from her, just like yesterday when she pretended to care for him to save Josh.

Skye tries to pull away, but he won't let her. His intensity is overwhelming; he invades her senses, overloading everything: smell, feel, hearing, eyesight. For a few seconds they breathe in unison, feel more like pieces of the same whole than separate beings.

"Family is there to get you through the misery, the bad and the difficult," he tells her while staring right at her, their faces just inches away from touching.

She doesn't respond, because she doesn't know how to. He's not her family, he's not a lover - he's nothing to her but misery, the root of evil. And yet she finds herself lost in his closeness, it overrides the emptiness, filling that void inside her: A whiff of his musky scent, a drop of sympathy, his voice speaking to her like she's the only person in the world that matters.

"Wash was family," Skye says numbly, shooting him with a blaming look. "You're not."

He's inflamed by her lies, her false interest, her scheming looks and touches. She holds him captive though, even when he knows she's treacherous, that it was just pretend. Even when she shoots him down and seeks to harm him anyway she can, he wants her more than ever. He craves for her brutal honesty like a masochist begging to be hurt.

"I can be," he tells her harshly before he presses his lips against hers, enjoying their soft feel for a moment. He feels her press into this kiss a bit, barely noticeably, yet it's there. Her lower lip is caught between his; he nips it lightly, inviting her to join in desperately. But Skye doesn't, not even when she lets his kiss erase her like a chalkboard, leaving nothing but traces of what was there before.

Lucas stops the kiss with a sigh, realizing she's not playing along. Suddenly everything feels wrong; his body is heavy, his teeth too sharp, his mouth full of her taste, salty tears still lingering on his tongue. His hands retreat from her cheeks, finally giving her room to breathe, to let that smothering cloud of emotions run free. Her eyes are full of clarity when she looks back at him, a gaze he could drown in happily.

He brushes a heavy lock of hair from her face affectionately, unsure of what to say. She's closed him outside already, refusing to talk to him, to let him console her. Yet he tries, unable to say why.

"What I did was unforgivable, but I have no qualms about that, because it needed to be done," he tells her, hoping she'll realize that he's beyond their black and white comprehensions of moral. "Alicia was never going to bend, to fit in the new order."

For the first time Skye considers the possibility that Lucas and Washington have known one another for a long time. She realizes to her shock that if Washington has been with Taylor for over a decade, she must've also known Lucas. Having watched the closeness between Wash and Taylor for years now, suspicion creeps into her mind as she asks herself what was Wash to Lucas?

"Alicia?" she questions him, rediscovering her weak voice.

Lucas clings onto her words immediately, believing he's found a crack in her armor, a way back into her good graces. "Yes, Alicia," he says with a slow hiss, his hands making their way around her. He rocks her slowly; their hips joint suddenly as he laughs a bit into her ear.

"Alicia Washington, my father's emotional mistress, his dry land in the horizon," he speaks with contempt now; reveals how he truly feels about the woman, who always understood, always had an answer.

Lucas can still remember all those times he would stand rejected by his father, try and reach out and be left with her instead. And she would try and explain, to justify his father's actions, even when Lucas didn't want it. He could see clearly how she slowly inched herself into their lives, replacing his mother, a messenger between the warring father and son; Repulsed by her, yet yearning for her wisdom, her answers.

The only time she wouldn't answer was last night, when she had stared deep into his eyes, pleading for him to show her she wasn't wrong about him, that he was simply lost. Lucas had known she was tempting fate, trying to get to him, as she uttered the words just like old times: You have your father's eyes. Pulling the trigger had been easy, he'd been working towards it for so long, and now that string was cut, his father's anchor was broken.

"Without her, he will slip. He will be astray and exposed. And I will be able to kill him finally," Lucas explains, no trace of indecision in him. He believes every word he utters to her.

"My only regret is that her death made you cry," he tells her, bringing her hand to his lips. The hand kiss is chaste, more of a polite gesture than actual contact. It's when she doesn't flinch or pull away that he reaches for her lips with his sloppily. She turns her head, and the kiss lands on the corner of her mouth, disappointment flashing in his eyes seconds later.

"You murdered her in cold blood, Lucas," she tells him gravely, forcing him face to face with the truth. "She never wanted that for you, not ever."

Of course not, he thinks to himself, irritation in his eyes. Alicia wanted to keep them together, bridge the broken relationship between him and Nathaniel. Her love for his father was never sexual, never about the physical. It was based on respect, trust and the yearning to see him happy again, but Alicia had known Nathaniel's happiness was tied to the son he loved, the fruit of his union with his wife, someone she could never replace. So she had given everything to mend that bond, failing miserably in the end.

He fails to give her an answer though, leaving her caught in his arms, sensing his battle between instinct and reason. "I will never love you," she tells him before she breaks free from his hold, leaving him standing there alone.

Lucas is left there to absorb her words, her cruelness. He realizes she's slipping away and considers for a fleeting moment if it's worth it, this quest for revenge. Seeing Alicia at his feet dead and broken had filled him with hope that the struggling could end, the constant need to fill one man's dreams and desires. He'd felt hope that the strangling hold his father still had over him could be overcome, that he could be his own man, make his own choices. And now she's turning away from him, when he wanted to be this new person for her.

"Then pretend," he tells her without emotion, his voice reaching her even when she's put distance between them. Skye turns to him in shock, considering what it is he's asking of her. Would he really settle for a lie? The answer is all over his face; he's serious, thinks he loves her in his own deluded way.

A part of her dies in that moment; it slips into the dark along with Wash, buried in silence. She embraces this deal, a transaction that will guarantee the end of his misery and the protection she desires for her loved ones. She names her price, "No one else gets hurt. Not even your father."

Lucas comes to her, intrigued by her demands. The hatred he's carried is rooted strong, demanding for more blood, especially his father's. His salvation is the knowledge that his father will now come after him, and if it's kill or be killed, not even Skye can hold him accountable for self-defense. He believes himself when he promises this, "It's a deal."

She's taunted by the warmth of his body, by the closeness he wishes to offer her. Lucas feels the desire to kiss her, take her right now, but there's a warning in her gaze, saying, I decide what I give and when. He can respect that, as love doesn't happen overnight. He'll plant a seed, and it'll grow, and some day she'll realize she isn't acting any more. Then he'll have hold over her like she does over him.

A thought crosses her mind as he hugs her from behind, bemused by her closeness again, desire already on his lips. Is this what she is to him: A weakness to be exploited? Maybe Taylor can use this, maybe she owes him that?

Lucas walks her back to the sofa, sits her down and holds her close. The deception is already masterful, as they appear quite intimate in their pose. He watches her sink in his arms, relaxing her head over his chest. It isn't romantic, but it's more than he could get an hour ago; it's closeness in a way he's not felt with anyone else before, and he can't quite shake away that edging suspicion that she's honest with him in that moment too.

She cries some more, while he holds her close, whispering into her ear like the devil he is.

"She was the last one, Bucket, I promise," he tells her, and she finds this knowledge oddly comforting.

-fin