A/N: Been getting some reviews asking me to continue this. Don't worry, I definitely am continuing! Still writing this, just a bit slow due to end of year assignments and other stressful stuff, but I am still here and I am still working on this fic :) I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Thick as Thieves chapter 26

"What do you think's gonna happen?" Skye asked apprehensively as she picked at the stale fruit on the plate in front of her. This was all they had left over from the market, and it was now the best lunch they had to offer. Michael had lost his appetite, staring down at his own plate, hearing Tasha's sniffling as she tried to settle down to sleep in the next room. The girl was so grief-stricken and exhausted she could hardly stand up, so Deborah had taken her to get some much-needed rest.

"Don't worry about it. We'll think of something," Michael promised, although he had his doubts. "My dad's still out there. He'll find a way to get us out of this…he's the bravest man I know."

"What if he can't?" Skye's lips dropped in a pessimistic frown. Michael missed that playful smile, the one that brightened up the room.

"Hey," he said gently. "Trust me." He placed his hand on top of hers. "Everything will be okay."

She looked into his eyes, but she didn't seem to feel any better. "I betrayed Lucas," she confessed. "He's gonna want to see me…he's gonna be angry with me." Her eyes dropped to the fruit, no intention of eating it as she tore off the hard skin around the surface.

"Look at me, Skye." She did. "I won't let him hurt you."

She nodded, smiling sadly. But then Michael couldn't shake what Lucas had said to him, about their time together, how close he'd said they'd become.

"Those weeks you spent together," he finally said. "What happened? Lucas, he…he seems to be fond of you. I've never seen him like that with anybody before."

She paused a moment, the sad smile deepening, and she sighed. "It's complicated…but…I thought I could get him to listen to me, you know? I thought I could convince him not to do what he was planning on doing. I thought that could at least make up for all the trouble I've caused, maybe stop people hating me."

"Nobody hates you," insisted Michael. "You're part of this colony, and right now we all need to stick together."

"I guess." She smiled again but there was still a sadness in her blue eyes. He felt like she was holding something back about Lucas, but, unsure how to pursue the subject any further, he let it drop for now.

They heard soft footsteps and they both looked up to see Deborah shuffling out from the other room, her breaths still heavy and weak. Skye went to help her.

Michael stood. "Are you okay, Mrs Tate?"

She smiled. It was the first time he had seen her smile, and she looked much like her daughter when she did. "I'm much better than I was," she replied. "The medicine is helping a lot."

Michael was relieved. He remembered the cure taking a while for Alicia too, but Deborah had been ill for a long time. He imagined that the treatment would take some more time before she was back to normal health again.

"Tasha's asleep," she added. "Poor girl." She put an arm around Skye. "I'm so lucky to be back with my little girl, where I belong."

Michael was glad for them; at least something good had come out of all this.

"I've been told you took good care of her while I was away," said Deborah, looking up at him. "And that you protected me while I was in the care of those people. Thank you, Michael. For everything you did."

For a moment he wasn't sure how to respond. He had never imagined being thanked. He had been locked up, ostracised, punished and deemed a threat for his actions. But now, here he was, being thanked for his good intentions. "Of course," he said quietly, and he couldn't help but smile a little, just to show what a relief it was not to be seen as a traitor for once.

A loud thumping noise at the door interrupted them and a member of the Phoenix Group came to take Michael away, claiming Lucas had assigned him to dinner duty.

He didn't want to leave. It felt right being here with Skye and her mother and Tasha. Especially with Guzman gone, it felt like he was betraying him if he left Tasha now. But once again, he had no choice.

There was no sign of Lucas on the way to the market, but Michael did bump into another unwanted guest as he was being escorted. She looked at him like she always did, like she was looking down at an ant, relishing her superiority over him.

"Nice to see you so soon, Michael," said Mira, the smallest smile creeping into the corner of her mouth.

"Wish I could say the same," Michael replied, the mere sight of her making his blood boil. She knew she had won, and she wanted Michael to know how all those months of torture and resistance were always leading up to this, right to this moment. But she didn't always win. "How's your head?" he queried, recalling how he had escaped from her captivity just days ago. He took pleasure in seeing her smirk drop then. But she didn't let it deter her from taunting him.

"From what I hear, we're going to be working pretty closely for the time-being. Just like old times."

Michael said nothing in response; he let her gloat. She may have had her own reasons for doing all of this, but it didn't lessen the resentment he felt for her. After so long of wanting to be free of her, spending even more time with Mira felt like an extra punishment for his crimes. What was one more to add to the list of ever-growing reasons why his home had become his own personal hell?

And the worst of it was being totally and utterly powerless. Lucas had tabs on him 24/7, Wash was God knows where; he had no weapons, no strength left. Plus, the Commander was completely off the grid. The only man who might be able to help was lying unconscious in the infirmary. But even if he did wake up, how was Michael going to get to him before the others did? His mind started to process all the possibilities. There had to be a way…

"That hope you're holding on to – you may as well just let it go." Mira broke him from his thoughts, dragging him back into the horrible reality. She didn't seem so smug anymore though. "Trust me," she continued, frowning. "It's easier if you just accept it." With that, she pushed past him and left him to his assignment.

Michael was given the mundane task of handing out trays and cutlery to the colonists as they queued for their meals. At least with this job he could feel like he was actually doing something to help his damaged community while they were under the watchful eye of the Phoenix Group. But the tired, pale faces he was met with told him that people had already given up on repairing what was lost. There was no longer any judgement in the tired gazes of these people, only helpless desperation. And it made him feel worse.

When he saw Doctor Shannon emerge from the long queue, he noticed how incredibly worn out she looked – the long hours taking care of the wounded was taking its toll. This looked like her first break in a long time. He greeted her with a sympathetic smile as he handed her a tray. And then he asked after Jim.

She offered him a weak smile, bags forming under her eyes. "He's still unconscious. But he's stable for now."

"I'm pulling for him," Michael said, and he meant it too.

"Keep moving," barked one of the Phoenix Group men, shooting them a cold look.

Elisabeth gave Michael another brief smile before moving on. He spotted her daughters not far behind, looking equally as pale and anxious. He supposed that Maddy was considering the possibility that Reynolds had been killed. Michael had. No one had any idea what had happened to him after the attack. He was either with the Commander, or dead. Michael remembered the last time he had seen the Corporal, standing idle as his men beat him to a pulp. He decided he would still mourn the loss, however. He would still grieve – if not for Reynolds, then for the poor young woman who had fallen in love with him.

"Hey, stop!"

Her voice rose up above the crowd and curious heads started to turn. Michael saw two enemy soldiers standing by Maddy Shannon, harassing her. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but she looked bothered by their commentary, especially with her young sister on the other side of her. It was unbearable not intervening. He tried to look away, biting down hard on his lip, trying to block out the argument, but when one of them grabbed her, he knew he had to do something.

He pushed the soldier away from her, and the guy snapped.

"Hey! What's your problem?"

"You better not touch her again," threatened Michael.

"Or what?" the arrogant soldier persisted.

"She's not interested in you, okay? Just leave her alone." He glanced at Maddy and her sister, both looking pale and anxious beside each other.

"You have no say in what we do here, Terra Novan," the second soldier declared angrily. "If we want a girl, we'll have a girl."

Enough; Michael hit him, even though he was sore from battle, even though he expected another beating. He socked him and he didn't regret it. Not even when the brutes smacked him back and restrained him and took him to see Lucas and Weaver at Boylan's Bar.

They pushed him down the steps so that he fell into an empty table and when he looked up he saw Tom standing ahead of him, his expression full of nervous relief.

"Michael…glad to see you in one piece," he said, smiling faintly.

"I wouldn't speak so soon, Tom," Michael said before the soldiers grabbed him again and took him over to a table where Lucas and Weaver were sitting. Maps and empty cups were scattered all around them.

"He was causing trouble," one of the men explained, shoving Michael forward.

Lucas tutted: "You were always drawn to mischief. Why don't you sit down, Michael?"

The soldiers were dismissed and Michael sat down. He had never felt so uncomfortable sitting in the bar. The place was full of Phoenix Group soldiers, drunken and disorderly, laughing loudly as if they hadn't a care in the world. The only friendly face he recognised was Tom's, and even he looked tired and nervous as he dashed from table to table, serving drinks to the enemy,

"How was our lovely sister?" questioned Lucas, smiling. Though each smile he gave seemed more devious than the last.

"She's fine, no thanks to you." He frowned, thinking of Tasha again and how, right now, she probably felt like she would never be fine again. "Do you have any idea what this barbaric army of yours has done?"

"They're not my army," Lucas replied, leaning forwards. "They're our employers' army. And whatever they want, they get."

"So I've heard," Michael said, sitting uncomfortably in the wooden chair.

"They're not like your Terra Novan soldiers," Weaver added, his tone condescending. "They're skilled killers. That's what makes them so good."

"Good?" Michael retorted. "You know they killed a girl's father." He looked at Lucas, scrutinising him, trying to find at least a shred of humanity in him. "I was with him when he died. I saw him take his last breath." Michael felt the rage burn inside him again, the image of Guzman's destroyed body, his daughter sobbing on her knees at the loss.

"People die in wars," Lucas said.

"It could have been me, you know."

His brother looked away from him. "You chose to fight on the wrong side."

"No!" snapped Michael, banging his wrist on the table. "You brought ruthless killers to a peaceful place. You did this. They're murderers."

"So are you," his brother hissed, his voice low and angry, green eyes flaming. "You and the Commander. Murderers, killers. Even heroes have a little blood on their hands," he added resentfully.

Michael froze, feeling the two of them stare at him, feeling them judge him the same way he was judging them. And he knew he deserved it, he was just as bad, because Lucas was right. He was a murderer long before this battle. The image of the General's skeleton laid out on that table still made him feel sick with guilt.

"Weaver," said Lucas, his voice calm again. "Why don't you give my brother and I a moment?"

His accomplice nodded, scooting back his chair and heaving himself up as if the loss of his presence had some big significance. Michael was still scowling at him when he had left for the bar and started to bark more orders at poor Boylan.

But then, beyond them, in the corner, he only just caught a glimpse of her. Sitting there alone. Miserable. All hope lost; his dear Alicia, drowning her sorrows. He could tell by the look on her face, her troubled frown – she blamed herself for all of this.

He wanted more than anything to go over there. To take her hand and tell her this wasn't her fault. It was his. And he wanted to fix it. He couldn't bear the thought of her punishing herself for his mistakes. If only he could sit with her, even just for a moment…

But he couldn't let himself. He couldn't let Lucas know how he felt about her. His brother already knew that he could use her against the Commander, but if he knew he could get to Michael too…there was no telling what Lucas would do just to spite him.

"All of this could have been avoided if you had just let things take their course," Lucas snarled from across the table. "But you just had to intervene. You just had to save our father."

"He doesn't deserve to die," Michael said quietly, as if in a trance. "He's a good man, a good leader, and this colony is our home. Whatever you want me to do, I won't do it. I won't turn against my home."

"Really?" Lucas said, unimpressed. "And how many times have you met with the Sixers? Lied to the Commander, just to cover your tracks?"

Michael's guilty silence spoke for him. He looked down at the table, at the maps and diagrams sprawled out over it.

"Just as I thought," Lucas continued. "You've betrayed this colony more times than you can bare thinking about. And now everyone knows it. You've been working for me long before today."

He was repulsed by the thought, but it was true. The box had been Lucas' all along, not Mira's, and he had given it to her and set all this in motion.

"Now, you're going to help me find him."

"I told you," Michael huffed. "I don't know where he is."

"But I think you do. You see, the irony of all this, dear brother, is that even though we are the twins, it is you and our father who are identical. All of that military training he tried to drill into us, it only stuck with you, and I know you'd at least have an idea of what his next move would be…"

Michael hesitated. "I can't. I'm not as good at tactical thinking like him…"

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Lucas told him, failing to seem sincere. "Just give me an idea. What's he planning? An attack?"

There was a pause as Michael thought it over. He imagined his father, out there in the woods, gathering whatever remained of his men. Formulating a plan. "No," he said, still thinking. "You have too many civilians. He knows you can use them as hostages. He won't risk it."

Lucas sat back in his seat. "Fine. So, what?"

Michael thought again, considering all the possible tactics, how right now it seemed like Lucas was winning. Did his father really have any moves left? Then he realised. Maybe that was the point. The skilful player was the one who waited, who observed. There was a famous phrase his father used to say. He could hear his voice inside his head, reminding him: "Strategy requires thought, tactics require observation". He suddenly felt less alone, that maybe hope was closer than he thought.

"Michael."

"It's like a chess game," he remarked, watching his brother's impatient gaze. "He's waiting for you to make your next move."

Lucas scoffed. "So he's hiding in the bushes like the coward he is."

"No," Michael said. "He's waiting to draw you out, while your defences are low and there's less at risk. Then he'll make a move."

"And what can he possibly do?" Lucas said derisively. "There's no way he can get to us."

Michael allowed himself to smile. "It's like you don't know him at all."

Lucas rolled his eyes. "Weaver!" he called.

Weaver appeared by his side, another cup in his grasp.

"Make a note," continued Lucas, his gaze not leaving Michael's. "Tomorrow we pay a visit to the quarry. Bring some explosives."

"What are you doing?" demanded Michael.

"My job. The quarry will just be the first of many more sites we plan to excavate."

"What happens when you've succeeded in mining this place to oblivion? What happens when it's all gone?" Michael urged, desperation in his voice. "Then there's really nothing left for humanity!"

"Humanity will find a way," Lucas answered coldly. "It's in our instincts to survive. Even if it means the suffering of others."

"Survival of the fittest and all," Weaver smirked. "Those at the top of the food chain survive the longest."

"You mean those with the deepest pockets," Michael ridiculed, finding the presence of this man even more unpleasant.

"It's the way of life," Lucas said.

Michael didn't believe it, but his brother obviously did. His outlook on the world was as bleak as his own heart. Was this all because of their mother's death? Had her murder truly made Lucas this jaded? Or was someone else responsible for drilling such ideas into his head?

"Since the quarry is Sixer jurisdiction, Mira will be our escort," added Lucas, already scribbling busily onto the map on the table. "And Michael, you'll be accompanying us too."

"Me?"

Lucas nodded. "It's no secret Mira isn't fond of me," he said. "She responds better to you – she likes you."

"What?" Michael was an endless list of questions. Just the notion was ridiculous – Mira despised Michael as much as he despised her. Didn't she? And after what happened at the Sixer camp before the attack, Michael was convinced she wanted to murder him.

"She must find the hopeless, good guy act endearing," Lucas mumbled, getting to his feet. "Anyway, I need you there in case the Commander shows."

"Why would he be there?" asked Michael, confused.

"The chess game," replied Lucas, as if it were obvious. "I'm making my move."

TBC