Author's note: So, I decided I needed to write this little one-shot to fill this plot bunny before he invades my other story, the two are not inter-related, but go ahead and read if you'd like :)! It is intended as a one-shot, but it may be continued, we'll see. For right now, this is as it is. This is set during Episode 12 when the soldier tells Lucas another convoy has been hit.

Disclaimer: In keeping true to this episode, I have used some of the conversation that the actors did, but Fox owns that. I own the rest of the conversation, but nothing else!

The coincidences were coming too fast to be anything but carefully laid plans, and Lucas thought he knew exactly who was giving his Father intel. He turned to the soldier behind Weaver. "Ask Skye to meet me at the bar in thirty minutes," he said dangerously. He turned back to Weaver. "By the end of tonight, we'll find out just exactly who is fucking up our plans."

"And if it's the girl?" Weaver said cautiously.

Lucas half-smiled. "I told her not to betray me again." He said lightly, turning, striding out his office, down the stairs to Boylan's, taking a seat and gesturing for a drink. The brown-haired kid came over to attend to him. "Whisky, double shot." He ordered. Josh came back, slamming a cup of whiskey on the table, and Lucas downed it in one go, coughing slightly. "Refill." He growled, twirling his finger. Josh grabbed the cup again, and re-filled it quickly, slamming it down again, and Lucas repeated the process. "Fill it up, kid." He growled again. Josh shook his head, doing as Lucas said, and Lucas waved him away with a gesture of his hand.

Lucas sat there, staring at the cup, willing it to give him answers to the questions he knew he was about to have answered. She couldn't be, but he knew she would be. She had betrayed him before, just like everyone else in his life. Why should this time be any different? It didn't make it any easier though. He slammed his fist onto the table, trying to release some of his anger. He could feel the alcohol coursing through his system, making him slightly dizzy, trying to distract himself from what he knew would have to be done when she confessed. He grabbed his cup, downing it again in one shot, and slamming it down, staring into it's bottom.

Boylan gestured to Josh. "Shannon, table 4 needs a refill." Josh glared at him, grabbing the bottle of whiskey again, walking slowly over to the table.

Lucas looked up suddenly, intrigued by the boy, knowing this was Shannon's kid, they were goddamn crawling all over the place. "Another Shannon, huh?" He said lowly. "You seem to be everywhere." Josh didn't answer, grabbing his cup, refilling it, and slamming it back down on the table, spilling it slightly. Lucas tilted his head to the side, slightly confused by the display. He knew everyone hated him here, how could they not? But to blatantly display it? The kid was walking on thin ice.

"Is there anything else I can get for you?" Josh said lowly, eyeing him with contempt, and Lucas felt his temper starting to flare.

"You look sad," he said, mocking in his tone. "You didn't lose a friend in all this, did you?" Lucas watched Josh's eyes flicker with hurt, and his smile broadened. Welcome to the world kid, they screw you over. He knew the kid fancied himself a hero, had heard tales of him, and wanted to give him a welcome to the real world. The one he had been forced into when he was 14, forced to watch his Mother die in front of his eyes, mercilessly, tortured to death as he had been held back from her, screaming, pleading with them to let her live. And they'd ignored him. Now, he couldn't care less if they hated him, it was for her, it was always for her. The only person that had made his existence slightly more worthwhile had betrayed him again, after he had forgiven her countless times. His life was fucked up, and someone high up there was laughing themselves ridiculous at his expense. Lucas grinned at Josh mockingly. "Buck up kid." He said lightly, reaching into his pant's pocket for some money, slipping a terra into Josh's shirt. "Here's a terra, go buy yourself a new friend!"

And then he saw her. The woman who had allowed him to finally complete his life's work, and had held his salvation in her dainty hands. Only to betray him to the very person he hated more than anyone else on this planet. Then he'd extended his hand in friendship again, desperately seeking solace in her company, only to have her betray him again, and he couldn't allow her to continue. Not when everything that his Mother's salvation lay on depended on him.

He sat down with her, shooing the Shannon kid away, noting the glances that passed between them as his temper flared. He asked around the issue, wanting to delay the inevitable as much as possible, and he couldn't take the looks anymore, needing to prompt her into confessing. He stroked her cheek gently, ignoring the tightening in his chest at his proximity to her, resisting the urge to close his eyes and just enjoy the moment, that could never be him. He felt the alcohol spiking his heart rate and with the lack of food he'd eaten, his head was going fuzzy. Struggling to hold on, he grabbed her hand, ignoring her protests, needing to ground himself. He felt a tap on his shoulder, and turning around, his head spinning and feeling anger raging through his system at this whole fuck up of a world and his life, he was greeted with a serving tray being bounced off his skull, hearing Skye screaming behind him. Don't worry Bucket, he thought amusedly, I'm almost dead anyways.

He tried to push himself up off the floor, the alcohol affecting his coordination, and was hit once again, and he felt his lip split open and blood gush forth. He felt the rush of air past him as Phoenix Soldiers grabbed the kid, and he finally fought his way up off the ground. He really did not want to have to do this, but it had to be done. Otherwise there would be more people doing this, and the Phoenix soldiers would do much more to the colonists than a simple punch. He attempted to clear the fog in his head, knowing that this had to be done. He gestured up with his hands, "Hold him up." He stated. The soldiers held his arms behind his back, and watching him struggle, seeing himself in the kid's position all those years ago, knowing the scene that would be playing was weakening his resolve, and he resisted the urge to clutch at his head, to block out those memories, and sink to the floor in a mess. He had to be strong for this, for her. He cocked his fist back, and punched with all his might into the kid's face, trying to knock him out, begging for that small mercy so the kid wouldn't have to suffer what he did.

The kid staggered backwards, barely conscious, and Lucas had no choice but to allow the Phoenix Soldiers to keep roughing him up. The kid was pushed, but not hit again, and Lucas steadily found his way to a seat, praying that he wouldn't fall unconscious himself. He couldn't stand it anymore though. "Alright, alright, enough!" He yelled ,and the soldiers instantly stopped. He held out his hands in front of him, "I've gotta say, I'm a little hurt. I've been nothing, if not generous in my treatment of you people. You brought this on yourselves, and now, I'm going to have to make an example of you." He barely finished his sentence when he felt indescribable agony lancing through the back of his head, neck, and spine, and pitched forward, slumping to the floor.

He lay there momentarily, resisting the urge to retreat inwards and succumb to the pain. He slowly staggered to his feet, knowing that he was minutes away from falling unconscious, waiting to ensure that the older Shannon was subdued. A soldier turned out his pockets, and Lucas found the answer to his questions, the transponders, it was genius. At that instant, Lucas felt some slight happiness begin to bloom in his chest, Skye hadn't betrayed him. It had been the Shannons. He found it in him to hold on for a few more minutes. "Where is my Father?" He asked steadily, not expecting an answer, and not receiving one. "Where is he?" He yelled at the top of his lungs, holding onto the anger to keep him conscious. He sighed, not receiving an answer. "Take him to the brig. And him too." He watched the soldiers take both Shannons out the bar, and lay the rest of the terras in his pocket on the table, not waiting to see the aftermath.

He staggered slowly outside, the effects of the alcohol and the numerous hits he'd taken to his head, face, and back combine to make him feel like he was slowly drowning, unable to catch his breath properly, unable to coordinate himself. He made it up the stairs, staggering dangerously, holding onto the rail, praying that no one was watching. He made it to the top, and palms faced flat on the wall, he slowly tried to inch himself along, but couldn't take it any longer, pitching to the side, lying on the ground, trying to catch his breath, shutting his eyes to stop the spinning.

"Lucas?" Came Skye's worried voice. "Lucas!" She said urgently. He opened his eyes blearily to find her on her knees next to him on the ground. He closed them again, not caring about anything at that moment, wishing that this wasn't happening, that non of this had happened. Plenty of people had perfectly ordinary lives, what had he done that he had deserved this? Skye tapped the side of his face, and he groaned at her touch, the slightest thing causing him excruciating agony from his multiple beatings. "Lucas, we need to get you to the hospital."

He groaned, and lifting his hand he waved slightly, indicating her to leave him alone. Leave him in his pool of despair and misery. Skye shook her head at the stubborn bastard. "Fine." She said through gritted teeth. "I'll go and get some soldiers, and they can help you to the hospital," she said sweetly.

His eyes snapped open, glaring furiously at her, and then losing all energy, he just stared blankly at her. Just why did she have to make him feel things again? Didn't he deserve some joy in his pitiful existence without it being another lie, just like everything else? He didn't advocate violence. He hadn't started this path to kill his Father. His Father had started it. When he had killed General Philbrick, Lucas had grabbed the gun, not knowing what to do. His Father had just murdered someone in front of him, wasn't he the enemy now? He had been unable to shoot his own Father though, to his own downfall, and had been exiled. While it didn't make things all that different as his Father had expressed his disdain of him, from as early as he could remember, all his childhood hopes of finally having a Father who loved him died inside him. There was no hope after that of reconciliation, it was all gone. Everything that he had ever hoped for, both his parents, a chance at some normalcy, someone loving him, gone.

He had arranged the deal with his employers to show his Father that he wasn't the failure he thought he was, that having intellectual smarts was different but just as good as physical smarts, but his Father hadn't cared. He'd never cared about him. He'd only cared about himself and his precious soldiers, never his own flesh and blood. While Lucas hated his Father, his only thought still was to show him that he had finally beaten him, but never to kill him. While his Father could do that to him, there was something still holding him back.

Then she'd shown up, blowing his plans to shit, yet again. "I don't think I can get up," he said slowly, the alcohol finally weakening him. She huffed, and grabbing his hands in hers, she looked at him apologetically, and then putting in every ounce of her strength, slowly pulled him up off the ground, until he was upright, and leaning against her, panting heavily.

"We need to go." She said hastily. "You might have internal bleeding, your brain might be hemorrhaging."

He chuckled lowly, lifting his hand up carefully. "And why exactly do you care, Bucket? No one cares. You should be celebrating right now. I could have died tonight, and then you'd be free."

Skye looked at him harshly. "I care about you because you're the person who can stop this. I know there's a good person in there somewhere, Lucas, and you need to stop this!"

Lucas laughed lowly. Of course she only wanted him because of the things he could do for her. No one ever wanted him for himself. First it was his brain from his parents, the only thing he could do apparently, lacking the physical strength his Father desire of him to make him into a strong soldier. Then it was his brain again for the money he could make his employers. Now she wanted him for his bargaining tools. He started shuffling slowly, arm slung over her shoulders, and her arms around his waist, heading towards his quarters.

Skye stopped him quickly. "This isn't the way to the hospital." She said quickly.

"I'm not going to the hospital," Lucas grunted, gritting his teeth through the pain.

"Lucas, you could die from a brain hemorrhage, do you want that?" She snapped. "There could be something seriously wrong with you, and if it's left untreated you could die."

Lucas chucked lowly. "Isn't that what you want, my darling Bucket?"

Skye pulled her arms from around his waist, causing him to stumble, and hold onto her shoulders for support, she grabbed his face gently in her hands, and leaning in, slanting her mouth over his, kissing him fiercely. He responded back just as passionately, tongue tracing the seam of her lips, demanding entrance, her mouth opening on a soft moan, his tongue caressed hers gently. She broke away quickly, conscious of just how weak he was. "I don't know why I care about you, but I do. So, you can get your ass to the hospital right now."

Lucas shook his head slowly. "I'll be fine. I've been hit like this before, I'd be able to tell if something was wrong. Just take me home, Bucket." Skye eyed him cautiously. He sighed. "I can't go to the hospital, I just can't. You can stay with me if it means that much to you." He teased her gently, shocked at her nod.

She lifted his arm, placing it over her shoulders, and slipping her arms around his waist, they slowly shuffled to his quarters. He punched in the code slowly, not caring that she saw it, and the door slid back with a hiss, lights turning on automatically. Since the layout was the same in most houses, Skye knew where his bedroom was, and quickly manoeuvred him over to it, finally getting him to the bed, and with a groan, he sat down. She took off his boots quickly, and raised his legs, placing them on the bed, as he turned himself around, collapsing weakly against the pillows, trying to catch his breath.

Skye walked quickly to the kitchen, grabbing a flannel, running it under water, and the med kit from under the sink that all houses came with. She came back into the bedroom, feeling her heart melt slightly at his bruised and battered face. She grabbed a stool, pulling it over to the bed, and carefully started wiping the blood from his face. He moaned slightly, pain coursing through his body. She smiled gently at him, wiping his face clean, his eyes watching her every move.

She reached into the med kit, and grabbed some painkillers, handing them to him, he grabbed a glass of water on his nightstand, downing them with a gulp. She lifted her hand, placing it on his eye. "Blink," she said shortly, watching his pupils. She placed her hand on the other eye and repeated the procedure, pupils dilating together. "I don't think you have a concussion," she said, frowning down at him. "Although if we'd gone to the hospital, we'd know for sure, or if there was anything else wrong."

He blinked his eyes blearily, opening his mouth, and then beckoning her with his hand, she leaned over, worried that he couldn't speak. He gestured her closer still, and when she moved, he grabbed the back of her head, pulling her down to him, ignoring the agony in his chest and his head, capturing her lips with his, fighting for dominance, as she kissed him back just as fiercely. "I know why, but I care about you too." He whispered, and finally giving in to the pain and the alcohol, he slumped back against his pillows, succumbing to unconsciousness.

Skye licked her lips slowly, feeling as though they were slightly bruised and definitely swollen. Lucas looked so relaxed in his sleep, more peaceful than she'd ever seen him. She stood up carefully, not wanting to wake him, and carefully drew his blankets over him, tucking him in gently. She leaned close to him, "I care about you, because I know you're a good person deep down somewhere. And I have faith in you," she whispered, pressing her lips to his forehead. She settled back on her stool, and settled in for the long haul, making sure that he would survive the night.

These two do funny things to my emotions! As always, I love to read your reviews :)!