Prison Break - The Tancredi Maneuver
Title: The Tancredi Maneuver
Author: clair-de-lune
Characters: Sara, Kellerman, Michael, Lincoln
Timeline: post 2.16
Word count: ~ 455
Genre: Crackfic
Rating: PG
Summary: She can’t stand it anymore.
She can’t stand it anymore.
She’s irritated, aggravated, fed up, sick to the back teeth.
There’s absolutely no reason why she should accept being shipped, fluffed, angsted, dramatized with a guy who used her, who is just interested in her key and has no other solution to all the crap she’s had to cope with than running to a country with no extradition laws. And who kisses her in a train bathroom. Bathroom. Granted, it was quite telegenic, but still... bathroom.
Seriously, Panama? Is this his plan to ‘make all of this right’ (© Michael Scofield)? Ha!
No, really: Ha!
* *
She has chosen to call it The Tancredi Maneuver (© Sara Tancredi). She likes the sound of it. Of course, this needs a bit of Planning (and there she goes, thinking of the word with a capital letter), but anything remotely looking like a string can make it happen. A hood string. Belt. Bra strap (she would love to see their faces if she did such a thing).
She decides that using the Tancredi Maneuver on Michael has to be Now or Never. So does she. Plan Boy wriggles to escape the string, and Lincoln doesn’t dare to move, fearing she might pull harder and damage his baby brother. Kellerman doesn’t move either. Because, well... it’s not like Kellerman has never wanted to use the Tancredi Maneuver on the Burrows-Scofield, it’s just he’s never had the guts to do it. Wimp.
She takes advantage of their stupefaction to order (yeah, order, she likes the word) Kellerman to call the cops. And then to tie Lincoln. And then Plan Boy, who had certainly not planned such a turnaround. He keeps telling her it’s real, what’s between them, it’s real. Mm, real, less real than the ropes around his wrists and ankles though, huh?
“What about me?” Kellerman asks, a bit worried. She remembers he’s trying to screw the Company, the President, the Secret Service, the FBI and only God knows who else. His life expectancy is quite short.
“You? Panama. With me. Plan Boy must have a back up plan to the back up plan. We just have to find out where he’s hidden it in the damn tattoo.”
“Panama together?” He’s positively beaming. Well, yeah, he can. Plan Boy and big brother are less cheerful, though. “Will we eat crack pies?”
She raises her eyebrows. Right. If he thinks that, he’s probably already eaten too many crack pies. But she doesn’t quip a word, because the Tancredi Maneuver goes well the stick/carrot system.
“Maybe.”
She’s a lot less shippable, fluffable, angstable, drama-able, now, isn’t she?
* *
She’s getting a tan on the beach, in Panama, her fingers playing with the string of her bikini top.
* *
End notes: Thanks to be_cool_bec for her help with the translation. The original version can be found here.
Author: clair-de-lune
Characters: Sara, Kellerman, Michael, Lincoln
Timeline: post 2.16
Word count: ~ 455
Genre: Crackfic
Rating: PG
Summary: She can’t stand it anymore.
She can’t stand it anymore.
She’s irritated, aggravated, fed up, sick to the back teeth.
There’s absolutely no reason why she should accept being shipped, fluffed, angsted, dramatized with a guy who used her, who is just interested in her key and has no other solution to all the crap she’s had to cope with than running to a country with no extradition laws. And who kisses her in a train bathroom. Bathroom. Granted, it was quite telegenic, but still... bathroom.
Seriously, Panama? Is this his plan to ‘make all of this right’ (© Michael Scofield)? Ha!
No, really: Ha!
* *
She has chosen to call it The Tancredi Maneuver (© Sara Tancredi). She likes the sound of it. Of course, this needs a bit of Planning (and there she goes, thinking of the word with a capital letter), but anything remotely looking like a string can make it happen. A hood string. Belt. Bra strap (she would love to see their faces if she did such a thing).
She decides that using the Tancredi Maneuver on Michael has to be Now or Never. So does she. Plan Boy wriggles to escape the string, and Lincoln doesn’t dare to move, fearing she might pull harder and damage his baby brother. Kellerman doesn’t move either. Because, well... it’s not like Kellerman has never wanted to use the Tancredi Maneuver on the Burrows-Scofield, it’s just he’s never had the guts to do it. Wimp.
She takes advantage of their stupefaction to order (yeah, order, she likes the word) Kellerman to call the cops. And then to tie Lincoln. And then Plan Boy, who had certainly not planned such a turnaround. He keeps telling her it’s real, what’s between them, it’s real. Mm, real, less real than the ropes around his wrists and ankles though, huh?
“What about me?” Kellerman asks, a bit worried. She remembers he’s trying to screw the Company, the President, the Secret Service, the FBI and only God knows who else. His life expectancy is quite short.
“You? Panama. With me. Plan Boy must have a back up plan to the back up plan. We just have to find out where he’s hidden it in the damn tattoo.”
“Panama together?” He’s positively beaming. Well, yeah, he can. Plan Boy and big brother are less cheerful, though. “Will we eat crack pies?”
She raises her eyebrows. Right. If he thinks that, he’s probably already eaten too many crack pies. But she doesn’t quip a word, because the Tancredi Maneuver goes well the stick/carrot system.
“Maybe.”
She’s a lot less shippable, fluffable, angstable, drama-able, now, isn’t she?
* *
She’s getting a tan on the beach, in Panama, her fingers playing with the string of her bikini top.
* *
End notes: Thanks to be_cool_bec for her help with the translation. The original version can be found here.