Waiting for You
Title: Waiting for You
Author: skybelpb
Chapters: 1/1
Characters: Sara Tancredi, Michael Scofield
Word Count: 2107
Rating: G
Warning: Character Death
Spoilers: S1, S2, S3 up to 3.04 ‘Good Fences’
Author's Note: In answer to the unofficial MiSa happy ending challenge by mrs_spleen, this is what I came up with. I decided to make a happy-ish ending without changing canon.
Waiting for You
I sit on the park bench, shoulders and back straight, legs and knees together, the epitome of prim and proper while my eyes stare ahead without seeing anything. I, of course, am anything but prim and proper, but only I know that. I learnt from an early age that the image you portray to the world is what is important. In fact, I should have thanked my father for this knowledge; for it was a lesson I needed in order to be successful as a prison doctor.
I must remember to thank him, I think before I feel the pang in my heart reminding me that he is dead through my actions.
I have no idea how long I have been waiting, but waiting seems to be something that I have become good at over the years. I feel as though I have always been waiting, for my father to come home and pay attention to me, for the passage of time so that I could move out of home, for any of my boyfriends to want me for more than just the drugs I was able to supply them with, for someone to love me.
As time passes I cannot help but become restless and find myself twisting my hands together, pulling the sleeves of my top down over them and pushing them down between my knees. Eventually, of course, despite my good intentions, I cannot help slumping on the bench, my back slouching and my shoulders leaning forward. I pull my legs up onto the seat and cross them at the ankles. Once comfortable, I feel much more at ease.
I have never been good at sitting straight, much to my father’s chagrin. My mother was too busy drinking by the end to really care what I was doing, but my father’s eyes had this knack for admonishing my lack of manners, even from a distance. Whether I was seated on the lounge or at the dinner table, whether I was at home or at friends, his eyes always seemed to seek me out. Most of all, I could never get it right when we were at a public function, and even when I tried my hardest I always felt his eyes watching me, waiting for me to do something wrong.
I suppose I could be like so many who bemoan their childhood, blaming each of my poor choices on my upbringing, but I have come so far past that now. I know that I have nobody to blame except myself for any of my actions. At each point in my life I have always had a choice and the fact that I spent many years making the wrong ones? Well, I chalk it up to character development.
For the first time in my life I feel comfortable in my own skin.
I hear someone approaching and look up in anticipation, my eyes flying open and my breath catching. I assume my eagerness is apparent to everybody, if they cared to notice, but the man continued passed me, not even looking in my direction.
From behind I can hear the excited exchange as he is greeted by his family or friends. I don’t even bother to turn around to check. Soon the voices fade and I am once again alone.
Looking back down at my hands twisting in my lap, I feel a single tear escape my eye and travel down the curve of my cheek to stop at my jaw. Its fate is of no consequence to me, and before it even has a chance to fall it has left my mind.
My breath leaves my lungs in a long drawn out sigh.
I am waiting for Michael of course. He asked me to wait for him, so long ago it seems, and even though I told him at the time that I couldn’t, I always knew that I would.
Now, after everything that has happened, I still do not regret my association with him. And I know that I never will. One of the things I spent my whole life waiting for was Michael Scofield to walk into my infirmary.
Everything that happened to me before that meeting led me up to that point in time and I find that I no longer wonder what if? I gave up on those types of dreams a long time ago because Michael taught me to trust and to have faith. I no longer have the inclination to think about a life that is not my own and if my choices led me to this point in time, then I will work with what I have.
What I have right now is faith.
It seems like such a tangible thing, but it is in fact the thing that grounds me now.
I have no idea what has happened to Michael since I last saw him, when he handed himself over to the Panamanian police in order to save me or even since we last spoke, during that all too brief telephone call. But I know with all of my being that Michael will find me when he can.
I have no idea how long I have waited thus far. In some ways it feels like minutes. In other ways it feels like days or even years. While my body slouches I don’t actually grow tired, because I know that I will wait for him for as long as it takes.
I don’t care how many people pass me and greet loved ones. I look up each time in expectation and I look down again with a sigh when it is not him. But I don’t feel frustrated or bored or angry. I feel like I am in limbo, unable to go on with my life until he returns to me.
While I wait I feel at peace.
***
When an immeasurable amount of time has passed and I once again hear someone approach, I have an unexpected feeling; a tingling that envelopes my whole body and I just know it is him.
Suddenly, I panic and cannot look up. My breath is rasping in and out of my throat loudly and it is not until I feel the pain emanating from my hands that I realise that I am clenching them so hard they are turning white.
Closing my eyes, I push my breath out forcefully and grasp at the faith that has momentarily fled. I do not want him to see me upset or panicked. When I see him I want to be calm.
When peace once more settles within my soul, I pause for one more second before I look up.
He is striding towards me, hands in his pockets, eyes downcast. He looks just as I remember him, but there is as aura of sadness that surrounds him now where once there had been determination and purpose.
I push myself to my feet and I suppose it is this movement which attracts his attention and he looks up, those blue/green eyes staring right at me. I can see the shock settle over his features. When his steps falter momentarily and he pulls his hands out of his pockets, I barely notice it because I have kept my gaze on his eyes.
They are just as penetrating as they always were, but now there is something else there. Of course, there is the sadness that I had already taken note of, but this is entirely different and has the stamp of time and despair. I find myself catching my breath in fear.
Then his eyes light up and his mouth curves upwards into a smile of pure joy and my breathing stops for an entirely different reason. I have seen so many expressions on that face, all catalogued and examined during my wait, but I have never seen this. As it envelopes me I find myself forgetting the fear entirely.
“Sara.”
His voice carries even though it is a whisper and I can hear the shock mixed with joy. The shock reminds me suddenly of how he had looked when I had surprised him on the boat that fateful day in Panama, but I have never seen him wear joy before. It suits him.
Then his stride is lengthening, eating up the distance between us and I find myself running forwards, all at once out of patience. I need to feel him in my arms.
Throwing myself into his outstretched arms, I feel the heat and solidness of him and it is not until then that I find my heart beating once more, finally believing that it is true. He has found me and my wait is over.
“Sara,” he whispers once more and I can feel the heat of his breath tickling against the side of my throat.
“Oh my God. Oh my God...”
I hear the words repeated over and over but I have no idea it is me until his mouth covers mine in a kiss that is intended to be chaste, but which neither of us can stop from turning desperate.
His arms are around my waist while mine have snaked around his neck, pulling tighter as we deepen the kiss. I can feel his fingers sliding up my back and entangling in my hair, which is once more long and red. It’s funny, but it’s not until this moment that I wonder how that could be.
I am surprised to feel him pull away from me and I try to hide the hurt from my eyes and voice as I say, “Michael.” But I cannot help the inflection at the end of his name which turns it into a question.
But his small smile allays my fears.
“I waited for you.”
“I see that.”
It is not until his long fingers are against my face, his thumbs wiping the tears from my cheeks that I realise I am crying. The peace which has kept me sane during the wait has left me, but it is not sadness which has me crying. I realise that I am overwhelmed with love and suddenly I am sobbing into his shoulder.
I feel his arms encircle me once again, pulling me closer as one of his hands rubs up and down my back. I can hear him whispering to me although I have no idea what he is saying. It is the smooth sound of his voice, that I find soothing and which finally calms me.
When I have finally stopped crying and my breathing has returned to normal I continue to cling to him, my face buried into the junction of his neck and shoulder, taking in the overwhelming scent of him, unable and unwilling to let him go.
“I’ve missed you Sara,” he whispers.
It is then that I pull myself together, allowing the peace I have found to envelope me once more. With the peace come the ability to pull away and I do so, taking a single step back. But I keep my hands on his shoulders, for reassurance I tell myself. I’m just not sure whether it is for him or for me.
“I missed you too,” I finally answer and offer a small smile.
“Sara, I-”
But I don’t let him finish. Placing the fingers of my right hand against his lips I say, “Shh...I don’t need to know Michael. I don’t want to know. You are here now and that’s enough for me.”
His eyes are questioning, attempting to penetrate my soul as they gaze into mine, but I simply smile again, for I am at peace. Truly at peace. And I can see the moment when he sees this and accepts it.
“Are you ready?” I ask him once I see his blue/green orbs clear.
He answers with a simple nod.
Turning, we stand arm-in-arm as we both stare ahead at what I have been ignoring while I waited. I feel the sting of tears, but this time they are tears of joy.
“It’s beautiful Sara,” he says, his voice soft with awe.
“Yes,” I answer and it is enough.
Smiling, hand-in-hand, we walk together towards the unknown, and I don’t even notice that the bench I have been waiting on is no longer there.