Sins of our fathers - Chapter 15 - The Fears nad Woes of Life - Part 1
Title: Sins of our Fathers
Characters: Michael Scofield, Sara Tancredi, Lincoln Burrows, LJ Burrows, Frank Tancredi, Bruce Bennet, OC
Pairing: Michael/Sara
Word Count: approx. 5 250 words
Rating: R for some language
Chapter: 19
Genre: Romance, Family, General, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, AU
Summary: A year since Sara's trial for aiding and abbeting, going differently than in canon. Frank Tancredi didn't die at the hands of the company. Although Sara, Michael, Lincoln and LJ have a content and happy life, there is one thing troubling their existence - the broken relationship between a father with his estranged daughter. Will Michael find a way to save what's left of their relationship?
A/N: I want to thank one very Kind person for everything, from her input and her support to her simple awesomeness. Girl, you rock!
Chapter 15 (Part 1) - The Fears and Woes of Life
There was a soft, but firm knock on the door and Michael was immediately glad and relieved his guest didn't use the rather sharp doorbell. He rose from the end of the sofa carefully, closely monitoring his sleeping companion for any signs of awaking and when he found none he crossed the apartment in a few quick strides, opening the door to welcome their guest.
"Evening, Michael," greeted Frank, entering the apartment upon Michael's silent invitation, leaving his bodyguards to take their usual stance outside the door.
"Hello, Frank." The two men walked the hallway mutely, Michael pausing in the door to their living room, silently waving for Frank to come closer to observe.
On the couch curled under a soft blanket and almost cat-like, slept Sara. Tendrils of red hair spilled on the cushion like a forest fire. Her face looked peaceful, one hand resting on the blanket just over the soft curve of her growing belly.
It's been nearly three months since Michael's operation, life keeping them so busy with work, treatment, pregnancy and mundane tasks that they barely found the time to meet for dinner with family and friends more often than once every couple of weeks.
The beginning had been shaky to say the least; especially when Lincoln and Frank shared the same room for a prolonged period of time but they seemed to find a comfortable pace soon enough, each man trying to act respectful around each other mostly for the benefit of their joint sole female interest.
"How is she?" asked Frank quietly, reluctantly tearing his eyes off of her sleeping form to follow Michael into the kitchen where they could talk more freely.
The younger man gave a heavy sigh, his hand coming to cradle his bald head, still disfigured by an all too visible scar. He crossed the kitchen, taking out two mugs to prepare some tea. Something smelling rather tasty was boiling in a pot on the stove. "Tired, stressed and overworked, although she would never admit that to anybody," he replied at last, an audible trace of bitterness in his tone.
Frank grinned despite himself. "And stubborn as hell, I presume," he added, his eyebrows raised.
Michael grinned back. "Like you wouldn't believe."
They kept looking at each other for a moment, a silent understanding passing between them of the common passion they shared, linking them together until Michael evaded his eyes, turning to pour some hot water into the mugs with tea. He sighed audibly once more.
"I'm sorry we couldn't make it to your place. I know we promised," he shot Frank an apologetic look, but the older man just waved it away.
"She really didn't feel good and considering everything, I though it best if we stayed home and she got some rest."
Frank only nodded. "It's no big deal. So, how are you two holding up?" he asked, piercing Michael with an inquiring look, his eyes straying shortly to the scar on his scalp.
"We are good," hastened Michael with the reply. "…considering," he added.
"From what you just told me about my daughter, it doesn't seem the case."
Michael exhaled tiredly, looking at least ten years older to Frank. "I am concerned for her, to be honest. She has too much on her plate. She is working twelve hour shifts five days a week, while five months pregnant. And when she finally could have the opportunity to rest a little bit, she comes home to a cripple she has to take care of along with everything she has going on…" the last words were uttered with a fair amount of self-spite.
"Well, have you tried to help her out somehow then? At least get some things done around the house?" asked Frank, looking at the boiling pots on the stove pointedly.
"I try," said Michael, hugging the mug so tight his fingertips grew white. "She doesn't let me. I wanted to do some things around the apartment, at least during those times I am feeling strong enough, but she wouldn't let me. The last time I tried to wash the dishes despite 'her doctor orders', she got so upset she burst into tears," Michael lamented.
"Hormones?" suggested Frank amusedly, watching a small smile spread across Michael's face that seemed to turn his rather pale skin a healthier shade of pink immediately.
"Possibly," he admitted, looking into his mug. The smile quickly disappeared. "I am really concerned for her, Frank. She wants to shoulder everything. And even the little I can do, she won't let me. Four times a week she drives me to the hospital for my chemo, then rushes to work only to return a couple of hours later to pick me up, drive me home and take care of me while I vomit all over the place -" at the last of his confession he seemed to halt himself embarrassedly, before looking miserably at Frank.
"What about your brother? I thought he was helping out?"
"He is. But there are certain things, tasks, Sara won't let even him do. Mostly anything concerning me and my…condition," uttered Michael, his cheeks now distinctly turning crimson. He cleared his throat before he continued, "He mostly shops for groceries, runs some errands, 'babysits' me when Sara's at work…" he sighed again, resting his forehead in his palm.
"You look rather tired yourself," observed Frank quietly.
Michael raised his eyes in surprise and shook his head. "No, I am alright, just worried. I really wish she-" he halted himself again, this time more firmly, as if catching himself on the verge of revealing something too private. He met Franks eyes again, his voice gaining a desperate lilt. "I am just afraid that at this pace she is going to hurt herself, or the baby. I would never forgive myself for that."
The load of responsibility the younger man seemed to feel for both his daughter and his unborn child hit Frank full force. He had still trouble approving his daughter's choice of current partner, but at moments like these, he truly saw what this man could be for her. What this man tried to be for her, despite the rather unfortunate circumstances.
"Is there anything I can do? If it's a question of money-"
"No," interrupted Michael hastily, crimson rising into his cheeks again. "No, Frank. Thank you, but it's not about money." He was clearly embarrassed now. "Linc is helping out in that department, and you've done more than enough already. I appreciate your offer though." He continued quietly, "Apart from that, you know how proud your daughter is. She would never accept this kind of help from you if she could avoid it, and I would never dare to force her despite the fact that it breaks my heart to see her exhaust herself like this and being unable to do anything myself about the situation…"
"Why is she so stubborn to accept my help?" asked Frank angrily, annoyed and clearly hurt. "Does she really despise me that much?"
There was a surprised look in Michael's eyes. His eyes wandered shortly to the open kitchen door, his ears straining to hear any sound from the neighboring living room. Placated she was still deeply asleep, he looked soundly into Frank's eyes, the sharp glance making the older man slightly uncomfortable.
Michael wanted to tell a lot of things to Frank at that moment. He wanted to tell him that he really didn't know his daughter at all if he thought that little of her. He wanted to tell him his little girl still loved him and craved his approval and recognition above all else. He wanted to tell him she still felt ashamed to look him in the eye whenever she thought back to her days of addiction, and that the feeling of being indebted to him made her feel sick at times. That he made her feel like a little girl still, an ever-dependant child that couldn't take care of herself no matter what. That she wanted more than anything to prove how much she could accomplish on her own, just so he would be proud of her for once in his life. That she was probably even more proud and more stubborn than he could ever be. And that in the end, the two of them were more alike than either of them realized.
He didn't tell him like that, though. Instead, he tried to explain as best as he could, all the while trying to stay loyal to the woman sleeping in the next room.
"Frank, your daughter is a proud woman. She has gone through so much in her life, but still she feels like she has to prove herself to you. She believes you hold her incapable of taking care of herself, and that makes her question herself, because despite everything that's happened between the two of you, she loves you and values your opinion of her greatly. She wants, needs, to prove to you as well as to herself that she is a grown woman, capable of looking after herself. It's not you she is refusing, it's your money and influence. Not because she despises you, quite the opposite. It's because she wants to show you how she's grown, matured, so you could be proud. I know it's probably extremely hard for you, watching her work herself up like this when a single check of yours could fix all her troubles but this is exactly what she doesn't want. She is trying to break a pattern here and show her independence. Not from you, but from your security that she's been leaning upon like a crutch for the majority of her life. She needs to do this, as much as for you as she needs to do this for herself and you have to let her do this so you can both see that she's grown into an independent and self-confident person."
There was silence in the room, save the hissing sound coming from the steaming pots. Michael rose to his feet, crossed the room and stirred the contents in the pot, the room falling silent again.
"I do believe her to be a grown woman who can look after herself," said Frank quietly. Michael turned from the stove, looking at the grim-faced man in front of him.
"But she doesn't. And I think this stubbornness to accept any help whatsoever, from you or from me, might be her way of trying to test and prove that she indeed is. Not only to us, but most importantly, to herself."
"Even if it harms her? Or her child?" asked Frank, his eyes shadowed with worry of his own. Michael looked away, pain shooting through his features. Turning to the stove, he didn't reply.
~~~ooOoo~~~
When she opened her eyes again, the first thing she noticed was that she was alone. The television has been muted, flashing silent pictures. Her favorite blanket was however draped over her, her hand resting over her growing stomach. She smiled. Stretching a little, she noted her slightly frozen limbs. It was a good feeling. She hadn't felt this good and this well-rested in quite some time.
She recalled the queasiness that forced her to lie down in the first place. Well, that and Michael, who relentlessly pleaded with her to get some rest until she had no other choice but to comply. She remembered how they sat down onto the sofa, Michael slowly guiding her body down until she rested comfortably with her head relaxing into his lap. Squinting into the dim light of the room now, she noted Michael must have replaced the comfort of his own body with a cushion at some point.
Her thoughts were still a bit foggy as she glanced around the room. Her hand strayed under the blanket and then her shirt, her fingers coming to slowly caress the straining skin of her stomach in soothing circles. It felt good. She felt good.
She looked around the room again, finally starting to fully awake. She remembered Michael promising her he would call her father and cancel their appointed dinner…wait, not cancel, rather transfer…to their place...yeah, that must be it.
Her eyes wondered to the windows. The curtains were closed, however, she could assume light was growing dim outside. She must have been asleep for quite some time.
She sat up abruptly only to regret it an instant later with her head momentarily spinning. She waited a couple of moments and held her breath, waiting for the ever present nausea hit her but she waited in vain. A victorious smile graced her features.
She was about to call out for Michael, but she needn't have bothered. The bare rustle of the couch and blanket must have alerted him to her awaking, for he was already walking through the door by the time she raised her eyes to find him, a glass of water in his hand.
"Hello sleepyhead," he warbled cheerily, an infectious smile lighting his slightly pale and skinny, yet still extremely handsome features. "Slept well?" he asked, the care in his tone spilling an immeasurable amount of warmth through her chest every single time. He sat down next to her, handing her the glass. "Here, take a sip of water."
She smiled gratefully at him before she raised the glass to her lips. "Thank you," she said, lowering her glass onto the table after taking a couple of slow gulps. "And I had the most amazing nap. Thank you for making me take it," she uttered quietly, closing the distance between them, pressing a chaste yet loving kiss upon his lips. Their moment was interrupted way too quickly, however, by a subtle yet distinctive cough.
Looking around Michael curiously, she saw her father standing in the doorway.
"Dad!" she said breathlessly, kicking herself for forgetting Michael inviting him over instead of dining at his mansion. She made a move to stand up, but the quick movement sent her reeling and in search of the couch once again.
"Whoa, easy," said Michael, his grip on her tightening, navigating her safety onto the sofa.
"You okay, sweetheart?" asked Frank concernedly, crossing the room and sitting on the other side of his daughter. She nodded a bit shakily.
"Yeah…I just sometimes forget I am now carrying around a living bowling ball that keeps throwing me off my balance every now and then," she murmured, blushing while Frank gave her a soft kiss on the cheek. There was an unknown tenderness in the gesture, Sara noted.
"What time is it?" she asked.
"Nearly 7 pm," replied Michael, watching her eyes widen. "I made some pasta. Hungry?" he asked, rising from the couch and offering his hands to her. She gave him a pointed look while taking his hands. She used her hold on them to haul herself up, then steadied herself momentarily against his frame.
"I swear it was a really quick put together, nothing special," he promised. "Took me less than half an hour and I mostly sat through it." She gave him a skeptical look but didn't elaborate, disappearing into the bathroom to fix her appearance instead.
Closing the door behind her, she missed the looks of silent concern the two most important men in her life were exchanging.
~~~ooOoo~~~
"So I guess you like it," Michael cheerily observed upon watching Sara's second portion of pasta quickly disappearing from her plate. She nodded happily, the huge and contented smile lighting up the whole room.
"The sauce is so delicious, what did you put in there?" she asked with amazement, eyeing the contents of the saucepan curiously. "You've never cooked it before," she observed, grinning in return to the charming smile he was giving her.
Winking, he said at last, "Secret of the chef I am afraid," and laughed when she playfully smacked his arm.
The dinner has been a rather pleasant one, Sara being the heart and soul of it, her afternoon nap leaving her well-rested and content for once.
She took Michael's hand resting upon the table and gave it a light squeeze before she turned to Frank expectantly, obviously waiting for him to also appraise Michael's culinary skills. He shot a quick glance at Michael, whose eyes seem to bore themselves into the surface of the table suddenly and obviously out of sheer embarrassment. This brought a huge smile to Frank's own face. The boy seemed to blush a lot. It gave him a piece of good-natured satisfaction. It was nice to see someone else embarrassed by Sara once in a while.
"Well, although we are definitely not in a five star restaurant," he watched Sara scowl at his words and hid his grin, "I have to admit Michael, the meal had something in it," he finished, the grin finally escaping upon listening to Michael's mumbled 'thanks'.
He turned his focus to his daughter instead, putting the younger man out of his misery. "You look rather good-natured today. How's work?" he asked.
"Oh, work's just…work," said Sara with just a hint of annoyance.
"I thought you liked your profession," offered Frank, more than a little taken aback by her tone. He never heard his daughter even hint as much as disinterestedly about her job of helping other people. Quietly, he observed that Michael's expression also looked a little bit surprised, his grip on her hand tightening in silent support.
The switch in her mood was instantaneous. "I still do like medicine, if that's what you are implying," she said, more that a little anger now in her voice. "I just-" she stopped, huffing out a breath of air. Upon catching Michael's look, she seemed to quickly catch herself however. Her eyes fell to the table, her voice sounding once again exhausted. "It's just that the job I currently have is not very….rewarding."
Frank didn't say anything, waiting for Sara to elaborate. This was rather surprising to her, making her wonder if her father may be truly interested, maybe for the very first time in his life to hear about her work and the problems she daily encountered. She decided to give it a shot.
"You know that I work in an underfunded small clinic downtown, right?" Frank nodded. "I daily get to see patients who cannot effort health care for either themselves, or their children."
"Well, isn't that why you should be happy you can help them out then?" interrupted Frank and send Michael momentarily wondering, how a governor of Illinois could be so naïve in his inquiry. Sara didn't seem to be surprised at all.
"Well," she took a deep breath, "No, not really, dad," she declared with a sigh. "It's hard to really be happy when I have to send away a mother with a prescription for antibiotics when I know she has no funds to actually buy them. Or when I have to inform a fourteen-year-old she is missing her period because she's actually pregnant, or when we have to close the clinic for a whole day because someone has broken in, again, and raided our medicine cabinets for drugs."
There was so much bitterness and resentment in Sara's words, that they sent even Michael wondering why she was suddenly so pessimistic about all the good she could accomplish in the clinic.
"Or," she continued, her voice suddenly trembling, whether from emotion or anger Michael couldn't distinguish, "when a shot ten-year-old is being thrown out of a passing car at our doorstep, as I experienced today," she finished, her eyes suddenly red.
There was a short silence in the room, Michael the first one to speak. "God, Sara. I am so sorry. Why didn't you tell me before?" He brought his arm around her shoulders, bringing her close, her head coming to rest on his shoulder. She shrugged, her eyes gazing unfocusedly into the table. A realization occurred to Michael. "Is this part of the reason why you felt so sick before? The day must have been extremely stressful." She didn't reply.
Frank was silent for a moment, then he spoke with deliberate care. "I knew that part of town was dangerous, but I obviously underestimated it." Then, after another beat, he added, "I know you like your work, but Sara, working in such an environment obviously harms you. Look at today."
The atmosphere in the room changed. Sara gave Frank a sharp, defiant look, daring him to continue.
"Honey, I-" he started, but his voice failed him. "I am just worried for you, that's all," he uttered feebly. "You're pregnant for Christ's sake, at least think of the baby."
"What is that supposed to mean?" she snapped.
"Nothing, Sara," interrupted Michael soothingly, deciding it was time to step into the conversation. "Your father is only worried for you. He didn't mean anything by it so don't look for any other meaning in his words. I cannot say I blame him," he added quietly, his eyes shying away to observe the walls of their kitchen. "You know I am worried about you, too."
The beaten look on his face caused a lump to form in her throat, but it was his next words that nearly brought tears in her eyes. "Please, don't get angry at us for voicing our concerns, we're just worried about you because we love you," Michael pleaded, willing her not to take their words as a challenge.
She shook her head, feeling a bit ashamed for her outburst. "I'm not, I just…" she sighed tiredly, "It's the long hours I am working. I am exhausted and get grumpy easily. I'm sorry."
"Why don't you cut down on those hours a little bit, then?" suggested Frank carefully.
Sara shook her head anew. "I can't," she simply said, leaving the second part of the sentence to herself. Her cheeks betrayed her by staining crimson red. Although he probably knew, she would never admit openly to her father the only reason she kept working herself into the ground was because they needed the money.
"Okay," said Frank at last, deciding his daughter looked uncomfortable and tired enough to resist pressing the subject any further. To his surprise, a silent 'thank you' came from her.
"For what?" he asked, confused.
"For not pushing it," she uttered quietly, raising her eyes to meet his. He hasn't seen the chocolate orbs looking this warmly at him for years. He gave her a small, supportive smile.
"Okay," Michael rose from his feet, "How about some tea or coffee? Sara, Frank?"
"Tea would be great, but let me," said Sara, rising to her feet before Michael even got a chance to stop her.
"Sara? Really, it's no problem," he said, his hands coming up to caress her shoulders and he briefly kissed her forehead. She considered arguing with him, but looking at her father and the rather amused look at his face, she let the subject drop. She sat down again, carefully watching Michael's every move as he cleared off the table to make room for mugs, taking requests from Sara and Frank.
While putting the dishes into the sink, his vision momentarily blurred all of a sudden and he wobbled a little in his spot and grabbed the counter for support, causing Sara to shoot up from her place and rush to his side in concern.
"What is it, Michael? Are you alright?" she asked in a concerned voice, watching his hand rise to squeeze the bridge of his nose.
"Don't worry, don't worry," Michael uttered urgently, willing the black spots to disappear from his vision before he raised his eyes to Sara's own, that were full of concern. "I am fine," he affirmed her, his hands coming to cradle her face reassuringly. "Just a moment of weakness," he explained softly, his thumbs caressing her cheeks soothingly. She seemed to evaluate his answer for a moment.
"It's okay, just take it easy, alright? Let me finish this for you while you sit down and rest," she said soothingly, turning to the counter and
starting to finish their tea for Michael, unaware he was left standing there with his hands hanging uselessly at his sides. She literally dismissed him.
From his point of view, Frank could observe a couple of things at once. He could see a man trying hard to placate his pregnant girlfriend. Yet upon his release of Sara, he could also see the sudden discomfort, silent humiliation even, in the younger man's eyes.
He could only imagine how hard it must be for Michael to be unable to complete the simplest of tasks, having his pregnant girlfriend stepping in for him, all in front of her father.
Frank cleared his throat, averting his eyes momentarily, an unknown, uncomfortable and sudden feeling of intruding on something deeply private gripping his insides.
"I think Michael is perfectly able of finishing the task himself, Sara," he uttered at last. Sara didn't respond, causing the situation to become even more awkward and tense. Michael was still standing at the counter, now closely observing his hands.
"Go sit down," Sara instructed curtly, all the while keeping her back turned towards them.
"I-" Michael started, but never finished the sentence. He merely kept studying his hands.
Frank didn't remember ever feeling this awkward, with the possible exception of the very first time he had to bail his daughter out of jail. The whole situation was simply ridiculous. Why the hell didn't Michael man up and say something about it however, Frank couldn't understand.
"Does my daughter always boss you around like this?" asked Frank, half-mockingly, half-annoyed. The effect of his question was explosive.
"Dammit dad, he's sick!" Sara shouted, turning on her heel to face the table. The tears she'd been hiding while finishing the tea glistered in her eyes. "I really don't know how else to explain it to you, but he still is! He had his skull sawed open a mere three months ago, for Christ's sake, and he is still undergoing radical treatment that's practically poisoning his healthy cells amongst the sick ones. He is constantly in danger of suffering a huge number of side effects and conditions I can scarcely think about, merely because he's getting this treatment. On his good days he is able to eat at maybe a bowl of soup and keep it down instead of throwing it up all over the place. He's got fevers and cold-sweats every other day, day or night, and a blood vessel could rupture anywhere in his body at any moment just because his system is so weakened by the chemo. The fact that you get to see him looking 'okay' from time to time doesn't mean he's actually okay," she stopped in the onslaught of words, hiccupping as the silent tears started to fall down her face.
"Sara, just calm down, please-" Michael stretched out his hand, trying to reach her, but she took a step back.
"Every single day as I leave for work and Lincoln is not yet here, I dread the twenty or so minutes I know you're going to spend alone, afraid something might happen to you in the short span when I am not with you," she confessed, now turning her rage at the injustice of it all towards Michael. "And when I finally come home, I find out that you've actually tried to repair the boiler in the bathroom during the day, shifting the heavy thing around the place. How do you think does that make me feel?" Without waiting for an answer, she continued, "I feel like the only fool here trying to keep you alive while everybody else keeps giving me these pitying looks, tiptoeing around me and whispering about pregnancy hormones and stress, but you know what Michael? You want to know what really keeps me stressed? That I never know what I'll find when I come home. Will you still be okay when you try out some new…stunt, completely disregarding your condition? Or whether I'll just be able to wake you up in the morning, or whether you'll ever get to hold our child in your hands!" She stopped at this, clasping her hands over her mouth in shock at her own words before she completely dissolved into tears, her hands coming to cover her whole face.
Michael stepped closer, cautiously approaching her. Just within her reach, he gently laid his hands on her shoulders, his eyes glistering from his own tears. The moment he touched her she immediately fell against him, crying into his shoulder while her hands sneaked around his back, hugging him close.
"I'm sorry," she sobbed, "I know it's not your fault. It's not your fault that you're sick. I know you're doing your best, I know. It's not your fault, it's not your fault," she kept repeating, choking on her own words. Michael merely cradled her towards himself even closer, laying her head into his shoulder and tucking it under his chin, his hands drawing soothing patterns over her back.
"It's okay, just calm down," he kept murmuring into her ear.
He turned his head towards the table, as if only now remembering they had a guest sitting in their kitchen, watching the whole scene.
The look of devastation and misery on Michael's face as he caught sight of Frank caused the other man to look away with shame. Why; he didn't know. Probably because he knew that this kind of thing should never be observed by a third person.
"I am sorry," mouthed Michael to Frank, all the while cradling his daughter tightly to himself in a protective cocoon and Frank realized that even though he never desired it, he's probably just witnessed one of the most private scenes in his daughter's life.
Despite the embarrassment, Frank felt a rather great portion of admiration for the calm and confidence with which Michael seemed to handle the situation. Where he stood like a little boy being scolded at by his mother only moments before, now stood a man who, despite his own obvious pain, offered a solid frame and a shoulder Sara could securely lean upon.
Watching him like this, a sudden thought occurred to Frank. Where he before considered Michael to be unmanly and ball-less for not speaking up when Sara ordered him around, he now considered the younger man's behavior a rather deliberate intent.
He clearly saw Michael's embarrassment of Frank witnessing his state of weakness, followed by Sara's taking over of the matter. And yet, he obviously thought it more important to appease Sara than to appear undaunted in front of her father.
To his credit, Frank had to admit he never saw any other man in his daughter's life, even the decent ones like Nate Lockhart for example, that would put his daughters comfort in front of his own in such a distinctive way.
He looked back at the couple, again feeling like a voyeuristic intruder. He caught Michael's eye and silently pointed first to himself and then the door, standing up. Michael gave a small nod, holding his gaze for a moment, then switching his focus back to Sara's shaking form. She seemed completely oblivious to the outside world, and despite Frank's sudden urge to say goodbye to his little girl, he withheld himself.
He silently exited the kitchen, grabbed his coat in the hall and let himself quietly out of the apartment knowing now, and maybe for the very first time in his life, that his daughter was in very capable and safe hands.
TBC
A/N: Don't worry, still on the planet, still writing, just taking my time. I've also got myself a nice little helper that keeps me inspired, so I definitely plan on going with this thing.:) Cross fingers, be patient and leave a review, and you might see another chapter soon.