Fence Talks - Chapter 26 - "Paul Kellerman happened"
Story: Fence Talks
Characters: Michael Scofield, Sara Tancredi, Lincoln Burrows, LJ Burrows, Jane Phillips
Pairing: Michael/Sara
Rating: R
Genre: het, angst, hurt/comfort, family, non-epilogue compliant, pretty much AU after 2x22 Sona
Word count: approx. 3000 words
Chapter: 26
Summary: Michael is trapped in Sona, leaving Lincoln and Sara to battle together for his freedom. Nothing is that simple however, and while desperately trying to come up with a plan to stay alive inside the walls of Sona until the day comes to break free, Michael, Sara and Lincoln are faced with obstacles and choices not easy to be made. While attempting to stay strong and sane, some damage seems to be done along the way.
Chapter 26 - "Paul Kellerman happened"
"I think we have a winner. Welcome to the family Sara," he said kindly, putting the plate with the very first blueberry pancake triumphantly in front of her.
She really wanted to stop it, yet there seemed nothing she could do against the sudden protests of her stomach. It gave a twitch and a lurch, flipping and turning inside her over and over. She barely had the time to run out of the kitchen and straight into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her, before she emptied the sparse contents of her stomach right into the toilet.
The three men in the kitchen watched her run out in shock before silently exchanging worried looks. Then in a rush of movement and a screech of chair, Michael stood up and quickly limped out of the room after Sara, the loud sounds of vomiting echoing throughout the silent house.
~~~ooOoo~~~
Michael stood in front of the bathroom door, deciding whether to enter without question or give Sara her space. His worry for her winning the better of him, he entered the small space and closed the door behind him with a distinctive click.
Something about this situation was strongly familiar to him, only this time, hopefully there would be no interruptions.
Sara was still being sick, her slender frame uncharacteristically fragile and vulnerable as she heaved and bent over the toilet, huge tremors rocking her whole body. Taking a towel from the nearest rack and putting in into the basin, Michael dipped it into the cool water. He crouched down next to Sara, using his other hand to collect her hair from her face. The skin of her forehead felt hot and clammy and this only spiraled Michael's worries up a notch.
Securing her hair at the back of her head, Michael pressed the wet towel to her neck, his other hand coming to embrace her shoulders for support. As for now, she didn't acknowledge him at all, like she didn't even notice he was there. It only fueled his worry.
He called her name softly, his face coming to rest on the top of her head, waiting. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she seemed to regain some her composure, her breathing slowing down.
"You okay?" he asked quietly, knowing he didn't need to ask. She wasn't okay, yet he didn't know as to why exactly yet.
He could feel her head shaking underneath his cheek. He sighed.
"Is there anything I can do?" he asked again, slowly moving the wet towel from the back of her neck to her forehead. Again, she merely shook her head but finally disentangled from the toilet and sat back on her knees, letting her body fall slack against Michael's solid frame.
It frightened him how tired and extremely exhausted she seemed. He gripped her tighter, navigating her body so she could completely rest again him. They sat there for a couple of moments in complete silence. It was Sara who broke the silence at last, all of a sudden squirming against him as if trying to escape his embrace.
"Damn, I'm pressing on your leg, I need to…" she chided, continuing to shift against him when he wouldn't let her.
His patience with her ever present devotion to everybody else but her seemed to went up in smoke as he suddenly half-shouted, "dammit Sara, stay where you are!" His order was sharp, the sudden anger in his voice startling them both. "Just for once, let yourself be looked after. My leg is perfectly fine, what has me worried is you, so please, sit where you are and rest for a moment, is that so much to ask?" he added more softly, the worry clearly audible in his voice. To his immense surprise and relief, she did as he asked, although whether due to his pleads or her fatigue, he didn't know.
He continued to wash her face with the wet towel, her back pressed against his chest, her hair tickling his chin. She had her eyes closed, her skin white and nearly transparent, the huge circles under her eyes more prominent than ever before.
Seeing her like this, Michael swore he would personally see she would get some proper food and rest, no matter what the cost the first chance he got. Silently praying she wasn't more gravely sick than this, he gently rocked her in his arms, pressing a silent kiss here and there.
Finally, she spoke in the tiniest of whispers he's ever heard her talking with; "Under other circumstances, this could have been a perfect moment, you know."
He knew. The thought occurred to him only mere moments ago, but he chased it away quickly, ashamed of such thoughts when she was obviously sick and unwell lying in his arms. But he would lie if he said he wouldn't wish for the moment to be a different one.
He took a leap of faith, asking the most pressing question. "What did happen out there?"
She didn't reply, merely leaned against him, her eyes still closed. "I will be fine, I just need a moment," she uttered quietly, her tone trying to placate him. "Sara," he started annoyingly, pushing the subject, the despair in his voice way too evident despite the discontented tone of his voice.
She snapped, jerking out of his grasp with a surprising vigor. Turning in his arms abruptly, she looked in his eyes, an uncharacteristic coldness and anger flashing in her dark pools. "What do you want to hear? Paul Fucking Kellerman happened, Michael," she spat, "Fucking Paul Kellerman, with his fucking story about being a friendly gay addict, that's what happened, it's that simple! There, happy?" she hissed.
He started at her, his eyes huge with surprise, contemplating her. Knowing he had no chance of knowing and understanding what she was talking about, the anger left her eyes, the fatigue returning full force. She turned her back on him, collapsing into his embrace again. Fresh tears sprung to her eyes when she felt his hands sneaking securely around her, trapping her inside his warm embrace.
He didn't speak further, he merely waited for her explanation, as if they had all the time in the world. And maybe it was the realization that they truly had time on their hands now that gave her the will to explain. This time, there would be no interruptions, not unfinished conversations, not unclosed topics. This time, she could actually explain something to him in her own time, on her own terms, without the fear of being overheard or interrupted, chased or shot at in the middle of a heartbreaking confession.
She shifted deeper into his embrace, basking in the warmth and security it provided. His lips sought the top of her head, then her forehead, then her cheeks. He did it so slowly, lovingly, his face burying in her neck, claiming her skin. She could feel his hesitation also, the careful deliberation with which he proceeded, his senses alerted and ready to stop and withdraw the second she gave any sign of disapproval or discomfort. She knew too, that he was doing this solely for her, to make her feel better above anything else. Her eyes still closed, a single tear escaped her eye.
"Shall I stop?" he whispered in a husky voice, his breath hitting her lobe and sending shivers down her spine.
She wanted to say no, she wanted nothing more than for him to proceed, to show her with his ministration just how much he really cared about her, but she knew it would be a short lived victory, a wonderful escape into oblivion that would have to come to an end at one point or another.
"We shared a blueberry pie," she suddenly blurted out, her voice quiet and trembling. "Paul and I, we shared a slice of blueberry pie, joking over it and having a 'good time'." She felt her words effect instantaneously, Michael's body freezing against her. Not daring to move an inch, she kept her eyes closed and forced herself to continue instead.
"After my overdose," she let out a deep breath and felt Michael's hands sneak around her in an even more protective gesture, "I was court-ordered to attend NA meetings. That's where I've met 'Lance'," she said bitterly, her eyes finally opening and staring blankly into the space in front of her. "He seemed really nice, had me believing he was a caring person devoted to his boyfriend." She gave a little sardonic laugh and something inside of Michael's chest broke.
"I was lonely Michael, so lonely back then," she admitted, another tear gliding down her cheek. He battled to urge to bend down and kiss it away. He withheld himself however, leaving her the time and space to continue on her own terms instead. "You were gone and my father wasn't talking to me. My work along with my reputation was also gone, not to mention my three-year long sobriety, and I was simply desperate for any human contact whatsoever. A male gay addict seemed safe enough to me. I guess I couldn't have been more wrong," again, the small mirthless laugh escaped her lips. It hurt him less to have his toes sliced off than to listen to her self-depreciating scoff.
"We kind of...bonded over that blueberry cake. He even promised to come to my place one day to bake me 'a proper one' himself." Michael drew in a sharp breath. He never knew this, never knew how close Paul Kellerman got to her, even long before either of them realized what a grave threat the man imposed to all of them. It made his stomach churn, feeling like he would become sick himself. "Ever since when I as much as think about blueberries, it makes my stomach turn," her voice was cracking now, another tear following down the path of her cheek. Michael felt something heavy and suffocating pressing against his chest. The weight of his guilt and personal responsibility perhaps, he thought bitterly.
"Fucking bastard," Sara angrily cursed through squeezed teeth, her eyes staring into space, "I used to love blueberries," she whispered in a feeble voice filled with misery. He didn't need to hear more to know what she was now thinking about, he knew only too well what page in her story came next. He knew - if only in very sketchy detail - what Paul Kellerman did to her once he caught up with them in Gila. And bile burned in his throat once again just at the mere thought of what that bastard did to her.
Concentrating on Sara instead, he shifted them again. One of his arms sneaking under her knees so he could partly turn her around and pull her into his lap to lift her from the cool tile ground. She looked so tired she didn't even protest she might hurt him anymore, merely
snuggled deeper into him, her face hiding in the crook of his neck.
"Is this what you've been dreaming about this night? Paul Kellerman?" Michael tentatively asked, daring to push his luck just the little bit, now that he had her finally opening up and talking to him about matters she usually kept way too close to her chest. She silently shook her head against his neck.
"That's another kind of dreams," she whispered shakily and so quietly, Michael had to strain his ears to hear her. She sounded feeble and spent and Michael promised himself this was the very last thing he would question her about before he personally saw to that she got some proper rest. He suspected she was talking so openly to him now only because she was already half asleep anyway.
"What are those dreams about?" he gently pushed in a low murmur, his mouth nuzzling in her hair.
"You," she whispered softly at last, after a stretching pause, her voice trembling with emotion. He tried to bring her even closer to himself.
"What about me?" he asked in a murmur, knowing he was now completely exploiting her tiredness and fatigue, which were causing her caution and vigilance to lessen. The tried to placate himself only with the thought that it was killing him not to know what bothered her so much that she wasn't granted as much as a full-night's sleep, promising himself he would use this newly acquired knowledge solely for the purpose of helping Sara, any possible way he could.
He felt her trembling in his arms, her voice shaking so hard he was barely able to make out the words. "I dream about you, dying. Inside of Sona. Or Fox River, but always…dying," she was openly crying now, "and it's all my fault," she wailed, unable to contend her grief any longer, her woe coming out of her in a series of deep painful moans. She buried her face inside his neck once more, crying hard as he held her close. He cradled her against him, rocked her back and forth, whispering hushing sounds into her ear and leaving small tender kisses wherever his lips happened to touch her. All this time, he whispered into her ear, trying to persuade her it were just dreams, telling her he was alright, thanks to her and her only.
Eventually, she calmed down, but it seemed to be rather of exhaustion than real relief. She had her hands wrapped around his neck and for a brief moment, Michael even contemplated trying to lift her up and carry her to the bedroom himself, then he remembered his injured ribs and leg, and that only that very morning a slightly grumpy Sara allowed him to leave the bed for the very first time. Putting two and two together, Michael immediately knew he wouldn't stand a chance against her anger once he as much as tried. Sighing, he contemplated what to do next, but Sara beat him to it, uttering in a feeble and slightly slurred voice, "I guess we've been sitting here long enough for your brother's mind to use up his complete stock of wild and indecent assumptions," she quipped with a sigh, a slightly disappointed tint to her voice. Her comment had Michael smile for the very first time since he entered the bathroom, despite the rather grave moment the two of them just shared.
"I agree. But nevertheless, I think we could move to a more comfortable place, what do you say?"
She only nodded yet didn't make any attempt to move out of his embrace. On the contrary, she merely shifted closer and raised her head, her eyes meeting Michael's. There were dried tears in the corners of her eyes, salty stains coating her cheeks, but it was the look in her eyes that transfixed Michael. The vulnerability and unconditional trust in them was almost too much for him to bear. He didn't deserve her, as much as she didn't deserve any of this. He tried to gulp down the huge lump that suddenly formed in his throat.
As if reading his mind and wanting to put an end to his dark thoughts as well as her own, Sara closed in on him, bringing their lips together. The kiss was chaste, languid and long. They probed and tested, licked and sucked, and they took their time to do so thoroughly. It felt all kinds of amazing, leaving them both highly dissatisfied and wanting more upon breaking up. Minding her fragile state of body and mind, it was Michael who brought the kiss to a slow end, his forehead coming to rest against Sara's.
"Will you do something for me?" he uttered quietly, his eyes drinking in the chocolate warmth of her gaze.
"What?"
"Let me take care of you," he said simply, immediately recognizing Sara's apprehension.
"I'm fi-", she tried to wave him off, but he wouldn't let her.
"Please, Sara," The genuine concern for her in his voice nearly had her convinced.
"Michael, as much as it sounds tempting, we just had breakfast and I need to-"
"Please," he repeated fiercely, not caring if he had to beg her another dozen times only if she accepted in the end. Something in her look shifted. She probably saw he wasn't going to back down, or maybe she was simply too tired to argue, but she nodded at last.
"Okay."
He gave her a relieved smile then rose to his feet, stretching his aching muscles before offering his hand to Sara and helping her stand.
Slowly walking through the house, Michael heavily leaning up against Sara, they were surprised to find the whole place vacated. Something told Michael he had to thank his brother for that later. For now, he only cared to bring Sara to bed and see to that she slept.
He had to endure some more protesting when he gently urged her to drink some water before shooing her into his own bed and pulling the covers playfully over her, up until her chin, the pair of them sharing shy smiles. Within the next five minutes, she was deeply asleep. Michael's heart fluttered oddly when he watched her chest rise and fall in peace at last, her features relaxed and calm for a change. God knew she had paid a high price for that.
Sighing, he bent over her and kissed her forehead tenderly, his lips lingering on her skin maybe a moment too long. With a final brush of his fingers against the side of her head and face, he left the room in search for his brother and nephew. He didn't have much time, for he wanted to be there when she woke, especially in case she had another nightmare. But he had certain questions he needed to ask his family that couldn't wait any longer.
They were sitting at the porch, the odd yet pleasant sight hitting Michael's eyes. Lincoln and LJ shared a bench and talked quietly while bathing in the sun. Michael hesitated for the shortest of moments, momentarily unsure whether to break up their quiet moment. Yet he wanted answers. He needed answers.
"Linc, LJ?" he called softly, waiting for the two men to turn to him. "I need to talk to you."
Strangely enough, their faces weren't surprised by his approach or request at all. It was as if they were already expecting him, just waiting for him to come and summon them personally.
"You want to know about Sara," Lincoln stated, his voice deep and wary.
"Yes," Michael apprehensively nodded.
TBC
A/N - Okay, I know, wasn't around for ages, but still here and kicking and writing and not giving up on this story. How about you guys? Let me know, you know you want to! ;)