fic: Cinco
Title: Cinco
Fandom: Prison Break
Characters: Michael, mentions of Sara
Word Count: 500 or so
Rating: PG-13
Notes: After 305 "Interference"...Michael doesn't know she's dead. I'm not even sure this story works for me anymore, but I couldn't handle it on my harddrive. I hope someone out there likes it.
Disclaimer: None of this is mine...Prison Break isn't even really my fandom...yet? Hi?
In his dreams she was always walking towards him in white.
In the daylight she was the face in the picture, trying to make him understand.
Sometimes he started to lose track of the difference.
***
"Cinco.”
The gun was cool against his forehead, and he pressed forward against it a little and tried not to imagine her when she found out he was dead. He didn’t want to think of her crying. He didn’t want to think of her eyes red and her cheeks wet. He didn’t want to think of her defiance-the way she would fight them even though he was gone, the way she would fight until the very end. He tried not to imagine her when they told her, and he tried not to imagine her when they killed her because he couldn’t save her. He tried to imagine her like she was in his dreams.
“Cuatro.”
She walked towards him smiling and beautiful. She was so beautiful. The light hit her hair and it shone; her entire face shone. The first time he had a picture of her, she was the prison doctor and she was already beautiful. He knew it before he went in, he just didn’t know then how much she would mean to him-how much even a photograph would mean. Now he had another photograph, and she was just as beautiful, even as a hostage. She was still beautiful, but he ached to save her, to make the photograph nothing but a bad dream, and the dream a reality.
“Tres.”
He could feel it still, in his back pocket. He kept it with him always, but rarely looked at it. He had it memorized, and he desperately wanted a new one. He wanted proof that she was still fighting, still reaching out to him against all odds. Her voice on the phone had only made him more desperate to be with her in person. But more than another photograph, he wanted her, safe and alive in his arms. He wanted them, somewhere far away from Fox River, somewhere far away from Sona.
"Dos."
The countdown washed over him and he could feel himself shaking. She was out there waiting for him, dependent on him, and he couldn’t think of a single thing to say. He wondered that he was coming apart at the seams, just like Alex, and couldn’t think of a single reason or excuse, nothing to save his life or hers. All he had left were lies and the cold steel against his skin.
“Uno.”
What if he couldn’t save her?
***
When it was over, and he wasn’t dead, but saved by the man who he was there to save, he clutched the lens from the binoculars in his hands. He wasn’t even sure it could help him now, but he needed it, he needed to know that there was hope, that he still had time. He ran back to the cell and found it locked, and the EMP out of his range despite a wrenched shoulder and scrambling fingers, but he still had time. There had to be time. He sat hunched over and steepled his fingers together in front of eyes squeezed tightly shut.
She was there, waiting for him. With his eyes closed he could always see her. She was much more than the photograph or the dream. He could feel her with him. He just had to figure out a way to get her back.
Fandom: Prison Break
Characters: Michael, mentions of Sara
Word Count: 500 or so
Rating: PG-13
Notes: After 305 "Interference"...Michael doesn't know she's dead. I'm not even sure this story works for me anymore, but I couldn't handle it on my harddrive. I hope someone out there likes it.
Disclaimer: None of this is mine...Prison Break isn't even really my fandom...yet? Hi?
In his dreams she was always walking towards him in white.
In the daylight she was the face in the picture, trying to make him understand.
Sometimes he started to lose track of the difference.
***
"Cinco.”
The gun was cool against his forehead, and he pressed forward against it a little and tried not to imagine her when she found out he was dead. He didn’t want to think of her crying. He didn’t want to think of her eyes red and her cheeks wet. He didn’t want to think of her defiance-the way she would fight them even though he was gone, the way she would fight until the very end. He tried not to imagine her when they told her, and he tried not to imagine her when they killed her because he couldn’t save her. He tried to imagine her like she was in his dreams.
“Cuatro.”
She walked towards him smiling and beautiful. She was so beautiful. The light hit her hair and it shone; her entire face shone. The first time he had a picture of her, she was the prison doctor and she was already beautiful. He knew it before he went in, he just didn’t know then how much she would mean to him-how much even a photograph would mean. Now he had another photograph, and she was just as beautiful, even as a hostage. She was still beautiful, but he ached to save her, to make the photograph nothing but a bad dream, and the dream a reality.
“Tres.”
He could feel it still, in his back pocket. He kept it with him always, but rarely looked at it. He had it memorized, and he desperately wanted a new one. He wanted proof that she was still fighting, still reaching out to him against all odds. Her voice on the phone had only made him more desperate to be with her in person. But more than another photograph, he wanted her, safe and alive in his arms. He wanted them, somewhere far away from Fox River, somewhere far away from Sona.
"Dos."
The countdown washed over him and he could feel himself shaking. She was out there waiting for him, dependent on him, and he couldn’t think of a single thing to say. He wondered that he was coming apart at the seams, just like Alex, and couldn’t think of a single reason or excuse, nothing to save his life or hers. All he had left were lies and the cold steel against his skin.
“Uno.”
What if he couldn’t save her?
***
When it was over, and he wasn’t dead, but saved by the man who he was there to save, he clutched the lens from the binoculars in his hands. He wasn’t even sure it could help him now, but he needed it, he needed to know that there was hope, that he still had time. He ran back to the cell and found it locked, and the EMP out of his range despite a wrenched shoulder and scrambling fingers, but he still had time. There had to be time. He sat hunched over and steepled his fingers together in front of eyes squeezed tightly shut.
She was there, waiting for him. With his eyes closed he could always see her. She was much more than the photograph or the dream. He could feel her with him. He just had to figure out a way to get her back.