Moralities (PB fic!)
Title: Moralities
Author: junas_stories
Pairings: Michael Scofield/Alexander Mahone
Rating: gen/pre-slash (depending on how you look at it)
Word Count: 1028
Summary: Alex’ pov during Orientación. More angsty and mushy then I intended. Damn.
Disclaimer: Sadly, I don’t know anything about any of these people, really. And I’m not making any money with this either.
Notes: Heavy spoilers for episode 3x01!! Like - I basically tell you the end of that one. Seriously!
Also this is my first story in this fandom so please leave feedback but be gentle if you critisize. :D
Moralities
Alex was surprised, almost shocked by the reality of Sona. When he had first stepped inside these walls yesterday - God, had it really been only a day? - he had immediately realised that there were no guards and he had expected anarchy, Darwinism at its most crulest but he hadn't found it. Or rather Darwinism had apparently already run its course with Lechero the clear winner who was now both the Abruzzi and the Bellick of this prison. If you could call it that.
It truly was a cynical twist of fate that from all the 'participants' of that farce of a hunt it was him who had been the hunter, Scofield who was essentially innocent, Bagwell who was the worst of them all and Bellick who might just deserve to get a taste of what he had dished out himself for years, who got thrown into Sona. It was almost as if they were living out a really fucked-up version of The Real World. They sure followed the recipe: Throw together the most heterogen group of people imaginable, alexcrank up the pressure and then watch them stop being nice and start being 'real'. He had watched that show a few years back on a horribly boring stake-out. Back then he had rolled his eyes at the implausibility of it all. The irony wasn't lost on him.
Still the state of Bellick proved that Lechero's idea of order only went so far. That it wasn't all sunshine and tea parties. There was still the same brutality you found in any prison. Therefore it was vital to surround yourself with allies. Willing or not. And for him as former law-man and - he swallowed painfully - drug addict detoxing under less than ideal circumstances the circle of people to choose from was small. Actually there was just one person in here who he could be sure wouldn't knife him. Michael Scofield. That bit of irony wasn't lost on him either.
Michael Scofield who stood out from the rest of the men in Sona as much as himself. Maybe even more so. It was the mixture of physical beauty and that aura of mystery he oozed with every throaty whisper, every deliberate tilt of his head, with the tightly controlled way he held his body and with the way his eyes blazed with intensity. Charisma impersonated. He couldn't garner more attention if he was running around naked screaming 'look at me!'. And attention in here meant being a target which meant it would be in Scofield's interest as well to form a truce and have eachother's backs. Alex' first attempt to convince the man of that logic had fallen flat, though.
"Except every time I look at you, I see the man who killed my father."
Michael's ... Scofield's eyes had been flashing with barely leashed fury and his voice had been low and brittle with still raw anguish when he said those words and his name. Alex. Not Mahone but Alex, his given name. Alex truthfully had had no idea that the man he shot in the desert had been Scofield's father. But he was honest enough with himself to know that it would not have made a difference if he had and that he wouldn't have felt more or less guilty for it either, so Scofield probably had a point in not being able to forgive and forget.
Still, in that moment Alex had craved exactly that...Scofield's forgiveness. He still craved it even though he tried to rationalize that truly ridiculous urge - after all Scofield was a convict and while he had staged that robbery for maybe noble reasons, he was directly responsible for unleashing the likes of Bagwell and Abruzzi back onto society - by telling himself that Scofield was his ticket out of here. After all with his genius IQ and his LLI it would only be a matter of time before the man found a way out and Alex sure as hell intended to be right behind him when that happened. And to be there, Scofield had to forgive him, had to let him in.
Behind all those rationalizations which were true enough, it was more than that. In a truly sadistic twist, Michael Scofield was as close to moral highground as you could get right here, right now. Scofield who came from a frightingly similar background as he himself, who had dug himself out of a painful childhood by talent and hard work and had finally earned himself a well-payed job, a beautiful penthouse...the picture-perfect life. And he had then given it up to do what he felt he had to do. There was a difference, though, between giving up the picture-perfectness willingly to save the life of your brother and only living relative and losing your picture-perfectness because you were unable to own up to your mistakes. To the consequences of killing a man - no matter how vile and deserving of death he may have been. That was where the moral highground came into play and why he yearned for Scofield's - no, for Michael's forgiveness.
Therefore Alex had decided to step into that fight the second it had become clear that Michael would have to kill. The metallic gleam of the shank had only spurred him into action because he knew that Michael wouldn't, couldn't kill. Because Michael Scofield was a good man, a man who somehow had managed to hold onto his ethnical principles throughout all that had happened in the last year, throughout all he had seen and done. Alex admired him for that strength and at the same time he was glad that he himself lacked it because while being willing and able to kill a man meant that he would rot in hell, it also meant that he had something to offer that Michael needed, needed desperately in this place lacking a plan which would 'buy' him protection.
So Alexander Mahone had stepped up, had blocked that man from stabbing Michael in the back and had snapped his neck. Just like that. Offering his own moral failibity in exchange for Michael's forgiveness.
"Rules are rules, remember? If we don't have them, we're savages."
Author: junas_stories
Pairings: Michael Scofield/Alexander Mahone
Rating: gen/pre-slash (depending on how you look at it)
Word Count: 1028
Summary: Alex’ pov during Orientación. More angsty and mushy then I intended. Damn.
Disclaimer: Sadly, I don’t know anything about any of these people, really. And I’m not making any money with this either.
Notes: Heavy spoilers for episode 3x01!! Like - I basically tell you the end of that one. Seriously!
Also this is my first story in this fandom so please leave feedback but be gentle if you critisize. :D
Moralities
Alex was surprised, almost shocked by the reality of Sona. When he had first stepped inside these walls yesterday - God, had it really been only a day? - he had immediately realised that there were no guards and he had expected anarchy, Darwinism at its most crulest but he hadn't found it. Or rather Darwinism had apparently already run its course with Lechero the clear winner who was now both the Abruzzi and the Bellick of this prison. If you could call it that.
It truly was a cynical twist of fate that from all the 'participants' of that farce of a hunt it was him who had been the hunter, Scofield who was essentially innocent, Bagwell who was the worst of them all and Bellick who might just deserve to get a taste of what he had dished out himself for years, who got thrown into Sona. It was almost as if they were living out a really fucked-up version of The Real World. They sure followed the recipe: Throw together the most heterogen group of people imaginable, alexcrank up the pressure and then watch them stop being nice and start being 'real'. He had watched that show a few years back on a horribly boring stake-out. Back then he had rolled his eyes at the implausibility of it all. The irony wasn't lost on him.
Still the state of Bellick proved that Lechero's idea of order only went so far. That it wasn't all sunshine and tea parties. There was still the same brutality you found in any prison. Therefore it was vital to surround yourself with allies. Willing or not. And for him as former law-man and - he swallowed painfully - drug addict detoxing under less than ideal circumstances the circle of people to choose from was small. Actually there was just one person in here who he could be sure wouldn't knife him. Michael Scofield. That bit of irony wasn't lost on him either.
Michael Scofield who stood out from the rest of the men in Sona as much as himself. Maybe even more so. It was the mixture of physical beauty and that aura of mystery he oozed with every throaty whisper, every deliberate tilt of his head, with the tightly controlled way he held his body and with the way his eyes blazed with intensity. Charisma impersonated. He couldn't garner more attention if he was running around naked screaming 'look at me!'. And attention in here meant being a target which meant it would be in Scofield's interest as well to form a truce and have eachother's backs. Alex' first attempt to convince the man of that logic had fallen flat, though.
"Except every time I look at you, I see the man who killed my father."
Michael's ... Scofield's eyes had been flashing with barely leashed fury and his voice had been low and brittle with still raw anguish when he said those words and his name. Alex. Not Mahone but Alex, his given name. Alex truthfully had had no idea that the man he shot in the desert had been Scofield's father. But he was honest enough with himself to know that it would not have made a difference if he had and that he wouldn't have felt more or less guilty for it either, so Scofield probably had a point in not being able to forgive and forget.
Still, in that moment Alex had craved exactly that...Scofield's forgiveness. He still craved it even though he tried to rationalize that truly ridiculous urge - after all Scofield was a convict and while he had staged that robbery for maybe noble reasons, he was directly responsible for unleashing the likes of Bagwell and Abruzzi back onto society - by telling himself that Scofield was his ticket out of here. After all with his genius IQ and his LLI it would only be a matter of time before the man found a way out and Alex sure as hell intended to be right behind him when that happened. And to be there, Scofield had to forgive him, had to let him in.
Behind all those rationalizations which were true enough, it was more than that. In a truly sadistic twist, Michael Scofield was as close to moral highground as you could get right here, right now. Scofield who came from a frightingly similar background as he himself, who had dug himself out of a painful childhood by talent and hard work and had finally earned himself a well-payed job, a beautiful penthouse...the picture-perfect life. And he had then given it up to do what he felt he had to do. There was a difference, though, between giving up the picture-perfectness willingly to save the life of your brother and only living relative and losing your picture-perfectness because you were unable to own up to your mistakes. To the consequences of killing a man - no matter how vile and deserving of death he may have been. That was where the moral highground came into play and why he yearned for Scofield's - no, for Michael's forgiveness.
Therefore Alex had decided to step into that fight the second it had become clear that Michael would have to kill. The metallic gleam of the shank had only spurred him into action because he knew that Michael wouldn't, couldn't kill. Because Michael Scofield was a good man, a man who somehow had managed to hold onto his ethnical principles throughout all that had happened in the last year, throughout all he had seen and done. Alex admired him for that strength and at the same time he was glad that he himself lacked it because while being willing and able to kill a man meant that he would rot in hell, it also meant that he had something to offer that Michael needed, needed desperately in this place lacking a plan which would 'buy' him protection.
So Alexander Mahone had stepped up, had blocked that man from stabbing Michael in the back and had snapped his neck. Just like that. Offering his own moral failibity in exchange for Michael's forgiveness.
"Rules are rules, remember? If we don't have them, we're savages."