Michael/Sara oneshot
Title: By the Ocean
Show: Prison Break
Pairing: Michael/Sara
Rating: G
Words: 1,316
Summary: The first time he sees her there, he leaves her be. He watches her and worries about her, but that’s all.
Author's notes: I wrote this the day before episode 4x05 aired, and since the episode has now aired this fic doesn't quite fit. So please ignore 4x05 when reading this. Comments are appreciated!
By the Ocean
The first time he sees her there, he leaves her be. He watches her and worries about her, but that’s all. She’s moving her legs in a nervous rhythm, the movement unsettling him. Perhaps if she had seemed calmer, he may have been less uneasy at the sight of her there, facing away from ocean, sitting alone. He could go and sit with her - he should - but he does not know what to say, he doesn’t know where to begin. He can’t promise her everything will be okay, because god knows it’s not a promise that he’s sure he can keep, it’s not one he has the control to keep, no matter how much he wishes he did. Even if he made the promise, he’s not sure she’d believe him. He knows that she, now more than ever, knows that sometimes pain just won’t leave. It’s not a feeling he never wanted for her. He's guilty but he's not naive; he knows she had experienced pain before he came into her life. But he knows that if they had not met, the pain she is experiencing now, the pain that seems to have come in waves flowing in since their first meeting, would be non-existent. No amount of love can take that truth away.
The green of her shirt seems brighter in the sun, as does the red in her hair. He observes every detail, for fresh is the memory of a time when he thought he would never get the chance again. He could go to her and take her soft hands in his. He could break down and tell her how much he needs her, how much he loves her, and how his life - as cliché as it sounds - is not worth living without her in it. But none of that would help her now. She would feel uncomfortable and like she had to say things in return, to reassure him. He didn’t want that, he wanted to be the one bringing reassurance. Saying such things would only pressure her or make her feel guilty. He wants none of that for her. He wants only calm; he wants only peace.
* * *
The second time he sees her there, he goes to her. She’s standing, facing the ocean, hands in her pockets, swaying slightly with the same nervousness and unease that she had shown the day before. After initial awkwardness which he hates for existing, he makes her laugh, just a little. And even though she continues to sway and her eyes stare at the harsh ground beneath them, her quiet, fleeting laugh brings a wash of calm over him. It urges him to continue.
“I’m here. Whenever you want to talk, I’m here,” he says, looking at her with the gentlest look he can find in amongst his self-conscious worry. She thanks him with a formality that somehow takes him by surprise. He turns to leave, hoping for her to stop him. She does, and he is thankful. A part of him wishes she would take him by the hand, sit down by the water and drown his shirt in tears as she lets go of deep held secrets of sorrow. He knows this is not what she'll do, not yet anyway.
"You know that the only thing that kept me alive when I was being held was the thought of being with you," she says. It's not everything about the traumatic time, it's barely anything. Yet it means so much, it almost scares him. Ignoring his selfish revelling in the love in her words, he takes in the fact that she had mentioned the time she was being held. Not the brutal facts he had been given a glimpse into the night before, nor the intricacies of her capture and escape. But it didn't matter, for she had said something. Baby steps. And he would be there when she was ready to take the next one.
* * *
The third time he sees her there, he gently grazes her shoulder with his fingertips. She seems relaxed, seated and gazing out to sea, laughing when his words and actions prompt it. "You really want to drop that thing in the water some day, sail off to points unknown?" she asks with a laugh, and for a moment he doesn't think she knows just how serious he is. He imagines them floating on the water, him leaving the cabin of their comfortable boat to find her sitting on the edge with her feet dangling in the water, the sun warming her peaceful face; free from any worry or pain. He imagines sitting beside her watching the sunset. He imagines pulling her into the water with him, her holding onto the side of the boat with one hand, as if afraid their salvation might drift away.
But now, they are on land. And for the moment it is merely a dream. Reality calls him back inside, but he catches the wistful hope in her eyes as he whispers "one day" and she gazes out to sea. And he is discreetly elated, for he knows she shares his dream.
* * *
The fourth time he sees her there, he stands beside her. She had told him she was going outside, just for a little while. This was the first time, upon her disappearance outside, that she had mentioned where she was going. He knew it had to do with the events of the day, his speaking of worry when he hadn't known where she was upon returning from the warehouse to find she wasn't there.
The day had turned to night, and her mood is much different from that morning when the two had dreamily talked of their future. He looks down at her and watches as she rubs a thumb anxiously against the fabric which covers her right knee. "I feel like I should tell you where I was," she says after a moment.
"Do you want to?" he asks gently, his gaze drifting to her face, mostly hidden by her hair, the unhidden parts still unclear in the darkness of the night.
She sighs and doesn't answer for a moment, staring vacantly out into the black water, light dancing in the ripples. "Honestly?" she says after a moment, not giving him a chance to reply before she continues. "No."
He sits down on her right side. He delicately places his left hand over her right one. He takes a moment before he begins to speak, ever so softly. "You don't have to tell me, don't feel like you do. All I care about is you being okay. But if telling me about it... if that will help, then I think it's a good idea."
She senses his words don't only refer to today. She knows he's speaking of the time they spent apart, the horrific experiences she bears physical evidence of. She is acutely aware that she hasn't spoken any more about it since the night they were reunited. She knows he's acutely aware of it as well.
After a brief moment, she turns to him and sees a small crease of worry between his eyes. His blue eyes trap her as they always have; as they always will, she knows. She leans forward and touches her lips to his in the most delicate of kisses. He's a little surprised, but he doesn't show it, kissing her back gently. She slowly breaks the kiss, pulling back to look in his eyes. His hand combs through the hair hanging down the right side of her face, getting caught in a tangle at the end and gently untangling it with his fingers. His eyes remain focused on hers, waiting for the words he sees her struggling to find.
"Can we start with today?" she whispers.
He nods, and gives an encouraging smile. And so she speaks.
Show: Prison Break
Pairing: Michael/Sara
Rating: G
Words: 1,316
Summary: The first time he sees her there, he leaves her be. He watches her and worries about her, but that’s all.
Author's notes: I wrote this the day before episode 4x05 aired, and since the episode has now aired this fic doesn't quite fit. So please ignore 4x05 when reading this. Comments are appreciated!
By the Ocean
The first time he sees her there, he leaves her be. He watches her and worries about her, but that’s all. She’s moving her legs in a nervous rhythm, the movement unsettling him. Perhaps if she had seemed calmer, he may have been less uneasy at the sight of her there, facing away from ocean, sitting alone. He could go and sit with her - he should - but he does not know what to say, he doesn’t know where to begin. He can’t promise her everything will be okay, because god knows it’s not a promise that he’s sure he can keep, it’s not one he has the control to keep, no matter how much he wishes he did. Even if he made the promise, he’s not sure she’d believe him. He knows that she, now more than ever, knows that sometimes pain just won’t leave. It’s not a feeling he never wanted for her. He's guilty but he's not naive; he knows she had experienced pain before he came into her life. But he knows that if they had not met, the pain she is experiencing now, the pain that seems to have come in waves flowing in since their first meeting, would be non-existent. No amount of love can take that truth away.
The green of her shirt seems brighter in the sun, as does the red in her hair. He observes every detail, for fresh is the memory of a time when he thought he would never get the chance again. He could go to her and take her soft hands in his. He could break down and tell her how much he needs her, how much he loves her, and how his life - as cliché as it sounds - is not worth living without her in it. But none of that would help her now. She would feel uncomfortable and like she had to say things in return, to reassure him. He didn’t want that, he wanted to be the one bringing reassurance. Saying such things would only pressure her or make her feel guilty. He wants none of that for her. He wants only calm; he wants only peace.
* * *
The second time he sees her there, he goes to her. She’s standing, facing the ocean, hands in her pockets, swaying slightly with the same nervousness and unease that she had shown the day before. After initial awkwardness which he hates for existing, he makes her laugh, just a little. And even though she continues to sway and her eyes stare at the harsh ground beneath them, her quiet, fleeting laugh brings a wash of calm over him. It urges him to continue.
“I’m here. Whenever you want to talk, I’m here,” he says, looking at her with the gentlest look he can find in amongst his self-conscious worry. She thanks him with a formality that somehow takes him by surprise. He turns to leave, hoping for her to stop him. She does, and he is thankful. A part of him wishes she would take him by the hand, sit down by the water and drown his shirt in tears as she lets go of deep held secrets of sorrow. He knows this is not what she'll do, not yet anyway.
"You know that the only thing that kept me alive when I was being held was the thought of being with you," she says. It's not everything about the traumatic time, it's barely anything. Yet it means so much, it almost scares him. Ignoring his selfish revelling in the love in her words, he takes in the fact that she had mentioned the time she was being held. Not the brutal facts he had been given a glimpse into the night before, nor the intricacies of her capture and escape. But it didn't matter, for she had said something. Baby steps. And he would be there when she was ready to take the next one.
* * *
The third time he sees her there, he gently grazes her shoulder with his fingertips. She seems relaxed, seated and gazing out to sea, laughing when his words and actions prompt it. "You really want to drop that thing in the water some day, sail off to points unknown?" she asks with a laugh, and for a moment he doesn't think she knows just how serious he is. He imagines them floating on the water, him leaving the cabin of their comfortable boat to find her sitting on the edge with her feet dangling in the water, the sun warming her peaceful face; free from any worry or pain. He imagines sitting beside her watching the sunset. He imagines pulling her into the water with him, her holding onto the side of the boat with one hand, as if afraid their salvation might drift away.
But now, they are on land. And for the moment it is merely a dream. Reality calls him back inside, but he catches the wistful hope in her eyes as he whispers "one day" and she gazes out to sea. And he is discreetly elated, for he knows she shares his dream.
* * *
The fourth time he sees her there, he stands beside her. She had told him she was going outside, just for a little while. This was the first time, upon her disappearance outside, that she had mentioned where she was going. He knew it had to do with the events of the day, his speaking of worry when he hadn't known where she was upon returning from the warehouse to find she wasn't there.
The day had turned to night, and her mood is much different from that morning when the two had dreamily talked of their future. He looks down at her and watches as she rubs a thumb anxiously against the fabric which covers her right knee. "I feel like I should tell you where I was," she says after a moment.
"Do you want to?" he asks gently, his gaze drifting to her face, mostly hidden by her hair, the unhidden parts still unclear in the darkness of the night.
She sighs and doesn't answer for a moment, staring vacantly out into the black water, light dancing in the ripples. "Honestly?" she says after a moment, not giving him a chance to reply before she continues. "No."
He sits down on her right side. He delicately places his left hand over her right one. He takes a moment before he begins to speak, ever so softly. "You don't have to tell me, don't feel like you do. All I care about is you being okay. But if telling me about it... if that will help, then I think it's a good idea."
She senses his words don't only refer to today. She knows he's speaking of the time they spent apart, the horrific experiences she bears physical evidence of. She is acutely aware that she hasn't spoken any more about it since the night they were reunited. She knows he's acutely aware of it as well.
After a brief moment, she turns to him and sees a small crease of worry between his eyes. His blue eyes trap her as they always have; as they always will, she knows. She leans forward and touches her lips to his in the most delicate of kisses. He's a little surprised, but he doesn't show it, kissing her back gently. She slowly breaks the kiss, pulling back to look in his eyes. His hand combs through the hair hanging down the right side of her face, getting caught in a tangle at the end and gently untangling it with his fingers. His eyes remain focused on hers, waiting for the words he sees her struggling to find.
"Can we start with today?" she whispers.
He nods, and gives an encouraging smile. And so she speaks.