Michael/Sara oneshot: Innocent Reflection
Title: Innocent Reflection
Show: Prison Break
Characters: Michael/Sara
Rating: PG
Summary: Sara dreams of the future and talks to Michael about her overdose (set around episode 2x18).
Disclaimer: I do not own Prison Break.
Author's notes: This is my first Prison Break fic, I decided I wanted to have a go at writing Michael/Sara fic. Hope you guys like it.
Innocent Reflection
She hadn’t meant for this to happen, for her to end up here, in a hotel room in Chicago with a man she knew little about, but, in some strange way, knew better than anyone else she had ever met. She had once, not so long ago, tried to convince herself that he was merely one in a crowd she faced every day. Yet living in denial only worked for so long and it had caught up with her, sooner rather than later. Somewhere along the way Sara had come to realise that she was in this completely … more than perhaps was safe. She would do just about anything for him. That fact was what scared her most about the entire situation they were in, more so than any identity chasing them.
Sometimes now, in fleeting moments, she thought of the future and saw it in glimpses, all with Michael a constant presence. More strange than that was the fact that she could see the future at all. It had been a long time since she had allowed herself to dream. But now she imagined … water and sand … Panama, allowing herself to stumble recklessly into Michael’s hopeful visions of the future. It was ironic that this life, where she was in constant danger, was the one that willed her to dream. Perhaps that’s what such fear did, forced you to find hope … or to surrender, as she had once always done.
“What are you thinking about?” The whispering, familiar voice spoke from just behind her. Genuine and sincere, not forcing but encouraging. The night had fallen, and the dull lighting of the hotel room cast a glow over the room.
“Uh, nothing … I leave all the thinking to you.” She gave a light nervous laugh. Michael wondered how long it had been since he had heard Sara laugh a genuinely happy laugh. Perhaps he hadn’t since that very first day in the infirmary… she had laughed innocently at his joke, Michael recalled. He yearned so much to hear that sound again, and couldn't help but think it was his fault that it has vanished. He pulled up a chair and sat down next to her at the table. She met his gaze, with her head tilted sideways slightly as she rested her elbow on the table and her head in her hand. He could see that nothing was the furthest thing from what was on her mind. Michael wished for her to tell him her every thought, whatever it was. He regretted how little he actually knew about her, that he learnt of her life and past only in brief utterings amongst stolen moments.
They sat in silence for a moment and Michael reluctantly drew his eyes from Sara, realising he had been doing what some would call staring. He glanced down at the table, instantly missing Sara’s eyes.
She dropped her hand from her head and nervously pushed some stray hair behind her ear. “Michael?” she spoke, her voice fragile.
He turned and met her gaze, happy to once again see her eyes. Sara observed the gentle look of wonder and almost awe that graced his face; a silent confirmation of his focus on her and the words she would speak.
“I just ... we never really talked about it and I just wanted you to know that what happened, what I did after the escape … it wasn’t your fault.”
“Sara I…”
“When you called me after you got out I could hear the guilt in your voice, and I still see it every time you look at me … and I can’t let you go on carrying unnecessary guilt for something that I did, that was my own fault.” She paused. “I don’t blame you, you shouldn’t blame yourself.”
Michael felt his heart rate speed up; he was nervous to broach this topic for fear of saying something wrong or asking too much. But Sara was obviously trying to ease the guilt she knew he felt, and Michael was once again in awe of her empathy and compassion. “I know you don’t blame me. But we both know that what I did, what I asked you to do … that was out of line and it … it led you to ...”
She shook her head. “It was so much more complicated than that.”
He lightly took her hand in his in a way that was strangely natural, something that he could see himself doing for the rest of his life. He traced her fingers with his own and met her eyes, a silent encouragement for her to continue, to tell him more, to tell him everything.
“They tell you that you have to understand that you’ll always be an addict. That once you become one, that term will always apply to you. That there will always be something there … something to tempt you. I first heard that at my group, before Fox River. I remember thinking how depressing that was, knowing that I could never leave it completely behind. I told myself that I could prove them wrong … but I guess I know now that they say that for a reason.” She paused, as if in thought, realising once again the bitter truth of the story.
Michael could hear the hopelessness in her voice. She had once had hope for creating a brighter future for herself, but now had surrendered to a belief that she couldn’t let go of the past and of the person she once had been. Michael, always the optimist and man of undying hope, suddenly felt hopeless. He wanted nothing more than to make her feel worthy, to respect herself and to believe, in life, in herself and even in him. But as she spoke, even though he knew it was not in any way her intention, Michael’s guilt overwhelmed him. He admitted to himself that his presence in her life had not brought her faith or hope, but had diminished the traces of it which she had clung to. Had he, of all people, destroyed her hope? The thought was unbearable, tragic even.
Michael tried to meet her eyes which were fixed on their clasped hands. He considered saying something, but before he could, she finally met his eyes and continued. “Michael, I was an addict long before I met you. You had nothing to do with that.”
“I wish I could fix it,” his gentle voice spoke sincerely.
Those words meant so much to her. “I know,” she told him. “But Michael, just by being here … by caring …” She trailed off, having trouble finding the right words. “You are fixing it.”
“Sara …” he breathed her name. “You told me once that if I needed to talk you’d be around. Well the same goes for you. If you want to talk, you can come to me. I want you to know that.”
“I know. Thanks, Michael.” She smiled ever so briefly. But he saw it. “So tell me something …” she spoke and sat up straight in her seat, turning to face him directly. “What’s with this dive shop idea?”
Michael smiled. Sara so simply asking about something he planned for the future gave him comfort. Perhaps it was strange, but somehow her question reassured him. Reassured him that maybe, just maybe, all her hope had not been stolen. Maybe she too dreamed of life beyond this, where they would be free. And maybe, together, they could find a way to someday, somehow, turn his vision of the future into reality.
Show: Prison Break
Characters: Michael/Sara
Rating: PG
Summary: Sara dreams of the future and talks to Michael about her overdose (set around episode 2x18).
Disclaimer: I do not own Prison Break.
Author's notes: This is my first Prison Break fic, I decided I wanted to have a go at writing Michael/Sara fic. Hope you guys like it.
Innocent Reflection
She hadn’t meant for this to happen, for her to end up here, in a hotel room in Chicago with a man she knew little about, but, in some strange way, knew better than anyone else she had ever met. She had once, not so long ago, tried to convince herself that he was merely one in a crowd she faced every day. Yet living in denial only worked for so long and it had caught up with her, sooner rather than later. Somewhere along the way Sara had come to realise that she was in this completely … more than perhaps was safe. She would do just about anything for him. That fact was what scared her most about the entire situation they were in, more so than any identity chasing them.
Sometimes now, in fleeting moments, she thought of the future and saw it in glimpses, all with Michael a constant presence. More strange than that was the fact that she could see the future at all. It had been a long time since she had allowed herself to dream. But now she imagined … water and sand … Panama, allowing herself to stumble recklessly into Michael’s hopeful visions of the future. It was ironic that this life, where she was in constant danger, was the one that willed her to dream. Perhaps that’s what such fear did, forced you to find hope … or to surrender, as she had once always done.
“What are you thinking about?” The whispering, familiar voice spoke from just behind her. Genuine and sincere, not forcing but encouraging. The night had fallen, and the dull lighting of the hotel room cast a glow over the room.
“Uh, nothing … I leave all the thinking to you.” She gave a light nervous laugh. Michael wondered how long it had been since he had heard Sara laugh a genuinely happy laugh. Perhaps he hadn’t since that very first day in the infirmary… she had laughed innocently at his joke, Michael recalled. He yearned so much to hear that sound again, and couldn't help but think it was his fault that it has vanished. He pulled up a chair and sat down next to her at the table. She met his gaze, with her head tilted sideways slightly as she rested her elbow on the table and her head in her hand. He could see that nothing was the furthest thing from what was on her mind. Michael wished for her to tell him her every thought, whatever it was. He regretted how little he actually knew about her, that he learnt of her life and past only in brief utterings amongst stolen moments.
They sat in silence for a moment and Michael reluctantly drew his eyes from Sara, realising he had been doing what some would call staring. He glanced down at the table, instantly missing Sara’s eyes.
She dropped her hand from her head and nervously pushed some stray hair behind her ear. “Michael?” she spoke, her voice fragile.
He turned and met her gaze, happy to once again see her eyes. Sara observed the gentle look of wonder and almost awe that graced his face; a silent confirmation of his focus on her and the words she would speak.
“I just ... we never really talked about it and I just wanted you to know that what happened, what I did after the escape … it wasn’t your fault.”
“Sara I…”
“When you called me after you got out I could hear the guilt in your voice, and I still see it every time you look at me … and I can’t let you go on carrying unnecessary guilt for something that I did, that was my own fault.” She paused. “I don’t blame you, you shouldn’t blame yourself.”
Michael felt his heart rate speed up; he was nervous to broach this topic for fear of saying something wrong or asking too much. But Sara was obviously trying to ease the guilt she knew he felt, and Michael was once again in awe of her empathy and compassion. “I know you don’t blame me. But we both know that what I did, what I asked you to do … that was out of line and it … it led you to ...”
She shook her head. “It was so much more complicated than that.”
He lightly took her hand in his in a way that was strangely natural, something that he could see himself doing for the rest of his life. He traced her fingers with his own and met her eyes, a silent encouragement for her to continue, to tell him more, to tell him everything.
“They tell you that you have to understand that you’ll always be an addict. That once you become one, that term will always apply to you. That there will always be something there … something to tempt you. I first heard that at my group, before Fox River. I remember thinking how depressing that was, knowing that I could never leave it completely behind. I told myself that I could prove them wrong … but I guess I know now that they say that for a reason.” She paused, as if in thought, realising once again the bitter truth of the story.
Michael could hear the hopelessness in her voice. She had once had hope for creating a brighter future for herself, but now had surrendered to a belief that she couldn’t let go of the past and of the person she once had been. Michael, always the optimist and man of undying hope, suddenly felt hopeless. He wanted nothing more than to make her feel worthy, to respect herself and to believe, in life, in herself and even in him. But as she spoke, even though he knew it was not in any way her intention, Michael’s guilt overwhelmed him. He admitted to himself that his presence in her life had not brought her faith or hope, but had diminished the traces of it which she had clung to. Had he, of all people, destroyed her hope? The thought was unbearable, tragic even.
Michael tried to meet her eyes which were fixed on their clasped hands. He considered saying something, but before he could, she finally met his eyes and continued. “Michael, I was an addict long before I met you. You had nothing to do with that.”
“I wish I could fix it,” his gentle voice spoke sincerely.
Those words meant so much to her. “I know,” she told him. “But Michael, just by being here … by caring …” She trailed off, having trouble finding the right words. “You are fixing it.”
“Sara …” he breathed her name. “You told me once that if I needed to talk you’d be around. Well the same goes for you. If you want to talk, you can come to me. I want you to know that.”
“I know. Thanks, Michael.” She smiled ever so briefly. But he saw it. “So tell me something …” she spoke and sat up straight in her seat, turning to face him directly. “What’s with this dive shop idea?”
Michael smiled. Sara so simply asking about something he planned for the future gave him comfort. Perhaps it was strange, but somehow her question reassured him. Reassured him that maybe, just maybe, all her hope had not been stolen. Maybe she too dreamed of life beyond this, where they would be free. And maybe, together, they could find a way to someday, somehow, turn his vision of the future into reality.