(no subject)
Title: Choice (1/1)
Fandom: Prison Break
Pairing: Michael Scofield/Dr Sara Tancredi, Lincoln Burrows
Length: 954 words
Rating: PG-15 (a few bad words)
Summary: You’ve driven in silence for the last five miles and that’s just fine with you, because you’re not sure you can talk without betraying the fact that you’re angry enough to smash your fist through the window of this rust bucket you’ve found yourself driving. Spoilers for Season One and Season Two. SPOILERS for "First Down".
Author's Note:I just can't seem to leave this 'story' alone, and I also wanted to write some Linc for becisvolatile. This takes place just before Better Than Nothing and also fits in with Unexpected. It will become totally AU as soon as #205 airs, but for now, have at it. All concrit is, as always, warmly welcome. *g*
~*~
You’ve driven in silence for the last five miles and that’s just fine with you, because you’re not sure you can talk without betraying the fact that you’re angry enough to smash your fist through the window of this rust bucket you’ve found yourself driving. Gripping the wheel so tight that your knuckles start to ache, you drive and you think about everything you’ve lost and how close you just came to losing what little you have left.
Finally, an hour after you’ve left your brother’s trigger-happy bride on the side of a deserted road, you pull over and announce to the increasing tension in the car that you need to take a leak.
“Fine,” Michael mutters, staring out the car window. Two minutes later, as you walk back towards the car, he’s standing beside it, his arms folded across his chest, glaring into the sun as he stares at you.
“You knew, didn’t you?” His voice is flat. “About Sara.”
You look at him, and you know that you’re not the only one who feels like punching something. Desolation lurks beneath the anger in his eyes, and you realise there’s no point in denying what he obviously already knows. “Read it in yesterday’s paper.”
His gaze narrows. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
There are many answers to that question - because you’ve got enough to worry about, because I don’t want anything else to distract us from rescuing my son - but you decide to go with the simplest one. “Because Sucre was right, man.” It’s not hard to sound sorry about what you’re saying because you are; reading about the Doc had been like a punch to the gut because you knew it had only happened because of you. “There’s nothing you can do it about it now.”
Michael looks away, staring into the distance. “Actually, there was.” You recognise the mutinous set to his jaw all too well. “I called her.”
You’re pretty sure your jaw has just dropped open. “Tell me you’re joking.” He says nothing, just looks at you with that same fucking misery that’s been in his eyes ever since Bellick opened his fat mouth, and you don’t know if you want to hug him or slug him. “Jesus Christ, Michael. We’ve got half the state looking for us and you’re making calls to someone whose phone line is bound to be tapped.”
“I know.”
The worst thing is that you almost understand. You think of your last, desperate calls to L.J. and to Vee - Christ, Vee - and the pain reaches up and grabs your chest and squeezes it tight. You push the pain down, push it away, because you can’t let yourself think about it now. One day, maybe soon, you’ll be somewhere safe and quiet and you’ll be able to let yourself fall apart. But not now.
Not trusting yourself to speak, you start to walk back to the car, scuffing the toes of your shoes into the dust as you walk back towards the car.
“I needed-” You look up at the sound of his voice. He seems flustered, maybe even a little embarrassed. “I needed to tell her that I was sorry.”
Of all the- “It couldn’t have waited until we were safely over the border?”
His face tightens. “No.” He wrenches open the car door and slides back into the front passenger seat. “She’s in as much danger now as we are.”
You suppress a snort of disbelief as you slam your own door shut. “I find that hard to believe it.”
“They know she helped us and they’ll be wondering how much she knows,” Michael shoots back, his voice so quiet you can hardly hear him. “And they might just decide she’s too much of a risk to keep around.”
You start the car, frowning, then it hits you. “You’re not talking about the Feds, are you?”
“No.”
You reach for the car radio, vaguely thankful that at least you don’t have to worry about this one exploding. “And you care that much? Enough to put both of us in danger?”
Over the sound of country music - Goddamn it, even Bellick’s taste in music sucks - you hear him inhale a deep breath. You glance at him; he looks as though he’d rather do anything but answer your question. Finally, his voice sounding as though he’s been smoking two packs a day for the last year, he says, “I can’t let anything happen. Not to her.”
You stare at him, and you know that this is as much of answer as you’re going to get, at least for now. “Fine.” Turning your attention back to the road, you wish - not for the first time - that your brother didn’t feel everything so damn much. “Just give me some warning the next time you plan to do something idiotic like practically handing the Feds a map to where we are.”
He clears his throat. “Actually-”
“What?” You glance at him, see the familiar gleam in his eyes. “No,” you say quickly. “Whatever you’re about to say, the answer is no.”
“I need to make sure she’s safe.” He looks at you pleadingly, and you suddenly remember the time when you were twelve and he was begging you to help convince your mother to buy a puppy. He looks at you and you think of what he’s sacrificed so that you could be sitting in this shitty car in the bright sunshine instead of dead in the fucking ground.
God damn it.
“It’s a bad idea.”
“I know.”
You swear under your breath, then out loud. “Fuck it,” you mutter, shaking your head in defeat as the crappy country music wafts over you. “Let’s do it.”
~*~
Fandom: Prison Break
Pairing: Michael Scofield/Dr Sara Tancredi, Lincoln Burrows
Length: 954 words
Rating: PG-15 (a few bad words)
Summary: You’ve driven in silence for the last five miles and that’s just fine with you, because you’re not sure you can talk without betraying the fact that you’re angry enough to smash your fist through the window of this rust bucket you’ve found yourself driving. Spoilers for Season One and Season Two. SPOILERS for "First Down".
Author's Note:I just can't seem to leave this 'story' alone, and I also wanted to write some Linc for becisvolatile. This takes place just before Better Than Nothing and also fits in with Unexpected. It will become totally AU as soon as #205 airs, but for now, have at it. All concrit is, as always, warmly welcome. *g*
~*~
You’ve driven in silence for the last five miles and that’s just fine with you, because you’re not sure you can talk without betraying the fact that you’re angry enough to smash your fist through the window of this rust bucket you’ve found yourself driving. Gripping the wheel so tight that your knuckles start to ache, you drive and you think about everything you’ve lost and how close you just came to losing what little you have left.
Finally, an hour after you’ve left your brother’s trigger-happy bride on the side of a deserted road, you pull over and announce to the increasing tension in the car that you need to take a leak.
“Fine,” Michael mutters, staring out the car window. Two minutes later, as you walk back towards the car, he’s standing beside it, his arms folded across his chest, glaring into the sun as he stares at you.
“You knew, didn’t you?” His voice is flat. “About Sara.”
You look at him, and you know that you’re not the only one who feels like punching something. Desolation lurks beneath the anger in his eyes, and you realise there’s no point in denying what he obviously already knows. “Read it in yesterday’s paper.”
His gaze narrows. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
There are many answers to that question - because you’ve got enough to worry about, because I don’t want anything else to distract us from rescuing my son - but you decide to go with the simplest one. “Because Sucre was right, man.” It’s not hard to sound sorry about what you’re saying because you are; reading about the Doc had been like a punch to the gut because you knew it had only happened because of you. “There’s nothing you can do it about it now.”
Michael looks away, staring into the distance. “Actually, there was.” You recognise the mutinous set to his jaw all too well. “I called her.”
You’re pretty sure your jaw has just dropped open. “Tell me you’re joking.” He says nothing, just looks at you with that same fucking misery that’s been in his eyes ever since Bellick opened his fat mouth, and you don’t know if you want to hug him or slug him. “Jesus Christ, Michael. We’ve got half the state looking for us and you’re making calls to someone whose phone line is bound to be tapped.”
“I know.”
The worst thing is that you almost understand. You think of your last, desperate calls to L.J. and to Vee - Christ, Vee - and the pain reaches up and grabs your chest and squeezes it tight. You push the pain down, push it away, because you can’t let yourself think about it now. One day, maybe soon, you’ll be somewhere safe and quiet and you’ll be able to let yourself fall apart. But not now.
Not trusting yourself to speak, you start to walk back to the car, scuffing the toes of your shoes into the dust as you walk back towards the car.
“I needed-” You look up at the sound of his voice. He seems flustered, maybe even a little embarrassed. “I needed to tell her that I was sorry.”
Of all the- “It couldn’t have waited until we were safely over the border?”
His face tightens. “No.” He wrenches open the car door and slides back into the front passenger seat. “She’s in as much danger now as we are.”
You suppress a snort of disbelief as you slam your own door shut. “I find that hard to believe it.”
“They know she helped us and they’ll be wondering how much she knows,” Michael shoots back, his voice so quiet you can hardly hear him. “And they might just decide she’s too much of a risk to keep around.”
You start the car, frowning, then it hits you. “You’re not talking about the Feds, are you?”
“No.”
You reach for the car radio, vaguely thankful that at least you don’t have to worry about this one exploding. “And you care that much? Enough to put both of us in danger?”
Over the sound of country music - Goddamn it, even Bellick’s taste in music sucks - you hear him inhale a deep breath. You glance at him; he looks as though he’d rather do anything but answer your question. Finally, his voice sounding as though he’s been smoking two packs a day for the last year, he says, “I can’t let anything happen. Not to her.”
You stare at him, and you know that this is as much of answer as you’re going to get, at least for now. “Fine.” Turning your attention back to the road, you wish - not for the first time - that your brother didn’t feel everything so damn much. “Just give me some warning the next time you plan to do something idiotic like practically handing the Feds a map to where we are.”
He clears his throat. “Actually-”
“What?” You glance at him, see the familiar gleam in his eyes. “No,” you say quickly. “Whatever you’re about to say, the answer is no.”
“I need to make sure she’s safe.” He looks at you pleadingly, and you suddenly remember the time when you were twelve and he was begging you to help convince your mother to buy a puppy. He looks at you and you think of what he’s sacrificed so that you could be sitting in this shitty car in the bright sunshine instead of dead in the fucking ground.
God damn it.
“It’s a bad idea.”
“I know.”
You swear under your breath, then out loud. “Fuck it,” you mutter, shaking your head in defeat as the crappy country music wafts over you. “Let’s do it.”
~*~