India - Michael/Sara (Chapter Six)
Title: India - Chapter Six
Fandom: Prison Break
Characters: Michael Scofield, Sara Tancredi
Pairing: Michael/Sara
Length: 4,459 words
Rating: PG-15
Summary: All good things come to those who wait.
Author's Note:This story is part of the Full Circle series. It takes place between the 'end' and the 'epilogue' of Safe House, and will make much more sense if you've already read that story. You can read the first five chapters here. Huge thanks to swatkat24 for letting me badger her with food-related questions (several months ago now, I'm embarrassed to admit) and helping me make Michael and Sara's journey as authentic as possible. Thanks to wrldpossiblity for the beta. Any mistakes that remain are all mine, and all concrit is welcomed with open arms. For everyone who was following this story before Season Three stole my inspiration away, thank you for being so patient.
~*~
Michael takes her hand as they wait for the elevator to arrive, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. His smile is almost a secretive one, and she can’t help nudging her shoulder with his. “Going to let me in on the joke?”
He squeezes her hand gently, his bright eyes crinkling at the corners as he beams at her. “Just happy to be here.”
Lifting her face to his, she has just enough time to press a soft kiss to his mouth before she hears the muted ding of the elevator. Grinning, she swipes her thumb over his lips, smudging away the sheen of her lip balm. “Me, too.”
They run the charming gauntlet of polite greetings from the staff as they make their way through the foyer, ending with a short-lived tussle between Michael and the doorman as to who can open the door for her. The doorman wins - don’t feel badly, he’s a trained professional, Sara tells Michael consolingly in a laughing whisper, then they’re standing in the circular driveway with the day and the city at their disposal.
Michael gestures at one of the many taxis parked in the palm tree-lined driveway, its black rounded, body and bright yellow roof reminding her of an oversized beetle. “Should we take a taxi?”
She considers the question for a moment. It’s already quite warm, but they’ll still be comfortable walking, at least for a while. “Only if you want to.”
He grins, and she knows he’s remembering the trip from the airport. “Only if we have to.”
She waves her hand in a sweeping flourish. “Then let’s walk.”
They walk down the laneway that will take them to the main street, leaving the marble sanctuary of their hotel behind them. “Do you know this part of town well?”
Pushing her sunglasses a little further up the bridge of her nose, she casts him a reassuring glance. “I won’t get us lost, if that’s your concern.”
His smile becomes a smirk, and she has the sudden urge to see if his bicep is still feeling the aftereffects of his recent inoculations. “The thought never entered my head.” His eyes are hidden behind his own sunglasses, but she doesn’t need to see his eyes to know he’s enjoying himself. His gaze slides from left to right as they walk, his long fingers impatiently drumming the front pockets of his jeans. “What’s that there?” he asks, drawing her attention to the large, sprawling building close to their hotel.
“That’s the New Markets, but I think we’ll visit it another day.” The markets are one of her favourite places to visit, but she can’t face them today, not on only four hours sleep. “You really need a whole day to explore it properly.”
“Good place to find souvenirs to take home with us?”
She grins, thinking of the hundreds of stalls and shops in the New Market. The chances of them not being able to find something for the people they’d left behind in Panama are very, very slim. “Definitely.”
Once they reach the main street, she curls her hand around his wrist, gently tugging him to a stop as a solid wall of sound - people and cars and motorbikes and livestock - rises up to greet them. She looks around her, excitement fizzing through her veins like champagne. The sky is a shocking blue, the air warm and fragrant with a dozen suddenly familiar scents - spice and heat and humanity - and Sara can’t believe she’s actually here. Well, she corrects herself, she can’t believe she’s here with Michael. “I just need to get my bearings. It’s been a while.”
His eyebrows make an appearance between the top of his sunglasses and the rim of his baseball cap. “Having navigational problems already?”
She squeezes his wrist, rubbing her thumb over the inked skin that hides his pulse. “Says the man who had to tattoo directions on himself so he wouldn’t forget them.” His eyes gleam with intent, but she cuts him off before he can shoot back a playful retort. “Okay, what would you like to see first? We have a museum, two temples and an abundance of stores within walking distance.”
He ponders the question for a moment, then shrugs happily. “Your choice.”
The notion of him handing complete control over the day’s activities is such a novel one that it takes her a moment to gather her thoughts. Considering the fact they’re both running on adrenaline, caffeine and very little sleep, Sara decides some tranquility wouldn’t go astray. “I think I have an idea.”
~*~
Stretched out beside him, her legs crossed neatly at the ankles, Sara sighs happily. “They call this place the Lungs of Kolkata.”
“I can see why.”
They’re lying on a blanket - newly acquired by Sara after a brief but spirited haggling session with a local merchant - beneath the shade of a large banyan tree in the most unexpected expanse of green. The park is dotted with groups of people playing sport, having lunch and doing exactly what he and Sara are doing, basking in the warmth of the day. If he ignores the huge, rounded white domes of the Victoria Memorial at the far end of the park, he could almost imagine himself in Central Park. Then again, he thinks wryly, there are a few other differences. To their right, he can hear the sound of a raucous cricket game. To his left -
He squints behind his sunglasses. “Am I really seeing ponies?”
Sara chuckles as she cranes her neck to follow the line of his gaze. “Yes.”
“Thank God. I thought the jetlag had finally caught up with me.” Rolling onto his side, he props his head in one hand and gazes down at her. “I should call Linc soon, let him know we arrived okay.”
“What time is it at home now?”
He checks his watch. “Four o’clock in the morning, but he’s usually up by five to go surfing.”
“Didn’t Jane fly in yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“In that case, he might not be out of bed so early today.” They share a knowing smirk, then Sara slowly pushes herself into a half-sitting position, her hands splayed flat on the blanket behind her. “Maybe you should send him an email when we get back to the hotel, rather than calling him.”
He grins. “It would be safer, I think.”
They sit in an easy silence for almost an hour, watching the world languidly pass them by. Quietly but thoroughly entertained, Michael can’t help but marvel at how easily Sara managed to find the perfect location to suit his mood. They could have spent this time lying around the pool in their hotel in pampered comfort, but he didn’t come to India to hide behind the luxurious façade of their accommodation. And, he has to admit, sitting here with her reminds him very pleasantly of another time, almost another life. “A little different to the first time we shared a blanket on the grass,” he murmurs, and is immediately rewarded with a blush that steals across her face.
“I should think so,” she quips smilingly, her cheeks flushing with the memory of the first time they’d made love, making him wonder if she remembers the mingled scent of earth and grass and desire as well as he does. “I’d hate for us to get arrested for public indecency before we’ve had a chance to see the sights.”
Laughing, he lets his fingers rest against the curve of her waist, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath the thin cotton of her shirt. He’d like very much to kiss her, but as they say, when in Rome - “Is it strange, being back here?”
“A little.” She stares up at the branches high above their heads. “I was a very different person in those days.”
“In what way?”
Pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head, she turns to look at him. “Well, I got stoned almost every night, for a start.”
“Ah.” They’ve talked about her time in India many times, but this morning it feels much more tangible. “That’s definitely different.”
Her hand finds his in the folds of the blanket. “I’m very glad I’m not that person anymore.”
He smiles at her, something expanding deep inside his chest. “I’d still love you even if you were.”
Her fingers tighten around his, her lips curving in a tremulous smile. “I know.”
They lapse back into a companionable silence, her hand still in his as she stretches out beside him. He rubs his thumb over the ring on her finger, smiling to himself. They’ll be spending several hours at the orphanage tomorrow, but the day after that is theirs to do as they wish, and he fully intends to spend some quality shopping time alone. He watches with interest as another strangled cry of “How’s that?” goes up from the nearby cricket pitch. “This is another world, isn’t it?”
She nods. “I’ve missed it.” Wriggling into a cross-legged position, she runs her fingers through the grass at the edge of the blanket, her expression faintly wistful. “And I know this has nothing to do with anything, but I miss Chicago, too.”
He smiles. This is the kind of conversation usually reserved for late at night, lying in the darkness in their room. Being halfway around the world seems to have brought out a confessional streak in both of them. “So do I.” Before he can go on, an audible pang of hunger twists through his stomach, effectively halting the conversation. Reaching across, Sara pokes a gentle finger into his belly, obviously doing her best to keep a straight face.
“I take it you’re hungry?”
He holds up his hands in defeat. “What can I say? My body clock thinks it’s dinner time.”
She’s chuckling now, shaking her head as she scrambles to her feet and holds out her hand to him. “Come on, then. Let’s find you something to eat.”
~*~
It should have been a fifteen minute walk back to their hotel. Unfortunately, she hadn’t counted on Michael’s attempts to get her to stop at every roadside vendor along the way. After she shakes her head for the third time, he stops in his tracks and gives her a look she remembers all too well from the Fox River infirmary, stubbornness with a side order of charm. “Why not?”
She leans closer, not wanting to offend any English-speaking stallholders within earshot. “No food from roadside vendors.”
“But it looks so great.” He inhales deeply, then puts his hand on his stomach as if to stop it rumbling again. “It smells amazing.”
She turns to look at the display of deep-fried food, the spices teasing her nose, and her own mouth starts to water. It had been so long since she’d had this kind of food, she’d forgotten how much she used to love it. “I know it does,” she concedes, “but no food from roadside vendors. Ever.” Hooking her arm through his, she determinedly steers him away.
Michael stares at the people eating around them, the students and families and office workers enjoying an early lunch with obvious relish. “But -”
“I could give you a long and very boring lecture about hygiene and the water and the oil used for frying and how your Chicago-raised stomach will probably react to all of those things, but the bottom line is that it’s fine if you’re a local, not so good if you’re a visitor.”
He casts another longing glance at the food, looking decidedly unconvinced. “I thought you used to eat this stuff all the time when you were here.”
“I did, but I lived here for nine months.” She shrugs. “I acclimatized.”
He gives her a beseeching look, and she feels her resolve start to crumble. Then she thinks of him spending the rest of the night slumped over in their beautifully appointed bathroom, and shakes her head. “We’ll have some real Indian food soon, I promise.” She squeezes his arm, gently tugging him away from the hopeful looking vendor. “Now, though, I think we should head for Park Street.”
After looking both ways several times, they dart across the street, narrowly avoiding being mown down by a taxi and two motorcycles. “This traffic is unbelievable!” he exclaims happily as they make it unscathed to the other side of the road. “I’ll have to take some video footage for LJ.”
She laughs, thinking of LJ’s checkered history as a student driver. “Might make him feel better.”
Ten minutes later, they’re standing outside an eatery that looks more than a little familiar. Michael narrows his gaze as he looks at the red and yellow lettering, then turns to her, his expression making her bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “You’re kidding, right?”
Enjoying the sight of his disbelief perhaps a little more than she should, she offers him a reassuring smile. “Trust me.”
Once they’re inside, Michael stares up at the menu for several seconds, then breaks into a broad grin. He turns to her as he hastily pulls his wallet from his pocket, obviously amused by the novelty of the food on offer. “What will it be? A McAloo Tikka or a Maharaja Mac?”
She grins, suddenly starving. “Get both and we’ll share them.” She nudges his shoulder with hers. “Don’t forget the fries.”
After they’ve managed to find a spare table, he looks at her with mock solemnity. “I want you to promise me something.”
She liberates several fries from the container closest to her. “What?”
He unwraps one of the burgers, eyeing it with wary delight. “Lincoln never hears about this.”
She manages to swallow her mouthful of fries before the laughter catches in her throat. “Are you implying he’d make fun of the fact that your first real meal in Calcutta was a McDonalds’ burger and fries?”
“You’re a smart woman, Doctor Tancredi.”
When they’ve finished eating - the McAloo Tikka was a success, the Maharaja Mac less so - they make their way to the closest coffee house. As is always the case on Park Street, the place looks as though it might have been picked up off a busy Chicago street and transplanted here. There are students sipping very large coffees while pecking away at laptops, there are tourists comparing their most recent purchases, and harried-looking office workers of both sexes eating their lunch with one eye on their watches.
Michael leans back in his chair as he happily studies their surroundings, and Sara is so very glad they decided to make this trip together. Catching her eye, he smiles, and she feels a soft warmth wash over her. She’s always loved this country, but seeing it fresh through his eyes is something quite different. Everything seems more vivid, more intense, and she's quietly thrilled to be able to share it all with him.
“What time are they expecting us at the orphanage tomorrow morning?”
“Ten o’clock.” She takes a sip of the chai tea she’d ordered in place of a coffee, having been immediately swayed by the tempting aroma of cardamom wafting through the air. “The children should be in class when we first arrive, which will give us a fighting chance of talking to the sisters without being swarmed.”
He grins. “Sounds like fun.”
She flashes him a smile. “I hope you still feel that way by the time we leave.”
He chuckles, his knee nudging hers beneath the small table. “Are you insinuating I have no stamina when it comes to small children?”
“Not at all.” She takes another sip of her tea, playfully wrinkling her nose at him over the rim of her mug. “I haven’t seen you in action enough times to tell.”
Something flickers in his eyes at her words. He glances around them, his gaze lingering on the young mother sitting at the table beside them. Her sleeping baby is hitched up on her shoulder, its soft, tiny face the picture of contentment. He turns back to Sara, his eyes gleaming with that same indefinable emotion. “Do you want children?”
She stares at him, surprised by the directness of his question. They’ve been together for almost two years now, and it’s not that they’ve never discussed the possibility of starting a family, but it’s always been in the language of future tense, something to be hinted at and danced around. There has always been the unspoken sense that they were starting from behind the eight ball, that they needed to make sure they were okay before they brought a third person into their world. Looking at him now, she belatedly recognises the emotion in his eyes.
It’s hope.
She swallows hard, suddenly aware that her pulse seems to be pounding in several interesting places, including the hollow of her womb. “That depends.”
The corner of his mouth lifts in a slight smile, but the intensity of his gaze doesn’t change. “On what?”
Her heartbeat is now keeping pace with her pulse, thumping against her ribs in a steady tattoo. Her thoughts on the subject at hand have always been more than a little complicated, to say the least, but the answer is suddenly very simple. Reaching down, she brushes her palm over the curve of his jean-clad knee, feeling as though she’s blushing from ear to ear. “On the potential father’s stamina, I guess.”
His answering smile is almost blinding. His hand covers hers, his thumb brushing over her mother’s pearl ring in a familiar caress. “Feel like taking a swim in the hotel pool?”
She lets out a breath, feeling the unexpected tension in the air begin to dissipate. This isn’t exactly a subject she wants to discuss in the thick of a crowded coffee house, so she’s more than happy to take him up on the offer. Given the miserable weather at home, it’s been almost two weeks since they’ve been swimming, and she’s missed it. Not to mention, she thinks wryly, the fact that her face still feels as though it’s glowing like a beacon. “Lead the way.”
As they’re about to leave, a group of college students arrive, talking and laughing loudly. The last member of the group, a tall boy with a baby face, steps back politely to let her through the door. As she smiles a thank you at him, the unmistakable scent of fresh marijuana smoke hits her, making her stomach flip over. She must miss a step, because she feels the weight of Michael’s hand in the small of her back, feels the soft brush of his voice against the back of her neck.
“You okay?”
“Uh, yeah, fine,” she stammers hastily, her senses seeming to tingle as the mingled smell of pot and coffee and spice washes over her, jerking back her to a time she’d rather forget. The memory of easy oblivion is suddenly thick on the back of her tongue, crowding her mouth. She swallows hard, but her voice sounds thin and reedy. It sounds weak. Just like her, she thinks. “Let’s get some fresh air.”
~*~
He’s never really thought about the word oasis in its literal context, but floating in the clear blue water of the most amazing art deco pool he’s ever seen, the sounds of the city muffled by the high walls and thick greenery, he suspects he’s found the perfect real life example. “Have I mentioned how glad I am that you chose this hotel?”
Gracefully treading water beside him, Sara grins. “Once or twice.”
They’re the only guests taking advantage of the pool at this early hour of the afternoon. Various hotel staff hover discreetly, of course, but after a day spent surrounded by what felt like thousands of people, the sense of privacy is very welcome.
“This is exactly what I needed,” Sara adds, the words almost sounding like a groan of appreciation. “I feel as though I haven’t been in the water for months.”
He looks at her, pleased to see her looking happy and relaxed. She’s been strangely quiet ever since they left the coffee house, and he can’t help but assume it has something to do with their conversation about having children. He’s not sure why he'd blurted out that question, given he has another life-changing request on his mind already, but as he'd gazed at that tiny and perfectly formed baby's face, it had seemed like the perfect thing to ask her. “Everything okay?”
She smiles. “Just a little tired, I guess.”
He watches her as she sweeps her arms through the water, studying the way the gleaming droplets cling to the pale jut of her collarbone and the arch of her throat, and is suddenly filled with the urge to taste them. Her gaze meets his, her smile telling him that his thoughts are emblazoned on his face.
“This hotel prides itself on catering to its Western guests,” she murmurs. “So if you’ve been hankering to kiss me in public, now would be a perfectly acceptable time to do it.”
He laughs as he moves through the water towards her. “You’re a very thorough tour guide, do you know that?”
Putting one hand on the side of the pool to anchor herself, she gives him an arch glance that he feels in every inch of his body. “Let’s just say I have a vested interest.”
The kiss is a chaste one, a simple, soft touching of his mouth to hers, but it’s more than enough to make his groin tighten and his breath seem to rattle in his lungs. His fingertips dig into the tiled edge of the pool, a low sound of need rumbling in his throat as her bare thigh brushes against his beneath the water. Lifting his head, he cups her face in his free hand, her skin cool against his palm. His heart is hammering, just as it had been in the coffee house when she’d smiled into his eyes and told him she wanted to have children with him. “I’d better quit while I’m ahead, I think,” he says with a rueful smile. “I’d hate to make the staff feel as though they have to turn off the lights and tiptoe out.”
She chuckles softly, running her hand up his arm, her long fingers slicing through the water. “There’s something else I’d like to do today,” she tells him, an odd, almost hesitant note in her voice. “There’s a group meeting at six o’clock at a church hall about ten minutes from here.”
He smiles as he brushes his thumb across her damp cheek, relieved to have discovered the source of her unsettled mood this afternoon. “As long as I’m not expected to drink the coffee while I’m waiting for you, I’ll be happy to provide an escort.”
“Thanks.” She hesitates again, then goes on in a rush. “I was wondering, and it’s completely okay if you don’t want to, uh, if you would like to come into the meeting with me?” She looks at him, obviously anxious. "I did a bit of research before we left home," she adds quickly, "and this group conducts its meetings in English, rather than Hindi, so you won't have to worry about not understanding what's going on."
"Of course," he says, his thoughts rapidly analysing her request. Her attendance at their local NA and AA meetings are just one of the many strands of their daily life in Panama, something she does as naturally as working or sleeping. She tells him about her visits whenever she feels the need to share and he’s met some of the people from her group, but he’s never once attended a meeting with her. He’s not entirely sure why she’s asking him to come into an actual meeting with her now, and he can’t help wondering if it’s something to do with revisiting the past. “Are you sure you want me there?”
Reaching up, she gently tugs his hand down from her face, threading her fingers loosely through his. “Yes.”
“I’d be honored to come along, but may I ask why?”
She closes her eyes for a few seconds, inhaling slowly through her nose as if to center her thoughts. When she opens her eyes, he’s struck by the fragility he sees in them. “You know how I said I was a very different person now compared to when I was last here?”
He squeezes her hand. “Yes.”
“I think I’m exactly the same person.” Her hand tightens around his, her eyes dark as they lock with his. “Only this time around, I’m trying to do the right thing.” She lifts their entwined hands to her lips, pressing a hard kiss to his knuckles. “But I feel like I need a little extra help today, and I’d like you to be there.”
His heart twists, suddenly feeling as though it’s too big for his chest. “Anything you need from me, it’s yours. You know that.”
“I do.” Her slow smile lights up her suddenly glittering eyes. “Thank you.”
Two hours later, he sits beside her in a stuffy church hall, thinking she’s never looked more beautiful as she glances around the circle of beaming faces of all ages and colors. “Hi, my name is Sara, and I’m an addict.”
He watches her face as she haltingly tells the group of her encounter with a piece of her past earlier that day, how in that split-second she’d felt herself teetering on the line between old and new. He holds her hand as she tells them (and him, of course, and now he knows why she’d wanted him to come with her) that her first reaction had been one of fear, then she’d realised it’s okay to have a moment’s weakness, because strength comes from what you choose to do afterwards. When she’s finished, there’s a muted round of applause, then the middle-aged Indian man beside her is invited to speak.
When it’s over, Sara looks at him with brimming eyes, smiling as though a huge weight has been lifted from her shoulders. “You okay?” The question is hesitant, almost uncertain, as though she’s not sure of his reaction to what he’s just heard.
Sliding his arm around the back of her chair, he leans close enough to press a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m incredibly proud of you.”
She blushes. “Millions of people go through this every day,” she mutters. “I’m nothing special.”
“Ah, but I’m not in love with them,” he teases her with a smile, earning him a soft chuckle and another squeeze of his hand.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
They make their way from the hall, smiling and bowing heads to the other members and the group leader, blinking as they emerge into the late afternoon sunlight. Sliding on his sunglasses, he looks at her. “Now what?”
“Well, we’ve got a busy day tomorrow.” Slipping her arm through his, she draws him towards the stream of traffic, her gaze trained on the closest taxi. “Early dinner, shower, bed?”
Studying how the sun turns her hair to a sunset glow and feeling the soft curve of her breast pressed against his arm, he can’t help thinking he’d be perfectly happy to settle for two out of three. “Sounds good to me.”
~*~
Fandom: Prison Break
Characters: Michael Scofield, Sara Tancredi
Pairing: Michael/Sara
Length: 4,459 words
Rating: PG-15
Summary: All good things come to those who wait.
Author's Note:This story is part of the Full Circle series. It takes place between the 'end' and the 'epilogue' of Safe House, and will make much more sense if you've already read that story. You can read the first five chapters here. Huge thanks to swatkat24 for letting me badger her with food-related questions (several months ago now, I'm embarrassed to admit) and helping me make Michael and Sara's journey as authentic as possible. Thanks to wrldpossiblity for the beta. Any mistakes that remain are all mine, and all concrit is welcomed with open arms. For everyone who was following this story before Season Three stole my inspiration away, thank you for being so patient.
~*~
Michael takes her hand as they wait for the elevator to arrive, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. His smile is almost a secretive one, and she can’t help nudging her shoulder with his. “Going to let me in on the joke?”
He squeezes her hand gently, his bright eyes crinkling at the corners as he beams at her. “Just happy to be here.”
Lifting her face to his, she has just enough time to press a soft kiss to his mouth before she hears the muted ding of the elevator. Grinning, she swipes her thumb over his lips, smudging away the sheen of her lip balm. “Me, too.”
They run the charming gauntlet of polite greetings from the staff as they make their way through the foyer, ending with a short-lived tussle between Michael and the doorman as to who can open the door for her. The doorman wins - don’t feel badly, he’s a trained professional, Sara tells Michael consolingly in a laughing whisper, then they’re standing in the circular driveway with the day and the city at their disposal.
Michael gestures at one of the many taxis parked in the palm tree-lined driveway, its black rounded, body and bright yellow roof reminding her of an oversized beetle. “Should we take a taxi?”
She considers the question for a moment. It’s already quite warm, but they’ll still be comfortable walking, at least for a while. “Only if you want to.”
He grins, and she knows he’s remembering the trip from the airport. “Only if we have to.”
She waves her hand in a sweeping flourish. “Then let’s walk.”
They walk down the laneway that will take them to the main street, leaving the marble sanctuary of their hotel behind them. “Do you know this part of town well?”
Pushing her sunglasses a little further up the bridge of her nose, she casts him a reassuring glance. “I won’t get us lost, if that’s your concern.”
His smile becomes a smirk, and she has the sudden urge to see if his bicep is still feeling the aftereffects of his recent inoculations. “The thought never entered my head.” His eyes are hidden behind his own sunglasses, but she doesn’t need to see his eyes to know he’s enjoying himself. His gaze slides from left to right as they walk, his long fingers impatiently drumming the front pockets of his jeans. “What’s that there?” he asks, drawing her attention to the large, sprawling building close to their hotel.
“That’s the New Markets, but I think we’ll visit it another day.” The markets are one of her favourite places to visit, but she can’t face them today, not on only four hours sleep. “You really need a whole day to explore it properly.”
“Good place to find souvenirs to take home with us?”
She grins, thinking of the hundreds of stalls and shops in the New Market. The chances of them not being able to find something for the people they’d left behind in Panama are very, very slim. “Definitely.”
Once they reach the main street, she curls her hand around his wrist, gently tugging him to a stop as a solid wall of sound - people and cars and motorbikes and livestock - rises up to greet them. She looks around her, excitement fizzing through her veins like champagne. The sky is a shocking blue, the air warm and fragrant with a dozen suddenly familiar scents - spice and heat and humanity - and Sara can’t believe she’s actually here. Well, she corrects herself, she can’t believe she’s here with Michael. “I just need to get my bearings. It’s been a while.”
His eyebrows make an appearance between the top of his sunglasses and the rim of his baseball cap. “Having navigational problems already?”
She squeezes his wrist, rubbing her thumb over the inked skin that hides his pulse. “Says the man who had to tattoo directions on himself so he wouldn’t forget them.” His eyes gleam with intent, but she cuts him off before he can shoot back a playful retort. “Okay, what would you like to see first? We have a museum, two temples and an abundance of stores within walking distance.”
He ponders the question for a moment, then shrugs happily. “Your choice.”
The notion of him handing complete control over the day’s activities is such a novel one that it takes her a moment to gather her thoughts. Considering the fact they’re both running on adrenaline, caffeine and very little sleep, Sara decides some tranquility wouldn’t go astray. “I think I have an idea.”
~*~
Stretched out beside him, her legs crossed neatly at the ankles, Sara sighs happily. “They call this place the Lungs of Kolkata.”
“I can see why.”
They’re lying on a blanket - newly acquired by Sara after a brief but spirited haggling session with a local merchant - beneath the shade of a large banyan tree in the most unexpected expanse of green. The park is dotted with groups of people playing sport, having lunch and doing exactly what he and Sara are doing, basking in the warmth of the day. If he ignores the huge, rounded white domes of the Victoria Memorial at the far end of the park, he could almost imagine himself in Central Park. Then again, he thinks wryly, there are a few other differences. To their right, he can hear the sound of a raucous cricket game. To his left -
He squints behind his sunglasses. “Am I really seeing ponies?”
Sara chuckles as she cranes her neck to follow the line of his gaze. “Yes.”
“Thank God. I thought the jetlag had finally caught up with me.” Rolling onto his side, he props his head in one hand and gazes down at her. “I should call Linc soon, let him know we arrived okay.”
“What time is it at home now?”
He checks his watch. “Four o’clock in the morning, but he’s usually up by five to go surfing.”
“Didn’t Jane fly in yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“In that case, he might not be out of bed so early today.” They share a knowing smirk, then Sara slowly pushes herself into a half-sitting position, her hands splayed flat on the blanket behind her. “Maybe you should send him an email when we get back to the hotel, rather than calling him.”
He grins. “It would be safer, I think.”
They sit in an easy silence for almost an hour, watching the world languidly pass them by. Quietly but thoroughly entertained, Michael can’t help but marvel at how easily Sara managed to find the perfect location to suit his mood. They could have spent this time lying around the pool in their hotel in pampered comfort, but he didn’t come to India to hide behind the luxurious façade of their accommodation. And, he has to admit, sitting here with her reminds him very pleasantly of another time, almost another life. “A little different to the first time we shared a blanket on the grass,” he murmurs, and is immediately rewarded with a blush that steals across her face.
“I should think so,” she quips smilingly, her cheeks flushing with the memory of the first time they’d made love, making him wonder if she remembers the mingled scent of earth and grass and desire as well as he does. “I’d hate for us to get arrested for public indecency before we’ve had a chance to see the sights.”
Laughing, he lets his fingers rest against the curve of her waist, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath the thin cotton of her shirt. He’d like very much to kiss her, but as they say, when in Rome - “Is it strange, being back here?”
“A little.” She stares up at the branches high above their heads. “I was a very different person in those days.”
“In what way?”
Pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head, she turns to look at him. “Well, I got stoned almost every night, for a start.”
“Ah.” They’ve talked about her time in India many times, but this morning it feels much more tangible. “That’s definitely different.”
Her hand finds his in the folds of the blanket. “I’m very glad I’m not that person anymore.”
He smiles at her, something expanding deep inside his chest. “I’d still love you even if you were.”
Her fingers tighten around his, her lips curving in a tremulous smile. “I know.”
They lapse back into a companionable silence, her hand still in his as she stretches out beside him. He rubs his thumb over the ring on her finger, smiling to himself. They’ll be spending several hours at the orphanage tomorrow, but the day after that is theirs to do as they wish, and he fully intends to spend some quality shopping time alone. He watches with interest as another strangled cry of “How’s that?” goes up from the nearby cricket pitch. “This is another world, isn’t it?”
She nods. “I’ve missed it.” Wriggling into a cross-legged position, she runs her fingers through the grass at the edge of the blanket, her expression faintly wistful. “And I know this has nothing to do with anything, but I miss Chicago, too.”
He smiles. This is the kind of conversation usually reserved for late at night, lying in the darkness in their room. Being halfway around the world seems to have brought out a confessional streak in both of them. “So do I.” Before he can go on, an audible pang of hunger twists through his stomach, effectively halting the conversation. Reaching across, Sara pokes a gentle finger into his belly, obviously doing her best to keep a straight face.
“I take it you’re hungry?”
He holds up his hands in defeat. “What can I say? My body clock thinks it’s dinner time.”
She’s chuckling now, shaking her head as she scrambles to her feet and holds out her hand to him. “Come on, then. Let’s find you something to eat.”
~*~
It should have been a fifteen minute walk back to their hotel. Unfortunately, she hadn’t counted on Michael’s attempts to get her to stop at every roadside vendor along the way. After she shakes her head for the third time, he stops in his tracks and gives her a look she remembers all too well from the Fox River infirmary, stubbornness with a side order of charm. “Why not?”
She leans closer, not wanting to offend any English-speaking stallholders within earshot. “No food from roadside vendors.”
“But it looks so great.” He inhales deeply, then puts his hand on his stomach as if to stop it rumbling again. “It smells amazing.”
She turns to look at the display of deep-fried food, the spices teasing her nose, and her own mouth starts to water. It had been so long since she’d had this kind of food, she’d forgotten how much she used to love it. “I know it does,” she concedes, “but no food from roadside vendors. Ever.” Hooking her arm through his, she determinedly steers him away.
Michael stares at the people eating around them, the students and families and office workers enjoying an early lunch with obvious relish. “But -”
“I could give you a long and very boring lecture about hygiene and the water and the oil used for frying and how your Chicago-raised stomach will probably react to all of those things, but the bottom line is that it’s fine if you’re a local, not so good if you’re a visitor.”
He casts another longing glance at the food, looking decidedly unconvinced. “I thought you used to eat this stuff all the time when you were here.”
“I did, but I lived here for nine months.” She shrugs. “I acclimatized.”
He gives her a beseeching look, and she feels her resolve start to crumble. Then she thinks of him spending the rest of the night slumped over in their beautifully appointed bathroom, and shakes her head. “We’ll have some real Indian food soon, I promise.” She squeezes his arm, gently tugging him away from the hopeful looking vendor. “Now, though, I think we should head for Park Street.”
After looking both ways several times, they dart across the street, narrowly avoiding being mown down by a taxi and two motorcycles. “This traffic is unbelievable!” he exclaims happily as they make it unscathed to the other side of the road. “I’ll have to take some video footage for LJ.”
She laughs, thinking of LJ’s checkered history as a student driver. “Might make him feel better.”
Ten minutes later, they’re standing outside an eatery that looks more than a little familiar. Michael narrows his gaze as he looks at the red and yellow lettering, then turns to her, his expression making her bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “You’re kidding, right?”
Enjoying the sight of his disbelief perhaps a little more than she should, she offers him a reassuring smile. “Trust me.”
Once they’re inside, Michael stares up at the menu for several seconds, then breaks into a broad grin. He turns to her as he hastily pulls his wallet from his pocket, obviously amused by the novelty of the food on offer. “What will it be? A McAloo Tikka or a Maharaja Mac?”
She grins, suddenly starving. “Get both and we’ll share them.” She nudges his shoulder with hers. “Don’t forget the fries.”
After they’ve managed to find a spare table, he looks at her with mock solemnity. “I want you to promise me something.”
She liberates several fries from the container closest to her. “What?”
He unwraps one of the burgers, eyeing it with wary delight. “Lincoln never hears about this.”
She manages to swallow her mouthful of fries before the laughter catches in her throat. “Are you implying he’d make fun of the fact that your first real meal in Calcutta was a McDonalds’ burger and fries?”
“You’re a smart woman, Doctor Tancredi.”
When they’ve finished eating - the McAloo Tikka was a success, the Maharaja Mac less so - they make their way to the closest coffee house. As is always the case on Park Street, the place looks as though it might have been picked up off a busy Chicago street and transplanted here. There are students sipping very large coffees while pecking away at laptops, there are tourists comparing their most recent purchases, and harried-looking office workers of both sexes eating their lunch with one eye on their watches.
Michael leans back in his chair as he happily studies their surroundings, and Sara is so very glad they decided to make this trip together. Catching her eye, he smiles, and she feels a soft warmth wash over her. She’s always loved this country, but seeing it fresh through his eyes is something quite different. Everything seems more vivid, more intense, and she's quietly thrilled to be able to share it all with him.
“What time are they expecting us at the orphanage tomorrow morning?”
“Ten o’clock.” She takes a sip of the chai tea she’d ordered in place of a coffee, having been immediately swayed by the tempting aroma of cardamom wafting through the air. “The children should be in class when we first arrive, which will give us a fighting chance of talking to the sisters without being swarmed.”
He grins. “Sounds like fun.”
She flashes him a smile. “I hope you still feel that way by the time we leave.”
He chuckles, his knee nudging hers beneath the small table. “Are you insinuating I have no stamina when it comes to small children?”
“Not at all.” She takes another sip of her tea, playfully wrinkling her nose at him over the rim of her mug. “I haven’t seen you in action enough times to tell.”
Something flickers in his eyes at her words. He glances around them, his gaze lingering on the young mother sitting at the table beside them. Her sleeping baby is hitched up on her shoulder, its soft, tiny face the picture of contentment. He turns back to Sara, his eyes gleaming with that same indefinable emotion. “Do you want children?”
She stares at him, surprised by the directness of his question. They’ve been together for almost two years now, and it’s not that they’ve never discussed the possibility of starting a family, but it’s always been in the language of future tense, something to be hinted at and danced around. There has always been the unspoken sense that they were starting from behind the eight ball, that they needed to make sure they were okay before they brought a third person into their world. Looking at him now, she belatedly recognises the emotion in his eyes.
It’s hope.
She swallows hard, suddenly aware that her pulse seems to be pounding in several interesting places, including the hollow of her womb. “That depends.”
The corner of his mouth lifts in a slight smile, but the intensity of his gaze doesn’t change. “On what?”
Her heartbeat is now keeping pace with her pulse, thumping against her ribs in a steady tattoo. Her thoughts on the subject at hand have always been more than a little complicated, to say the least, but the answer is suddenly very simple. Reaching down, she brushes her palm over the curve of his jean-clad knee, feeling as though she’s blushing from ear to ear. “On the potential father’s stamina, I guess.”
His answering smile is almost blinding. His hand covers hers, his thumb brushing over her mother’s pearl ring in a familiar caress. “Feel like taking a swim in the hotel pool?”
She lets out a breath, feeling the unexpected tension in the air begin to dissipate. This isn’t exactly a subject she wants to discuss in the thick of a crowded coffee house, so she’s more than happy to take him up on the offer. Given the miserable weather at home, it’s been almost two weeks since they’ve been swimming, and she’s missed it. Not to mention, she thinks wryly, the fact that her face still feels as though it’s glowing like a beacon. “Lead the way.”
As they’re about to leave, a group of college students arrive, talking and laughing loudly. The last member of the group, a tall boy with a baby face, steps back politely to let her through the door. As she smiles a thank you at him, the unmistakable scent of fresh marijuana smoke hits her, making her stomach flip over. She must miss a step, because she feels the weight of Michael’s hand in the small of her back, feels the soft brush of his voice against the back of her neck.
“You okay?”
“Uh, yeah, fine,” she stammers hastily, her senses seeming to tingle as the mingled smell of pot and coffee and spice washes over her, jerking back her to a time she’d rather forget. The memory of easy oblivion is suddenly thick on the back of her tongue, crowding her mouth. She swallows hard, but her voice sounds thin and reedy. It sounds weak. Just like her, she thinks. “Let’s get some fresh air.”
~*~
He’s never really thought about the word oasis in its literal context, but floating in the clear blue water of the most amazing art deco pool he’s ever seen, the sounds of the city muffled by the high walls and thick greenery, he suspects he’s found the perfect real life example. “Have I mentioned how glad I am that you chose this hotel?”
Gracefully treading water beside him, Sara grins. “Once or twice.”
They’re the only guests taking advantage of the pool at this early hour of the afternoon. Various hotel staff hover discreetly, of course, but after a day spent surrounded by what felt like thousands of people, the sense of privacy is very welcome.
“This is exactly what I needed,” Sara adds, the words almost sounding like a groan of appreciation. “I feel as though I haven’t been in the water for months.”
He looks at her, pleased to see her looking happy and relaxed. She’s been strangely quiet ever since they left the coffee house, and he can’t help but assume it has something to do with their conversation about having children. He’s not sure why he'd blurted out that question, given he has another life-changing request on his mind already, but as he'd gazed at that tiny and perfectly formed baby's face, it had seemed like the perfect thing to ask her. “Everything okay?”
She smiles. “Just a little tired, I guess.”
He watches her as she sweeps her arms through the water, studying the way the gleaming droplets cling to the pale jut of her collarbone and the arch of her throat, and is suddenly filled with the urge to taste them. Her gaze meets his, her smile telling him that his thoughts are emblazoned on his face.
“This hotel prides itself on catering to its Western guests,” she murmurs. “So if you’ve been hankering to kiss me in public, now would be a perfectly acceptable time to do it.”
He laughs as he moves through the water towards her. “You’re a very thorough tour guide, do you know that?”
Putting one hand on the side of the pool to anchor herself, she gives him an arch glance that he feels in every inch of his body. “Let’s just say I have a vested interest.”
The kiss is a chaste one, a simple, soft touching of his mouth to hers, but it’s more than enough to make his groin tighten and his breath seem to rattle in his lungs. His fingertips dig into the tiled edge of the pool, a low sound of need rumbling in his throat as her bare thigh brushes against his beneath the water. Lifting his head, he cups her face in his free hand, her skin cool against his palm. His heart is hammering, just as it had been in the coffee house when she’d smiled into his eyes and told him she wanted to have children with him. “I’d better quit while I’m ahead, I think,” he says with a rueful smile. “I’d hate to make the staff feel as though they have to turn off the lights and tiptoe out.”
She chuckles softly, running her hand up his arm, her long fingers slicing through the water. “There’s something else I’d like to do today,” she tells him, an odd, almost hesitant note in her voice. “There’s a group meeting at six o’clock at a church hall about ten minutes from here.”
He smiles as he brushes his thumb across her damp cheek, relieved to have discovered the source of her unsettled mood this afternoon. “As long as I’m not expected to drink the coffee while I’m waiting for you, I’ll be happy to provide an escort.”
“Thanks.” She hesitates again, then goes on in a rush. “I was wondering, and it’s completely okay if you don’t want to, uh, if you would like to come into the meeting with me?” She looks at him, obviously anxious. "I did a bit of research before we left home," she adds quickly, "and this group conducts its meetings in English, rather than Hindi, so you won't have to worry about not understanding what's going on."
"Of course," he says, his thoughts rapidly analysing her request. Her attendance at their local NA and AA meetings are just one of the many strands of their daily life in Panama, something she does as naturally as working or sleeping. She tells him about her visits whenever she feels the need to share and he’s met some of the people from her group, but he’s never once attended a meeting with her. He’s not entirely sure why she’s asking him to come into an actual meeting with her now, and he can’t help wondering if it’s something to do with revisiting the past. “Are you sure you want me there?”
Reaching up, she gently tugs his hand down from her face, threading her fingers loosely through his. “Yes.”
“I’d be honored to come along, but may I ask why?”
She closes her eyes for a few seconds, inhaling slowly through her nose as if to center her thoughts. When she opens her eyes, he’s struck by the fragility he sees in them. “You know how I said I was a very different person now compared to when I was last here?”
He squeezes her hand. “Yes.”
“I think I’m exactly the same person.” Her hand tightens around his, her eyes dark as they lock with his. “Only this time around, I’m trying to do the right thing.” She lifts their entwined hands to her lips, pressing a hard kiss to his knuckles. “But I feel like I need a little extra help today, and I’d like you to be there.”
His heart twists, suddenly feeling as though it’s too big for his chest. “Anything you need from me, it’s yours. You know that.”
“I do.” Her slow smile lights up her suddenly glittering eyes. “Thank you.”
Two hours later, he sits beside her in a stuffy church hall, thinking she’s never looked more beautiful as she glances around the circle of beaming faces of all ages and colors. “Hi, my name is Sara, and I’m an addict.”
He watches her face as she haltingly tells the group of her encounter with a piece of her past earlier that day, how in that split-second she’d felt herself teetering on the line between old and new. He holds her hand as she tells them (and him, of course, and now he knows why she’d wanted him to come with her) that her first reaction had been one of fear, then she’d realised it’s okay to have a moment’s weakness, because strength comes from what you choose to do afterwards. When she’s finished, there’s a muted round of applause, then the middle-aged Indian man beside her is invited to speak.
When it’s over, Sara looks at him with brimming eyes, smiling as though a huge weight has been lifted from her shoulders. “You okay?” The question is hesitant, almost uncertain, as though she’s not sure of his reaction to what he’s just heard.
Sliding his arm around the back of her chair, he leans close enough to press a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m incredibly proud of you.”
She blushes. “Millions of people go through this every day,” she mutters. “I’m nothing special.”
“Ah, but I’m not in love with them,” he teases her with a smile, earning him a soft chuckle and another squeeze of his hand.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
They make their way from the hall, smiling and bowing heads to the other members and the group leader, blinking as they emerge into the late afternoon sunlight. Sliding on his sunglasses, he looks at her. “Now what?”
“Well, we’ve got a busy day tomorrow.” Slipping her arm through his, she draws him towards the stream of traffic, her gaze trained on the closest taxi. “Early dinner, shower, bed?”
Studying how the sun turns her hair to a sunset glow and feeling the soft curve of her breast pressed against his arm, he can’t help thinking he’d be perfectly happy to settle for two out of three. “Sounds good to me.”
~*~