Trust
Title:Trust
Author: pemphredouk
Pairing/Characters:Michael, Linc, LJ, Sara, Mahone,Jane
Rating:G
Summary:Lincoln and Michael are still on the run and having to make decisions as to who they do and don't trust. Post S213, but will veer off pretty quickly.
Spoilers:None
It was an easy decision, he would head for Chicago. Once there he could check out if the key was for a safety deposit box at the bank. But first, a visit to the cabin, which was only a short drive north of the city. He could do both and be back to meet with Linc and Jane in plenty of time. If it turned out the key was for the apartment in Washington, then that would require more planning and more time and would have to wait until Linc was safely across a border.
He drove at night, taking the SUV off road once it started to get light to hide amongst trees and dense bushes out of the sight of inquisitive police and passers by. He slept during the day. His sleep punctuated by dreams of Sara and Central American beaches or Fox River and Lincoln and once horrifyingly merging into one confusing nightmare of a sand filled exercise yard in Fox river, with cons sporting Hawaiian shirts and sipping from cocktail filled melons and Lincoln teaching Stolte how to dive in the water filled drains of the prison. He’d woken up sweating from that particular one….
It was two days later when he pulled over to the side of the road and checked the map, to his right a small track turned off and meandered through a small copse of trees. He could just make out the outline of a small building and a large stone chimney. Tapping the steering wheel, he slowly twisted the key between his fingers of his other hand.
The tapping stopped when someone knocked on this window.
“Ready?” He nodded, an almost silent sigh passing his lips and he climbed out of the car. He indicated the way with his finger to the others and reached into his holster for his gun as he followed the other two agents down the path towards the lone house ahead.
Michael had driven down the track and now the car was stationary just to the left of the cabin. There were no other cars there and the place looked empty, almost neglected. He sat in the car and stared, was this the place Sara had spent childhood summers, sailing in the choppy waters of the lake he could just see beyond the cabin.
As Mahone progressed slowly down the lane towards the house he reflected on how it looked as if this particular fugitive would be caught, not by some clever detective work on his behalf but because of America’s insatiable appetite for cell phones. They’d got the call earlier that morning. An engineer checking on a new mast built to improve cell phone coverage in the area had noticed a car outside a cabin that had been empty for months. He’d mentioned it to his brother, the local sheriff who was slightly annoyed since the cabin had access to some great fishing which he’d taken advantage of in the absence of any residents. So …he’d driven over to check out his brother’s story. Whilst watching from a distance he had seen a man retrieve a bag from a car and had recognised him immediately. A few phone calls later and the FBI were now heading down the lane to arrest one more of the Fox River Eight……
Michael stepped up to the front door, then changing his mind walked back off the deck and round the side of the cabin, stopping just once to cup his hands to the front window and peer inside the darkness. The curtains were closed though and he could see nothing. A noise from the trees to his right made him stop, turn and listen, but he heard nothing else and he smiled and berated himself for spooking so easily.
Mahone meanwhile was silently organising his team, pushing a couple out to the left and suggesting with a large movement of his arm that they go round to the back of the building. There was no one in sight, but he was taking no chances and was not willing to sacrifice the element of surprise. One of his officers crept up to the vehicle parked outside and brandishing his gun checked and then signalled it was clear.
Michael reached out slowly and tried the back door, the handle didn’t turn, it was locked. He sighed then looking behind him picked up a large stone that someone once had painstakingly painted white, adding a small pink flower on the top. He raised the stone ready to bring it crashing into the window and stopped. He had just noticed, someone had painted the letters ST below the flower in large girly squirls. Sara had painted this, he held it in his hands and a wry smile ghosted across his face. Then turning he brought Sara’s stone down with force onto the glass in the door with a sickening smash. Michael looked around again, that had sounded so loud, he was relieved this place was a long way from the other cabins sprinkled along the shore of the lake.
The smash of glass from behind was the signal and Mahone and the other agents rushed the front door.
Michael stepped tentatively into the dark cabin and knew immediately he was too late. Around him everywhere was mess and destruction. Furniture overturned, pictures torn off the walls and lying broken on the floor, books scattered like dominoes by the side of a wrecked bookcase. A rug pushed across to the side of the room and in the middle of the floor a large hole, the wooden hatch that had been covering it leaning against a sofa. Michael knew what would be in the hole, an empty trunk. He peered over the edge and sighed .It was about the size of a small suitcase, wooden with old metal hinges but a surprisingly solid lock. However it had been split across the middle with some force and its empty carcass displayed its redundancy. He reached down to pull out the remains of the chest and tried the key in the lock.
It didn’t fit. His heart leapt with hope again. Whoever had been here had not found what they were all looking for. He made his way quickly back to the car. One down, one more to check, before he made the long drive back. He couldn’t help but smile, maybe today was going to be a good one after all.
It was over in seconds, LJ’s door was kicked in and one agent shouted for him to put his hands behind his back as the other agent kneeled on him and cuffed him. He was dragged out, still wearing just his pyjama bottoms into the living area of the cabin.
Three officers took Linc’s room, he’d been asleep and it was LJ’s cry that had woken him with time only to half sit up in bed and find he was staring at the barrel of a gun.
“On the floor Burrows” and without giving him time to respond he was hauled off the bed and pushed face down onto the floor. A knee forced between his shoulder blades kept him there as he was cuffed and then dragged up to his feet. He was pushed roughly through the door into the living area to join his son who was shaking under the stern gaze of half a dozen Feds.
Jane had been down at the small jetty on the lake when she heard the door being smashed open and had run back up the hill towards the cabin, pulling out her gun from its shoulder holster as she ran. She saw a dark suited man, just about to enter the door and fired. He fell grasping his thigh and dropping the gun he was holding. She hadn’t noticed the other who was just coming round the corner from the small shed next to the house. He fired twice and Jane’s world turned instantly to darkness and pain.
Both Burrows turned at the sound of the shots and Linc cried out,
“Jane, No!” He shrugged off the hand of the agent from his shoulder and tried to run for the back of the cabin. He was grabbed back and forced down onto his knees. When he looked up Mahone was standing in front of him.
“You’re going nowhere Burrows” Lincoln’s head sunk onto his chest,
“Don’t hurt her” he pleaded. Mahone nodded to one of the agents to check on the shots outside. Then he turned back to Burrows.
“Where’s Michael?”
Michael flipped the phone shut with a puzzled look. He couldn’t get through; he’d tried three times now during his drive into Chicago and Jane was not picking up. He turned the radio over from the classical music station he’d been enjoying to one with streamed news, but heard nothing in the remaining hour it took him to reach the street outside the bank. Then he remembered Jane had said that there were two or three safe houses she could use and two had no cell phone coverage. That would explain it. He sighed with relief, now he had to concentrate on the bank.
He sat and stared at the building, had it really been just over three months since he’d walked through the doors, so conscious of the two guns tucked into the waistband of his favourite suit. He’d ordered a taxi that morning; his beloved Audi had been sold the week before, converted into ready cash and used to pay for the final parts of his plan. His mind brought back, like a rewound DVD, those final images, of him stepping out of the cab with his bag and walking the fifteen, maybe twenty paces into the bank. The last action of the old Michael Scofield, structural engineer, fully paid up member of the moral majority. Just ten steps inside the door, then that agonising wait in the queue since he couldn’t actually bring himself to push his way to the front. The old Michael hadn’t quite disappeared at that point and he had stood patiently waiting his turn before stepping up before the woman, placing his bag on the ground and calmly pulling out his gun. That had started his journey as the new Michael Scofield, the journey that had taken him from bank robber, to felon, to fish and to fugitive.
He walked in and made his way over to a counter filled with leaflets. Scanning the rows he smiled as he found the one explaining the cost of safety deposit boxes. As he looked up he noticed his reflection in a mirrored panel above the counter. He was pleased his hair had now grown long enough to almost completely change the shape of his face. That, his large aviator sunglasses and the four days stubble meant he was not immediately identifiable as the Michael Scofield in the police mug shot. The one that was staring back at him from a notice board above the General enquiries desk. Michael gulped slightly on spotting this. Oh well, he guessed the Bank had taken his escape personally….
A young woman came out of a door to the right and took a seat at the desk and noticing Michael waiting by the rope beckoned him forward.
“Good Afternoon sir, how can I help?”
“I’m interested in storing some valuables with your bank, and was interested in taking a safety deposit box here?” Michael responded calmly.
“Yes of course Sir, that would be no problem, you do have an account with us?”
“Err no, least not yet,” Michael smiled, hitting the woman with such a charm offensive she didn’t think to ask why, if that was the case, he didn’t go to his own bank.
“Well you will have to open an account, although it only needs a minimum deposit of $100, monthly charges for the box will be deducted automatically Mr….?” Her prompt for a name was friendly.
“Mr Maxwell” Michael added helpfully.
“I’m afraid I’m a bit of a worrier, how secure are these boxes? What happens if I lose the key? I travel so much, often living for weeks out of a suitcase.” He added as if in explanation. Smiling at how true that last statement had become.
“Mr Maxwell, we’re very modern here, our systems use all the latest technology. We don’t use keys any longer; you would be issued with a card which carries all your security details.”
“Oh so none of your boxes are opened by keys now? “ Michael asked innocently.
“No Mr Maxwell, not for over a year.”
“Well thank you Miss…” And Michael leaned forward to read the name on her badge, “Miss Bolton, You’ve been extremely helpful. I’ll take the forms away with me to open the account and lease the box and come back tomorrow, if that’s ok?”
“That’s fine Mr Maxwell, glad I could be of help and goodbye.” She took his hand and shook it warmly.
Michael walked out of the bank, two down, one more to go. But Washington would have to be another trip. Back in the car he pulled out his map, he had three days before he was due back for the meet up. Time enough for a short diversion. He pulled out his cell phone and rang enquiries for a number.
“Yes, that’s right, Sacred Heart Hospital, Indianapolis, and yes please put me through”
Several minutes later he closed the phone. His eyes were sad, his thoughts now of Charles, his life blood spilling out onto the infirmary floor but desperate to see his daughter just one last time. Seems everyone had underestimated Anne’s strength. Michael was relieved, he’d failed to keep his promise to Charles when they broke out, but Anne had not stopped fighting and now he had a chance to at least put that right. He would visit her and pass on her father’s words. Then he could travel back to Texas and take his brother to safety.
tbc
Author: pemphredouk
Pairing/Characters:Michael, Linc, LJ, Sara, Mahone,Jane
Rating:G
Summary:Lincoln and Michael are still on the run and having to make decisions as to who they do and don't trust. Post S213, but will veer off pretty quickly.
Spoilers:None
It was an easy decision, he would head for Chicago. Once there he could check out if the key was for a safety deposit box at the bank. But first, a visit to the cabin, which was only a short drive north of the city. He could do both and be back to meet with Linc and Jane in plenty of time. If it turned out the key was for the apartment in Washington, then that would require more planning and more time and would have to wait until Linc was safely across a border.
He drove at night, taking the SUV off road once it started to get light to hide amongst trees and dense bushes out of the sight of inquisitive police and passers by. He slept during the day. His sleep punctuated by dreams of Sara and Central American beaches or Fox River and Lincoln and once horrifyingly merging into one confusing nightmare of a sand filled exercise yard in Fox river, with cons sporting Hawaiian shirts and sipping from cocktail filled melons and Lincoln teaching Stolte how to dive in the water filled drains of the prison. He’d woken up sweating from that particular one….
It was two days later when he pulled over to the side of the road and checked the map, to his right a small track turned off and meandered through a small copse of trees. He could just make out the outline of a small building and a large stone chimney. Tapping the steering wheel, he slowly twisted the key between his fingers of his other hand.
The tapping stopped when someone knocked on this window.
“Ready?” He nodded, an almost silent sigh passing his lips and he climbed out of the car. He indicated the way with his finger to the others and reached into his holster for his gun as he followed the other two agents down the path towards the lone house ahead.
Michael had driven down the track and now the car was stationary just to the left of the cabin. There were no other cars there and the place looked empty, almost neglected. He sat in the car and stared, was this the place Sara had spent childhood summers, sailing in the choppy waters of the lake he could just see beyond the cabin.
As Mahone progressed slowly down the lane towards the house he reflected on how it looked as if this particular fugitive would be caught, not by some clever detective work on his behalf but because of America’s insatiable appetite for cell phones. They’d got the call earlier that morning. An engineer checking on a new mast built to improve cell phone coverage in the area had noticed a car outside a cabin that had been empty for months. He’d mentioned it to his brother, the local sheriff who was slightly annoyed since the cabin had access to some great fishing which he’d taken advantage of in the absence of any residents. So …he’d driven over to check out his brother’s story. Whilst watching from a distance he had seen a man retrieve a bag from a car and had recognised him immediately. A few phone calls later and the FBI were now heading down the lane to arrest one more of the Fox River Eight……
Michael stepped up to the front door, then changing his mind walked back off the deck and round the side of the cabin, stopping just once to cup his hands to the front window and peer inside the darkness. The curtains were closed though and he could see nothing. A noise from the trees to his right made him stop, turn and listen, but he heard nothing else and he smiled and berated himself for spooking so easily.
Mahone meanwhile was silently organising his team, pushing a couple out to the left and suggesting with a large movement of his arm that they go round to the back of the building. There was no one in sight, but he was taking no chances and was not willing to sacrifice the element of surprise. One of his officers crept up to the vehicle parked outside and brandishing his gun checked and then signalled it was clear.
Michael reached out slowly and tried the back door, the handle didn’t turn, it was locked. He sighed then looking behind him picked up a large stone that someone once had painstakingly painted white, adding a small pink flower on the top. He raised the stone ready to bring it crashing into the window and stopped. He had just noticed, someone had painted the letters ST below the flower in large girly squirls. Sara had painted this, he held it in his hands and a wry smile ghosted across his face. Then turning he brought Sara’s stone down with force onto the glass in the door with a sickening smash. Michael looked around again, that had sounded so loud, he was relieved this place was a long way from the other cabins sprinkled along the shore of the lake.
The smash of glass from behind was the signal and Mahone and the other agents rushed the front door.
Michael stepped tentatively into the dark cabin and knew immediately he was too late. Around him everywhere was mess and destruction. Furniture overturned, pictures torn off the walls and lying broken on the floor, books scattered like dominoes by the side of a wrecked bookcase. A rug pushed across to the side of the room and in the middle of the floor a large hole, the wooden hatch that had been covering it leaning against a sofa. Michael knew what would be in the hole, an empty trunk. He peered over the edge and sighed .It was about the size of a small suitcase, wooden with old metal hinges but a surprisingly solid lock. However it had been split across the middle with some force and its empty carcass displayed its redundancy. He reached down to pull out the remains of the chest and tried the key in the lock.
It didn’t fit. His heart leapt with hope again. Whoever had been here had not found what they were all looking for. He made his way quickly back to the car. One down, one more to check, before he made the long drive back. He couldn’t help but smile, maybe today was going to be a good one after all.
It was over in seconds, LJ’s door was kicked in and one agent shouted for him to put his hands behind his back as the other agent kneeled on him and cuffed him. He was dragged out, still wearing just his pyjama bottoms into the living area of the cabin.
Three officers took Linc’s room, he’d been asleep and it was LJ’s cry that had woken him with time only to half sit up in bed and find he was staring at the barrel of a gun.
“On the floor Burrows” and without giving him time to respond he was hauled off the bed and pushed face down onto the floor. A knee forced between his shoulder blades kept him there as he was cuffed and then dragged up to his feet. He was pushed roughly through the door into the living area to join his son who was shaking under the stern gaze of half a dozen Feds.
Jane had been down at the small jetty on the lake when she heard the door being smashed open and had run back up the hill towards the cabin, pulling out her gun from its shoulder holster as she ran. She saw a dark suited man, just about to enter the door and fired. He fell grasping his thigh and dropping the gun he was holding. She hadn’t noticed the other who was just coming round the corner from the small shed next to the house. He fired twice and Jane’s world turned instantly to darkness and pain.
Both Burrows turned at the sound of the shots and Linc cried out,
“Jane, No!” He shrugged off the hand of the agent from his shoulder and tried to run for the back of the cabin. He was grabbed back and forced down onto his knees. When he looked up Mahone was standing in front of him.
“You’re going nowhere Burrows” Lincoln’s head sunk onto his chest,
“Don’t hurt her” he pleaded. Mahone nodded to one of the agents to check on the shots outside. Then he turned back to Burrows.
“Where’s Michael?”
Michael flipped the phone shut with a puzzled look. He couldn’t get through; he’d tried three times now during his drive into Chicago and Jane was not picking up. He turned the radio over from the classical music station he’d been enjoying to one with streamed news, but heard nothing in the remaining hour it took him to reach the street outside the bank. Then he remembered Jane had said that there were two or three safe houses she could use and two had no cell phone coverage. That would explain it. He sighed with relief, now he had to concentrate on the bank.
He sat and stared at the building, had it really been just over three months since he’d walked through the doors, so conscious of the two guns tucked into the waistband of his favourite suit. He’d ordered a taxi that morning; his beloved Audi had been sold the week before, converted into ready cash and used to pay for the final parts of his plan. His mind brought back, like a rewound DVD, those final images, of him stepping out of the cab with his bag and walking the fifteen, maybe twenty paces into the bank. The last action of the old Michael Scofield, structural engineer, fully paid up member of the moral majority. Just ten steps inside the door, then that agonising wait in the queue since he couldn’t actually bring himself to push his way to the front. The old Michael hadn’t quite disappeared at that point and he had stood patiently waiting his turn before stepping up before the woman, placing his bag on the ground and calmly pulling out his gun. That had started his journey as the new Michael Scofield, the journey that had taken him from bank robber, to felon, to fish and to fugitive.
He walked in and made his way over to a counter filled with leaflets. Scanning the rows he smiled as he found the one explaining the cost of safety deposit boxes. As he looked up he noticed his reflection in a mirrored panel above the counter. He was pleased his hair had now grown long enough to almost completely change the shape of his face. That, his large aviator sunglasses and the four days stubble meant he was not immediately identifiable as the Michael Scofield in the police mug shot. The one that was staring back at him from a notice board above the General enquiries desk. Michael gulped slightly on spotting this. Oh well, he guessed the Bank had taken his escape personally….
A young woman came out of a door to the right and took a seat at the desk and noticing Michael waiting by the rope beckoned him forward.
“Good Afternoon sir, how can I help?”
“I’m interested in storing some valuables with your bank, and was interested in taking a safety deposit box here?” Michael responded calmly.
“Yes of course Sir, that would be no problem, you do have an account with us?”
“Err no, least not yet,” Michael smiled, hitting the woman with such a charm offensive she didn’t think to ask why, if that was the case, he didn’t go to his own bank.
“Well you will have to open an account, although it only needs a minimum deposit of $100, monthly charges for the box will be deducted automatically Mr….?” Her prompt for a name was friendly.
“Mr Maxwell” Michael added helpfully.
“I’m afraid I’m a bit of a worrier, how secure are these boxes? What happens if I lose the key? I travel so much, often living for weeks out of a suitcase.” He added as if in explanation. Smiling at how true that last statement had become.
“Mr Maxwell, we’re very modern here, our systems use all the latest technology. We don’t use keys any longer; you would be issued with a card which carries all your security details.”
“Oh so none of your boxes are opened by keys now? “ Michael asked innocently.
“No Mr Maxwell, not for over a year.”
“Well thank you Miss…” And Michael leaned forward to read the name on her badge, “Miss Bolton, You’ve been extremely helpful. I’ll take the forms away with me to open the account and lease the box and come back tomorrow, if that’s ok?”
“That’s fine Mr Maxwell, glad I could be of help and goodbye.” She took his hand and shook it warmly.
Michael walked out of the bank, two down, one more to go. But Washington would have to be another trip. Back in the car he pulled out his map, he had three days before he was due back for the meet up. Time enough for a short diversion. He pulled out his cell phone and rang enquiries for a number.
“Yes, that’s right, Sacred Heart Hospital, Indianapolis, and yes please put me through”
Several minutes later he closed the phone. His eyes were sad, his thoughts now of Charles, his life blood spilling out onto the infirmary floor but desperate to see his daughter just one last time. Seems everyone had underestimated Anne’s strength. Michael was relieved, he’d failed to keep his promise to Charles when they broke out, but Anne had not stopped fighting and now he had a chance to at least put that right. He would visit her and pass on her father’s words. Then he could travel back to Texas and take his brother to safety.
tbc