Fighting back
Title: Fighting Back
Author: pemphredouk
Pairing/Characters: Michael, Sara, Lincoln, LJ,OC, Alex, Sofia Gretchen and Whistler
Rating:NC-17 after the first few chapters
Summary: Michael and Sara discover things, good and bad about themselves as they finally start fighting back. All locations mentioned in the story actually exist and can be found on the google map I've made to accompany this fic. It can be found at -
http://maps.google.co.uk/maps/ms?hl=en&ie=UTF8&msa=0&msid=103288565057239961114.000450311da1ba4287bb4&z=4
Seems I can't fool you guys.....here's the epilogue and I hope it ties up most of the loose ends.
I'm my usual distraught self now I've finished it. I've spent several months carrying these characters around in my head and 150,000 words later can't quite believe I won't have Michael to play with any longer.
A little request for the lurkers out there, and there must be hundreds, why not leave a few lines on the story. I try to improve my technique with every story, let me know which bits you liked and which bits left you a little blah...
Finally since I love maps *you and me both Fleur* I've been keeping a map of their roadtrip, the link is above. If you haven't already had a peek go look.
Thanks for reading!
Chapter 30: Hope, British Columbia
Three months later
"Come on, hurry or we'll be late, the plane lands in less than an hour."
"Nearly done..." and the man quickly typed out the last few words before clicking on save and closing the laptop screen.
"I still don't understand why we're not taking the jeep?" the woman asked as she bustled into the room.
The man sighed, he'd explained this once, he was sure.
"Because they want to do some exploring whilst they're here and have insisted on renting a car. They can follow the bike back, they'll never find the house left to their own devices.
He picked up the large motorcycle helmet and padded quickly down the wooden steps outside the house. Throwing his leg over the bike he held it steady as the woman climbed on behind her. Snaking her arms around his waist and hugging him close.
Turning to the large retriever sitting on the porch he called out
"Guard the house, Blue"
He revved the bike's engine and turned the bike slowly in the sandy drive and headed up towards the gate to the road.
Sara inched a little closer on the pillion seat, molding her body around the contours of Michael's and as the bike rounded the corner and the lake came into full view once more she smiled and squeezed him tight and once more thanked whatever deity she deemed responsible for allowing them this life together.
The bike had been her present to Michael, once they had found this place to settle in and she shook her head as the bike sped past the "Welcome to Hope: Population 14,607' sign by the side of the road. She wondered if he'd chosen this place just because of the name? She kept forgetting to ask him.
The bike always reminded her of Central America and the smorgasbord of memories, good and bad that came with that. This bike was larger, smoother, and the roads of British Columbia would never be as dusty as the ones that trailed along the backbone of the Costa Rica and Honduras but sometimes she did miss the humid air and dark green curtain of the jungle that framed so many of those roads.
Michael was trying to talk to her but the wind was snatching away his words before she could catch them and she managed a puzzled look when he finally twisted his head back.
They were now in town, but Hope was small and there was little apart from a few streets of stores, a small park and the usual municipal offices. She thought the place was pretty and loved the scale of it, it felt so human in comparison to the city she'd lived in most of her life but as Michael kept pointing out they had yet to experience the depths of winter here and suggested she told him again in February how pretty it was.
They came to a stop at the only set of lights in town and Michael placed his feet firmly on the ground to steady the bike. She couldn't help but glance down knowing that underneath his left boot and sock was a ugly scarred wedge of missing flesh and skin just above his ankle bone. He hadn't been able to tell her what had happened, like many things that took place that day , they had been too difficult, perhaps even painful to recall out loud.
But Michael being Michael needed the facts to be captured, categorized, explained and for the last few weeks had been diligently recording them in a word document he had named 'Roadtrip 2005'. Apparently with no sense of irony when Sara grinning quizzed him on the title. He'd covered the time up to the crossing of the Mexican border before he had shown Sara, opening the document then immediately insisting on taking Blue for an unneeded walk around the lake as she sat down and started to read it.
Now it had become an evening tradition at the house by the lake. He would spend a little time each day recording the experiences of the last six months and then leave the laptop open for Sara to read. She was never sure why he did it like this,why they rarely discussed the actual words, sensing his reluctance to do anything than just write them down.
She'd been surprised by the first few pages, Michael was a detail man and he had carefully described it all, the small notebook that had accompanied them finally put to good use. But she hadn't expected his thoughts and emotions to be captured as well. His heavy fears at the road they had embarked on, the risks and dangers of the journey and the fallout of the decisions they had made
But there was more... hidden amongst the words and facts, like precious stones in the darkened earth were his feelings for her. He wrote eloquently about sunsets and sunrises and how his dearest wish was always to share them with her. He wrote about all the things he loved about her, the way she tucked her hair carelessly behind her ears when she was busy. How she always took tentative licks of any new food, forever cautious and ready to be surprised or appalled by the taste of it. How her nose crinkled up when she was thinking and how she felt in his arms when they made love. Sara often had to sneak away a tear when she read these words, his heart laid out on the screen for her...
Last night he'd finally completed his account of what happened on Basil Island. He'd then shot out of the door with Blue, for what turned out to be a two hour dog walk in the dark, his nervousness at her finally reading what happened that day obvious. She knew a lot of it, and although it had taken weeks she had already forgiven him for not telling her of his alternative plans. His excuse that she would be more convincing when questioned by the Feds if she hadn't known them was weak and only led her to believe that he hadn't rated his chances of surviving very highly in the first place.
He'd been back in touch with the Anti-Company as soon as the LAPD had released him, explaining what he was planning and asking them for help to escape afterwards. He had known for sometime he had no intention of simply handing himself in. He knew he could no longer contemplate a time away from Sara and a prison, even a Federal one, was no place to be, as it slowly swallowed up the Company men his operation would no doubt incarcerate.
He'd also found a way to remove the tag without activating the alarm. He had used a small metal clip, something Jen had made him unwittingly, to preserve the circuit as he unlocked the plastic anklet sufficiently enough to slide it off. He'd practiced several times before the day of the operation and since neither Lang or Wheeler had come screaming up the road to the Ranch he'd assumed it worked. His plan was to simply remove it and leave it in the complex somewhere as he slipped into the cold waters of the Sound once the data dump had taken place. The Anti-Company would have a boat waiting for him. Minutes later he would be reunited with Sara who was going to be picked up out of the crowd by Jean the english lady who blended in perfectly with the distressed animal lovers of New York State that made up the majority of the protestors.
But when things began to spiral out of control, when his fake fire was overtaken by the real one set by the activists he had gone back into the admin building, determined to help anyone possibly trapped by the advancing flames. He had after all tampered with the safety systems and felt a personal responsibility to rescue anyone he could. However when he had found the three bodies, trapped under the fallen beams of the roof and already dead he didn't hesitate to change his original plan. He removed the tag, then grabbing at some glass from the broken lab equipment close by had gouged out a small piece of flesh.Shocked by the intense pain and then the copious amounts of blood that followed he smeared the inside of the tag with his own flesh before clamping it firmly around the leg of a protestor. The mask meant he was probably one of the AFL activists and Michael's research into this organization had told him the man would not be carrying any form of ID. It apparently confused the police and slowed down the act of processing anyone arrested on these demonstrations. By then the fire was beginning to creep closer and Michael had quickly hobbled out of the now dangerously smoke filled room, leaving a trail of blood behind him.
Sara had remembered watching him approach the SUV she had been waiting in, noticing the limp immediately and biting her lip when she finally managed to lift the fabric of his jeans out of the way so she could survey the damage. He'd been his usual stoic self, passing it off as a slight graze but it scarred badly and the permanent ugly dip in his skin showed how much flesh he'd actually gouged out.
Jean and her colleagues had offered them assistance and paperwork to relocate North of the border. There were no catches, they realised that if Michael's operation was a success most of their work against the Company would be finished. This was a favour, a way of doing something in Aldo's memory.
The bike was now heading out of Hope, up the hill and past a sign announcing they were eighteen miles from Vancouver. They flashed past a few more residential streets and the low lines of a small modern Health Clinic that had just offered her job starting the next week. The paperwork had been surprisingly easy to fix, she'd changed her name to her mother's maiden name, Tancredi was just too easy to google and although she no longer had anything to run from she wouldn't be the key the unlocked the way through to Michael for anyone still searching. The job was not absolutely necessary, her father had left her financially extremely comfortable and despite Michael's unease at taking Frank's money she had used it to buy the house and the car, insisting they were named as joint owners, the bike...was her indulgence, a gift for Michael
Michael however couldn't slip back into normal life that easily. He'd taken a new name, his grandmother's maiden name, and the Anti Company had provided convincing documentation that allowed him residency in Canada. But his face was too well known to simply join the cohorts of structural engineers in Vancouver and it seemed he was destined to spend his days watching the geese on the lake with Blue.
Bob and Jen had rescued him, just as they had done by the dusty side of the Mexican road. Bob had asked him to join his company, knowing Michael's skills in analyzing and deconstructing systems could be easily applied to the work of online security as well. He'd been right, Michael had found another niche, another talent he excelled at and just a month into it was embracing this new virtual world that rewarded his peculiar kind of critical thinking but mercifully didn't require attendance at an office and a suit.
They parked outside the Car rental desk and walked through the marbled halls of the airport to Arrivals. Michael was almost humming with excitement, and had squeezed Sara's hand tightly in his own several times before they located the board announcing the flight from Chicago had arrived and was now in the Baggage hall.
They'd made their way to the metal barrier separating the waiting crowds from the passengers and Michael leaned against it his fingers tapping out an impatient rhythm on the metal. Then a flurry of trolleys and tired looking travelers began to emerge through the double doors and Sara watched as Michael seemed to still a little, his gaze never straying from the doors. She was still watching his face as he broke into a huge grin and turning her head she saw LJ closely followed by Lincoln pushing a trolley with too rather small bags on it.
Michael had jumped over the barrier and was already in mid-hug with Lincoln before Sara realised what was happening. She held back, wanting Michael to have this moment with his brother. It had been nearly five months since they had parted in Panama, five months of Lincoln fearing almost daily, for Michael's freedom and life. Five months since Michael had scooped her up from the small bed in the Panamanian clinic and she felt like they had crammed at least five years of life into those five months.
Michael stepped back and then repeated the huge enveloping man-hug with LJ who managed to look both pleased and sheepish at the same time. It was only then she stepped forward into the circle of men. Three men who had set off on a path that had changed their own lives irrevocably, her life undoubtedly and brought down an organization that had previously defeated everyone who had threatened it ...that is before Michael Scofield heard his brother's words, muttered out from behind the meshed enclosure.
“I didn’t kill that man Michael”
Back at the house, Blue sat on the porch staring out at the lake now dappled with the shadows of wispy clouds passing over. Behind him the screen door led into the large comfortable living area of the house. It was still rather bare, Sara was taking her time adding the little touches of themselves. There was just one thing on the wall, a deep wooden frame that on closer inspection held what appeared to be a piece of flattened plaster, still clearly visible was a series of lines and drawings, dotted with tiny flowers. It was a map of Central America carved into the now greying plaster of Paris.
On the table below was Michael's laptop, the screen saver deactivated for some reason and a word document still open.
I've tried to come to terms with the deaths, I know the fire I started in the back stairwell burned out but perhaps they could have been saved if I hadn't have been so successful in fooling the fire safety system in the first place. I've seen the official report, and I know two of them were protestors, even if one is now laying under a headstone with my name .But I have to take the blame for agitating these people to that level in the first place. As for the soldier that died, I tried to pull him clear but he was trapped and I probably knew he was already dead. I just wasn't willing to accept it. I will carry his death, as with all the others, and there are too many, far too many on my conscience to my own grave.
I've stopped asking myself how many wrongs make a right, I realise in my desire to save those I love dearly I've been selfish and arrogant. I can give no excuses, my choice to fight back was mine alone, the price, the lives lost, is one I will regret for ever .But I can also give thanks that some lives were saved. That incredibly I have come through this without losing those that mean the most to me. Perhaps I will pay for this later, for the moment I will treasure every single day I have with them.
Michael Beech (Scofield)
The End
Author: pemphredouk
Pairing/Characters: Michael, Sara, Lincoln, LJ,OC, Alex, Sofia Gretchen and Whistler
Rating:NC-17 after the first few chapters
Summary: Michael and Sara discover things, good and bad about themselves as they finally start fighting back. All locations mentioned in the story actually exist and can be found on the google map I've made to accompany this fic. It can be found at -
http://maps.google.co.uk/maps/ms?hl=en&ie=UTF8&msa=0&msid=103288565057239961114.000450311da1ba4287bb4&z=4
Seems I can't fool you guys.....here's the epilogue and I hope it ties up most of the loose ends.
I'm my usual distraught self now I've finished it. I've spent several months carrying these characters around in my head and 150,000 words later can't quite believe I won't have Michael to play with any longer.
A little request for the lurkers out there, and there must be hundreds, why not leave a few lines on the story. I try to improve my technique with every story, let me know which bits you liked and which bits left you a little blah...
Finally since I love maps *you and me both Fleur* I've been keeping a map of their roadtrip, the link is above. If you haven't already had a peek go look.
Thanks for reading!
Chapter 30: Hope, British Columbia
Three months later
"Come on, hurry or we'll be late, the plane lands in less than an hour."
"Nearly done..." and the man quickly typed out the last few words before clicking on save and closing the laptop screen.
"I still don't understand why we're not taking the jeep?" the woman asked as she bustled into the room.
The man sighed, he'd explained this once, he was sure.
"Because they want to do some exploring whilst they're here and have insisted on renting a car. They can follow the bike back, they'll never find the house left to their own devices.
He picked up the large motorcycle helmet and padded quickly down the wooden steps outside the house. Throwing his leg over the bike he held it steady as the woman climbed on behind her. Snaking her arms around his waist and hugging him close.
Turning to the large retriever sitting on the porch he called out
"Guard the house, Blue"
He revved the bike's engine and turned the bike slowly in the sandy drive and headed up towards the gate to the road.
Sara inched a little closer on the pillion seat, molding her body around the contours of Michael's and as the bike rounded the corner and the lake came into full view once more she smiled and squeezed him tight and once more thanked whatever deity she deemed responsible for allowing them this life together.
The bike had been her present to Michael, once they had found this place to settle in and she shook her head as the bike sped past the "Welcome to Hope: Population 14,607' sign by the side of the road. She wondered if he'd chosen this place just because of the name? She kept forgetting to ask him.
The bike always reminded her of Central America and the smorgasbord of memories, good and bad that came with that. This bike was larger, smoother, and the roads of British Columbia would never be as dusty as the ones that trailed along the backbone of the Costa Rica and Honduras but sometimes she did miss the humid air and dark green curtain of the jungle that framed so many of those roads.
Michael was trying to talk to her but the wind was snatching away his words before she could catch them and she managed a puzzled look when he finally twisted his head back.
They were now in town, but Hope was small and there was little apart from a few streets of stores, a small park and the usual municipal offices. She thought the place was pretty and loved the scale of it, it felt so human in comparison to the city she'd lived in most of her life but as Michael kept pointing out they had yet to experience the depths of winter here and suggested she told him again in February how pretty it was.
They came to a stop at the only set of lights in town and Michael placed his feet firmly on the ground to steady the bike. She couldn't help but glance down knowing that underneath his left boot and sock was a ugly scarred wedge of missing flesh and skin just above his ankle bone. He hadn't been able to tell her what had happened, like many things that took place that day , they had been too difficult, perhaps even painful to recall out loud.
But Michael being Michael needed the facts to be captured, categorized, explained and for the last few weeks had been diligently recording them in a word document he had named 'Roadtrip 2005'. Apparently with no sense of irony when Sara grinning quizzed him on the title. He'd covered the time up to the crossing of the Mexican border before he had shown Sara, opening the document then immediately insisting on taking Blue for an unneeded walk around the lake as she sat down and started to read it.
Now it had become an evening tradition at the house by the lake. He would spend a little time each day recording the experiences of the last six months and then leave the laptop open for Sara to read. She was never sure why he did it like this,why they rarely discussed the actual words, sensing his reluctance to do anything than just write them down.
She'd been surprised by the first few pages, Michael was a detail man and he had carefully described it all, the small notebook that had accompanied them finally put to good use. But she hadn't expected his thoughts and emotions to be captured as well. His heavy fears at the road they had embarked on, the risks and dangers of the journey and the fallout of the decisions they had made
But there was more... hidden amongst the words and facts, like precious stones in the darkened earth were his feelings for her. He wrote eloquently about sunsets and sunrises and how his dearest wish was always to share them with her. He wrote about all the things he loved about her, the way she tucked her hair carelessly behind her ears when she was busy. How she always took tentative licks of any new food, forever cautious and ready to be surprised or appalled by the taste of it. How her nose crinkled up when she was thinking and how she felt in his arms when they made love. Sara often had to sneak away a tear when she read these words, his heart laid out on the screen for her...
Last night he'd finally completed his account of what happened on Basil Island. He'd then shot out of the door with Blue, for what turned out to be a two hour dog walk in the dark, his nervousness at her finally reading what happened that day obvious. She knew a lot of it, and although it had taken weeks she had already forgiven him for not telling her of his alternative plans. His excuse that she would be more convincing when questioned by the Feds if she hadn't known them was weak and only led her to believe that he hadn't rated his chances of surviving very highly in the first place.
He'd been back in touch with the Anti-Company as soon as the LAPD had released him, explaining what he was planning and asking them for help to escape afterwards. He had known for sometime he had no intention of simply handing himself in. He knew he could no longer contemplate a time away from Sara and a prison, even a Federal one, was no place to be, as it slowly swallowed up the Company men his operation would no doubt incarcerate.
He'd also found a way to remove the tag without activating the alarm. He had used a small metal clip, something Jen had made him unwittingly, to preserve the circuit as he unlocked the plastic anklet sufficiently enough to slide it off. He'd practiced several times before the day of the operation and since neither Lang or Wheeler had come screaming up the road to the Ranch he'd assumed it worked. His plan was to simply remove it and leave it in the complex somewhere as he slipped into the cold waters of the Sound once the data dump had taken place. The Anti-Company would have a boat waiting for him. Minutes later he would be reunited with Sara who was going to be picked up out of the crowd by Jean the english lady who blended in perfectly with the distressed animal lovers of New York State that made up the majority of the protestors.
But when things began to spiral out of control, when his fake fire was overtaken by the real one set by the activists he had gone back into the admin building, determined to help anyone possibly trapped by the advancing flames. He had after all tampered with the safety systems and felt a personal responsibility to rescue anyone he could. However when he had found the three bodies, trapped under the fallen beams of the roof and already dead he didn't hesitate to change his original plan. He removed the tag, then grabbing at some glass from the broken lab equipment close by had gouged out a small piece of flesh.Shocked by the intense pain and then the copious amounts of blood that followed he smeared the inside of the tag with his own flesh before clamping it firmly around the leg of a protestor. The mask meant he was probably one of the AFL activists and Michael's research into this organization had told him the man would not be carrying any form of ID. It apparently confused the police and slowed down the act of processing anyone arrested on these demonstrations. By then the fire was beginning to creep closer and Michael had quickly hobbled out of the now dangerously smoke filled room, leaving a trail of blood behind him.
Sara had remembered watching him approach the SUV she had been waiting in, noticing the limp immediately and biting her lip when she finally managed to lift the fabric of his jeans out of the way so she could survey the damage. He'd been his usual stoic self, passing it off as a slight graze but it scarred badly and the permanent ugly dip in his skin showed how much flesh he'd actually gouged out.
Jean and her colleagues had offered them assistance and paperwork to relocate North of the border. There were no catches, they realised that if Michael's operation was a success most of their work against the Company would be finished. This was a favour, a way of doing something in Aldo's memory.
The bike was now heading out of Hope, up the hill and past a sign announcing they were eighteen miles from Vancouver. They flashed past a few more residential streets and the low lines of a small modern Health Clinic that had just offered her job starting the next week. The paperwork had been surprisingly easy to fix, she'd changed her name to her mother's maiden name, Tancredi was just too easy to google and although she no longer had anything to run from she wouldn't be the key the unlocked the way through to Michael for anyone still searching. The job was not absolutely necessary, her father had left her financially extremely comfortable and despite Michael's unease at taking Frank's money she had used it to buy the house and the car, insisting they were named as joint owners, the bike...was her indulgence, a gift for Michael
Michael however couldn't slip back into normal life that easily. He'd taken a new name, his grandmother's maiden name, and the Anti Company had provided convincing documentation that allowed him residency in Canada. But his face was too well known to simply join the cohorts of structural engineers in Vancouver and it seemed he was destined to spend his days watching the geese on the lake with Blue.
Bob and Jen had rescued him, just as they had done by the dusty side of the Mexican road. Bob had asked him to join his company, knowing Michael's skills in analyzing and deconstructing systems could be easily applied to the work of online security as well. He'd been right, Michael had found another niche, another talent he excelled at and just a month into it was embracing this new virtual world that rewarded his peculiar kind of critical thinking but mercifully didn't require attendance at an office and a suit.
They parked outside the Car rental desk and walked through the marbled halls of the airport to Arrivals. Michael was almost humming with excitement, and had squeezed Sara's hand tightly in his own several times before they located the board announcing the flight from Chicago had arrived and was now in the Baggage hall.
They'd made their way to the metal barrier separating the waiting crowds from the passengers and Michael leaned against it his fingers tapping out an impatient rhythm on the metal. Then a flurry of trolleys and tired looking travelers began to emerge through the double doors and Sara watched as Michael seemed to still a little, his gaze never straying from the doors. She was still watching his face as he broke into a huge grin and turning her head she saw LJ closely followed by Lincoln pushing a trolley with too rather small bags on it.
Michael had jumped over the barrier and was already in mid-hug with Lincoln before Sara realised what was happening. She held back, wanting Michael to have this moment with his brother. It had been nearly five months since they had parted in Panama, five months of Lincoln fearing almost daily, for Michael's freedom and life. Five months since Michael had scooped her up from the small bed in the Panamanian clinic and she felt like they had crammed at least five years of life into those five months.
Michael stepped back and then repeated the huge enveloping man-hug with LJ who managed to look both pleased and sheepish at the same time. It was only then she stepped forward into the circle of men. Three men who had set off on a path that had changed their own lives irrevocably, her life undoubtedly and brought down an organization that had previously defeated everyone who had threatened it ...that is before Michael Scofield heard his brother's words, muttered out from behind the meshed enclosure.
“I didn’t kill that man Michael”
Back at the house, Blue sat on the porch staring out at the lake now dappled with the shadows of wispy clouds passing over. Behind him the screen door led into the large comfortable living area of the house. It was still rather bare, Sara was taking her time adding the little touches of themselves. There was just one thing on the wall, a deep wooden frame that on closer inspection held what appeared to be a piece of flattened plaster, still clearly visible was a series of lines and drawings, dotted with tiny flowers. It was a map of Central America carved into the now greying plaster of Paris.
On the table below was Michael's laptop, the screen saver deactivated for some reason and a word document still open.
I've tried to come to terms with the deaths, I know the fire I started in the back stairwell burned out but perhaps they could have been saved if I hadn't have been so successful in fooling the fire safety system in the first place. I've seen the official report, and I know two of them were protestors, even if one is now laying under a headstone with my name .But I have to take the blame for agitating these people to that level in the first place. As for the soldier that died, I tried to pull him clear but he was trapped and I probably knew he was already dead. I just wasn't willing to accept it. I will carry his death, as with all the others, and there are too many, far too many on my conscience to my own grave.
I've stopped asking myself how many wrongs make a right, I realise in my desire to save those I love dearly I've been selfish and arrogant. I can give no excuses, my choice to fight back was mine alone, the price, the lives lost, is one I will regret for ever .But I can also give thanks that some lives were saved. That incredibly I have come through this without losing those that mean the most to me. Perhaps I will pay for this later, for the moment I will treasure every single day I have with them.
Michael Beech (Scofield)
The End