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 after S213
Chapter 14 Virtual Prison, is not a game.
Michael’s head and arm rested against the cab’s window. He could feel the engine vibrations resonating through him and found it a strangely comforting sensation. He allowed his eyes to close for a few seconds in the hope that the image of Lincoln abandoned and distraught outside the prison would fade. It wouldn’t, and Michael wondered how deep the reservoir of detachment that had enabled him to so easily disregard his brother was.
It had started to rain and Michael’s view of the Chicago streets became blotched through large drops of rain that clung to the window. He watched several individual globules eventually become so heavy with liquid they started to merge together and suddenly transform into a narrow rivulet running down towards the frame. Michael traced its path with his finger, leaving a slight trail in the almost hidden mist on the inside. He sighed, opened up the green piece of paper and studied the address. He didn’t know the actual street but the area was familiar of course. It was where he had grown up and gone to school, before the illness and death of his mother had meant a constant whistle stop tour of the many foster homes around the city. It had been his world as a child.
The cab turned into a busy road full of small stores and bars and Michael shifted up in his seat. They were mostly new ones with different names and frontages, but occasionally he recognised some of them. The hardware store where his mother had allowed him to choose the paint for his bedroom when he was nine… He’d spent ages wandering down the row of paint cans, experiencing the joy and pain involved in decision-making. He had finally chosen a pale blue that reminded him of the sky behind their apartment on cloudless evenings. However once on the walls it had looked rather more lilac and Lincoln had hounded him mercilessly about his girly purple room for years after. A wry smile escaped his lips briefly at the childhood memory.
The cab turned again and he caught the sign for his Elementary School, pointing down the narrow path leading across the grassy area that he knew led to the small one storey brick building. He saw the small metal fence that acted as a barrier between the path and the road leading to the bus stop. That’s where he had waited each day for Lincoln to collect him and walk him home. His mother had been very specific. He was allowed to walk to the fence by himself, but no further, he wasn’t to cross the road or walk as far as the bus stop. Sometimes he would wait and wait until he was the only person there, and desperate not to look like he’d been ‘forgotten’. Finally Linc would appear at the end of the street, hands in pockets and whistling. Michael would fidget and wave and want to leave the fence to run to his brother but he always heeded his mother’s words. Linc would eventually reach him and playfully run his hands through Michael’s hair, never acknowledging how late he was.
Michael turned around in the seat to stare at the fence through the back window. It seemed so small, so insignificant now.
The cab moved on through the traffic and into a grid of streets Michael was less familiar with. Then it pulled to a stop outside a small housing project, four storeys high and probably built within the last five years. Michael checked the paper again and climbed out of the cab, reaching across for his bag of belongings.
The cabdriver turned to look at him out of the window and passed him a small chitty to sign. Then, looking Michael over one more time he muttered, “You don’t look the type.”
“Sorry?” Michael responded.
“Statesville, you’re not the normal kinda guy that I pick up from there on this contract.”
Michael shrugged his shoulders and set off towards the building to find the caretaker who apparently had his keys.
Several minutes later he had climbed the three flights of stairs and after a couple of wrong turns down non-descript corridors finally found the right one. He walked slowly down checking the numbers but immediately aware of a man leaning against one of the doors at the end. He counted down the numbers getting closer and closer to the man who had noticed him and was now moving off the door and straightening his jacket. Michael realised several doors away that the man was undoubtedly waiting outside his door. He screwed his forehead up in slight consternation and hiking his paper bag higher in his left arm he came to a stop outside the door beside the man.
“Mr Scofield?”
“Yes.” Michael answered in puzzlement.
“Ah great, I’m Mr Sucarto.” He smiled and seemed to find Michael’s look of confusion amusing. “Your Monitoring officer?”
“Oh!” Michael exclaimed and reached for his hand.
“Shall we go in?”
“Yes of course.” Michael fiddled with the two keys until he found the one that fitted the lock. He pushed the door open and walked quickly across the strange room to place the bag on a small worktop. The man followed him in and it was only then Michael noticed the small laptop bag that must have been over his shoulder all the time.
“Sorry I’m a bit early Mr Scofield, but an earlier appointment was cancelled when the guy was sent back so I just came straight to you.”
Michael nodded silently. Then realising he didn’t really understand murmured “Sent back?”
“To Statesville, readmitted.” Replied Ward.
“Does that happen much?” Asked Michael, suddenly remembering with a shock that he wasn’t actually a free man despite leaving Statesville many miles behind him.
“The guy was an idiot, kept saying the tag was faulty as it failed to register location on several occasions. The techies kept checking it and found circuits were fried. Turned out the guy had been pissing on it on purpose. He was caught red handed drinking in a bar on the over side of town, his sock still soaked in urine when the signal turned itself back on.” He shook his head several times and a soft laugh escaped his lips. “Actually I guess an idiot wouldn’t have worked out that the chemicals in urine could actually fry the tag.
Anyways, please don’t tell me I’m going to have problems with you?”
Michael shook his head. “Pissy socks? Nah not my kind of thing.”
“Good. Let’s sort you out then Mr Scofield.”
He opened the laptop and reached for some papers in one of the pockets of the bag.
“Right you’re on maximum restriction zone wise which means no more than two blocks out from the triangulation of home, work and basic stores.” He checked the sheet of papers in front of him.
“You’ve been assigned community work at the Forest Glades cemetery.” Michael drew a short breath, his lips pursing.
“You know the one, just a three blocks down past the clinic?”
Michael nodded slowly, his eyes darkened with memories, “Yes I know it.”
His mind flashed past images of a journey in the back of a large black car, Lincoln sitting next to him, both dressed in uncomfortable dark suits. They had driven through the gates into a large open area and Michael had noticed the name ‘Forest Glades’ engraved in to the face of the wall next to the gate and had quickly scanned the view out of the window. “Lincoln?”
He got no response, so he persevered.
“Linc where are the trees?”
“What?” Lincoln asked barely listening.
“Where are the trees? A forest means lots of trees doesn’t it?”
“Yeah a forest is lots and lots of trees, Mikey.”
Michael tuned back to the window and scanned the rows and rows of small squat stones and scowled.
“Linc, what’s a Glade?”
Lincoln sighed with relief as the car slowed to a stop at that moment and he ushered Michael out to join the painfully small group of mourners around the freshly dug hole.
“Well you start there tomorrow. Here are the details of the hours and pay, the Head Gardener will manage you whilst you’re there.”
Michael took the papers slowly and nodded. “You are aware that keeping in employment is an integral part of the scheme, Mr Scofield?”
“Yes, I’ve read the guidelines, I understand.”
“Now lets check the settings, leg!”
“Sorry?”
“Your leg. I want to check the tag.”
“Ah ok.” Michael looked around the room for the first time and realised it was actually partly furnished. There was a sofa, which looked like it might be a pull out, a small table and a set of drawers and one stool against the worktop. He sat down on this and raised his leg. Sucarto had caught him surveying the room and commented, “They don’t give you much huh? I can leave you with some forms for the welfare people, you can apply for more furniture under the scheme and you have to have a phone to enable spot checking so we pay for an installation.”
Michael nodded again, trying to take it all in.
Sucarto pushed up Michael’s jeans and checked the tightness of the strap and read off the small reference number above a barcode clearly visible on its side. Michael dropped his head to one side to really examine the tag for the first time.
Sucarto turned back to his laptop and entered the number. Several minutes later he was obviously satisfied and closed the laptop.
“Right you’re all configured, do you need me to go over the restrictions?” He pulled out an A4 sheet of paper with a street map printed on one side. “This is your area, and he marked the outline of the area in red. As you can see Mr Scofield, it’s not a circular area, it’s based on actual streets and roads. These are all plotted and using the GPS system the software will alert us if you leave the area.”
“I understand,” Michael replied, his voice impatient, “I’m a- I used to be a structural engineer, I know what GPS co-ords are.”
“Ah right well that makes it much easier to explain then. The system is designed on 5% variance, on the scale it operates at that’s about the width of a street, so step foot on a street outside your area and it will report ok?”
Michael nodded again. “Gotcha.”
“I’ll visit you once a week for the first month, and then we review the visits and replace some with phone monitoring. It’s all in here along with my contact details ok?”
“What happens if I need to travel outside the area for the dentist or something?” Michael asked.
“You don’t. Change your dentist. This isn’t a game Mr Scofield, this is a virtual prison. Please don’t think this will allow you to live your life like a normal person. All that tag does,” he nodded in the direction of Michael’s leg “is just incarcerate you in a larger prison. The walls may not be visible but trust me they’re there. I hope you have friends in the neighbourhood, if not it’s going to feel like the SHU after a few days.”
He slung his laptop bag over his shoulder, reached out for Michael’s hand and after a brief shake walked out of the door. Michael closed it behind him and slowly surveyed the room again, this time taking in the frayed, stained carpet and the chipped counter top and sighed with resignation.
***
Lincoln stumbled into the apartment and flung his keys across the worktop. His unsteadiness was to him proof in a twisted way that he still had not drunk enough. After all, he was still conscious and therefore still hurting from Michael’s earlier rejection that day and all he wanted to do was stop the pain. He pulled open the fridge and reached in for a six pack. He closed the door, almost falling in the process and staggered across the room to collapse onto the sofa. His last lucid thought was whether he could actually drink all the beer now crammed into the fridge. The beer he had bought for a homecoming, the beer he had hoped, despite all the signs, that he could share with his little brother. He let out a small cry of exasperation and twisted the top of the bottle.
“Fuck him.”
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 after S213
Chapter 14 Virtual Prison, is not a game.
Michael’s head and arm rested against the cab’s window. He could feel the engine vibrations resonating through him and found it a strangely comforting sensation. He allowed his eyes to close for a few seconds in the hope that the image of Lincoln abandoned and distraught outside the prison would fade. It wouldn’t, and Michael wondered how deep the reservoir of detachment that had enabled him to so easily disregard his brother was.
It had started to rain and Michael’s view of the Chicago streets became blotched through large drops of rain that clung to the window. He watched several individual globules eventually become so heavy with liquid they started to merge together and suddenly transform into a narrow rivulet running down towards the frame. Michael traced its path with his finger, leaving a slight trail in the almost hidden mist on the inside. He sighed, opened up the green piece of paper and studied the address. He didn’t know the actual street but the area was familiar of course. It was where he had grown up and gone to school, before the illness and death of his mother had meant a constant whistle stop tour of the many foster homes around the city. It had been his world as a child.
The cab turned into a busy road full of small stores and bars and Michael shifted up in his seat. They were mostly new ones with different names and frontages, but occasionally he recognised some of them. The hardware store where his mother had allowed him to choose the paint for his bedroom when he was nine… He’d spent ages wandering down the row of paint cans, experiencing the joy and pain involved in decision-making. He had finally chosen a pale blue that reminded him of the sky behind their apartment on cloudless evenings. However once on the walls it had looked rather more lilac and Lincoln had hounded him mercilessly about his girly purple room for years after. A wry smile escaped his lips briefly at the childhood memory.
The cab turned again and he caught the sign for his Elementary School, pointing down the narrow path leading across the grassy area that he knew led to the small one storey brick building. He saw the small metal fence that acted as a barrier between the path and the road leading to the bus stop. That’s where he had waited each day for Lincoln to collect him and walk him home. His mother had been very specific. He was allowed to walk to the fence by himself, but no further, he wasn’t to cross the road or walk as far as the bus stop. Sometimes he would wait and wait until he was the only person there, and desperate not to look like he’d been ‘forgotten’. Finally Linc would appear at the end of the street, hands in pockets and whistling. Michael would fidget and wave and want to leave the fence to run to his brother but he always heeded his mother’s words. Linc would eventually reach him and playfully run his hands through Michael’s hair, never acknowledging how late he was.
Michael turned around in the seat to stare at the fence through the back window. It seemed so small, so insignificant now.
The cab moved on through the traffic and into a grid of streets Michael was less familiar with. Then it pulled to a stop outside a small housing project, four storeys high and probably built within the last five years. Michael checked the paper again and climbed out of the cab, reaching across for his bag of belongings.
The cabdriver turned to look at him out of the window and passed him a small chitty to sign. Then, looking Michael over one more time he muttered, “You don’t look the type.”
“Sorry?” Michael responded.
“Statesville, you’re not the normal kinda guy that I pick up from there on this contract.”
Michael shrugged his shoulders and set off towards the building to find the caretaker who apparently had his keys.
Several minutes later he had climbed the three flights of stairs and after a couple of wrong turns down non-descript corridors finally found the right one. He walked slowly down checking the numbers but immediately aware of a man leaning against one of the doors at the end. He counted down the numbers getting closer and closer to the man who had noticed him and was now moving off the door and straightening his jacket. Michael realised several doors away that the man was undoubtedly waiting outside his door. He screwed his forehead up in slight consternation and hiking his paper bag higher in his left arm he came to a stop outside the door beside the man.
“Mr Scofield?”
“Yes.” Michael answered in puzzlement.
“Ah great, I’m Mr Sucarto.” He smiled and seemed to find Michael’s look of confusion amusing. “Your Monitoring officer?”
“Oh!” Michael exclaimed and reached for his hand.
“Shall we go in?”
“Yes of course.” Michael fiddled with the two keys until he found the one that fitted the lock. He pushed the door open and walked quickly across the strange room to place the bag on a small worktop. The man followed him in and it was only then Michael noticed the small laptop bag that must have been over his shoulder all the time.
“Sorry I’m a bit early Mr Scofield, but an earlier appointment was cancelled when the guy was sent back so I just came straight to you.”
Michael nodded silently. Then realising he didn’t really understand murmured “Sent back?”
“To Statesville, readmitted.” Replied Ward.
“Does that happen much?” Asked Michael, suddenly remembering with a shock that he wasn’t actually a free man despite leaving Statesville many miles behind him.
“The guy was an idiot, kept saying the tag was faulty as it failed to register location on several occasions. The techies kept checking it and found circuits were fried. Turned out the guy had been pissing on it on purpose. He was caught red handed drinking in a bar on the over side of town, his sock still soaked in urine when the signal turned itself back on.” He shook his head several times and a soft laugh escaped his lips. “Actually I guess an idiot wouldn’t have worked out that the chemicals in urine could actually fry the tag.
Anyways, please don’t tell me I’m going to have problems with you?”
Michael shook his head. “Pissy socks? Nah not my kind of thing.”
“Good. Let’s sort you out then Mr Scofield.”
He opened the laptop and reached for some papers in one of the pockets of the bag.
“Right you’re on maximum restriction zone wise which means no more than two blocks out from the triangulation of home, work and basic stores.” He checked the sheet of papers in front of him.
“You’ve been assigned community work at the Forest Glades cemetery.” Michael drew a short breath, his lips pursing.
“You know the one, just a three blocks down past the clinic?”
Michael nodded slowly, his eyes darkened with memories, “Yes I know it.”
His mind flashed past images of a journey in the back of a large black car, Lincoln sitting next to him, both dressed in uncomfortable dark suits. They had driven through the gates into a large open area and Michael had noticed the name ‘Forest Glades’ engraved in to the face of the wall next to the gate and had quickly scanned the view out of the window. “Lincoln?”
He got no response, so he persevered.
“Linc where are the trees?”
“What?” Lincoln asked barely listening.
“Where are the trees? A forest means lots of trees doesn’t it?”
“Yeah a forest is lots and lots of trees, Mikey.”
Michael tuned back to the window and scanned the rows and rows of small squat stones and scowled.
“Linc, what’s a Glade?”
Lincoln sighed with relief as the car slowed to a stop at that moment and he ushered Michael out to join the painfully small group of mourners around the freshly dug hole.
“Well you start there tomorrow. Here are the details of the hours and pay, the Head Gardener will manage you whilst you’re there.”
Michael took the papers slowly and nodded. “You are aware that keeping in employment is an integral part of the scheme, Mr Scofield?”
“Yes, I’ve read the guidelines, I understand.”
“Now lets check the settings, leg!”
“Sorry?”
“Your leg. I want to check the tag.”
“Ah ok.” Michael looked around the room for the first time and realised it was actually partly furnished. There was a sofa, which looked like it might be a pull out, a small table and a set of drawers and one stool against the worktop. He sat down on this and raised his leg. Sucarto had caught him surveying the room and commented, “They don’t give you much huh? I can leave you with some forms for the welfare people, you can apply for more furniture under the scheme and you have to have a phone to enable spot checking so we pay for an installation.”
Michael nodded again, trying to take it all in.
Sucarto pushed up Michael’s jeans and checked the tightness of the strap and read off the small reference number above a barcode clearly visible on its side. Michael dropped his head to one side to really examine the tag for the first time.
Sucarto turned back to his laptop and entered the number. Several minutes later he was obviously satisfied and closed the laptop.
“Right you’re all configured, do you need me to go over the restrictions?” He pulled out an A4 sheet of paper with a street map printed on one side. “This is your area, and he marked the outline of the area in red. As you can see Mr Scofield, it’s not a circular area, it’s based on actual streets and roads. These are all plotted and using the GPS system the software will alert us if you leave the area.”
“I understand,” Michael replied, his voice impatient, “I’m a- I used to be a structural engineer, I know what GPS co-ords are.”
“Ah right well that makes it much easier to explain then. The system is designed on 5% variance, on the scale it operates at that’s about the width of a street, so step foot on a street outside your area and it will report ok?”
Michael nodded again. “Gotcha.”
“I’ll visit you once a week for the first month, and then we review the visits and replace some with phone monitoring. It’s all in here along with my contact details ok?”
“What happens if I need to travel outside the area for the dentist or something?” Michael asked.
“You don’t. Change your dentist. This isn’t a game Mr Scofield, this is a virtual prison. Please don’t think this will allow you to live your life like a normal person. All that tag does,” he nodded in the direction of Michael’s leg “is just incarcerate you in a larger prison. The walls may not be visible but trust me they’re there. I hope you have friends in the neighbourhood, if not it’s going to feel like the SHU after a few days.”
He slung his laptop bag over his shoulder, reached out for Michael’s hand and after a brief shake walked out of the door. Michael closed it behind him and slowly surveyed the room again, this time taking in the frayed, stained carpet and the chipped counter top and sighed with resignation.
***
Lincoln stumbled into the apartment and flung his keys across the worktop. His unsteadiness was to him proof in a twisted way that he still had not drunk enough. After all, he was still conscious and therefore still hurting from Michael’s earlier rejection that day and all he wanted to do was stop the pain. He pulled open the fridge and reached in for a six pack. He closed the door, almost falling in the process and staggered across the room to collapse onto the sofa. His last lucid thought was whether he could actually drink all the beer now crammed into the fridge. The beer he had bought for a homecoming, the beer he had hoped, despite all the signs, that he could share with his little brother. He let out a small cry of exasperation and twisted the top of the bottle.
“Fuck him.”
TBC