Three moments
Title: Three moments
Author: pellamerethiel
Characters: Michael, Mahone, agent Wheeler
Pairings: Alex/Pam
Category: Gen, pre- and post-escape. Kind of au.
Rating: PG-13
Lenght: 2074 words
Spoilers: Till 2x20 Panama
Disclaimer: They're not mine.
Summary: Michael, Mahone and agent Wheeler are in the crucial moments of their lifes.
Written for: tearcreek for making such a great icon for me. :)
Authors notes and thanks: This is my second English-written fic, so don't get too harsh. :) Really, really huge thanks to miss_mazzie, novin_ha and pamalax for doing beta-reading for me - I can't say how grateful I am. You're awesome, girls!
And pamalax is going to write the second part - three answers to my fic, so watch out!
1.
Cleaning off the wall meant completion.
It meant perfection, readiness, finishing the whole picture and, last but not the least, preparing for your final race after years of training. Every single detail, every step of this exhaustive plan was there on that silent wall.
You couldn't be more prepared.
While tearing down the paper, crushing it into small balls, adrenaline suddenly hits your veins, sinks into and rushes with your blood, filling your body with the sufficient amount of hope, strength and energy, and it really means something, because now you know that there are things which just have to be done.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Already reconciled with the very fact that your life - Michael Scofield's life - was never worth more than a piece of crap before you began the fight for your brother's freedom, you start to think that giving up your own wasn't worth of a single bit of remorse. Because really - a respected job, overrated conferences with arrogant, egocentric and snobbish careerists hanging around, your very own detailed model of Eiffel Tower, and miserable social life are things you can afford to live without.
But family?
In the end, the only thing that matters is love.
Hadn’t these words come from Linc's mouth?
Probably.
They are so true, significant and familiar that you've simply forgotten when and from who you'd heard them. The only thing that matters now is the feeling that they're slightly bigger than mere words, that, as of now, they're your guidelines, your little touchstones and the way to understand why you've became such a man, why are you here.
Those words are the reasons why you're not hesitating before shredding your miserable life into pieces, destroying it, then throwing out the remains.
As of now, those words define you.
Blood.
Family.
All that matters is here, in the depths of your brain.
Now you can fully appreciate and understand the true and powerful meaning of these words, but it wasn't always like this. When this sudden realization hits you, you become aware of the fact that you have failed.
You should be there for Lincoln, standing by his side, supporting him, trying to help, fighting with his addictions and starting to behave like a real brother, not this ungrateful and pathetic little bastard you unexpectedly became. You should be like Lincoln, but in what way? He practically raised you after your mother died, leaving the two of you completely alone.
Brothers, especially with a tough past like the one we had, should stick together, but you just fucked it up.
Again.
There won’t be more “agains”.
You won't screw it up.
Not this time.
The wall is covered with hundreds, thousands of tiny black and scattered dots where pins were. Seeing this random, accidental pattern suddenly makes you sick. It symbolizes everything you've been fighting your whole life, things you’ve tried to get rid of and keep out of your way, the scary disorders, endless variations of chaos, which were always ruining your quiet and peaceful existence.
The pin-hole pattern reminds you of needles marking your own skin, bloodying it and pumping it with gallons of ink, turning it into something like very creepy work of insane mind.
Was it worth it?
You don’t know where you're going to be in the next three months, if one of you two doesn’t meet his maker before the finish line, but you already know the answer to that question.
Sacrifices never end, but it really doesn't matter. There's no going back from this, because you know that there are some things which just shouldn't be fixed. Your job? Apartment? Relationships? Normal life?
These are not worth a single thought.
There's no regret in your gestures, while you stuff all the paper, sketches, maps and diagrams into the black, plastic bag. Strangely, it looks like you were hiding a body, which really isn't so far from truth. Indeed you are burying your old, weary self, getting ready for the new, shiny life you prepared for both of you.
Are you scared?
No.
Are you ready?
Yes.
Nervous, too.
Vigilant, also.
But scared?
Not when your life just started to mean something.
You won't screw it up.
You can't.
2.
Now, they've hurt your family.
Had your little boy run over by a car.
Crushed the heart of the love of your life.
All because of your actions.
After getting to the airport and buying the tickets, you've finally managed to find some time to check your wound, still sensitive to the touch, and you're hissing now as you feel the wet, blood-soaked cloth clinging to your pale and burning skin.
You're trying to deceive yourself by denying, rejecting, and finally fighting the very feeling that turns your stomach into one rough and tangled knot. You're doing your best to stay calm while trying to pretend there’s nothing more than anger you're feeling like now, because facing the truth is already more you can bear. You are really in desperate need of these three quiet minutes, three moments of peace.
Getting on a plane, then finding your seat gives you the chance to rest for a bit, but you're too stressed, too overwhelmed to do something like that, so you're listening to the monotonous voice of a stewardess. She reminds all the passengers to switch off their phones which makes you reach to your pocket to get out the black cell, unaware of the fact that you've already deactivated it.
You're worrying about Pam being unable to call you, but she's your girl, truly strong and self-sufficient and she's going to be fine, as always.
You're going to make sure about this.
Kim's not going to reach you, not now, not in a million years, which, finally, turns you into a free man and suddenly you find yourself smiling.
Your mind starts wandering, drifts off to sleep which you should know that you cannot afford, even despite the fact that you're so weary that your weakened body simply screams for it. But there are so many decisions to think about, to reconsider, to give a second thought.
You're finally admitting that's not anger that pulsates in your blood right now - it’s a stiffening cold, sharp and perfidious anxiety, the plain, true terror. You can feel your own fast-beating heart slowly sinking into its thick, freezing liquids, which leaves you with nothing but despair.
There's also this fucking sense of guilt, which is already eating you alive, spreading like a cancer and infecting the previously healthy cells, making you believe that you're going to screw it up like before, because that's the way it is.
At this moment, you're feeling unworthy of every little touch, every sign of respect with which people treat you and then you're feeling sorry for feeling every single human being with whom you've crossed paths through the wholeness of your miserable life.
Suddenly you think of Oscar Shales and that is enough to make you sick.
Or maybe it's just the renewed pain in your wounded arm, apparently treated with too small adose of antibiotics and painkillers.
It hurts like hell.
What fills you now is the mixture of excitement with a pinch of fear, because even though you're afraid about what's going to happen after getting back on the ground, you also cannot wait to see their faces, finally having a chance to see your son, to smile at him and provide him with a strong, loving hug.
Then you will touch Pam's face, feel her soft, smooth skin, and smell the scent of vanilla in her stunning dark hair.
What you're doing is probably an awful, irrevocable and enormous mistake, but this time you don’t give a shit.
You won't let these bastards come anywhere near your family again, not now, not in the next ten thousand years. What you're wishing for now is to know that your wife and son are okay, to have just a couple of minutes to apologize before you bring them to safety.
There's no coming back from this.
3.
Talking on the phone about catching your insane, psycho, yet much too intelligent and well-informed former boss while hiding somewhere in the black depths of the federal underground parking seems to be less exciting than it appeared to be before.
You’re sitting inside the silent familiarity of your car, but you can't deceive yourself - once parked, you’re on his territory, his hunting ground.
Had he found and killed Shales in a place like that?
The thought is enough to make you shiver.
Suddenly the parking space reminds you of a place of execution and you’re feeling even more uncomfortable than you did before. Everything seems normal, but you know that the most savage, ruthless and merciless predators are hiding deep inside the silence.
You’re leaving your car, your heart pounding, and suddenly he’s there and somehow you’re not suprised at all, somehow you’ve expected it and that’s why you didn’t take your weapon with you.
You don’t want him dead, you want him arrested.
He’s a villain in this story and all you’re wishing for is justice.
That’s why the fresh, naive and pretty inexperienced agents do everything they can to fight for the protection of the innocent people. Because they want to, they need to believe that’s how the rightness feels like.
Alex had broken the rules and that’s why he has to be punished.
You might not be a criminal, a killer or a very experienced agent, but you’re able to recognize the desperation, frightening and visible, in the eyes of the man who’s standing right in front of you.
The same man you once admired.
You’re scared, your skin turns pale and sweaty, the quickening beating of your heart splits your ribcage open.
All of a sudden, the feeling stops and you’re sure now that he’s not going to kill you, not now, not here, not if that wouldn’t give him any inner peace and it’s becoming clearer to you that he’s far beyond that now.
What you can see is a weary, deeply tormented man you once admired.
Suddenly, you're turning this admiration into pity despite the fact you’re pretty sure that’s the very reason he would kill you. He’s acting like a wild, chased animal, his moves are nervous and yet he’s totally aware of what he’s saying to you about the execution, looking at people who have betrayed you, and still remembering about covering the blade which you’re willingly putting into someone’s back.
He’s right, you wanted him to know that you’re the one who caught him, who believed what Scofield had said on a tape was true.
You don’t remember why you’d done something like this, when these sudden ambitions were born, but suddenly you’re angry with yourself for not seeing the symptoms before, for not revealing the truth about Shales and then for not offering help, but the warrant and the guarantee that the rest of his life he’s going to spend behind bars.
You cannot think about the more perverse end for someone like Mahone.
You’re trying to explain yourself, reassure him, then give him a glittering glimpse of hope, convince him that you’re going to find a solution, find a way out of his problems. Once Alex is ready, once he promises he would stop killing people and trying to escape justice.
You’re trying to help because you pity him, but he doesn’t want to be pitied.
Then he tells you that you remind him of the young and idealistic agent he used to be in the past. You’re commenting this ironically, not wanting to admit that that’s the biggest complement you’ve received since the year you'd left Academy.
The lights of the parking lot are increasing your anxiety and that’s when Alex decides to attack, to catch you and bring you closer, then to tell you something you think you’ll never forget.
He walks away, still looking at you, making sure that you’ll remember what he just said and then he vanishes in the green lights, thick air of this dusty parking garage.
Now, when you’ve become certain that there’re things hidden in this specific case, in Scofield’s case, in the Fox River Eight case, that not everything’s so simple as it seems, he just disappears.
Leaving you completely alone.
And somehow you know that you’re never going to see him again.
Author: pellamerethiel
Characters: Michael, Mahone, agent Wheeler
Pairings: Alex/Pam
Category: Gen, pre- and post-escape. Kind of au.
Rating: PG-13
Lenght: 2074 words
Spoilers: Till 2x20 Panama
Disclaimer: They're not mine.
Summary: Michael, Mahone and agent Wheeler are in the crucial moments of their lifes.
Written for: tearcreek for making such a great icon for me. :)
Authors notes and thanks: This is my second English-written fic, so don't get too harsh. :) Really, really huge thanks to miss_mazzie, novin_ha and pamalax for doing beta-reading for me - I can't say how grateful I am. You're awesome, girls!
And pamalax is going to write the second part - three answers to my fic, so watch out!
1.
Cleaning off the wall meant completion.
It meant perfection, readiness, finishing the whole picture and, last but not the least, preparing for your final race after years of training. Every single detail, every step of this exhaustive plan was there on that silent wall.
You couldn't be more prepared.
While tearing down the paper, crushing it into small balls, adrenaline suddenly hits your veins, sinks into and rushes with your blood, filling your body with the sufficient amount of hope, strength and energy, and it really means something, because now you know that there are things which just have to be done.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Already reconciled with the very fact that your life - Michael Scofield's life - was never worth more than a piece of crap before you began the fight for your brother's freedom, you start to think that giving up your own wasn't worth of a single bit of remorse. Because really - a respected job, overrated conferences with arrogant, egocentric and snobbish careerists hanging around, your very own detailed model of Eiffel Tower, and miserable social life are things you can afford to live without.
But family?
In the end, the only thing that matters is love.
Hadn’t these words come from Linc's mouth?
Probably.
They are so true, significant and familiar that you've simply forgotten when and from who you'd heard them. The only thing that matters now is the feeling that they're slightly bigger than mere words, that, as of now, they're your guidelines, your little touchstones and the way to understand why you've became such a man, why are you here.
Those words are the reasons why you're not hesitating before shredding your miserable life into pieces, destroying it, then throwing out the remains.
As of now, those words define you.
Blood.
Family.
All that matters is here, in the depths of your brain.
Now you can fully appreciate and understand the true and powerful meaning of these words, but it wasn't always like this. When this sudden realization hits you, you become aware of the fact that you have failed.
You should be there for Lincoln, standing by his side, supporting him, trying to help, fighting with his addictions and starting to behave like a real brother, not this ungrateful and pathetic little bastard you unexpectedly became. You should be like Lincoln, but in what way? He practically raised you after your mother died, leaving the two of you completely alone.
Brothers, especially with a tough past like the one we had, should stick together, but you just fucked it up.
Again.
There won’t be more “agains”.
You won't screw it up.
Not this time.
The wall is covered with hundreds, thousands of tiny black and scattered dots where pins were. Seeing this random, accidental pattern suddenly makes you sick. It symbolizes everything you've been fighting your whole life, things you’ve tried to get rid of and keep out of your way, the scary disorders, endless variations of chaos, which were always ruining your quiet and peaceful existence.
The pin-hole pattern reminds you of needles marking your own skin, bloodying it and pumping it with gallons of ink, turning it into something like very creepy work of insane mind.
Was it worth it?
You don’t know where you're going to be in the next three months, if one of you two doesn’t meet his maker before the finish line, but you already know the answer to that question.
Sacrifices never end, but it really doesn't matter. There's no going back from this, because you know that there are some things which just shouldn't be fixed. Your job? Apartment? Relationships? Normal life?
These are not worth a single thought.
There's no regret in your gestures, while you stuff all the paper, sketches, maps and diagrams into the black, plastic bag. Strangely, it looks like you were hiding a body, which really isn't so far from truth. Indeed you are burying your old, weary self, getting ready for the new, shiny life you prepared for both of you.
Are you scared?
No.
Are you ready?
Yes.
Nervous, too.
Vigilant, also.
But scared?
Not when your life just started to mean something.
You won't screw it up.
You can't.
2.
Now, they've hurt your family.
Had your little boy run over by a car.
Crushed the heart of the love of your life.
All because of your actions.
After getting to the airport and buying the tickets, you've finally managed to find some time to check your wound, still sensitive to the touch, and you're hissing now as you feel the wet, blood-soaked cloth clinging to your pale and burning skin.
You're trying to deceive yourself by denying, rejecting, and finally fighting the very feeling that turns your stomach into one rough and tangled knot. You're doing your best to stay calm while trying to pretend there’s nothing more than anger you're feeling like now, because facing the truth is already more you can bear. You are really in desperate need of these three quiet minutes, three moments of peace.
Getting on a plane, then finding your seat gives you the chance to rest for a bit, but you're too stressed, too overwhelmed to do something like that, so you're listening to the monotonous voice of a stewardess. She reminds all the passengers to switch off their phones which makes you reach to your pocket to get out the black cell, unaware of the fact that you've already deactivated it.
You're worrying about Pam being unable to call you, but she's your girl, truly strong and self-sufficient and she's going to be fine, as always.
You're going to make sure about this.
Kim's not going to reach you, not now, not in a million years, which, finally, turns you into a free man and suddenly you find yourself smiling.
Your mind starts wandering, drifts off to sleep which you should know that you cannot afford, even despite the fact that you're so weary that your weakened body simply screams for it. But there are so many decisions to think about, to reconsider, to give a second thought.
You're finally admitting that's not anger that pulsates in your blood right now - it’s a stiffening cold, sharp and perfidious anxiety, the plain, true terror. You can feel your own fast-beating heart slowly sinking into its thick, freezing liquids, which leaves you with nothing but despair.
There's also this fucking sense of guilt, which is already eating you alive, spreading like a cancer and infecting the previously healthy cells, making you believe that you're going to screw it up like before, because that's the way it is.
At this moment, you're feeling unworthy of every little touch, every sign of respect with which people treat you and then you're feeling sorry for feeling every single human being with whom you've crossed paths through the wholeness of your miserable life.
Suddenly you think of Oscar Shales and that is enough to make you sick.
Or maybe it's just the renewed pain in your wounded arm, apparently treated with too small adose of antibiotics and painkillers.
It hurts like hell.
What fills you now is the mixture of excitement with a pinch of fear, because even though you're afraid about what's going to happen after getting back on the ground, you also cannot wait to see their faces, finally having a chance to see your son, to smile at him and provide him with a strong, loving hug.
Then you will touch Pam's face, feel her soft, smooth skin, and smell the scent of vanilla in her stunning dark hair.
What you're doing is probably an awful, irrevocable and enormous mistake, but this time you don’t give a shit.
You won't let these bastards come anywhere near your family again, not now, not in the next ten thousand years. What you're wishing for now is to know that your wife and son are okay, to have just a couple of minutes to apologize before you bring them to safety.
There's no coming back from this.
3.
Talking on the phone about catching your insane, psycho, yet much too intelligent and well-informed former boss while hiding somewhere in the black depths of the federal underground parking seems to be less exciting than it appeared to be before.
You’re sitting inside the silent familiarity of your car, but you can't deceive yourself - once parked, you’re on his territory, his hunting ground.
Had he found and killed Shales in a place like that?
The thought is enough to make you shiver.
Suddenly the parking space reminds you of a place of execution and you’re feeling even more uncomfortable than you did before. Everything seems normal, but you know that the most savage, ruthless and merciless predators are hiding deep inside the silence.
You’re leaving your car, your heart pounding, and suddenly he’s there and somehow you’re not suprised at all, somehow you’ve expected it and that’s why you didn’t take your weapon with you.
You don’t want him dead, you want him arrested.
He’s a villain in this story and all you’re wishing for is justice.
That’s why the fresh, naive and pretty inexperienced agents do everything they can to fight for the protection of the innocent people. Because they want to, they need to believe that’s how the rightness feels like.
Alex had broken the rules and that’s why he has to be punished.
You might not be a criminal, a killer or a very experienced agent, but you’re able to recognize the desperation, frightening and visible, in the eyes of the man who’s standing right in front of you.
The same man you once admired.
You’re scared, your skin turns pale and sweaty, the quickening beating of your heart splits your ribcage open.
All of a sudden, the feeling stops and you’re sure now that he’s not going to kill you, not now, not here, not if that wouldn’t give him any inner peace and it’s becoming clearer to you that he’s far beyond that now.
What you can see is a weary, deeply tormented man you once admired.
Suddenly, you're turning this admiration into pity despite the fact you’re pretty sure that’s the very reason he would kill you. He’s acting like a wild, chased animal, his moves are nervous and yet he’s totally aware of what he’s saying to you about the execution, looking at people who have betrayed you, and still remembering about covering the blade which you’re willingly putting into someone’s back.
He’s right, you wanted him to know that you’re the one who caught him, who believed what Scofield had said on a tape was true.
You don’t remember why you’d done something like this, when these sudden ambitions were born, but suddenly you’re angry with yourself for not seeing the symptoms before, for not revealing the truth about Shales and then for not offering help, but the warrant and the guarantee that the rest of his life he’s going to spend behind bars.
You cannot think about the more perverse end for someone like Mahone.
You’re trying to explain yourself, reassure him, then give him a glittering glimpse of hope, convince him that you’re going to find a solution, find a way out of his problems. Once Alex is ready, once he promises he would stop killing people and trying to escape justice.
You’re trying to help because you pity him, but he doesn’t want to be pitied.
Then he tells you that you remind him of the young and idealistic agent he used to be in the past. You’re commenting this ironically, not wanting to admit that that’s the biggest complement you’ve received since the year you'd left Academy.
The lights of the parking lot are increasing your anxiety and that’s when Alex decides to attack, to catch you and bring you closer, then to tell you something you think you’ll never forget.
He walks away, still looking at you, making sure that you’ll remember what he just said and then he vanishes in the green lights, thick air of this dusty parking garage.
Now, when you’ve become certain that there’re things hidden in this specific case, in Scofield’s case, in the Fox River Eight case, that not everything’s so simple as it seems, he just disappears.
Leaving you completely alone.
And somehow you know that you’re never going to see him again.