(no subject)
Title: Back Inside Sona, Part V
Author: putu2sleep
Characters: Michael Scofield, Lincoln Burows, Fernando Sucre, Alex Mahone, James Whistler, Lechero, Theodore Bagwell, Susan B., Original character
Category: Post-escape
Rating: PG-13
Summary: I wrote this after "Bang and Burn," but my computer skills are SO BAD that I couldn't figure out how to post it. After reading it again, I really wanted to write it and more, so...here it is.
Michael blinked over and over again, trying to blink away the blur. The morning light that pierced through the bars both startled him awake and blinded him at the same time. Beginning to rise from the cot head-first as normal people do proved to be a much more daunting task than he had anticipated. Collapsing back against the cot, he was wet, that was his first physical sensation. He was alone, that was his first emotional thought.
He was lying alone in an unfamiliar cell, that much he knew. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Michael felt all the pains in his body. He really didn’t want to be alone right now. When he was alone, his mind always wandered toward thoughts of repentance, ablution. With no one in the vicinity to keep him bound to the here and now, it was easy for Michael to self-combust. “No!” He thought, “There’s still too much to lose. I have to stay strong, remain focused.”
As lifting his head seemed to be more trouble than it was worth, he just turned his head slowly, side-to-side. Seeing not just the walls surrounding him, but the cracks in each, telling their tales, weaving intricate patterns before his eyes. He watched the chipped paint forging routes toward secret passages, and electrical outlets pointing out wires that crawled throughout the prison.
Whether real or imagined, Michael knew all these trivial observations would benefit him in the long run. He smiled inwardly, momentarily indulging himself with the idea that his extraordinary gift had so often been referred to as a “mental condition.” That really was all the better for him. People didn’t expect too much that way. They considered him an oddity, a “freak of nature.” But in fact, what he really had was more like his own secret language. A language which he could speak at any time without the fear of recognition or reprisal. His words, his plans were his own, for no one else to share. In this one aspect of life, he always considered himself one step ahead.
Just then Alex reentered the cell. “You’re awake,” he exclaimed.
“You sound surprised, Alex,” Michael replied softly, still not lifting his head.
“Yeah, a little,” the older man grinned, “After the last twenty-four, I thought I might have to wake you up and feed you myself!”
“Twenty-four hours?” Michael asked.
“Yeah, I’ve been watching your back that long. I figure you owe me, big time.” Alex chuckled, relieved that the younger man was actually able to participate in the conversation.
Michael jumped off the cot, losing his balance and stumbling forward. Alex was barely able to catch him before he hit the steel bars head-on. “What the hell are you doing!” He yelled, right in Michael’s face.
“I don’t have a day to waste!” Michael insisted, “I’m already way behind schedule.”
“What schedule?” Alex asked as he helped Michael aright himself and then sit back against the cot.
Without hesitation, Michael stood again. He was on wobbly legs, but still, he was able to walk the length of the cell unaided. “I’ve got to get back to work. This isn’t over yet,” he insisted.
Closing in on Michael, Alex changed his tone, trying to soothe and cajole the injured man. “I know, Michael, it’s not over, I know.” He continued to speak slowly, quietly, as if to a child, “We have a lot to do, I’ll help, I promise. No drugs, I swear. I can help more than you think, just take it slow.”
Michael wouldn’t be so easily assuaged, “I don’t have a day to waste lying in bed…”
“No you don’t,” Alex interrupted, “But you didn’t have a choice. Sometimes the body just takes over, Michael, and there’s nothing you can do but move on.” Sensing a small crack in the other inmate’s resolve, Alex continued, “Okay, twenty-four hours are gone, they won’t come back, you’re healing, and now you need to eat and drink, and move forward. Any ideas?”
At that, the intercom buzzed, “Scofield, you have a visitor.” Both men stopped and looked at each other.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
“How did this happen?” She asked herself. She knew it was her biggest screw-up ever. She’d had two hostages, so terminating one had seemed like the appropriate decision at the time. It couldn’t have been the boy, then Lincoln would have had no incentive to continue, so she had logically chosen the woman for elimination. Now, she sat solemnly in her hotel room, no hostages left, no ammunition, pondering her next move. Having been in countless “no win” situations before, she knew she would survive this one as well. Maybe not unblemished, but alive, at least.
After the tenth ring, she reached over and took the phone off its cradle. “What the hell is going on down there!” The General’s harsh tone reverberated against her ear.
“I don’t know, sir,” she spoke with complete candor. He would be able to sense anything less. “I wasn’t there at the time, but my men tell me it was a “Bang and Burn” of their own. Apparently, a single operative was able to move in and out, without spilling a drop of blood. He took the boy and disappeared, sir.” She stopped short of telling him her appraisal of the situation. This had to be Aldo’s work. He was dead, she knew, but the movement continued to gain momentum in his absence. Gretchen struggled to remain calm in the silence, awaiting his scorn.
“I think I know who’s behind this.” She was surprised by the hushed demeanor which supplanted The General’s usual tone. “This may just be the work of a rogue agent I knew a long time ago.” His voice resounded of a distant memory. Returning to normal form, he continued, “You need new bait, Gretchen, I don’t want excuses, I want answers. Last chance, get them for me.” Click
She stood and walked to the balcony door. Contemplating her options, she began to devise a new plan. She needed leverage….
* * * * * * * * * * * *
At the other end of the line, anyone in the room would have said the man was all business. His expression never changed. He reclined back against the leather chair, slowly rotating ever so slightly, side-to-side. His hand rubbed across his mouth as he appeared to be contemplating the current situation and planning upcoming moves.
They would have been wrong. He had given himself over to old, cherished memories. Memories of a girl, laughing and playing, running through the grass, chasing her dog. The man tried to remember where it had all gone wrong. When had the carefree sprite he could picture so easily in his mind turned into this formidable opponent he didn't even know and probably couldn't pick out of a crowd.
Author: putu2sleep
Characters: Michael Scofield, Lincoln Burows, Fernando Sucre, Alex Mahone, James Whistler, Lechero, Theodore Bagwell, Susan B., Original character
Category: Post-escape
Rating: PG-13
Summary: I wrote this after "Bang and Burn," but my computer skills are SO BAD that I couldn't figure out how to post it. After reading it again, I really wanted to write it and more, so...here it is.
Michael blinked over and over again, trying to blink away the blur. The morning light that pierced through the bars both startled him awake and blinded him at the same time. Beginning to rise from the cot head-first as normal people do proved to be a much more daunting task than he had anticipated. Collapsing back against the cot, he was wet, that was his first physical sensation. He was alone, that was his first emotional thought.
He was lying alone in an unfamiliar cell, that much he knew. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Michael felt all the pains in his body. He really didn’t want to be alone right now. When he was alone, his mind always wandered toward thoughts of repentance, ablution. With no one in the vicinity to keep him bound to the here and now, it was easy for Michael to self-combust. “No!” He thought, “There’s still too much to lose. I have to stay strong, remain focused.”
As lifting his head seemed to be more trouble than it was worth, he just turned his head slowly, side-to-side. Seeing not just the walls surrounding him, but the cracks in each, telling their tales, weaving intricate patterns before his eyes. He watched the chipped paint forging routes toward secret passages, and electrical outlets pointing out wires that crawled throughout the prison.
Whether real or imagined, Michael knew all these trivial observations would benefit him in the long run. He smiled inwardly, momentarily indulging himself with the idea that his extraordinary gift had so often been referred to as a “mental condition.” That really was all the better for him. People didn’t expect too much that way. They considered him an oddity, a “freak of nature.” But in fact, what he really had was more like his own secret language. A language which he could speak at any time without the fear of recognition or reprisal. His words, his plans were his own, for no one else to share. In this one aspect of life, he always considered himself one step ahead.
Just then Alex reentered the cell. “You’re awake,” he exclaimed.
“You sound surprised, Alex,” Michael replied softly, still not lifting his head.
“Yeah, a little,” the older man grinned, “After the last twenty-four, I thought I might have to wake you up and feed you myself!”
“Twenty-four hours?” Michael asked.
“Yeah, I’ve been watching your back that long. I figure you owe me, big time.” Alex chuckled, relieved that the younger man was actually able to participate in the conversation.
Michael jumped off the cot, losing his balance and stumbling forward. Alex was barely able to catch him before he hit the steel bars head-on. “What the hell are you doing!” He yelled, right in Michael’s face.
“I don’t have a day to waste!” Michael insisted, “I’m already way behind schedule.”
“What schedule?” Alex asked as he helped Michael aright himself and then sit back against the cot.
Without hesitation, Michael stood again. He was on wobbly legs, but still, he was able to walk the length of the cell unaided. “I’ve got to get back to work. This isn’t over yet,” he insisted.
Closing in on Michael, Alex changed his tone, trying to soothe and cajole the injured man. “I know, Michael, it’s not over, I know.” He continued to speak slowly, quietly, as if to a child, “We have a lot to do, I’ll help, I promise. No drugs, I swear. I can help more than you think, just take it slow.”
Michael wouldn’t be so easily assuaged, “I don’t have a day to waste lying in bed…”
“No you don’t,” Alex interrupted, “But you didn’t have a choice. Sometimes the body just takes over, Michael, and there’s nothing you can do but move on.” Sensing a small crack in the other inmate’s resolve, Alex continued, “Okay, twenty-four hours are gone, they won’t come back, you’re healing, and now you need to eat and drink, and move forward. Any ideas?”
At that, the intercom buzzed, “Scofield, you have a visitor.” Both men stopped and looked at each other.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
“How did this happen?” She asked herself. She knew it was her biggest screw-up ever. She’d had two hostages, so terminating one had seemed like the appropriate decision at the time. It couldn’t have been the boy, then Lincoln would have had no incentive to continue, so she had logically chosen the woman for elimination. Now, she sat solemnly in her hotel room, no hostages left, no ammunition, pondering her next move. Having been in countless “no win” situations before, she knew she would survive this one as well. Maybe not unblemished, but alive, at least.
After the tenth ring, she reached over and took the phone off its cradle. “What the hell is going on down there!” The General’s harsh tone reverberated against her ear.
“I don’t know, sir,” she spoke with complete candor. He would be able to sense anything less. “I wasn’t there at the time, but my men tell me it was a “Bang and Burn” of their own. Apparently, a single operative was able to move in and out, without spilling a drop of blood. He took the boy and disappeared, sir.” She stopped short of telling him her appraisal of the situation. This had to be Aldo’s work. He was dead, she knew, but the movement continued to gain momentum in his absence. Gretchen struggled to remain calm in the silence, awaiting his scorn.
“I think I know who’s behind this.” She was surprised by the hushed demeanor which supplanted The General’s usual tone. “This may just be the work of a rogue agent I knew a long time ago.” His voice resounded of a distant memory. Returning to normal form, he continued, “You need new bait, Gretchen, I don’t want excuses, I want answers. Last chance, get them for me.” Click
She stood and walked to the balcony door. Contemplating her options, she began to devise a new plan. She needed leverage….
* * * * * * * * * * * *
At the other end of the line, anyone in the room would have said the man was all business. His expression never changed. He reclined back against the leather chair, slowly rotating ever so slightly, side-to-side. His hand rubbed across his mouth as he appeared to be contemplating the current situation and planning upcoming moves.
They would have been wrong. He had given himself over to old, cherished memories. Memories of a girl, laughing and playing, running through the grass, chasing her dog. The man tried to remember where it had all gone wrong. When had the carefree sprite he could picture so easily in his mind turned into this formidable opponent he didn't even know and probably couldn't pick out of a crowd.