Passion and Understanding (Sara & Michael)
Title: Passion and Understanding
Author: wenty_freak
Category: Michael and Sara
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Sara pulled into the parking lot, her Jeep Liberty coming to a stop in spot 32. Her apartment building stood before her, a beautiful brick building built in 1930 and still containing most of the original woodwork.
Michael would appreciate it, she thought to herself.
She could probably afford a nicer place, but she loved the character of the building. She had good neighbors and was comfortable. Comfort was important to her, especially now.
The light drizzle didn’t faze her as she walked up the front steps. She was too busy with her thoughts to really notice. Unlocking the front door, all she could think about was the events of the week. The break out, her resignation and now entering an empty apartment with no idea of what she would be doing tomorrow.
She mindlessly flipped through her mail. Then something stopped her in her tracks. A postcard. From Dallas.
“Who the…” she thought to herself, flipping it over. She didn’t know anyone in Dallas. It was blank. Only a postmark from two days ago.
It only took her a moment, and then she knew. It was Michael.
She sat down, melting into the couch. The last time she had seen him was three days ago. By now, he was probably in Mexico. She assumed that’s where he was going. Baja, she thought, recalling their conversation a couple of weeks ago. He had come to find her, he said then. Now he had left.
But who knows where he was. She didn’t know Michael. She thought she did. Every time she felt they’d taken one step forward, he would lie. She knew it. He must have known she would find out. Maybe he’s in Baja, or maybe he’s already half way around the world. Maybe Baja was just a line, like everything else now seemed to be. How would she know where he was? She barely knew him.
He had come into her life like a whirlwind. A seemingly normal occurrence - the prison accepting a new inmate - had turned her world upside down in a matter of weeks. It started with the insulin; then Lincoln; then the riot; then the break out.
The truth was hard to swallow. Not hard, impossible. He used her. She was part of his plan all along. She knew that now. She had fallen for it. As much as she didn’t want to, she had bought into his charm, his intelligence, his confidence. She trusted him. And he lied to her. He used her. The idea caught and stuck in her throat. She wanted to throw up. She was angry - at herself and at him; she was hurt; she was disappointed - in herself, in him, in the loss of the possibility.
The past month had turned her upside down.
After Michael and Lincoln disappeared from the infirmary, she submitted her resignation. The warden couldn’t very well fire the daughter of the Governor, she knew that. Besides, technically, it wasn’t her responsibility to watch them. It was the guard’s duty. But she felt responsible. Michael had set her up. Her jaw tensed at the memory. She was so angry at him. How could he do this to her? He humiliated her, personally and professionally.
And now this postcard. Was he mocking her? Showing her that he could run, that she had let him get away? Or was it to say he was okay? She hated herself for wanting to know.
Kicking off her shoes, she slid down onto the couch cushions. Stretched out, her mind went over everything again. How did they slip out? She had only stepped out for a moment, to get Michael’s shot. She thought Lincoln had left the infirmary. Besides, they weren’t violent. She wasn’t worried about them. Where did they go from there? Who was with them? Sara knew several other inmates were missing after the break out. Where were they? Were they safe? Why did she care? She knew she should be angry instead of concerned, vengeful instead of hurt. The thoughts overwhelmed her and she drifted into an exhausted sleep.
The phone. What time was it? She fumbled until she found it on the coffee table.
“Hello?”
“Sara?”
“Yeah, who is this?”
“Did I wake you up?”
“Who is this?” she demanded, waking up a little more.
“You know who this is.”
The voice struck her. It was him.
“Where are you?” her voice concerned, although she chastised herself for it.
“I can’t tell you.”
“So, we’re back to that, Mi-“ she said angrily, as he cut her off.
“Don’t. You can’t say my name.”
“Jesus…” she said, annoyed. “Then why did you call?”
“I wanted to say… I’m sorry,” he said.
“Why? Because you humiliated me? Because you lied to me? Because I’m now unemployed?” It all came tumbling out.
“I… I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah, well, you don’t know a lot of things,” she said shortly. He didn’t sound like the confident Michael she knew. Or thought she knew anyway.
They sat silent for a moment. She began to cool a little. She was angry, but she was also quietly glad he called.
“Sara,” he started again, “I want you to know that I never intended for this to happen. I know that doesn’t make it any better, but it’s important that you know that. I’m sorry that you had to be put in the crosshairs, but it had to be that way.”
She remained quiet for a moment. She wasn’t sure what to say.
“I just…” she started, “I don’t understand why.”
“It’s complicated.”
“I think I deserve an explanation.”
“You do. But I can’t give it to you now.” This was the Michael she remembered. His defenses were back up.
“I’m not sure what to say to that…” she said, pausing. “I’m glad you’re alright.”
“I am.”
“Good. And-” she almost said Lincoln, “the other person?”
He smiled on the other end. “He’s fine too.” A pause. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“Uh, yeah.” For the first time, she glanced at the clock. 3:27 AM.
“Good,” he said, that gruffness fading for just a moment. She hated herself for loving that voice. “Go back to sleep.”
There was the silence again. There was so much to say, and yet all they could hear was each other’s labored breathing.
“I need to go,” he finally said.
“Yeah, okay,” she said. She was lying there with her eyes closed as they spoke, imagining him sitting on a beach in Baja.
“I will help you understand,” he said with a commitment that made her believe him. “Trust me.” She had heard those words before.
“Stay safe,” she said quietly, almost wishing the conversation didn’t have to end. She knew what would happen to Michael if he was caught. He’d likely be beaten, treated like a dog, stuck in the hole in some prison, and she’d never see him again.
“You too,” he said, and then hung up.
Sara lay on the couch, eyes closed, feeling like it had been a dream. Had she been too hard on him? Then again, he hurt her badly. He deserved to catch some hell.
She still didn’t think of him as a convict, a fugitive. He was Michael. He wasn’t like the others. She knew him, and he was different. It was so hard for her to imagine him living behind bars. It must have been hard for him too, she thought, drifting back to sleep. In her dreams, she joined Michael on that beach.
One Week Later
Sara sat on her 3rd floor balcony, sipping coffee out of an old mug. The cool morning breeze stung her bare legs, causing her to wish she’d thrown on jeans instead of wearing the blue plaid boxer shorts she slept in. The thin, worn-through Northwestern University t-shirt she wore over her bare breasts didn’t provide much protection either. Goosebumps covered her skin. She would go inside soon.
The latest postcard had arrived yesterday, from Cancun. It was the third one, the first from Mexico. All blank.
She wondered how long he’d keep this up. What did he hope to accomplish? He knew she wouldn’t go to the cops. But why did he want her to know where he was? Did he just want her to know he was alright, or was it more?
Sara sipped her coffee, resting her lips on the rim and slurping in a way she could only do when she was alone. She breathed in the early morning calm of the city. She grew up in the suburbs, always in awe of the big city. Now she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. She loved hearing the city wake up each morning.
The week had gone by quickly. And, as much as she hated the way it happened, she didn’t mind the break from work. Her father had, of course, promptly announced he would make a few phone calls and have her immediately placed in any major hospital or private practice in the city. She just had to pick one. They both knew she wouldn’t accept. That wasn’t what she wanted to do, nor how she wanted to live - off the luxury of being the Governor’s daughter.
Honestly, she didn’t know quite what she wanted. Not personally or professionally. Barely five minutes had gone by in the past week that her mind hadn’t drifted back to Fox River and Michael. They were inextricably linked - just like her indecision about her next step in life. And she wasn’t pushing either one.
Each good thing in her life had happened in its own time. She knew that the next one would too. Even Michael was one. She had been bored. She smiled to herself at the notion of being bored when surrounded by thousands of inmates who could hurt her - and almost did during the riot - at any moment. But it was true. She was going through the motions. Michael had brought passion back to her job, even if just for a few weeks.
She sucked in the morning air one last time before retiring inside. She planned to run some errands and then have lunch with a doctor friend. At least she would go through the motions of looking for a new job.
One Month Later
She slid it inside her desk drawer, where she had put all of the other postcards. They were stacking up by now. This one was from Argentina. How far would he run from Fox River?
Each card filled her with both hope and disappointment. Each one was blank. She was happy he was alive, but she still questioned why he insisted on this ritual. She longed for another phone call, so she could hear his voice, even talk to him a little about what he’d been doing for the past six weeks. Her anger had melted. Now she feared for his safety and longed for his companionship.
She knew from her father that local authorities were stumped. The inmates had escaped and no traces to their whereabouts were found. Michael was smart. But she already knew that.
Walking to her closet, she had to force her mind elsewhere. Her new position began tomorrow and, as was her style, she laid her clothes out the night before. Just like Fox River, this job came into her life in its own way and at its own time. She would be working at a free clinic on the south side of Chicago, filling in for another physician on maternity leave. She liked the idea of working directly with lower-income residents and providing them the health care they desperately needed. This was what medicine was for. Her father had smirked when she told him. Typical.
She also was glad this wasn’t a permanent position. For reasons beyond her comprehension, she felt a need to stay flexible. Ever since Michael left, she was without a purpose. She wanted to find that again, and didn’t know what it would take.
She took out a red top and gray pants, and laid them on the dresser. As she slipped between the sheets of her bed, she thought about how hot it must be in Argentina this time of year. Her eyes closed and she drifted off thinking of Michael, just as she had every night for the past month and a half.
Three Months Later
Could this be true?
“The Vice President’s office would not comment,” the broadcaster said, “but sources tell NBC News that tomorrow’s announcement will reveal new details about the murder of Vice President Taylor’s brother.”
That was the crime Lincoln was in for; the crime he was supposed to die for. Her eyes focused on the television and her mind raced.
The phone rang. Without looking, still focused on the commentator, she pressed the Talk button.
“Hello?”
“Sara?”
“Oh thank God,” she said, barely able to contain her excitement when she heard his voice.
“Have you seen the news?”
“About the Vice President?”
“Yes.”
“I just turned it on.”
“When you hear tomorrow’s announcement, you’ll have an explanation.”
Just as she had suspected, this was all related, which means Michael broke out for Lincoln. And he had to, because time was running out. The pieces were slowly beginning to fall into place.
“I’m already beginning to understand,” she said slowly.
“Good.”
The silence again. It was palpable. Neither wanted to get off the phone, but neither knew quite what to say.
“I have a new job,” Sara offered, feeling the need to talk to him about something normal. They always wore the roles of inmate and prison doctor at Fox River, but she felt closest to him when they just talked about something everyday. When they could forget their roles.
“Where?” he asked, bringing her back to the conversation.
“The Southside Free Clinic. I’m just filling in. It ends in about a month. But I like it. I work with a lot of kids.”
“Huh,” he smirked. “A little different that inmates.”
“Yeah,” she said, smiling as she looked down at her feet. “I needed a change.”
“Me too.”
“Can I ask what you’ve been doing?” she said, tentatively.
“Moving around, gathering evidence,” he said. “I think you’ll understand more tomorrow.”
A pause.
“Thinking of you,” he finished.
Her breath caught in her throat. She didn’t know what to say. Her anger towards him had faded over the months, and now she just truly missed him. She missed looking forward to his insulin shots, and the banter they shared. She missed him being the only person she related to in that dark, stoic building. She missed hearing that gruff voice on a regular basis. She missed him.
“Me too,” she said quietly. She couldn’t give him anymore. Not yet.
They sat silent again, both contemplating the ramifications of what they had just admitted.
“I should go,” he finally said. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Okay. Keep…” she paused. Could she mention the postcards?
“I will. I’ll keep doing it,” he said. He knew.
They hung up, and once again she was left to swim in her thoughts. Her brain raced with this new information. Lincoln was on death row for the murder of the Vice President’s brother. Michael had attempted to rob a bank, but hadn’t harmed or threatened anyone in the process. He arrived at Fox River three weeks before Lincoln’s scheduled execution. She knew from reviewing his file that he had petitioned to be sent to Fox River. Obviously this wasn’t a coincidence. They had broken out just two days shy of Lincoln’s execution. And now an announcement about the case - something that Michael seemed pleased about, that he said would provide her with an explanation for their disappearance. It was all coming together.
Six Weeks Later
It arrived six months to the day of their escape. Another postcard - she had come to expect them by now. He had traveled all over Central and South America, moving constantly. Each card blank. And now this.
It was from Baja. On the back: October 20.
She dropped her bag on the floor, and sunk into the couch starring at the postcard. Somehow, instinctually, she knew. She knew that she would be in Baja in a week. She would lie in the hammock with Michael, sipping on those 50 cent beers. She had thought about this day for months.
It was safe now. Lincoln had been exonerated. A grand jury had convened to look into the conspiracy behind the murder. The Vice President had resigned.
She understood now. Michael had always been abandoned. He couldn’t do that to Lincoln. She understood why he had to get to her in order to get out. The infirmary was the closest building to the outside. She was no longer angry or hurt. She understood it was a matter of life or death, and Michael had no choice.
Now, she just wanted to be with him. A smile crept across her face.
One Week Later
Her plane taxied down the runway of the small airport. She had flown from Chicago to Houston, then Houston to Baja. It had been a bumpy ride in a small plane, and she wasn’t crazy about planes. But she didn’t care. All she focused on was him.
As the stairs lowered to the ground, he watched from behind sun glasses as several retirees descended. And then her. She really had come. He wasn’t sure - he thought so, but could never be sure about her. Her hair was loose, flowing. She wore a navy, fitted tank top, jeans and sandals. She stepped to the bottom of the stairs and looked around. Seeing nothing, she started towards the hanger.
The moment he came out from under the overhang, she spotted him. That buzz cut, firm build, those tattoos. She had never seen him outside prison clothes, but he was unmistakable. He strode over to her, his face as steely as every day she’d seen him at Fox River.
“I didn’t know if you’d come,” he said.
She looked down at the pavement, shy for just a moment, and then looked up again, seeking his eyes behind those glasses.
“I was just waiting for you to ask.”
A smile crept across his face. She dropped her bag and fell into his arms. It was an embrace she had waited months for and wanted since she first laid eyes on him. He squeezed her like a man who hadn’t trusted anyone in what felt like a lifetime.
“I understand now,” she said into his shoulder. He knew she did. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have come.
They stood there for another minute, taking in the absolute amazement of the moment. Neither of them ever thought they’d be here. He picked up her bag in his left hand, as his right hand slipped into hers. They walked towards the hanger.
“Come on,” he said, “happy hour starts in a half hour.” She looked at him as they walked towards the Mexican sunset. She had found her passion again, and it had stumbled into her life just as it had the first time.
Author: wenty_freak
Category: Michael and Sara
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Sara pulled into the parking lot, her Jeep Liberty coming to a stop in spot 32. Her apartment building stood before her, a beautiful brick building built in 1930 and still containing most of the original woodwork.
Michael would appreciate it, she thought to herself.
She could probably afford a nicer place, but she loved the character of the building. She had good neighbors and was comfortable. Comfort was important to her, especially now.
The light drizzle didn’t faze her as she walked up the front steps. She was too busy with her thoughts to really notice. Unlocking the front door, all she could think about was the events of the week. The break out, her resignation and now entering an empty apartment with no idea of what she would be doing tomorrow.
She mindlessly flipped through her mail. Then something stopped her in her tracks. A postcard. From Dallas.
“Who the…” she thought to herself, flipping it over. She didn’t know anyone in Dallas. It was blank. Only a postmark from two days ago.
It only took her a moment, and then she knew. It was Michael.
She sat down, melting into the couch. The last time she had seen him was three days ago. By now, he was probably in Mexico. She assumed that’s where he was going. Baja, she thought, recalling their conversation a couple of weeks ago. He had come to find her, he said then. Now he had left.
But who knows where he was. She didn’t know Michael. She thought she did. Every time she felt they’d taken one step forward, he would lie. She knew it. He must have known she would find out. Maybe he’s in Baja, or maybe he’s already half way around the world. Maybe Baja was just a line, like everything else now seemed to be. How would she know where he was? She barely knew him.
He had come into her life like a whirlwind. A seemingly normal occurrence - the prison accepting a new inmate - had turned her world upside down in a matter of weeks. It started with the insulin; then Lincoln; then the riot; then the break out.
The truth was hard to swallow. Not hard, impossible. He used her. She was part of his plan all along. She knew that now. She had fallen for it. As much as she didn’t want to, she had bought into his charm, his intelligence, his confidence. She trusted him. And he lied to her. He used her. The idea caught and stuck in her throat. She wanted to throw up. She was angry - at herself and at him; she was hurt; she was disappointed - in herself, in him, in the loss of the possibility.
The past month had turned her upside down.
After Michael and Lincoln disappeared from the infirmary, she submitted her resignation. The warden couldn’t very well fire the daughter of the Governor, she knew that. Besides, technically, it wasn’t her responsibility to watch them. It was the guard’s duty. But she felt responsible. Michael had set her up. Her jaw tensed at the memory. She was so angry at him. How could he do this to her? He humiliated her, personally and professionally.
And now this postcard. Was he mocking her? Showing her that he could run, that she had let him get away? Or was it to say he was okay? She hated herself for wanting to know.
Kicking off her shoes, she slid down onto the couch cushions. Stretched out, her mind went over everything again. How did they slip out? She had only stepped out for a moment, to get Michael’s shot. She thought Lincoln had left the infirmary. Besides, they weren’t violent. She wasn’t worried about them. Where did they go from there? Who was with them? Sara knew several other inmates were missing after the break out. Where were they? Were they safe? Why did she care? She knew she should be angry instead of concerned, vengeful instead of hurt. The thoughts overwhelmed her and she drifted into an exhausted sleep.
The phone. What time was it? She fumbled until she found it on the coffee table.
“Hello?”
“Sara?”
“Yeah, who is this?”
“Did I wake you up?”
“Who is this?” she demanded, waking up a little more.
“You know who this is.”
The voice struck her. It was him.
“Where are you?” her voice concerned, although she chastised herself for it.
“I can’t tell you.”
“So, we’re back to that, Mi-“ she said angrily, as he cut her off.
“Don’t. You can’t say my name.”
“Jesus…” she said, annoyed. “Then why did you call?”
“I wanted to say… I’m sorry,” he said.
“Why? Because you humiliated me? Because you lied to me? Because I’m now unemployed?” It all came tumbling out.
“I… I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah, well, you don’t know a lot of things,” she said shortly. He didn’t sound like the confident Michael she knew. Or thought she knew anyway.
They sat silent for a moment. She began to cool a little. She was angry, but she was also quietly glad he called.
“Sara,” he started again, “I want you to know that I never intended for this to happen. I know that doesn’t make it any better, but it’s important that you know that. I’m sorry that you had to be put in the crosshairs, but it had to be that way.”
She remained quiet for a moment. She wasn’t sure what to say.
“I just…” she started, “I don’t understand why.”
“It’s complicated.”
“I think I deserve an explanation.”
“You do. But I can’t give it to you now.” This was the Michael she remembered. His defenses were back up.
“I’m not sure what to say to that…” she said, pausing. “I’m glad you’re alright.”
“I am.”
“Good. And-” she almost said Lincoln, “the other person?”
He smiled on the other end. “He’s fine too.” A pause. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“Uh, yeah.” For the first time, she glanced at the clock. 3:27 AM.
“Good,” he said, that gruffness fading for just a moment. She hated herself for loving that voice. “Go back to sleep.”
There was the silence again. There was so much to say, and yet all they could hear was each other’s labored breathing.
“I need to go,” he finally said.
“Yeah, okay,” she said. She was lying there with her eyes closed as they spoke, imagining him sitting on a beach in Baja.
“I will help you understand,” he said with a commitment that made her believe him. “Trust me.” She had heard those words before.
“Stay safe,” she said quietly, almost wishing the conversation didn’t have to end. She knew what would happen to Michael if he was caught. He’d likely be beaten, treated like a dog, stuck in the hole in some prison, and she’d never see him again.
“You too,” he said, and then hung up.
Sara lay on the couch, eyes closed, feeling like it had been a dream. Had she been too hard on him? Then again, he hurt her badly. He deserved to catch some hell.
She still didn’t think of him as a convict, a fugitive. He was Michael. He wasn’t like the others. She knew him, and he was different. It was so hard for her to imagine him living behind bars. It must have been hard for him too, she thought, drifting back to sleep. In her dreams, she joined Michael on that beach.
One Week Later
Sara sat on her 3rd floor balcony, sipping coffee out of an old mug. The cool morning breeze stung her bare legs, causing her to wish she’d thrown on jeans instead of wearing the blue plaid boxer shorts she slept in. The thin, worn-through Northwestern University t-shirt she wore over her bare breasts didn’t provide much protection either. Goosebumps covered her skin. She would go inside soon.
The latest postcard had arrived yesterday, from Cancun. It was the third one, the first from Mexico. All blank.
She wondered how long he’d keep this up. What did he hope to accomplish? He knew she wouldn’t go to the cops. But why did he want her to know where he was? Did he just want her to know he was alright, or was it more?
Sara sipped her coffee, resting her lips on the rim and slurping in a way she could only do when she was alone. She breathed in the early morning calm of the city. She grew up in the suburbs, always in awe of the big city. Now she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. She loved hearing the city wake up each morning.
The week had gone by quickly. And, as much as she hated the way it happened, she didn’t mind the break from work. Her father had, of course, promptly announced he would make a few phone calls and have her immediately placed in any major hospital or private practice in the city. She just had to pick one. They both knew she wouldn’t accept. That wasn’t what she wanted to do, nor how she wanted to live - off the luxury of being the Governor’s daughter.
Honestly, she didn’t know quite what she wanted. Not personally or professionally. Barely five minutes had gone by in the past week that her mind hadn’t drifted back to Fox River and Michael. They were inextricably linked - just like her indecision about her next step in life. And she wasn’t pushing either one.
Each good thing in her life had happened in its own time. She knew that the next one would too. Even Michael was one. She had been bored. She smiled to herself at the notion of being bored when surrounded by thousands of inmates who could hurt her - and almost did during the riot - at any moment. But it was true. She was going through the motions. Michael had brought passion back to her job, even if just for a few weeks.
She sucked in the morning air one last time before retiring inside. She planned to run some errands and then have lunch with a doctor friend. At least she would go through the motions of looking for a new job.
One Month Later
She slid it inside her desk drawer, where she had put all of the other postcards. They were stacking up by now. This one was from Argentina. How far would he run from Fox River?
Each card filled her with both hope and disappointment. Each one was blank. She was happy he was alive, but she still questioned why he insisted on this ritual. She longed for another phone call, so she could hear his voice, even talk to him a little about what he’d been doing for the past six weeks. Her anger had melted. Now she feared for his safety and longed for his companionship.
She knew from her father that local authorities were stumped. The inmates had escaped and no traces to their whereabouts were found. Michael was smart. But she already knew that.
Walking to her closet, she had to force her mind elsewhere. Her new position began tomorrow and, as was her style, she laid her clothes out the night before. Just like Fox River, this job came into her life in its own way and at its own time. She would be working at a free clinic on the south side of Chicago, filling in for another physician on maternity leave. She liked the idea of working directly with lower-income residents and providing them the health care they desperately needed. This was what medicine was for. Her father had smirked when she told him. Typical.
She also was glad this wasn’t a permanent position. For reasons beyond her comprehension, she felt a need to stay flexible. Ever since Michael left, she was without a purpose. She wanted to find that again, and didn’t know what it would take.
She took out a red top and gray pants, and laid them on the dresser. As she slipped between the sheets of her bed, she thought about how hot it must be in Argentina this time of year. Her eyes closed and she drifted off thinking of Michael, just as she had every night for the past month and a half.
Three Months Later
Could this be true?
“The Vice President’s office would not comment,” the broadcaster said, “but sources tell NBC News that tomorrow’s announcement will reveal new details about the murder of Vice President Taylor’s brother.”
That was the crime Lincoln was in for; the crime he was supposed to die for. Her eyes focused on the television and her mind raced.
The phone rang. Without looking, still focused on the commentator, she pressed the Talk button.
“Hello?”
“Sara?”
“Oh thank God,” she said, barely able to contain her excitement when she heard his voice.
“Have you seen the news?”
“About the Vice President?”
“Yes.”
“I just turned it on.”
“When you hear tomorrow’s announcement, you’ll have an explanation.”
Just as she had suspected, this was all related, which means Michael broke out for Lincoln. And he had to, because time was running out. The pieces were slowly beginning to fall into place.
“I’m already beginning to understand,” she said slowly.
“Good.”
The silence again. It was palpable. Neither wanted to get off the phone, but neither knew quite what to say.
“I have a new job,” Sara offered, feeling the need to talk to him about something normal. They always wore the roles of inmate and prison doctor at Fox River, but she felt closest to him when they just talked about something everyday. When they could forget their roles.
“Where?” he asked, bringing her back to the conversation.
“The Southside Free Clinic. I’m just filling in. It ends in about a month. But I like it. I work with a lot of kids.”
“Huh,” he smirked. “A little different that inmates.”
“Yeah,” she said, smiling as she looked down at her feet. “I needed a change.”
“Me too.”
“Can I ask what you’ve been doing?” she said, tentatively.
“Moving around, gathering evidence,” he said. “I think you’ll understand more tomorrow.”
A pause.
“Thinking of you,” he finished.
Her breath caught in her throat. She didn’t know what to say. Her anger towards him had faded over the months, and now she just truly missed him. She missed looking forward to his insulin shots, and the banter they shared. She missed him being the only person she related to in that dark, stoic building. She missed hearing that gruff voice on a regular basis. She missed him.
“Me too,” she said quietly. She couldn’t give him anymore. Not yet.
They sat silent again, both contemplating the ramifications of what they had just admitted.
“I should go,” he finally said. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Okay. Keep…” she paused. Could she mention the postcards?
“I will. I’ll keep doing it,” he said. He knew.
They hung up, and once again she was left to swim in her thoughts. Her brain raced with this new information. Lincoln was on death row for the murder of the Vice President’s brother. Michael had attempted to rob a bank, but hadn’t harmed or threatened anyone in the process. He arrived at Fox River three weeks before Lincoln’s scheduled execution. She knew from reviewing his file that he had petitioned to be sent to Fox River. Obviously this wasn’t a coincidence. They had broken out just two days shy of Lincoln’s execution. And now an announcement about the case - something that Michael seemed pleased about, that he said would provide her with an explanation for their disappearance. It was all coming together.
Six Weeks Later
It arrived six months to the day of their escape. Another postcard - she had come to expect them by now. He had traveled all over Central and South America, moving constantly. Each card blank. And now this.
It was from Baja. On the back: October 20.
She dropped her bag on the floor, and sunk into the couch starring at the postcard. Somehow, instinctually, she knew. She knew that she would be in Baja in a week. She would lie in the hammock with Michael, sipping on those 50 cent beers. She had thought about this day for months.
It was safe now. Lincoln had been exonerated. A grand jury had convened to look into the conspiracy behind the murder. The Vice President had resigned.
She understood now. Michael had always been abandoned. He couldn’t do that to Lincoln. She understood why he had to get to her in order to get out. The infirmary was the closest building to the outside. She was no longer angry or hurt. She understood it was a matter of life or death, and Michael had no choice.
Now, she just wanted to be with him. A smile crept across her face.
One Week Later
Her plane taxied down the runway of the small airport. She had flown from Chicago to Houston, then Houston to Baja. It had been a bumpy ride in a small plane, and she wasn’t crazy about planes. But she didn’t care. All she focused on was him.
As the stairs lowered to the ground, he watched from behind sun glasses as several retirees descended. And then her. She really had come. He wasn’t sure - he thought so, but could never be sure about her. Her hair was loose, flowing. She wore a navy, fitted tank top, jeans and sandals. She stepped to the bottom of the stairs and looked around. Seeing nothing, she started towards the hanger.
The moment he came out from under the overhang, she spotted him. That buzz cut, firm build, those tattoos. She had never seen him outside prison clothes, but he was unmistakable. He strode over to her, his face as steely as every day she’d seen him at Fox River.
“I didn’t know if you’d come,” he said.
She looked down at the pavement, shy for just a moment, and then looked up again, seeking his eyes behind those glasses.
“I was just waiting for you to ask.”
A smile crept across his face. She dropped her bag and fell into his arms. It was an embrace she had waited months for and wanted since she first laid eyes on him. He squeezed her like a man who hadn’t trusted anyone in what felt like a lifetime.
“I understand now,” she said into his shoulder. He knew she did. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have come.
They stood there for another minute, taking in the absolute amazement of the moment. Neither of them ever thought they’d be here. He picked up her bag in his left hand, as his right hand slipped into hers. They walked towards the hanger.
“Come on,” he said, “happy hour starts in a half hour.” She looked at him as they walked towards the Mexican sunset. She had found her passion again, and it had stumbled into her life just as it had the first time.