The Paper Rose (Sara/Michael)
Title: The Paper Rose
Author: wenty_freak
Spoilers: Yes, through the next episode.
Characters: Sara/Michael
Rating: PG
Sara adjusted her necklace and looked at herself in the mirror. Good enough, she thought. As she began to walk away, her eyes caught a glimpse of the paper rose. She hadn’t known what to do with it after Michael gave it to her.
If she kept it at work, he’d see it and then they’d get into some weird conversation about why she kept it and she just didn’t want to go there. So she brought it home. It sat on her kitchen table for a few days until she finally stuck it in the side of the mirror atop her dresser.
She couldn’t explain why she kept it, but she simply couldn’t throw it away. She knew it was wrong. She kept telling herself to stop thinking about him like that. But, in truth, she couldn’t help herself. He was one of the few bright spots in a life that had quickly become what Sara never expected: boring, monotonous, cynical and unhappy.
Sara made up stories in her head about what might be. She imagined them curled up in a hammock in Baja. Lying on beaches in Thailand. Raking leaves in a yard with a white picket fence, Michael an architect and she a private practice physician. They were all fantasies. None would ever be. And each time she chastised herself for even dreaming them up, but her mind continued to wander there.
They popped into her head when she was driving to work, lying in bed at night, or even during their daily visits. She pushed them out.
It was ridiculous. He was a prisoner and she was his doctor. He would be in prison for the next five years. Some days she didn’t know what she’d be doing in five months. He would never have the life he once had - the life that attracted her, the life that told her that maybe in another place, another time, they could have been something.
But the fantasies still crept in, no matter how much she denied them. In the shower. At the grocery store. Michael was everywhere. He was driving her crazy.
And now this flower. Was he flirting? Was he just being nice? Was he trying to cheer her up, because he saw she was hurt and he just couldn’t help himself? She yearned to know and she didn’t want to know at all. If this was any other man in any other place, she would have no problem just asking him what he was thinking. She wasn’t afraid of men. But Michael was a mystery and he liked it that way. She had tried to open some of the locked doors and he continued to shut her out. She had forced herself to stop looking for answers - for now. At least until he gave her an indication that one of those doors had been cracked open again.
***
As she began another day at Fox River, she looked over her patient list of the day. Some regulars - like Michael - and a couple of overnight patients. Two had been beaten pretty badly the day before and one was shanked three days earlier and still recovering. She walked through her checks on them as usual. She longed to feel the passion for her job again, but the truth was it wasn’t there. It hadn’t been for some time, but after the riot things had changed. Before that, even if she was less optimistic, she still saw her patients as humans. She had to admit to herself that ever since the riot, she occasionally let questions creep into her mind. What would these men do to me if given the chance? It had made her more edgy and less compassionate towards them.
***
“Mr. Rivers will be ready to go back to Gen Pop later today,” Sara said, walking out to the guard’s station. It was in the hallway outside the infirmary.
“No problem, just let us know when.”
Sara signed a form and looked up. “Thanks.”
As she turned back around a familiar face caught her eye. Michael was stepping out of the conjugal room. A woman trailed behind him. A very beautiful woman, she thought to herself. They hugged, and the woman walked away. Michael was led away by guards without seeing her.
Sara stared for a moment.
“Doc, you okay?” the guard asked. She snapped back to reality.
“Yup.” Sara walked back to the infirmary.
***
Barely touching her turkey sandwich, Sara kept turning this new information over in her mind. In order to get conjugal privileges, inmates had to be married or close to it. They couldn’t just call up anyone and have her stop by. So was Michael married? Was that a girlfriend? A lump grew in her throat. Michael’s having sex with someone? She had never even considered the idea.
Forcing another bite into her mouth, she pleaded with herself to stop thinking about it. A pile of paperwork sat to her left and she had a precious 10 minutes left before the next patient. It doesn’t matter, she told herself over and over. He’s no one. It doesn’t matter.
***
“Good afternoon, Mr. Scofield,” Sara said, walking into the infirmary with her insulin tray. She was cold and stoic as always. Good job, she told herself.
“Good afternoon.”
“Feeling well today?”
“Yup,” Michael responded.
“Roll up your sleeve, please.” He obliged.
Sara jabbed the shot into his arm. Hmm, maybe just a bit too harsh, she thought to herself.
“Hold that,” she said, leaning over to check off her paperwork.
“All business today, huh?” Michael said.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re very efficient today.”
“I like to use the taxpayers’ dollars well,” Sara deadpanned, checking to make sure the needle entry had stopped bleeding. “All set.”
“Actually, could you listen to my chest?”
“Sure. What’s going on?”
“I got hit yesterday playing basketball. I’ve been coughing.” In truth, T-Bag had tried to get back at him for the shin hit and Michael had taken a hard hit to the sternum.
Michael rolled up his shirt to just above his nipples. Sara put her cold stethoscope up under his shirt to get a listen at his lungs. He didn’t flinch when she touched his skin, but his nipples puckered just a little.
Sara had never seen the tattoo on his chest, only his arms. She wanted to just explore it, look at all of the beautiful work, but she resisted. Do you job, she told herself. It doesn’t matter what his tattoo looks like. She pressed her fingers down his sternum to check for any odd movement.
After a moment, she felt satisfied. “I don’t hear or feel anything strange. It might just take a day or two to get back to normal. If it’s not better by Friday, let me know and I’ll examine you again.”
“Okay. Thanks doc.”
“See you tomorrow,” Sara said, standing as she pulled off her latex gloves.
Michael started for the door.
“So you’re married?” she found herself asking, even though she couldn’t believe the words were coming out of her mouth.
“Excuse me?”
She turned to look at him. “You’re married?” she repeated.
He didn’t answer. He just stared at her with that same cold look he gave her each time she asked a question that he didn’t want to answer. Well, two could play that game.
“Right,” she said, turning back. “I forgot. You don’t answer questions.”
He continued staring at her as she walked towards her office. “I said ‘see you tomorrow,’ Mr. Scofield,” she said, walking through the door. She heard the infirmary door close a moment later.
***
Sara stared at the flower. A wife? He was married? Her cheeks flushed at the thought of what an immature pansy she had been acting like with her school-girl fantasies. She didn’t know anything about him. Maybe he had kids! Maybe he’d been married for like 10 years! How would she know?
She was angry - at herself and at him. He led her on. But she let him. He intrigued her. But she asked more questions. Each time she came up with something he did that led her to this place, there was an immediate echo of something she did to herself.
It didn’t matter. He didn’t matter. From now on, he was Michael Scofield, prisoner number 457609. And that was all. He wasn’t the guy who had rescued her in the riot or the man who lived in her neighborhood. He was just a con, just like the rest of them.
To Be Continued…
Author: wenty_freak
Spoilers: Yes, through the next episode.
Characters: Sara/Michael
Rating: PG
Sara adjusted her necklace and looked at herself in the mirror. Good enough, she thought. As she began to walk away, her eyes caught a glimpse of the paper rose. She hadn’t known what to do with it after Michael gave it to her.
If she kept it at work, he’d see it and then they’d get into some weird conversation about why she kept it and she just didn’t want to go there. So she brought it home. It sat on her kitchen table for a few days until she finally stuck it in the side of the mirror atop her dresser.
She couldn’t explain why she kept it, but she simply couldn’t throw it away. She knew it was wrong. She kept telling herself to stop thinking about him like that. But, in truth, she couldn’t help herself. He was one of the few bright spots in a life that had quickly become what Sara never expected: boring, monotonous, cynical and unhappy.
Sara made up stories in her head about what might be. She imagined them curled up in a hammock in Baja. Lying on beaches in Thailand. Raking leaves in a yard with a white picket fence, Michael an architect and she a private practice physician. They were all fantasies. None would ever be. And each time she chastised herself for even dreaming them up, but her mind continued to wander there.
They popped into her head when she was driving to work, lying in bed at night, or even during their daily visits. She pushed them out.
It was ridiculous. He was a prisoner and she was his doctor. He would be in prison for the next five years. Some days she didn’t know what she’d be doing in five months. He would never have the life he once had - the life that attracted her, the life that told her that maybe in another place, another time, they could have been something.
But the fantasies still crept in, no matter how much she denied them. In the shower. At the grocery store. Michael was everywhere. He was driving her crazy.
And now this flower. Was he flirting? Was he just being nice? Was he trying to cheer her up, because he saw she was hurt and he just couldn’t help himself? She yearned to know and she didn’t want to know at all. If this was any other man in any other place, she would have no problem just asking him what he was thinking. She wasn’t afraid of men. But Michael was a mystery and he liked it that way. She had tried to open some of the locked doors and he continued to shut her out. She had forced herself to stop looking for answers - for now. At least until he gave her an indication that one of those doors had been cracked open again.
***
As she began another day at Fox River, she looked over her patient list of the day. Some regulars - like Michael - and a couple of overnight patients. Two had been beaten pretty badly the day before and one was shanked three days earlier and still recovering. She walked through her checks on them as usual. She longed to feel the passion for her job again, but the truth was it wasn’t there. It hadn’t been for some time, but after the riot things had changed. Before that, even if she was less optimistic, she still saw her patients as humans. She had to admit to herself that ever since the riot, she occasionally let questions creep into her mind. What would these men do to me if given the chance? It had made her more edgy and less compassionate towards them.
***
“Mr. Rivers will be ready to go back to Gen Pop later today,” Sara said, walking out to the guard’s station. It was in the hallway outside the infirmary.
“No problem, just let us know when.”
Sara signed a form and looked up. “Thanks.”
As she turned back around a familiar face caught her eye. Michael was stepping out of the conjugal room. A woman trailed behind him. A very beautiful woman, she thought to herself. They hugged, and the woman walked away. Michael was led away by guards without seeing her.
Sara stared for a moment.
“Doc, you okay?” the guard asked. She snapped back to reality.
“Yup.” Sara walked back to the infirmary.
***
Barely touching her turkey sandwich, Sara kept turning this new information over in her mind. In order to get conjugal privileges, inmates had to be married or close to it. They couldn’t just call up anyone and have her stop by. So was Michael married? Was that a girlfriend? A lump grew in her throat. Michael’s having sex with someone? She had never even considered the idea.
Forcing another bite into her mouth, she pleaded with herself to stop thinking about it. A pile of paperwork sat to her left and she had a precious 10 minutes left before the next patient. It doesn’t matter, she told herself over and over. He’s no one. It doesn’t matter.
***
“Good afternoon, Mr. Scofield,” Sara said, walking into the infirmary with her insulin tray. She was cold and stoic as always. Good job, she told herself.
“Good afternoon.”
“Feeling well today?”
“Yup,” Michael responded.
“Roll up your sleeve, please.” He obliged.
Sara jabbed the shot into his arm. Hmm, maybe just a bit too harsh, she thought to herself.
“Hold that,” she said, leaning over to check off her paperwork.
“All business today, huh?” Michael said.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re very efficient today.”
“I like to use the taxpayers’ dollars well,” Sara deadpanned, checking to make sure the needle entry had stopped bleeding. “All set.”
“Actually, could you listen to my chest?”
“Sure. What’s going on?”
“I got hit yesterday playing basketball. I’ve been coughing.” In truth, T-Bag had tried to get back at him for the shin hit and Michael had taken a hard hit to the sternum.
Michael rolled up his shirt to just above his nipples. Sara put her cold stethoscope up under his shirt to get a listen at his lungs. He didn’t flinch when she touched his skin, but his nipples puckered just a little.
Sara had never seen the tattoo on his chest, only his arms. She wanted to just explore it, look at all of the beautiful work, but she resisted. Do you job, she told herself. It doesn’t matter what his tattoo looks like. She pressed her fingers down his sternum to check for any odd movement.
After a moment, she felt satisfied. “I don’t hear or feel anything strange. It might just take a day or two to get back to normal. If it’s not better by Friday, let me know and I’ll examine you again.”
“Okay. Thanks doc.”
“See you tomorrow,” Sara said, standing as she pulled off her latex gloves.
Michael started for the door.
“So you’re married?” she found herself asking, even though she couldn’t believe the words were coming out of her mouth.
“Excuse me?”
She turned to look at him. “You’re married?” she repeated.
He didn’t answer. He just stared at her with that same cold look he gave her each time she asked a question that he didn’t want to answer. Well, two could play that game.
“Right,” she said, turning back. “I forgot. You don’t answer questions.”
He continued staring at her as she walked towards her office. “I said ‘see you tomorrow,’ Mr. Scofield,” she said, walking through the door. She heard the infirmary door close a moment later.
***
Sara stared at the flower. A wife? He was married? Her cheeks flushed at the thought of what an immature pansy she had been acting like with her school-girl fantasies. She didn’t know anything about him. Maybe he had kids! Maybe he’d been married for like 10 years! How would she know?
She was angry - at herself and at him. He led her on. But she let him. He intrigued her. But she asked more questions. Each time she came up with something he did that led her to this place, there was an immediate echo of something she did to herself.
It didn’t matter. He didn’t matter. From now on, he was Michael Scofield, prisoner number 457609. And that was all. He wasn’t the guy who had rescued her in the riot or the man who lived in her neighborhood. He was just a con, just like the rest of them.
To Be Continued…