Prison Break Fic: Hope (1/1)
Title: Hope (1/1)
Author: veiled_shadow
Fandom: Prison Break
Rating: PG
Genre: Angst, fluff, romance
Pairing: Michael/Sara, other
Spoilers: Season Four [but slightly AU]
Disclaimer: All characters and situations from Prison Break are properties of Paul Scheuring, Adelstein-Parouse Productions, Hofflund/Polone and Original Television in association with 20th Century Fox Television. No copyright infringement intended.
A/N: I started writing this after the episode where Sara finds out she's pregnant, and then left it for a bit. I came back to it, after the rest of season four had finished, and thus it's kind of AU in the way that Michael finds out, but I've decided I like this way better because I wanted her to tell him, not Lincoln [although he was the second best by far]. So yeh, I hope you like it and reviews keep me very, very happy.
p.s Michael doesn't die in this version. The ending is happy. So screw you Fox. That is all =]
p.p.s Apologies for grammatical errors. My bad =]
Hope
She’s both scared and thrilled, and the mixed emotion bubbles up in her throat before she can help it.
She’s laughing and crying at the same time.
Hope.
It’s there, she thinks, shining into the pit that they’ve been drowning in for far too long.
She stares at her reflection in the mirror and knows somehow, that she looks different - how she’s not quite sure but her eyes glitter with a sense of mystery - a glimpse of their future that she so desperately wants.
That night, when she sleeps, his breath fluttering at the base of her neck and his hand resting unknowingly on her stomach, she see’s that light of hope. She reaches out, fingers reaching for the flickering pulse that dances in the distance.
She grasps it.
~*~
‘Sara, are you ok?’
His voice shakes her from her thoughts, and she blinks, the view of the glass window pane and the teardrops sliding down it coming back to her vision. She feels him behind her, the heat of his body welcoming hers but she resists, staring out at the foggy scenery and ignoring the weight of the pregnancy test that is still in her jacket pocket, resting over her heart.
‘I’m fine,’ she tells him, realising she hasn’t replied and the silence has stretched out to the point where she knows anxiety is biting away at his insides. Distractedly, she tucks away a stray strand of red hair behind her ear, and shifts her gaze away from his reflection in the glass, because she desperately wants to avoid looking into those blue eyes that will make her frozen emotions melt and the words she so desperately wants to say, come tumbling out of her mouth.
She feels his frown as his eyebrows furrow, however, and she realises that her newly found disposition is futile, because even though she’s trying to focus all her energy on watching the rain cry down the window pane, all her senses are betraying her. As she takes a steady breath, she can almost swear she can taste him on her tongue.
‘I love you.’
The words ring out in the cold, empty room and her heart pangs as if it’s been snagged on barbed wire. And suddenly she realises why he’s been so distant these past few days. He thinks she wants to leave. He thinks she doesn’t love him anymore. He thinks he’s shown her he’s just like the company, threatening to torture, to kill, to drown.
She looks at him, shocked, and his blue eyes are pleading, begging as they penetrate hers in a way that almost makes her want to sob.
He thinks he’s lost her.
Oh, Michael.
‘What’s this all about?’ She’s facing him now, her voice soft because he looks so fragile she’s scared she might break him.
‘The bath -‘ he croaks, and she know the words that are scrabbling up his throat;
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
‘Don’t.’ She stops him, her hand coming to rest on his chest before his frantic confessions meet the air that’s settled heavily between them. His heart drums hard and fast against her palm, gasping the apologies and regrets that he’s repressed, and she swallows the lump of disbelief lodged in her throat.
‘Don’t say you’re sorry,’ she says firmly with almost an edge of anger, because she can’t believe he is doubting her unwavering love for him now, not after all they’ve been through.
Her hand moves upwards from where her palm lies flat against his chest, and he catches it, pressing his lips to her knuckles, eyes squeezed shut. She leans into his embrace, her spare arm winding around his side so she can press herself against him, the warmth of his body seeping into hers and chasing away the chill of the bitter air.
‘I love you, Michael,’ she whispers, her breath tickling the sensitive skin behind his ear. ‘And when are you going to realise I’m not going anywhere?’
~*~
She needs to tell him, she knows she does, but he’s broken enough and a part of her is terrified that this might make him splinter into a million pieces.
It’s not that she doesn’t think he’ll be happy - oh God, she hopes he will be - it’s just anymore life changing news might send him over the edge. So she keeps it to herself. It’s her secret (and his mother’s, she thinks bitterly), and it keeps her going. When she sleeps, all she dreams of is the flickering light, which gets stronger and stronger until she wakes up smiling into the darkness, relinquished hope replenished, and pulsing through her veins stronger than ever.
But when she starts to get morning sickness she knows her time is up.
They’re driving in yet another stolen car when it happens, a sudden wave of nausea that has her fingers digging so hard into the car seat, they turn a ghostly white.
‘Michael,’ she gasps sharply, desperately willing her body to allow her to speak without heaving. ‘Stop.’
‘What?’ The urgency in her voice has him panicked, and he starts, his eyes immediately snapping up to scrutinise the rear mirror in a frenzy, searching for what she suspects is a company car hot on their tail. ‘Sara, what is it?’
‘Stop the car,’ she manages again, frantically struggling to battle the fresh, more intense, lurch of her stomach that leaves her head spinning.
He stops just in time, and then it’s all a blur as she manages to fling the door open and promptly empty the contents of her stomach again and again all over the dirt. She splutters and gasps, blinking back the hot tears that have clouded her vision, and tries to ignore the voice in her mind that’s whispering, Tell him.
‘Sara?’ His voice is soft and she’s aware of his cool fingers on her forehead, but the world is spinning and right at this moment, she can’t think of anything better than surrendering herself to the darkness that’s engulfing her behind her tightly closed eyelids.
‘Water,’ she manages to mutter, readjusting her grasp on the inside of the door.
‘Here,’ he murmurs a second later after some fumbling, pushing back her hair from her sweaty face and placing a bottle of water in her hand. She takes it, swirling the liquid around and around in her mouth before taking a few unsteady steps forward and spitting it out onto the grass.
The whole time his hands are there, guiding her gently and she knows her game is up. She has to tell him.
‘Here,’ he says, leading her to sit down on the grass at the verge of the hill. His thumb brushes over and over the back of her hand in a worried manner, and she can hear what he’s thinking through the silence.
Please don’t be sick, tell me you’re okay, tell me something.
So she does.
‘Morning sickness.’
The words resonate around her eardrums, her voice sounding foreign even to her and she stares at the grass, tracing the individual blades, partly in an attempt to stop everything spinning, and partly so she doesn’t have to watch his reaction.
She hears it though, the sharp hitch in his breath. His thumb falters, and the circles of comfort he was drawing on her skin cease, and she knows he’s shocked to the point of being unable to move.
‘What?’ he manages to rasp finally, and her heart sinks, because he thinks that he has misheard, and she doesn’t know if she can say it again.
‘Morning sickness,’ she repeats before her throat closes, battling with her composition as she tries to keep her voice from trembling.
She braves a glance at him and almost wishes she hadn’t, because her emotions rage like a wild fire. He’s staring at her, his blue eyes wide and searching, begging her to tell him more. His lips are parted, frozen, and he’s so lost for words she can’t hold his gaze, reverting back to looking at the grass, which she’s pretty sure has been engrained to the point of perfection in her memory. She swallows.
‘Uh, I wasn’t expecting it for another month or so, but I guess with the Scofield genes I should have braced myself for some surprises.’
The wind whips at her hair, and when she looks back at him his white shirt is billowing in the breeze, like a sail blooming in the air.
He’s still staring at her, and she can almost hear the cogs and wheels turning in his brain as he tries to process what she’s saying. She can make this easier, she thinks, reaching into her leather jacket, fingers curling around her secret and drawing it out. She offers him what she’s come to refer to as Hope.
He takes it from her tentatively, his long fingers holding the pregnancy test as if it’s made of glass.
‘How long have you known?’ He asks, voice slow and steady, but she can almost hear the frenzied beat of his heart.
‘Two weeks.’
‘Sara,’ he breathes, his eyes flickering up to meet hers and she suddenly doesn’t know what to say. For some reason all she wants to do is sob.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispers, not daring to raise her voice any louder because she knows it will break and then all her composure will be gone and tears will stream down her face.
‘What for?’ he asks, the panic in his voice slicing through the wind that’s swirling around them, cacooning them in this fragment of time.
‘For knowing. For not telling you. I just - ‘ She gazes briefly at the view before her, the rolling hills and the sun dipping low ready to disappear behind the horizon, before looking back at him, honesty and truth shining in her eyes. She’s baring herself to him, and she desperately hopes he feels the same. ‘I’m not sorry I’m pregnant.’
‘Thank God,’ he breathes, the relief twisting her heart into knots of emotion.
And then he’s pulling her to him, holding her so tight and so lovingly that the tears escape, seeping out of her eyelids and onto his shirt. ‘I am so happy, Sara,’ he tells her, his voice rasping beautifully in her ear, and her heart clenches again, flipping over and over in joy.
He pulls away from her, his bluey green eyes full of so much love it just makes her want to cry even more.
‘How do you feel?’ he asks, his fingers stroking through her hair lovingly, and she has to stop herself leaning into his touch.
She smiles at him through her tears. ‘Like I’ve just thrown up everything I’ve ever eaten.’
He grins at her, the smile blossoming across his face in a way that she’s never witnessed before, and it only disappears for a splinter of a second as his lips brush over her knuckles. He cocks an eyebrow. ‘That good, huh?’
‘Mmm,’ she replies, laughter dancing in her eyes as she rests her head against his shoulder. ‘Morning sickness is going to be a bitch.’
He chuckles, the warmth of his laughter making her hairs stand on end and goosebumps adorn her skin. They stay like that for a long time, her leaning into his embrace, nose buried into his neck and his fingers entangled in her hair, his lips pressed against the top of her head in a silent prayer of thanks.
And she knows, as the wind whips around them, cutting them off from time and the nagging fear of the Company hot on their heels, that he’s seeing their future.
She loves it.