Safe Harbor
Title: Safe Harbor
Author: wrldpossibility
Characters: Sara Tancredi/Michael Scofield
Word Count: 800
Rating: PG
Summary: They’ve been like two ships passing in the night for so long that when she finally crosses the platform to sink into the solid warmth of him, it’s a shock to her already shaken system.
Author's Note: A little S2 fic...this depicts three scenes: one each from Rendezvous, Bolshoi Booze, and Chicago, and was inspired by SWC's insights in this interview. Written for the pbhiatus_fic challenge #3, Do You Like Pina Coladas. I used lots of cliches, lol, but the one that prompted the fic was "Like ships passing in the night". Thanks to sarah_scribbles for the quick beta!
She wears her anger like a cloak. Or perhaps, more like a badge of honor, because as she steps out of her car onto the dusty dirt drive, she’s acutely aware of the fact that it’s doing nothing to protect her. It never has, and yet, that hasn‘t stopped her from going into battle again and again, railing against injustices she had quite simply never seen coming. If she was honest with herself--if she had time to stop and be honest with herself, for that matter--she’d have to admit she still didn’t know which direction in which to swing. She has a target standing squarely in front of her now, however, and with her body aching with fatigue and her mind so demoralized she can go scarcely a minute without lifting her hands to hold her head, she decides that's good enough for her.
To her credit, she hadn’t been at all sure how this would go down. All day long, the mere thought of this reunion had left a brittle trail of nerves tingling down her spine only to settle like lead in the center of her stomach. She worried what would she think, seeing him for the first time on the outside of Fox River, his clothing undistinguishable from her own or anyone else‘s, his face unmarred by bars or chain link fencing. Maybe she feared he’d too closely resemble who she wants him to be, whom he wants to be, or maybe she just doesn’t need a distraction of any kind, not right now, but the second she sees him over the flat roof of the rental car, she knows he will serve firstly as the vessel of her airing of grievances. He begins to talk, and as he stands before her with his plans in place and his agenda that does nothing to reach the misery lacing her mind and her heart, she squints into the sun and she nearly bends forward under the weight of the resentment she feels. She straightens just enough to deliver her own blow. “Now my father is dead,” she tells him, and when he reels back, struck, she’s shocked that she’d actually use such news as a means of extracting revenge. As a means of seeking satisfaction. She’s nearly relieved when it fails to soothe, because maybe, just maybe it means she‘s not as far gone as she’d feared.
*****
“You did this to yourself,” he says, just as he thrusts her head back under the water, and as logic splinters in the face of panic, she realizes he’s right. But as she becomes submerged once again, she’s not thinking of her steadfast refusal to speak. She’s not thinking of protecting what few assets she has left. In her mind’s eye, she sees Michael, and even as she struggles and flails under the water, rocking her body until the legs of the chair scrape violently against the tiles of the floor, that’s the instant she stops fighting. That’s the instant she realizes there’s nothing she can do about the fact that she’s in love with this man.
*****
They’ve been like two ships passing in the night for so long that when she finally crosses the platform to sink into the solid warmth of him, it’s a shock to her already shaken system.
She’d walked to him with her arms crossed and her head down, looking up only in time to see him swallow once before his arm raised to accommodate her, and then she had been lifting her own and melding into the comfort of his presence as seamlessly as if she were folding into his very skin.
Now, she squeezes her eyes closed as he rests his chin on her shoulder, and she can scarcely breathe for fear of ruining this fragile bond they‘ve somehow forged in the midst of the bustle of the train station. When he finally releases her, he pans back just enough to frame her face in the slanting light of the sun, and she basks in a sudden warmth, feeling so comforted, it’s as though--despite the screeching of the trains--the world has finally stilled.
His hand comes up again, this time to let the tips of her hair slide between his fingers. His smile is both rueful and affectionate, and she finds she still can’t quite look him in the eye. She still can’t quite let herself believe she’s here, and he’s here, and they're both whole. It isn’t until later, when they’re careening forward once again at dizzying speed, feeling the ground move beneath their feet with such intensity it sends them both lurching within the tight confines of the restroom, that his mouth on hers and his hands on her back and her hips and her face tell her that she‘s finally found the safe harbor she’s been seeking.