PB Fic - Align Ch XI & Epilogue
Title: Align
Authors: volatile/becisvolatile
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Sara, Michael, Lincoln, Kellerman, Jane, LJ
Genre: Angst, Romance, Action
Summary: ‘If I let this go, Sara… I’ll have even less of you. Give me something.’
Chapter: XI & Epilogue
Disclaimer: Life is unfair. Tweeners die. I don’t own Prison Break or anything related to it. I don’t even own Wentworth Miller.
Notes: Rating is up!! Jane!Hugs for all you lovely girls who’ve stuck with this! I really appreciate your encouragement and time. And for sarah_scribbles? *hands her a rampant beastly manstaff thingy* Because she deserves it.
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X
The late afternoon cracked and hummed with the promise of a storm. The air pushed in tightly against Sara’s skin causing beads of sweat to appear and dance across her skin. The sky was getting ready to throw a little bit of its weight around and in the midst of it Sara pulled to a stop outside of the room she’d shared with Paul Kellerman for just one night and waited.
And kept waiting. After another fifteen minutes it occurred to her that she had no idea what she was waiting for. Maybe she’d been waiting for Kellerman to jump out of the backseat brandishing an iron. Or maybe she was waiting for the far more devastating appearance of Michael. Maybe she was waiting for him to step from the room a few doors down, pin her with his eyes, see her for what she was and what she lacked and turn away.
Of course she wasn’t waiting. She was really, really, done with waiting. Hadn’t she already proved that? She’d taken decisive action and killed a man. She’d done something and, right from that first day on the run, hadn’t that been her plan? To do something? Of course, while she was almost positive that her something hadn’t originally been of murderous design she could do little more than feel a sickly out of sync pumping somewhere where her heart was supposed to be. Guilt, she supposed. Or guilt at the absence of guilt.
Exactly what she’d accused Kellerman of. What was her defense? I did it for the truth. I did it for Lincoln Burrows. For LJ Burrows. For my father.
What a crock. She’d done it for a smile. For the feel of tattooed skin through latex gloves. She’d done it for a paper flower and, God help her, she’d do it again.
Her forehead touched down on the steering wheel briefly then she lifted it to find Jane staring at her through the windscreen. Sara fed her lip gently through her teeth then released it as she stepped from the car, ‘Well?’ she asked, knowing Jane would understand.
‘We have a visual confirmation. He was taken outside of Harrisburg, it’s done,’ Sara was sure Jane said that to ease her mind, it did little good.
‘And now?’
‘Now we get started. We have the drive, but we need to flush this information into legitimate channels for people to take it seriously. It’s been in our hands too long as it is, the credibility of anything we… or even your father might have found is going to come under some serious doubt. I’m sorry to say it, this isn’t nearly over.’
Sara nodded gently, she must have been growing up because Jane’s words didn’t surprise her. She hadn’t been expecting a giant pat on the back and a reprieve. She knew they had a long way to go… she just needed the people around her to help her find a direction.
‘Where’s Michael?’
‘Looking for you, I should imagine. He took off five minutes before you got back. He could only wait so long once he’d put a missing Sara and a missing Kellerman together. I don’t think I need to tell you that he wants Kellerman’s blood and your ass. Probably not in the fun way either.’
Sara sighed and jangled the car keys in her hand, contemplating the wisdom of following a pissed off Michael. Probably about as wise as taking a river cruise with Hercule Poirot. Chances were he wasn’t really going to be pleased to see her. Sure, he was off chasing after her… but how was she going to deal with him when they finally did find each other?
Jane, showing insight that Sara was starting to expect from her, spoke, ‘You did what you had to and he can’t hold that against you. He’d never have accepted the loss of the drive. Your solution was bloodless.’
‘Not for Kellerman.’
‘Kellerman wasn’t a bloodless sort of person. The end mirrored the start with that man. We all proceed as we mean to finish. He knew that.’
‘And me? How will I end?’
Jane actually smiled, not a happy smile, but a sure smile. The sort of smile you got when, for once, you had the right answer, ‘That’s the easy part,’ she began, ‘Of course, no one else ever sees that. Maybe because none of you have been at this stupid game as long as I have. Even Lincoln didn’t get it. Teamwork, Sara. We’re a team now and we each serve a function. You want to dumb it down… Michael, brains and moments of that overwhelming stupidity people call genius. Lincoln, ah… well he looks good in jeans so I’m sure that counts for something. Plus he’s the focus for a lot of this so regardless of his function he’s a part of it. You’ve got me, connections, resources and a stupid sense of responsibility and loyalty to their father. Then you.’
‘Tagging along.’
‘An emotional focus for Michael, also to use Lincoln’s oh-so-delicate phrasing, Michael’s only chance of getting laid in the near future. For some reason, Lincoln thinks that’s important.’
‘Wow,’ Sara almost laughed, ‘Sign me up as team leader, I’m clearly indispensable.’
Jane lifted an eyebrow before continuing, ‘I’m not finished. I’m building here. Let’s talk about your practical function. Medic. More than useful. Information. Your father’s drive.’
‘We have that so that doesn’t count.’
‘Sara, I’m giving you what you want here, I’m justifying your place in all this.’
‘No. You were telling me that I shouldn’t feel guilty for walking Kellerman to his death.’
‘Because that was your place in this! You did something Michael couldn’t. You saw an opportunity to get them out of trouble and you did what had to be done.’
‘What happened to him is my fault.’
‘This had been coming to him since the day he joined The Company. He knew that. Why do you think he was running with us? Sara, you made a choice. You chose the brothers over Kellerman. Don’t regret that choice.’
‘How could I? I’d do it again.’
‘Exactly. And that’s why you’re with us. Michael, Lincoln… me… now you. We’re walking into something big. You probably will have to do it again. That’s your function.’
‘I’m the morally bankrupt sector?’
‘You’re the one that does what needs to be done. It’s something we all do. Michael entering Fox River, me and all the things I’ve done until now, Lincoln… you know, I still can’t figure out what he does other than the jeans.’
‘You like him?’
‘I detest him. It’s the jeans I like.’
Sara choked on a laugh and silently agreed. The boots could go… but yes, the jeans were nice.
‘So we keep running?’
‘Running. Playing. Feeding information. Stirring up trouble for the bad guys. Yeah. We’re Team Good Guys, that’s what we do.’
‘This smacks of a movie plot.’
‘Say that in three days when you’re dying for clean underwear, sick of getting shot at and desperate for a solid block of sleep.’
Sara winced at the prospect. Then looked up at Jane, the afternoon sun falling behind the row of motel rooms.
Jane narrowed her eyes, ‘Is this where we hug? Because I don’t really hug.’
Sara nodded, ‘Not a big hugger either, Jane.’
Jane smiled nervously, so did Sara. They were two women who hardly knew each other, but circumstances had put them together and they’d found a sort of friendship. Jane reached behind herself and unclipped a cell phone from the back of her trousers, ‘Here. I held Michael off for the whole morning, half the afternoon, told him you were looking for the drive with Kellerman. Lincoln is picking LJ up, so he’s one less worry. Michael’s twenty minutes ahead of you, but if you call him on this, third on the speed dial, I’m sure you can call him back. He’s heading north, there’s a roadhouse midway. If you have any problems, I’m first on the speed dial. Be back in two hours OK? We need to get moving.’
She wiggled the keys again, partly soothed and partly anxious to hear the noise they made. She didn’t move any closer to the car, held in place as worst possible scenarios played over in her head. Her eyes shifted to the darkening sky, amazed that it could hold such threat.
‘Sara?’ said Jane, ‘We can do the hugging thing if you need it.’
Sara stopped moving the keys and dropped her eyes to Jane with a smile, ‘No. No, I’m leaving now. But when this is over? We can hug.’
*****
Since nothing she could say on the phone would be adequate, and she didn’t fancy running the car into a tree while arguing and driving, she settled for a text message naming the roadhouse between them as a rendezvous destination.
He’d be there, that much she knew. Michael was nothing if not reckless where she was concerned. Hadn’t the riots taught her that much? Hadn’t her own fear of revealing her involvement with Kellerman confirmed that? Why was she afraid for him to know? Because she knew what he’d do and, she had trouble admitting this, it would make their walk into the post office seem like an act of mercy. Michael was generous and kind and giving. But also passionate and possessive. His brother. His plan. His doctor. Her lips twitched.
Sara waited in the car for Michael, his Chrysler tore into the parking lot and before he could find a space she backed up and cut him off, caught his eyes through their windscreens and drove at a careful pace from the roadhouse. She didn’t need to look in her rearview mirror to see if he would follow. She knew he would. But she looked anyway, it was almost comforting to see what maybe might have been his face swimming behind the glass and air and heat between them.
Thunder rolled in the air and Sara warmed to the thought that the same waves that hit her, greeted Michael just seconds behind her. For a moment she contemplated just driving letting him follow her forever. But forever wouldn’t last more than an hour on he quarter of a tank she had left and, to be honest, she was sick of the car. She could still smell Kellerman sitting there, could see where he’d aimed his own air-conditioning vents at her when she’d murmured something about the heat. Sara slowed and indicated as she turned onto a small dirt road, she checked that Michael followed and drove until they were unable to see the main road. She hoped that if they couldn’t see the main road, no one could see them. She pressed gently on the brake as she neared a shoulder on the drive, dirt and debris crunched under the tires as she pulled up along side a tall, but sparsely foliaged tree. The shoulder of the road dropped away to display a valley that was deceptively empty, the earth was rich and gently sloped down and away from the cars, low bushes, clumps of grass and plants punctuated the land and Sara watched the storm as it approached, framed perfectly by the valley floor and far off flanking hills. Her eyes shifted closer to the tree immediately beside her. Its branches spread up into the darkening sky, and as Sara turned off the engine and stepped from the car she found herself watching the sky roll through the gaps they left.
Despite the coming rain the air was hot and oppressive, Sara’s back itched and crawled as beads of perspiration trickled over healing wounds, causing sickly shivers to run up and down the length of her spine. A car door slammed - Michael - and Sara had to struggle to turn away from the tree and face him.
The dirt under their feet, Sara focused for a moment on its rich red color, didn’t crunch but slipped like sand. Michael’s voice cut through the energy and electricity in the air, its monotone relaying just how angry he was, ‘Where do we start?’
‘Say anything, Michael. Say what you need to.’
‘He’s dangerous. I asked you to leave him alone.’
‘I wish I had. I wish I had the choice to leave him alone.’
‘You always had that choice.’
‘I had that choice, like you had the choice to leave Lincoln in prison. Not much of a choice at all.’
‘You were with him last night?’
‘Yes,’ Sara looked Michael in the face as she spoke, something in his face slipped and his mouth twisted until he looked to be in genuine pain.
‘You… were with him?’
‘Have a little faith Michael. We spent the night in different rooms.’
‘Why? Why were you even together?’
‘Would it suffice for me to say it just had to be done?’
‘No. And you know it wouldn’t. I need answers Sara.’
‘You’ll live without. I did,’ a roll of thunder punctuated her words.
‘Why can’t you just tell me?’
It was a fair question and Sara considered it, why couldn’t she say, ‘Michael, I bargained with Kellerman. Me for you.’ Sara knew without really delving deep into it that his reaction would be one of utter self-loathing. He’d hate himself for putting her in that position and finally, finally, Sara realized that she never wanted Michael to wear something that was her doing. She’d made that deal, she’d live with it. She’d walked Kellerman to his death and she’d deal with that too. For Michael.
Blessed is he who gives without remembering…
‘Deal in facts for a second here, Michael. You’re alive and free. Your brother and nephew are alive and free. You stand a chance of living a while longer,’ Sara hesitated then spoke softly, ‘We have the drive.’
‘Since when?’
‘Since a few hours after they took you from the crematorium.’
‘If I let this go, Sara… I’ll have even less of you. Give me something.’
‘I’ll give you anything.’
‘What happened to you in Gila? The cuts, the bruises?’
Anything but that, Sara carefully considered her answer. ‘I was tortured.’
‘For my whereabouts?’
‘Not really. For the drive,’ Sara hoped Michael would just leave it at that.
‘Who?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘You know it does.’
Sara sighed and felt a rush of hot air at her back, she rested her hands on her hips and looked up to the sky, seeing it illuminate with the suggestion of far-off lighting. It wasn’t wise to answer Michael. It didn’t matter, it was over. But it would never be over for her and like Michael’s missing toes would always haunt her, so would the scars that ran up and down her arms and the way that she just knew she’d never be able to iron her own clothes ever again. It mattered and he wanted to know.
‘Kellerman. Kellerman did it.’
Michael blinked once as his usually sharp mind was dulled by the impact of her words. Eventually he spoke in a level and deadly tone that Sara had earmarked as a sure indicator of trouble and stupid retributions, ‘Where is he?’
‘He’s dead.’
Michael’s eyes narrowed and the tears that he’d been holding back trickled down his cheek, ‘Tell me you didn’t…?’
‘I didn’t. Not really. Michael, in the end… Kellerman chose this. We didn’t and we still have a chance to fix all of this.’
Michael shifted on his feet, his hands lifting to cradle the back of his skull, Sara caught a glimpse of the purple and green bruised skin glowing viciously underneath the tattoo that stretched across his abdomen. He was so exposed standing with the rolling sky at his back, and his eyes dissolving with confusion. Sara’s reaction was raw and visceral. And so impulsively natural, like a reflex, that she would never, in all the time to follow, question it.
She simply stepped up to him once, twice and then held out her hand. When he shook his head and stumbled back toward his car she simply followed, ‘Michael.’
‘I ruined your life,’ his voice rumored as the back of his calves hit the front bumper of his black Chrysler Pacifica.
‘It wasn’t yours to ruin,’ Sara said as her kneecaps brushed his.
‘But I wanted it to be,’ he said as his fingers found the fronts of her thighs and trailed up toward her hips. Sara watched his tentative and guilty exploration of her body, his eyes wouldn’t meet hers.
‘Michael?’
‘We shouldn’t,’ he said even as his thumbs pressed gently over the jut of her hipbones, ‘We’re hurt.’
Sara nodded, but let her hand reach for that slope of skin behind his ear that molded so perfectly to her palm and allowed her to pull his mouth to hers. Her lips brushed against his as he spoke, ‘People could see us. Not just people, the wrong people.’
‘Michael,’ Sara said gently darting her tongue out to slide across his bottom lip, ‘Please,’ what she was begging for, she didn’t know. To continue? Absolutely. But more than that she just wanted him to give up… everything, if only for a short tract of time. Then and there, on the ticking and warm bonnet of his car. Romantic? Hardly. Perfect? Not really. Necessary? More so than their next breath.
As kisses went it was ugly. Jolted, needy, desperate and on the verge of being violent. Sara felt as thought she was trying to consume Michael, and he responded in kind. He grunted as she lifted and planted her knee in his gut in her attempts to crawl up his body. His back hit the car and his hands moved to her bottom as he tried to hold her weight a bit more steadily so that it didn’t rest solely in his solar plexus.
Sara’s knees shifted to frame his narrow waist and her blood heated at the friction that his stomach pressing against her jeans caused. At once her body softened, hardened and shifted in all the right places in an age-old, damn near genetically encoded, response to the hard and ready male beneath her. They continued to kiss as Michael lowered her until she could feel his arousal pressing at her. Somewhere over the valley a single fork of lighting divided the sky, but they scarcely noticed it. Even the thunder that shook them to their sternums did nothing to slow or deter them.
They broke the kiss and drew the scorching air about them into their lungs. The hot air offered no reprieve from the atmosphere or even the heat they generated between them and as they gasped, eyes locked, they realized that they were fast spiraling out of control. ‘This isn’t going to work,’ rasped Michael as he shifted underneath her. For a moment Sara feared he was referring to the act they were so desperate to perform… but as he moved and dropped her onto the bonnet of the car before stepping between her knees, she realized he just meant their position. Through the denim of her jeans the warmth of the car just added to the overwhelming heat of the afternoon and their situation. Adding to the painful, searing, unavoidable pressure of their actions. Her hair stuck to her cheeks in fine tendrils, bonded with sweat, her shirt clung to her modest curves and finally it was too much and she was tearing at the open cotton shirt she wore, and then at the tank top underneath. Her shirts, and Michael’s long-sleeved one fell in a sweaty clump on the fine dirt beneath them. Sara didn’t relish the thought of pulling the shirt back on, even as she was reaching back for her bra to undo the clasp.
It was the sting of Michael’s fingers ghosting over her stitches that reminded Sara that he was right there, his hands continued until they covered hers and he stilled her fingers. ‘Let me?’
Her own hands fell away and she nodded, her forehead falling to his bare shoulder as his hands began a slow exploration of the abrasions covering her back, he gently fingered a small scratch in the small of her back, ‘This is for the first lie I ever told you, for the diabetes,’ he moved higher until his fingers encountered a swollen plateau of flesh, a violet bruise, ‘For Gandhi’, then up to edges of a cut that had yet to heal, ‘For mould in the ceiling,’ over her right shoulder he found yet a larger scrape, ‘For not telling you that I loved you in Gila.’
‘It doesn’t…’
He cut her off as his long fingers deftly unfastened her bra and slid it down her arms, ‘You wear my sins, Sara. You won’t tell me about it, but you do. Never think I don’t see it. Don’t… need it. Need you. You walk away from me and… I feel like glass and I can’t afford that.’
There was a silence, a counterfeit silence really because the valley and sky that surrounded them was anything but silent, as Sara considered her next words. Michael’s palms shifted up and gently gauged the weight of her breasts. His thumb moved to graze her nipple and the breath rushed from her lungs, leaving her very little air to say, ‘I need you too.’
His mouth dropped to the swell of her breast and he planted a single kiss there, ‘You do?’
Sara noted that this, her need, was the one thing Michael had been waiting for, the one thing that capped his arousal and pushed him into a state more reckless and mindless than anything she’d ever seen. Even when she’d signed off on his Category J. ‘I think I always did. Before I even knew you and I’m not one for romantic sentiment.’
‘It’s not romance, Sara,’ he said against her breast, his hot breath striking her to the core, ‘It’s mutual need. An alignment of purpose and desire and… it’s not romantic, Sara. It’s love and it’s messy.’
Sara’s lips tugged into what couldn’t possibly be a smile - what did she have to smile about? - then dissolved as Michael drew one nipple into his mouth and laved his tongue in clockwise, then counter-clockwise circles. Her hands ran down his back and gently passed over the swelling that seemed localized to his kidneys. Whoever had beaten him was lucky that she’d already killed one man that day, because she didn’t really fancy making it two. Michael’s hands spanned her ribcages as he switched his attentions to her other breast and Sara relished the sweat-slick slide of his shoulder against the underside of her other breast.
Thunder rumbled and culminated around them, Sara lifted Michael from her body and spoke, ‘Passenger seat. My purse, there should be condoms.’
Michael left her for a moment and Sara nearly cried out at the hot gust of air that descended to mark his absence. As Michael returned the wind picked up and Sara watched him carefully as he hesitated a few steps form her. ‘We don’t have to do this,’ he said, the small foil package hanging loosely from between his long middle and index fingers.
His caution was touching, if unnecessary, Sara dropped her hands to the button on her jeans and unsnapped it. Michael stepped closer, the small package caught between his palm and her chest as he pushed her back down onto the car. Her back stuck to the warm bonnet with sweat, uncomfortable to the point of being painful, but she didn’t dare say a word.
He drew back, and began to undo his own trousers. Khaki, Sara noted. Not that it mattered. Khaki, prison blues, five year plan, five years without parole. She’d take Michael Scofield any way he came.
Sara slid her fly down and lifted her behind from the car to push her panties and jeans down. Her bottom reconnected with the car, but she didn’t have time to notice as Michael’s trousers and cotton boxers hit the dirt in a clatter of belt buckles and spare change from his pocket. Sweat fell in tiny rivulets over the landscape of his chest and down over his bruised hips, leading Sara’s eyes to where his impressive length stood erect and seemingly focused on her.
She reached up and peeled away the foil package that had stuck to her skin, before opening it and reaching out invitingly for Michael. He seemed almost pained as she gently touched him, his head falling back, eyes shut, teeth clenched and breath escaping his lungs in one long low hissed exhalation. She deftly rolled the condom onto him, wondering how it was possible for Michael to feel even hotter than she already was. Grabbing his wrist she pulled him down onto her and leaned up to catch him in a kiss.
His length bumped against the inside of her thigh as she widened her knees, pulling him closer and ignoring the slight restriction of her denim-bound ankles as her shoes slid and sought purchase against the bumper of the car.
Nearby a crack heralded a large branch removing itself from the nearby tree and crashing to the ground in a rain of debris. Michael shielded Sara’s body with his, fine twigs, dead leaves and branches smacking into his back. Too late for them to consider the wisdom of having sex in the middle of a storm, Sara deepened their kiss as he rolled his shoulders, fine dirt blowing against them, turning to a grimy film on their skin as it mixed with the sweat of their bodies. Michael lifted Sara a fraction higher, her knees clamped tightly around his hips. Her arm slid between them as she took him in a delicate grip and coaxed him into herself slowly. He pushed home with a cry, mirrored by Sara’s own guttural groan. Sara felt Michael’s hot tears falling stickily against her own cheek. Against his mouth she began a devout prayer. ‘Oh god… Michael… please…’
Not that she needed to ask, his hands were already dragging her hips up and closer, changing the depth of their union and reaching her in places that she was sure didn’t even exist. Except, obviously, for when Michael found them.
They didn’t last long… how could they? A cry, a moan, a crushing embrace, two thrusts, a falter, two more, a shiver and…
The sky opened finally making good on its promises with a torrent of rain. Michael and Sara collapsed boneless against the car, steam rising around them, even from their skin, as the cooling downpour met their heated flesh and surroundings, before evaporating.
They kissed and held each other until the rain eased and their bodies cramped with sudden cold. Michael redressed Sara, apologizing for the mud and water that clung to her clothes, then dressed himself almost shyly.
Sara watched, and when he turned back to her she leaned in to plant a wet kiss against his neck. ‘We need to go,’ she said.
He nodded as he reached down to lift her hand, he examined her fingers slowly as he spoke, ‘You were right, you know. Running with the most wanted men in America isn’t much of a plan, Sara.’
‘But it’s what I have, Michael.’
‘I wish you had more.’
‘I don’t. This is enough, for now.’
‘For now,’ he nodded, ‘But not forever. And not for me either. You’ll tell me everything, one day, even where you got that fucking Megadeath t-shirt.’
Sara nodded. Yes, there were answers. But the truth of it was, no one needed them. Not anymore. Answers like that were nothing but the leavings of a tempest long passed. She looked off into the distance, where the worst of the storm had fled and couldn’t help but muse… maybe some storms were worth chasing.
Epilogue
One very live Paul Kellerman watched from the main road as Michael and Sara drove away. He could follow them. Maybe one day he could have her. Maybe one day he’d wear that very same sated and shell-shocked look that Scofield wore. Maybe he’d let them drive on and, for once, prove that he had the requisite self-denial to be the hero.
Maybe he’d be the storm at their heels.
Authors: volatile/becisvolatile
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Sara, Michael, Lincoln, Kellerman, Jane, LJ
Genre: Angst, Romance, Action
Summary: ‘If I let this go, Sara… I’ll have even less of you. Give me something.’
Chapter: XI & Epilogue
Disclaimer: Life is unfair. Tweeners die. I don’t own Prison Break or anything related to it. I don’t even own Wentworth Miller.
Notes: Rating is up!! Jane!Hugs for all you lovely girls who’ve stuck with this! I really appreciate your encouragement and time. And for sarah_scribbles? *hands her a rampant beastly manstaff thingy* Because she deserves it.
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
The late afternoon cracked and hummed with the promise of a storm. The air pushed in tightly against Sara’s skin causing beads of sweat to appear and dance across her skin. The sky was getting ready to throw a little bit of its weight around and in the midst of it Sara pulled to a stop outside of the room she’d shared with Paul Kellerman for just one night and waited.
And kept waiting. After another fifteen minutes it occurred to her that she had no idea what she was waiting for. Maybe she’d been waiting for Kellerman to jump out of the backseat brandishing an iron. Or maybe she was waiting for the far more devastating appearance of Michael. Maybe she was waiting for him to step from the room a few doors down, pin her with his eyes, see her for what she was and what she lacked and turn away.
Of course she wasn’t waiting. She was really, really, done with waiting. Hadn’t she already proved that? She’d taken decisive action and killed a man. She’d done something and, right from that first day on the run, hadn’t that been her plan? To do something? Of course, while she was almost positive that her something hadn’t originally been of murderous design she could do little more than feel a sickly out of sync pumping somewhere where her heart was supposed to be. Guilt, she supposed. Or guilt at the absence of guilt.
Exactly what she’d accused Kellerman of. What was her defense? I did it for the truth. I did it for Lincoln Burrows. For LJ Burrows. For my father.
What a crock. She’d done it for a smile. For the feel of tattooed skin through latex gloves. She’d done it for a paper flower and, God help her, she’d do it again.
Her forehead touched down on the steering wheel briefly then she lifted it to find Jane staring at her through the windscreen. Sara fed her lip gently through her teeth then released it as she stepped from the car, ‘Well?’ she asked, knowing Jane would understand.
‘We have a visual confirmation. He was taken outside of Harrisburg, it’s done,’ Sara was sure Jane said that to ease her mind, it did little good.
‘And now?’
‘Now we get started. We have the drive, but we need to flush this information into legitimate channels for people to take it seriously. It’s been in our hands too long as it is, the credibility of anything we… or even your father might have found is going to come under some serious doubt. I’m sorry to say it, this isn’t nearly over.’
Sara nodded gently, she must have been growing up because Jane’s words didn’t surprise her. She hadn’t been expecting a giant pat on the back and a reprieve. She knew they had a long way to go… she just needed the people around her to help her find a direction.
‘Where’s Michael?’
‘Looking for you, I should imagine. He took off five minutes before you got back. He could only wait so long once he’d put a missing Sara and a missing Kellerman together. I don’t think I need to tell you that he wants Kellerman’s blood and your ass. Probably not in the fun way either.’
Sara sighed and jangled the car keys in her hand, contemplating the wisdom of following a pissed off Michael. Probably about as wise as taking a river cruise with Hercule Poirot. Chances were he wasn’t really going to be pleased to see her. Sure, he was off chasing after her… but how was she going to deal with him when they finally did find each other?
Jane, showing insight that Sara was starting to expect from her, spoke, ‘You did what you had to and he can’t hold that against you. He’d never have accepted the loss of the drive. Your solution was bloodless.’
‘Not for Kellerman.’
‘Kellerman wasn’t a bloodless sort of person. The end mirrored the start with that man. We all proceed as we mean to finish. He knew that.’
‘And me? How will I end?’
Jane actually smiled, not a happy smile, but a sure smile. The sort of smile you got when, for once, you had the right answer, ‘That’s the easy part,’ she began, ‘Of course, no one else ever sees that. Maybe because none of you have been at this stupid game as long as I have. Even Lincoln didn’t get it. Teamwork, Sara. We’re a team now and we each serve a function. You want to dumb it down… Michael, brains and moments of that overwhelming stupidity people call genius. Lincoln, ah… well he looks good in jeans so I’m sure that counts for something. Plus he’s the focus for a lot of this so regardless of his function he’s a part of it. You’ve got me, connections, resources and a stupid sense of responsibility and loyalty to their father. Then you.’
‘Tagging along.’
‘An emotional focus for Michael, also to use Lincoln’s oh-so-delicate phrasing, Michael’s only chance of getting laid in the near future. For some reason, Lincoln thinks that’s important.’
‘Wow,’ Sara almost laughed, ‘Sign me up as team leader, I’m clearly indispensable.’
Jane lifted an eyebrow before continuing, ‘I’m not finished. I’m building here. Let’s talk about your practical function. Medic. More than useful. Information. Your father’s drive.’
‘We have that so that doesn’t count.’
‘Sara, I’m giving you what you want here, I’m justifying your place in all this.’
‘No. You were telling me that I shouldn’t feel guilty for walking Kellerman to his death.’
‘Because that was your place in this! You did something Michael couldn’t. You saw an opportunity to get them out of trouble and you did what had to be done.’
‘What happened to him is my fault.’
‘This had been coming to him since the day he joined The Company. He knew that. Why do you think he was running with us? Sara, you made a choice. You chose the brothers over Kellerman. Don’t regret that choice.’
‘How could I? I’d do it again.’
‘Exactly. And that’s why you’re with us. Michael, Lincoln… me… now you. We’re walking into something big. You probably will have to do it again. That’s your function.’
‘I’m the morally bankrupt sector?’
‘You’re the one that does what needs to be done. It’s something we all do. Michael entering Fox River, me and all the things I’ve done until now, Lincoln… you know, I still can’t figure out what he does other than the jeans.’
‘You like him?’
‘I detest him. It’s the jeans I like.’
Sara choked on a laugh and silently agreed. The boots could go… but yes, the jeans were nice.
‘So we keep running?’
‘Running. Playing. Feeding information. Stirring up trouble for the bad guys. Yeah. We’re Team Good Guys, that’s what we do.’
‘This smacks of a movie plot.’
‘Say that in three days when you’re dying for clean underwear, sick of getting shot at and desperate for a solid block of sleep.’
Sara winced at the prospect. Then looked up at Jane, the afternoon sun falling behind the row of motel rooms.
Jane narrowed her eyes, ‘Is this where we hug? Because I don’t really hug.’
Sara nodded, ‘Not a big hugger either, Jane.’
Jane smiled nervously, so did Sara. They were two women who hardly knew each other, but circumstances had put them together and they’d found a sort of friendship. Jane reached behind herself and unclipped a cell phone from the back of her trousers, ‘Here. I held Michael off for the whole morning, half the afternoon, told him you were looking for the drive with Kellerman. Lincoln is picking LJ up, so he’s one less worry. Michael’s twenty minutes ahead of you, but if you call him on this, third on the speed dial, I’m sure you can call him back. He’s heading north, there’s a roadhouse midway. If you have any problems, I’m first on the speed dial. Be back in two hours OK? We need to get moving.’
She wiggled the keys again, partly soothed and partly anxious to hear the noise they made. She didn’t move any closer to the car, held in place as worst possible scenarios played over in her head. Her eyes shifted to the darkening sky, amazed that it could hold such threat.
‘Sara?’ said Jane, ‘We can do the hugging thing if you need it.’
Sara stopped moving the keys and dropped her eyes to Jane with a smile, ‘No. No, I’m leaving now. But when this is over? We can hug.’
*****
Since nothing she could say on the phone would be adequate, and she didn’t fancy running the car into a tree while arguing and driving, she settled for a text message naming the roadhouse between them as a rendezvous destination.
He’d be there, that much she knew. Michael was nothing if not reckless where she was concerned. Hadn’t the riots taught her that much? Hadn’t her own fear of revealing her involvement with Kellerman confirmed that? Why was she afraid for him to know? Because she knew what he’d do and, she had trouble admitting this, it would make their walk into the post office seem like an act of mercy. Michael was generous and kind and giving. But also passionate and possessive. His brother. His plan. His doctor. Her lips twitched.
Sara waited in the car for Michael, his Chrysler tore into the parking lot and before he could find a space she backed up and cut him off, caught his eyes through their windscreens and drove at a careful pace from the roadhouse. She didn’t need to look in her rearview mirror to see if he would follow. She knew he would. But she looked anyway, it was almost comforting to see what maybe might have been his face swimming behind the glass and air and heat between them.
Thunder rolled in the air and Sara warmed to the thought that the same waves that hit her, greeted Michael just seconds behind her. For a moment she contemplated just driving letting him follow her forever. But forever wouldn’t last more than an hour on he quarter of a tank she had left and, to be honest, she was sick of the car. She could still smell Kellerman sitting there, could see where he’d aimed his own air-conditioning vents at her when she’d murmured something about the heat. Sara slowed and indicated as she turned onto a small dirt road, she checked that Michael followed and drove until they were unable to see the main road. She hoped that if they couldn’t see the main road, no one could see them. She pressed gently on the brake as she neared a shoulder on the drive, dirt and debris crunched under the tires as she pulled up along side a tall, but sparsely foliaged tree. The shoulder of the road dropped away to display a valley that was deceptively empty, the earth was rich and gently sloped down and away from the cars, low bushes, clumps of grass and plants punctuated the land and Sara watched the storm as it approached, framed perfectly by the valley floor and far off flanking hills. Her eyes shifted closer to the tree immediately beside her. Its branches spread up into the darkening sky, and as Sara turned off the engine and stepped from the car she found herself watching the sky roll through the gaps they left.
Despite the coming rain the air was hot and oppressive, Sara’s back itched and crawled as beads of perspiration trickled over healing wounds, causing sickly shivers to run up and down the length of her spine. A car door slammed - Michael - and Sara had to struggle to turn away from the tree and face him.
The dirt under their feet, Sara focused for a moment on its rich red color, didn’t crunch but slipped like sand. Michael’s voice cut through the energy and electricity in the air, its monotone relaying just how angry he was, ‘Where do we start?’
‘Say anything, Michael. Say what you need to.’
‘He’s dangerous. I asked you to leave him alone.’
‘I wish I had. I wish I had the choice to leave him alone.’
‘You always had that choice.’
‘I had that choice, like you had the choice to leave Lincoln in prison. Not much of a choice at all.’
‘You were with him last night?’
‘Yes,’ Sara looked Michael in the face as she spoke, something in his face slipped and his mouth twisted until he looked to be in genuine pain.
‘You… were with him?’
‘Have a little faith Michael. We spent the night in different rooms.’
‘Why? Why were you even together?’
‘Would it suffice for me to say it just had to be done?’
‘No. And you know it wouldn’t. I need answers Sara.’
‘You’ll live without. I did,’ a roll of thunder punctuated her words.
‘Why can’t you just tell me?’
It was a fair question and Sara considered it, why couldn’t she say, ‘Michael, I bargained with Kellerman. Me for you.’ Sara knew without really delving deep into it that his reaction would be one of utter self-loathing. He’d hate himself for putting her in that position and finally, finally, Sara realized that she never wanted Michael to wear something that was her doing. She’d made that deal, she’d live with it. She’d walked Kellerman to his death and she’d deal with that too. For Michael.
Blessed is he who gives without remembering…
‘Deal in facts for a second here, Michael. You’re alive and free. Your brother and nephew are alive and free. You stand a chance of living a while longer,’ Sara hesitated then spoke softly, ‘We have the drive.’
‘Since when?’
‘Since a few hours after they took you from the crematorium.’
‘If I let this go, Sara… I’ll have even less of you. Give me something.’
‘I’ll give you anything.’
‘What happened to you in Gila? The cuts, the bruises?’
Anything but that, Sara carefully considered her answer. ‘I was tortured.’
‘For my whereabouts?’
‘Not really. For the drive,’ Sara hoped Michael would just leave it at that.
‘Who?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘You know it does.’
Sara sighed and felt a rush of hot air at her back, she rested her hands on her hips and looked up to the sky, seeing it illuminate with the suggestion of far-off lighting. It wasn’t wise to answer Michael. It didn’t matter, it was over. But it would never be over for her and like Michael’s missing toes would always haunt her, so would the scars that ran up and down her arms and the way that she just knew she’d never be able to iron her own clothes ever again. It mattered and he wanted to know.
‘Kellerman. Kellerman did it.’
Michael blinked once as his usually sharp mind was dulled by the impact of her words. Eventually he spoke in a level and deadly tone that Sara had earmarked as a sure indicator of trouble and stupid retributions, ‘Where is he?’
‘He’s dead.’
Michael’s eyes narrowed and the tears that he’d been holding back trickled down his cheek, ‘Tell me you didn’t…?’
‘I didn’t. Not really. Michael, in the end… Kellerman chose this. We didn’t and we still have a chance to fix all of this.’
Michael shifted on his feet, his hands lifting to cradle the back of his skull, Sara caught a glimpse of the purple and green bruised skin glowing viciously underneath the tattoo that stretched across his abdomen. He was so exposed standing with the rolling sky at his back, and his eyes dissolving with confusion. Sara’s reaction was raw and visceral. And so impulsively natural, like a reflex, that she would never, in all the time to follow, question it.
She simply stepped up to him once, twice and then held out her hand. When he shook his head and stumbled back toward his car she simply followed, ‘Michael.’
‘I ruined your life,’ his voice rumored as the back of his calves hit the front bumper of his black Chrysler Pacifica.
‘It wasn’t yours to ruin,’ Sara said as her kneecaps brushed his.
‘But I wanted it to be,’ he said as his fingers found the fronts of her thighs and trailed up toward her hips. Sara watched his tentative and guilty exploration of her body, his eyes wouldn’t meet hers.
‘Michael?’
‘We shouldn’t,’ he said even as his thumbs pressed gently over the jut of her hipbones, ‘We’re hurt.’
Sara nodded, but let her hand reach for that slope of skin behind his ear that molded so perfectly to her palm and allowed her to pull his mouth to hers. Her lips brushed against his as he spoke, ‘People could see us. Not just people, the wrong people.’
‘Michael,’ Sara said gently darting her tongue out to slide across his bottom lip, ‘Please,’ what she was begging for, she didn’t know. To continue? Absolutely. But more than that she just wanted him to give up… everything, if only for a short tract of time. Then and there, on the ticking and warm bonnet of his car. Romantic? Hardly. Perfect? Not really. Necessary? More so than their next breath.
As kisses went it was ugly. Jolted, needy, desperate and on the verge of being violent. Sara felt as thought she was trying to consume Michael, and he responded in kind. He grunted as she lifted and planted her knee in his gut in her attempts to crawl up his body. His back hit the car and his hands moved to her bottom as he tried to hold her weight a bit more steadily so that it didn’t rest solely in his solar plexus.
Sara’s knees shifted to frame his narrow waist and her blood heated at the friction that his stomach pressing against her jeans caused. At once her body softened, hardened and shifted in all the right places in an age-old, damn near genetically encoded, response to the hard and ready male beneath her. They continued to kiss as Michael lowered her until she could feel his arousal pressing at her. Somewhere over the valley a single fork of lighting divided the sky, but they scarcely noticed it. Even the thunder that shook them to their sternums did nothing to slow or deter them.
They broke the kiss and drew the scorching air about them into their lungs. The hot air offered no reprieve from the atmosphere or even the heat they generated between them and as they gasped, eyes locked, they realized that they were fast spiraling out of control. ‘This isn’t going to work,’ rasped Michael as he shifted underneath her. For a moment Sara feared he was referring to the act they were so desperate to perform… but as he moved and dropped her onto the bonnet of the car before stepping between her knees, she realized he just meant their position. Through the denim of her jeans the warmth of the car just added to the overwhelming heat of the afternoon and their situation. Adding to the painful, searing, unavoidable pressure of their actions. Her hair stuck to her cheeks in fine tendrils, bonded with sweat, her shirt clung to her modest curves and finally it was too much and she was tearing at the open cotton shirt she wore, and then at the tank top underneath. Her shirts, and Michael’s long-sleeved one fell in a sweaty clump on the fine dirt beneath them. Sara didn’t relish the thought of pulling the shirt back on, even as she was reaching back for her bra to undo the clasp.
It was the sting of Michael’s fingers ghosting over her stitches that reminded Sara that he was right there, his hands continued until they covered hers and he stilled her fingers. ‘Let me?’
Her own hands fell away and she nodded, her forehead falling to his bare shoulder as his hands began a slow exploration of the abrasions covering her back, he gently fingered a small scratch in the small of her back, ‘This is for the first lie I ever told you, for the diabetes,’ he moved higher until his fingers encountered a swollen plateau of flesh, a violet bruise, ‘For Gandhi’, then up to edges of a cut that had yet to heal, ‘For mould in the ceiling,’ over her right shoulder he found yet a larger scrape, ‘For not telling you that I loved you in Gila.’
‘It doesn’t…’
He cut her off as his long fingers deftly unfastened her bra and slid it down her arms, ‘You wear my sins, Sara. You won’t tell me about it, but you do. Never think I don’t see it. Don’t… need it. Need you. You walk away from me and… I feel like glass and I can’t afford that.’
There was a silence, a counterfeit silence really because the valley and sky that surrounded them was anything but silent, as Sara considered her next words. Michael’s palms shifted up and gently gauged the weight of her breasts. His thumb moved to graze her nipple and the breath rushed from her lungs, leaving her very little air to say, ‘I need you too.’
His mouth dropped to the swell of her breast and he planted a single kiss there, ‘You do?’
Sara noted that this, her need, was the one thing Michael had been waiting for, the one thing that capped his arousal and pushed him into a state more reckless and mindless than anything she’d ever seen. Even when she’d signed off on his Category J. ‘I think I always did. Before I even knew you and I’m not one for romantic sentiment.’
‘It’s not romance, Sara,’ he said against her breast, his hot breath striking her to the core, ‘It’s mutual need. An alignment of purpose and desire and… it’s not romantic, Sara. It’s love and it’s messy.’
Sara’s lips tugged into what couldn’t possibly be a smile - what did she have to smile about? - then dissolved as Michael drew one nipple into his mouth and laved his tongue in clockwise, then counter-clockwise circles. Her hands ran down his back and gently passed over the swelling that seemed localized to his kidneys. Whoever had beaten him was lucky that she’d already killed one man that day, because she didn’t really fancy making it two. Michael’s hands spanned her ribcages as he switched his attentions to her other breast and Sara relished the sweat-slick slide of his shoulder against the underside of her other breast.
Thunder rumbled and culminated around them, Sara lifted Michael from her body and spoke, ‘Passenger seat. My purse, there should be condoms.’
Michael left her for a moment and Sara nearly cried out at the hot gust of air that descended to mark his absence. As Michael returned the wind picked up and Sara watched him carefully as he hesitated a few steps form her. ‘We don’t have to do this,’ he said, the small foil package hanging loosely from between his long middle and index fingers.
His caution was touching, if unnecessary, Sara dropped her hands to the button on her jeans and unsnapped it. Michael stepped closer, the small package caught between his palm and her chest as he pushed her back down onto the car. Her back stuck to the warm bonnet with sweat, uncomfortable to the point of being painful, but she didn’t dare say a word.
He drew back, and began to undo his own trousers. Khaki, Sara noted. Not that it mattered. Khaki, prison blues, five year plan, five years without parole. She’d take Michael Scofield any way he came.
Sara slid her fly down and lifted her behind from the car to push her panties and jeans down. Her bottom reconnected with the car, but she didn’t have time to notice as Michael’s trousers and cotton boxers hit the dirt in a clatter of belt buckles and spare change from his pocket. Sweat fell in tiny rivulets over the landscape of his chest and down over his bruised hips, leading Sara’s eyes to where his impressive length stood erect and seemingly focused on her.
She reached up and peeled away the foil package that had stuck to her skin, before opening it and reaching out invitingly for Michael. He seemed almost pained as she gently touched him, his head falling back, eyes shut, teeth clenched and breath escaping his lungs in one long low hissed exhalation. She deftly rolled the condom onto him, wondering how it was possible for Michael to feel even hotter than she already was. Grabbing his wrist she pulled him down onto her and leaned up to catch him in a kiss.
His length bumped against the inside of her thigh as she widened her knees, pulling him closer and ignoring the slight restriction of her denim-bound ankles as her shoes slid and sought purchase against the bumper of the car.
Nearby a crack heralded a large branch removing itself from the nearby tree and crashing to the ground in a rain of debris. Michael shielded Sara’s body with his, fine twigs, dead leaves and branches smacking into his back. Too late for them to consider the wisdom of having sex in the middle of a storm, Sara deepened their kiss as he rolled his shoulders, fine dirt blowing against them, turning to a grimy film on their skin as it mixed with the sweat of their bodies. Michael lifted Sara a fraction higher, her knees clamped tightly around his hips. Her arm slid between them as she took him in a delicate grip and coaxed him into herself slowly. He pushed home with a cry, mirrored by Sara’s own guttural groan. Sara felt Michael’s hot tears falling stickily against her own cheek. Against his mouth she began a devout prayer. ‘Oh god… Michael… please…’
Not that she needed to ask, his hands were already dragging her hips up and closer, changing the depth of their union and reaching her in places that she was sure didn’t even exist. Except, obviously, for when Michael found them.
They didn’t last long… how could they? A cry, a moan, a crushing embrace, two thrusts, a falter, two more, a shiver and…
The sky opened finally making good on its promises with a torrent of rain. Michael and Sara collapsed boneless against the car, steam rising around them, even from their skin, as the cooling downpour met their heated flesh and surroundings, before evaporating.
They kissed and held each other until the rain eased and their bodies cramped with sudden cold. Michael redressed Sara, apologizing for the mud and water that clung to her clothes, then dressed himself almost shyly.
Sara watched, and when he turned back to her she leaned in to plant a wet kiss against his neck. ‘We need to go,’ she said.
He nodded as he reached down to lift her hand, he examined her fingers slowly as he spoke, ‘You were right, you know. Running with the most wanted men in America isn’t much of a plan, Sara.’
‘But it’s what I have, Michael.’
‘I wish you had more.’
‘I don’t. This is enough, for now.’
‘For now,’ he nodded, ‘But not forever. And not for me either. You’ll tell me everything, one day, even where you got that fucking Megadeath t-shirt.’
Sara nodded. Yes, there were answers. But the truth of it was, no one needed them. Not anymore. Answers like that were nothing but the leavings of a tempest long passed. She looked off into the distance, where the worst of the storm had fled and couldn’t help but muse… maybe some storms were worth chasing.
Epilogue
One very live Paul Kellerman watched from the main road as Michael and Sara drove away. He could follow them. Maybe one day he could have her. Maybe one day he’d wear that very same sated and shell-shocked look that Scofield wore. Maybe he’d let them drive on and, for once, prove that he had the requisite self-denial to be the hero.
Maybe he’d be the storm at their heels.