FIC: Relenting Blame
Characters: Sara, Lincoln
Category: Gen
Rating: PG
Length: 1,856
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be.
Spoilers: Up to 2x22 Sona
Author's Notes: Written for the Five Minutes Later challenge at pbhiatus_fic. I found that I couldn’t really come up with anything adequate for Michael trapped in Sona, so this will have to do instead.
===
Sara hated pacers. Those who, when deep in thought, treaded back and forth, over and over, continuously walking but going nowhere.
Her father had been a pacer. As a child, she’d peek around the ajar door of his study, seeing his hands held behind his back as he studied the carpet. Back and forth, round and round. It didn’t seem to ease the lines of anxiety etched into his face, and she had decided from early on that pacing did nothing.
So she was sorely tempted to snap in objection when the only other person in the vicinity had begun to do the exact same action, but she knew that it was not her place to say a word. She bit her tongue to silence herself, and waited.
Eventually, after seemingly endless minutes, Lincoln stilled. He looked down at her, sitting tensely in her chair, her fingers absently twisting the ring on her right index finger. He glanced around the small concrete courtyard at the back of the Panamanian coffeehouse, which was still as empty as it had been when he’d dragged her in here.
“Sara!”
She’d been relatively easy to spot. Though her white shirt and jeans were plain and ordinary, it was her hair that got him. Even from a distance, it shone in red-tinged streaks. So different to the pure black of the heads around them. He vaguely wondered why she’d bothered darkening it in the first place, for all the good it did; not when the sun hit it like it was now.
Her head flicked around, and he wondered if it was because she’d heard him, or because of a paranoid reflex. Regardless, she didn’t turn around. A flash of a car went by on the crowded street in front of him, and the next moment she was gone.
“Damn.”
Dodging around casually strolling locals, and ignoring the Panamanian officials standing further up the road, Lincoln dashed across the street and was faced with a line of buildings, lots of shoppers, but no Sara.
A laneway between two buildings led to another parallel street. He couldn’t see her, but where else could she have gone?
Gruffly pushing past the crowds, he alternated every few steps with a run, then a brisk walk. Run, walk. Run.
Emerging on the other side of the lane, he spotted the hair once more. The white shirt... and a man? Lincoln frowned, squinting in the sunlight. The man certainly wasn’t Panamanian, but that wasn’t the issue. It was about the way he walked, hands deep in pockets, eyes held fast on Sara. Lincoln didn’t have a clue what was going on, but if he ever believed his gut instinct, it was now. That man was not going to be good news.
Holding his tongue from calling out her name once more, Lincoln watched Sara turn another corner and, yet again, disappear. For someone who didn’t know the city, she was sure travelling fast.
A glance up the road and Lincoln spotted the small pickup truck approaching, loaded with crates of fruit. He knew what he had to do, and at another time, he would congratulate himself for being the one to think of a plan for once. Not now.
The truck passed, slowing to a crawl to avoid hitting the stray walkers on the street. It sounded its horn in warning, and Lincoln seized the opportunity. He leaped up onto the back of the truck’s open tray, a moment before the truck increased its speed once more. The sudden weight on the tray caused the driver to turn around in surprise. Upon seeing Lincoln, he began to yell in rapid Spanish, and it didn’t take a genius to understand the territorial berating.
Lincoln didn’t care; he was almost at the street corner now.
“Thanks, buddy,” he called out, bounding back off the truck and hitting the ground. He picked himself up, his wrists aching with impact, but it wasn’t anything worse than the brawls he got into whilst at juvie as a kid.
She was feet away, fast approaching him, seemingly oblivious to his presence. He didn’t risk calling out for her again; he wasn’t about to check if the dark-haired man was still behind her, but he wasn’t going to risk it either. As she passed him, Lincoln reached out and closed his fingers around her wrist. She gasped in surprise, before meeting his eyes.
“Lincoln.”
“Where’s Michael?” he snapped, not wasting time with pleasantries.
She swallowed, her eyes now diverted to somewhere off to the side. “He was arrested.”
He didn’t reply, but simply turned towards the small coffeehouse in front of them. It wasn’t perfect, but good enough for now. Without hesitating, he pulled on her arm roughly, giving her no choice but to follow him inside.
Though he’d now stopped pacing, Lincoln looked unsettled.
“I don’t get it.” His words were low and brusque, his eyes scrutinising her carefully. It was the first thing he’d said since asking for his brother, back outside on the street. Yet she didn’t need his verbal confirmations to know what was on his mind - what was on both of their minds.
“I never betrayed him, Lincoln.” Sara kept her voice even, knowing that the minute she weakened, he would pounce. Maybe it wouldn’t matter, he would pounce anyway.
“Then how the hell did he end up back inside prison while you’re sitting here?”
She was surprised by how steady his tone had remained. She knew of the Lincoln Burrows temper, had seen it firsthand. She wondered why it hadn’t reared its head by now. Had being on the run taught him to contain it? She doubted it, but didn’t leave room to overanalyse.
“I didn’t want him to, if it’s any consolation,” she replied, resting her elbow on the edge of the table. “Nothing was going to change his mind, no matter how much I begged.”
“Your begging would only make him more determined,” Lincoln bit back, still refusing to sit. Sara wasn’t sure if it was due to restlessness, or if he was turning it into a power game. She guessed it was a mixture of the two, none of which were positives.
She bit her lip. “It was his choice. Nothing that you or I could have said would’ve changed his mind. You know what Michael’s -”
“No.” His voice was beginning to raise, a significantly harder edge to it. Lincoln’s eyes, although so very different to his brother’s, seemed to share a similar intensity, although this was the first time Sara had witnessed it. “I know. I know what he’s like. I’m his brother. I have been his whole life.”
And then Sara suddenly realised the true extent to the man’s anger; he wasn’t just confused about what had happened, or furious as to why she had killed Bill Kim and Michael was the one arrested. He was hurt. Jealous. Covetous. Because he had realised that Michael had given up everything for Sara, even if it meant he wouldn’t be with his older brother anymore. From the day Lincoln had laid eyes on Michael in Fox River, he’d believed that Michael’s plan, every step and hurdle they’d had to climb over, was for the single cause that they’d be two brothers, eventually together.
Yet the plan wasn’t so one-dimensional any longer, and he wondered how long exactly it had been like that. When had it changed, and how long had he really known, deep down? Had he simply pushed that notion away, determined to believe that in the end, it was all about him and Michael as a family?
Lincoln hated himself for being so selfish, so juvenile in attitude. Michael had risked so much for him, so who was he to demand Michael’s priorities like a sulking child?
One look at the person in front of him, and he knew he couldn’t deny it any longer. As central as he had been to Michael’s original plan, it was now just as much about Sara, if not more. It was so blatantly unfair to feel resentment towards her, but a part of him did. It had been about him and his brother, yet as soon as she appeared, it was now about her. Sara’s safety. Sara’s freedom. And it hurt.
Now her brown eyes were showing a certain sympathetic softness. Pity, almost, and it was the last thing he wanted from her, because obviously she could see through his anger too.
“I didn’t want him to do this to you, Lincoln,” she said quietly, and he knew that his resentment was ridiculous. She had done more for the two of them than anyone else had in his life. What’s more, he liked her. He’d always known she was a good person, and knew that whatever jealous vibes he harboured, he’d have to scrap them for the sakes of them all.
“I just wish he wasn’t so freakin’ drastic,” Lincoln muttered, dropping down into the chair opposite and kneading his brow with a hand. After a pause, he looked across at her. “I know you didn’t betray him. He just did it because he cared.”
She said nothing, but at least she wasn’t fidgeting any more.
“What did he say?”
Sara was mildly surprised by the question, and it was one she didn’t particularly want to answer. But she did, anyway, because hiding the truth wouldn’t achieve anything. “He said that I’d sacrificed myself for him, so it was his turn. It was his thank you.”
He nodded slightly, not expecting anything less noble. “For what it’s worth,” he said gruffly, “I’m glad he’s found someone else that he’d go to the ends of the earth for. And that the person would do the same for him.”
She ducked her head, avoiding his eye. “He’s your brother. I don’t want you to -”
“No, it’s okay,” Lincoln interrupted. “He’s my brother, yeah, but it doesn’t mean that others can’t be part of the family.”
Sara didn’t expect such a strong word as ‘family’ to come from his mouth, but she wasn’t one to fight it. In fact, as much as she didn’t want to admit it to Lincoln, it felt good. Because one of the few things she had in common with Lincoln was a lack of family, and neither of them was willing to give up on that one too easily.
A young, engrossed couple, speaking in vigorous Spanish, entered the courtyard and sat themselves down at one of the other tables, breaking the silence. Their loud presence made Lincoln raise his eyebrow. “We’d better get out of here.”
Sara nodded and stood. About to follow him out, she piped up. “Lincoln?”
He simply turned around to face her expectantly without uttering a word.
“Thanks.”
He knew it was a thank you, not for the help they’d given each other in bringing down the conspiracy, or for the plan working, but for his acceptance of her. Yet he shrugged, turning away once more. They had problems to solve, he didn’t have time to dwell.
She didn’t mind. It was enough for now.
Category: Gen
Rating: PG
Length: 1,856
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be.
Spoilers: Up to 2x22 Sona
Author's Notes: Written for the Five Minutes Later challenge at pbhiatus_fic. I found that I couldn’t really come up with anything adequate for Michael trapped in Sona, so this will have to do instead.
===
Sara hated pacers. Those who, when deep in thought, treaded back and forth, over and over, continuously walking but going nowhere.
Her father had been a pacer. As a child, she’d peek around the ajar door of his study, seeing his hands held behind his back as he studied the carpet. Back and forth, round and round. It didn’t seem to ease the lines of anxiety etched into his face, and she had decided from early on that pacing did nothing.
So she was sorely tempted to snap in objection when the only other person in the vicinity had begun to do the exact same action, but she knew that it was not her place to say a word. She bit her tongue to silence herself, and waited.
Eventually, after seemingly endless minutes, Lincoln stilled. He looked down at her, sitting tensely in her chair, her fingers absently twisting the ring on her right index finger. He glanced around the small concrete courtyard at the back of the Panamanian coffeehouse, which was still as empty as it had been when he’d dragged her in here.
“Sara!”
She’d been relatively easy to spot. Though her white shirt and jeans were plain and ordinary, it was her hair that got him. Even from a distance, it shone in red-tinged streaks. So different to the pure black of the heads around them. He vaguely wondered why she’d bothered darkening it in the first place, for all the good it did; not when the sun hit it like it was now.
Her head flicked around, and he wondered if it was because she’d heard him, or because of a paranoid reflex. Regardless, she didn’t turn around. A flash of a car went by on the crowded street in front of him, and the next moment she was gone.
“Damn.”
Dodging around casually strolling locals, and ignoring the Panamanian officials standing further up the road, Lincoln dashed across the street and was faced with a line of buildings, lots of shoppers, but no Sara.
A laneway between two buildings led to another parallel street. He couldn’t see her, but where else could she have gone?
Gruffly pushing past the crowds, he alternated every few steps with a run, then a brisk walk. Run, walk. Run.
Emerging on the other side of the lane, he spotted the hair once more. The white shirt... and a man? Lincoln frowned, squinting in the sunlight. The man certainly wasn’t Panamanian, but that wasn’t the issue. It was about the way he walked, hands deep in pockets, eyes held fast on Sara. Lincoln didn’t have a clue what was going on, but if he ever believed his gut instinct, it was now. That man was not going to be good news.
Holding his tongue from calling out her name once more, Lincoln watched Sara turn another corner and, yet again, disappear. For someone who didn’t know the city, she was sure travelling fast.
A glance up the road and Lincoln spotted the small pickup truck approaching, loaded with crates of fruit. He knew what he had to do, and at another time, he would congratulate himself for being the one to think of a plan for once. Not now.
The truck passed, slowing to a crawl to avoid hitting the stray walkers on the street. It sounded its horn in warning, and Lincoln seized the opportunity. He leaped up onto the back of the truck’s open tray, a moment before the truck increased its speed once more. The sudden weight on the tray caused the driver to turn around in surprise. Upon seeing Lincoln, he began to yell in rapid Spanish, and it didn’t take a genius to understand the territorial berating.
Lincoln didn’t care; he was almost at the street corner now.
“Thanks, buddy,” he called out, bounding back off the truck and hitting the ground. He picked himself up, his wrists aching with impact, but it wasn’t anything worse than the brawls he got into whilst at juvie as a kid.
She was feet away, fast approaching him, seemingly oblivious to his presence. He didn’t risk calling out for her again; he wasn’t about to check if the dark-haired man was still behind her, but he wasn’t going to risk it either. As she passed him, Lincoln reached out and closed his fingers around her wrist. She gasped in surprise, before meeting his eyes.
“Lincoln.”
“Where’s Michael?” he snapped, not wasting time with pleasantries.
She swallowed, her eyes now diverted to somewhere off to the side. “He was arrested.”
He didn’t reply, but simply turned towards the small coffeehouse in front of them. It wasn’t perfect, but good enough for now. Without hesitating, he pulled on her arm roughly, giving her no choice but to follow him inside.
Though he’d now stopped pacing, Lincoln looked unsettled.
“I don’t get it.” His words were low and brusque, his eyes scrutinising her carefully. It was the first thing he’d said since asking for his brother, back outside on the street. Yet she didn’t need his verbal confirmations to know what was on his mind - what was on both of their minds.
“I never betrayed him, Lincoln.” Sara kept her voice even, knowing that the minute she weakened, he would pounce. Maybe it wouldn’t matter, he would pounce anyway.
“Then how the hell did he end up back inside prison while you’re sitting here?”
She was surprised by how steady his tone had remained. She knew of the Lincoln Burrows temper, had seen it firsthand. She wondered why it hadn’t reared its head by now. Had being on the run taught him to contain it? She doubted it, but didn’t leave room to overanalyse.
“I didn’t want him to, if it’s any consolation,” she replied, resting her elbow on the edge of the table. “Nothing was going to change his mind, no matter how much I begged.”
“Your begging would only make him more determined,” Lincoln bit back, still refusing to sit. Sara wasn’t sure if it was due to restlessness, or if he was turning it into a power game. She guessed it was a mixture of the two, none of which were positives.
She bit her lip. “It was his choice. Nothing that you or I could have said would’ve changed his mind. You know what Michael’s -”
“No.” His voice was beginning to raise, a significantly harder edge to it. Lincoln’s eyes, although so very different to his brother’s, seemed to share a similar intensity, although this was the first time Sara had witnessed it. “I know. I know what he’s like. I’m his brother. I have been his whole life.”
And then Sara suddenly realised the true extent to the man’s anger; he wasn’t just confused about what had happened, or furious as to why she had killed Bill Kim and Michael was the one arrested. He was hurt. Jealous. Covetous. Because he had realised that Michael had given up everything for Sara, even if it meant he wouldn’t be with his older brother anymore. From the day Lincoln had laid eyes on Michael in Fox River, he’d believed that Michael’s plan, every step and hurdle they’d had to climb over, was for the single cause that they’d be two brothers, eventually together.
Yet the plan wasn’t so one-dimensional any longer, and he wondered how long exactly it had been like that. When had it changed, and how long had he really known, deep down? Had he simply pushed that notion away, determined to believe that in the end, it was all about him and Michael as a family?
Lincoln hated himself for being so selfish, so juvenile in attitude. Michael had risked so much for him, so who was he to demand Michael’s priorities like a sulking child?
One look at the person in front of him, and he knew he couldn’t deny it any longer. As central as he had been to Michael’s original plan, it was now just as much about Sara, if not more. It was so blatantly unfair to feel resentment towards her, but a part of him did. It had been about him and his brother, yet as soon as she appeared, it was now about her. Sara’s safety. Sara’s freedom. And it hurt.
Now her brown eyes were showing a certain sympathetic softness. Pity, almost, and it was the last thing he wanted from her, because obviously she could see through his anger too.
“I didn’t want him to do this to you, Lincoln,” she said quietly, and he knew that his resentment was ridiculous. She had done more for the two of them than anyone else had in his life. What’s more, he liked her. He’d always known she was a good person, and knew that whatever jealous vibes he harboured, he’d have to scrap them for the sakes of them all.
“I just wish he wasn’t so freakin’ drastic,” Lincoln muttered, dropping down into the chair opposite and kneading his brow with a hand. After a pause, he looked across at her. “I know you didn’t betray him. He just did it because he cared.”
She said nothing, but at least she wasn’t fidgeting any more.
“What did he say?”
Sara was mildly surprised by the question, and it was one she didn’t particularly want to answer. But she did, anyway, because hiding the truth wouldn’t achieve anything. “He said that I’d sacrificed myself for him, so it was his turn. It was his thank you.”
He nodded slightly, not expecting anything less noble. “For what it’s worth,” he said gruffly, “I’m glad he’s found someone else that he’d go to the ends of the earth for. And that the person would do the same for him.”
She ducked her head, avoiding his eye. “He’s your brother. I don’t want you to -”
“No, it’s okay,” Lincoln interrupted. “He’s my brother, yeah, but it doesn’t mean that others can’t be part of the family.”
Sara didn’t expect such a strong word as ‘family’ to come from his mouth, but she wasn’t one to fight it. In fact, as much as she didn’t want to admit it to Lincoln, it felt good. Because one of the few things she had in common with Lincoln was a lack of family, and neither of them was willing to give up on that one too easily.
A young, engrossed couple, speaking in vigorous Spanish, entered the courtyard and sat themselves down at one of the other tables, breaking the silence. Their loud presence made Lincoln raise his eyebrow. “We’d better get out of here.”
Sara nodded and stood. About to follow him out, she piped up. “Lincoln?”
He simply turned around to face her expectantly without uttering a word.
“Thanks.”
He knew it was a thank you, not for the help they’d given each other in bringing down the conspiracy, or for the plan working, but for his acceptance of her. Yet he shrugged, turning away once more. They had problems to solve, he didn’t have time to dwell.
She didn’t mind. It was enough for now.