Prison Break - Papis
Title: Papis
Author: clair-de-lune
Fandom: Prison Break
Characters: Michael, Sucre. Mentions of Sara, Lincoln, Maricuz, Michael Jr., Lila (Michael/Sara, Sucre/Maricuz)
Category: Gen
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~ 790
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: Fernando has Papi’s back, and vice-versa. (Post-series, non-epilogue compliant.)
Author’s Note: This is Fic #1 for foxriverinmate’s donation for qldfloodauction. She asked for Michael and Sucre friendship fic, something happy and upbeat. Many thanks to msgenevieve for the beta.
They both need a walking stick these days. Michael says that, as far as he’s concerned, it’s only because the missing toes on his left foot tend to make him lose his balance.
They both need the five o’clock afternoon sun to warm up their old bones. Michael says it’s only because, after all the years spent around here, they’ve got used to it.
They both need to sit at a table in the cooler shadows of the small café they like so much, less for the beer or the coffee they might order and more for the need to rest a moment before they turn around and go back home to Sara and Maricruz. Michael says it’s because the five o’clock afternoon sun, no matter how much you get used to it, is always a bit harsh on you.
Fernando says that Michael always has a good explanation for everything. He rolls with them even though he’s not as naïve as he used to be and can see the flaws in his friend’s twisted logic. He thinks Michael knows this and keeps doing it anyway, just messing with Fernando’s head for the pure and unadulterated pleasure of messing with Fernando’s head. It’s okay. Fernando’s had about forty years to learn how to deal and put up with this crap. As weird, as it sounds, it’s a bond between them - one of the many bonds between them - something that is theirs alone. Some things belong only to the two of them, with no wives, brother, kids or - help him God - grandkids allowed.
It stretches back so many years, Fernando almost loses count.
The number of times Michael mentioned Maricruz in order to bait and lure Fernando into do what he needed him to do back in Fox River.
The never ending minutes - or was it hours? - Michael spent by his side in the choppy water of that river in Arizona.
Fernando teaching Michael that, in Spanish, passion has only one S and no more H than in English.
Michael, half happy, half freaking out, blue-squinting at his fifteen year-old son because he suspected that Mikey and Lila were doing things together. And they totally were, just not those kinds of things - “Please, get your mind out of the gutter, for God’s sake, Dad!” That said, those things Michael was imagining wouldn’t have cost them to be grounded for a couple of weeks. What the two little punks had been doing, though, did.
Fernando sitting half the morning looking at en empty room on Lila’s first day of school and, years later, crying (just a little bit, ‘kay?) the night before her wedding.
Michael tracking down Maricruz and sweet-talking her into coming back home because, yes, Fernando had messed up, but he had learned his lesson and wouldn’t be that stupid again. Michael would make sure of it.
The fact that Fernando had been the one to peel that melted shirt from Michael’s burnt back, almost half a century ago. Sure, technically it doesn’t qualify since Linc knows, but Fernando is never going to confess to Sara. It’s not that he’s afraid of her, not after so many years. It’s just that, well, Sara has those brown eyes so warm and kind, but that can turn so hard and cold that you feel your nuts shrivel in your pants. No matter how much she may understand, he’s not quite willing to take the risk. Especially since she doesn’t need a stick to walk; she’s much faster than him.
Something else Fernando is not going to tell to Sara, this time for Michael’s sake, is that the twenty-something waitress of their neat café coos, “You’re so cute” to her husband on a weekly basis. What the young lady means is, “You’re such a cute old gentleman,” but also “You have that small smirk and those blue eyes that make me wish just a little bit that you were forty years younger.”
Fernando has Papi’s back, and vice-versa. Has had his back since Day One. Well, maybe not Day One, but Day Two or Three at the latest. He still can’t explain it, this easy and quiet friendship between them.
Because it was him, because it was me. He had read that sentence once; it had been written by a philosopher trying to describe the deep friendship that bound him to another man, a poet, and... Okay, okay, Sara had read it to him once, both fake innocence and true affection warming her tone. Sara has their number alright, him and Michael.
Anyway, he can’t even remember that brainy guy’s name, the one who wrote those words, but that’s not the point. That simple sentence, acknowledging the mystery and making it its own explanation? Totally fitting.
-Fin-
End note: I realize most people won’t get it, but the title kind of works on two levels for me since ‘Papi’ is also the French word for ‘Grandpa’ - and more generally it can informally, kindly or not, describe an old gentleman.
--Feedback is always welcome :)
Author: clair-de-lune
Fandom: Prison Break
Characters: Michael, Sucre. Mentions of Sara, Lincoln, Maricuz, Michael Jr., Lila (Michael/Sara, Sucre/Maricuz)
Category: Gen
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~ 790
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: Fernando has Papi’s back, and vice-versa. (Post-series, non-epilogue compliant.)
Author’s Note: This is Fic #1 for foxriverinmate’s donation for qldfloodauction. She asked for Michael and Sucre friendship fic, something happy and upbeat. Many thanks to msgenevieve for the beta.
They both need a walking stick these days. Michael says that, as far as he’s concerned, it’s only because the missing toes on his left foot tend to make him lose his balance.
They both need the five o’clock afternoon sun to warm up their old bones. Michael says it’s only because, after all the years spent around here, they’ve got used to it.
They both need to sit at a table in the cooler shadows of the small café they like so much, less for the beer or the coffee they might order and more for the need to rest a moment before they turn around and go back home to Sara and Maricruz. Michael says it’s because the five o’clock afternoon sun, no matter how much you get used to it, is always a bit harsh on you.
Fernando says that Michael always has a good explanation for everything. He rolls with them even though he’s not as naïve as he used to be and can see the flaws in his friend’s twisted logic. He thinks Michael knows this and keeps doing it anyway, just messing with Fernando’s head for the pure and unadulterated pleasure of messing with Fernando’s head. It’s okay. Fernando’s had about forty years to learn how to deal and put up with this crap. As weird, as it sounds, it’s a bond between them - one of the many bonds between them - something that is theirs alone. Some things belong only to the two of them, with no wives, brother, kids or - help him God - grandkids allowed.
It stretches back so many years, Fernando almost loses count.
The number of times Michael mentioned Maricruz in order to bait and lure Fernando into do what he needed him to do back in Fox River.
The never ending minutes - or was it hours? - Michael spent by his side in the choppy water of that river in Arizona.
Fernando teaching Michael that, in Spanish, passion has only one S and no more H than in English.
Michael, half happy, half freaking out, blue-squinting at his fifteen year-old son because he suspected that Mikey and Lila were doing things together. And they totally were, just not those kinds of things - “Please, get your mind out of the gutter, for God’s sake, Dad!” That said, those things Michael was imagining wouldn’t have cost them to be grounded for a couple of weeks. What the two little punks had been doing, though, did.
Fernando sitting half the morning looking at en empty room on Lila’s first day of school and, years later, crying (just a little bit, ‘kay?) the night before her wedding.
Michael tracking down Maricruz and sweet-talking her into coming back home because, yes, Fernando had messed up, but he had learned his lesson and wouldn’t be that stupid again. Michael would make sure of it.
The fact that Fernando had been the one to peel that melted shirt from Michael’s burnt back, almost half a century ago. Sure, technically it doesn’t qualify since Linc knows, but Fernando is never going to confess to Sara. It’s not that he’s afraid of her, not after so many years. It’s just that, well, Sara has those brown eyes so warm and kind, but that can turn so hard and cold that you feel your nuts shrivel in your pants. No matter how much she may understand, he’s not quite willing to take the risk. Especially since she doesn’t need a stick to walk; she’s much faster than him.
Something else Fernando is not going to tell to Sara, this time for Michael’s sake, is that the twenty-something waitress of their neat café coos, “You’re so cute” to her husband on a weekly basis. What the young lady means is, “You’re such a cute old gentleman,” but also “You have that small smirk and those blue eyes that make me wish just a little bit that you were forty years younger.”
Fernando has Papi’s back, and vice-versa. Has had his back since Day One. Well, maybe not Day One, but Day Two or Three at the latest. He still can’t explain it, this easy and quiet friendship between them.
Because it was him, because it was me. He had read that sentence once; it had been written by a philosopher trying to describe the deep friendship that bound him to another man, a poet, and... Okay, okay, Sara had read it to him once, both fake innocence and true affection warming her tone. Sara has their number alright, him and Michael.
Anyway, he can’t even remember that brainy guy’s name, the one who wrote those words, but that’s not the point. That simple sentence, acknowledging the mystery and making it its own explanation? Totally fitting.
-Fin-
End note: I realize most people won’t get it, but the title kind of works on two levels for me since ‘Papi’ is also the French word for ‘Grandpa’ - and more generally it can informally, kindly or not, describe an old gentleman.
--Feedback is always welcome :)