How Michael is Like Lincoln
A/N: Written for foxriverinmate who is rumored to be having a tough time, but finds consolation in reading about Michael in handcuffs. Just doing my part to help :D
When he’d watched Lincoln walk in cuffs, it hadn’t been the same. Somehow Linc was still poised, almost regal, when he was confined. Michael supposed it was the ramrod-straightness of his spine and the angle of his chin, proudly tipped just slightly forward.
He found that the rattling, clanging sound of the cuffs around his own body distracted him. It made him walk like a crab, scuttling along goofily.
He remembered Linc always teasing him about his long legs and arms, especially before he’d filled out. He’d called him ‘String Bean’ for quite a while, though luckily the nickname hadn’t stuck permanently.
His long arms and legs made the cuffs around his ankles and wrists that much more annoying.
The humiliation had to be a part of the design; why else would they force you to walk long distances in shackles that joined your feet, your hands and your waist, three portions of your body that should never be connected?
He raised his head, determined to walk with pride, like his brother had. He didn’t walk into Fox River an innocent man condemned to death, but a brother risking everything for the man who was innocent. There was pride in that. There was pride in knowing you fought for the right side.
There was reason to emulate Lincoln like never before.
[And one of my favorite pics of the boys....]
When he’d watched Lincoln walk in cuffs, it hadn’t been the same. Somehow Linc was still poised, almost regal, when he was confined. Michael supposed it was the ramrod-straightness of his spine and the angle of his chin, proudly tipped just slightly forward.
He found that the rattling, clanging sound of the cuffs around his own body distracted him. It made him walk like a crab, scuttling along goofily.
He remembered Linc always teasing him about his long legs and arms, especially before he’d filled out. He’d called him ‘String Bean’ for quite a while, though luckily the nickname hadn’t stuck permanently.
His long arms and legs made the cuffs around his ankles and wrists that much more annoying.
The humiliation had to be a part of the design; why else would they force you to walk long distances in shackles that joined your feet, your hands and your waist, three portions of your body that should never be connected?
He raised his head, determined to walk with pride, like his brother had. He didn’t walk into Fox River an innocent man condemned to death, but a brother risking everything for the man who was innocent. There was pride in that. There was pride in knowing you fought for the right side.
There was reason to emulate Lincoln like never before.
[And one of my favorite pics of the boys....]