It Will Be Okay
Title: It Will Be Okay
Author: domfangirl
Starring: Lincoln/Sofia, LJ, Michael, and Sucre, with mentions of Whistler and Susan Bitch Anthony.
Category: One-shot
Rating: PG-13 (for language and a little kissing)
Summary: Post episode for 3.05 thru 3.07 from Lincoln’s POV.
Author’s Notes: This is the fic where I tried to incorporate Halloween prompts (from pamalax's October Challenge) with my greatest fear (LJ getting killed). Hopefully I succeeded in the one, because I failed miserably on the other. Also this is the first piece I’m publishing after a long wallow in muse-desert, so any concrit is welcomed. No flames please, but small candles will be accepted. Thank you.
In a strange turn of events Lincoln Burrows sat in a car that was built for a much shorter person with a woman he barely knew and suddenly he remembered something he hadn’t thought about in years. It was the middle of June in the hottest fucking place he’d ever been, but Lincoln had a recollection of autumn leaves, and the touch of chill in the air, and his son-bright-eyed and smiling-standing over a pumpkin nearly as large as his 11-year-old body. “This one, Dad,” he’d said pointing enthusiastically. Then he’d dropped to the ground next to the gourd and hugged it, his skinny arms unable to fit the circumference.
Treacherous Panama faded away, and a pumpkin patch 20 miles outside of Chicago came into sharp focus. They had driven so far that day Lincoln worried it would be too dark to see any pumpkins once they got there, but the farm had huge floodlights, and he realized the pumpkin farmers were running a business, so of course they’d be able to see the merchandise with little problem.
“That’s a big one, buddy. Why not get one a little smaller? If it’s too big, the candle won’t be able to flicker behind its eyes, you know?” Lincoln said, rubbing his hand over the pumpkin LJ hugged.
“Oh,” LJ said, easing back. Lincoln expected an argument, but was pleasantly surprised as LJ eyed the giant gourd longingly for a moment before swiveling around to look at one behind him. Lincoln followed his son’s finger as he pointed to one that was still enormous, but considerably smaller than the one he’d just hugged. “How ‘bout that?” he asked, looking up at Lincoln before moving closer to it.
“That one might just be perfect,” Lincoln said.
He saw the moment’s hesitation on his son’s face before LJ committed. Then he dove towards the pumpkin with another big smile overtaking his face, wrapped his arms around it, and hugged it tightly. “Look, Dad, I can squeeze this one!”
Lincoln laughed and then leaned down to ‘help’ LJ pick it up. It was heavy, and he had a tough time getting a good grip on it himself, but he bit his lip and let LJ keep his hands on the pumpkin. He’d just gotten out of jail a few weeks before, and every step with LJ was tentative at best. He tried not to think that Lisa’s new boyfriend, Adrian, had anything to do with it, but since most of LJ’s sentences started out with, Adrian said… or Adrian thinks… he wasn’t really convincing himself too well.
He didn’t blame LJ for being mad that his father had been missing for six months on a stupid drug charge. LJ didn’t understand any of that, all he understood was Lincoln had missed his summer league soccer games and his birthday and in the meantime Lisa had gotten a new boyfriend who definitely wanted to win over the child as much as the mother.
After he paid for the pumpkin, they got it into the backseat of the car. Michael had been nice enough to let Lincoln borrow his car, since the junker Lincoln had had before he went into County lock-up wouldn’t start at all now that he was out of jail. Michael’s car was, of course, very nice and very expensive. The leather seats concerned Lincoln somewhat as LJ tore into the bag of candy he’d picked up as an early Halloween treat. The fact that he probably hoped that bag of candy would make LJ love him more than Adrian told Lincoln how desperate the situation had become. Driving 20 miles to a fucking pumpkin patch for ‘quality time’ with his son over just going to the grocery store and picking one up also displayed the lengths he was willing to go to show LJ he could be a good dad.
To show Michael, to show himself. To show them all.
“Be careful with that,” he warned, sliding into the driver’s seat. “If you get anything sticky on Uncle Mike’s seat, he’ll have a fit.”
LJ smiled as he stuck a sucker in his mouth. “That’s not true, Dad,” he said around the white stick. “Uncle Mike never gets mad,” he reasoned.
Lincoln started the car, saying nothing. That was true if you were the only nephew of Michael Scofield, not if you were his screw-up of a brother.
By the time they got back to Lincoln’s apartment, which he’d only moved into four days earlier (with Michael’s help), LJ was sugar high and giggling incessantly at everything Lincoln said. As they spread newspaper out on the kitchen floor and Lincoln cut into the top of the pumpkin with an 8-inch butcher knife, LJ stood by anxiously waiting to stick his hands inside the pumpkin.
“It’s so gross! But I can’t wait!” LJ enthused, jumping up and down excitedly.
Lincoln gripped the stem carefully and removed the top of the gourd. LJ thrust his hand down inside, his small arm disappearing all the way up to his elbow inside the pumpkin. He crowed loudly as he began pulling the innards out. Lincoln laughed, enjoying the scene so much more than he thought possible. LJ’s smile and LJ’s laughter had been missing from his life for six long months, and his heart squeezed so painfully that tears pricked his eyes.
“Linc?”
“Linc! Are you paying attention? Look!” He suddenly snapped back to reality, to the sun bearing down on him and Sofia as they sat in her car watching the activity around their escape route.
“What?” he asked, trying to see what had caught her eye.
Some uniformed men walked by, but as they observed carefully (and tried to not look like they were watching), it appeared to be a casual thing and not a perimeter check, to which Lincoln let loose a sigh of relief. They didn’t have much time to gather information about the area they planned to run through in broad daylight, but seeing anyone in a uniform definitely kicked his blood pressure up a notch after their run in with the police the day before.
Sofia breathed something in Spanish, words he didn’t understand, but the sentiment was clear. Relief and agitation mingled in the air between them. Reaching a hand over, he wrapped his fingers around her forearm. “It’s okay,” he said softly.
She didn’t turn her head towards him, but responded with, “It has to work. It just has to.”
Lincoln’s eyes fell shut in the absence of hope, but he clung to the image of LJ with his hands covered in pumpkin guts.
*
When Lincoln got back to the motel, he could hear Susan’s voice reverberating off his eardrums, You don’t want to make promises you can’t keep. God, he hated that bitch. He hated her so much that killing her today would have been the easiest thing he’d ever done, even easier than shooting the nameless man who’d climbed out of the van with her. Staring into LJ’s eyes while he did it and possibly watching his son’s head get blown off at the same moment had been what prevented him from succumbing, but his finger still twitched as if the trigger were still under it. Luckily, the gun was safely tucked into the back of his pants.
He punched the wall hard and then sank to the floor in front of it, kneeling brokenly while the pressure in his chest finally released itself. Sobbing breaths beat from his body while a montage of Michael’s face…LJ’s face…Michael’s face…LJ’s face swam before his eyes. He was alone because Sucre had taken his entirely demolished car to a body shop to see if it could be salvaged at all. Lincoln knew it was hopeless-just like everything about this situation-but he was thankful to be alone, if just briefly, for the opportunity to break down before he had to hold it all together again.
Before he had to go back to Sona; before he had to hope and pray Michael would even talk to him. He knew Michael would do anything for LJ, that wasn’t the problem, it never had been. He hadn’t told him because he knew it would devastate him, and while Lincoln’s focus had been getting LJ to safety, his priority had been keeping Michael on task, not allowing him to be diverted by the shattered heart that had stared out of his eyes before he’d turned and walked away. The terrifying finality of that walk haunted Lincoln. If Michael wouldn’t speak to him they might never fix this and his promise to LJ would be like every single phrase he’d ever uttered all of LJ’s life: meaningless, unbelievable, lies.
And if he couldn’t keep this promise to LJ, he doubted anything else he ever did would matter.
Suddenly, a hand slid over his shoulder and his head jerked up, automatically he reached for his gun, but Sofia’s soft voice said, “It’s just me, mijo.” Lincoln rounded on her anyway, spinning around on his knees and then jumping to his feet, though he didn’t pull his weapon out of his waistband.
“It’s just you,” he snarled, wiping at his wet cheeks with rough, angry hands. “Come to take your car back?” he snapped. As he looked down at her it unexpectedly occurred to him how much it had pissed him off-maybe even hurt him-that she had held him at gunpoint. He hadn’t been afraid of her, he’d just been bitterly disappointed that the one person he thought might actually be on the up and up in this whole mess proved she was just as duplicitous as he. The internalization of Michael’s betrayed eyes stared out of his own face for a split second, and looking at her made him so furious, he abruptly had his hand around her throat and he twisted them both sideways, shoving her against the wall forcefully.
A million thoughts flitted through his head, the names he could call her, the accusations he could toss at her, the frustrated anger that oozed beneath his skin spilling all over her. The image was too quickly in his head, and it turned irrevocably sexual as he stared down into her wide brown eyes. Her hands had wrapped around his wrist, trying to relieve his grip around her neck, but Lincoln realized he wasn’t holding her too tightly. Her skin was warm and soft under his palm, but squeezing her painfully wasn’t what he wanted. In a thunderous tumult of funneling emotion, he wanted to smooth his hands over her skin and brush his lips everywhere else, and feel some absolution, if ever there could be any. He didn’t think there could be, but she might taste good enough to make him believe it for a few stolen moments.
“Is your son…okay?” she asked, her fingers around his wrist no longer tugging against him, but instead digging in slightly as if tensing in anticipation of a negative answer.
Lincoln sagged, his shoulders slumping, and his hand loosened. He didn’t let her go, but she was no longer pinned to the wall. “He’s alive, for now,” he said lowly. “They didn’t make it out. I need to go to Sona and see what the hell happened.”
She stared up at him, and though she could have, she didn’t push away from the wall, or shove him back; if anything it felt like the distance between them was rapidly shrinking. Her lower lip trembled, and Lincoln’s whole world narrowed for a split second to just that. “I’m sorry about before,” she said shakily. “I think I made a big mistake. I just kept waiting for you to screw me over and-“
Lincoln’s lips fell over hers, stopping her words, and for all that she meant a figurative screwing, his body longed for the real thing. She gasped in surprise, and though everything inside him surged forward he gently probed at her lips with his tongue instead of thrusting it hungrily deep into her mouth. He rubbed his thumb down the length of her throat, and he felt the convulsive swallowing that indicated she wasn’t sure if she liked this or not.
Lincoln liked it. He liked it a lot. He opened his eyes as he raised his lips a hairs-breadth, not moving away from her, but trying to look like he was asking permission. He kept his eyes on hers even as he brushed her lips again with his own softly, delicately, and when she didn’t flinch away, he lost himself.
He lost himself in her softness for just a moment. The heat flared through him, burning away the shame of lying to Michael and the pain of being so close to saving his son, and the feel of Sara’s blood on his hands, and his father’s blood, and Veronica’s blood and Lisa’s blood and everyone who might yet die, including this beautiful girl who thought James Whistler was worth all the trouble she was going through.
Only Lincoln knew the truth, because he’d once been James Whistler. He’d once been the guy everyone wanted to rescue and it had turned into a shit storm that he now knew he’d never get clear of.
Just as her hands moved from his wrist to his shoulders, just as he began to feel her acceptance, or her offering, because maybe that’s all she was doing was giving him some comfort after her betrayal on the beach, Lincoln didn’t know, the doorknob rattled behind them and he remembered Sucre.
He pulled his mouth reluctantly away from hers just as Michael’s old cellmate came through the door, looking exhausted. He shook his head at Lincoln. “Totaled,” he announced, and just as Lincoln had suspected, the car Sucre had bought that morning was no more.
Lincoln glanced at Sofia, who stood staring at him with her fingers pressed against her lips. “I’ve got to go to the prison,” he muttered, walking out the door Sucre had just come through.
As he ran down the stairs, he vowed to himself, as there was no one around to hear him anyway. He would save LJ. He would make Michael listen to him somehow-assuming Michael would still listen. He would save his son, he would get his brother out of Sona, he would keep Sofia alive, and he would kill Susan Bitch Anthony, even if it was the last thing he ever did.
*
Four months later…
Lincoln would never guess that one day could make him feel so terrible, but as October 31 dawned in the tropics, he rolled from his stomach up on to his side in bed and knew he wouldn’t be able to get up and get moving. Not today.
The soft hand of the woman lying beside him smoothed over his bare shoulder. This caress had become her signature move, something that she couldn’t not do if she stood, or lay, as it were, behind him. He had come to count on that reassuring touch, and often felt it was the only thing that kept him grounded. Her lips followed the path of her fingers and she slid her arm around his middle section, pressing her face to the curve of his neck and shoulder. “Good morning,” she whispered, her voice still smoky from sleep.
Wrapping his hand around hers, he pressed her fingers into his belly. “Morning,” he gruffed back, the word hardly sounding like a greeting.
“It will be okay,” Sofia said, another thing she did with great regularity. Her resilience had to be in relation to realizing she had lost nothing the day Michael and Whistler escaped. It had turned out Whistler and Susan were working together, and as often as he’d reflected on it, Lincoln still couldn’t figure out why he’d been surprised. He had had the immense satisfaction of watching his brother shoot her at point blank range, however, and while it hadn’t given Michael the fulfillment he’d hoped for, it had been the right thing. After what she’d done to Sara and what she put LJ through, it had been as much as either of them could expect for redress. It wasn’t like anyone was going to see that justice was served. They’d had to do it themselves.
Michael had walked away after that, unable to look at Lincoln, or be around him in the wake of his betrayal.
On the one hand, Lincoln had understood; but on the other he’d wanted to choke the superiority out of his brother. LJ was his son; he’d had to do whatever it took to try to save him. He’d had no other choice, even if he’d wanted to make another one, even if he wanted to be as selfless as Michael was, he just couldn’t do it. He hadn’t been capable then, and he felt he was even less capable now. He’d lost as much as Michael, and he could see the similarities, but Michael could not, and until, if ever, that changed, he’d separated himself from them.
There was irony in the fact that they’d both chosen to stay in Panama, though far on the other side of the island away from Sona. They lived in close vicinity to each other and Sofia had seen Michael at the market various times throughout the last four months. Lincoln had stayed in Panama only because he didn’t have the energy to go elsewhere. When he’d found out his brother had also stayed, and that he was nearby he knew he’d stay forever if he had to, on the off chance that Michael might seek him out. Might forgive him. Might allow him to be a part of his life again. In case Michael needed him, though he doubted very much that would ever happen.
There were days, like this one, when Lincoln embraced more readily what a Godsend Sofia Lugo had been. He had been tempted many times to give up, but she would not let him. She wouldn’t even let him speak the words aloud because she believed if you put it out to the universe it was more likely to happen, so she only encouraged positive phrases like, “If you give Michael enough time, he will come to his senses.” He was not allowed to say, “He will never forgive me,” because Sofia reasoned that that simply wasn’t possible. They were hermanos, familia. In time, Michael would understand.
Now, as Lincoln lay wrapped in her arms in the bed they shared, he hoped that she would be enough to keep him going.
Sofia and his son. Even if Michael would never speak to him again, he had Sofia, and he had his son. Although, yesterday, for whatever reason, LJ had said he was going to Uncle Mike’s for a few days. There had been periodic visits, but lately, LJ had been going to Michael’s more regularly, and it made Lincoln not as miserable to hear the things LJ had to say when he came home. Michael had opened the dive shop, just like he’d planned. Michael was doing all right now, though the first couple months, LJ spoke about how much Michael had been drinking. Just thinking of his little brother trying to drown his sorrows was enough to make Lincoln want to do the same, but Sofia wouldn’t allow that either. She didn’t believe in Spirits, and after LJ told her some of Lincoln’s history, she was adamant that nothing, not even beer, should cross the threshold of their home.
Lincoln would have clobbered LJ over that one if he hadn’t been so glad his son hadn’t died in the gunfire that erupted the day of the escape. Whistler had gone down with multiple gunshot wounds to his chest, as had Susan, but his son had managed to free himself from the bindings around his wrists and ankles, which ultimately caused such a distraction that Michael, Lincoln and Sofia were also able to escape.
LJ was an amazing kid, and Lincoln could hardly blame him for enlisting Sofia’s help in keeping his father on the straight and narrow. And now, he counted on LJ to take care of Michael to a certain extent. Since he was the only family member Michael would accept contact from, Lincoln relied solely on LJ’s perceptions of the situation he observed, and his reports had gotten steadily better. Michael wasn’t willing to see Lincoln, but he wasn’t drinking himself to death anymore either. He had something to do with the dive shop, and yes he still mourned Sara, but he was living. He was still surviving, which is all they could hope for at this point.
“So,” Sofia’s lips moved against his ear. “Tell me again why this is an important holiday?”
Lincoln sighed heavily, pushing her back gently with his shoulder. Turning over to face her, he said, “It was just a fun day growing up, going out trick or treating. You said they do some Halloween stuff here, so you know what I mean.”
“Yes,” she said, nodding seriously as she propped herself up on his chest. Studying his face, she asked, “But why was it so special to you and Michael?”
Lincoln shook his head. “It’s nothing specific. It’s just, back then, when we were kids, it was fun. We had each other, and we would spend time picking out our costumes and then we’d get sick eating too much candy, and…” he shrugged. “It’s just…I just, miss it, you know?”
Sofia’s fingers moved through his hair, which was finally long enough to lay flat, before sliding down his cheek caressingly. “You just miss him. I think ‘Halloween’ is just an excuse.”
Lincoln shrugged again. “Maybe.”
Leaning close, Sofia rubbed her lips over his brow and then down his nose to his mouth. “It will be okay,” she repeated. Drawing back, she smiled softly. “I love you, you know.”
Lincoln’s throat closed off, just like it always did when she said those precious words. He nodded jerkily before pulling her into a hug.
*
“Dad?”
“Dad?!”
Lincoln’s head came up as LJ walked around the corner from the front of their house. Lincoln was in the back part of the driveway working on Sofia’s little convertible. She’d had tasks for him for today so he wouldn’t lie around feeling sorry for himself. God, he was thankful for her.
“Hey, you’re back!” Lincoln said a little over-enthusiastically when LJ spotted him and jogged the remaining distance separating them.
“I’m back,” his son said. “What’re you doing?” he asked, looking at the old sheet spread out on the ground under the car.
“Changing the oil,” Lincoln said. “Want to help?” Reaching out he put his hand on LJ’s shoulder, as if that would keep his son there to help with a chore that was supposed to keep Lincoln from dwelling on the sad things in his life.
“Not really,” LJ said cheekily, smiling. “But I will. Because you need to go for a walk.” LJ looked at the car. “I can probably figure it out, right? How hard is it?”
Lincoln laughed lowly. “No, you need me to help you do it. Every car is different. I’ll show you how, though.”
“No, you’re going for a walk,” LJ persisted. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Why would I go for a walk?” Lincoln asked quizzically.
“Because I’d like you to come with me, over to the dive shop,” a voice said as a tall, slender body stepped out from behind the near side of the house.
Lincoln looked past LJ to where his brother stood in a short-sleeved t-shirt. That was something LJ had mentioned a few weeks earlier, that Michael had stopped hiding his tattoo from inquiring eyes, and that a weight seemed to lift off him with that decision. Lincoln hadn’t had to think about it too hard. That tattoo represented Lincoln, and every time Michael looked at his own flesh he must have been repulsed by what he saw there.
Lincoln also knew exactly where Michael’s dive shop was, and he had been by it many times in the last six weeks, but never inside it. Now he was getting a personal invitation.
His eyes darted back to LJ, who stood looking up at him with both tears in his eyes and a smile on his face. He whispered, “Go, Dad.”
Before LJ said it, Lincoln heard it come out of his own mouth. “It will be okay.”
Author: domfangirl
Starring: Lincoln/Sofia, LJ, Michael, and Sucre, with mentions of Whistler and Susan Bitch Anthony.
Category: One-shot
Rating: PG-13 (for language and a little kissing)
Summary: Post episode for 3.05 thru 3.07 from Lincoln’s POV.
Author’s Notes: This is the fic where I tried to incorporate Halloween prompts (from pamalax's October Challenge) with my greatest fear (LJ getting killed). Hopefully I succeeded in the one, because I failed miserably on the other. Also this is the first piece I’m publishing after a long wallow in muse-desert, so any concrit is welcomed. No flames please, but small candles will be accepted. Thank you.
In a strange turn of events Lincoln Burrows sat in a car that was built for a much shorter person with a woman he barely knew and suddenly he remembered something he hadn’t thought about in years. It was the middle of June in the hottest fucking place he’d ever been, but Lincoln had a recollection of autumn leaves, and the touch of chill in the air, and his son-bright-eyed and smiling-standing over a pumpkin nearly as large as his 11-year-old body. “This one, Dad,” he’d said pointing enthusiastically. Then he’d dropped to the ground next to the gourd and hugged it, his skinny arms unable to fit the circumference.
Treacherous Panama faded away, and a pumpkin patch 20 miles outside of Chicago came into sharp focus. They had driven so far that day Lincoln worried it would be too dark to see any pumpkins once they got there, but the farm had huge floodlights, and he realized the pumpkin farmers were running a business, so of course they’d be able to see the merchandise with little problem.
“That’s a big one, buddy. Why not get one a little smaller? If it’s too big, the candle won’t be able to flicker behind its eyes, you know?” Lincoln said, rubbing his hand over the pumpkin LJ hugged.
“Oh,” LJ said, easing back. Lincoln expected an argument, but was pleasantly surprised as LJ eyed the giant gourd longingly for a moment before swiveling around to look at one behind him. Lincoln followed his son’s finger as he pointed to one that was still enormous, but considerably smaller than the one he’d just hugged. “How ‘bout that?” he asked, looking up at Lincoln before moving closer to it.
“That one might just be perfect,” Lincoln said.
He saw the moment’s hesitation on his son’s face before LJ committed. Then he dove towards the pumpkin with another big smile overtaking his face, wrapped his arms around it, and hugged it tightly. “Look, Dad, I can squeeze this one!”
Lincoln laughed and then leaned down to ‘help’ LJ pick it up. It was heavy, and he had a tough time getting a good grip on it himself, but he bit his lip and let LJ keep his hands on the pumpkin. He’d just gotten out of jail a few weeks before, and every step with LJ was tentative at best. He tried not to think that Lisa’s new boyfriend, Adrian, had anything to do with it, but since most of LJ’s sentences started out with, Adrian said… or Adrian thinks… he wasn’t really convincing himself too well.
He didn’t blame LJ for being mad that his father had been missing for six months on a stupid drug charge. LJ didn’t understand any of that, all he understood was Lincoln had missed his summer league soccer games and his birthday and in the meantime Lisa had gotten a new boyfriend who definitely wanted to win over the child as much as the mother.
After he paid for the pumpkin, they got it into the backseat of the car. Michael had been nice enough to let Lincoln borrow his car, since the junker Lincoln had had before he went into County lock-up wouldn’t start at all now that he was out of jail. Michael’s car was, of course, very nice and very expensive. The leather seats concerned Lincoln somewhat as LJ tore into the bag of candy he’d picked up as an early Halloween treat. The fact that he probably hoped that bag of candy would make LJ love him more than Adrian told Lincoln how desperate the situation had become. Driving 20 miles to a fucking pumpkin patch for ‘quality time’ with his son over just going to the grocery store and picking one up also displayed the lengths he was willing to go to show LJ he could be a good dad.
To show Michael, to show himself. To show them all.
“Be careful with that,” he warned, sliding into the driver’s seat. “If you get anything sticky on Uncle Mike’s seat, he’ll have a fit.”
LJ smiled as he stuck a sucker in his mouth. “That’s not true, Dad,” he said around the white stick. “Uncle Mike never gets mad,” he reasoned.
Lincoln started the car, saying nothing. That was true if you were the only nephew of Michael Scofield, not if you were his screw-up of a brother.
By the time they got back to Lincoln’s apartment, which he’d only moved into four days earlier (with Michael’s help), LJ was sugar high and giggling incessantly at everything Lincoln said. As they spread newspaper out on the kitchen floor and Lincoln cut into the top of the pumpkin with an 8-inch butcher knife, LJ stood by anxiously waiting to stick his hands inside the pumpkin.
“It’s so gross! But I can’t wait!” LJ enthused, jumping up and down excitedly.
Lincoln gripped the stem carefully and removed the top of the gourd. LJ thrust his hand down inside, his small arm disappearing all the way up to his elbow inside the pumpkin. He crowed loudly as he began pulling the innards out. Lincoln laughed, enjoying the scene so much more than he thought possible. LJ’s smile and LJ’s laughter had been missing from his life for six long months, and his heart squeezed so painfully that tears pricked his eyes.
“Linc?”
“Linc! Are you paying attention? Look!” He suddenly snapped back to reality, to the sun bearing down on him and Sofia as they sat in her car watching the activity around their escape route.
“What?” he asked, trying to see what had caught her eye.
Some uniformed men walked by, but as they observed carefully (and tried to not look like they were watching), it appeared to be a casual thing and not a perimeter check, to which Lincoln let loose a sigh of relief. They didn’t have much time to gather information about the area they planned to run through in broad daylight, but seeing anyone in a uniform definitely kicked his blood pressure up a notch after their run in with the police the day before.
Sofia breathed something in Spanish, words he didn’t understand, but the sentiment was clear. Relief and agitation mingled in the air between them. Reaching a hand over, he wrapped his fingers around her forearm. “It’s okay,” he said softly.
She didn’t turn her head towards him, but responded with, “It has to work. It just has to.”
Lincoln’s eyes fell shut in the absence of hope, but he clung to the image of LJ with his hands covered in pumpkin guts.
*
When Lincoln got back to the motel, he could hear Susan’s voice reverberating off his eardrums, You don’t want to make promises you can’t keep. God, he hated that bitch. He hated her so much that killing her today would have been the easiest thing he’d ever done, even easier than shooting the nameless man who’d climbed out of the van with her. Staring into LJ’s eyes while he did it and possibly watching his son’s head get blown off at the same moment had been what prevented him from succumbing, but his finger still twitched as if the trigger were still under it. Luckily, the gun was safely tucked into the back of his pants.
He punched the wall hard and then sank to the floor in front of it, kneeling brokenly while the pressure in his chest finally released itself. Sobbing breaths beat from his body while a montage of Michael’s face…LJ’s face…Michael’s face…LJ’s face swam before his eyes. He was alone because Sucre had taken his entirely demolished car to a body shop to see if it could be salvaged at all. Lincoln knew it was hopeless-just like everything about this situation-but he was thankful to be alone, if just briefly, for the opportunity to break down before he had to hold it all together again.
Before he had to go back to Sona; before he had to hope and pray Michael would even talk to him. He knew Michael would do anything for LJ, that wasn’t the problem, it never had been. He hadn’t told him because he knew it would devastate him, and while Lincoln’s focus had been getting LJ to safety, his priority had been keeping Michael on task, not allowing him to be diverted by the shattered heart that had stared out of his eyes before he’d turned and walked away. The terrifying finality of that walk haunted Lincoln. If Michael wouldn’t speak to him they might never fix this and his promise to LJ would be like every single phrase he’d ever uttered all of LJ’s life: meaningless, unbelievable, lies.
And if he couldn’t keep this promise to LJ, he doubted anything else he ever did would matter.
Suddenly, a hand slid over his shoulder and his head jerked up, automatically he reached for his gun, but Sofia’s soft voice said, “It’s just me, mijo.” Lincoln rounded on her anyway, spinning around on his knees and then jumping to his feet, though he didn’t pull his weapon out of his waistband.
“It’s just you,” he snarled, wiping at his wet cheeks with rough, angry hands. “Come to take your car back?” he snapped. As he looked down at her it unexpectedly occurred to him how much it had pissed him off-maybe even hurt him-that she had held him at gunpoint. He hadn’t been afraid of her, he’d just been bitterly disappointed that the one person he thought might actually be on the up and up in this whole mess proved she was just as duplicitous as he. The internalization of Michael’s betrayed eyes stared out of his own face for a split second, and looking at her made him so furious, he abruptly had his hand around her throat and he twisted them both sideways, shoving her against the wall forcefully.
A million thoughts flitted through his head, the names he could call her, the accusations he could toss at her, the frustrated anger that oozed beneath his skin spilling all over her. The image was too quickly in his head, and it turned irrevocably sexual as he stared down into her wide brown eyes. Her hands had wrapped around his wrist, trying to relieve his grip around her neck, but Lincoln realized he wasn’t holding her too tightly. Her skin was warm and soft under his palm, but squeezing her painfully wasn’t what he wanted. In a thunderous tumult of funneling emotion, he wanted to smooth his hands over her skin and brush his lips everywhere else, and feel some absolution, if ever there could be any. He didn’t think there could be, but she might taste good enough to make him believe it for a few stolen moments.
“Is your son…okay?” she asked, her fingers around his wrist no longer tugging against him, but instead digging in slightly as if tensing in anticipation of a negative answer.
Lincoln sagged, his shoulders slumping, and his hand loosened. He didn’t let her go, but she was no longer pinned to the wall. “He’s alive, for now,” he said lowly. “They didn’t make it out. I need to go to Sona and see what the hell happened.”
She stared up at him, and though she could have, she didn’t push away from the wall, or shove him back; if anything it felt like the distance between them was rapidly shrinking. Her lower lip trembled, and Lincoln’s whole world narrowed for a split second to just that. “I’m sorry about before,” she said shakily. “I think I made a big mistake. I just kept waiting for you to screw me over and-“
Lincoln’s lips fell over hers, stopping her words, and for all that she meant a figurative screwing, his body longed for the real thing. She gasped in surprise, and though everything inside him surged forward he gently probed at her lips with his tongue instead of thrusting it hungrily deep into her mouth. He rubbed his thumb down the length of her throat, and he felt the convulsive swallowing that indicated she wasn’t sure if she liked this or not.
Lincoln liked it. He liked it a lot. He opened his eyes as he raised his lips a hairs-breadth, not moving away from her, but trying to look like he was asking permission. He kept his eyes on hers even as he brushed her lips again with his own softly, delicately, and when she didn’t flinch away, he lost himself.
He lost himself in her softness for just a moment. The heat flared through him, burning away the shame of lying to Michael and the pain of being so close to saving his son, and the feel of Sara’s blood on his hands, and his father’s blood, and Veronica’s blood and Lisa’s blood and everyone who might yet die, including this beautiful girl who thought James Whistler was worth all the trouble she was going through.
Only Lincoln knew the truth, because he’d once been James Whistler. He’d once been the guy everyone wanted to rescue and it had turned into a shit storm that he now knew he’d never get clear of.
Just as her hands moved from his wrist to his shoulders, just as he began to feel her acceptance, or her offering, because maybe that’s all she was doing was giving him some comfort after her betrayal on the beach, Lincoln didn’t know, the doorknob rattled behind them and he remembered Sucre.
He pulled his mouth reluctantly away from hers just as Michael’s old cellmate came through the door, looking exhausted. He shook his head at Lincoln. “Totaled,” he announced, and just as Lincoln had suspected, the car Sucre had bought that morning was no more.
Lincoln glanced at Sofia, who stood staring at him with her fingers pressed against her lips. “I’ve got to go to the prison,” he muttered, walking out the door Sucre had just come through.
As he ran down the stairs, he vowed to himself, as there was no one around to hear him anyway. He would save LJ. He would make Michael listen to him somehow-assuming Michael would still listen. He would save his son, he would get his brother out of Sona, he would keep Sofia alive, and he would kill Susan Bitch Anthony, even if it was the last thing he ever did.
*
Four months later…
Lincoln would never guess that one day could make him feel so terrible, but as October 31 dawned in the tropics, he rolled from his stomach up on to his side in bed and knew he wouldn’t be able to get up and get moving. Not today.
The soft hand of the woman lying beside him smoothed over his bare shoulder. This caress had become her signature move, something that she couldn’t not do if she stood, or lay, as it were, behind him. He had come to count on that reassuring touch, and often felt it was the only thing that kept him grounded. Her lips followed the path of her fingers and she slid her arm around his middle section, pressing her face to the curve of his neck and shoulder. “Good morning,” she whispered, her voice still smoky from sleep.
Wrapping his hand around hers, he pressed her fingers into his belly. “Morning,” he gruffed back, the word hardly sounding like a greeting.
“It will be okay,” Sofia said, another thing she did with great regularity. Her resilience had to be in relation to realizing she had lost nothing the day Michael and Whistler escaped. It had turned out Whistler and Susan were working together, and as often as he’d reflected on it, Lincoln still couldn’t figure out why he’d been surprised. He had had the immense satisfaction of watching his brother shoot her at point blank range, however, and while it hadn’t given Michael the fulfillment he’d hoped for, it had been the right thing. After what she’d done to Sara and what she put LJ through, it had been as much as either of them could expect for redress. It wasn’t like anyone was going to see that justice was served. They’d had to do it themselves.
Michael had walked away after that, unable to look at Lincoln, or be around him in the wake of his betrayal.
On the one hand, Lincoln had understood; but on the other he’d wanted to choke the superiority out of his brother. LJ was his son; he’d had to do whatever it took to try to save him. He’d had no other choice, even if he’d wanted to make another one, even if he wanted to be as selfless as Michael was, he just couldn’t do it. He hadn’t been capable then, and he felt he was even less capable now. He’d lost as much as Michael, and he could see the similarities, but Michael could not, and until, if ever, that changed, he’d separated himself from them.
There was irony in the fact that they’d both chosen to stay in Panama, though far on the other side of the island away from Sona. They lived in close vicinity to each other and Sofia had seen Michael at the market various times throughout the last four months. Lincoln had stayed in Panama only because he didn’t have the energy to go elsewhere. When he’d found out his brother had also stayed, and that he was nearby he knew he’d stay forever if he had to, on the off chance that Michael might seek him out. Might forgive him. Might allow him to be a part of his life again. In case Michael needed him, though he doubted very much that would ever happen.
There were days, like this one, when Lincoln embraced more readily what a Godsend Sofia Lugo had been. He had been tempted many times to give up, but she would not let him. She wouldn’t even let him speak the words aloud because she believed if you put it out to the universe it was more likely to happen, so she only encouraged positive phrases like, “If you give Michael enough time, he will come to his senses.” He was not allowed to say, “He will never forgive me,” because Sofia reasoned that that simply wasn’t possible. They were hermanos, familia. In time, Michael would understand.
Now, as Lincoln lay wrapped in her arms in the bed they shared, he hoped that she would be enough to keep him going.
Sofia and his son. Even if Michael would never speak to him again, he had Sofia, and he had his son. Although, yesterday, for whatever reason, LJ had said he was going to Uncle Mike’s for a few days. There had been periodic visits, but lately, LJ had been going to Michael’s more regularly, and it made Lincoln not as miserable to hear the things LJ had to say when he came home. Michael had opened the dive shop, just like he’d planned. Michael was doing all right now, though the first couple months, LJ spoke about how much Michael had been drinking. Just thinking of his little brother trying to drown his sorrows was enough to make Lincoln want to do the same, but Sofia wouldn’t allow that either. She didn’t believe in Spirits, and after LJ told her some of Lincoln’s history, she was adamant that nothing, not even beer, should cross the threshold of their home.
Lincoln would have clobbered LJ over that one if he hadn’t been so glad his son hadn’t died in the gunfire that erupted the day of the escape. Whistler had gone down with multiple gunshot wounds to his chest, as had Susan, but his son had managed to free himself from the bindings around his wrists and ankles, which ultimately caused such a distraction that Michael, Lincoln and Sofia were also able to escape.
LJ was an amazing kid, and Lincoln could hardly blame him for enlisting Sofia’s help in keeping his father on the straight and narrow. And now, he counted on LJ to take care of Michael to a certain extent. Since he was the only family member Michael would accept contact from, Lincoln relied solely on LJ’s perceptions of the situation he observed, and his reports had gotten steadily better. Michael wasn’t willing to see Lincoln, but he wasn’t drinking himself to death anymore either. He had something to do with the dive shop, and yes he still mourned Sara, but he was living. He was still surviving, which is all they could hope for at this point.
“So,” Sofia’s lips moved against his ear. “Tell me again why this is an important holiday?”
Lincoln sighed heavily, pushing her back gently with his shoulder. Turning over to face her, he said, “It was just a fun day growing up, going out trick or treating. You said they do some Halloween stuff here, so you know what I mean.”
“Yes,” she said, nodding seriously as she propped herself up on his chest. Studying his face, she asked, “But why was it so special to you and Michael?”
Lincoln shook his head. “It’s nothing specific. It’s just, back then, when we were kids, it was fun. We had each other, and we would spend time picking out our costumes and then we’d get sick eating too much candy, and…” he shrugged. “It’s just…I just, miss it, you know?”
Sofia’s fingers moved through his hair, which was finally long enough to lay flat, before sliding down his cheek caressingly. “You just miss him. I think ‘Halloween’ is just an excuse.”
Lincoln shrugged again. “Maybe.”
Leaning close, Sofia rubbed her lips over his brow and then down his nose to his mouth. “It will be okay,” she repeated. Drawing back, she smiled softly. “I love you, you know.”
Lincoln’s throat closed off, just like it always did when she said those precious words. He nodded jerkily before pulling her into a hug.
*
“Dad?”
“Dad?!”
Lincoln’s head came up as LJ walked around the corner from the front of their house. Lincoln was in the back part of the driveway working on Sofia’s little convertible. She’d had tasks for him for today so he wouldn’t lie around feeling sorry for himself. God, he was thankful for her.
“Hey, you’re back!” Lincoln said a little over-enthusiastically when LJ spotted him and jogged the remaining distance separating them.
“I’m back,” his son said. “What’re you doing?” he asked, looking at the old sheet spread out on the ground under the car.
“Changing the oil,” Lincoln said. “Want to help?” Reaching out he put his hand on LJ’s shoulder, as if that would keep his son there to help with a chore that was supposed to keep Lincoln from dwelling on the sad things in his life.
“Not really,” LJ said cheekily, smiling. “But I will. Because you need to go for a walk.” LJ looked at the car. “I can probably figure it out, right? How hard is it?”
Lincoln laughed lowly. “No, you need me to help you do it. Every car is different. I’ll show you how, though.”
“No, you’re going for a walk,” LJ persisted. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Why would I go for a walk?” Lincoln asked quizzically.
“Because I’d like you to come with me, over to the dive shop,” a voice said as a tall, slender body stepped out from behind the near side of the house.
Lincoln looked past LJ to where his brother stood in a short-sleeved t-shirt. That was something LJ had mentioned a few weeks earlier, that Michael had stopped hiding his tattoo from inquiring eyes, and that a weight seemed to lift off him with that decision. Lincoln hadn’t had to think about it too hard. That tattoo represented Lincoln, and every time Michael looked at his own flesh he must have been repulsed by what he saw there.
Lincoln also knew exactly where Michael’s dive shop was, and he had been by it many times in the last six weeks, but never inside it. Now he was getting a personal invitation.
His eyes darted back to LJ, who stood looking up at him with both tears in his eyes and a smile on his face. He whispered, “Go, Dad.”
Before LJ said it, Lincoln heard it come out of his own mouth. “It will be okay.”