A Willing Sacrifice
Title: A Willing Sacrifice
Author: domfangirl
Starring: Sara, LJ, Gretchen (Michael/Sara)
Category: One-shot ficlet (660 words)
Rating: PG-13 (adult themes)
Summary: Sara's POV right before she dies.
Author’s Notes: I started thinking earlier today that I wanted to write something for stealmy_kiss who has a birthday coming up next week. She vacated the PB fandom sometime ago, so I wanted to write her some M/S as a kindness. Well, this is M/S, of a sort, but it went somewhere I didn't expect. So, I didn't write it to depress anyone, especially not her, but this is what happened. If you like it, I'm happy. If you don't, I'll Went picspam you next week, mmkay?
She remembers going to Pope to tell him about her suspicions. Michael was being abused by one of the guards, and she would have bet money it was Brad Bellick
She remembers placing a butterfly bandage over his eye and warning him that he was going to get himself killed. Michael had had the decency to look chagrined, but she had somehow known that wouldn’t prevent him from doing whatever he had planned.
She remembers the taste of him that morning, how he’d had the flavor of familiarity instead of discovery, and how that had tripped her heart almost as much as his pleading words, Wait for me. But Michael was a player, and she was convinced of that when her keys magically reappeared on her desk with his late afternoon arrival in the Infirmary.
She remembers the needle gliding under her skin and she hoped with the rush that followed it she could forget all the men who she had ever compromised her principles for, starting with her father. But Michael would not allow her to extinguish him as such, he had to cling in his detached sort of way with coded origami and phone calls that said nothing and everything all at once.
She remembers walking away from him in New Mexico only to realize that all her life she had been running towards this: towards something that mattered. Michael may have come to her in a falsely wrapped package, but she could no longer choose not to believe, not when Lance looked down the barrel of a gun at her.
She remembers stitching up her arm one piercing needle-stitch through her skin at a time and all the while she imagined Michael getting his toes cut off, or his flesh burning away on a scalding hot pipe, or the utter despair in his body as they strapped his brother into the Electric Chair. Michael had endured so much, and so could she.
She remembers how he looked at her as he cupped her face in his hands and said, “I’m going to do whatever I can to help you. Okay?” And then he gave himself for her, just as he had for his brother. That was when she knew just how much he loved her.
Lifting her eyes up, she looks into the face of the woman who has been tormenting her for five long days with promises of retribution if Michael or Lincoln fail to do as they are told. She knows what is about to happen, and the only thing she asks for is that LJ be removed from the room before it does.
“We can do that,” the woman says, her voice casual but determined. Her piercing eyes are empty of any emotion except inevitability.
“No! No, I don’t want to go anywhere!” LJ cries.
“LJ,” Sara says, her voice devoid of the trembling sound she was certain it would make. “You walk out of this room, and you survive, and you tell your uncle that I love him, and that I died so you could live. He will understand that.” He has to understand that.
Tears run down LJ’s cheeks, but he stops fighting the man who had grabbed him by the rope that held his wrists prised together. Sara stares hard into his eyes-eyes that remind her so much more of his uncle than his father-and LJ swallows loudly, nodding his head to show her that he understands.
“I’ll tell him,” LJ says.
When the door closes behind Michael’s nephew, Sara lets her eyes fall shut. She offers silent words to a God she isn’t sure exists but knows she will soon learn the truth about firsthand. If my death means his survival, I give it willingly, she thinks, and a weightless peace flows over her. She wonders if this is how Michael feels when he gives up everything for those that he loves.
When white light envelopes her, she remembers his smile.
Author: domfangirl
Starring: Sara, LJ, Gretchen (Michael/Sara)
Category: One-shot ficlet (660 words)
Rating: PG-13 (adult themes)
Summary: Sara's POV right before she dies.
Author’s Notes: I started thinking earlier today that I wanted to write something for stealmy_kiss who has a birthday coming up next week. She vacated the PB fandom sometime ago, so I wanted to write her some M/S as a kindness. Well, this is M/S, of a sort, but it went somewhere I didn't expect. So, I didn't write it to depress anyone, especially not her, but this is what happened. If you like it, I'm happy. If you don't, I'll Went picspam you next week, mmkay?
She remembers going to Pope to tell him about her suspicions. Michael was being abused by one of the guards, and she would have bet money it was Brad Bellick
She remembers placing a butterfly bandage over his eye and warning him that he was going to get himself killed. Michael had had the decency to look chagrined, but she had somehow known that wouldn’t prevent him from doing whatever he had planned.
She remembers the taste of him that morning, how he’d had the flavor of familiarity instead of discovery, and how that had tripped her heart almost as much as his pleading words, Wait for me. But Michael was a player, and she was convinced of that when her keys magically reappeared on her desk with his late afternoon arrival in the Infirmary.
She remembers the needle gliding under her skin and she hoped with the rush that followed it she could forget all the men who she had ever compromised her principles for, starting with her father. But Michael would not allow her to extinguish him as such, he had to cling in his detached sort of way with coded origami and phone calls that said nothing and everything all at once.
She remembers walking away from him in New Mexico only to realize that all her life she had been running towards this: towards something that mattered. Michael may have come to her in a falsely wrapped package, but she could no longer choose not to believe, not when Lance looked down the barrel of a gun at her.
She remembers stitching up her arm one piercing needle-stitch through her skin at a time and all the while she imagined Michael getting his toes cut off, or his flesh burning away on a scalding hot pipe, or the utter despair in his body as they strapped his brother into the Electric Chair. Michael had endured so much, and so could she.
She remembers how he looked at her as he cupped her face in his hands and said, “I’m going to do whatever I can to help you. Okay?” And then he gave himself for her, just as he had for his brother. That was when she knew just how much he loved her.
Lifting her eyes up, she looks into the face of the woman who has been tormenting her for five long days with promises of retribution if Michael or Lincoln fail to do as they are told. She knows what is about to happen, and the only thing she asks for is that LJ be removed from the room before it does.
“We can do that,” the woman says, her voice casual but determined. Her piercing eyes are empty of any emotion except inevitability.
“No! No, I don’t want to go anywhere!” LJ cries.
“LJ,” Sara says, her voice devoid of the trembling sound she was certain it would make. “You walk out of this room, and you survive, and you tell your uncle that I love him, and that I died so you could live. He will understand that.” He has to understand that.
Tears run down LJ’s cheeks, but he stops fighting the man who had grabbed him by the rope that held his wrists prised together. Sara stares hard into his eyes-eyes that remind her so much more of his uncle than his father-and LJ swallows loudly, nodding his head to show her that he understands.
“I’ll tell him,” LJ says.
When the door closes behind Michael’s nephew, Sara lets her eyes fall shut. She offers silent words to a God she isn’t sure exists but knows she will soon learn the truth about firsthand. If my death means his survival, I give it willingly, she thinks, and a weightless peace flows over her. She wonders if this is how Michael feels when he gives up everything for those that he loves.
When white light envelopes her, she remembers his smile.