Password to Redemption
Title: Password to Redemption
Author: domfangirl
Starring: Michael, Sara, Kellerman
Category: One-shot
Rating: PG
Summary:Post episode fic for The Message, Chicago, Bad Blood, and Sona.
Author’s Notes: Written for the pbfic_exchange2 from mrs_spleen’s prompt of “jealousy between Michael/Sara/Kellerman.” Betaed by the ever-weary halfshellvenus and is WAY better because of it.
Once the car had been in motion, and St. Thomas Hospital was in their rearview mirror, he’d asked, "Did you talk to Sara?"
Michael had noted that he was called Scofield, and Linc was called Burrows, but when asking about Sara, Kellerman had used her first name. There had been a familiarity in his tone Michael hadn't liked, so he hadn't answered directly. He'd just given a vague pronouncement about how everything would be over within a few days one way or another.
Kellerman's reply of "Absolutely," had preceded an explanation of how he knew Sara, and Michael's blood had run alternately hot and cold. He had sensed there was more to the story, but he hadn't asked questions; in fact, it was Lincoln who’d drilled the Secret Service Agent from his position in the front seat and an eventual heated argument erupted briefly before silence reigned.
And though Michael had fully expected things to end in one fashion or another, he hadn't expected it to come in the form of Sara trying to strangle Kellerman barely two hours into their train journey back to Chicago.
Pulling her off of him required all of Michael's strength, and his surprise that it took so much to control her made him realize then that whatever had happened had been beyond traumatic. Kellerman had obviously glossed over the hostage situation, but Sara even had cut off questions with "he left me for dead," when Michael had prodded her as to what had happened.
Of course, Michael had already stood next to Lincoln as he threatened to kill Paul Kellerman, so the man apparently provoked this response in people all the time.
"You get one of those," Kellerman said vehemently. "You get one of those! One!" He stood holding his neck at the opposite end of the train car and when the conductor opened the door, he barked, "Down!" and Michael, Lincoln, and Sara reacted like trained dogs.
Michael couldn't hear what was said to keep people out of their train car, but when Kellerman came back, he was still massaging his throat and issuing empty threats. Michael wondered what would happen if they spent too much time with this man-if he too might lose control like Lincoln and Sara and try to end Kellerman's life. He'd been ready to hurt him based on the scant information Sara had given him earlier, but actually taking someone’s life was something he'd thought about in Fox River, and he hoped he never had to face it. Murder had to be the line in the sand he did not cross.
He thought it would probably be better if he never knew the details of what exactly had happened to Sara at the hands of Paul Kellerman.
*
Sara sat alone in the cramped bathroom, swaying with the movement of the train. Her heart pounded and her hands trembled, but in truth her only regret was that Lincoln had woken up and that Michael had returned so quickly, interrupting something she was bound to have the strength for only once.
She'd wanted to see Paul Kellerman simply crumple, his sightless eyes unable to mock her, his slack lips never curving into a smirk ever again.
The rage had frightened her with its intensity. She knew its cause had funneled from Michael through her father and now into her. It had become her fight the moment Frank Tancredi's lifeless body had been removed from the Governor's mansion. Michael and Lincoln had started it, but she would stand with them to finish it.
She just had to hope that Paul Kellerman's penance would finally come, but she also had to accept that it would most likely not be at her hands, literally or figuratively. She doubted he could feel the true remorse she wanted him to feel, but extinguishing his life meant there was no chance he ever would. She paused to acknowledge the times in her own life when she hadn’t cared at all about how her actions affected other people, but somehow she couldn't reconcile junkie behavior with that of a sociopath. She saw definite parallels in the actions Paul Kellerman had taken against her and those things she had gleaned about Theodore Bagwell while at Fox River. While Kellerman's psychosis didn't involve children or sex acts, Sara had no doubt the unhinged consciences in both men were similar at their core.
She shivered at the thought; she had escaped death at his hands, but the nagging doubt she sometimes felt was that he had let her escape. How many people effectively killed someone by leaving them alone in a room?
When Michael knocked on the bathroom door, she sent him away. She couldn’t talk to him now when she could still feel Paul’s frantic struggles under her fingers. Scraping away the portion of her rage that involved the betrayal of the first new friend she'd made in years proved difficult. When he'd said, "It was never personal, Sara," she'd felt as if that somehow made it even more so. His denial was like acid in her still-healing wounds.
She didn't imagine T-Bag had had any mercy, not ever. Yet, now in this small cubicle of a restroom, Sara had began to see Paul's mercy. She also heard Lincoln's voice from minutes before they boarded the train, rumbling comfortingly in her ear, "Use him to get what we need, then we dump him." That was about all the mercy Sara felt she herself could extend.
Michael returned a few minutes later, and she let him come inside. She wasn’t healed, but she thought maybe it was time to make him understand why she was here.
*
Paul stared down Burrows until his opponent finally turned away and took a seat facing the opposite direction. He briefly watched the passing landscape before his eyes closed wearily, and a question crossed his mind regarding how long it had been since either of the fugitives had slept. They both looked worse for wear, but in the two days he'd been with them, he'd never seen either of them surrender in any way.
In fact, between Burrows planting an elbow in his ear and a gun in his face and Scofield slamming him up against the wall after they'd procured Sara, Paul wasn't sure they even required sleep. All they needed to fuel them was their righteous anger.
And yet, they were bigger criminals than he could ever be.
Something distinctly like jealousy had erupted in Paul's chest as he watched Scofield embrace Sara. She had pressed herself against him without hesitation, and even from fifty feet away, Paul had seen the comfort pass between them.
He knew now why he hadn't killed her. Some small part of him wanted that-what he'd seen between her and Scofield-but the fact of the matter was that his desire for a woman was what had gotten him into this mess to begin with. Sure, he'd been a patriot, and a decorated soldier like Paul Kellerman would never bypass an opportunity to further his nation, and Caroline Reynolds had held that out in front of him the way handlers fed sugar cubes to show ponies-just to get them to do whatever they wanted. He'd gone along with it for as many years as he had because it was also what he’d wanted. He’d wanted her to be the President, he’d wanted her to succeed, he’d wanted to see her in a position of power and all the thanks he’d ever needed was the knowledge that he had helped get her there.
Paul had never imagined she'd take the small victory he wanted away from him by cutting him off at the knees.
Absentmindedly, he rubbed his fingers against his throat. Sara had tried to kill him. She'd looked him right in the eye and then tried to kill him.
There was something about that he found thrilling. Caroline would never have had the guts to do that.
He felt certain now, that of the two of them, Sara was the better choice.
*
Sitting in the car with Sara, alone with her really for the first time ever (unless you counted those harried minutes on the pipes at Fox River, or stolen kisses in bathrooms-which he didn't), Michael wished that it were any other situation. He wished that the simple gesture of their hands joining didn't mean anything more than what those first tentative touches in a new relationship should. But the underlying tension that neither he nor Sara acknowledged as Henry Pope walked into the cigar club included the possibility that this wasn't just the only time they might hold hands, it might be one of the only times they would ever be alone together.
If the proof they needed existed, he'd go back to jail, willingly. If it didn't exist, he would be on the run for the rest of his life, and she’d already made it clear she wasn't keen on that idea. Although her response to the invitation might be a little different now than it had been then, in the blistering heat of Gila, New Mexico.
Sara's thumb stroked over his palm in a soft, cool caress so characteristic of her. He found it hard to believe he’d met her less than two months ago, and yet here she was, joining this fight with him. She’d endured so much already, pain and aggravation that he couldn’t handle knowing about, yet she was here with him. She loved him and he loved her, and the rest of it might not even have to work itself out because it might be ending here and now right in this car. But at least if he did have to leave her, he was leaving her with Linc. There was no way Linc would ever let Kellerman hurt her again.
"In case I never get to take you for that Filet Mignon..." he said, restarting their conversation.
Turning her head back towards him, her hand tightened on his, and she shook her head. "Don't," she cautioned.
"I was just going to say, don't kill Kellerman. I mean, if you get another chance, just leave him high and dry, don't try to kill him. I think always having to keep an eye out for his enemies is as close to torturing him as we'll ever get. There's a long line of people, we just happen to be standing at the front of it right now."
"You're serious?" she asked, her voice tight with incredulity.
"Very serious," he confirmed.
"You can say anything in the world to me right now, and you choose to tell me not to commit murder?"
Her lips twitched, and Michael felt relieved to realize she was teasing him again. "Well, a guy's got to look out for his girl. You know, be the voice of reason."
"Mmm-hmm," she murmured, her lips kicking up into a half-smile. "I promise I won't kill him, whatever happens."
"Good," Michael said, squeezing her hand in return.
"But I will leave him somewhere, just hanging, the sooner, the better," she said, turning her eyes back towards the sidewalk where Henry had disappeared.
Michael's cell phone rang then, which meant Lincoln could see the ex-warden walking into the Corona de Oro Club. He hoped this signaled the beginning of the end.
*
Though Sara knew she would constantly be looking for that moment when they could finally rid themselves of Kellerman, she had no idea it would present itself within ten minutes of the deal she’d made with Michael.
Everything happened so fast after Michael spun the wheel and they careened towards the man who was thwarting Henry’s return to them. After the impact of the jeep sent him flying away from Henry, and Michael yelled, “Get in!” he himself was simultaneously jumping out of the car as Henry climbed into it, urgently shouting Lincoln’s name. Lincoln finished punching the little man who was sprawled on the ground before turning back towards the car. A gunshot sounded as Paul took out the other guy who was running towards them with his weapon drawn. Then Lincoln ran around to Michael’s side of the jeep, and Sara saw Kellerman running towards her side. She waited until he was right there, his hand stretched out to the door handle and then she shoved the lock down viciously. Her eyes met his and he called her name, but his voice was muffled by the glass between them. She stared hard at him until Michael hit the gas and whisked them away, forcing Kellerman to let go of the door handle.
She took a deep breath, and felt her own humanity leak away. She didn’t care what happened to him; she only cared that Henry had gotten what they needed. It was obviously important, otherwise they wouldn’t have had race away from the scene.
When Lincoln’s hand reached over and squeezed her forearm, her eyes lifted to his. He only nodded at her, his lips moving marginally into a grimace that might have bordered on a smile, except that his blue eyes were so very serious. He approved, he silently told her, and Sara felt her heart swell a little. She let her own lips curve into a smile, and then she glanced away because she couldn’t continue to look at him and not somehow blurt out what was about to happen.
Michael had made a deal, one that she couldn’t imagine Lincoln would be okay with. She wasn’t okay with it either, but she’d been in no position to argue with him about it in front of Henry and later, when they’d had a few moments alone, she couldn’t bear to have that become their topic of conversation. It hurt too much, and she couldn’t deal with the loss any sooner than she had to.
The next day when she climbed from the jeep and put her hands up in surrender, she understood just why Michael had made that deal. Her gratitude that he had gone free somehow would make her own incarceration easier to endure.
*
Paul Kellerman cleaned his service revolver with the care of an artist. Each delicate curve and angle had to shimmer pristinely, and he wanted it to be perfect. He wanted each thought that went through his head to be obliterated, just as his career and his fight and his victory had been.
He wanted that person-to-person contact, something akin to the way Sara had walked into Scofield’s arms so easily, as though she belonged there. But he would never have that, and even if he did, it could never set right the miles of carnage that lay behind him.
That he even felt regret was so foreign to him that it caused the only plausible solution-his gun to his temple, and silence afterwards.
Total silence: no recrimination in the form of voices in his head or brown eyes that judged him through clear glass.
He hated Sara Tancredi because he suspected something about her had stripped away everything he believed about himself.
He assumed that she had given herself up for Scofield, and that left him emptier than seeing Caroline resign the Office of the President.
He was unsure of how much time passed between his failed attempt at suicide and when Kristine pulled his gun from his limp fingers and hugged him tightly, but whatever had been lurking in his heart seemed to gush forward like a broken dam of emotion. He’d thought about Kristine many times in the years between leaving home and killing for the President of the United States, but he’d never thought to contact her until after Sara Tancredi had purposely locked him out of the getaway car she’d sat in.
She’d driven away with Scofield, so Paul had planned to get his name in the history books next to other famous assassins. When he couldn’t do that, the noise in his head had simply provoked him to end it all.
When that didn’t happen-when his gun couldn’t even be relied on when he needed it most-he called his sister so she could tell him to do what he’d wanted to do all along.
Save Sara Tancredi.
(So she could run away with Michael Scofield.)
As they cuffed him in the courtroom, he thought perhaps some small measure of respect entered her solemn eyes as Sara turned around to look at him. “I literally don’t even know what to say to you,” she said, and he imagined up until this point she had had many things to say to him, all of which he’d never have the pleasure of hearing, even though he was certain they were diatribes. But that was Sara, honest and serene, in some ironic twist of fate.
“It was good knowing you, Sara,” he said, and he knew she could never know how sincerely he meant those words.
He knew when they came for him it would be her name and her freedom that would make him take the bullets with a smile.
Author: domfangirl
Starring: Michael, Sara, Kellerman
Category: One-shot
Rating: PG
Summary:Post episode fic for The Message, Chicago, Bad Blood, and Sona.
Author’s Notes: Written for the pbfic_exchange2 from mrs_spleen’s prompt of “jealousy between Michael/Sara/Kellerman.” Betaed by the ever-weary halfshellvenus and is WAY better because of it.
Once the car had been in motion, and St. Thomas Hospital was in their rearview mirror, he’d asked, "Did you talk to Sara?"
Michael had noted that he was called Scofield, and Linc was called Burrows, but when asking about Sara, Kellerman had used her first name. There had been a familiarity in his tone Michael hadn't liked, so he hadn't answered directly. He'd just given a vague pronouncement about how everything would be over within a few days one way or another.
Kellerman's reply of "Absolutely," had preceded an explanation of how he knew Sara, and Michael's blood had run alternately hot and cold. He had sensed there was more to the story, but he hadn't asked questions; in fact, it was Lincoln who’d drilled the Secret Service Agent from his position in the front seat and an eventual heated argument erupted briefly before silence reigned.
And though Michael had fully expected things to end in one fashion or another, he hadn't expected it to come in the form of Sara trying to strangle Kellerman barely two hours into their train journey back to Chicago.
Pulling her off of him required all of Michael's strength, and his surprise that it took so much to control her made him realize then that whatever had happened had been beyond traumatic. Kellerman had obviously glossed over the hostage situation, but Sara even had cut off questions with "he left me for dead," when Michael had prodded her as to what had happened.
Of course, Michael had already stood next to Lincoln as he threatened to kill Paul Kellerman, so the man apparently provoked this response in people all the time.
"You get one of those," Kellerman said vehemently. "You get one of those! One!" He stood holding his neck at the opposite end of the train car and when the conductor opened the door, he barked, "Down!" and Michael, Lincoln, and Sara reacted like trained dogs.
Michael couldn't hear what was said to keep people out of their train car, but when Kellerman came back, he was still massaging his throat and issuing empty threats. Michael wondered what would happen if they spent too much time with this man-if he too might lose control like Lincoln and Sara and try to end Kellerman's life. He'd been ready to hurt him based on the scant information Sara had given him earlier, but actually taking someone’s life was something he'd thought about in Fox River, and he hoped he never had to face it. Murder had to be the line in the sand he did not cross.
He thought it would probably be better if he never knew the details of what exactly had happened to Sara at the hands of Paul Kellerman.
*
Sara sat alone in the cramped bathroom, swaying with the movement of the train. Her heart pounded and her hands trembled, but in truth her only regret was that Lincoln had woken up and that Michael had returned so quickly, interrupting something she was bound to have the strength for only once.
She'd wanted to see Paul Kellerman simply crumple, his sightless eyes unable to mock her, his slack lips never curving into a smirk ever again.
The rage had frightened her with its intensity. She knew its cause had funneled from Michael through her father and now into her. It had become her fight the moment Frank Tancredi's lifeless body had been removed from the Governor's mansion. Michael and Lincoln had started it, but she would stand with them to finish it.
She just had to hope that Paul Kellerman's penance would finally come, but she also had to accept that it would most likely not be at her hands, literally or figuratively. She doubted he could feel the true remorse she wanted him to feel, but extinguishing his life meant there was no chance he ever would. She paused to acknowledge the times in her own life when she hadn’t cared at all about how her actions affected other people, but somehow she couldn't reconcile junkie behavior with that of a sociopath. She saw definite parallels in the actions Paul Kellerman had taken against her and those things she had gleaned about Theodore Bagwell while at Fox River. While Kellerman's psychosis didn't involve children or sex acts, Sara had no doubt the unhinged consciences in both men were similar at their core.
She shivered at the thought; she had escaped death at his hands, but the nagging doubt she sometimes felt was that he had let her escape. How many people effectively killed someone by leaving them alone in a room?
When Michael knocked on the bathroom door, she sent him away. She couldn’t talk to him now when she could still feel Paul’s frantic struggles under her fingers. Scraping away the portion of her rage that involved the betrayal of the first new friend she'd made in years proved difficult. When he'd said, "It was never personal, Sara," she'd felt as if that somehow made it even more so. His denial was like acid in her still-healing wounds.
She didn't imagine T-Bag had had any mercy, not ever. Yet, now in this small cubicle of a restroom, Sara had began to see Paul's mercy. She also heard Lincoln's voice from minutes before they boarded the train, rumbling comfortingly in her ear, "Use him to get what we need, then we dump him." That was about all the mercy Sara felt she herself could extend.
Michael returned a few minutes later, and she let him come inside. She wasn’t healed, but she thought maybe it was time to make him understand why she was here.
*
Paul stared down Burrows until his opponent finally turned away and took a seat facing the opposite direction. He briefly watched the passing landscape before his eyes closed wearily, and a question crossed his mind regarding how long it had been since either of the fugitives had slept. They both looked worse for wear, but in the two days he'd been with them, he'd never seen either of them surrender in any way.
In fact, between Burrows planting an elbow in his ear and a gun in his face and Scofield slamming him up against the wall after they'd procured Sara, Paul wasn't sure they even required sleep. All they needed to fuel them was their righteous anger.
And yet, they were bigger criminals than he could ever be.
Something distinctly like jealousy had erupted in Paul's chest as he watched Scofield embrace Sara. She had pressed herself against him without hesitation, and even from fifty feet away, Paul had seen the comfort pass between them.
He knew now why he hadn't killed her. Some small part of him wanted that-what he'd seen between her and Scofield-but the fact of the matter was that his desire for a woman was what had gotten him into this mess to begin with. Sure, he'd been a patriot, and a decorated soldier like Paul Kellerman would never bypass an opportunity to further his nation, and Caroline Reynolds had held that out in front of him the way handlers fed sugar cubes to show ponies-just to get them to do whatever they wanted. He'd gone along with it for as many years as he had because it was also what he’d wanted. He’d wanted her to be the President, he’d wanted her to succeed, he’d wanted to see her in a position of power and all the thanks he’d ever needed was the knowledge that he had helped get her there.
Paul had never imagined she'd take the small victory he wanted away from him by cutting him off at the knees.
Absentmindedly, he rubbed his fingers against his throat. Sara had tried to kill him. She'd looked him right in the eye and then tried to kill him.
There was something about that he found thrilling. Caroline would never have had the guts to do that.
He felt certain now, that of the two of them, Sara was the better choice.
*
Sitting in the car with Sara, alone with her really for the first time ever (unless you counted those harried minutes on the pipes at Fox River, or stolen kisses in bathrooms-which he didn't), Michael wished that it were any other situation. He wished that the simple gesture of their hands joining didn't mean anything more than what those first tentative touches in a new relationship should. But the underlying tension that neither he nor Sara acknowledged as Henry Pope walked into the cigar club included the possibility that this wasn't just the only time they might hold hands, it might be one of the only times they would ever be alone together.
If the proof they needed existed, he'd go back to jail, willingly. If it didn't exist, he would be on the run for the rest of his life, and she’d already made it clear she wasn't keen on that idea. Although her response to the invitation might be a little different now than it had been then, in the blistering heat of Gila, New Mexico.
Sara's thumb stroked over his palm in a soft, cool caress so characteristic of her. He found it hard to believe he’d met her less than two months ago, and yet here she was, joining this fight with him. She’d endured so much already, pain and aggravation that he couldn’t handle knowing about, yet she was here with him. She loved him and he loved her, and the rest of it might not even have to work itself out because it might be ending here and now right in this car. But at least if he did have to leave her, he was leaving her with Linc. There was no way Linc would ever let Kellerman hurt her again.
"In case I never get to take you for that Filet Mignon..." he said, restarting their conversation.
Turning her head back towards him, her hand tightened on his, and she shook her head. "Don't," she cautioned.
"I was just going to say, don't kill Kellerman. I mean, if you get another chance, just leave him high and dry, don't try to kill him. I think always having to keep an eye out for his enemies is as close to torturing him as we'll ever get. There's a long line of people, we just happen to be standing at the front of it right now."
"You're serious?" she asked, her voice tight with incredulity.
"Very serious," he confirmed.
"You can say anything in the world to me right now, and you choose to tell me not to commit murder?"
Her lips twitched, and Michael felt relieved to realize she was teasing him again. "Well, a guy's got to look out for his girl. You know, be the voice of reason."
"Mmm-hmm," she murmured, her lips kicking up into a half-smile. "I promise I won't kill him, whatever happens."
"Good," Michael said, squeezing her hand in return.
"But I will leave him somewhere, just hanging, the sooner, the better," she said, turning her eyes back towards the sidewalk where Henry had disappeared.
Michael's cell phone rang then, which meant Lincoln could see the ex-warden walking into the Corona de Oro Club. He hoped this signaled the beginning of the end.
*
Though Sara knew she would constantly be looking for that moment when they could finally rid themselves of Kellerman, she had no idea it would present itself within ten minutes of the deal she’d made with Michael.
Everything happened so fast after Michael spun the wheel and they careened towards the man who was thwarting Henry’s return to them. After the impact of the jeep sent him flying away from Henry, and Michael yelled, “Get in!” he himself was simultaneously jumping out of the car as Henry climbed into it, urgently shouting Lincoln’s name. Lincoln finished punching the little man who was sprawled on the ground before turning back towards the car. A gunshot sounded as Paul took out the other guy who was running towards them with his weapon drawn. Then Lincoln ran around to Michael’s side of the jeep, and Sara saw Kellerman running towards her side. She waited until he was right there, his hand stretched out to the door handle and then she shoved the lock down viciously. Her eyes met his and he called her name, but his voice was muffled by the glass between them. She stared hard at him until Michael hit the gas and whisked them away, forcing Kellerman to let go of the door handle.
She took a deep breath, and felt her own humanity leak away. She didn’t care what happened to him; she only cared that Henry had gotten what they needed. It was obviously important, otherwise they wouldn’t have had race away from the scene.
When Lincoln’s hand reached over and squeezed her forearm, her eyes lifted to his. He only nodded at her, his lips moving marginally into a grimace that might have bordered on a smile, except that his blue eyes were so very serious. He approved, he silently told her, and Sara felt her heart swell a little. She let her own lips curve into a smile, and then she glanced away because she couldn’t continue to look at him and not somehow blurt out what was about to happen.
Michael had made a deal, one that she couldn’t imagine Lincoln would be okay with. She wasn’t okay with it either, but she’d been in no position to argue with him about it in front of Henry and later, when they’d had a few moments alone, she couldn’t bear to have that become their topic of conversation. It hurt too much, and she couldn’t deal with the loss any sooner than she had to.
The next day when she climbed from the jeep and put her hands up in surrender, she understood just why Michael had made that deal. Her gratitude that he had gone free somehow would make her own incarceration easier to endure.
*
Paul Kellerman cleaned his service revolver with the care of an artist. Each delicate curve and angle had to shimmer pristinely, and he wanted it to be perfect. He wanted each thought that went through his head to be obliterated, just as his career and his fight and his victory had been.
He wanted that person-to-person contact, something akin to the way Sara had walked into Scofield’s arms so easily, as though she belonged there. But he would never have that, and even if he did, it could never set right the miles of carnage that lay behind him.
That he even felt regret was so foreign to him that it caused the only plausible solution-his gun to his temple, and silence afterwards.
Total silence: no recrimination in the form of voices in his head or brown eyes that judged him through clear glass.
He hated Sara Tancredi because he suspected something about her had stripped away everything he believed about himself.
He assumed that she had given herself up for Scofield, and that left him emptier than seeing Caroline resign the Office of the President.
He was unsure of how much time passed between his failed attempt at suicide and when Kristine pulled his gun from his limp fingers and hugged him tightly, but whatever had been lurking in his heart seemed to gush forward like a broken dam of emotion. He’d thought about Kristine many times in the years between leaving home and killing for the President of the United States, but he’d never thought to contact her until after Sara Tancredi had purposely locked him out of the getaway car she’d sat in.
She’d driven away with Scofield, so Paul had planned to get his name in the history books next to other famous assassins. When he couldn’t do that, the noise in his head had simply provoked him to end it all.
When that didn’t happen-when his gun couldn’t even be relied on when he needed it most-he called his sister so she could tell him to do what he’d wanted to do all along.
Save Sara Tancredi.
(So she could run away with Michael Scofield.)
As they cuffed him in the courtroom, he thought perhaps some small measure of respect entered her solemn eyes as Sara turned around to look at him. “I literally don’t even know what to say to you,” she said, and he imagined up until this point she had had many things to say to him, all of which he’d never have the pleasure of hearing, even though he was certain they were diatribes. But that was Sara, honest and serene, in some ironic twist of fate.
“It was good knowing you, Sara,” he said, and he knew she could never know how sincerely he meant those words.
He knew when they came for him it would be her name and her freedom that would make him take the bullets with a smile.