Fic: Fair Play
Title:Fair Play
Author:EtherealFlaim
Rating:PG
Fandom:Prison Break
Characters:Michael, Sarah, Lincoln, Kellerman, Mahone...
Summary:A lot of time has passed... Where Are They Now?
Author's Notes:This is a combination of a lot of bunnies that I have had hopping around in my head... those which weren't nipping too hard at one another made it into this chapter of the fic. The "how sara got away from susan" bunny was just being too unfriendly, so he didn't make the cut, but if this chapter has a good reception I'll be sure to include him in the next one =) I can't wait for the show to come back! I'm sure the authors went a completely different direction than I did. A few months of no coverage can change a whole LOT of things. Written for pbhiatus_fic. Disclaimer: I do not own any characters herein.
"No, Lincoln. You absolutely know that I'm not bluffing."
"Bullshit, Susan. You sent me a head wearing a silicone mask knowing that I wouldn't look closely enough to figure out that it wasn't Sara. You absolutely would bluff to serve your own twisted agenda. Prove it."
"Fine. Have it your way."
Susan held out her hand with a smirk, and a cell phone was quickly slapped into it. She flicked it open, thumbed it a few times, and handed it to Lincoln.
Lincoln stared down at the tiny screen in his hands and flipped through the photos on the phone. With each one, he felt his blood boil just a little bit more.
Lincoln finally had enough. With an explosion of cheap plastic and PCB, he smashed the phone on the concrete at Susan's feet.
"You keep your hands off of Michael. You've already held my son and Sara hostage; we delivered Whistler as promised. Why can't you just leave us the fuck alone?"
"Oh Lincoln, Lincoln. What a temper." Susan's mouth smiled, but her eyes remained ice cold. "If you keep that up, it won't be a fake head you find in a box, and it won't be Sara's. I'm going to ask you one more time, and before you answer I want you to remember that there will be crosshairs on your OCD brother's shiny head every minute of every day until you deliver."
------
Michael rose before the sun and took a short walk to the nearby grocery store and bought some snacks for the road. As he keyed himself back into the second-story room, he quickly inventoried all of the vehicles in the motel parking lot and filed them away. He wanted to know it if he was being followed.
Michael closed the door quietly and walked over to the side of the bed farthest from the window. On it, Sara was sleeping soundly, and he reached out a gentle hand to pull her from the clutches of unconsciousness.
"Sara, wake up. We need to get going."
The woman stirred and rolled onto her back, bringing her fists to her eyes as consciousness and light washed across her pale face.
Michael cringed as she sat up and faced him, and he again saw the line of cuts and bruises running along her chin and around behind her head. Even if it had saved her life, the wounds--and the scars that they would inevitably leave, even with her expert care of them--would always remind him of how much his love had cost her.
"Do I have time to shower?" Sara inquired, one eye squinting at Michael in the brightening room.
"If you don't wash your hair."
"Deal." Sara smiled, and reached out a hand to stroke Michael's cheek affectionately before she slipped from the bed. Michael marveled at how graceful she could be even when she was half asleep.
As she took her shower, Michael removed the cheap laptop from his backpack, plugged it into a disposable prepaid cell-phone, being careful to keep the screen out of the view of the window. He had some preparations to make, and he wasn't remotely inclined to let his advantage slip this time.
------
Alex Mahone didn't want to open his eyes. He could see through his closed lids that it was a bright morning, and he had absolutely no inclination to make his headache any worse by straining his pupils. The lump on his head--which was about as big as a bowling ball, if the magnitude of the pulsation was any judge--was itching like the sensation was going out of style and he almost reached up to scratch at it before he realized that his hands were tied behind his back, and he again remembered where he was.
"Aah, well I see Agent Alex Mahone has decided to join us this morning. You want something to eat Alex? There's more than enough pancakes for you too."
Alex could hear the smirk in that voice. He could smell the satisfaction emanating from the ex-company agent who was undoubtedly sitting at the table a few feet from where Alex had been discarded. Paul Kellerman had done pretty well for himself as a company operative, but Alex hated himself every second for not realizing that his death had been far too clean and far too public to have been a company execution, and cursed himself doubly for allowing himself to be trapped by the idiot.
"I hate you, Kellerman. I'm not going to tell you anything, so you might as well try to torture it out of me and get it over with, because I'll die before I betray anyone else."
"Well, well have to see about that. I do, however, have to give you credit-- I still haven't been able to locate either Pam or your son. Apparently you did a very good job of making them disappear after your escape from Sona. I can only guess where you got the money to finance such a dissappearing act, especially while your feet are still firmly planted on Panamanian soil." Alex heard Kellerman's chair slide out from the table and felt as the footsteps approached him on the floor. "Don't you worry though, Alex. I'll find them, and then I'll torture them and let you watch. You'll beg me to trade the information for their lives, but then it'll be too late."
Kellerman dropped a plate on the floor in front of Alex. It shattered, a ceramic triangle landing neatly on Alex's shoulder. "Oops. I guess you'll have to eat your breakfast off the floor."
Kellerman left the room, and the lock clicked behind him. When the light in the room clicked off, Alex opened his eyes and let them adjust. He sat up slowly, being careful to catch the ceramic shard as it slid off his shoulder, and freed himself from his bonds. He was too hungry to care if the pancakes were on the floor or a silver platter, and he ate all five pancakes before he even realized that he had started.
When he was finished, he grabbed a sharper shard from the floor and loosed his feet and stood, intent on studying his dim surroundings; determined to find something that would give him leverage when Kellerman came back.
------
Lincoln wiped his tracks from the computer using the USB drive Michael had given him, and pocketed the small piece of paper full of numbers before leaving the internet cafe without looking back. He ducked into Wal-mart and ducked into the school supplies department and picked out a small four function calculator. He bought it with cash and walked the few blocks to the local park.
Sitting on a bench from which nobody could watch over his shoulder, Lincoln removed the calculator from his pocket and began to decode the message the way Michael had taught him after they'd escaped Fox River in case they got separated. He had been using it once a week for the past two months to decode the number of Michael's most recent disposable cell phone.
After a few minutes work, he stared at the seven numbers amidst the scratchings and arithmetic and shook his head. If it had been his choice, they would've just used the phone number in reverse or something. Committing the phone number to memory, he shredded the piece of paper in his fingers and scattered them into a few different trash cans. The next payphone he saw, he'd call.
------
Sara finished up in the shower and wrapped herself in a towel. She turned around slowly to face the mirror, knowing that she would be unable to ignore the unsightly bruises and cuts on the side of her face. Instead of staring, she tried to get hier mind off of it by taking out the small medical kit that she had put together and cleaning it.
Instead of taking her mind off of it, though, the stinging brought the memories flooding back.
Kellerman was looming over her with a satisfied smirk on his face. He didn't hear Michael get up quietly behind him and grab the chair he was sitting on. As Michael lifted the chair above his head, Kellerman heard something and started to turn around just as Michael brought it down on his head.
Michael quickly cut Sara free from her bonds and half dragged, half ran with her toward the door.
A shot rang out from behind them.
Sara and Michael dropped to the floor, scrambling in different directions. Michael was saying something to Kellerman, but the gunshot was still echoing in Sara's head. She was sick and tired of being a hostage, and she was desperate to get outside into fresh air. She crawled desperately toward the sliver of light shining out from behind a curtain, hoping to slip out through the window and into the sunlight.
Michael's voice behind her cut through the haze of desperation and exhaustion like a hot knife through butter.
"Sara! No!"
She began to turn, only to find a pair of hands on her back, shoving her mercilessly toward the window. As she hit the curtan, she heard the window shatter and the retort of a gun firing one final time before she was out and falling.
Sara shook her head and gathered her thoughts. She didn't blame Michael... after all, if he hadn't done it the bullet would have been hers. She finished cleaning the cuts and left the bathroom to put on clean clothes, being careful to keep the bad side of her face away from his worried gaze.
------
Alex had never felt so frustrated in his life. He'd spent the last uncounted hours scouring his small confines for anything remotely weaponlike or with which he could break himself out, but he found nothing. All he had were plastic legs from a children's table and ceramic pieces of a broken plate. Neither would do him much good in close combat, and neither was going to be even the remotest match for Kellerman's gun. He collapsed in the corner. He decided that he'd play it cool and bide his time. Kellerman was getting desperate after having lost both Michael and Sara, and he was bound to make a mistake sometime. As long as he didn't kill Alex first for slipping Michael a razor.
The door opened.
"I just got a call, Alex, and now you have only two choices. Either you tell me where Whistler is, or I lock you in this room and leave. I secured this room myself, and there's no way you're getting out. Nobody will find you until you're good and dead. However, as happy as that proposition makes me, I've been authorized to let you go if you tell me where he is."
Kellerman looked down at the man in the corner. Alex looked up and met his eyes, blinking slowly. He pushed the hair off of his forehead and said, with a practiced, matter-of-fact condescension, "Take your offer and shove it, Kellerman. I'd rather rot in this room than help you take a single step." He stretched out his legs and leaned back against the wall, making himself comfortable. "Go ahead, go. And don't be surprised when you turn around one day and find me standing behind you with a gun to your head. Make no mistake, I would like nothing better than to pull the trigger."
Kellerman wanted to take out his gun and kill the man right then, but he held back. Maybe after a few days, he would come back... and if Alex was still breathing, he might be able to get more information out of him. He doubted it, though.
Kellerman turned around and closed the door. Alex heard the latch click, and the unmistakable sound of locks being engaged. Alex hung his head and let a small sigh escape. He hadn't quite worked this part out yet.
Oh well, he thought. I'll have plenty of time to think.
------
Lincoln walked up to the payphone. He'd never used this phone before and never would use it again. He repeated Michael's number again to himself. Before he called Michael, however, he had some other business to attend to.
Lincoln picked up the phone and pounded the digits he knew far too well.
The ringing stopped and Lincoln could hear breathing on the other end of the line.
"Whistler. Time's up."
To be continued... here Comments and constructive criticism are more than welcome!
"No, Lincoln. You absolutely know that I'm not bluffing."
"Bullshit, Susan. You sent me a head wearing a silicone mask knowing that I wouldn't look closely enough to figure out that it wasn't Sara. You absolutely would bluff to serve your own twisted agenda. Prove it."
"Fine. Have it your way."
Susan held out her hand with a smirk, and a cell phone was quickly slapped into it. She flicked it open, thumbed it a few times, and handed it to Lincoln.
Lincoln stared down at the tiny screen in his hands and flipped through the photos on the phone. With each one, he felt his blood boil just a little bit more.
Lincoln finally had enough. With an explosion of cheap plastic and PCB, he smashed the phone on the concrete at Susan's feet.
"You keep your hands off of Michael. You've already held my son and Sara hostage; we delivered Whistler as promised. Why can't you just leave us the fuck alone?"
"Oh Lincoln, Lincoln. What a temper." Susan's mouth smiled, but her eyes remained ice cold. "If you keep that up, it won't be a fake head you find in a box, and it won't be Sara's. I'm going to ask you one more time, and before you answer I want you to remember that there will be crosshairs on your OCD brother's shiny head every minute of every day until you deliver."
------
Michael rose before the sun and took a short walk to the nearby grocery store and bought some snacks for the road. As he keyed himself back into the second-story room, he quickly inventoried all of the vehicles in the motel parking lot and filed them away. He wanted to know it if he was being followed.
Michael closed the door quietly and walked over to the side of the bed farthest from the window. On it, Sara was sleeping soundly, and he reached out a gentle hand to pull her from the clutches of unconsciousness.
"Sara, wake up. We need to get going."
The woman stirred and rolled onto her back, bringing her fists to her eyes as consciousness and light washed across her pale face.
Michael cringed as she sat up and faced him, and he again saw the line of cuts and bruises running along her chin and around behind her head. Even if it had saved her life, the wounds--and the scars that they would inevitably leave, even with her expert care of them--would always remind him of how much his love had cost her.
"Do I have time to shower?" Sara inquired, one eye squinting at Michael in the brightening room.
"If you don't wash your hair."
"Deal." Sara smiled, and reached out a hand to stroke Michael's cheek affectionately before she slipped from the bed. Michael marveled at how graceful she could be even when she was half asleep.
As she took her shower, Michael removed the cheap laptop from his backpack, plugged it into a disposable prepaid cell-phone, being careful to keep the screen out of the view of the window. He had some preparations to make, and he wasn't remotely inclined to let his advantage slip this time.
------
Alex Mahone didn't want to open his eyes. He could see through his closed lids that it was a bright morning, and he had absolutely no inclination to make his headache any worse by straining his pupils. The lump on his head--which was about as big as a bowling ball, if the magnitude of the pulsation was any judge--was itching like the sensation was going out of style and he almost reached up to scratch at it before he realized that his hands were tied behind his back, and he again remembered where he was.
"Aah, well I see Agent Alex Mahone has decided to join us this morning. You want something to eat Alex? There's more than enough pancakes for you too."
Alex could hear the smirk in that voice. He could smell the satisfaction emanating from the ex-company agent who was undoubtedly sitting at the table a few feet from where Alex had been discarded. Paul Kellerman had done pretty well for himself as a company operative, but Alex hated himself every second for not realizing that his death had been far too clean and far too public to have been a company execution, and cursed himself doubly for allowing himself to be trapped by the idiot.
"I hate you, Kellerman. I'm not going to tell you anything, so you might as well try to torture it out of me and get it over with, because I'll die before I betray anyone else."
"Well, well have to see about that. I do, however, have to give you credit-- I still haven't been able to locate either Pam or your son. Apparently you did a very good job of making them disappear after your escape from Sona. I can only guess where you got the money to finance such a dissappearing act, especially while your feet are still firmly planted on Panamanian soil." Alex heard Kellerman's chair slide out from the table and felt as the footsteps approached him on the floor. "Don't you worry though, Alex. I'll find them, and then I'll torture them and let you watch. You'll beg me to trade the information for their lives, but then it'll be too late."
Kellerman dropped a plate on the floor in front of Alex. It shattered, a ceramic triangle landing neatly on Alex's shoulder. "Oops. I guess you'll have to eat your breakfast off the floor."
Kellerman left the room, and the lock clicked behind him. When the light in the room clicked off, Alex opened his eyes and let them adjust. He sat up slowly, being careful to catch the ceramic shard as it slid off his shoulder, and freed himself from his bonds. He was too hungry to care if the pancakes were on the floor or a silver platter, and he ate all five pancakes before he even realized that he had started.
When he was finished, he grabbed a sharper shard from the floor and loosed his feet and stood, intent on studying his dim surroundings; determined to find something that would give him leverage when Kellerman came back.
------
Lincoln wiped his tracks from the computer using the USB drive Michael had given him, and pocketed the small piece of paper full of numbers before leaving the internet cafe without looking back. He ducked into Wal-mart and ducked into the school supplies department and picked out a small four function calculator. He bought it with cash and walked the few blocks to the local park.
Sitting on a bench from which nobody could watch over his shoulder, Lincoln removed the calculator from his pocket and began to decode the message the way Michael had taught him after they'd escaped Fox River in case they got separated. He had been using it once a week for the past two months to decode the number of Michael's most recent disposable cell phone.
After a few minutes work, he stared at the seven numbers amidst the scratchings and arithmetic and shook his head. If it had been his choice, they would've just used the phone number in reverse or something. Committing the phone number to memory, he shredded the piece of paper in his fingers and scattered them into a few different trash cans. The next payphone he saw, he'd call.
------
Sara finished up in the shower and wrapped herself in a towel. She turned around slowly to face the mirror, knowing that she would be unable to ignore the unsightly bruises and cuts on the side of her face. Instead of staring, she tried to get hier mind off of it by taking out the small medical kit that she had put together and cleaning it.
Instead of taking her mind off of it, though, the stinging brought the memories flooding back.
Kellerman was looming over her with a satisfied smirk on his face. He didn't hear Michael get up quietly behind him and grab the chair he was sitting on. As Michael lifted the chair above his head, Kellerman heard something and started to turn around just as Michael brought it down on his head.
Michael quickly cut Sara free from her bonds and half dragged, half ran with her toward the door.
A shot rang out from behind them.
Sara and Michael dropped to the floor, scrambling in different directions. Michael was saying something to Kellerman, but the gunshot was still echoing in Sara's head. She was sick and tired of being a hostage, and she was desperate to get outside into fresh air. She crawled desperately toward the sliver of light shining out from behind a curtain, hoping to slip out through the window and into the sunlight.
Michael's voice behind her cut through the haze of desperation and exhaustion like a hot knife through butter.
"Sara! No!"
She began to turn, only to find a pair of hands on her back, shoving her mercilessly toward the window. As she hit the curtan, she heard the window shatter and the retort of a gun firing one final time before she was out and falling.
Sara shook her head and gathered her thoughts. She didn't blame Michael... after all, if he hadn't done it the bullet would have been hers. She finished cleaning the cuts and left the bathroom to put on clean clothes, being careful to keep the bad side of her face away from his worried gaze.
------
Alex had never felt so frustrated in his life. He'd spent the last uncounted hours scouring his small confines for anything remotely weaponlike or with which he could break himself out, but he found nothing. All he had were plastic legs from a children's table and ceramic pieces of a broken plate. Neither would do him much good in close combat, and neither was going to be even the remotest match for Kellerman's gun. He collapsed in the corner. He decided that he'd play it cool and bide his time. Kellerman was getting desperate after having lost both Michael and Sara, and he was bound to make a mistake sometime. As long as he didn't kill Alex first for slipping Michael a razor.
The door opened.
"I just got a call, Alex, and now you have only two choices. Either you tell me where Whistler is, or I lock you in this room and leave. I secured this room myself, and there's no way you're getting out. Nobody will find you until you're good and dead. However, as happy as that proposition makes me, I've been authorized to let you go if you tell me where he is."
Kellerman looked down at the man in the corner. Alex looked up and met his eyes, blinking slowly. He pushed the hair off of his forehead and said, with a practiced, matter-of-fact condescension, "Take your offer and shove it, Kellerman. I'd rather rot in this room than help you take a single step." He stretched out his legs and leaned back against the wall, making himself comfortable. "Go ahead, go. And don't be surprised when you turn around one day and find me standing behind you with a gun to your head. Make no mistake, I would like nothing better than to pull the trigger."
Kellerman wanted to take out his gun and kill the man right then, but he held back. Maybe after a few days, he would come back... and if Alex was still breathing, he might be able to get more information out of him. He doubted it, though.
Kellerman turned around and closed the door. Alex heard the latch click, and the unmistakable sound of locks being engaged. Alex hung his head and let a small sigh escape. He hadn't quite worked this part out yet.
Oh well, he thought. I'll have plenty of time to think.
------
Lincoln walked up to the payphone. He'd never used this phone before and never would use it again. He repeated Michael's number again to himself. Before he called Michael, however, he had some other business to attend to.
Lincoln picked up the phone and pounded the digits he knew far too well.
The ringing stopped and Lincoln could hear breathing on the other end of the line.
"Whistler. Time's up."
To be continued... here Comments and constructive criticism are more than welcome!