Safe House - Chapter 16

[msgenevieve]

Title: Safe House - Chapter 16
Fandom: Prison Break
Pairing: Sara Tancredi/Michael Scofield
Other Characters: Lincoln Burrows, Paul Kellerman, Aldo Burrows, Jane Phillips, LJ Burrows
Length: 10,573 words
Rating: PG-15
Summary: The words safe house conjure up a picture of a dark and fortified hideout, certainly not this plain but clean wooden house in the outer suburbs.
Author's Note:Well, here we are, almost at the end of the story that ate my brain. Huge thanks to jaybee65 and ms_artisan for the beta combo (politics and medical logistics and typos, oh my!) and sarah_scribbles for the handholding and the cheerleading, both of which I needed a great deal this week. Anything that doesn't make sense or is just plain wrong in this chapter is all mine, and all concrit will be welcomed with open arms. This story is part of a series, the rest of which you can find here. Oh, and the end of this chapter was written literally months ago - I can't tell you what a relief it is to be finally able to post it!





~*~

"Thank you for waiting so patiently.” The President bestows a warm smile on the audience. “I have a very important announcement to make.”

This is it, Sara thinks, feeling as though the slightest noise might make her jump out of her skin. Beside her, Michael looks as though he’s trying to will the words out of Reynolds’ mouth, his eyes fixed on the screen.

“A situation has recently come to light and I feel that I must take action.” Caroline Reynolds surveys the room, her expression sombre. “It is my job as President of this great country to make rational decisions when I am given facts. Decisions that are best, not for me, but for the people. And so, after much consideration, I regret to inform you that I have been diagnosed with a highly malignant form of cancer.”

“What the hell?” Michael looks as though he’s been slapped. Sara stares at the television, desperately telling herself she didn’t just hear what she thought she heard, but Caroline Reynolds keeps talking, every word driving itself into Sara’s head.

“And because of that reason,” the President continues smoothly, “I am no longer fit to serve as your Commander in Chief.” The Asian man has come to stand at her shoulder, his expression stormy, and Sara thinks dully of Jane saying that he was a Company lackey. “In the best interest of this country, effective immediately, I am stepping down as President of the United States."

A few seconds later, it’s all over. Reynolds is striding out of the conference room, leaving pandemonium in her wake. Michael’s head is bowed, his phone pressed hard against his ear. “I don’t know, Linc,” he’s saying in a low, broken voice. “I don’t know. But if she’s not the President, she won’t be pardoning anyone.”

Sara goes to his side and touches his shoulder gently. “Michael.” He lifts his head, and the defeat in his eyes almost crushes her heart. “What do we do now?”

His fingers tighten around the phone, and she knows Lincoln’s still on the line, listening. “We’ll have to disappear,” he tells them both in a voice choked with disbelief. “Forever.”

Oh, my God. Sara closes her eyes in despair. To have come so close, only to fall at the last hurdle -

“Sara.” She opens her eyes to find Michael looking at her, frustration and entreaty glittering in his eyes, then he holds up one hand, frowning as he listens to his brother. “What?” A ripple of shock disturbs the taut lines of his face, then he looks up at Jane. “Kellerman is here? In this building?”

Jane nods. “Yes.”

“I’ll call you back, Linc,” Michael tells his brother flatly, then flips the phone shut, his eyes blazing as he looks at Jane. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jane regards him calmly. “There hasn’t been time.”

Michael’s expression is no longer one of defeat, his eyes alive with an almost-frightening eagerness. “He knows where Steadman is.”

Unsure as to whether she confess she’s already spoken to Kellerman and that he really didn’t seem disposed to helping them, Sara opts to simply ask the obvious question. “Why would he help us?”

“He helped put Caroline Reynolds in the White House,” Michael reminds her, “and she froze him out.”

Sara frowns. “He doesn’t strike me as the hot-blooded ‘out for revenge’ type of person.”

“Perhaps not,” an odd smile tugs at Jane’s mouth, “but Paul Kellerman and Caroline Reynolds have a long and complicated history.”

Michael nods. “Yes, Dad told me. Kellerman’s been her aide since-” Jane raises one eyebrow suggestively, and Michael’s eyes widen. “They were involved?”

“I’m not sure ‘involved’ in the right word," Jane says dryly. "Let’s just say that there’s very little that Agent Paul Kellerman wouldn’t do for the President.”

“I still don’t get it,” Sara reflects aloud, “He knows every dirty little secret she has, and she knows he does. Why take the risk of making an enemy out of him?”

“Maybe she overestimated his devotion to her,” Michael suggests, his tone gently mocking. Sara remembers Kellerman’s face as she'd talked about Caroline Reynolds and Terrence Steadman, and she thinks Michael may have a point.

“Hell hath no fury,” she murmurs, and he nods.

“Exactly.”

She hesitates, but only briefly. “Kellerman knew about Caroline Reynolds’ relationship with her brother.”

Michael studies her, curious. “How do you know?”

No secrets, she reminds herself. “I spoke to him while you were visiting your father.” He gives her a milder version of the accusing look he’d bestowed on Jane earlier, but she simply holds up her hand in protest. “There hasn’t been time to tell you,” she points out gently, pre-empting his next question.

He looks as though he wants to say several things about her seeking out Paul Kellerman, but he doesn’t. Instead, he reaches out and touches her shoulder, the warmth of his hand reassuring as he turns to look at Jane. “Lincoln told me something about your group, that Dad said you had congressmen and senators on your side. Is that true?”

“Yes.”

Sara can almost see the thoughts tracking through his head. “If we presented enough of them with the right kind of evidence, would that be enough to bring the Company down?”

Jane frowns as she considers the question, but she eventually nods. “It will take some careful manoeuvering, but it’s doable.”

“We already have Cooper Green on our side,” Sara reminds her, and Jane gives her a quick smile.

“That we do.”

Michael is on his feet now, scanning the small window with the unusually thick glass. “How secure is this facility?”

Jane follows his gaze to the window. “Extremely.”

“Can we get Lincoln and LJ here? Bring all our gear here, too?”

Jane nods. “Certainly.”

Sara studies his face carefully, trying to get a sense of his thoughts. “What’s the next step?”

“When we were in Gila, Kellerman said that Steadman was in Montana.” He rubs a hand over his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger as if trying to ward off a headache. “If we can get an exact location out of him, how long will it take for you to get your people there?”

Jane's smile is grim. “We’ve had people on the ground in Montana ever since Kellerman made that claim. If Steadman hasn’t been relocated, we can make it happen quickly.”

“Good, because no matter how this plays out, we need to be ready to move. We don’t want to waste any time.” He pauses, hands on his hips, staring at the floor at his feet, then lifts his head to look at Jane. “Do you have a digital video recorder?”

Jane’s eyes widen. “Yes, there’s one at the apartment.”

“Good.”

Sara takes a deep breath. “So, what happens now?”

“We bring Linc and LJ here.” Michael’s smile is bleak. “And then we find out where Terrence Steadman is.”

~*~

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” Jane flips her phone shut, then picks up her discarded baseball cap from the chair beside her. “I’m going to pick up Lincoln and LJ.”

“Okay.” Sara watches her for a moment, noting the slight stiffness in her left arm. “How’s your arm?”

Jane glances downward, as if she’s forgotten that Paul Kellerman’s bullet had left its mark on her in Gila, then shrugs. “It’s fine.”

They’re alone in the small waiting room. Michael has gone to sit at his father’s bedside, leaving Sara to listen to Jane’s one-sided phone conversation with Lincoln. “May I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Lincoln seemed very calm about the fact that your bodyguards didn't do a very good job of guarding his son.”

Jane adjusts her cap, tugging at her loose ponytail. “Trust me, he yelled quite a lot before we finally got the call from LJ.”

Sara smiles. “I hope you yelled back.”

A glint sparks in Jane’s bright blue eyes. “Of course.”

“I was worried he might have held it against you, but he obviously managed to get it out of his system.” Sara watches the other woman’s face as she speaks, knowing that she’s shamelessly fishing, but unable to resist the urge to prolong the most normal conversation she’s had in hours.

“He did.” A faint hint of colour touches Jane’s cheekbones, and Sara’s curiosity deepens.

“Kicked the car tires? Punched the wall?”

“Not exactly.” Jane slips her phone into the pocket of her jeans, then gives Sara an open, frank look. “He kissed me.”

Sara wonders if her jaw has actually dropped, or if it just feels as though it has. Be careful what you wish for, she rebukes herself silently. “Oh.”

Jane shrugs. “Emotions always run high in these situations.” Her eyes meet Sara’s. “I guess I don’t need to tell you that, though.”

Coming from anyone else, Sara might be tempted to take offence. But this is Jane, and Sara has come to realise that being brutally honest is her default setting. She also suspects that Jane’s not quite as matter-of-fact about being kissed by Lincoln Burrows as she would like to be. “No, you don’t.”

They share a rare look of perfect understanding, and Sara feels a sudden stab of longing for Katie. She can count the number of close female friends she’s had over the last few years on one hand, and it pains her to think of Katie watching the news and reading the headlines and wondering if she ever really knew her at all.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, but you’ll be safe here,” Jane assures her, and Sara nods.

“Thank you.”

She doesn’t bother picking up the newspaper once she’s alone. She already knows that they will once again be the leading story, and she has no desire to read lurid rehashed articles about herself and her alleged motives for aiding and abetting the escape.

Michael’s eyes are red-rimmed when he eventually rejoins her, a match for the still-livid cut above his eyebrow, and his unhappy expression makes her heart ache. She knows that Aldo will recover, but she also knows it’s different when it’s your own family. “How is he?”

“Resting comfortably.” He makes the universal sign for quotation marks with his fingers, his frustration evident. “In other words, he’s still sleeping.”

“It’s the best thing for him, Michael,” she says mildly, and he blows out a loud breath.

“I know.” He drops into the seat beside her, elbows on his knees, hands loosely linked. “But I need to talk to him.”

He’s pushed up the sleeves of his sweatshirt, and she can't help staring at the indigo patterns on his forearms, intrigued as always by the intricacies of his tattoos. They’ve made love three times now, but she’s never had the luxury of really seeing him, and his habit of always wearing long sleeves means she hasn’t actually seen these tattoos since she stopped giving him the daily insulin injections he didn’t need.

Reaching out her hand, she catches him by the wrist. He looks up at her, then down to where she’s brushing her thumb over the words on his left wrist. “What does ‘RIPE CHANCE WOODS’ mean?”

He grimaces. “It’s a long story.”

It’s an answer he’s given her more times than she likes to remember, but she reins in her frustration. “If you don’t want to tell me, Michael, that’s okay.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

“I want to tell you everything,” he says quietly, lifting his head to meet her gaze, “but when we’re far away from here.” He looks down at his forearm, his expression strangely detached. “When everything on here is nothing more than a pretty pattern.”

There’s a darkness in his eyes and his voice that makes her pulse quicken. She brushes her thumb over the words again and knows she’ll wait as long as it takes for an explanation. “Tell me about Panama?”

“I bought a block of land down there about six months ago.” He hesitates and darts a glance at her, as though gauging her reaction. “In Punta Chame.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” she admits, and he smiles.

“Not many people have,” he says almost cheerily, “which makes it perfect as far as I’m concerned.”

The sudden enthusiasm in his voice reminds of the night they’d first spoken about his mythical dive shop on the beach, the night they’d first slept together. “Going to build that beach shack, right?”

“Maybe.” His eyes meet hers. “Maybe something a little bigger.” His gaze holds hers for a long moment, and Sara sees her own hope mirrored in his eyes.

“Michael?” Lincoln is standing in the doorway. If he notices he’s interrupted something, Sara can’t tell. “Jane says you’ve come up with a new plan.”

Giving Sara’s hand a quick squeeze, Michael gets to his feet. “You could say that.”

Jane appears at Lincoln’s shoulder. “Vice President Drummond has just been sworn in as the new President,” she announces, and something in her face makes Sara’s pulse quicken.

“Is that good news or bad news?”

Jane smiles, her blue eyes gleaming. “Robert Drummond went to law school with Cooper Green.”

~*~

Lincoln leans against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. “He won’t do it.”

Michael flicks his brother a quick glance. “He has nothing left to lose.”

“Except maybe his life,” Lincoln mutters, and Michael shakes his head.

“He’s a realist,” he insists. “He knows that even if he gets out of here, the Company will come after him.”

Lincoln seems unconvinced. “I wish I could believe that, man. Maybe they don’t even know he’s been playing both sides.”

“The only side he’s on is his own,” Michael shoots back, and Sara bites back a sigh.

Once Jane had returned with Lincoln and LJ (after a quick visit with his still-groggy grandfather, LJ had been installed in the office down the corridor by Lincoln, who’d ignored his protests and suggested he watch some television) the topic of conversation had turned to Paul Kellerman.

“There’s one way to find out,” Jane interjects, obviously as weary of the familial bickering as Sara is. “Ask him.”

Paul Kellerman is still pale, but he’s alert enough to look irritated by their appearance in his doorway. He's fumbling with the tape securing the IV in the back of his hand, his fingers clumsy, and acting more out of instinct than a desire to help, Sara moves quickly to his bedside. “Here, I’ll do that.”

She can feel his gaze on her as she straightens the tape. When she casts a quick glance at the morphine pump controller, his next words come as no surprise. “This is the good stuff, you know. There’s enough for two, if you’re feeling the itch.”

She ignores him, turning instead to give Michael - who is glaring at Kellerman as though he’s considering a very different use for that IV line - a silently beseeching look. Leave it be. It doesn’t matter.

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, there’s nothing like a reunion of old friends.” After giving Sara a smile that once would have turned her stomach, he switches his attention to Michael and Lincoln. “I guess I should thank your old man for being a lousy shot.”

Lincoln fixes him with a contemptuous stare. “Trust me, if he’d wanted to kill you, you'd be lying in a much colder place right now.”

“I have to say, it’s nice to see you’re still so loyal to the man who got you into this mess.” Kellerman blows out a loud breath, then he gives Michael a sardonic grin. “Well, this is all very entertaining, but you’ve obviously swarmed in here for a reason. What can I do for you folks?”

Michael draws up a chair to the side of the bed and drops into it with an easy grace. Leaning forward, his eyes search Kellerman’s pale face. “You knew exactly what it was that Sara’s father discovered in Washington, didn’t you?”

Kellerman’s steady gaze doesn’t flicker. “Yes.”

“But you weren’t retrieving that recording for the President, were you? You wanted it for yourself.” Michael’s eyes narrow. “As leverage.”

“Just like I said in Gila, Scofield,” Kellerman says with a smile, “I can see why you’re the brains behind this outfit.”

Michael ignores the jibe. “You put her in the White House and then she slammed the door in your face.”

Kellerman shrugs. “Life’s a bitch, what can I say?”

Michael reaches for the television remote, lying on the small table beside the bed. “I guess you haven’t seen the breaking news this morning?” When Kellerman frowns, Michael turns on the television. It takes little more than thirty seconds to find a channel that’s replaying Caroline Reynolds’ resignation speech.

Sara holds her breath as she sees half a dozen different emotions flicker across Kellerman’s face. Being no stranger to sorrow and betrayal, it’s all too easy to recognise them in someone else.

“Now that’s what I call being left out in the cold,” Lincoln snipes under his breath, earning himself a sideways glance from Jane, who is standing silently next to the door. Kellerman ignores him, his eyes glued to the screen, watching Caroline Reynolds as she stalks from the conference room.

“You wanted to help us bring her down,” Michael tells Kellerman in a low, almost seductive voice, but the other man shakes his head, his composure finally fraying around the edges.

“It’s too late for that, don’t you think?”

“On the contrary,” Michael smiles, and Sara has an odd sense of déjà vu, remembering his face when he’d spoken to Caroline Reynolds earlier. “I’m absolutely certain we can still help each other.”

“Caroline and her brother are as good as dead,” Kellerman finally looks away from the screen, his voice flat. Hollow. “Just like the rest of us.”

Michael shakes his head. “Not if we have the right leverage.”

“You know these people almost as well as I do.” Kellerman glares at him. “It can’t be done.” His assertion doesn’t quite ring true, and Sara can’t help wondering exactly who he’s trying to convince - them or himself.

Sara takes a deep breath. “Paul?”

There’s an exasperated sigh, then he looks at her. “What?”

She looks him in the eye, remembering the ease with which she’d slid into a friendship with his alter ego. He’s not an addict and she doubts he’s gay, but surely there’s more to him than the ruthless soldier he likes to portray. “It’s not too late to do the right thing.”

He stares at her, and for a few seconds she thinks she sees something deeper, something more in his eyes, then he blinks and it’s gone, hidden beneath his usual air of lofty amusement. “That’s a very admirable notion, Sara. How do you suggest we do that?”

Sara glances at Michael, who gives Kellerman a slow smile. “You could start by telling us where Terrence Steadman is.”

The two men study each other for a long time, and to Sara it feels as though the air is being sucked out of the room. Finally, Kellerman purses his lips, nodding slowly. “What the hell. We’re all dead, either way.” He glances at Sara, and she’s surprised by the emotion glittering in his eyes. “You’ll find him in Blackfoot, Montana. The big house on Light Road.” He shrugs. “If they haven’t already disposed of him, of course.”

Michael’s gaze narrows, and Sara knows he’s debating whether or not he can believe anything the other man says. Clearing her throat, Jane steps forward. “Which big house?”

Kellerman's glance is brief and full of scorn, as if the answer should be painfully obvious. “There’s only one house on Light Road. It’s federal land.”

A tiny muscle flickers in Michael’s jaw, but he merely nods. “Anything else we should know?”

“Yes.” Kellerman looks at Lincoln, something approaching an apology in his eyes. “The doors only open from the outside.”

~*~

Sara hands a cold can of soda to LJ. ‘How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” he replies with typical teenaged forthrightness. “I wish we could just get all this crap over and done with.”

“You and me both,” Sara agrees, and he grins.

“Why aren’t you in there with them?”

“I needed a break from all the talking.” She doesn’t particularly feel like telling LJ that she’d excused herself from Kellerman’s room because she’d grown tired of looking at the man who’d tortured her while discussing the woman who’d let her father be murdered. “Thought I’d come and see how you were doing.”

They’re alone in the office. Michael and Lincoln are still with Kellerman, presumably still doing all they can to squeeze as much information as possible out of him. Jane has closeted herself in another room down the hallway, untraceable cell phone in hand, relaying every scrap of information about Steadman to the right people. Feeling somewhat at a loss, Sara had gone in search of LJ, knowing that if nothing else, his company would be peaceful.

The two of them watch the television together in a companionable silence for a while - the cartoon channel proving to be the perfect escape - until LJ starts toying listlessly with the ring pull on the top of his soda. “They killed your dad, didn’t they? My dad told me.”

So much for peaceful company, she thinks, but she can’t begrudge him this conversation. “Yes, they did.”

His thumb nail flicks the metal ring pull, the tinny sound threading itself through the bursts of noise coming from the television. “After my mom died, I went to her grave,” he mutters. “Veronica didn’t want me to go, but I had to, you know?” He looks at her, his eyes suddenly swimming with tears, and she feels her throat close up like a fist, not only because of her father but because she thinks she knows where LJ is going with this.

“Yeah, I know.”

“It helped a little, being able to do it.” He takes a shuddering breath, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “Did my dad tell you what happened to Veronica?”

Sara blinks. “Uh, what did he tell you?”

“That the Company killed her because she found Terrence Steadman.”

She nods, very relieved that Lincoln had been honest with his son. “That’s right.”

LJ stares at the television screen, but Sara knows he’s not really watching it.

“Do you think they’ll be able to find Veronica?” His voice cracks over her name. “So we’ll be able to visit her when all this is over?”

Feeling the sting of tears burn her own eyes, Sara reaches out to him, rubbing his back with a gentle rhythm as though comforting a restless patient. “I hope so.”

Michael appears in the doorway almost an hour later. He takes in LJ’s red eyes and the desktop filled with empty candy bar wrappers, then studies Sara. “You guys okay?”

“We’re good.” Sara can almost feel LJ’s silent plea not to tell his Uncle Michael that he’s been crying, and she shoots him a complicit grin. Maybe later she’ll tell him that Uncle Michael was crying over his own dad only a few hours ago. “We’ve had sugar,” she adds, pointing at the empty wrappers, suppressing a flicker of amusement that vending machines apparently exist in every medical facility, no matter how covert it might be.

A fleeting smile touches Michael’s lips, then his expression becomes sombre. “We’re ready to get this ball rolling.”

Sara straightens in her chair. “Really?”

He nods slowly, and she belatedly notices how tired he looks. “Cooper Green will be here in ten minutes.”

“And?”

“We tell him that we know where Steadman is, and that we have two witnesses who are prepared to testify under oath to every single crime the Company has committed against this country and its people.”

Sara stares at him, feeling as though all the breath is being squeezed out of her lungs. “Two witnesses?” She knew one of those people would be his father, but the other- “Kellerman agreed to testify?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Neither do I, to be honest.” He tilts his head to look at her. “I think you may have had something to do with his decision, though.”

She scoffs loudly. “I doubt that.”

He doesn’t argue, just gives her an easy smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes, then turns to his nephew. “Your grandfather’s awake if you want to see him.”

LJ pushes back his chair with a loud scrape. “Sure thing.” He gets to his feet, gathering up handfuls of candy wrappers and sweeping them into the trashcan under the desk. That done, he tugs at his ear awkwardly as he gives Sara a faintly bashful smile. “Uh, thanks for before.”

She smiles at him, marvelling that he seems so centred after all he’s been through. She thinks of herself at sixteen, and doubts she would have coped as well. “Any time.”

Once they’re alone, Michael looks at her curiously. “What was that all about?”

“Long story,” she answers him, smiling. “Remind me to tell you one day.”

~*~

Sara hides a smile as Aldo Burrows refuses the doctor’s suggestion to increase the dosage of his pain medication. It obviously runs in the family, she thinks dryly, watching as Michael’s father gruffly insists that he’s fine.

Michael had broken the news of the President’s resignation before Sara had joined them, and she's relieved that she wasn’t present when Aldo found out that he’d taken a bullet for nothing. Once the doctor leaves the room, however, Aldo asks Michael to tell him once more about the phone call from Caroline Reynolds, listening intently as Michael repeats the conversation practically word for word. Aldo’s face remains impassive as Michael talks, reminding Sara of the stony expression she’s seen Lincoln use so often.

As Michael finishes, recounting Reynolds’ now worthless promise to grant a Presidential pardon, Aldo’s craggy features tighten. “Obviously the Company proved the bigger threat,” he says in a remarkably calm voice, then turns to his younger son. “I’m sorry, Michael.”

Michael waves away the apology, frowning. “You did everything you could.”

Aldo studies his son for a few seconds, then turns to Sara, his face softening into a smile. “I believe I have you to thank for saving my life.”

Her face grows warm at the unexpected subject change. “Just doing what I was trained to do.”

The knock on the door saves her from any more embarrassment, and once Lincoln ushers in Cooper Green, the room suddenly seems a lot smaller.

Cooper Green shakes Michael’s hand, then looks at the man in the hospital bed. “How’s the patient?”

“You know me.” Aldo’s tone is dry. “I’ll live.”

The other man smiles. “Glad to hear it. I’ll still take your sworn statement first, though. Let you get some rest.”

Michael clears his throat, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. “You think we can make this happen?”

A determined gleam comes into Green’s dark brown eyes. “I’m going to do my best.”

“I hear you and the new President go way back,” Michael ventures softly, and Cooper Green nods.

“He’s a good man,” he says, and leaves it at that. Sara can see that Michael is tempted to push the issue, but obviously respecting the tenuous line that Cooper Green is walking, he lets the subject drop.

Sara hangs back, trying to stay out of the way as Michael and Lincoln rearrange chairs and set up the video camera Jane has provided. While they’re turning Aldo’s room into a makeshift studio, Cooper Green catches her eye, moving to her side to shake her hand warmly. “Nice to see you again, Doctor.”

“Likewise,” she says, and means it. As he had at their first meeting, he projects an air of professional calm that immediately eases her nerves. He reminds her of a treasured high school teacher, the one who would always go to great lengths to make sure every one of his students was keeping up with his lessons. “Thank you so much for helping us.”

He turns to watch the flurry of activity, then she hears him draw a deep breath. “Don’t thank me yet.”

~*~

Cooper Green spends the next hour with Aldo Burrows. At Aldo’s insistence that he wants them to hear it all before the rest of the world does, Michael and Lincoln stay in the room while he gives his statement. He’d included Sara in the gesture, but she’d quietly demurred. She and her father had been swept up in the Company’s killing spree, but it had all begun with Aldo and his decision to walk away from his family. At the very least, she felt that Michael and Lincoln deserved some privacy while they learned their family history.

Jane has installed herself in the office, her wireless earpiece a permanent fixture, her fingers flying over the laptop’s keyboard. Sara sits with her, her pulse leaping whenever Jane utters the word ‘Steadman’, distracting herself as best as she can by flicking through the news channels.

LJ is down for the count, Sara having steered him towards the nearest empty room. She doubts the narrow hospital bed is all that comfortable, but then sixteen is very different to twenty-nine. She has the feeling that LJ will approve of his uncle’s beach house plans - she has no trouble picturing him commandeering a hammock for a week or two.

“Hey.” Michael is in the doorway and he’s smiling. Perhaps it’s just wishful thinking, but he looks as though a huge weight has been stripped away from his shoulders. “Cooper’s with Kellerman now.”

Sara glances past him to the empty hallway. “Is Lincoln in there too?”

“Just to set up the camera.” He gives her a wry smile. “We thought Kellerman might be more forthcoming if Lincoln wasn’t in the room.”

She feels a smile tug at her own mouth. The memory of Lincoln punching Kellerman on sight in Gila will always be a satisfying one. “How’s your father?” she asks gently, wondering how Aldo’s revelations have affected his newly rediscovered connection with his younger son.

“He’s sleeping,” he says, neatly side-stepping the real intent behind her question, then looks at Jane. “Any word on Steadman?”

Jane holds up her hand, silently asking him to wait, then speaks into her wireless earpiece. “So there’s been no activity for the last hour? Nothing in or out?” She waits, frowning, then her expression clears. “Excellent. You’re to wait for my signal. No one is to approach the house until you hear from me. Is that clear? Good.” She removes the earpiece with obvious relief, then looks at them both in turn. “Our intel has confirmed Steadman is still in the house.”

Sara lets out a slow breath. “What happens once Cooper has finished preparing Aldo and Kellerman’s affidavits?”

“Cooper’s agreed to represent both Lincoln and Michael.” She types furiously for half a moment, then continues. “He’ll prepare a petition on their behalf and submit it to one of the federal judges he trusts, along with the affidavits, asking that Lincoln’s conviction be overturned.”

“Your people in Blackfoot,” Sara murmurs, trying to make sense of it all in her head. “Are they going to snatch Steadman from the house?”

“No,” Michael answers before Jane can speak. “They’re there to make sure no one else does.”

Sara stares at him for a few seconds, then it all clicks into place in her head. She’s almost afraid to believe it, but it suddenly feels as though this might actually be possible. “That is a very good plan,” she finally says, her eyes never leaving Michael’s, her chest tightening when he smiles. It’s gentle and understanding and seems to reach deep down inside her, making her breath catch in her throat.

“Thank you.”

~*~

Cooper Green leaves with the promise to contact them as soon as he has any news. When he leaves, Sara feels strangely bereft, as though their last connection with the outside world has vanished before her eyes.

Standing in the middle of the office, his hands shoved in the back pockets of his jeans, Lincoln turns to Jane. “What happens to Kellerman?”

Jane hesitates and glances at Sara. “That hasn’t been decided.”

Sara knows Jane is trying to spare her the details when it comes to Kellerman, and the fact suddenly irritates her. Clearing her throat, she asks in a steady voice, “Did he try to make a deal?”

Jane nods. “Yes. He wants to stay here until this goes down.”

Sara tries to swallow the sudden lump in her throat. “And then?”

“He wants to disappear.”

Lincoln snorts in derision as he sprawls into the chair beside Jane. “Don’t we all?”

Sara frowns. “Was that a condition of offering his testimony?”

Jane shakes her head. “Surprisingly enough, no.”

“Paul Kellerman, helping us out of the goodness of his heart,” Michael mutters. “Who would have thought it?”

“It’s like you said, Michael,” Jane says briskly. “He’s a realist.”

Lincoln stretches his arms above his head, wincing as he shifts in his chair. “I’m fucking sick of all this waiting around,” he tells the room at large, tilting his head back to scowl at the ceiling.

“Can’t be helped,” Michael says, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “It’s out of our hands now.”

He sounds so tired, Sara thinks, and is on her feet and moving to his side almost before she realises it. “Maybe you should get some rest while we’re waiting.”

He smiles at her suggestion, but shakes his head. “I thought I might sit with my father.” She doesn’t resist when he curls his hand around her elbow, gently drawing her closer. “Would you like to join me?”

Out of the corner of her eyes she sees Lincoln watching Jane intently, and her decision is an easy one. “I’d like that.”

~*~

For the most part, the next few hours remind her of waiting at the airport for a flight that’s been delayed. You keep hoping that you’ll hear your flight being paged over the speakers, jumping at every hopeful sound, passing the time by reading six-month-old magazines and wishing you dared leave the building, if only to breathe some fresh air. On the bright side, however, she and Michael are sitting in the same room and he’s chatting to his father about everything and nothing and it’s quite possibly the most soothing atmosphere she’s enjoyed in days.

Stifling a yawn, she closes her eyes as he regales his father with droll horror stories of prison food, deciding that she could listen to the sound of his voice for hours, no matter what the subject matter. Wrapping her arms around herself, she slides down a little further in her chair, telling herself that she just needs to shut her eyes for a while.

Phone. Ringing phone. She sits up with a jolt, disorientated, the hospital blanket draped over her sliding to the floor. A cell phone is ringing - it's Aldo's phone, she thinks blearily - and Lincoln and Jane are there, watching Michael as he snatches up the phone. His eyes widen as he listens to the caller, then he spins on his heel to face Lincoln, one hand pointing to the television set. “Channel 45. Now!”

“Holy shit,” Lincoln mutters, and Sara sinks back into the chair beside Aldo’s bed, because they’re suddenly watching a middle-aged man blinking slowly in the glare of the media spotlight as he’s being escorted into an unmarked car. Sara stares at him, uncomfortably reminded of a small animal disturbed in the middle of hibernation, and she knows she’s looking at Terrence Steadman.

The news anchor looks as though she can’t believe what she’s seeing on the teleprompter, her eyes narrowing as she reads the words. “Once again, the breaking news this morning is that Terrence Steadman, brother of former President Caroline Reynolds, has been found alive in Blackfoot, Montana. Our sources in Washington say that the irrefutable evidence that Steadman was still alive was presented to President Drummond late last night.”

“I don’t believe it,” Michael breathes, looking as shell-shocked as she feels. “He went straight to the top.”

Lincoln is silent, his attention fixed on the screen as the report continues. “The White House is refusing to comment on reports that Caroline Reynolds’s resignation yesterday is in any way connected to this latest development. However, there has been growing speculation that links her to a consortium that allegedly conspired to bring false charges against the man accused of her brother’s murder.”

“Never doubted you for a moment,” Aldo mutters into the cell phone Michael had thrust into his hand. He smiles at whatever Cooper Green says in reply, then snorts. “Sure, as long as you give me a cut when you write your damned memoirs.”

On the screen the anchorwoman pauses for breath, or perhaps dramatic effect, then continues. "The only thing certain at this stage is that Lincoln Burrows, the man who was convicted of Steadman’s murder three years ago, has been exonerated of that crime in truly spectacular fashion."

Sara listens to the unfolding news with a sense of growing disbelief. Her father had once told her that a week was a very long time in politics. As is usually the case with clichés, there’s more truth to it than she could have ever suspected. In the end, after everything they’ve been through, it takes less than twelve hours to rip apart a conspiracy that has been over three years in the making. She’s tempted to pinch herself with each passing moment, but the stunned faces of the people in the room with her prove that it’s all very real.

“Holy shit,” Lincoln says again, much louder this time, and he and Michael are looking at each other as though they’re fighting the urge to laugh. Michael’s the first one to lose the battle, his face lighting up as he begins to chuckle, shaking his head. Aldo is still talking to Cooper Green on the phone, his expression one of quiet elation. After a moment, he flips the phone shut and looks at his sons. “You need to get yourselves to Cooper’s office. He’s arranging for some of President Drummond’s people to meet you there. He thought it was the best way to stay under the radar.”

“Good idea,” Michael says quietly, his eyes meeting Sara’s as he asks his father, “Did Cooper say anything about the charges against Sara?”

Sara stares at him in disbelief, wondering if he will ever stop surprising her. “Me? What about the charges against you, Michael?”

It’s Aldo who speaks, and his smile is warm. “Kellerman’s extremely thorough testimony apparently took care of the charges against Sara.” He turns to his son. “Cooper’s trying very hard to make the same thing happen for you.”

Michael’s throat works as he swallows hard, then Lincoln is on his feet and hugging him, one big hand slapping his back.

“Thank you, man. For everything,” Lincoln mumbles, and the sudden joy that flashes across Michael’s face makes Sara’s eyes begin to sting with the threat of tears. She watches as Lincoln then shakes his father’s hand before walking around the bed to pull her out of her chair and into a bone-crunching hug. “Thanks, Doc. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You’re welcome,” she gasps against his shoulder as she struggles to breathe, then he’s letting her go and turning to Jane, who is eyeing him with a mixture of triumph and wariness. Sara has time to think of the other woman’s words to her - emotions tend to run high in situations like this - before Lincoln grabs Jane by the shoulders and kisses her with a thoroughness that makes Sara blush right down to her toes.

Hearing a startled noise from the other side of Aldo’s bed, she finds Michael staring at his brother and Jane. He turns to her with raised eyebrows, and she starts to laugh, the nervous tension that’s been her constant companion for the last few months now fizzing through her blood like champagne. He smiles, and she feels heat of a different kind begin to hum beneath her skin. Later, she tells him silently, and she knows he hears her.

Jane is the first to pull away, looking flushed and embarrassed but not entirely displeased. “Perhaps you’d like to break the good news to your son,” she suggests as she smoothes a discreet hand down the front of her sweater, her eyes brighter than usual, and Lincoln grins.

“You’re damned right I would.”

Lincoln goes in search of his son, and Jane takes a seat beside Aldo’s bed. As they begin to talk about the new President, Sara catches Michael’s eye. He smiles, and a few seconds later they’re in the hallway, looking at each other in shared disbelief.

“You did it,” she says, knowing the words are trite and the occasion deserves more, but all she can think is that it’s finally over and they’re still alive and their lives can begin again. It’s a feeling more intoxicating than a dozen shots of single malt scotch, and she realises now why the term adrenaline junkie exists.

“We did it,” he corrects gently, his eyes serious as he looks at her, his gaze lingering on her lips, her eyes. “I know I will never be able to thank you for everything you’ve had to do for us, but-”

“Michael, stop.” She wraps her arms around his neck, taking him by surprise as she pulls him into a tight embrace. “You didn’t force me to do anything. Everything I did, I did because I believed it was the right thing to do.” As his arms slide around her waist, she brushes her lips against his ear, closing her eyes as the familiar heat of his body warms her skin. A few months ago she didn’t know he existed. Now there are moments when she can’t remember her life before he came into it. “Either way, you’re very welcome.”

~*~

Standing in the corner of the small boardroom, Sara waves away a glass of champagne with a polite hand. Perhaps she should wonder how Cooper Green’s personal assistant has managed to unearth three bottles of French champagne on such short notice, but she’s no stranger to politics. Being here reminds of the few times she’d been allowed to visit her father’s office as a child - heavy oak furniture, brass light fittings, dark green carpet the colour of money, and the almost tangible scent of victory in the air.

Cooper Green had greeted them anxiously when they arrived, explaining that he was still hammering out the legalities of Lincoln and Michael’s respective pardons. There had apparently been rumblings from a few quarters about the remaining members of the Fox River Eight still at large. However, President Drummond was determined to clean up the mess left behind by his predecessor (the media were almost beside themselves with joyous disbelief at the glut of dirty laundry that had been handed to them) and it seemed that the whole Burrows/Scofield issue was one slate he was only too eager to wipe clean.

Full pardon for all three of you. Exonerated of all charges, Cooper Green told them, and despite the jubilant feeling in the air and the glasses of champagne circulating the room, Sara is still having trouble making herself believe it.

Across the room, Michael catches her eye as he mouths something that looks like, “Sorry,” before putting his head down and continuing to sign the seemingly never-ending stack of legal documents in front of both himself and Lincoln. Cooper Green is standing behind them, occasionally pointing to a particular clause or offering a few words of quiet advice.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Jane says in her ear, and Sara sighs.

“I’m not sure I’d know where to start,” she says, then quickly changes the subject. “Have you spoken to Aldo?” Before they left, Aldo had spent ten minutes arguing with the doctor before finally accepting the undeniable fact he was in no condition to leave his hospital bed. He’d given Sara a stern glance when she backed up the doctor’s assertion that it was too soon, but had recovered from his disappointment quickly, telling her with a teasing smile that he forgave her.

“I spoke to him a few minutes ago.”

“How is he?”

“Irritable.” Jane seems to be fighting the urge to roll her eyes. “I don’t think he appreciates being out of the action when he could be here, sticking it to the Company in person.”

Sara looks across the room at Aldo’s Burrows’ sons, both of them more relaxed than she’s ever seen them. “I can imagine.” She turns back to Jane, hesitating as she searches for the right words. She didn’t know this woman until a few days ago, and yet Jane risked her life to save all of theirs. “I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done.”

“I did it for myself as well.” Jane’s smile takes nothing away from the pain that dulls her normally bright eyes. “For my family.”

Sara nods, understanding all too well, and feels the faint spectre of unfinished business brush against her thoughts. “You’re staying in Washington?”

“For now, yes. I’d like to wait until Aldo is well enough to travel before I leave.” A wry smile quirks her lips. "I’d also like to see how the new President handles the Reynolds fallout."

“Where will you go then?”

Jane shrugs. “I’m not sure,” she murmurs, and Sara doesn’t miss her quick glance across the room. “This has been my life for so long. It’s difficult to believe it’s all over.”

“I know the feeling,” Sara says quietly, and Jane smiles at her.

“What about you?”

Sara hesitates, and she doesn’t know why. She’s going wherever Michael and Lincoln are going, of course she is, so why are the words suddenly so hard to say? “I’m not sure either,” she mutters, and Jane gives her a sharp glance. “What will happen to Paul Kellerman?” she asks quickly, changing the subject with a lack of grace that makes her inwardly cringe. “Are they going to press charges against him?”

Jane’s response is typically blunt. “Are you worried that he might still cause problems for you?”

Sara considers the question for a moment, searching the darkest corners of herself, then shakes her head. “No,” she has to admit, and it’s the truth. Despite everything that’s happened between them, Paul Kellerman is no threat to her now. "And Caroline Reynolds?" Sara asks, and Jane's face tightens.

"It's hard to say. She's vanished off the face of the earth," she says flatly. Sara's stomach lurches coldly, but she doesn't ask the obvious question.

Michael and Lincoln have finished with Cooper Green, and Sara watches as they each shake his hand in turn, then slowly make their way across the room. By the time they reach herself and Jane, both of them are clutching an imported beer, and Sara is once again impressed by the efficiency of Cooper’s personal assistant. “What time is that charter plane leaving?” Lincoln asks his brother as they arrive at Sara’s side, and Michael is quick to answer.

“Two hours, but we need to go back and see Dad before we head out to the airport.”

She’s so busy marveling at how easily the word Dad comes out of Michael’s mouth that it takes a few seconds for the impact of their words to sink in. “Wait, what?” Sara stares at Michael. “So soon?” It’s suddenly hard to catch her breath, and she’s afraid she knows why. “Can we even legally leave the country yet?”

Michael and Lincoln exchange a glance, but it’s Lincoln who answers her. “We’re free to go anywhere we want, and I’m taking LJ away from all this bullshit. Somewhere we can have some peace for a change,” he says in a voice rough with fatigue. “Somewhere no-one’s ever heard of Terrence-fucking-Steadman.” His cell phone starts to ring as he says the last word, and he excuses himself as he pulls it from his back pocket. Jane watches him walk away, then gives Sara and Michael a quick smile as she tilts her head towards the back of the room.

“I’m going to see how LJ’s doing.” A quiet amusement dances in her eyes. “I’m not sure he’s ever had to make conversation with a retired judge before.”

Once they’re alone, Sara feels Michael’s fingertips graze the length of her spine. “You know that if we stay in the country, we’ll never have a moment’s peace,” he says quietly, and she knows that’s an understatement. “It’s not running, Sara, and it’s not forever.” He smiles, and she feels something shiver pleasantly in the pit of her stomach. “We’re just going to build a vacation house rather than a hideout.”

She understands. She truly does. She knows why Lincoln wants to take LJ away, why he and Michael need to be away from the glare of the media spotlight. She knows all of it, and yet there’s something niggling at her. Michael is watching her carefully, a tiny frown tugging at his eyebrows. “I know we haven’t had much time to talk about it, but you’re okay with this, aren’t you?”

Her smile doesn’t feel as though it fits her mouth. “Sure,” she tells him, but she’s suddenly not sure at all. Before she can sort through the muddle of her thoughts, Lincoln appears at Michael’s shoulder, cell phone in his outstretched hand.

“Michael, Dad wants to talk to you.” Michael takes the phone with a quick, apologetic glance and steps away as he begins to speak to his father. Lincoln’s already across the room talking to Jane and LJ - she’s never seen Jane laugh like that, Sara realises - and the sight makes her feel strangely isolated. Back in Chicago, her life is still in stasis, frozen and unfinished. She thinks of her father, still unburied, and the odd feeling of displacement increases.

Snap out of it, she lectures herself. This is what you’ve all been fighting for, what you wanted. Wrapping her arms around herself, she looks around the room, watching the people that survived this nightmare alongside her. Even now, she’s fighting the urge to pinch herself, unable to believe that it’s finally over. Perhaps it’s because she’s afraid it will never really be over. Each one of them will carry the scars through the rest of their lives. Some of them will heal. Some of them won’t.

She chastises herself for the darkness of her thoughts, her heart growing lighter when she sees the familiar face approaching her. “Hello, Sara.”

“Bruce. Thank you so much for coming all this way.” She kisses his weathered cheek, feeling as though it’s been years since she’s seen him, rather than weeks. She’d called him as soon as it was safe, and rather than be angry with her about her jumping bail, he’d immediately made arrangements to fly to Washington. “I’m so sorry I put you through all this.”

“It’s all right, Sara. You’re safe, and that’s all that matters.” His hands grip her elbows, hard, and she sees the disbelief in his eyes. “It seems you were right to disappear.” He shakes his head, looking so much older than she remembers. “I only wish I’d been able to keep your father from returning home that afternoon. If only he’d stayed at the office-”

On impulse, she slides her arms around his shoulders, hugging him tightly. “It wasn’t your fault, Bruce.”

“It wasn’t yours either,” he answers, and she shrugs awkwardly, knowing it will be a long time before she will let herself believe that. Catching her eye, he adds, “A warrant’s been issued for your father’s former bodyguard.”

Startled, she thinks of the man who had protected her father for the last five years. “Not Simmonds,” she protests, feeling painfully naïve even as she says the words. “He couldn’t have.”

Bruce shakes his head. “Simmonds was reassigned two weeks before your father died.”

Sara stares at him as the cold-blooded foresight of it all becomes painfully clear. “Oh, my God.” She closes her eyes, suddenly feeling cold in the warm room. “They didn’t just decide to kill him,” she whispers angrily. “They put the wheels in motion long before he’d discovered that recording.”

“I’m so sorry, Sara. I didn’t mean to upset you. I thought you would want to know.” Bruce is patting her arm, his pale blue eyes watering.

“No, it’s fine." She draws a deep breath, willing back the tears she can feel pricking at her eyes. "Thank you for telling me.”

He hesitates. “I have some other news for you, but if you’d rather not-”

“No, it’s fine.” She takes another deep breath, then looks at him expectantly. He gestures towards the antique couch in the corner of the office.

“Would you like to sit down?”

She shakes her head, suddenly even more uneasy. “What’s the other news?”

“The Attorney General has ordered a full inquest into your father’s death.”

Sara frowns. “But that’s good, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” He glances across the room to where Michael is still talking on the phone, then back to her. “It does mean that his funeral might be delayed for a considerable time.”

“I see.” She does see. She sees all too clearly what it is that she needs to do, even though the mere thought of it makes her feel as though she’s about to rip out her heart through her throat.

It’s not just her father, she knows that now. It’s the rest of her life, the life that’s been gathering dust in her absence, the people to whom she owes both explanations and apologies. “Thanks for letting me know, Bruce.” She puts her hand on his shoulder, feeling as though she’s acting a part in a play. “Why don’t you find yourself a drink?”

Michael’s finished his phone call and is standing with his brother, looking more relaxed than she’s ever seen him. She walks across the room as though she’s walking through water, slowly and clumsily, every step feeling heavier than it should be. Her stomach is churning, but if she doesn’t do this now, her courage will leave her. “Uh, Michael?”

He’s smiling at something Lincoln had said, but he instantly looks up at the sound of her voice. “Hello there, Doctor Tancredi.” His tone is teasingly sultry, enough for her to suspect he’s slightly tipsy, but his beer is sitting untouched on the table behind him.

She rubs her hands together, vaguely noting that her palms are damp. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

He grows still, like a wild animal that’s suddenly sensed a threat, and she has to wonder if her intent is that obvious. “Sure.” He looks around the small boardroom, then tilts his head towards the door to Cooper Green’s office. “In there okay?”

“Fine.”

She says nothing as she follows him into the smaller room, her mouth drying when he shuts the door behind them and turns to her with a smile. “So.”

There’s suddenly a lump in her throat the size of an orange. “So.”

He looks at her for a long moment, his eyes searching hers, and his smile slowly fades. “You’re not coming with us, are you?”

Her eyes prickling with the sudden threat of tears, Sara takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly on a sigh. The fact that he can read her so well is just another reason why she almost can’t believe what she’s about to say. “Not yet, no.”

His wary expression crumples into one of misery. “I see.” His voice is tight with hurt, and she quickly closes the distance between them, grabbing his hands, desperate to explain, to make him understand.

“I want to bury my father. I need to sort out his estate. I need to go back to my NA meetings. I need -” She takes another deep breath, knowing that no matter how she says this, it’s not going to sound the way she wants it to sound. “I need to put a lot of things right before -” She hesitates again, then laces her fingers through his. “Before I can move on to the rest of my life.”

He nods slowly, as if he understands, and she knows he does, but that doesn’t make this any easier. “I could stay with you in Chicago -” he starts, his eyes never leaving hers, his hands tightening around hers. “Your father’s funeral-”

Her resolve slips another notch, and she forces herself to think of the fresh media frenzy that would spark. “That would be a very bad idea, and you know it as well as I do,” she points out gently, and he frowns.

“I don’t want you to be alone.” He lets go of her hands to touch her face, his fingertips lightly dancing across her jaw, the corners of her mouth, the curve of her ear. “I could stay, help you work through whatever it is that needs to be done.”

His offer is temptation personified, and she suddenly wonders what the hell she’s doing. She can’t do this, can’t break his heart, her heart, can’t send away the best thing she has in this world. And yet she knows she will, because it’s the only way to really make things right. “You need to be with your family,” she says as firmly as she can, and his jaw tightens with a stubbornness so familiar it makes her heart ache. “All of you, you need to spend some time healing. Getting to know each other again.”

“You’re part of my family now,” he tells her just as firmly, and she feels something tight and brittle inside her crack in two, splintering into dust.

Family, she thinks fiercely. Of all the things he could say to her, he has to tempt her with the one thing she can least resist. The urge to flee into the sunset with him is suddenly so strong she can almost smell the sea, right here in this stuffy Washington office. But she can’t. “I need to fix myself first, Michael. I need to know that I can stand on my own two feet.” His hands tighten around hers but he says nothing, letting her talk. “And I can’t do that if you’re here, because all I’ll do is lean on you.”

“But I want you to lean on me,” he protests softly, and again she shakes her head.

“I’m a recovering addict, Michael,” she points out flatly, wondering if those words are ever going to get easier to say. “It doesn’t matter if I’m in Chicago or lolling about on a beach somewhere. I’ll always be one.” She lifts her hand to his face, letting her fingertips graze the beautiful curves and hollows of his face, the healing scar threaded through his eyebrow. “And right now, I need to get back to being a person who’s strong enough to go anywhere and do anything without being afraid of slipping from the right path.”

He gazes at her, his face filled with such longing that her mouth goes dry. “You’re one of the strongest people I know.”

It’s the second time he’s told her this, and just like in Gila, it makes her feel as though she could fly. “If I’m going to start a new life with you, I want to start it right.” She slides her hand along his jaw, curling it around the nape of his neck, committing the feel of his skin to memory. “Bruce will be in Chicago, and your father and Jane are going to be here in Washington for a while,” she tells him. “I won’t be completely alone.”

There’s an impatient knock on the door, followed by Lincoln’s voice. “Hate to bust this up, but we gotta get moving if we’re going to make that plane.”

“In a minute,” Michael calls out, then pulls back, looking at her with panicked eyes. “I have to go.”

“I know.”

There are so many things she wants to say. Too many things, but that’s okay, she thinks, because he already knows every single one of them. “Will you explain to them? Lincoln and LJ, I mean.” She’s being a coward, she knows, but she can’t bear the thought of having to explain a second time. “I don’t want to make a big scene.”

“I will. Don’t worry, they’ll understand.”

They look at each other, and she sees everything in her own heart reflected in his face, then he’s gathering her into his arms, pulling her close until his chin is resting in the crook of her neck, his cheek pressed against hers. She slides her arms around his waist, her fingers twisting themselves into the soft fabric of his sweater, then he’s kissing her, his mouth soft and warm on hers, his hands firm on her back, holding her close. An almost inaudible sob catches in the back of her throat as she closes her eyes and opens her mouth to the heat of his kiss, drinking in the taste and feel and scent of him.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kisses him fiercely, desperate to keep something of him with her, wanting to imprint him on her senses. “I love you,” she whispers against his lips, and she feels the heavy sigh that swells his chest, the warmth of his breath as he answers her.

“I love you too.”

The pounding on the door mimics the pounding of her heart, Lincoln’s voice rumbling over her like distant thunder. “Michael. Sara. We’re leaving now.”

“Damn it.” Sara looks at him in quiet despair. “I’m so sorry, Michael.”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry about.” His hands tremble as he smoothes the hair back from her face. “I’m a patient man, Doctor Tancredi,” he whispers, his eyes searing into hers, almost burning away what’s left of her willpower. “And I happen to think that you’re worth waiting for.”

Her face hurts, as though she’s been smiling for too long for too many photographs. “I’ll make a deal with you.” They both know this isn’t goodbye, but it feels like one, and although no amount of teasing will make it any easier, she still tries. “Why don’t you let me know when that guest room is ready?”

His mouth trembles with the ghost of a smile - he obviously remembers their long-ago conversation as well as she does - but the smile doesn’t touch his eyes. “I will.”

And then he’s walking away from her, his head bowed. Through her own tears she can see that his face is wet, and she has to grip the edge of the desk to stop herself from going after him, going with him. The door swings shut behind him, and he’s gone.

Hands on her hips, she bends over at the waist, a physical ache so raw lancing her heart so that she can hardly breathe.

“Sara?” It’s Bruce, pushing open the office door, sounding as though he’s worried she’s about to faint. “Are you all right?”

“No.” She wipes her face with shaking hands, then gives him a tremulous smile, hoping it hides the fact that she feels like she’s dying. “But I will be.”

~*~