Steps - Prison Break Hiatus Challenge Fic (1/1)
Title: Steps (1/1)
Fandom: Prison Break
Characters: Lincoln Burrows, Michael Scofield, Sara Tancredi
Pairing: Michael/Sara, Lincoln/? *is mysterious*
Length: 1,379 words
Rating: PG
Summary:To get through the hardest journey we need take only one step at a time, but we must keep on stepping. Written for the Are We There Yet challenge at pbhiatus_fic. Contains spoilers for #220, Panama, and dialogue from that episode that was definitely not written by me. ETA: I've just tweaked something in the first segment. *waves to jaybee65* Thanks for the help, pal! *g*
Author's Note: This story may be short, but it spans quite a few years. The last segment is deliberately vague and I'm very happy for readers to come to their own conclusions re time lines and parentage issues. *g*
~*~
To get through the hardest journey we need take only one step at a time, but we must keep on stepping. ~ Chinese proverb
"I want to do it."
Rolling his eyes, Lincoln drops the coins into his brother’s upturned palm. “Just put the money in the farebox.” He dips his head to catch Michael’s eye. “Don’t ask why the bus is running two minutes off schedule or how many people the bus can hold or why you’d not allowed to speak to the driver while he’s driving.“
His brother flushes. “I only did that that one time.”
“Yeah, well, that means you don’t need to ask again, okay?”
When the bus finally pulls up at the stop, Lincoln watches his eight year-old brother go through the process of paying for two bus fares with a solemn reverence that does nothing to endear him to the impatient driver. When it looks as though she's on the verge of telling him off, Lincoln grabs Michael by his thin shoulders and steers him towards the only two vacant seats on the bus. Michael sits behind him, his knuckles bumping Lincoln’s shoulders as he grips the back of the seat.
“It’s Mom’s birthday in ten days, right?”
“Yes.”
“I want to get her some of those chocolate peanuts she likes.”
The knowledge that their mother will only pretend to eat whatever treat Michael buys her sits like a stone in the bottom of Lincoln’s stomach. “Sure, whatever you want.”
His brother leans forward until his chin is almost touching Lincoln’s shoulder. “She’s coming home from hospital tomorrow, right?”
Twisting around in his seat, Lincoln bites the inside of his mouth to stop himself from reminding Michael that he’s asked these questions three times since they left the house. Your brother just thinks about things a lot more than most other people do, his mother had often told him when he was younger, and he tries very hard to remember that . Some days, though, are harder than others. “Yeah, Mrs Schultz told us that this morning, remember?” he answers, and some of the excitement goes out of Michael’s eyes.
“I remember.”
Lincoln sighs. Their elderly neighbour is nice enough, but she doesn’t have the patience required to deal with his brother’s seemingly endless capacity for validation and explanation. Sometimes, like today, Lincoln worries that he doesn’t have it either. Sometimes he worries that Michael will see the truth in his face, how scared he is that this might be the last time their mom comes home from hospital, that no matter how good a birthday present they buy, it won’t change the fact that she might not be around to open it.
“Linc?”
“What?”
His brother looks at him with dark, serious eyes. “Is she really coming home tomorrow?”
“Yes,” Lincoln replies, giving Michael a smile that feels stiff on his face. “You wanna pick out a birthday card today, too?”
His brother nods, but the anticipation is already fading from his face, and Lincoln can’t help wondering if there are any secrets left in their family. “Sure.”
~*~
“Dos boletos, por favor.”
Beside him, his brother grins. “Your Spanish is much better than it was in ninth grade.”
Michael looks at him, wondering how the hell he can be smiling when everything has gone so wrong. “I brushed up,” he tells him flatly as he hands his money to the bus driver.
Lincoln’s grin widens as they step onto the rickety bus. “Handy having Sucre for a cellie, I guess.”
Michael drops into the first free seat, Lincoln’s shoulder bumping against his as he sways past to take the seat behind. “I brushed up before I got to Fox River.”
The bus hits a particularly impressive pothole and the passengers lurch forward as one, the air suddenly filled with muttered curses in two languages and the clucking of a disgruntled chicken. Lincoln grabs the back of Michael’s seat to steady himself, his knuckles pressing into Michael’s shoulder. “Last time I was on a bus like this I was heading to Fox River.”
Slumping down in his seat, Michael closes his eyes, not bothering to watch the passing scenery. There’s no point, because he already knows all he will see is himself standing on the deck of that fucking steamer, watching the dream of his future dissolve in a blur of red and blue flashing lights.
He hears his brother say something about the country being beautiful, then Lincoln’s tapping him on the shoulder. “What’s that smell, man?”
Assuming his brother isn’t referring to the pungent odour of horses clinging to the man sitting across the aisle from them, he tosses an answer back without turning his head. “Bananas.” Each syllable drags over his tongue. “One of Panama’s main exports.”
“Man, what’s with you?” The exasperation in his brother’s voice is obvious. “For months all you’ve been talking about is bumpy second class bus rides and Panama and now that we're doing it-”
"She should have been here with us.”
An awkward silence greets this statement, and he feels a perverse sense of satisfaction at having stopped his brother’s glee in its tracks. It’s a feeling that’s short-lived, though, because Lincoln drapes his arm over the back of Michael’s seat, his voice now filled with a coaxing tone that is all too familiar. “You’ve got all the time in the world for that. Somewhere down the track you and Sara can-"
Flinching inwardly at the sound of her name, he cuts Lincoln off abruptly. “Can we just get there?”
His brother is silent for a moment, then Michael feels the tap of his fingers on his shoulder once again. “Next stop, what’s her name, Mrs Vasquez, right?”
Michael presses his shoulder blades hard into the seat behind him. The bandage covering his burn has come loose, and he can feel the rough fabric of his sweatshirt rubbing against the healing flesh. He focuses on the dull sting beneath his skin, vaguely glad he can feel something other than the misery slowly hollowing out his heart. “Yes.”
He hears Lincoln sigh. “It’ll be okay, man.”
Michael twists around in his seat to stare at his brother, wondering if Lincoln believes what he's saying any more than he does. “If you say so.”
~*~
As they watch their ten year old son walk away, the man beside her shifts his weight restlessly from one foot to the other. “Maybe I should go with them.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Why?”
He turns his head, his eyes softening as they meet hers. They both know the reason why. It’s been many years since they felt the shadows reaching across their lives, but being careful has proven to be a very hard habit to break. “To stop him from spending all his allowance on junk he doesn’t need?”
“What, and ruin all his fun?”
A smile twitches at the corners of his mouth, then he turns back to stare at the bus pulling up at the kerb. “He’s never taken the bus to the mall by himself before. Maybe I should-” He takes a step forward, and she puts her hand on his shoulder, letting her fingertips brush the tanned nape of his neck. He grows still at her touch, but he doesn’t take his eyes away from the idling bus.
“He’s not by himself, remember? I’m pretty sure Al’s got things under control.” From their vantage point, they see Lincoln’s fifteen year-old son wait patiently while his cousin swipes his brand new pre-paid ticket through the ticket machine. Mission accomplished, her son turns around, his face alight with excitement as he waves to them, and Sara feels the prickle of tears behind her eyelids.
The doors shut behind the two boys, and through the windows of the bus, she follows their silhouettes until they drop down into seats halfway down the aisle. When the bus pulls away with a roar, she slides her arm around her husband’s shoulders and wonders if his heart, like hers, feels as though it’s being squeezed by two little hands. “Al’s with him, Michael. He’ll be fine.”
He leans back into her, lifting his hand to cover hers where it lays on his shoulder. He watches the bus as it’s swallowed up by the traffic, then smiles, the tension leaving his body on a soft sigh that sounds like relief. “I know.”
~*~
Dos boletos, por favor ~ Two tickets, please.
Fandom: Prison Break
Characters: Lincoln Burrows, Michael Scofield, Sara Tancredi
Pairing: Michael/Sara, Lincoln/? *is mysterious*
Length: 1,379 words
Rating: PG
Summary:To get through the hardest journey we need take only one step at a time, but we must keep on stepping. Written for the Are We There Yet challenge at pbhiatus_fic. Contains spoilers for #220, Panama, and dialogue from that episode that was definitely not written by me. ETA: I've just tweaked something in the first segment. *waves to jaybee65* Thanks for the help, pal! *g*
Author's Note: This story may be short, but it spans quite a few years. The last segment is deliberately vague and I'm very happy for readers to come to their own conclusions re time lines and parentage issues. *g*
~*~
To get through the hardest journey we need take only one step at a time, but we must keep on stepping. ~ Chinese proverb
"I want to do it."
Rolling his eyes, Lincoln drops the coins into his brother’s upturned palm. “Just put the money in the farebox.” He dips his head to catch Michael’s eye. “Don’t ask why the bus is running two minutes off schedule or how many people the bus can hold or why you’d not allowed to speak to the driver while he’s driving.“
His brother flushes. “I only did that that one time.”
“Yeah, well, that means you don’t need to ask again, okay?”
When the bus finally pulls up at the stop, Lincoln watches his eight year-old brother go through the process of paying for two bus fares with a solemn reverence that does nothing to endear him to the impatient driver. When it looks as though she's on the verge of telling him off, Lincoln grabs Michael by his thin shoulders and steers him towards the only two vacant seats on the bus. Michael sits behind him, his knuckles bumping Lincoln’s shoulders as he grips the back of the seat.
“It’s Mom’s birthday in ten days, right?”
“Yes.”
“I want to get her some of those chocolate peanuts she likes.”
The knowledge that their mother will only pretend to eat whatever treat Michael buys her sits like a stone in the bottom of Lincoln’s stomach. “Sure, whatever you want.”
His brother leans forward until his chin is almost touching Lincoln’s shoulder. “She’s coming home from hospital tomorrow, right?”
Twisting around in his seat, Lincoln bites the inside of his mouth to stop himself from reminding Michael that he’s asked these questions three times since they left the house. Your brother just thinks about things a lot more than most other people do, his mother had often told him when he was younger, and he tries very hard to remember that . Some days, though, are harder than others. “Yeah, Mrs Schultz told us that this morning, remember?” he answers, and some of the excitement goes out of Michael’s eyes.
“I remember.”
Lincoln sighs. Their elderly neighbour is nice enough, but she doesn’t have the patience required to deal with his brother’s seemingly endless capacity for validation and explanation. Sometimes, like today, Lincoln worries that he doesn’t have it either. Sometimes he worries that Michael will see the truth in his face, how scared he is that this might be the last time their mom comes home from hospital, that no matter how good a birthday present they buy, it won’t change the fact that she might not be around to open it.
“Linc?”
“What?”
His brother looks at him with dark, serious eyes. “Is she really coming home tomorrow?”
“Yes,” Lincoln replies, giving Michael a smile that feels stiff on his face. “You wanna pick out a birthday card today, too?”
His brother nods, but the anticipation is already fading from his face, and Lincoln can’t help wondering if there are any secrets left in their family. “Sure.”
~*~
“Dos boletos, por favor.”
Beside him, his brother grins. “Your Spanish is much better than it was in ninth grade.”
Michael looks at him, wondering how the hell he can be smiling when everything has gone so wrong. “I brushed up,” he tells him flatly as he hands his money to the bus driver.
Lincoln’s grin widens as they step onto the rickety bus. “Handy having Sucre for a cellie, I guess.”
Michael drops into the first free seat, Lincoln’s shoulder bumping against his as he sways past to take the seat behind. “I brushed up before I got to Fox River.”
The bus hits a particularly impressive pothole and the passengers lurch forward as one, the air suddenly filled with muttered curses in two languages and the clucking of a disgruntled chicken. Lincoln grabs the back of Michael’s seat to steady himself, his knuckles pressing into Michael’s shoulder. “Last time I was on a bus like this I was heading to Fox River.”
Slumping down in his seat, Michael closes his eyes, not bothering to watch the passing scenery. There’s no point, because he already knows all he will see is himself standing on the deck of that fucking steamer, watching the dream of his future dissolve in a blur of red and blue flashing lights.
He hears his brother say something about the country being beautiful, then Lincoln’s tapping him on the shoulder. “What’s that smell, man?”
Assuming his brother isn’t referring to the pungent odour of horses clinging to the man sitting across the aisle from them, he tosses an answer back without turning his head. “Bananas.” Each syllable drags over his tongue. “One of Panama’s main exports.”
“Man, what’s with you?” The exasperation in his brother’s voice is obvious. “For months all you’ve been talking about is bumpy second class bus rides and Panama and now that we're doing it-”
"She should have been here with us.”
An awkward silence greets this statement, and he feels a perverse sense of satisfaction at having stopped his brother’s glee in its tracks. It’s a feeling that’s short-lived, though, because Lincoln drapes his arm over the back of Michael’s seat, his voice now filled with a coaxing tone that is all too familiar. “You’ve got all the time in the world for that. Somewhere down the track you and Sara can-"
Flinching inwardly at the sound of her name, he cuts Lincoln off abruptly. “Can we just get there?”
His brother is silent for a moment, then Michael feels the tap of his fingers on his shoulder once again. “Next stop, what’s her name, Mrs Vasquez, right?”
Michael presses his shoulder blades hard into the seat behind him. The bandage covering his burn has come loose, and he can feel the rough fabric of his sweatshirt rubbing against the healing flesh. He focuses on the dull sting beneath his skin, vaguely glad he can feel something other than the misery slowly hollowing out his heart. “Yes.”
He hears Lincoln sigh. “It’ll be okay, man.”
Michael twists around in his seat to stare at his brother, wondering if Lincoln believes what he's saying any more than he does. “If you say so.”
~*~
As they watch their ten year old son walk away, the man beside her shifts his weight restlessly from one foot to the other. “Maybe I should go with them.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Why?”
He turns his head, his eyes softening as they meet hers. They both know the reason why. It’s been many years since they felt the shadows reaching across their lives, but being careful has proven to be a very hard habit to break. “To stop him from spending all his allowance on junk he doesn’t need?”
“What, and ruin all his fun?”
A smile twitches at the corners of his mouth, then he turns back to stare at the bus pulling up at the kerb. “He’s never taken the bus to the mall by himself before. Maybe I should-” He takes a step forward, and she puts her hand on his shoulder, letting her fingertips brush the tanned nape of his neck. He grows still at her touch, but he doesn’t take his eyes away from the idling bus.
“He’s not by himself, remember? I’m pretty sure Al’s got things under control.” From their vantage point, they see Lincoln’s fifteen year-old son wait patiently while his cousin swipes his brand new pre-paid ticket through the ticket machine. Mission accomplished, her son turns around, his face alight with excitement as he waves to them, and Sara feels the prickle of tears behind her eyelids.
The doors shut behind the two boys, and through the windows of the bus, she follows their silhouettes until they drop down into seats halfway down the aisle. When the bus pulls away with a roar, she slides her arm around her husband’s shoulders and wonders if his heart, like hers, feels as though it’s being squeezed by two little hands. “Al’s with him, Michael. He’ll be fine.”
He leans back into her, lifting his hand to cover hers where it lays on his shoulder. He watches the bus as it’s swallowed up by the traffic, then smiles, the tension leaving his body on a soft sigh that sounds like relief. “I know.”
~*~
Dos boletos, por favor ~ Two tickets, please.