Anticipation
Title: Anticipation (1/1)
Fandom: Prison Break
Pairing: Michael/Sara
Rating: G
Genre: AU, het
Length: 535 words
Summary: He doesn't want to have to rush anything, not anymore.
Author's Note:Written for the December Challenge at foxriver_fic, using the prompt, "Well, aren't you going to open it?" Set post-series and as AU as they come.
~*~
She looks at him expectantly. “Well? Aren’t you going to open it?”
His fingers tighten on the smooth wrapping paper, and the brush of curled ribbon is cool against his knuckles. A thousand different words flit through his mind - all the things he still has up his heart’s sleeve to say to her - but only two make their way to his tongue. “Not yet.”
She frowns, but her eyes are smiling. “Why not?”
He gives her a smile that feels faintly frayed around the edges, hating the sudden, warm prickle of tears behind his eyelids. “I’m savoring the moment.”
She laughs softly. “It’s going to be a long day if you insist on savoring every gift you unwrap, Michael.”
He looks down at the perfectly wrapped gift in his hand. The last two weeks have been a whirlwind, and to find himself face to face with a Christmas he never thought he’d survive to celebrate is something of a surreal experience. He could tell her that once he opens this Christmas gift, the first one she’s ever given him, the fragile anticipation will dissolve and he’ll never be able to get it back. Maybe, though, there’s a simpler way to explain why he’s loathe to rip open the beautiful wrapping she’s chosen. Resting the present on his knee, he reaches for her hand.
“I didn’t think I’d ever see another Christmas.” He looks at her, his voice thick with remembered fear, and her hand tightens around his. “I didn’t think I’d ever see a lot of things.”
Pain, dark and still far too raw, sweeps through her eyes, then she reaches for him, winding her arms around his neck and pulling him close. “Neither did I.”
“I don’t want to rush anything, not anymore.” His head buried in the crook of her neck, he inhales the scent of her, warm skin, perfume and the spice from the holiday baking she’s been bravely attempting in their ancient oven. “I want us to be able to take our time, if only because we can.”
“So do I.” Her lips brush against his forehead. “But there’s nothing wrong with a little rushing, either, if that’s what we want to do.” He feels the touch of her hands, smoothing over the curve of his head, and belatedly realises she’s humming under her breath. It’s vaguely familiar, teasing at his memory, and he feels the press of his dark thoughts start to recede.
“What’s that song?”
He feels her chuckle almost before he hears it. “Rock Lobster.”
He lifts his head to look at her, a grin stretching slowly across his face. Just when he thinks she’ll never be able to surprise him again, she does. “Not exactly a Christmas carol.”
She shrugs, her eyes dancing with both mischief and unshed tears to match his own. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Scofield, that’s sand outside the front door, not snow.” Turning her face towards his, she touches her mouth to his in a soft, lingering kiss. She tastes of all-spice and brown sugar, and he smiles against her lips, knowing that anticipation will always spike his blood when it comes to her.
“I stand corrected.”
~*~
Fandom: Prison Break
Pairing: Michael/Sara
Rating: G
Genre: AU, het
Length: 535 words
Summary: He doesn't want to have to rush anything, not anymore.
Author's Note:Written for the December Challenge at foxriver_fic, using the prompt, "Well, aren't you going to open it?" Set post-series and as AU as they come.
~*~
She looks at him expectantly. “Well? Aren’t you going to open it?”
His fingers tighten on the smooth wrapping paper, and the brush of curled ribbon is cool against his knuckles. A thousand different words flit through his mind - all the things he still has up his heart’s sleeve to say to her - but only two make their way to his tongue. “Not yet.”
She frowns, but her eyes are smiling. “Why not?”
He gives her a smile that feels faintly frayed around the edges, hating the sudden, warm prickle of tears behind his eyelids. “I’m savoring the moment.”
She laughs softly. “It’s going to be a long day if you insist on savoring every gift you unwrap, Michael.”
He looks down at the perfectly wrapped gift in his hand. The last two weeks have been a whirlwind, and to find himself face to face with a Christmas he never thought he’d survive to celebrate is something of a surreal experience. He could tell her that once he opens this Christmas gift, the first one she’s ever given him, the fragile anticipation will dissolve and he’ll never be able to get it back. Maybe, though, there’s a simpler way to explain why he’s loathe to rip open the beautiful wrapping she’s chosen. Resting the present on his knee, he reaches for her hand.
“I didn’t think I’d ever see another Christmas.” He looks at her, his voice thick with remembered fear, and her hand tightens around his. “I didn’t think I’d ever see a lot of things.”
Pain, dark and still far too raw, sweeps through her eyes, then she reaches for him, winding her arms around his neck and pulling him close. “Neither did I.”
“I don’t want to rush anything, not anymore.” His head buried in the crook of her neck, he inhales the scent of her, warm skin, perfume and the spice from the holiday baking she’s been bravely attempting in their ancient oven. “I want us to be able to take our time, if only because we can.”
“So do I.” Her lips brush against his forehead. “But there’s nothing wrong with a little rushing, either, if that’s what we want to do.” He feels the touch of her hands, smoothing over the curve of his head, and belatedly realises she’s humming under her breath. It’s vaguely familiar, teasing at his memory, and he feels the press of his dark thoughts start to recede.
“What’s that song?”
He feels her chuckle almost before he hears it. “Rock Lobster.”
He lifts his head to look at her, a grin stretching slowly across his face. Just when he thinks she’ll never be able to surprise him again, she does. “Not exactly a Christmas carol.”
She shrugs, her eyes dancing with both mischief and unshed tears to match his own. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Scofield, that’s sand outside the front door, not snow.” Turning her face towards his, she touches her mouth to his in a soft, lingering kiss. She tastes of all-spice and brown sugar, and he smiles against her lips, knowing that anticipation will always spike his blood when it comes to her.
“I stand corrected.”
~*~