Fifth Wheel - Michael/Sara (1/1)
Title: Fifth Wheel (1/1)
Fandom: Prison Break
Characters:Michael Scofield, Sara Tancredi, Lincoln Burrows
Genre:AU, post-canon, het, non-epilogue-compliant
Pairing:Michael/Sara
Rating:PG-15
Length:900 words
Summary:He prides himself on being a rational man, but obviously there is an exception to every rule.
Author's note:This prompt was from lizparker6, who asked for Michael is actually jealous of Lincoln about a matter - up to your choice - concerning Sara. Non-epilogue-compliant, fluff or angst, set after s4. So, I started writing the usual drabble with this, but once the idea took hold...well, you see the 900 word count up there. *facepalms*
~*~
He hears their laughter long before he reaches the house, his pace slowing as he crosses the sandy grass that leads to the stairs. “Do you remember Spencer?” he hears Sara ask. “The screw who only lasted three days before he went on indefinite stress leave?”
“God, what an idiot.” His brother snorts with laughter. “Did you know he refused to work on the Row because he thought it was haunted?”
Sara’s laughter lilts through the warm air. “And who did he get that idea from, I wonder?”
There’s a pause, as if Lincoln is taking a sip of something, more than likely one of Michael’s beers. “I may have mentioned it.”
Michael manages a half-hearted smile at the sound of his wife’s answering chuckle. He’d never known a guard named Spencer, but of course, there’s a lot he doesn’t know about Fox River.
He should be happy his wife and brother have become good friends. He is happy. They’re the two people he loves most in the world, and it would pain him greatly if they were at odds. It’s just that every time they talk about their shared time at Fox River - a time that doesn’t include him - it only reminds him his brother has known Sara a hell of a lot longer than he has. Lincoln had interacted with her on a weekly basis for over a year, and he had never once mentioned her to his brother. It’s almost as if she wasn’t worth mentioning, and Michael still doesn’t know if that makes him feel relieved or resentful.
All he knows is when they swap old war stories, he feels like a fifth wheel.
They greet him cheerfully when he appears. Sara rises to her feet to entwine her arm through his and bestow a warm kiss on his mouth, and the feeling of being excluded immediately eases. “Hey there.” She squeezes his arm gently as she gives him a searching look, and he belatedly realises he hasn’t managed to mask his thoughts as well as he’d hoped. “Everything okay?”
“All good.” He lightly strokes her arm, then reaches out to slap his hand against his brother’s, outstretched in greeting. “You hitting the waves today?”
“You bet.” Lincoln drains the last drop of the bottle in front of him - it’s water, rather than beer - and flashes Sara a smile of thanks. “Thanks for the rehydration.”
She grins, dropping back into her chair. “You’d think you’d have learned by now not to jog along the beach without wearing a cap.”
“Linc doesn’t do caps,” Michael automatically offers at the same time his brother shoots back with, “Caps are for wimps.”
Sara rolls her eyes at them, then Linc says goodbye and see you later and heads in the direction of his own place (and his surfboard) and they’re left alone on the porch. Michael joins her at the long wooden table, propping his sandy feet up on the closest chair handy, and waits.
He doesn’t have to wait too long.
His wife looks at him, her gaze clear and steady. “You sure you’re all good?”
“It’s nothing.” She says nothing, just keeps looking at him, and he wonders why he still bothers demurring when she asks these kinds of question. They both already know he’s going to tell her what’s troubling him; this is just the little dance that they do. “Okay, it is something but it’s my problem and I’ll deal with it.”
She shakes her head at him, a faint smile flirting with the curve of her lips. “Out with it, Scofield.”
He inhales a lungful of salt-tinged air. “It’s just when you and Linc talk about old times at Fox River -” Her eyes widen, but again she says nothing. He hesitates, trying to find the right words, words that won’t make him sound like a jealous husband, then realises that’s exactly what he is. “I think sometimes I forget I wasn’t the first one to meet you.”
It feels good to finally say the words out loud, but he can almost see the oh, boy in her eyes. She purses her lips, as if considering her options, then leans back gracefully in her chair. “That’s right.” Long legs crossed, she brushes his bare calf with her toes, a steady, teasing rhythm. “All those times I hung out with Lincoln, I didn’t even know you existed.”
“Ouch.” He can’t help smiling at her playfully blunt observation. “Don’t go sugar-coating the facts for my benefit now.”
“But the thing is, Scofield,” she goes on as if he hasn’t interrupted, “that for me, it’s about quality, not quantity.”
He grins, the last lingering sense of exclusion receding. “Well, I don’t like to brag, but-”
She rolls her eyes again, but this time the gesture is infused with a tenderness that makes his throat tighten. “Besides, being the first one isn’t always best.” Reaching out, she threads her fingers through his, lifting his hand to her lips in a gesture that never fails to quicken his blood. “Being the last one can be good, don’t you think?”
Her kiss is warm against his skin, white teeth gently nipping his knuckles. He breathes in another gulp of air scented with salt and the faintest trace of the body lotion she’d applied that morning, then smiles at her. “Tell me more about this quality theory of yours?”
~*~
Fandom: Prison Break
Characters:Michael Scofield, Sara Tancredi, Lincoln Burrows
Genre:AU, post-canon, het, non-epilogue-compliant
Pairing:Michael/Sara
Rating:PG-15
Length:900 words
Summary:He prides himself on being a rational man, but obviously there is an exception to every rule.
Author's note:This prompt was from lizparker6, who asked for Michael is actually jealous of Lincoln about a matter - up to your choice - concerning Sara. Non-epilogue-compliant, fluff or angst, set after s4. So, I started writing the usual drabble with this, but once the idea took hold...well, you see the 900 word count up there. *facepalms*
~*~
He hears their laughter long before he reaches the house, his pace slowing as he crosses the sandy grass that leads to the stairs. “Do you remember Spencer?” he hears Sara ask. “The screw who only lasted three days before he went on indefinite stress leave?”
“God, what an idiot.” His brother snorts with laughter. “Did you know he refused to work on the Row because he thought it was haunted?”
Sara’s laughter lilts through the warm air. “And who did he get that idea from, I wonder?”
There’s a pause, as if Lincoln is taking a sip of something, more than likely one of Michael’s beers. “I may have mentioned it.”
Michael manages a half-hearted smile at the sound of his wife’s answering chuckle. He’d never known a guard named Spencer, but of course, there’s a lot he doesn’t know about Fox River.
He should be happy his wife and brother have become good friends. He is happy. They’re the two people he loves most in the world, and it would pain him greatly if they were at odds. It’s just that every time they talk about their shared time at Fox River - a time that doesn’t include him - it only reminds him his brother has known Sara a hell of a lot longer than he has. Lincoln had interacted with her on a weekly basis for over a year, and he had never once mentioned her to his brother. It’s almost as if she wasn’t worth mentioning, and Michael still doesn’t know if that makes him feel relieved or resentful.
All he knows is when they swap old war stories, he feels like a fifth wheel.
They greet him cheerfully when he appears. Sara rises to her feet to entwine her arm through his and bestow a warm kiss on his mouth, and the feeling of being excluded immediately eases. “Hey there.” She squeezes his arm gently as she gives him a searching look, and he belatedly realises he hasn’t managed to mask his thoughts as well as he’d hoped. “Everything okay?”
“All good.” He lightly strokes her arm, then reaches out to slap his hand against his brother’s, outstretched in greeting. “You hitting the waves today?”
“You bet.” Lincoln drains the last drop of the bottle in front of him - it’s water, rather than beer - and flashes Sara a smile of thanks. “Thanks for the rehydration.”
She grins, dropping back into her chair. “You’d think you’d have learned by now not to jog along the beach without wearing a cap.”
“Linc doesn’t do caps,” Michael automatically offers at the same time his brother shoots back with, “Caps are for wimps.”
Sara rolls her eyes at them, then Linc says goodbye and see you later and heads in the direction of his own place (and his surfboard) and they’re left alone on the porch. Michael joins her at the long wooden table, propping his sandy feet up on the closest chair handy, and waits.
He doesn’t have to wait too long.
His wife looks at him, her gaze clear and steady. “You sure you’re all good?”
“It’s nothing.” She says nothing, just keeps looking at him, and he wonders why he still bothers demurring when she asks these kinds of question. They both already know he’s going to tell her what’s troubling him; this is just the little dance that they do. “Okay, it is something but it’s my problem and I’ll deal with it.”
She shakes her head at him, a faint smile flirting with the curve of her lips. “Out with it, Scofield.”
He inhales a lungful of salt-tinged air. “It’s just when you and Linc talk about old times at Fox River -” Her eyes widen, but again she says nothing. He hesitates, trying to find the right words, words that won’t make him sound like a jealous husband, then realises that’s exactly what he is. “I think sometimes I forget I wasn’t the first one to meet you.”
It feels good to finally say the words out loud, but he can almost see the oh, boy in her eyes. She purses her lips, as if considering her options, then leans back gracefully in her chair. “That’s right.” Long legs crossed, she brushes his bare calf with her toes, a steady, teasing rhythm. “All those times I hung out with Lincoln, I didn’t even know you existed.”
“Ouch.” He can’t help smiling at her playfully blunt observation. “Don’t go sugar-coating the facts for my benefit now.”
“But the thing is, Scofield,” she goes on as if he hasn’t interrupted, “that for me, it’s about quality, not quantity.”
He grins, the last lingering sense of exclusion receding. “Well, I don’t like to brag, but-”
She rolls her eyes again, but this time the gesture is infused with a tenderness that makes his throat tighten. “Besides, being the first one isn’t always best.” Reaching out, she threads her fingers through his, lifting his hand to her lips in a gesture that never fails to quicken his blood. “Being the last one can be good, don’t you think?”
Her kiss is warm against his skin, white teeth gently nipping his knuckles. He breathes in another gulp of air scented with salt and the faintest trace of the body lotion she’d applied that morning, then smiles at her. “Tell me more about this quality theory of yours?”
~*~