"As Told To Me by Alex Mahone", for michele659
Title: As Told To Me by Alex Mahone
Author: To be revealed
Rating: NC-17
Category: Slash; AU
Characters: Michael/Mahone, Lincoln, Sucre, Sara Tancredi, Don Self, T-Bag, OC
Requested by: michele659
Summary: What if things had gone differently at the end of Selfless?
Spoilers: Spoilery up to Season 4.13 Selfless then it wanders off into complete AU.
Warnings: M/M sex; non-con situation; violence.
Author's Notes: I suggest this is read with a healthy dose of scepticism. It is, after all, AU and a product of my wild imagination. I believe I’ve included all your requests though. There’s definitely some romance; there’s sex, drama, and I hope a little humour. I think what transpires can be classed as an adventure and the sexual tension is there, as is the mind fuck (I hope) and I think I’ve caught the soul mates element too. Feel free to berate me (once you know who I am, of course!) if I’ve missed anything or disappointed you.
The requested elements were: Michael/Mahone, sexual tension, mind fuck and soulmates.
As Told To Me by Alex Mahone
Sometimes someone will come along and take your world by storm.
Sometimes it’s love at first sight or a warm and familiar friendship that grows into love with time spent together.
Occasionally it’s something utterly earth-shattering that changes your life completely.
That’s what happened with us.
Ironically when the manhunt for the Fox River Eight began I’d only found him because I’d got to know how his mind worked.
That day in the cemetery I could feel his eyes on me and I knew that only the thrill of the chase stopped me from taking after him in hot pursuit. Sure, I always intended to catch him but not any time soon and when our eyes met in that elevator when he and his brother were trying to free his nephew I pretty much knew he felt the same. He wanted to be caught but in his own good time, though I did half suspect that was because he felt he should be punished for the tragedies he’d set in motion, and not before he had spirited his brother away to a safe location. Fate, however, took a hand at every turn in the road and I was denied the preferred scene of his capture; he with his hands cuffed behind him and me pinning him to a wall or the car, rubbing the erection of a lifetime against his ass.
Sometimes I still dream about what might have happened if things had gone that way instead of all to Hell. Sweet dreams indeed...but that wasn’t the half of it.
In Sona, even though he had put me there, our minds still worked together in syncopation; or at least they did once I was free of the chemical haze. It was sweet torture every time I was close enough to feel the heat of his body and judging by the looks he gave me he felt it too. And after that, when we were free and trying to get Scylla from The Company, his proximity always had my heart rate increasing. Yes, he was the mastermind and I was always one step behind him but it still had me hot and wanting.
Just before Michael had collapsed and Sara had taken him to hospital I’d smiled secretly to myself when Sucre said only the two of us could know stuff like that when we’d worked out the lettering on the pages Gretchen had given him. Sucre had noticed that much but hopefully nothing else. But it gave me a thrill of satisfaction to hear someone say that our minds worked so similarly.
The bottom just about fell out of my world when we all found out how sick he really was. I saw Lincoln and Sara struggling to hold it together and I felt the same inside. But we couldn’t afford to screw the mission up because we’d all have finished up behind bars for a very long time. Except Sara, though with the love of her life languishing in prison, or worse; dead, she might as well have been.
Once Scylla was in Don Self’s hands and we had our freedom in a manila envelope waiting for us to ride off into the sunset I knew he wasn’t going to give up the goods as easily as that. Neither of us, not any of us to be honest, had ever truly trusted Self and I wasn’t surprised to find out that Michael had kept and hidden a small piece of Scylla until we were sure of his trustworthiness.
Sitting around a table in the warehouse we opened the envelope and found all the paperwork in order. Michael checked it, I checked it; even Lincoln, Sucre and Sara checked it and it looked kosher. A little over an hour later a couple of trucks and an ambulance turned up. Only then did Michael call Self on his cell and inform him of the whereabouts of the missing chip then Lincoln, Sucre and I climbed into one of the trucks and took off behind the ambulance containing a seriously ill structural engineer and his devoted physician.
While Michael was undergoing tests at the hospital the rest of us were taken to a non-descript government building and ‘processed’, as Don Self had put it, which basically consisted of de-briefing and signing a lot of papers. Then we were given $5,000 each and the keys to an apartment and taken there to await news of Michael.
Six hours later we got the news. Michael had come through his surgery to remove a malignant tumor from his hypothalamus that had spread into his hippocampus...shit, I knew the words but all that mattered was that he had survived the surgery and his prognosis was tentatively good.
We all spent time with him at the hospital waiting for him to come out of the anesthesia and I couldn’t help feeling a stab of jealousy that Sara was with him when he opened his eyes. Petty, I know, but to be the first person he saw when he woke up...but it wasn’t to be.
I was still kind of struggling to understand why I felt this way about a man. I loved Pam, and I always would. We’d shared something very precious; a child. Now all we shared was our grief for Cameron and even though I had killed the black-hearted bastard who had murdered him it would never be enough to keep Pam and me together.
And I’d never looked at another male and thought he was hot; until Michael Scofield exploded into my life. Yes, he was the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen but it wasn’t only that.
It was his calculating brain, the same brain that had fought so hard to hold together a complicated plan when that tumor inside his head had begun to grow. It was his incredible knack of seeing all the details in everything that gave him the information he needed to formulate such an audacious plan...God, even planting the drugs aboard the Christina Rose, thus ensuring I would be sent to Sona for being in possession, was a plan I greatly admired, despite the consequences.
Six days later he was released from the hospital. Sara took good care of him during his rehabilitation and Lincoln made sure he got the rest he’d been ordered to take until he was fully healed.
But we still had the chance to have conversations alone and while nothing inappropriate happened during those times I still couldn’t shake the feeling that we were more than just friends.
Once he was fully recovered a couple of weeks later and given appointments to attend in order that the medics could check that the tumor wasn’t coming back, he started planning to go after Bagwell, who had inexplicably escaped GATE and the feds and apparently disappeared off the face of the earth.
Another aspect of Michael that made him a cut above the average Joe was his need to atone for all his perceived sins. I’d never known a man take on the sins of the world more than Michael Scofield.
That was what caused the schism that cleaved Sara Tancredi from him. Or at least that’s what I thought.
I understood her reasons for wanting Michael to just forget about the son of a bitch, but she couldn’t understand that Michael Scofield isn’t made that way. If she’d asked me I would have told her that sooner or later he would go after Bagwell if he wasn’t apprehended in the meantime and bring the bastard in.
Lincoln had already gone back to Panama to be with his son LJ and Sofia, with instructions to keep him informed of his brother’s progress and Sucre had left to be with his girl and baby daughter. We all kept in touch via the telephone and the internet, but only Sara and I were still with Michael.
I had to sit in the room next door in our apartment while they had a blazing row about the whole thing. It wasn’t pretty and I think it hit Michael hard.
Eventually, with a slamming of the door and the sound of a tortured engine, I heard Sara drive away and decided that she had left in a fit of temper and would be back once she’d cooled off. When I went next door to see how Michael was I even tried to tell him that.
“She’s packed everything, Alex,” he murmured as he sat on the faded comforter of the queen-sized bed, his head in his hands. “She’s gone and she isn’t coming back.”
The desolation in his voice was obvious but I’d tried to reassure him that tempers had been running high and she’d come back.
Then he’d said a strange thing.
“She said she’d known for a long time that it wasn’t just about me and her.”
Sitting beside him on the bed I smoothed a comforting hand over his shorn head, touching the scar from his surgery that his hair was just beginning to cover. “What did she mean by that?”
“She seems to think we’re involved somehow.”
I couldn’t help feeling bad when he’d said that. For all of my certainty that he’d felt the same thing I had that day in the elevator, I still couldn’t bring myself to believe that he would feel the same now, not after having been with Sara. And I know I’d had lingering thoughts in the beginning of trying to make it work with Pam, but too much was broken to ever be fixed again. I’d come to accept it was better to stay out of her life than try to repair the irreparable. But I’d thought Michael and Sara were forever.
“Are we?” he asked.
Unable to immediately answer this loaded question I just stared at his bowed head.
“Are we, Alex?”
“Maybe,” was all I could manage right then. “But what about Sara?”
“There is no Sara; not any more. She isn’t coming back, Alex.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
“Believe me, I do. I told her I loved you.”
That got my attention. I gawped at him stupidly for many minutes and as I did I saw the fear of rejection in his eyes.
“But don’t worry about it,” he said turning away from me. “I don’t expect you...”
“I love you too, Michael.”
He turned back then and his eyes were wide with amazement.
“You do?”
Tentatively I reached my hand up to caress his cheek. “Yes.” I curled my other hand around the nape of his neck and pulled him towards me, running a thumb gently over his pretty mouth before I closed my eyes and leaned in, brushing his lips softly with my own. He stiffened slightly then gave in to the need and kissed me back, opening his mouth to allow my tongue inside.
I had never, not once, in my life wanted to kiss a man so badly and when it happened it felt like it was the most natural thing in the world and my heart rejoiced. He loved me! And I loved him. It wasn’t about gender; not even close. It was about him and the mind that lay behind that beautiful face and the goodness that dwelt in his heart. For too long I’d seen the shitty side of human nature but now, through him, I could see there was still so much good in the world and while we were both damaged in a lot of ways maybe there was hope for our salvation.
When we eventually parted I couldn’t help grinning. “It’s not that I’m gay, you understand.”
“Of course not. Neither am I,” he smiled back.
“Though bisexual is okay.”
The sound of his laughter, the first time I’d seen him so relaxed in weeks, made me laugh too and eventually we collapsed together on the bed, so recently the scene of his and Sara’s lovemaking, and just held each other.
Sex could wait. For now.
**
Our first time was awkward and a little embarrassing. Neither of us quite understood the mechanics of gay sex very well.
But once we established that Michael would prefer to bottom we made progress.
One night, when all the preceding nights were limited to hand-jobs and blow-jobs, we had an extended make-out session until he finally took me by the hand and led me into the bedroom.
He stripped off his clothes while I stood and watched appreciatively then climbed on the bed, crouching down on all fours and looking at me expectantly.
“Uh...what?”
“Grab the lube and a condom and take me, Alex,” he said as if he were explaining something to a child.
“Oh. Right.”
I fished the supplies he’d bought only two days before out of the nightstand drawer and got naked as quickly as I could, rolling the condom down over my swelling cock, eager to be inside him for the first time, though more than a little apprehensive.
Coating my fingers with lube I pushed them into him and I must have been a little rough because I heard him whimper in pain.
“Take it gently, Alex. Virgin hole, remember?”
Smiling to myself, loving the concept that I would be the first man to breech that impossibly tiny hole, I took my time, trying to control the urge to just thrust into him and instead prepare him properly. Slathering my condomed-cock with the lube I perched there on my knees and looked down at his naked ass, not quite sure how I should go about it.
With the patience I knew he had in abundance I heard the smile in his voice when he said “I think this is the part where you’re supposed to take me, isn’t it?”
Easy for him to say. He wasn’t kneeling there like a virgin bridegroom faced with a hot bride for the very first time, complete with slicked-up cock and a raging erection. Though I had to concede he did have the raging erection to contend with too, which led my brain to thinking ”He wants this...” and so I snapped out of my nervous bridegroom mode and parted his beautiful pale cheeks to expose his most secret entrance and pushed my cock forward.
It wasn’t easy. He was tight, beautifully tight, and I was nervous and he moaned in pain a little as I tried to push past an obstruction which I thought must be muscle and he even bucked in agony as I breeched that. But finally, to our mutual relief, I was filling him to the hilt and we were finally making love like only two men can.
It was a little awkward, but eventually I found my rhythm and he pushed himself back on me each time I withdrew, and I think we actually began to enjoy it then, or at least the breathy little whimpers and pants and gasps Michael was making sounded like he was enjoying it.
I think we were both a little outside of ourselves after that and before we knew it he had collapsed under me and I’d toppled down on him and there was stickiness and the heady aroma of sex in the air as we lay together, hands entwined, for a while before the cooling semen on his skin from his own orgasm became too much and we scampered into the shower.
But we’d done it. We’d properly consummated our relationship and never looked back.
**
Soon weeks then months past and Sara did not come back. I knew Michael missed her badly but I hoped in time he would forget that she had come close to dying and experienced things no human being should ever go through because of him. I knew he still felt guilty for all the pain he had caused Sara but he was slowly letting go.
He still woke in a cold sweat at night, bolt upright in bed, his eyes staring, his chest heaving and in the light of day he’d confess to me that it was not just because of Sara but also because of Teddy Bagwell and the evil that he, Michael, had stupidly unleashed upon the world.
The pedophile was still on the loose and only the news that he was behind bars would help Michael sleep better at night.
He talked about going after Bagwell and he even began to conceive a plan.
I tried to talk him out of it, and at night I’d stop him voicing his plans by kissing him until he was breathless before lying him down, slicking his hole and my cock, and thrusting into him. His moans of need and heat drove all thoughts of Bagwell out of my head, and I hoped his too. Until the next time he raised the subject.
Strangely, as it happened, we didn’t need to go after him after all.
**
Since we were now no longer wanted, though disturbingly we still had a kind of celebrity status and occasionally had to dodge the media, I got a job in security and Michael took a junior position at an engineering company. He knew he had to start from the bottom and work his way up if he wanted to return to his chosen profession and he was prepared to start again any way he had to.
I did the graveyard shift every other week and it was while I was at work that it happened.
I would never have thought that Bagwell would have stayed in L.A. Felicia Lang kept me informed about the search for him but all of the FBI’s leads kept coming up empty. The man was slipperier than a bag of eels.
So when I got home that morning and found him in our apartment I couldn’t have been more shocked.
**
Entering the apartment quietly, since it was still early and Michael usually slept in a little later on a Saturday morning, I dropped my keys on the hall table and went into the kitchen to put the coffee pot on and wake him, as I always did.
But something didn’t feel right.
I drew my gun and made my way along the hall, the rising sun shining through the drapes giving me just enough light to see. Cautiously, my weapon preceding me, I checked every room but each one was empty. Only the living room was left.
It still felt wrong, and I’d developed my prickly sense during my time in the FBI and it had rarely failed me. Now it was in overdrive and I felt a little nauseous at the thought that Michael might be in danger.
Stealing myself, I leaned forward slowly to peer into the lounge room.
“Morning, Mistah Mahone,” an all too familiar voice said smugly.
Leaning further forward I saw Michael lying on the floor. By now my eyes were used to the half-light and I could see his face was bloodied.
And I could see the light glinting off the metal of a gun held to his head.
“Come on in, Alex. Come in and see yoah pretty boy now.”
Barely able to keep my raging anger in check I lowered my gun and entered the bedroom. The weapon was snatched from my hand and the sound of a safety catch being clicked off made me freeze. I felt the cold metal of a gun barrel press against my temple and groaned inwardly. The bastard had an accomplice. Moving my eyes only, I swiveled my gaze and saw a second man who had been lurking behind the door and I cursed my carelessness. But in the face of finding a bleeding Michael lying on the floor at the mercy of a proven killer I’d let my guard down and it could cost us both our lives.
“Put the gun down, Denny,” Bagwell told his cohort. “I ain’t lettin’ either of these two off that lightly.”
With a gun to Michael’s head Bagwell knew I wouldn’t try anything and as Denny lowered the weapon I strained to see if Michael was hurt badly. “Michael?” I called softly and was rewarded with stirring and a painful groan.
“He’s a tad out of it but he’s fine. For now.”
Only slightly reassured I glared at him. “What do you want, Bagwell?”
“That’s Mistah Bagwell to you,” he replied, the grin on his face fully visible now that the light was improving. “What do I want? Why, I came back to claim what I’ve wanted since this little fishy first arrived at Fox River.” He looked down at Michael and nodded. “I always wanted a piece of his sweet ass. But he let me down bad; real bad. So now he’s gotta be punished for lettin’ ole Teddy down and the good news is, Alex, you get to watch.”
My blood damn near froze in my veins when I heard this, even though my mind was trying to come up with a plan. Michael wasn’t in any position to help so I had to save both our lives, because I knew for sure that otherwise this would end with both of us dead and Michael...I couldn’t even bring my self to think the word.
“Kneel down, Mahone, and put your hands on your head.”
He jammed the barrel of the gun against Michael’s head again and I complied, terrified if I tried anything right now Bagwell would pull that trigger, despite his assurance that he didn’t want us to get off lightly with a quick death. I knew from reading his file back in Chicago that he was a sick and twisted pervert who liked to torture and abuse his victims before showing them the mercy of death. I also remembered that he wasn’t particular if the body he fucked was breathing or not and that thought chilled me to the bone.
Denny placed the barrel of his gun against my temple again and with a sinking feeling I knew I would have to watch Bagwell do terrible things to Michael if I didn’t come up with a plan quickly. In the FBI I’d learned to look for an opening, any opening, that might give a better than even chance of a favorable outcome and even though, right now, it seemed hopeless, I knew that at some point one or both of these men’s concentration would waver and I would get a chance.
Bagwell laid the gun on the floor beside him and pulled down the pyjama pants Michael usually wore to bed on the nights when he slept alone. To me that was violation enough but the chance I was waiting for was yet to present and I had to grit my teeth and keep my rage under control.
When Bagwell had pulled them down to Michael’s thighs he stirred, groaning again, but did not resist as the rapist turned him over onto his front.
“My, but that is one come-fuck-me ass, Alex,” Bagwell almost purred as Michael’s pale globes were fully revealed.
Sickeningly I heard an appreciative sound from Denny and while it was a vile thing to hear I filed the information away in case it proved useful.
“I only wish you hadn’t been there first, Alex.” He shook his head and looked up at me like a teacher expressing her disappointment in her favorite pupil. “But I do understand that the Pretty’s ass ain’t easy to resist, especially if he gives it to you willingly. I’d always hoped that would happen in Fox River but sadly the boy’s too damn proud. He ain’t looking so proud now, is he?”
As he kept up this monologue Bagwell was unzipping his fly and shoving his pants and underwear down. Even with his prosthetic hand hampering him he still seemed extraordinarily dexterous like he’d been years with only one functioning hand. He was obviously adaptable but his disability could still count in my favor when the time came to make a move.
Michael reacted when a finger was thrust into him. He squirmed, though not like he squirmed when it was my finger or cock inside him. That was with pleasure but this reaction had nothing to do with pleasure. He tried to crawl away but he was plainly still too groggy.
Bagwell laughed and Michael froze, recognizing the sound.
“Yes, Pretty, it’s Uncle Teddy. I think it best if you don’t struggle since yoah boyfriend has a gun to his head. I’m sure you wouldn’t want his brains splattered all over the nice white walls, would you now?”
Michael remained still and silent as the finger pushed into him again. I was shaking with the effort of trying to keep calm as Bagwell violated him. Denny seemed to take more interest then and I saw from the corner of my eye that he was only half-watching me; the rest of his attention was focused on what was happening to Michael.
It was still too risky to make my move, though I was desperate not to let Bagwell go too far and rape Michael. I tried to calm my breathing and be patient because I was sure my opportunity would come. Past experience told me that in a critical situation like this a distraction created opportunities to bring them to an end safely.
I almost screamed in rage when Bagwell sat astride Michael’s thighs and lifted his hips slightly with his one functioning hand but anger wasn’t going to get us out of this. Only patience and choosing the right moment.
Denny, obviously jealous that his cohort was close to getting what he obviously craved too, took his eyes off me completely and fate seemed to look extra kindly down on us.
In the kitchen just down the hall the coffee maker chose that moment to bubble loudly as it spilled freshly made coffee into the jug and momentarily distracted Denny.
I heard Michael groan in pain even as I sprang into action.
My right arm came up and pushed the hand holding the gun into the air. The room was filled with the sound of the gun going off but luckily the bullet went skywards and, as I found out afterwards, embedded itself in the ceiling. Moving fast I rose from my knees and grabbed the hand that held the weapon, forcing it high and squeezing hard, feeling a satisfying crack as small bones snapped under the pressure. He released the gun with a cry of pain and my elbow smashed into his face, and again I heard a satisfying crack as his nose broke.
I saw in the periphery of my vision that Bagwell was reaching for the gun he’d laid on the floor beside him but the action of climbing on top of Michael meant he was further away than he had been and it was on his left side which was his prosthetic hand, giving me time to raise the gun that I’d taken from Denny. Without the time to aim carefully I lowered the barrel, knowing it would lift slightly with the kick as it fired and a part of my brain noticed he’d turned to face me while still scrabbling for the gun.
The sound of the second bullet echoed around the room as a red hole appeared almost in the center of his forehead and the force of the impact sent him toppling backwards as blood and bits of brain sprayed over the carpet and Michael.
Holding the gun in front of me I moved cautiously towards the two of them, my FBI training kicking in to make sure there was no longer any danger, and kicked the gun Bagwell had been trying to bring into play across the room, well out of reach.
I turned quickly and saw Denny with his good hand held over his face, blood trickling between his fingers, and pushed him down on the floor, unfastening my belt and tugging it off so I could make him safe. With his hands fastened behind him he was no longer a danger.
It was only then that I allowed my emotions to take over.
Pushing Bagwell’s corpse off a bloodied and blood-splattered Michael, I kneeled to check he was okay and when he looked up at me, with a mixture of anguish and relief in his eyes, I lifted him gently and pulled him into my chest, whispering nonsense into his ear and weeping tears of relief that he had come through this safely.
Everything became a blur after that. I functioned purely on automatic and took out my cell to call the police and summon help for Michael, though as I was giving details I heard the sirens drawing closer and found out later that one of the neighbors, on hearing gunfire, had summoned them.
Soon the room was filling with people and I allowed them to gently take Michael from me. Still in shock, I answered the cops’ questions as best I could, all the while looking on as a couple of paramedics treated my lover.
Sometime later, though I lost track of time and couldn’t tell how long, he was being lifted onto a stretcher and I was being handcuffed. I tried to protest, needing to be with Michael as they conveyed him to the ER, but I was gently restrained with the reassurance that I could see him later.
The procedure at the police station seemed to take forever and I answered all their questions as best I could. Eventually I was released on bail and my lawyer and a couple of the cops steered me through the melee that my arrest had caused. The station forecourt was teeming with reporters and TV news hounds. As it turned out one of the cops had recognized Michael and Bagwell and the story soon got out that one of the former members of the Fox River Eight was in hospital and another in the morgue.
Denny turned out to be a petty crook with tastes not dissimilar to Bagwell and the murderer had taken the younger man under his wing with the promise of some good ‘sport’ if he helped him break into our apartment. He sang like a canary to the police and told them Bagwell had been following the news stories that appeared about us on the news channels each time a member of the paparazzi had snapped us as we were going about our non-descript lives, and resourceful as he was, he’d eventually found out where we lived. It was days after that I found this out, however.
We made it through the posse of reporters and I was shoved into a car, which was forced to drive slowly through the crowd, only picking up speed when it was clear of all the commotion.
Still in a daze I was taken to the hospital and finally allowed to see Michael.
He was lying, pale as a ghost, in bed. One eye was bruised and swelling shut and there was a cut over his eyebrow, which had been stitched, and a blossoming multi-hued bruise on his cheek. He’d been X-Rayed and no skull fracture had been found, but since he had suffered head trauma he would stay in the hospital for observation for the next forty-eight hours.
His eyes turned to me as I entered his room. “Alex,” he breathed emotionally. “Why were you arrested?”
I moved to the bed and laid a hand over one of his. I felt almost overcome with the relief I felt that he hadn’t been more seriously hurt.
“Procedure, Michael. A man died and another two were injured,” I assured him. “But I’m out on bail but my lawyer tells me that I probably won’t face charges.”
“Thank God,” he breathed, gripping my hand tightly.
I leaned over to kiss his lips then searched his eyes for signs of...well, something.
“Michael did he...did he actually...?”
He sobbed slightly, his eyes closing at the memory. “No...but he was trying to,” he whispered.
“Are you sure?” I knew Michael and I knew he’d try to spare me the details while internalizing them and carrying yet another burden.
He nodded and I could see in his eyes that he was telling me the truth. “I’m sure.” He managed a small smile then. “Thank you, Alex. You saved my life and I think maybe my sanity.”
The picture of Bagwell astride Michael with his pants down was one I would have to live with for a long time. But he hadn’t actually been breeched by the evil pedophile and for that I was grateful. I knew, though, that he was going to relive what had happened night after night in his dreams because that was what Michael Scofield did, and I was determined to get him into therapy.
Two days later he came home; or at least to the motel I was staying in while the police were investigating the incident and it remained a crime scene. He was a little jittery but his relief at being back with me was obvious.
Lincoln and Sucre were informed of what had happened and both assured me they were on their way. But I convinced them that Michael was okay and there was no need to change their plans for coming to visit at Thanksgiving. Then Michael and I could tell them both, as we’d planned for weeks, what our relationship had become.
Ten days later I was informed that there would be no case to answer in the death of Theodore Bagwell. Michael’s relief was palpable.
Three weeks later I signed the papers that released the reward for taking Theodore Bagwell off the streets. Dead or alive, it hadn’t mattered.
Michael insisted there was blood on the money but I still felt we deserved something for the trauma he’d put Michael through so I tucked it away in a savings account to hopefully use in the future to put a deposit on an apartment of our own.
We had come a long way together since our days as hunter and hunted, and while he still talked fondly of Sara and I of Pam, there was a special bond between us now. Setting out on a same-sex relationship was never going to be easy but we were determined to make it work.
Michael did go into therapy. He was offered a place in a free program that helped male victims of rape or sexual molestation and while he still has a long way to go his nightmares aren’t quite as frequent and he’s even moving up the ladder at the engineering firm.
The notoriety, and later fame, that came with being high-profile figures, eventually died away and we got quietly on with our lives.
His tumor did not recur, or at least it hadn’t by the fifth anniversary of our moving in to our new apartment as a couple, and we remain hopeful that it never will.
Little did I know that when I took off in pursuit of the genius who had master-minded the Fox River Prison Break that I would end up spending my life with him.
Strange how some things work out, huh?
-The End-
Author: To be revealed
Rating: NC-17
Category: Slash; AU
Characters: Michael/Mahone, Lincoln, Sucre, Sara Tancredi, Don Self, T-Bag, OC
Requested by: michele659
Summary: What if things had gone differently at the end of Selfless?
Spoilers: Spoilery up to Season 4.13 Selfless then it wanders off into complete AU.
Warnings: M/M sex; non-con situation; violence.
Author's Notes: I suggest this is read with a healthy dose of scepticism. It is, after all, AU and a product of my wild imagination. I believe I’ve included all your requests though. There’s definitely some romance; there’s sex, drama, and I hope a little humour. I think what transpires can be classed as an adventure and the sexual tension is there, as is the mind fuck (I hope) and I think I’ve caught the soul mates element too. Feel free to berate me (once you know who I am, of course!) if I’ve missed anything or disappointed you.
The requested elements were: Michael/Mahone, sexual tension, mind fuck and soulmates.
As Told To Me by Alex Mahone
Sometimes someone will come along and take your world by storm.
Sometimes it’s love at first sight or a warm and familiar friendship that grows into love with time spent together.
Occasionally it’s something utterly earth-shattering that changes your life completely.
That’s what happened with us.
Ironically when the manhunt for the Fox River Eight began I’d only found him because I’d got to know how his mind worked.
That day in the cemetery I could feel his eyes on me and I knew that only the thrill of the chase stopped me from taking after him in hot pursuit. Sure, I always intended to catch him but not any time soon and when our eyes met in that elevator when he and his brother were trying to free his nephew I pretty much knew he felt the same. He wanted to be caught but in his own good time, though I did half suspect that was because he felt he should be punished for the tragedies he’d set in motion, and not before he had spirited his brother away to a safe location. Fate, however, took a hand at every turn in the road and I was denied the preferred scene of his capture; he with his hands cuffed behind him and me pinning him to a wall or the car, rubbing the erection of a lifetime against his ass.
Sometimes I still dream about what might have happened if things had gone that way instead of all to Hell. Sweet dreams indeed...but that wasn’t the half of it.
In Sona, even though he had put me there, our minds still worked together in syncopation; or at least they did once I was free of the chemical haze. It was sweet torture every time I was close enough to feel the heat of his body and judging by the looks he gave me he felt it too. And after that, when we were free and trying to get Scylla from The Company, his proximity always had my heart rate increasing. Yes, he was the mastermind and I was always one step behind him but it still had me hot and wanting.
Just before Michael had collapsed and Sara had taken him to hospital I’d smiled secretly to myself when Sucre said only the two of us could know stuff like that when we’d worked out the lettering on the pages Gretchen had given him. Sucre had noticed that much but hopefully nothing else. But it gave me a thrill of satisfaction to hear someone say that our minds worked so similarly.
The bottom just about fell out of my world when we all found out how sick he really was. I saw Lincoln and Sara struggling to hold it together and I felt the same inside. But we couldn’t afford to screw the mission up because we’d all have finished up behind bars for a very long time. Except Sara, though with the love of her life languishing in prison, or worse; dead, she might as well have been.
Once Scylla was in Don Self’s hands and we had our freedom in a manila envelope waiting for us to ride off into the sunset I knew he wasn’t going to give up the goods as easily as that. Neither of us, not any of us to be honest, had ever truly trusted Self and I wasn’t surprised to find out that Michael had kept and hidden a small piece of Scylla until we were sure of his trustworthiness.
Sitting around a table in the warehouse we opened the envelope and found all the paperwork in order. Michael checked it, I checked it; even Lincoln, Sucre and Sara checked it and it looked kosher. A little over an hour later a couple of trucks and an ambulance turned up. Only then did Michael call Self on his cell and inform him of the whereabouts of the missing chip then Lincoln, Sucre and I climbed into one of the trucks and took off behind the ambulance containing a seriously ill structural engineer and his devoted physician.
While Michael was undergoing tests at the hospital the rest of us were taken to a non-descript government building and ‘processed’, as Don Self had put it, which basically consisted of de-briefing and signing a lot of papers. Then we were given $5,000 each and the keys to an apartment and taken there to await news of Michael.
Six hours later we got the news. Michael had come through his surgery to remove a malignant tumor from his hypothalamus that had spread into his hippocampus...shit, I knew the words but all that mattered was that he had survived the surgery and his prognosis was tentatively good.
We all spent time with him at the hospital waiting for him to come out of the anesthesia and I couldn’t help feeling a stab of jealousy that Sara was with him when he opened his eyes. Petty, I know, but to be the first person he saw when he woke up...but it wasn’t to be.
I was still kind of struggling to understand why I felt this way about a man. I loved Pam, and I always would. We’d shared something very precious; a child. Now all we shared was our grief for Cameron and even though I had killed the black-hearted bastard who had murdered him it would never be enough to keep Pam and me together.
And I’d never looked at another male and thought he was hot; until Michael Scofield exploded into my life. Yes, he was the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen but it wasn’t only that.
It was his calculating brain, the same brain that had fought so hard to hold together a complicated plan when that tumor inside his head had begun to grow. It was his incredible knack of seeing all the details in everything that gave him the information he needed to formulate such an audacious plan...God, even planting the drugs aboard the Christina Rose, thus ensuring I would be sent to Sona for being in possession, was a plan I greatly admired, despite the consequences.
Six days later he was released from the hospital. Sara took good care of him during his rehabilitation and Lincoln made sure he got the rest he’d been ordered to take until he was fully healed.
But we still had the chance to have conversations alone and while nothing inappropriate happened during those times I still couldn’t shake the feeling that we were more than just friends.
Once he was fully recovered a couple of weeks later and given appointments to attend in order that the medics could check that the tumor wasn’t coming back, he started planning to go after Bagwell, who had inexplicably escaped GATE and the feds and apparently disappeared off the face of the earth.
Another aspect of Michael that made him a cut above the average Joe was his need to atone for all his perceived sins. I’d never known a man take on the sins of the world more than Michael Scofield.
That was what caused the schism that cleaved Sara Tancredi from him. Or at least that’s what I thought.
I understood her reasons for wanting Michael to just forget about the son of a bitch, but she couldn’t understand that Michael Scofield isn’t made that way. If she’d asked me I would have told her that sooner or later he would go after Bagwell if he wasn’t apprehended in the meantime and bring the bastard in.
Lincoln had already gone back to Panama to be with his son LJ and Sofia, with instructions to keep him informed of his brother’s progress and Sucre had left to be with his girl and baby daughter. We all kept in touch via the telephone and the internet, but only Sara and I were still with Michael.
I had to sit in the room next door in our apartment while they had a blazing row about the whole thing. It wasn’t pretty and I think it hit Michael hard.
Eventually, with a slamming of the door and the sound of a tortured engine, I heard Sara drive away and decided that she had left in a fit of temper and would be back once she’d cooled off. When I went next door to see how Michael was I even tried to tell him that.
“She’s packed everything, Alex,” he murmured as he sat on the faded comforter of the queen-sized bed, his head in his hands. “She’s gone and she isn’t coming back.”
The desolation in his voice was obvious but I’d tried to reassure him that tempers had been running high and she’d come back.
Then he’d said a strange thing.
“She said she’d known for a long time that it wasn’t just about me and her.”
Sitting beside him on the bed I smoothed a comforting hand over his shorn head, touching the scar from his surgery that his hair was just beginning to cover. “What did she mean by that?”
“She seems to think we’re involved somehow.”
I couldn’t help feeling bad when he’d said that. For all of my certainty that he’d felt the same thing I had that day in the elevator, I still couldn’t bring myself to believe that he would feel the same now, not after having been with Sara. And I know I’d had lingering thoughts in the beginning of trying to make it work with Pam, but too much was broken to ever be fixed again. I’d come to accept it was better to stay out of her life than try to repair the irreparable. But I’d thought Michael and Sara were forever.
“Are we?” he asked.
Unable to immediately answer this loaded question I just stared at his bowed head.
“Are we, Alex?”
“Maybe,” was all I could manage right then. “But what about Sara?”
“There is no Sara; not any more. She isn’t coming back, Alex.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
“Believe me, I do. I told her I loved you.”
That got my attention. I gawped at him stupidly for many minutes and as I did I saw the fear of rejection in his eyes.
“But don’t worry about it,” he said turning away from me. “I don’t expect you...”
“I love you too, Michael.”
He turned back then and his eyes were wide with amazement.
“You do?”
Tentatively I reached my hand up to caress his cheek. “Yes.” I curled my other hand around the nape of his neck and pulled him towards me, running a thumb gently over his pretty mouth before I closed my eyes and leaned in, brushing his lips softly with my own. He stiffened slightly then gave in to the need and kissed me back, opening his mouth to allow my tongue inside.
I had never, not once, in my life wanted to kiss a man so badly and when it happened it felt like it was the most natural thing in the world and my heart rejoiced. He loved me! And I loved him. It wasn’t about gender; not even close. It was about him and the mind that lay behind that beautiful face and the goodness that dwelt in his heart. For too long I’d seen the shitty side of human nature but now, through him, I could see there was still so much good in the world and while we were both damaged in a lot of ways maybe there was hope for our salvation.
When we eventually parted I couldn’t help grinning. “It’s not that I’m gay, you understand.”
“Of course not. Neither am I,” he smiled back.
“Though bisexual is okay.”
The sound of his laughter, the first time I’d seen him so relaxed in weeks, made me laugh too and eventually we collapsed together on the bed, so recently the scene of his and Sara’s lovemaking, and just held each other.
Sex could wait. For now.
**
Our first time was awkward and a little embarrassing. Neither of us quite understood the mechanics of gay sex very well.
But once we established that Michael would prefer to bottom we made progress.
One night, when all the preceding nights were limited to hand-jobs and blow-jobs, we had an extended make-out session until he finally took me by the hand and led me into the bedroom.
He stripped off his clothes while I stood and watched appreciatively then climbed on the bed, crouching down on all fours and looking at me expectantly.
“Uh...what?”
“Grab the lube and a condom and take me, Alex,” he said as if he were explaining something to a child.
“Oh. Right.”
I fished the supplies he’d bought only two days before out of the nightstand drawer and got naked as quickly as I could, rolling the condom down over my swelling cock, eager to be inside him for the first time, though more than a little apprehensive.
Coating my fingers with lube I pushed them into him and I must have been a little rough because I heard him whimper in pain.
“Take it gently, Alex. Virgin hole, remember?”
Smiling to myself, loving the concept that I would be the first man to breech that impossibly tiny hole, I took my time, trying to control the urge to just thrust into him and instead prepare him properly. Slathering my condomed-cock with the lube I perched there on my knees and looked down at his naked ass, not quite sure how I should go about it.
With the patience I knew he had in abundance I heard the smile in his voice when he said “I think this is the part where you’re supposed to take me, isn’t it?”
Easy for him to say. He wasn’t kneeling there like a virgin bridegroom faced with a hot bride for the very first time, complete with slicked-up cock and a raging erection. Though I had to concede he did have the raging erection to contend with too, which led my brain to thinking ”He wants this...” and so I snapped out of my nervous bridegroom mode and parted his beautiful pale cheeks to expose his most secret entrance and pushed my cock forward.
It wasn’t easy. He was tight, beautifully tight, and I was nervous and he moaned in pain a little as I tried to push past an obstruction which I thought must be muscle and he even bucked in agony as I breeched that. But finally, to our mutual relief, I was filling him to the hilt and we were finally making love like only two men can.
It was a little awkward, but eventually I found my rhythm and he pushed himself back on me each time I withdrew, and I think we actually began to enjoy it then, or at least the breathy little whimpers and pants and gasps Michael was making sounded like he was enjoying it.
I think we were both a little outside of ourselves after that and before we knew it he had collapsed under me and I’d toppled down on him and there was stickiness and the heady aroma of sex in the air as we lay together, hands entwined, for a while before the cooling semen on his skin from his own orgasm became too much and we scampered into the shower.
But we’d done it. We’d properly consummated our relationship and never looked back.
**
Soon weeks then months past and Sara did not come back. I knew Michael missed her badly but I hoped in time he would forget that she had come close to dying and experienced things no human being should ever go through because of him. I knew he still felt guilty for all the pain he had caused Sara but he was slowly letting go.
He still woke in a cold sweat at night, bolt upright in bed, his eyes staring, his chest heaving and in the light of day he’d confess to me that it was not just because of Sara but also because of Teddy Bagwell and the evil that he, Michael, had stupidly unleashed upon the world.
The pedophile was still on the loose and only the news that he was behind bars would help Michael sleep better at night.
He talked about going after Bagwell and he even began to conceive a plan.
I tried to talk him out of it, and at night I’d stop him voicing his plans by kissing him until he was breathless before lying him down, slicking his hole and my cock, and thrusting into him. His moans of need and heat drove all thoughts of Bagwell out of my head, and I hoped his too. Until the next time he raised the subject.
Strangely, as it happened, we didn’t need to go after him after all.
**
Since we were now no longer wanted, though disturbingly we still had a kind of celebrity status and occasionally had to dodge the media, I got a job in security and Michael took a junior position at an engineering company. He knew he had to start from the bottom and work his way up if he wanted to return to his chosen profession and he was prepared to start again any way he had to.
I did the graveyard shift every other week and it was while I was at work that it happened.
I would never have thought that Bagwell would have stayed in L.A. Felicia Lang kept me informed about the search for him but all of the FBI’s leads kept coming up empty. The man was slipperier than a bag of eels.
So when I got home that morning and found him in our apartment I couldn’t have been more shocked.
**
Entering the apartment quietly, since it was still early and Michael usually slept in a little later on a Saturday morning, I dropped my keys on the hall table and went into the kitchen to put the coffee pot on and wake him, as I always did.
But something didn’t feel right.
I drew my gun and made my way along the hall, the rising sun shining through the drapes giving me just enough light to see. Cautiously, my weapon preceding me, I checked every room but each one was empty. Only the living room was left.
It still felt wrong, and I’d developed my prickly sense during my time in the FBI and it had rarely failed me. Now it was in overdrive and I felt a little nauseous at the thought that Michael might be in danger.
Stealing myself, I leaned forward slowly to peer into the lounge room.
“Morning, Mistah Mahone,” an all too familiar voice said smugly.
Leaning further forward I saw Michael lying on the floor. By now my eyes were used to the half-light and I could see his face was bloodied.
And I could see the light glinting off the metal of a gun held to his head.
“Come on in, Alex. Come in and see yoah pretty boy now.”
Barely able to keep my raging anger in check I lowered my gun and entered the bedroom. The weapon was snatched from my hand and the sound of a safety catch being clicked off made me freeze. I felt the cold metal of a gun barrel press against my temple and groaned inwardly. The bastard had an accomplice. Moving my eyes only, I swiveled my gaze and saw a second man who had been lurking behind the door and I cursed my carelessness. But in the face of finding a bleeding Michael lying on the floor at the mercy of a proven killer I’d let my guard down and it could cost us both our lives.
“Put the gun down, Denny,” Bagwell told his cohort. “I ain’t lettin’ either of these two off that lightly.”
With a gun to Michael’s head Bagwell knew I wouldn’t try anything and as Denny lowered the weapon I strained to see if Michael was hurt badly. “Michael?” I called softly and was rewarded with stirring and a painful groan.
“He’s a tad out of it but he’s fine. For now.”
Only slightly reassured I glared at him. “What do you want, Bagwell?”
“That’s Mistah Bagwell to you,” he replied, the grin on his face fully visible now that the light was improving. “What do I want? Why, I came back to claim what I’ve wanted since this little fishy first arrived at Fox River.” He looked down at Michael and nodded. “I always wanted a piece of his sweet ass. But he let me down bad; real bad. So now he’s gotta be punished for lettin’ ole Teddy down and the good news is, Alex, you get to watch.”
My blood damn near froze in my veins when I heard this, even though my mind was trying to come up with a plan. Michael wasn’t in any position to help so I had to save both our lives, because I knew for sure that otherwise this would end with both of us dead and Michael...I couldn’t even bring my self to think the word.
“Kneel down, Mahone, and put your hands on your head.”
He jammed the barrel of the gun against Michael’s head again and I complied, terrified if I tried anything right now Bagwell would pull that trigger, despite his assurance that he didn’t want us to get off lightly with a quick death. I knew from reading his file back in Chicago that he was a sick and twisted pervert who liked to torture and abuse his victims before showing them the mercy of death. I also remembered that he wasn’t particular if the body he fucked was breathing or not and that thought chilled me to the bone.
Denny placed the barrel of his gun against my temple again and with a sinking feeling I knew I would have to watch Bagwell do terrible things to Michael if I didn’t come up with a plan quickly. In the FBI I’d learned to look for an opening, any opening, that might give a better than even chance of a favorable outcome and even though, right now, it seemed hopeless, I knew that at some point one or both of these men’s concentration would waver and I would get a chance.
Bagwell laid the gun on the floor beside him and pulled down the pyjama pants Michael usually wore to bed on the nights when he slept alone. To me that was violation enough but the chance I was waiting for was yet to present and I had to grit my teeth and keep my rage under control.
When Bagwell had pulled them down to Michael’s thighs he stirred, groaning again, but did not resist as the rapist turned him over onto his front.
“My, but that is one come-fuck-me ass, Alex,” Bagwell almost purred as Michael’s pale globes were fully revealed.
Sickeningly I heard an appreciative sound from Denny and while it was a vile thing to hear I filed the information away in case it proved useful.
“I only wish you hadn’t been there first, Alex.” He shook his head and looked up at me like a teacher expressing her disappointment in her favorite pupil. “But I do understand that the Pretty’s ass ain’t easy to resist, especially if he gives it to you willingly. I’d always hoped that would happen in Fox River but sadly the boy’s too damn proud. He ain’t looking so proud now, is he?”
As he kept up this monologue Bagwell was unzipping his fly and shoving his pants and underwear down. Even with his prosthetic hand hampering him he still seemed extraordinarily dexterous like he’d been years with only one functioning hand. He was obviously adaptable but his disability could still count in my favor when the time came to make a move.
Michael reacted when a finger was thrust into him. He squirmed, though not like he squirmed when it was my finger or cock inside him. That was with pleasure but this reaction had nothing to do with pleasure. He tried to crawl away but he was plainly still too groggy.
Bagwell laughed and Michael froze, recognizing the sound.
“Yes, Pretty, it’s Uncle Teddy. I think it best if you don’t struggle since yoah boyfriend has a gun to his head. I’m sure you wouldn’t want his brains splattered all over the nice white walls, would you now?”
Michael remained still and silent as the finger pushed into him again. I was shaking with the effort of trying to keep calm as Bagwell violated him. Denny seemed to take more interest then and I saw from the corner of my eye that he was only half-watching me; the rest of his attention was focused on what was happening to Michael.
It was still too risky to make my move, though I was desperate not to let Bagwell go too far and rape Michael. I tried to calm my breathing and be patient because I was sure my opportunity would come. Past experience told me that in a critical situation like this a distraction created opportunities to bring them to an end safely.
I almost screamed in rage when Bagwell sat astride Michael’s thighs and lifted his hips slightly with his one functioning hand but anger wasn’t going to get us out of this. Only patience and choosing the right moment.
Denny, obviously jealous that his cohort was close to getting what he obviously craved too, took his eyes off me completely and fate seemed to look extra kindly down on us.
In the kitchen just down the hall the coffee maker chose that moment to bubble loudly as it spilled freshly made coffee into the jug and momentarily distracted Denny.
I heard Michael groan in pain even as I sprang into action.
My right arm came up and pushed the hand holding the gun into the air. The room was filled with the sound of the gun going off but luckily the bullet went skywards and, as I found out afterwards, embedded itself in the ceiling. Moving fast I rose from my knees and grabbed the hand that held the weapon, forcing it high and squeezing hard, feeling a satisfying crack as small bones snapped under the pressure. He released the gun with a cry of pain and my elbow smashed into his face, and again I heard a satisfying crack as his nose broke.
I saw in the periphery of my vision that Bagwell was reaching for the gun he’d laid on the floor beside him but the action of climbing on top of Michael meant he was further away than he had been and it was on his left side which was his prosthetic hand, giving me time to raise the gun that I’d taken from Denny. Without the time to aim carefully I lowered the barrel, knowing it would lift slightly with the kick as it fired and a part of my brain noticed he’d turned to face me while still scrabbling for the gun.
The sound of the second bullet echoed around the room as a red hole appeared almost in the center of his forehead and the force of the impact sent him toppling backwards as blood and bits of brain sprayed over the carpet and Michael.
Holding the gun in front of me I moved cautiously towards the two of them, my FBI training kicking in to make sure there was no longer any danger, and kicked the gun Bagwell had been trying to bring into play across the room, well out of reach.
I turned quickly and saw Denny with his good hand held over his face, blood trickling between his fingers, and pushed him down on the floor, unfastening my belt and tugging it off so I could make him safe. With his hands fastened behind him he was no longer a danger.
It was only then that I allowed my emotions to take over.
Pushing Bagwell’s corpse off a bloodied and blood-splattered Michael, I kneeled to check he was okay and when he looked up at me, with a mixture of anguish and relief in his eyes, I lifted him gently and pulled him into my chest, whispering nonsense into his ear and weeping tears of relief that he had come through this safely.
Everything became a blur after that. I functioned purely on automatic and took out my cell to call the police and summon help for Michael, though as I was giving details I heard the sirens drawing closer and found out later that one of the neighbors, on hearing gunfire, had summoned them.
Soon the room was filling with people and I allowed them to gently take Michael from me. Still in shock, I answered the cops’ questions as best I could, all the while looking on as a couple of paramedics treated my lover.
Sometime later, though I lost track of time and couldn’t tell how long, he was being lifted onto a stretcher and I was being handcuffed. I tried to protest, needing to be with Michael as they conveyed him to the ER, but I was gently restrained with the reassurance that I could see him later.
The procedure at the police station seemed to take forever and I answered all their questions as best I could. Eventually I was released on bail and my lawyer and a couple of the cops steered me through the melee that my arrest had caused. The station forecourt was teeming with reporters and TV news hounds. As it turned out one of the cops had recognized Michael and Bagwell and the story soon got out that one of the former members of the Fox River Eight was in hospital and another in the morgue.
Denny turned out to be a petty crook with tastes not dissimilar to Bagwell and the murderer had taken the younger man under his wing with the promise of some good ‘sport’ if he helped him break into our apartment. He sang like a canary to the police and told them Bagwell had been following the news stories that appeared about us on the news channels each time a member of the paparazzi had snapped us as we were going about our non-descript lives, and resourceful as he was, he’d eventually found out where we lived. It was days after that I found this out, however.
We made it through the posse of reporters and I was shoved into a car, which was forced to drive slowly through the crowd, only picking up speed when it was clear of all the commotion.
Still in a daze I was taken to the hospital and finally allowed to see Michael.
He was lying, pale as a ghost, in bed. One eye was bruised and swelling shut and there was a cut over his eyebrow, which had been stitched, and a blossoming multi-hued bruise on his cheek. He’d been X-Rayed and no skull fracture had been found, but since he had suffered head trauma he would stay in the hospital for observation for the next forty-eight hours.
His eyes turned to me as I entered his room. “Alex,” he breathed emotionally. “Why were you arrested?”
I moved to the bed and laid a hand over one of his. I felt almost overcome with the relief I felt that he hadn’t been more seriously hurt.
“Procedure, Michael. A man died and another two were injured,” I assured him. “But I’m out on bail but my lawyer tells me that I probably won’t face charges.”
“Thank God,” he breathed, gripping my hand tightly.
I leaned over to kiss his lips then searched his eyes for signs of...well, something.
“Michael did he...did he actually...?”
He sobbed slightly, his eyes closing at the memory. “No...but he was trying to,” he whispered.
“Are you sure?” I knew Michael and I knew he’d try to spare me the details while internalizing them and carrying yet another burden.
He nodded and I could see in his eyes that he was telling me the truth. “I’m sure.” He managed a small smile then. “Thank you, Alex. You saved my life and I think maybe my sanity.”
The picture of Bagwell astride Michael with his pants down was one I would have to live with for a long time. But he hadn’t actually been breeched by the evil pedophile and for that I was grateful. I knew, though, that he was going to relive what had happened night after night in his dreams because that was what Michael Scofield did, and I was determined to get him into therapy.
Two days later he came home; or at least to the motel I was staying in while the police were investigating the incident and it remained a crime scene. He was a little jittery but his relief at being back with me was obvious.
Lincoln and Sucre were informed of what had happened and both assured me they were on their way. But I convinced them that Michael was okay and there was no need to change their plans for coming to visit at Thanksgiving. Then Michael and I could tell them both, as we’d planned for weeks, what our relationship had become.
Ten days later I was informed that there would be no case to answer in the death of Theodore Bagwell. Michael’s relief was palpable.
Three weeks later I signed the papers that released the reward for taking Theodore Bagwell off the streets. Dead or alive, it hadn’t mattered.
Michael insisted there was blood on the money but I still felt we deserved something for the trauma he’d put Michael through so I tucked it away in a savings account to hopefully use in the future to put a deposit on an apartment of our own.
We had come a long way together since our days as hunter and hunted, and while he still talked fondly of Sara and I of Pam, there was a special bond between us now. Setting out on a same-sex relationship was never going to be easy but we were determined to make it work.
Michael did go into therapy. He was offered a place in a free program that helped male victims of rape or sexual molestation and while he still has a long way to go his nightmares aren’t quite as frequent and he’s even moving up the ladder at the engineering firm.
The notoriety, and later fame, that came with being high-profile figures, eventually died away and we got quietly on with our lives.
His tumor did not recur, or at least it hadn’t by the fifth anniversary of our moving in to our new apartment as a couple, and we remain hopeful that it never will.
Little did I know that when I took off in pursuit of the genius who had master-minded the Fox River Prison Break that I would end up spending my life with him.
Strange how some things work out, huh?
-The End-