FIC: "A Thousand Cranes" (Michael/Sara, PG)
Title: "A Thousand Cranes"
Author: Gracie
Rating: PG
Pairing: Michael/Sara
Spoilers: Through "Part 2" (I think it's episode 7)
Summary: Michael has been out of prison for a year, and hasn't seen Sara since he left. That's all about to change.
Disclaimer: The characters depicted here were created by and are the property of people who are not me. They are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made from their use.
Author's Note: This is my first Prison Break fic; I sincerely hope it doesn't suck. All information about Japanese origami cranes was gleaned from this web site; I apologize if there are any errors.
It had been a year.
A year of freedom.
A year of sleeping in his own bed.
A year of eating what he wanted, when he wanted.
A year of going where he pleased.
A year of waking up in the middle of the night because it was too quiet.
A year of training himself not to flinch when someone touched him.
A year of staring in the mirror and wishing he could make the tattoos disappear.
A year without seeing her.
He had accomplished what he set out to do. After the break, he and Lincoln laid low until Veronica dredged up enough evidence to exonerate his brother. Lincoln’s conviction was overturned, and he was free. The fact that he broke out was negated by time served.
But Michael was actually guilty of the crime he had been convicted for, and he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life as a fugitive. He turned himself in, and he was sent back to Fox River. He served out the remainder of his sentence in solitary; they weren’t taking any chances that he might escape again. It was lonely, but he didn’t mind-it was safer than gen pop. The COs did their best to make his life a living hell, but eventually even they got bored.
He didn’t see her very often the second time he was in. Occasionally, he got roughed up in the yard, and he’d get sent to the infirmary. He wouldn’t have even minded the pain, if she would have looked him in the eyes.
The first time he saw her after he got back, he needed seven stitches in his arm. She had done her job with clinical detachment.
“Sara,” he said softly, his eyes pleading.
She didn’t look up. “It’s Dr. Tancredi, Mr. Scofield. Please remember that,” she said coldly.
“You have every right to hate me. I’m sorry I hurt you. You weren’t…you weren’t supposed to matter.”
She finally raised her head, and for a moment he had hope. But her eyes were hard, her voice like ice. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
He reached over with his good arm and placed his hand on top of hers, but she snatched it away. “I didn’t want to hurt you. You have to know that. But I couldn’t let Lincoln die.”
She didn’t respond. Her head bent, she quickly finished stitching him up. She stood up, and called out to the CO, “Please escort the prisoner back to his cell.”
It was like that every time he saw her. He tried to apologize, to explain himself, to make her understand. But she always kept her distance, talking to him as little as possible. Every time, he would go back to his cell and wish that things could be different.
And then, one day three weeks before his scheduled release, as he sat in the infirmary, trying to keep the blood from dripping into his eye, he realized that things were different.
They were worse.
For there, sitting on the third finger of her left hand, was an unmistakable diamond ring.
“You’re engaged?” he blurted out.
He had surprised her, and for the first time in years, he saw a hint of the Sara he remembered. She glanced quickly at her left hand, almost as if she was surprised to see the ring there. “Yes, I am.”
“Congratulations,” he said, his throat suddenly tight. “Your fiancé is a lucky man.”
“Thank you,” she replied quietly; for once, she actually looked at him, her gaze soft.
“So when’s the big day?”
“We haven’t set a date yet. Probably in about a year.”
“I’m sure you’ll be very happy together,” he forced himself to say.
She caught something in his tone, and she looked at him sharply. But he was no longer looking at her, and the gash on his forehead was still bleeding. With a small sigh, she set to work.
That night, as he always did, Michael sat alone in his cell, staring into the darkness. But something was different. He had survived nearly five years in prison-the pain and the fear and the abuse. Now, only three weeks before he would finally be free, he realized that Fox River State Penitentiary had finally broken him.
He had known for a long time that it was ridiculous to think Sara could ever see him as anything more than a prisoner. He had thought, once upon a time, that maybe she could, but that had been a lifetime ago. Before he had betrayed her; before he had sacrificed the tentative trust and friendship that was growing between them.
It had been too late for a long time now; the ring on her finger just made it official.
The wedding was only two weeks away, and Sara was starting to feel overwhelmed. It felt like she and Jonathan never had any time to just be together; every spare moment was spent attending to last-minute wedding details.
Tonight, though, she was determined to relax. Jonathan was working late at the firm, and in her opinion, anything wedding-related could wait until tomorrow. She was spending most nights at Jonathan’s high-rise condo in Chicago, which made for a horrible commute to Fox River. This evening, all she wanted was to go to her small, rather neglected apartment outside the city, and take it easy. She wouldn’t get many more opportunities.
It was pushing eight o’clock when she finally made it home, and she nearly tripped over the large cardboard box sitting in the hallway outside her door. She stared at it in confusion-nearly all of the wedding gifts had been delivered to Jonathan’s. She nudged the box with her toe, and was surprised by how light it was. Unlocking the door, she picked up the package and carried it inside. Setting it on the kitchen table, she studied it carefully. Her name and address were printed neatly on the top, and the return address was in Chicago, but there was no name of the sender.
Sara used her keys to slit the packing tape, and she pulled open the top flaps of the box. There were several sheets of pale blue tissue paper on top, which she quickly removed.
And then she stared.
The box was filled with what had to be hundreds of white paper birds. Nestled on top was a card bearing her name. Her hands were trembling as she lifted the card from the box and removed it from its envelope. The front of the card was simple, with none of the elaborate designs or poems she had seen on the countless wedding cards she and Jonathan had already received. It was a pen-and-ink drawing of two clasped hands, the image clearly signifying strength and love.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the card. The handwriting was clear and firm-and familiar.
Dear Sara,
I saw the wedding announcement in the paper, and I wanted to send you a gift. You did so much for me while I was at Fox River, and I know I can’t ever hope to fully repay you.
Inside the box, you will find 999 origami cranes. In Japanese culture, the crane is a symbol of honor and loyalty. It is a tradition to use one thousand cranes as decorations at a wedding, to demonstrate the strength and love of the couple. Often, the couple will make the cranes together, but I didn’t think you’d have the time.
As I said, there are 999 cranes in the box. At the bottom, you will find an unfolded piece of paper and a set of instructions. I thought that you and Jonathan might want to make the thousandth crane yourselves.
I hope that your wedding day is filled with joy, and that the two of you find true happiness in your life together. I know I’ve told you this before, but he’s a lucky man.
Michael Scofield
Her eyes were welling up when she finished reading the note. She didn’t know why she was surprised-this was exactly the sort of thing Michael would do. Still, she had thought that maybe by now he would have put her out of his mind.
She had made a mistake when he first came to Fox River-she had allowed herself to see him as a person instead of just a prisoner.
It was an easy distinction to make with most of the other inmates, from the way they behaved to the way they spoke to her. Michael had been different, though. He was obviously intelligent-well-spoken and apparently well-traveled. Although he occasionally flirted, he never made lewd remarks or tried to proposition her.
She had fallen for it. There had been a moment, after he rescued her from sickbay during the riot, when something had sparked between them and she thought he might kiss her. If the danger hadn’t been so imminent, he probably would have.
He had lied to her that day, and she had known it. But instead of upsetting her, it only made her more curious.
He started to appear in her dreams shortly after, and she wondered what might have been if she had met him outside of prison.
Perhaps more dangerous, she began to wonder what could happen after he was released.
Then came the breakout, and her attraction turned to anger. She wasn’t sure what hurt worse-that he had used her, or that he hadn’t trusted her enough to tell her the truth.
She told herself over and over that she was being ridiculous. She was the prison doctor. It would have been absurd for him to tell her his plans. It’s not like she could help him.
And yet…would she have tried to stop him if she knew? Or would she have let him escape, wanting him to beat the system, to be free of the COs and the threats of the other inmates?
She ended up angry with herself, for allowing him to get under her skin so quickly and so easily. When she learned about the conspiracy framing Lincoln, she understood the choices Michael made. He had sacrificed himself to the system in order to save his brother. And when he had accomplished that, he returned himself to the system, willing to pay for his crimes.
It would have been easy to fall back into old habits when he came back-too easy. Instead, she held herself apart, was cold and indifferent to him. She couldn’t look into his eyes, because she would see the truth.
And the truth was, if she fell in love with a prisoner, then her father would be right.
She didn’t belong there.
But then, neither did Michael Scofield.
She didn’t allow herself to say goodbye when he was released from Fox River, but she watched from a window as he made the long walk to the prison gates. He had looked up once, and she wondered if he saw her, but he just turned back and kept walking. She hadn’t seen him since.
That had been a year ago, and he should have been a distant memory by now. Yet he still popped into her head at odd times, and Sara knew why. Although she had refused to say goodbye, Michael had found a way.
She set down the card and picked up one of the delicate paper cranes. The folding was intricate, and she couldn’t begin to imagine how long it had taken him to make all of them. But then, he wasn’t the type to do things on a small scale.
Sara put the crane carefully back into the box, and walked into her bedroom. The bed was neatly made-she hadn’t slept in it in weeks. She sat down on the comforter and pulled open the bottom drawer of the nightstand. Reaching inside, she removed the battered copy of Gray’s Anatomy that had gotten her through med school. Many of the pages were dog-eared; some were stained sepia with rings from coffee mugs. She turned to a page in the back, where a white, business-sized envelope was tucked. The letter had arrived three days after Michael was released from prison, and she had lost count of the number of times she had read it.
Dear Sara,
I know you haven’t wanted to hear what I have to say for a long time, but I’m hoping that since I’m gone now, you’ll listen.
I came to Fox River for one reason: to save my brother’s life. I had a plan, a timetable, and a body full of tattoos in order to accomplish that. I had contingency plans for certain things, but there was still plenty I didn’t expect.
I didn’t expect to lose a toe. I didn’t expect to get a CO killed during a riot. Mostly, I didn’t expect you.
You were just supposed to be a means to an end-someone to give me insulin shots I didn’t really need so I could spend time in the infirmary. From a structural standpoint, it was the weak spot. It was my best way out.
You weren’t supposed to treat me with respect. You weren’t supposed to act like you cared. You weren’t supposed to be so beautiful.
And I wasn’t supposed to care so much about you.
I wondered so many times what it would have been like to meet you before prison. I let myself think about what we could have been together. I even started to think that I could tell you the truth about why I was there.
In the end, though, I couldn’t. I hated lying to you, but I couldn’t do anything that might jeopardize Lincoln’s escape. I hope you understand that I had to save my brother.
I know you feel hurt and betrayed by what I did, and I’m sorry. I wish things could have been different.
I used to think about what I would do when I was free. I wanted to ask you out for coffee. I kept thinking there had to be a chance for us.
I want you to be happy, Sara, and I’m glad you’ve found someone to make you happy. I’m just sorry it’s not me.
I don’t know if or when I’ll see you again, but I wanted to at least say goodbye.
Michael Scofield
She traced her fingers over the worn piece of paper. She had always thought the letter ended abruptly, like there was something more he wanted to say, but couldn’t find the words.
She stretched out on the bed and read the letter a second time, then a third, then a fourth. And when she finished, she cried herself to sleep, because she was getting married in two weeks, and Michael Scofield was still in her head.
In less than twenty-four hours, she would be Mrs. Jonathan Baker. The rehearsal dinner was that night, and she still had a hundred things to do. For now, though, she just wanted to enjoy her manicure and pedicure.
Unfortunately, the manicurist hadn’t shut up since Sara sat down. Being the governor’s daughter definitely had its downside-her wedding had somehow morphed into the social event of the year. All that the young woman with the nail polish wanted to know was what her colors were, how many bridesmaids she was having, and how many guests were attending. Sara answered the questions dutifully, and wished for the thousandth time that she was having a small, simple wedding.
Jonathan had been all too eager to go along with her father’s grandiose plans, and that was before the wedding planner had gotten involved. If it had been left up to Sara, the wedding would have been at the small Catholic church she attended as a child, with the reception at a local hotel, just like any other normal person would do. Instead, she and Jonathan were being married at Holy Name Cathedral, and her father had rented the Art Institute of Chicago for the reception. Practically every prominent state and local politician had been invited. Oprah was coming.
It was going to be a fiasco.
The first thing Jonathan noticed when he slid into the passenger seat of his fiancée’s car was the cardboard box on the back seat. “What’s in the box?”
“A wedding gift.”
“Really? I haven’t seen it. I thought all the gifts were going to my place?”
Sara shrugged. “It was delivered to my apartment. Go ahead and look, if you want.”
He twisted in his seat, and pulled open one of the box flaps. “Are those…paper birds?”
“They’re origami cranes. There’s a card on top.”
He fumbled in the box for it, then settled back into his seat. He scanned the card quickly, and asked, "Who’s Michael Scofield? Did he work with you at Fox River?”
“Not exactly…he was one of the inmates.”
Jonathan’s eyed widened. “You got a wedding present from an ex-con? I hope you weren’t actually considering using these.”
She turned to him in surprise. “Of course I was. They’re lovely, and he obviously went to a lot of trouble.”
“Maybe, but he won’t even be there, Sara. All the decorations have been planned for months. Why clutter things up with these?”
“I thought the symbolism was nice,” she said quietly. “But if you don’t want to use them, we won’t.”
He was instantly remorseful. “Tomorrow is your day, sweetheart. You can do whatever you want.”
She smiled at him. “Thank you.”
They drove in silence for several minutes. “Scofield…wait, wasn’t he the one who broke out?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t realize you two were close.”
“We weren’t,” Sara insisted. “He just…saved my life once.”
Jonathan’s expression was sober. “I don’t understand why you put yourself through that. You could have your pick of hospitals, or even private practice, yet you insist on tending to those criminals.”
“Please don’t start this again, Jonathan. It’s bad enough I have to hear it from my father. My job is important. They may be criminals, but they still need care and compassion.”
“Of course, you’re right. I’m sorry.”
The rehearsal went off without a hitch, and dinner turned into a party. They ate at the Signature Room on the 95th floor of the Hancock, and then everyone went up to the lounge on the 96th to continue the celebration. It was nearly eleven o’clock when Sara remembered something.
“Jonathan! We still need to make the thousandth crane!”
He stared at her, puzzled. “What?”
“There are supposed to be a thousand cranes for the wedding. Michael sent us 999, and instructions to make the last one.”
“Sweetheart, there’s no time. Everything is down in the car, and I have to leave before midnight, remember?”
“But…”
“You go ahead and make it without me. I’m not any good at that sort of thing anyway.”
“I wanted us to do it together,” she said softly.
“Honey,” he said, placing his hands on her shoulders, “it’s just a paper bird.”
It had been a year.
A year since he walked out the gates of Fox River.
A year since he had seen her.
He was going to see her today.
He was going to watch her get married.
Everyone in Chicago knew that the governor’s daughter was getting married at Holy Name Cathedral at three o’clock that afternoon. He intended to be in the church when it happened. Maybe it was masochistic, but he needed some kind of closure.
Michael checked his tie in the mirror, tugged on the cuffs of his shirt to make sure they covered his tattoos, and slipped on his suit jacket. Running a hand through his close-cropped hair, he headed out of his apartment.
Sara sat quietly in the Bride’s Room of the cathedral. She had asked everyone to give her a few minutes alone, so they had gone off to do other things. She was already in her dress and veil; her bouquet sat on a small table.
In her hand she held a perfectly square piece of blank white paper.
Standing up, she took a deep breath, and walked out of the room.
The cathedral was already halfway full by the time Michael arrived. He slid into the flow of people heading for the doors, and no one gave him a second glance. Avoiding the ushers, he slipped into the second-to-last pew, and moved as far away from the main aisle as he could get.
No one moved to sit beside him; most people didn’t even look his way. Soft, excited chatter filled the air, mingling with the click of shoes along the floor, the rustle of fabric, and the creaks of the wooden pews. Michael simply sat and watched the people filing past. He saw ex-warden Pope with his wife, and he grimaced. His escape had cost Pope his job.
A murmur ran through the crowd when Oprah walked in at two minutes to three. There were only a few stragglers after that, and Michael saw the wedding party lining up.
The tall, blonde man standing at the altar had to be Jonathan; Michael assumed the dark-haired man at his side was the best man.
Another five minutes went by, and people began to fidget. It was after three now, but the organist hadn’t started playing. Michael glanced back, and saw a look of concern on one of the bridesmaids.
A hush fell over the crowd when Governor Tancredi suddenly appeared, striding rapidly up the aisle. When he reached Jonathan, he leaned in and whispered something in the younger man’s ear.
“What do you mean she’s gone?” A gasp rippled through the congregation when the microphone Jonathan was wearing amplified his shocked question.
Michael didn’t wait for the pandemonium that was sure to ensue. Leaving his pew, he swiftly exited the cathedral through a side door. He hailed a cab, and allowed himself a small smile. He didn’t know why Dr. Sara Tancredi had run out on her wedding, but he intended to find out.
Thanks to typical Chicago traffic, as well as some inconveniently located accidents, it was well after four when Michael finally reached his building. He had taken off his tie, and undone the top button of his shirt. His suit jacket was slung casually over his shoulder.
He nodded to the woman at the front desk, and ambled over to the elevator. The ride to the eighteenth floor was short, and he pulled his keys from his pocket as he ascended. When he stepped out into the hallway, he froze.
Sitting on the floor outside his doorway, still wearing her wedding dress, a large cardboard box by her side, was Sara.
He approached her carefully, hiding his smile. She looked up at him when he was only a few feet away. He could tell she’d been crying earlier; now her eyes were dry, but she looked pissed.
“This is all your fault,” she informed him.
“Okay,” he replied easily. “You want to come inside?” He extended his hand to help her to her feet.
His skin was warm, and she tried not to let the simple contact affect her. Once she was standing, he unlocked the door, picked up the box, and ushered her inside. He was acting remarkably calm, and it was driving her nuts. “Don’t you even want to know why I’m here?”
“Of course.” He set the box down on the table. “Would you like something to drink?”
“I was supposed to get married today!”
He stopped and turned to look at her. “You don’t say,” he replied, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Dammit, Michael, this isn’t funny!”
Instantly, his expression sobered, and he took two steps closer to her. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you say my name in over five years,” he said quietly.
She was trapped by the intensity of his gaze. He had always been able to do this-to look at her like all of his thoughts, all of his energy, were focused solely on her. “This is all your fault,” she muttered again, her voice unsteady.
He stared down at her, and made a decision. “We obviously need to talk, but I can’t do this with you in that dress. Let me find something else for you to wear.”
She nodded, and he made his way across the apartment. When he reached the door to his bedroom, he turned back to look at her. She was pulling pins from her hair, carefully trying to remove the veil. “Sara,” he said, and she lifted her head to meet his eyes, “you look beautiful, by the way.”
Her cheeks reddened, and she managed a small smile. He disappeared into the bedroom.
She took a deep, shuddering breath once he was gone. She had to be out of her mind. Jonathan was never going to forgive her. Her father was going to kill her. But the fact was, she needed to be here, no matter the consequences.
When Michael emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later, he was wearing jeans with his white dress shirt. In his hands was a small pile of clothes. Handing them to her, he said, “The bathroom’s through there, or you can use the bedroom if you need more space.”
“Thanks.” She headed into the bathroom and shut the door. It took a bit of acrobatic maneuvering to get out of her dress, but there was no way she was asking Michael to help her unbutton it. The T-shirt he had given her was worn soft from countless washings, and had a Chicago Bears logo across the chest. It was also huge, falling nearly to her knees. The sweatpants were also too big, but she pulled the drawstring tight around her waist and rolled the bottoms of the legs into cuffs.
Once she was dressed, she glanced in the mirror, and it made her pause. Her hair was still in the elaborate up-do that had been styled for the wedding; her make-up, so flawless this morning, was marred and streaked from tears; the outsized clothes she was wearing made her look ridiculous. She felt the tears welling up again. What was she doing here?
She fought down the tears, a determined set to her jaw. She had made a choice, and now she had to live with it. Turning on the faucets, she splashed cool water on her face, then scrubbed it clean. The hair would have to stay for now-it was practically shellacked in place. But at least now she felt more like herself, instead of some porcelain doll.
Michael was sitting on the couch when she came out of the bathroom, her dress draped over her arm. “Do you have a hanger I can use?”
At that moment, the only thought in Michael’s head was that there was absolutely nothing in the world sexier than Sara Tancredi wearing his clothes.
He was staring at her. Did she really look that absurd? “Michael? A hanger?”
Her voice managed to penetrate the haze in his mind, but he realized he had absolutely no idea what she’d said. “I’m sorry, what?”
Patiently, she asked him a third time for a hanger. He immediately jumped to his feet and hurried over to the coat closet. Pulling it open, he said, “You can put it in here, if you want.”
“Thanks.” He stood and watched while she fussed over the dress, smoothing the delicate fabric, arranging it just so. When she was finished, she closed the door, and an awkward silence settled over them.
Finally, he said, “Do you want something to drink?”
“Sure. Just a glass of water is fine.”
He busied himself in the kitchen, his mind racing. As thrilled as he was to see her, he still didn’t know why she was here. Could she actually have called off her wedding because of him?
As he handed her the glass of ice water, he asked, “Does anyone know where you are?”
She looked stricken. “No. I should call them, I guess, let them know I’m okay.”
He plucked the cordless off the kitchen wall and passed it to her. “Do you want some privacy?”
She shook her head. “No, you can stay.”
Mentally bracing herself, she dialed her father’s cellular. He picked up on the first ring. “Hello?”
“Hi, Dad.”
“Sara? Where are you? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, and I’m safe.”
“How could you do this?” he demanded to know. “Jonathan is devastated. Everyone is in an uproar.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just couldn’t go through with it.”
“And you just figured it out today?”
She looked up, stared into Michael’s clear, steady gaze. “I think I’ve known for a while now. I was just afraid to do anything about it.”
“You’re acting like a spoiled child!” he raged.
Her voice was icy. “No, I’m acting like an adult who is refusing to go through with a bad decision just to make her father happy.”
“Tell me where you are. I’m coming to get you.”
“No, you’re not. Please tell Jonathan I’m sorry. I’ll be in touch.”
“Don’t you dare hang up the phone…”
She ended his tirade with a decisive click, and gave the phone back to Michael.
“You okay?”
“No…but I will be.”
She walked over and sat down on the couch. The worn leather creaked slightly as her weight pressed into it. She tilted her head back against the cushions, allowing some of the day’s tension to flow out of her. “This is a great couch.”
“Too great, sometimes. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fallen asleep on it in the middle of the news.”
“Maybe the news is boring.”
He smiled, settling down beside her on the couch. “Maybe it is.”
Silence settled over them once again, but this time it wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. It was just…quiet. Sara sipped at her water, and studied the room. There wasn’t much in it, and she wondered if the somewhat Spartan furnishings were the result of his five years at Fox River.
There were a few framed prints on the wall, all pen and ink; they reminded her of the card he had sent with the cranes. There weren’t any framed photos or knick-knacks cluttering the surfaces; the TV had a light coating of dust on it. His one luxury seemed to be books-there was an entire wall of shelves, all crammed full, some even double stacked.
It occurred to her suddenly that she knew next to nothing about this man. She had walked away from a steady life with a good man, and for what? Practically all she knew about Michael was that he had a fondness for hammocks and cheap beer in Mexico.
It dawned on her then-that was the reason she was here. He had been a mystery to her for so long, and all she wanted was to know him. She wanted to get inside his head. She wanted to understand him. Wanting to save his brother made sense. Committing a felony for the sole purpose of breaking out of the prison he was sent to…that was a little harder to wrap her mind around.
She finished her water, set the glass on the coffee table. Shifting her body, she tucked her legs up under her so that she was sitting sideways. He turned to face her, and she took a moment to study him. She noticed that he didn’t seem completely at ease, his eyes constantly moving, observing, absorbing. She knew that he was intelligent, but it was more than that-he was aware.
Jonathan was a wonderful man, but he essentially lived his life in a bubble. He put in plenty of billable hours as a corporate attorney, but she doubted he’d ever done a job that got dirt under his nails. He loved the city of Chicago, but he only saw the towering skyscrapers, the glittering lights.
Michael had seen both sides of the coin. He had been a successful professional before Lincoln Burrows got himself framed for murder. But life in Fox River had stripped away any pretensions he might have had. He saw, she believed, more than most people did.
“I was thinking,” she said slowly, “that maybe we could go for coffee sometime.”
He smiled. “You read my letter. I wasn’t sure you would.”
“I still have it,” she admitted.
“I’m sorry I hurt you.”
She reached over and grasped his hand. “You were trying to save your brother,” she said with a shrug. “In the end, I was more angry with myself than with you.”
His brows knitted together in confusion. “Why? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Yes, I did.” Without realizing it, she began to trace small circles on his hand with the pad of her thumb. “You told me once that I wasn’t supposed to matter. You weren’t supposed to matter, either.” She stared into his hypnotic green eyes. “But you did. You still do,” she confessed in a whisper.
He could feel hope uncurling inside his chest. It started when he learned she’d walked out on her wedding, and continued when he found her outside his apartment. Now, it was growing.
“I went to your wedding,” he blurted out.
She stilled. “What?”
“That’s where I was today. I wanted to see you-one last time. I wanted closure.”
She pulled her hand away, an expression of hurt on her face. He realized she had misunderstood. He reached over and grabbed both her hands. “Sara…this is so much better than closure.” They grinned stupidly at each other for a minute, and she thought he might kiss her. To her surprise, he released her hands, stood up, and walked away.
“Michael? Is something wrong?”
He turned back and gave her a full-blown grin; it was downright dangerous when he smiled like that. She could feel her insides melting. “I’ll be right back,” he assured her.
She watched as he walked over to the table, pulled the blank piece of paper from the box of cranes, and walked back over to her. “What are you doing?”
“I’m teaching you how to make an origami crane.”
They sat side-by-side on the couch, so close they were practically touching. With his words and his hands, he showed her how to fold the paper. She focused her concentration, and when they were finished, a delicate bird sat in her hand. “It’s perfect,” she murmured. She smiled up at him, her face glowing. “Thank you for showing me.”
There was a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “I had an ulterior motive.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh, really?”
He nodded. “The Japanese believe that if you fold a thousand cranes, you will be granted your greatest wish.”
He was staring at her again, and her heart began to pound. They were so close together; she could feel his breath across her cheek. “What’s your greatest wish?” she managed to ask.
He didn’t have any words-no dramatic speeches or heartfelt declarations. He dipped his head slowly, giving her plenty of time to panic, or escape. But though her eyes grew wide with anticipation, she didn’t flinch away. And then the distance was closed, and he was kissing her, and every stupid cliché he had ever heard about birds singing and fireworks exploding and time stopping suddenly seemed really, really insightful.
His hands were on her face, and she thought she might burst into flames from the heat of him. He was gentle in his exploration, but she opened willingly to him.
He felt a sharp stab of lust when her tongue probed his mouth, and his hands slid from her face to tangle in her hair. Bobby pins went flying as he casually destroyed the careful work of the stylist.
A niggling voice in the back of her mind said that it probably wasn’t right to be kissing Michael when she had just left Jonathan at the altar, but she didn’t care. Maybe it was wrong, but it felt really damn good.
They finally broke apart, gasping for air. “I’ve wanted to do that for years,” he said.
“So have I.”
He gazed at her tenderly, pushing an errant lock of hair from her face. “You’re beautiful.”
She glanced down at the clothes she was wearing, reached up to feel her disastrous hair, and laughed. “Yeah, right.”
He just smiled, and gave her another quick kiss.
She smiled back, and said, “So that was your greatest wish, huh?”
His grin was deliciously sinful. “Well…it’s a start.”
Author: Gracie
Rating: PG
Pairing: Michael/Sara
Spoilers: Through "Part 2" (I think it's episode 7)
Summary: Michael has been out of prison for a year, and hasn't seen Sara since he left. That's all about to change.
Disclaimer: The characters depicted here were created by and are the property of people who are not me. They are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made from their use.
Author's Note: This is my first Prison Break fic; I sincerely hope it doesn't suck. All information about Japanese origami cranes was gleaned from this web site; I apologize if there are any errors.
It had been a year.
A year of freedom.
A year of sleeping in his own bed.
A year of eating what he wanted, when he wanted.
A year of going where he pleased.
A year of waking up in the middle of the night because it was too quiet.
A year of training himself not to flinch when someone touched him.
A year of staring in the mirror and wishing he could make the tattoos disappear.
A year without seeing her.
He had accomplished what he set out to do. After the break, he and Lincoln laid low until Veronica dredged up enough evidence to exonerate his brother. Lincoln’s conviction was overturned, and he was free. The fact that he broke out was negated by time served.
But Michael was actually guilty of the crime he had been convicted for, and he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life as a fugitive. He turned himself in, and he was sent back to Fox River. He served out the remainder of his sentence in solitary; they weren’t taking any chances that he might escape again. It was lonely, but he didn’t mind-it was safer than gen pop. The COs did their best to make his life a living hell, but eventually even they got bored.
He didn’t see her very often the second time he was in. Occasionally, he got roughed up in the yard, and he’d get sent to the infirmary. He wouldn’t have even minded the pain, if she would have looked him in the eyes.
The first time he saw her after he got back, he needed seven stitches in his arm. She had done her job with clinical detachment.
“Sara,” he said softly, his eyes pleading.
She didn’t look up. “It’s Dr. Tancredi, Mr. Scofield. Please remember that,” she said coldly.
“You have every right to hate me. I’m sorry I hurt you. You weren’t…you weren’t supposed to matter.”
She finally raised her head, and for a moment he had hope. But her eyes were hard, her voice like ice. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
He reached over with his good arm and placed his hand on top of hers, but she snatched it away. “I didn’t want to hurt you. You have to know that. But I couldn’t let Lincoln die.”
She didn’t respond. Her head bent, she quickly finished stitching him up. She stood up, and called out to the CO, “Please escort the prisoner back to his cell.”
It was like that every time he saw her. He tried to apologize, to explain himself, to make her understand. But she always kept her distance, talking to him as little as possible. Every time, he would go back to his cell and wish that things could be different.
And then, one day three weeks before his scheduled release, as he sat in the infirmary, trying to keep the blood from dripping into his eye, he realized that things were different.
They were worse.
For there, sitting on the third finger of her left hand, was an unmistakable diamond ring.
“You’re engaged?” he blurted out.
He had surprised her, and for the first time in years, he saw a hint of the Sara he remembered. She glanced quickly at her left hand, almost as if she was surprised to see the ring there. “Yes, I am.”
“Congratulations,” he said, his throat suddenly tight. “Your fiancé is a lucky man.”
“Thank you,” she replied quietly; for once, she actually looked at him, her gaze soft.
“So when’s the big day?”
“We haven’t set a date yet. Probably in about a year.”
“I’m sure you’ll be very happy together,” he forced himself to say.
She caught something in his tone, and she looked at him sharply. But he was no longer looking at her, and the gash on his forehead was still bleeding. With a small sigh, she set to work.
That night, as he always did, Michael sat alone in his cell, staring into the darkness. But something was different. He had survived nearly five years in prison-the pain and the fear and the abuse. Now, only three weeks before he would finally be free, he realized that Fox River State Penitentiary had finally broken him.
He had known for a long time that it was ridiculous to think Sara could ever see him as anything more than a prisoner. He had thought, once upon a time, that maybe she could, but that had been a lifetime ago. Before he had betrayed her; before he had sacrificed the tentative trust and friendship that was growing between them.
It had been too late for a long time now; the ring on her finger just made it official.
The wedding was only two weeks away, and Sara was starting to feel overwhelmed. It felt like she and Jonathan never had any time to just be together; every spare moment was spent attending to last-minute wedding details.
Tonight, though, she was determined to relax. Jonathan was working late at the firm, and in her opinion, anything wedding-related could wait until tomorrow. She was spending most nights at Jonathan’s high-rise condo in Chicago, which made for a horrible commute to Fox River. This evening, all she wanted was to go to her small, rather neglected apartment outside the city, and take it easy. She wouldn’t get many more opportunities.
It was pushing eight o’clock when she finally made it home, and she nearly tripped over the large cardboard box sitting in the hallway outside her door. She stared at it in confusion-nearly all of the wedding gifts had been delivered to Jonathan’s. She nudged the box with her toe, and was surprised by how light it was. Unlocking the door, she picked up the package and carried it inside. Setting it on the kitchen table, she studied it carefully. Her name and address were printed neatly on the top, and the return address was in Chicago, but there was no name of the sender.
Sara used her keys to slit the packing tape, and she pulled open the top flaps of the box. There were several sheets of pale blue tissue paper on top, which she quickly removed.
And then she stared.
The box was filled with what had to be hundreds of white paper birds. Nestled on top was a card bearing her name. Her hands were trembling as she lifted the card from the box and removed it from its envelope. The front of the card was simple, with none of the elaborate designs or poems she had seen on the countless wedding cards she and Jonathan had already received. It was a pen-and-ink drawing of two clasped hands, the image clearly signifying strength and love.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the card. The handwriting was clear and firm-and familiar.
Dear Sara,
I saw the wedding announcement in the paper, and I wanted to send you a gift. You did so much for me while I was at Fox River, and I know I can’t ever hope to fully repay you.
Inside the box, you will find 999 origami cranes. In Japanese culture, the crane is a symbol of honor and loyalty. It is a tradition to use one thousand cranes as decorations at a wedding, to demonstrate the strength and love of the couple. Often, the couple will make the cranes together, but I didn’t think you’d have the time.
As I said, there are 999 cranes in the box. At the bottom, you will find an unfolded piece of paper and a set of instructions. I thought that you and Jonathan might want to make the thousandth crane yourselves.
I hope that your wedding day is filled with joy, and that the two of you find true happiness in your life together. I know I’ve told you this before, but he’s a lucky man.
Michael Scofield
Her eyes were welling up when she finished reading the note. She didn’t know why she was surprised-this was exactly the sort of thing Michael would do. Still, she had thought that maybe by now he would have put her out of his mind.
She had made a mistake when he first came to Fox River-she had allowed herself to see him as a person instead of just a prisoner.
It was an easy distinction to make with most of the other inmates, from the way they behaved to the way they spoke to her. Michael had been different, though. He was obviously intelligent-well-spoken and apparently well-traveled. Although he occasionally flirted, he never made lewd remarks or tried to proposition her.
She had fallen for it. There had been a moment, after he rescued her from sickbay during the riot, when something had sparked between them and she thought he might kiss her. If the danger hadn’t been so imminent, he probably would have.
He had lied to her that day, and she had known it. But instead of upsetting her, it only made her more curious.
He started to appear in her dreams shortly after, and she wondered what might have been if she had met him outside of prison.
Perhaps more dangerous, she began to wonder what could happen after he was released.
Then came the breakout, and her attraction turned to anger. She wasn’t sure what hurt worse-that he had used her, or that he hadn’t trusted her enough to tell her the truth.
She told herself over and over that she was being ridiculous. She was the prison doctor. It would have been absurd for him to tell her his plans. It’s not like she could help him.
And yet…would she have tried to stop him if she knew? Or would she have let him escape, wanting him to beat the system, to be free of the COs and the threats of the other inmates?
She ended up angry with herself, for allowing him to get under her skin so quickly and so easily. When she learned about the conspiracy framing Lincoln, she understood the choices Michael made. He had sacrificed himself to the system in order to save his brother. And when he had accomplished that, he returned himself to the system, willing to pay for his crimes.
It would have been easy to fall back into old habits when he came back-too easy. Instead, she held herself apart, was cold and indifferent to him. She couldn’t look into his eyes, because she would see the truth.
And the truth was, if she fell in love with a prisoner, then her father would be right.
She didn’t belong there.
But then, neither did Michael Scofield.
She didn’t allow herself to say goodbye when he was released from Fox River, but she watched from a window as he made the long walk to the prison gates. He had looked up once, and she wondered if he saw her, but he just turned back and kept walking. She hadn’t seen him since.
That had been a year ago, and he should have been a distant memory by now. Yet he still popped into her head at odd times, and Sara knew why. Although she had refused to say goodbye, Michael had found a way.
She set down the card and picked up one of the delicate paper cranes. The folding was intricate, and she couldn’t begin to imagine how long it had taken him to make all of them. But then, he wasn’t the type to do things on a small scale.
Sara put the crane carefully back into the box, and walked into her bedroom. The bed was neatly made-she hadn’t slept in it in weeks. She sat down on the comforter and pulled open the bottom drawer of the nightstand. Reaching inside, she removed the battered copy of Gray’s Anatomy that had gotten her through med school. Many of the pages were dog-eared; some were stained sepia with rings from coffee mugs. She turned to a page in the back, where a white, business-sized envelope was tucked. The letter had arrived three days after Michael was released from prison, and she had lost count of the number of times she had read it.
Dear Sara,
I know you haven’t wanted to hear what I have to say for a long time, but I’m hoping that since I’m gone now, you’ll listen.
I came to Fox River for one reason: to save my brother’s life. I had a plan, a timetable, and a body full of tattoos in order to accomplish that. I had contingency plans for certain things, but there was still plenty I didn’t expect.
I didn’t expect to lose a toe. I didn’t expect to get a CO killed during a riot. Mostly, I didn’t expect you.
You were just supposed to be a means to an end-someone to give me insulin shots I didn’t really need so I could spend time in the infirmary. From a structural standpoint, it was the weak spot. It was my best way out.
You weren’t supposed to treat me with respect. You weren’t supposed to act like you cared. You weren’t supposed to be so beautiful.
And I wasn’t supposed to care so much about you.
I wondered so many times what it would have been like to meet you before prison. I let myself think about what we could have been together. I even started to think that I could tell you the truth about why I was there.
In the end, though, I couldn’t. I hated lying to you, but I couldn’t do anything that might jeopardize Lincoln’s escape. I hope you understand that I had to save my brother.
I know you feel hurt and betrayed by what I did, and I’m sorry. I wish things could have been different.
I used to think about what I would do when I was free. I wanted to ask you out for coffee. I kept thinking there had to be a chance for us.
I want you to be happy, Sara, and I’m glad you’ve found someone to make you happy. I’m just sorry it’s not me.
I don’t know if or when I’ll see you again, but I wanted to at least say goodbye.
Michael Scofield
She traced her fingers over the worn piece of paper. She had always thought the letter ended abruptly, like there was something more he wanted to say, but couldn’t find the words.
She stretched out on the bed and read the letter a second time, then a third, then a fourth. And when she finished, she cried herself to sleep, because she was getting married in two weeks, and Michael Scofield was still in her head.
In less than twenty-four hours, she would be Mrs. Jonathan Baker. The rehearsal dinner was that night, and she still had a hundred things to do. For now, though, she just wanted to enjoy her manicure and pedicure.
Unfortunately, the manicurist hadn’t shut up since Sara sat down. Being the governor’s daughter definitely had its downside-her wedding had somehow morphed into the social event of the year. All that the young woman with the nail polish wanted to know was what her colors were, how many bridesmaids she was having, and how many guests were attending. Sara answered the questions dutifully, and wished for the thousandth time that she was having a small, simple wedding.
Jonathan had been all too eager to go along with her father’s grandiose plans, and that was before the wedding planner had gotten involved. If it had been left up to Sara, the wedding would have been at the small Catholic church she attended as a child, with the reception at a local hotel, just like any other normal person would do. Instead, she and Jonathan were being married at Holy Name Cathedral, and her father had rented the Art Institute of Chicago for the reception. Practically every prominent state and local politician had been invited. Oprah was coming.
It was going to be a fiasco.
The first thing Jonathan noticed when he slid into the passenger seat of his fiancée’s car was the cardboard box on the back seat. “What’s in the box?”
“A wedding gift.”
“Really? I haven’t seen it. I thought all the gifts were going to my place?”
Sara shrugged. “It was delivered to my apartment. Go ahead and look, if you want.”
He twisted in his seat, and pulled open one of the box flaps. “Are those…paper birds?”
“They’re origami cranes. There’s a card on top.”
He fumbled in the box for it, then settled back into his seat. He scanned the card quickly, and asked, "Who’s Michael Scofield? Did he work with you at Fox River?”
“Not exactly…he was one of the inmates.”
Jonathan’s eyed widened. “You got a wedding present from an ex-con? I hope you weren’t actually considering using these.”
She turned to him in surprise. “Of course I was. They’re lovely, and he obviously went to a lot of trouble.”
“Maybe, but he won’t even be there, Sara. All the decorations have been planned for months. Why clutter things up with these?”
“I thought the symbolism was nice,” she said quietly. “But if you don’t want to use them, we won’t.”
He was instantly remorseful. “Tomorrow is your day, sweetheart. You can do whatever you want.”
She smiled at him. “Thank you.”
They drove in silence for several minutes. “Scofield…wait, wasn’t he the one who broke out?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t realize you two were close.”
“We weren’t,” Sara insisted. “He just…saved my life once.”
Jonathan’s expression was sober. “I don’t understand why you put yourself through that. You could have your pick of hospitals, or even private practice, yet you insist on tending to those criminals.”
“Please don’t start this again, Jonathan. It’s bad enough I have to hear it from my father. My job is important. They may be criminals, but they still need care and compassion.”
“Of course, you’re right. I’m sorry.”
The rehearsal went off without a hitch, and dinner turned into a party. They ate at the Signature Room on the 95th floor of the Hancock, and then everyone went up to the lounge on the 96th to continue the celebration. It was nearly eleven o’clock when Sara remembered something.
“Jonathan! We still need to make the thousandth crane!”
He stared at her, puzzled. “What?”
“There are supposed to be a thousand cranes for the wedding. Michael sent us 999, and instructions to make the last one.”
“Sweetheart, there’s no time. Everything is down in the car, and I have to leave before midnight, remember?”
“But…”
“You go ahead and make it without me. I’m not any good at that sort of thing anyway.”
“I wanted us to do it together,” she said softly.
“Honey,” he said, placing his hands on her shoulders, “it’s just a paper bird.”
It had been a year.
A year since he walked out the gates of Fox River.
A year since he had seen her.
He was going to see her today.
He was going to watch her get married.
Everyone in Chicago knew that the governor’s daughter was getting married at Holy Name Cathedral at three o’clock that afternoon. He intended to be in the church when it happened. Maybe it was masochistic, but he needed some kind of closure.
Michael checked his tie in the mirror, tugged on the cuffs of his shirt to make sure they covered his tattoos, and slipped on his suit jacket. Running a hand through his close-cropped hair, he headed out of his apartment.
Sara sat quietly in the Bride’s Room of the cathedral. She had asked everyone to give her a few minutes alone, so they had gone off to do other things. She was already in her dress and veil; her bouquet sat on a small table.
In her hand she held a perfectly square piece of blank white paper.
Standing up, she took a deep breath, and walked out of the room.
The cathedral was already halfway full by the time Michael arrived. He slid into the flow of people heading for the doors, and no one gave him a second glance. Avoiding the ushers, he slipped into the second-to-last pew, and moved as far away from the main aisle as he could get.
No one moved to sit beside him; most people didn’t even look his way. Soft, excited chatter filled the air, mingling with the click of shoes along the floor, the rustle of fabric, and the creaks of the wooden pews. Michael simply sat and watched the people filing past. He saw ex-warden Pope with his wife, and he grimaced. His escape had cost Pope his job.
A murmur ran through the crowd when Oprah walked in at two minutes to three. There were only a few stragglers after that, and Michael saw the wedding party lining up.
The tall, blonde man standing at the altar had to be Jonathan; Michael assumed the dark-haired man at his side was the best man.
Another five minutes went by, and people began to fidget. It was after three now, but the organist hadn’t started playing. Michael glanced back, and saw a look of concern on one of the bridesmaids.
A hush fell over the crowd when Governor Tancredi suddenly appeared, striding rapidly up the aisle. When he reached Jonathan, he leaned in and whispered something in the younger man’s ear.
“What do you mean she’s gone?” A gasp rippled through the congregation when the microphone Jonathan was wearing amplified his shocked question.
Michael didn’t wait for the pandemonium that was sure to ensue. Leaving his pew, he swiftly exited the cathedral through a side door. He hailed a cab, and allowed himself a small smile. He didn’t know why Dr. Sara Tancredi had run out on her wedding, but he intended to find out.
Thanks to typical Chicago traffic, as well as some inconveniently located accidents, it was well after four when Michael finally reached his building. He had taken off his tie, and undone the top button of his shirt. His suit jacket was slung casually over his shoulder.
He nodded to the woman at the front desk, and ambled over to the elevator. The ride to the eighteenth floor was short, and he pulled his keys from his pocket as he ascended. When he stepped out into the hallway, he froze.
Sitting on the floor outside his doorway, still wearing her wedding dress, a large cardboard box by her side, was Sara.
He approached her carefully, hiding his smile. She looked up at him when he was only a few feet away. He could tell she’d been crying earlier; now her eyes were dry, but she looked pissed.
“This is all your fault,” she informed him.
“Okay,” he replied easily. “You want to come inside?” He extended his hand to help her to her feet.
His skin was warm, and she tried not to let the simple contact affect her. Once she was standing, he unlocked the door, picked up the box, and ushered her inside. He was acting remarkably calm, and it was driving her nuts. “Don’t you even want to know why I’m here?”
“Of course.” He set the box down on the table. “Would you like something to drink?”
“I was supposed to get married today!”
He stopped and turned to look at her. “You don’t say,” he replied, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Dammit, Michael, this isn’t funny!”
Instantly, his expression sobered, and he took two steps closer to her. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you say my name in over five years,” he said quietly.
She was trapped by the intensity of his gaze. He had always been able to do this-to look at her like all of his thoughts, all of his energy, were focused solely on her. “This is all your fault,” she muttered again, her voice unsteady.
He stared down at her, and made a decision. “We obviously need to talk, but I can’t do this with you in that dress. Let me find something else for you to wear.”
She nodded, and he made his way across the apartment. When he reached the door to his bedroom, he turned back to look at her. She was pulling pins from her hair, carefully trying to remove the veil. “Sara,” he said, and she lifted her head to meet his eyes, “you look beautiful, by the way.”
Her cheeks reddened, and she managed a small smile. He disappeared into the bedroom.
She took a deep, shuddering breath once he was gone. She had to be out of her mind. Jonathan was never going to forgive her. Her father was going to kill her. But the fact was, she needed to be here, no matter the consequences.
When Michael emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later, he was wearing jeans with his white dress shirt. In his hands was a small pile of clothes. Handing them to her, he said, “The bathroom’s through there, or you can use the bedroom if you need more space.”
“Thanks.” She headed into the bathroom and shut the door. It took a bit of acrobatic maneuvering to get out of her dress, but there was no way she was asking Michael to help her unbutton it. The T-shirt he had given her was worn soft from countless washings, and had a Chicago Bears logo across the chest. It was also huge, falling nearly to her knees. The sweatpants were also too big, but she pulled the drawstring tight around her waist and rolled the bottoms of the legs into cuffs.
Once she was dressed, she glanced in the mirror, and it made her pause. Her hair was still in the elaborate up-do that had been styled for the wedding; her make-up, so flawless this morning, was marred and streaked from tears; the outsized clothes she was wearing made her look ridiculous. She felt the tears welling up again. What was she doing here?
She fought down the tears, a determined set to her jaw. She had made a choice, and now she had to live with it. Turning on the faucets, she splashed cool water on her face, then scrubbed it clean. The hair would have to stay for now-it was practically shellacked in place. But at least now she felt more like herself, instead of some porcelain doll.
Michael was sitting on the couch when she came out of the bathroom, her dress draped over her arm. “Do you have a hanger I can use?”
At that moment, the only thought in Michael’s head was that there was absolutely nothing in the world sexier than Sara Tancredi wearing his clothes.
He was staring at her. Did she really look that absurd? “Michael? A hanger?”
Her voice managed to penetrate the haze in his mind, but he realized he had absolutely no idea what she’d said. “I’m sorry, what?”
Patiently, she asked him a third time for a hanger. He immediately jumped to his feet and hurried over to the coat closet. Pulling it open, he said, “You can put it in here, if you want.”
“Thanks.” He stood and watched while she fussed over the dress, smoothing the delicate fabric, arranging it just so. When she was finished, she closed the door, and an awkward silence settled over them.
Finally, he said, “Do you want something to drink?”
“Sure. Just a glass of water is fine.”
He busied himself in the kitchen, his mind racing. As thrilled as he was to see her, he still didn’t know why she was here. Could she actually have called off her wedding because of him?
As he handed her the glass of ice water, he asked, “Does anyone know where you are?”
She looked stricken. “No. I should call them, I guess, let them know I’m okay.”
He plucked the cordless off the kitchen wall and passed it to her. “Do you want some privacy?”
She shook her head. “No, you can stay.”
Mentally bracing herself, she dialed her father’s cellular. He picked up on the first ring. “Hello?”
“Hi, Dad.”
“Sara? Where are you? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, and I’m safe.”
“How could you do this?” he demanded to know. “Jonathan is devastated. Everyone is in an uproar.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just couldn’t go through with it.”
“And you just figured it out today?”
She looked up, stared into Michael’s clear, steady gaze. “I think I’ve known for a while now. I was just afraid to do anything about it.”
“You’re acting like a spoiled child!” he raged.
Her voice was icy. “No, I’m acting like an adult who is refusing to go through with a bad decision just to make her father happy.”
“Tell me where you are. I’m coming to get you.”
“No, you’re not. Please tell Jonathan I’m sorry. I’ll be in touch.”
“Don’t you dare hang up the phone…”
She ended his tirade with a decisive click, and gave the phone back to Michael.
“You okay?”
“No…but I will be.”
She walked over and sat down on the couch. The worn leather creaked slightly as her weight pressed into it. She tilted her head back against the cushions, allowing some of the day’s tension to flow out of her. “This is a great couch.”
“Too great, sometimes. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fallen asleep on it in the middle of the news.”
“Maybe the news is boring.”
He smiled, settling down beside her on the couch. “Maybe it is.”
Silence settled over them once again, but this time it wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. It was just…quiet. Sara sipped at her water, and studied the room. There wasn’t much in it, and she wondered if the somewhat Spartan furnishings were the result of his five years at Fox River.
There were a few framed prints on the wall, all pen and ink; they reminded her of the card he had sent with the cranes. There weren’t any framed photos or knick-knacks cluttering the surfaces; the TV had a light coating of dust on it. His one luxury seemed to be books-there was an entire wall of shelves, all crammed full, some even double stacked.
It occurred to her suddenly that she knew next to nothing about this man. She had walked away from a steady life with a good man, and for what? Practically all she knew about Michael was that he had a fondness for hammocks and cheap beer in Mexico.
It dawned on her then-that was the reason she was here. He had been a mystery to her for so long, and all she wanted was to know him. She wanted to get inside his head. She wanted to understand him. Wanting to save his brother made sense. Committing a felony for the sole purpose of breaking out of the prison he was sent to…that was a little harder to wrap her mind around.
She finished her water, set the glass on the coffee table. Shifting her body, she tucked her legs up under her so that she was sitting sideways. He turned to face her, and she took a moment to study him. She noticed that he didn’t seem completely at ease, his eyes constantly moving, observing, absorbing. She knew that he was intelligent, but it was more than that-he was aware.
Jonathan was a wonderful man, but he essentially lived his life in a bubble. He put in plenty of billable hours as a corporate attorney, but she doubted he’d ever done a job that got dirt under his nails. He loved the city of Chicago, but he only saw the towering skyscrapers, the glittering lights.
Michael had seen both sides of the coin. He had been a successful professional before Lincoln Burrows got himself framed for murder. But life in Fox River had stripped away any pretensions he might have had. He saw, she believed, more than most people did.
“I was thinking,” she said slowly, “that maybe we could go for coffee sometime.”
He smiled. “You read my letter. I wasn’t sure you would.”
“I still have it,” she admitted.
“I’m sorry I hurt you.”
She reached over and grasped his hand. “You were trying to save your brother,” she said with a shrug. “In the end, I was more angry with myself than with you.”
His brows knitted together in confusion. “Why? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Yes, I did.” Without realizing it, she began to trace small circles on his hand with the pad of her thumb. “You told me once that I wasn’t supposed to matter. You weren’t supposed to matter, either.” She stared into his hypnotic green eyes. “But you did. You still do,” she confessed in a whisper.
He could feel hope uncurling inside his chest. It started when he learned she’d walked out on her wedding, and continued when he found her outside his apartment. Now, it was growing.
“I went to your wedding,” he blurted out.
She stilled. “What?”
“That’s where I was today. I wanted to see you-one last time. I wanted closure.”
She pulled her hand away, an expression of hurt on her face. He realized she had misunderstood. He reached over and grabbed both her hands. “Sara…this is so much better than closure.” They grinned stupidly at each other for a minute, and she thought he might kiss her. To her surprise, he released her hands, stood up, and walked away.
“Michael? Is something wrong?”
He turned back and gave her a full-blown grin; it was downright dangerous when he smiled like that. She could feel her insides melting. “I’ll be right back,” he assured her.
She watched as he walked over to the table, pulled the blank piece of paper from the box of cranes, and walked back over to her. “What are you doing?”
“I’m teaching you how to make an origami crane.”
They sat side-by-side on the couch, so close they were practically touching. With his words and his hands, he showed her how to fold the paper. She focused her concentration, and when they were finished, a delicate bird sat in her hand. “It’s perfect,” she murmured. She smiled up at him, her face glowing. “Thank you for showing me.”
There was a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “I had an ulterior motive.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh, really?”
He nodded. “The Japanese believe that if you fold a thousand cranes, you will be granted your greatest wish.”
He was staring at her again, and her heart began to pound. They were so close together; she could feel his breath across her cheek. “What’s your greatest wish?” she managed to ask.
He didn’t have any words-no dramatic speeches or heartfelt declarations. He dipped his head slowly, giving her plenty of time to panic, or escape. But though her eyes grew wide with anticipation, she didn’t flinch away. And then the distance was closed, and he was kissing her, and every stupid cliché he had ever heard about birds singing and fireworks exploding and time stopping suddenly seemed really, really insightful.
His hands were on her face, and she thought she might burst into flames from the heat of him. He was gentle in his exploration, but she opened willingly to him.
He felt a sharp stab of lust when her tongue probed his mouth, and his hands slid from her face to tangle in her hair. Bobby pins went flying as he casually destroyed the careful work of the stylist.
A niggling voice in the back of her mind said that it probably wasn’t right to be kissing Michael when she had just left Jonathan at the altar, but she didn’t care. Maybe it was wrong, but it felt really damn good.
They finally broke apart, gasping for air. “I’ve wanted to do that for years,” he said.
“So have I.”
He gazed at her tenderly, pushing an errant lock of hair from her face. “You’re beautiful.”
She glanced down at the clothes she was wearing, reached up to feel her disastrous hair, and laughed. “Yeah, right.”
He just smiled, and gave her another quick kiss.
She smiled back, and said, “So that was your greatest wish, huh?”
His grin was deliciously sinful. “Well…it’s a start.”