Chapter Text
Sara stepped off the train, glancing around. She clutched her purse to her chest, unsure of what she was even looking for. Michael and Lincoln wouldn't step forward in broad daylight to retrieve her, would they? Maybe they would. She wouldn't put anything past either of them anymore. She glanced in both directions before turning to walk to her left, towards a shaded area.
"There she is," Lincoln whispered over his brother's shoulder. Sara walked from the train, small and hunched herself, trying to be oblivious. Michael stared at her coolly from the space in between the walls of two building he shared with his brother. A tiny, relieved smile crept across his lips and he sighed a thank you to whoever had given him faith that she would be ok.
"There she is," Michael repeated, his voice full of happiness and hushed excitement. Michael didn't know how to attract her attention without attracting the attention of every other passenger on the platform. They were not only two of the most wanted men in America, but they had also just been on the news. Chance were, at least one of the passengers had seen them on television. In a split second, Michael made a decision that could of potentially given them away, but he had to risk it. As Sara scurried past the alleyway, head down and focused on her soft soled footwear, Michael lunged from the space, grabbed Sara by the shoulders and pulled her into the alleyway, immediately cupping his large, warm hand over her mouth to muffle her imminent scream. "Shh, Sara, It's me," he breathed, pressing her into the shadows against the wall. "It's Michael."
Sara let out a muffled shriek against Michael's hand as he grabbed her. Finally, realizing it was him, she calmed down. Letting out an aggravated hiss, she shoved him away. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack, Michael?"
Michael stepped back a little hurt by her reaction. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips nervously and he rested his hands to his hips, his fingers pulling the thin fabric of his navy top against his body outline. "I'm sorry," he offered, looking from her to the ground between them before lifting his head and catching her hazely gaze in a steely blue trap. "I'm sorry," he repeated, sincere and purposefully slowly. Even Lincoln, from his look out point behind his brother, knew he meant for more than just scared the hell out of her.
Sara stood still until her breathing returned to normal pace. Her eyes locked with Michael's, and she could see the sincerity behind them, and hear the sincerity in his words. Not knowing what else to do, she dropped her purse to the ground and stepped into him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Are you okay?"
Lincoln brought a closed fist to his mouth and coughed lightly. "I'm just gonna...go...find...you know..." he stuttered unnoticed by Sara or Michael as he took a few steps sideways, admiring the wall behind him.
Michael felt a rush of adrenaline surge his body when Sara threw herself at him, pressing her body to his and needing him for the first time since her message. Michael's hand pressed into her back, holding her to him and he liberated a sigh of relief into her shoulder. "Are you?" he asked smoothly, switching the focus of the conversation onto her.
Sara kept her arms around him, turning her head and pressing it into his neck. Briefly, she wondered how he managed to smell so good. "I'm okay. I've been better. But I'm okay." Her grip on him tightened. "I'm okay now."
Michael pressed his eyes closed and inhaled Sara's scent. It was warm, sweet and intoxicating, but it was laced with something. A poison. Michael reluctantly pulled away from Sara and his eyes roamed her figure precariously. She wore a thick grey woolly sweater under a light green hooded top that was unzipped and looked severely worn. Her jeans were new looking but her brown heeled boots were familiar to Michael. He trailed his hand up her arm lightly and Sara flinched from his grasp. "Sara, what's wrong?" Michael asked with a frown and a worried expression.
"It's just. . ." Sara shook her head, and pulled away. "I told you someone grabbed me in Gila." Gently, she pulled up her sleeves, exposing her bandage. "I had to stitch myself up. It's not as easy as it looks on TV." Sara forced a laugh, and glanced away, not able to look at him as she told him her story of the man who had pretended to be in NA, pretended to be her friend, then grabbed her in Gila and tried to kill her. When she finished she shook her head, "And none of it is your fault. None of it."
Michael's heart plummeted to the floor. The cuts, the slashes, the bruises; all of them flashing before his eyes every time he blinked. Michael ignored Sara's attempt at a joke. "Who did this to you?" Michael asked, his voice dark and raspy as he trailed a soft, feather light touch over the jagged sewn edge of the cut across Sara's shoulder.
Sara flinched just slightly at his touch. "It doesn't matter who did it, Michael. He's gone now, and it's over. I got away." She leaned down, picking her purse back up. "So. This key. . ."
"It matters to me," Michael soothed, pulling Sara's top slightly so it recovered her bare and raw shoulders. A silence fell upon them and neither knew what to say, each just standing a staring into the abyss of each other’s eyes. Each other’s soul. "Was it a man?" Michael asked suddenly, even if the answer was to be horribly obvious, and one that would make his blood boil. "Did they have a name?" he pried further before looking back to the floor and shuffling his feet sideways. "Did they torture you because of me?" He mumbled against his chest.
"He told me his name was Lance once, but that wasn't really it." Sara stepped back into him, taking his face in her hands and making him look at her. "Michael, this isn't your fault. They knew my father had information, they thought he had given it to me. It wasn't because of you."
Michael's eyes shifted, averting Sara's gaze as she confirmed it was a man who had done this too her. It was bad enough another human being was capable of this sort of thing, but to do it to a woman. Even the thought of it made Michael seethe. His jaw clenched, the muscles tightening and rippling along Sara's fingers that held his face. Somehow, he couldn't believe this wasn't his fault, and an urge so primal built up inside him that Michael felt darker, hardened and so full of rage he couldn't focus. He might not of had the power to prevent it, but he'd be damned if he wouldn't make it right.
"I can tell what you're thinking," Sara told him softly, trailing her fingers down the sides of his face. She let her hands fall to his shoulders, and she gently squeezed them. "And stop, there's nothing you can do now, even if you wanted to. He's long gone. And I'm okay." She stepped even closer to him, their faces inches apart. "Okay?"
Sara's words did little to quench his rage but Michael's white knuckled fist relaxed and he lifted his hand to tuck a clump of Sara's dark brown locks behind her soft, milky ear. Michael felt Sara relax into his touch and he sighed against her lips as he leant against her forehead. "Okay." He lied, peeling his eyes open to meet hers once more. He saw hurt and he saw pain but most of all he saw his Sara, the one from Fox River. The one he had fallen in love with. "Sara..." he began, his eyes darting between her and her sweet inviting lips.
"Michael?" Sara felt a small smile tug at the corner of her lips. She reached up, tugging his black beanie down so it covered his ears. "Are you going to kiss me, or what?"
Michael breathed out a laugh and pressed his smile to Sara's tenderly. Just like he remembered, she was divine. Her lips were soft, warm and parted gently, inviting his tongue to join in the dance. Michael reached up a hand and pulled his beanie backwards off his new growth of hair, letting it fall to their feet. He wanted to feel Sara's hands on him, running like grass snakes through his slightly waved, thick, black hair. Michael mirrored Sara, parted his own lips and his tongue sought of the refuge of her mouth as they kissed, devouring each other wantonly with reckless abandon.
Sara kissed Michael back with force, reaching her hands up and brushing them through his hair. She hadn't seen him with so much before, and she liked how her fingers felt running through it. She moved one hand to the back of his neck, pulling him closer to her, and the other to the small of his back, pushing his hips closer to hers. Keeping her mouth against his, she let out a tiny sigh, "Oh, Michael."
Sara’s soft sighs just spurred Michael on more and his hands glided from her face, down over her ribcage and he gripped at her hips briefly before exploring lower and tracing the rounded curve of her behind. Maybe he had overstepped a line, maybe he hadn’t. Unfortunately, Michael would never know.
“Ahem,” Lincoln’s gruff voice interrupted them and Michael wrenched his lips from Sara’s and whipped his head towards his returning brother.
Sara half-stepped behind Michael, clearing her throat. Someone she couldn't quite make out was standing behind Lincoln. Coughing again, she glanced towards Lincoln, "Someone's with you?"
Lincoln looked to his side as Kellerman stepped forward into the light. “It’s ok Doc,” Lincoln said with a low, soothing tone. “It’s a friend,” Lincoln shot Kellerman a glance as he bit the words out. He still didn’t trust him but he trusted his little brother to know what they were doing and why they needed Kellerman around.
Kellerman stepped to the side, tilting his head as he studied Sara. "Actually, we've met before. How's it going, Sara? You're looking a little rough. Maybe you should take a trip to the hospital, see a real doctor, get some real stitches. Maybe they can even hook you up with a nice morphine drip?"
"Hey!" Lincoln jumped to Sara's defence, pushing Kellerman's shoulders and causing him to stumble sideways.
Michael shot a glance between Sara and Kellerman. "What are you talking about?" He growled at the agent. "What is he talking about?" Michael asked, turning to Sara and unhooking her grip on his grey sweater.
Sara narrowed her eyes, and bit the inside of her cheek at his barb. For a brief second, she considered being frightened, but then she reminded herself that it was her who burned him in the end, her who won, and she could do it again. She reached out for Michael again, fully aware that her hold on him was more to keep him back than to protect herself. "It's. . . him."
Michael frowned and snapped his head back to Kellerman and his smug expression. It was him. Sara’s words echoed through his head and for a second, the only thing Michael saw was red. Check twice, cut once was the engineers’ motto Michael had been taught. “Him?!” Michael spat, pointing a tensed finger towards he agent who looked to Lincoln innocently.
Kellerman smiled at Sara, shaking his head slightly. "We've got a nice little arrangement going on here, so why don't you just keep it calm, Sara? Let bygones be bygones. It's not personal. It's business. Right?"
Sara's grip tightened on Michael as the man who had tortured her spoke. She kept her voice low, and shifted her gaze. "Come on. It's not important. Let's just go."
No." Michael snapped at her, pulling her hands from the fabric of his sweater. "He did this to you?" He asked again naively, as if any other answer than the one he knew was coming would do anything but fuel his rage further. Michael turned so that his back was to Kellerman and Lincoln, and Sara was hidden protectively behind his frame. He held Sara's hands in his, took a large deep breath and swallowed a sudden obstruction in his throat. "Sara, did he do this to you?" Michael asked with a sudden calmer tone.
"Michael." Sara did her best to keep her tone even. "It's okay. I'm okay. It doesn't matter." The last thing she wanted, the last thing any of them needed, was for anyone to cause a scene. She had never seen that exact look on Michael's face, and she was afraid of what it meant. "He's not going to hurt me again."
Michael..." Lincoln pressed quietly, taking a step towards his brother.
"Shut up!" Michael yelled darkly turning to face his stunned brother, his voice low, loud and frightening. Sara jumped backwards a little at his tone. She had never seen Michael so angry and it scared her. "Dammit Sara!" Michael growled as he turned back to face her. "All I want is a yes, or a no."
Sara glanced from the man, to Lincoln, and then finally back to Michael. A part of her considered lying, but it was too late now. And she was sick of lies. She reached for his face, wanting to smooth out the lines, and calm him down. "Yes."
Michael sighed, closed his eyes and rested his lips against Sara's forehead. He didn't say anything. Words couldn't express how sorry he was for then and how sorry he was for now. Michael smoothed Sara's hair over her head, stroking the soft dyed curls slowly before pulling his lips from her forehead with a smile less glance.
"It's beautiful, really." Kellerman brought his hands together several times in a slow clap. He glanced towards Lincoln. "Isn't it beautiful? How you managed to get her to still want to crawl in bed with you after you lied to her, got her to OD, and got her dad killed all within a two-week span is going to make a lovely chapter in the book one day, Scofield, but right now we need to go."
Neither Lincoln or Sara had time to react before Michael let out an almighty grunt and spun around, racing towards Kellerman as fast as his legs would take him. Michael’s hands closed around Kellerman’s throat and his nails dug into the flesh of his neck. Kellerman let out a pained gasp for breath when Michael slammed his body into the wall and his rucksack slid from his shoulder. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you,” Michael snarled against Kellerman’s face, his teeth barred and his muscles aching from the pressures exerted on them.
Letting out a puff of air, Kellerman reached up, grasping Michael's wrist. He tried to breathe again, but it was too hard. This Scofield was seriously a pain in the ass. Tightening his grip on Michael's wrist he puffed out, "If you . . . want a reason. . . you're gonna . . . need to let me breathe."
Sara watched the scene unfold, and stepped into Lincoln. She motioned towards Michael and whispered, "Do something, Lincoln."
Lincoln sprung to life and grabbed one of Kellerman’s arms, yanking his hand free from Michael. “Come on Mike, we need him!” Lincoln coaxed his younger brother, but his grip didn’t loosen around Kellerman’s throat. Michael’s lips pulled tight across his face and his arms shook. Adrenaline surged his veins, fuelling his rage and deepening his voice.
“The hell we do!” Michael bit out at Lincoln. “Not so tough now are we,” Michael spat into Kellerman’s face so closely his breath heated the agents face and misted his sunglasses. Michael released one of his hands, reached up and ripped Kellerman’s glasses from his face and threw them behind him. They skidded across the concrete with a metallic echo. Michael crushed Kellerman’s jaw between his hand and twisted his head so he could only look at Sara. “Look what you did to her, you bastard.”
"Michael." Sara tried to keep calm as she stepped closer to Michael, putting a hand on his shoulder. She carefully avoided Kellerman's gaze as she spoke to Michael. She realized for the first time that she didn't quite know what he was capable of. "Michael, I need you to let him go."
Michael ignored Sara's pleas and his jaw began to ache from how hard he had his teeth pressed together. He didn't blink and he kept his focus on Kellerman. Even Sara's soft touch on his shoulder was not enough.
"Michael, listen to Sara," Lincoln pleaded, giving Sara an equally desperate look of the unknowing. He had no idea his brother was capable of such hate, such hostility. Lincoln had never seen Michael react this way before, and he didn't know what to do.
Kellerman was able to yank his wrist out of Lincoln's grasp and he used to try to push Michael away. He hadn't expected that Scofield had it in him. Using all his strength he brought his other hand up, and using his elbow struck Michael across his jaw.
Michael reeled backwards, his hands instantly covered with blood that began to flow from his nose. The impact had made him dizzy and he stumbled backwards into Sara before shaking his head clear again and lunging for Kellerman a second time. He swung a punch that landed on Kellerman’s face, the bones in Michael’s hand shifting and creaking with the impact. Blood dripped from his nose, hot and crimson red and his bloody hands smeared it over Kellerman’s clothes as he grappled for him.
”Hey, hey!” Lincoln charged his brother and caught him before he managed to get a grip on Kellerman again. Kellerman sunk against the wall with a cupped palm over his eye and dabbed a split lip with the back on his free hand. “This isn’t helping!” Lincoln roared into his brother’s ear with a shaking voice. Michael’s breathing was sporadic and he grunted like an angry bull over his brother’s shoulder.
Kellerman sat, momentarily stunned for a minute. He stood up and shook himself off, looking back and forth between Michael and Lincoln. "God, Scofield. Nice to see your capable of a little combat. I thought your brother had all the fight in him, and you were left with nothing but the ideas." He paused, glancing over at Sara, who to his amusement, looked more scared of the new Scofield than she had ever looked of him. "Huh. Or maybe it just takes an addict to bring it out in you."
“I’ll kill him,” Michael grumbled, pushing against Lincoln with all his might. “I’ll kill him!” he bellowed, his face reddened and tiny beads of sweat rolling down the side of his head. Michael’s hands dug into Lincoln’s flesh with his anger and Lincoln braced a heavy black boot against the wall where Kellerman stood in order to keep his brother off of the monster.
“Michael,” Lincoln grunted against his brother’s weight pushing into him. “Michael, listen to me,” Lincoln’s plea was weak and quiet but Michael responded, lessening the force he was pushing against Lincoln with. “Look at me,” Lincoln demanded, slapping the side of Michael’s face gently until their blue pools mirrored each other. “We can’t do this without him,” Lincoln whispered, pushing his brother one last time towards Sara. A smug laugh resonated from Kellerman and Lincoln’s turned on him before Michael could react. “I’d shut up if I were you. Shut up, before I get mad,” he threatened.
Michael glanced at Sara briefly, looking away, ashamed of how he had acted. His body still shook, racked with the rush of manic fury that still plagued his being. He lifted a quivering hand to his face, pressing gently to under his nose where the bleeding still continued to draw ruby red lines down his face. Michael glanced back to Kellerman who shrunk under the gaze of Lincoln who was talking to him, saying something Michael could only imagine that accompanied stern pointing and chest prodding. Michael turned from the two men and stalked past Sara where he sunk against the red bricked wall and let his body slide until he hit the floor. Michael's head lolled backwards and he exhaled a breath of the surging frenzy when it hit the wall.
Sara saw that he was still bleeding, and made herself move into gear. She grabbed for her purse and walked slowly over to Michael, kneeling down beside him. "Come here," she murmured to him, digging through her purse. Finally she came across a few tissues, and an antiseptic wipe. She kept her voice calm and distant. "This'll sting a little." Quickly and with ease, she wiped the antiseptic across his face, removing all traces of blood. As soon as she was done, she pressed a tissue to his nose, holding it firmly in place. Her voice softened, "Now what good are you to me all beat up?"
Michael swallowed a lump in his throat and the metallic taste of blood was pushed down with it. He lifted his hand and trailed it down her arm until it met her hand pressed to his face. He relieved her of holding the tissue, setting his own application of pressure to his internal wound. "Thank you," Michael breathed, his voice raspy from shouting and his throat sore.
Sara smiled at him a little, taking another antiseptic cloth out of her purse and rubbing his free hand until the blood came off. "Yeah, well. We're lucky I come prepared, huh?" She studied him closely, amazed at how he could go from so fierce to so vulnerable-looking in a matter of moments. She ran her fingers across his forehead, wiping off beads of sweat. "Oh, Michael, what do you think you're doing? I'm not worth that."
Michael took the tissue from his nose and was relieved to feel nothing. No trickle of warm fluid and nothing on the tissue. His nosebleed had stopped. Michael softened at Sara’s touch, gently plucking her delicate hand from his forehead and pressing his lips to her knuckles. “You’re worth everything to me,” he said to her, his voice somewhere between sultry and serene. Michael held Sara’s hand in his and reached up with his other hand to brush his thumb lightly across her subtly accented cheekbones. “You always will be.”
"You never quit, do you?" Sara arched an eyebrow, an amused smirk playing across her face. Sara linked her fingers with his, squeezing his hand tightly. "You're sitting in front of me broken and battered, and it doesn't slow you down. Always the charmer, hmm?" She lowered her voice. "I'm sorry, Michael."
Michael smiled but he also wore a frown. He titled his head sideways while their fingers idly looped with each other. "For what?" he asked innocently.
"For all of this," Sara motioned around her. "You know what for, Michael. This isn't you. . . you're not violent. You don't get this angry."
Michael's gaze slipped from hers. He knew she was right but he had never felt so furious in all his life. Sara did something to him, something he couldn't explain or tell her with words. "Yeah well, I’m the bad guy, remember?" he smirked at his words, wondering if Sara remembered them. "And besides, you really don't know me that well yet," he beamed at her, letting their entwined hands fall limp on his lap and send a hot flush through his body.
"You've never been the bad guy, Michael. I think we both know that," Sara smiled at him. She shifted her weight, suddenly uncomfortable in her crouching position. "Are we going to stay in this alley all day?"
"It would be nice, but no," Michael grumbled gruffly, pushing against the wall and lifting himself to his feet. He fiddled with his sweater, yanking it down his back and his arms, covering the purple ink that peeked out of the cuffs. Michael took Sara's hand and they began walking towards the two men that had fell into an awkward silence behind them. "We're moving," Michael told them without looking at them. He didn't mean to ignore Lincoln, he just couldn't look at his brother without seeing the man he loathed so much standing so close to him, free and unbeaten. "We have to leave now if we want to make it to the President in time," he told them, the whistle from the platform signifying the arrival of their train.
They all boarded the train quickly and without many people noticing. As far as they were concerned, they were just four friends travelling, but oh how far from he truth that was. Michael and Sara paused outside a sliding door and Michael looked back to Lincoln. “Your section is the next one,” Michael told him, handing him two tickets he produced from his back pocket.
“Will you two be ok?” Lincoln asked as Sara slid open he door and slid into the compartment.
“If we need you, we’ll call,” Michael assured his brother with a tender smile. Michael disappeared through the dark brown wood effect doors of the train, his and Sara’s silhouettes only just visible through the frosted glass.
Lincoln pushed Kellerman into the next compartment roughly. "You. Sit down," Lincoln told Kellerman across the carriage as the train pulled away from the station.