Chapter Text
Michael was a strange man, Sucre decided. That seemed like an oversimplification, but it was all that Sucre could really think that could sum up his feelings on the matter. Strange wasn’t the only word that could describe Michael, but it was the word that Sucre felt the most comfortable saying aloud.
He had overheard what the other prisoners said about Michael, they were much more vulgar in their descriptions. “You sure are lucky.” One of them said he couldn’t place a name to the face. He was wearing a self-satisfied smirk, and he seemed like somebody that Bagwell would hang out with.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Cellies with Scofield, we all see that sheet go up.”
Sucre rolled his eyes. “Vete, tonto.”
The man just laughed, putting his hands up in mock surrender. “Relax amigo, you don’t wanna share that’s fine. Just congratulating you is all. Answer me this though,” Sucre really wished he would stop talking, “how do you keep him so quiet?” Sucre’s fist had reached the man’s face as soon as the words left his mouth. The man fell to the ground in one fell swoop. Sucre hadn’t lost his touch.
Michael materialized seemingly out of nowhere to separate the two of them. “Sucre, the plan.” he said under his breath. That took Sucre out of his anger. He nodded and walked away from the man who was still on the ground.
“You need your bitch to get you out of trouble then?”
“Callate, coño!”
Michael pushed Sucre away from the guy again. “Fernando.” Sucre shoved Michael away from him, and he didn’t even really know why, before walking away from the altercation altogether.
Later when they were back in their cell, Sucre hoped they could act like the afternoon had never happened. Of course, Michael had other ideas. “What the hell was that earlier?” Michael wasn’t yelling, because Michael never yelled at him, not really, but he definitely sounded pissed. He was standing there waiting for an explanation and Sucre couldn’t really give him one because Sucre didn’t really know what earlier was.
Sucre sat on Michael’s bunk because for whatever reason it was much more comfortable than his own. Michael was still standing and looking at him. “You’re not going to say anything? You can’t just blow up at everybody, we can’t afford to have eyes on us all the time.” Sucre carefully didn’t say that Michael always seemed to have eyes on him even when he didn’t notice. He didn’t think that would help the situation.
“He was saying...things.” He hoped that that was all he had to say, it wasn’t.
Michael tilted his head, his eyebrows coming together the way they did sometimes. “What kind of things?”
“You know, things about us...and the sheet.” Michael rolled his eyes, and Sucre knew that he hadn’t worded that right.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” was all Michael said, and Sucre knew that he had definitely given Michael the wrong idea.
“Listen papi–” Michael held his hand up.
“People are gonna say things Sucre, you knew that when you put up the sheet. If you can’t handle some schoolyard taunts than maybe you aren’t right for this.”
Sucre stood up from the bunk, and him and Michael were almost eye-to-eye. “I am right for this.”
Michael’s eyes didn’t soften. “Then tighten up.” Sucre just nodded, there wasn’t any arguing with Michael when he got like this. His leader mode, as he had taken to calling it in his head. The conversation was over.
But even days later Sucre couldn’t stop thinking about it, no matter how hard he tried. It wasn’t so much the implication that something was going on between him and Michael that bothered him, the thought actually didn’t bother him much at all. It was the things that the other guys had to say about Michael that really bugged him. Michael was a nice enough guy; he didn’t deserve to be discussed in that way, even if something was happening between the two of them (not that there was).
Sucre looked across the room, he was laying on Michael’s bunk again. Michael was standing up looking at his tattoo in the mirror, giving Sucre his back. Sucre traced the tattoo with his eyes, admiring all of the little details in the design. He didn’t realize just how much of Michael’s torso the ink covered. “You’ve got something you wanna share with the class?” Michael said, his eyes were on Sucre in the mirror. Sucre looked away as Michael put his shirt back on.
“I was just thinking.” A beat of silence and he knew that Michael had wanted him to continue.
“About that guy the other day, that I punched in the face.”
Michael stood over him, “What about him?”
Sucre took a deep breath before he spoke, wanting to choose his words carefully. “I don’t care about people thinking that stuff’s happening in here. With the two of us.” Michael made a face like he was holding back a laugh.
“Okay...”
“I punched him in the face because of what he was saying about you.”
Michael raised his eyebrow. “Are you saying you were defending my honor, Fernando?” It suddenly occurred to Sucre that Michael didn’t call him by his first name very often, he wished he did it more. It sounded nice. He looked away from Michael’s face, clearing his throat before he spoke.
“No, well I mean, I guess. It just sounds ridiculous when you say it like that. Like you’re a girl or something. I just wanted you to know the reason, that’s all.” He wasn’t exactly sure why he wanted Michael to know so badly, but it was really important to him.
Michael nodded, still looking amused. “Well, now I know. Can I get on my bunk now please?” He knocked his foot against the frame, making Sucre jump up at the noise. Michael sat down next to him, and their arms were just barely touching but Michael’s arm felt so warm. Sucre sat up.
“Was that all?” Sucre nodded. Michael looked at him for a moment before he laid down.
Sucre got up and climbed the ladder to his bunk, lying down. Michael’s bunk smelled better too, which was weird since they cleaned using the same supplies. “It’s kind of a compliment if you really think about it.” Sucre said suddenly.
“What is?” Michael said. Maybe it was because he couldn’t see Michael’s face anymore that gave him this newfound freedom, because the next words out of his mouth were:
“People thinking we’re together.”
Michael didn’t say anything, and Sucre was worried that he said the wrong thing again. After what felt like hours Michael said, “How so?”
“Well, you know, you’re not too bad looking so it’s nice that people think that we’re together. Means they think I can get a good-looking guy, if I was into that kind of thing.”
Michael chuckled and the sound made Sucre smile. Michael didn’t really laugh a lot, at least not with Sucre. He wondered if Michael laughed more on the outside, he was sure he did. “Good-looking, huh?” was all Michael said, and Sucre really should learned to pick his words better.
“You know what I mean.” Sucre decided on and he felt an immense pressure on his lungs. Michael just laughed again, and it made the pressure better somehow. He turned onto his side, facing the wall.
“Goodnight papi.”
“’Night Sucre.” Michael said, and at this new angle, his ear to the mattress, Michael’s voice sounded louder. Sucre closed his eyes and tried to go to sleep.
“What about you?” Sucre said, before he even fully thought about what he was asking.
“What about me?” He always had to make everything so difficult.
“I mean I’m not too hard on the eyes, you offended that some people think that we, well, you know.” Why couldn’t he just say it?
Michael shuffled in his bed, the way he always did before going to sleep. He reminded Sucre of a cat that way. “No, Sucre, it’d be very flattering, if I was into that kind of thing.” Now Michael was just making fun of him.
“Goodnight, fish.” Fish sounded much less personal than papi, and Sucre had had enough of personal for the night.
“’Night, Fernando.” Michael’s voice held a fondness to it and Sucre was really starting to like the way he said his first name. Almost everybody called him Sucre, especially while he was in Fox River. These days, the only other person who called him Fernando was Maricruz, who Sucre had insisted on being on a first name basis with when they first met. Sucre smiled at the memory. He liked how she said his name too. Oh.
Sucre had heard of guys who went to prison and became ‘gay for the stay’ as the saying went. Of course he had, who hadn’t? He’d even known a few. But he’d always heard of it as simply needing to get your natural urges out of your system. Sucre didn’t feel that way about Michael. It was much more akin to what he had felt when he saw Maricruz for the first time, if not a little less intense. He had noticed Michael, who wouldn’t? He had thought at first that it was normal, a simple observation. The sky was blue, grass was green, and Michael Scofield was an attractive man. He wasn’t so sure that it was that simple anymore. Instead, he was sure of a different observation.
He had a crush on Michael. A crush was fine, a crush was temporary. The important thing was that nothing ever happened between them, and nothing ever would. A new thought flashed through Sucre’s mind. Did Michael know? Even worse, had Michael known and not told him? That would suck.
Michael was working next to him, writing down notes that Sucre would probably never read. Sucre was fine with that; he liked letting Michael do the thinking in regard to the plan. It allowed him some peace of mind to think while he laid on Michael’s bed. Most days he spent thinking about him and Michael, innocently of course.
He wondered what would’ve happened if he and Michael had met outside of Fox River, before Maricruz. A thief and a structural engineer, there wasn’t much overlap between their preferred hangouts. Maybe a bar then, they would’ve met at a bar.
“You liked bars papi?”
Michael didn’t look up from his notes. “Never really been the bar type.” Sucre really should’ve known. “Why?”
Sucre trained his eyes on the bunk above him. “No reason, just wondering, I guess.” Maybe they would’ve just bumped into each other on the street, complete accident. What would he have said to Michael, probably an angry ‘watch where you’re going!’ and then he would’ve walked off and he never would’ve thought about Michael again.
That was what would’ve happened in real life, but in Sucre’s imagination he wasn’t so quick to anger. Imaginary-Sucre apologized for not looking where he was going, and Imaginary-Michael forgave him easily, laughing it off. Imaginary-Sucre introduced himself as Fernando, and only as Fernando. They’d get to talking and Imaginary-Sucre would invite Imaginary-Michael to a bar. Sucre shook his head, that wouldn’t work Michael had just told him that he hated bars.
He sighed, maybe Fox River was the best place for them to meet. It put the two of them on equal footing they wouldn’t have had outside of prison. He didn’t like their odds when they broke out then.
“Are you okay?” Michael asked. He had stopped writing and was just looking at Sucre.
“Yeah, I’m fine, why?”
Michael shrugged. “You just look really deep in thought, that’s not like you.” Michael was smirking at him and Sucre rolled his eyes.
“Ha ha real funny.”
He turned to look at Michael. “You think we would’ve been friends if we met before.” Sucre didn’t mention that he meant before he met Maricruz because that would’ve started a whole new line of questioning.
“I don’t know, I guess I’ve never really thought about it.” Sucre felt that pressure in his chest again at Michael’s answer. “I’m glad we are now though.” Michael added and Sucre smiled at him.
“Me too.” Michael turned around to hide his notes, but Sucre was sure that he saw his cheeks turn a little bit pink. When he turned back, whatever pink was there, was gone.
“Why are you always in my bunk?” Michael asked.
Sucre didn’t have an answer that he thought would sound passable, so he said, “I don’t know, it’s comfortable.”
“Do you want to switch bunks then?”
“No.” Sucre answered far too fast.
Michael just raised his eyebrow and said, “Okay.” Sucre went to stand up so that Michael could lie down, but Michael stopped him.
“You don’t have to.” Which meant that he didn’t want Sucre to move, so he stayed where he was. Sucre watched as Michael climbed the ladder up to Sucre’s bunk.
“’Night, Sucre.” he said from above him.
“Goodnight, Fish.”
Michael didn’t mention it at all, until breakfast. “The beds are the same. The exact same no differences.”
Sucre just looked at him. “That’s why you slept in my bunk, to test the bed?”
Michael nodded like it was a completely normal thing for him to do. “Yeah, you said mine was more comfortable, but they’re the exact same. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought that I was sleeping in my bed. So, if they’re the same why do you always hang out in mine?”
“I just like to.”
“But you don’t want to switch?” Michael thought he’d done something to the bed, that’s why he was acting like this.
“I can stop if you want.”
Michael shook his head. “You don’t have to.”
“Then what do you want me to do Michael?”
“Nothing. I just wanted to know why.”
“I told you I didn’t know, why are you making such a big thing of this?”
“Why are you?” Michael's voice was calm but Sucre knew when he was being interrogated.
“I can’t believe you right now. We’re supposed to be...friends.”
Michael's eyes hardened. “We are.”
“But you don’t trust me.” Michael didn’t answer, but that was an answer in and of itself. “Vete al infierno.” Sucre stood up from the table.
“Sucre...” Sucre moved to another table.
Sucre didn’t talk to Michael for the next week. He barely acknowledged his presence at all. Whenever Michael worked, Sucre would read his magazine to distract his mind, on his own bunk. He couldn’t believe that he had ever had a crush (that was as far as he was willing to go) on him. Could he have chosen a bigger piece of crap? Okay, maybe the magazine wasn’t working to distract him. “Sucre.” He ignored Michael.
“Fernando.” Sucre looked at Michael who was leaning on the corner of the bunk, right next to Sucre. He looked as uncomfortable as Sucre had ever seen him. “I just wanted to say that...I’m sorry.” Sucre looked at him and then turned back to his magazine.
“You’re not gonna say anything?”
Sucre turned to face him. “Whaddya want me to say, fish?”
Michael's eyes were wide and guilty. “Anything.”
They were close enough that Sucre could see that Michael’s eyes weren’t just blue, they had little flecks of green and grey too. Sucre looked away. “You don’t trust me.”
Michael looked down at his shoes. “I want to. I really do. I’m sorry.”
“I’m supposed to trust you to get me out of here, it should be mutual.”
“I am gonna get you out of here, you’re gonna get to be with Maricruz. I promise. This place it’s just...it’s changing me I didn’t used to be like this.” Michael backed away from Sucre and leaned on the wall, putting his head back and closing his eyes.
Sucre sat up and turned so that his feet hung off the bunk. “I know how hard prison can be, but you can trust me, Michael. We have to trust each other at least a little bit, that’s the only way this can work.”
“I know, I know. I can do that.” Michael looked at Sucre, and he so badly wanted to believe him. He guessed that that was what trust was, choosing to have faith in a person.
“Okay.”
Michael stood straight up, “So we’re good now?”
“We’re good papi.” Michael smiled a little shyly at him and Sucre felt his stomach do some flips. He wondered, not for the first time, if Michael knew the effect that he had on him. He wondered if Michael’s stomach did flips when Sucre smiled at him. He didn’t know what he wanted the answer to be.
This thing that he had with Michael was complicated for him. Sucre loved Maricruz, he was certain of that, he loved Maricruz more than he ever thought he could love anyone. But he really liked Michael. He liked how smart Michael was. He liked his laugh and his smile. Hell, he liked his bunk just because he slept in it. Michael was scary and funny and smart and annoying, and Sucre could really go on and on. What would happen with the two of them when they weren’t confined into one room every day?
“Quit daydreaming muchacho and start hammering.” T-Bag's shrill voice interrupted Sucre’s thoughts.
Sucre just rolled his eyes, but he started hammering. Sucre looked over at T-Bag and saw that he was looking at Michael with that look in his eyes. “Depravado.” he said under his breath.
T-Bag's head shot towards him, “What was that, Pablo?”
“I said, ‘depravado’ you country hick.” T-Bag's eyes flickered at the insult.
“I’d rather be a country hick than a border-hopping criminal.”
“Oye the child rapist wants to call me a criminal. Que tal eso?” Sucre's voice was raised, his blood beginning to boil. T-Bag only smiled and stepped closer to him.
“You come to this country the least you can do is speak the language.”
“T-Bag! Shut up.” Michael called from across the room, his leader voice in full effect. T-Bag glared at Michael, but he did as he said. Sucre sent a nod in Michael’s direction and Michael just winked at him back. And yeah, Sucre had forgotten to add insanely attractive to Michael’s list of attributes, he didn’t know how it ever slipped his mind.
When they left the guard’s room, they were walking side by side. “Thanks for earlier. With T-Bag.”
Michael just shrugged. “He’s an ass. He shouldn’t say all that stuff to you. Nobody should.”
“You saying you were defending my honor papi?” Michael laughed but his face was definitely flushed, Sucre was sure of it.
“If that’s what you wanna call it, then yeah sure.” It was times like this that Sucre thought he saw a real glimpse at the man who Michael had been before he had ever thought about stepping foot in Fox River. He liked it.
“I have to go to see Sara today, so I need you to do something for me.”
“Sara?”
“Dr. Tancredi.” Michael corrected and Sucre wondered just what was going on in that infirmary. He wasn’t jealous of course, that’d be ridiculous. He was a man with a girlfriend and a baby on the way, and him and Michael were only friends no matter what his stomach did when Michael smiled.
“Like I was saying, I’m gonna need you to write something down in my notebook for me.”
“Yeah? What is it?”
“Penny Waters.”
“Penny Waters?”
“Penny Waters.”
“What does that mean?” Michael just looked at him and Sucre knew that he wouldn’t tell him. “Alright, I’ll write it down.”
“Thanks Sucre.”
“Anytime.” and he meant it too.