Prison Break | When it Becomes Too Much
Title: When it Becomes Too Much 1/1
Character/Pairing: Sara, Michael
Rating: PG-13
Summary: This takes place shortly after the escape with slightly re-written history. Sara regrets what she had done and decided living is too much.
When it Becomes Too Much
Michael/Sara
It has been three weeks since the Fox River breakout, which released eight men, some of them very dangerous. A few are dead by now, the wrong ones in Sara’s opinion. The most psychopathic is still somewhere, out there, and he was probably the only one who knew where. Some agent, she heard, shot the youngest, shortly after the escape. And he didn’t deserve that - he couldn’t have.
The last three weeks have been hard, very difficult.
Michael Scofield and Lincoln Burrows had broken off from the rest and came to meet with Sara a few days ago, relieving her from the incessant fear that they would be the next checked off the FBI’s Most Wanted list. Their reunion did help, but not as much as she had wanted.
Words echoed in her head while she tried to sleep at night with Michael by her side, his brother on the couch outside the bedroom door. They were mostly phrases she heard from the various news channels she’s watched in plentiful amounts lately, about how she released murderers to roam the public freely. The words hurt, and they penetrated much further than she let on with anyone that asked how she was doing.
She felt responsible, and she supposed in the most logical sense, that she actually was. Every person that Theodore Bagwell killed would be more blood on her hands. Every person that stayed up late at night checking and re-checking their locks in fear their family would be butchered in the night was weight on her conscience. It would not be happening if it weren’t for her.
Eventually, her mind began to feel like it was bleeding to death from the inside.
Michael shifted in his sleep on his pillow, pulling the thick white blanket closer to his side of the bed. Sara glanced over at him, deciding that it was finally past too much. She slid deliberately out of bed and crossed the small room, reaching for her purse on the mirror-less dresser against the far wall. Slipping her boots on over the jeans she didn’t bother to change out of before going to bed, she made her way out of the room, past the sleeping Lincoln, and out into the hallway.
Within minutes she was outside the looming building, watching the heavy rain fall over the luminescent glow of the purple streetlamps from under a thick red awning outside the main entrance.
There was more than enough in her purse, several days ago she had filled a syringe with enough to kill a full grown man. She reached into the purse and groped around her wallet and car keys before grasping the syringe. Pulling it out, she let the purse fall to the ground with a small, nearly inaudible thump. Her sleeve was already pulled up over her elbow before the door behind her clanged open.
She didn’t even need to turn around to know who was there.
“Sara?”
“Michael - you can’t, you can’t make me stop,” she told him in the most emotionless voice she could pull from her throat, locking her eyes on the vain slightly protruding from her upper arm.
She could feel Michael, very cautiously, lay his hand on her shoulder and slowly whirl her around to face him. Despite looking directly at him, Sara was oblivious to his features; she couldn’t (and wouldn’t) see the worry leering on the surface of his eyes. The way she was sure his lips were contorting into silent concentration while he wondered exactly how he could talk her out of this one.
He lowered his hand from her shoulder, brushing her hand as he did so. “Don’t do this to me. Please.”
It almost didn’t matter any more, how much it would hurt him. Everything she had done was always right there with her, and she couldn’t bear to live standing beside herself all the time. “I can’t look at it like that, Michael.” She said flatly, moving the syringe toward her exposed flesh. “I love you - I love you but I can’t if this knowledge is always right there. I’ll never be happy with you because there will always be this distraction…”
He shook his head. “You may feel certain that it will never go away now, but not everything lasts forever, Sara. Give it time and it will go away, I promise.”
“You can’t promise…” her voice trailed away as if she had forgotten she was talking. If he just couldn’t let her be, then maybe with this much morphine she wouldn’t need to hit the vein, perhaps if she just stabbed-
Michael’s hand extended toward the syringe and Sara backed three steps away from the shelter of the awning and into the street where rain pounded heavily onto the pavement. She felt her clothes soak through almost immediately.
“I know I did it for you and your brother because he was innocent, but how many other-” She was yelling at him now, trying to accuse him in her own mind in a final effort to take some of the blame off herself in case she couldn’t do it.
“You can’t think like that!”
“But I do.” She whispered, unsure if he could even hear her response. And with that she plunged the needle as deep in her flesh as she could and pushed the pump all the way down.
At first everything was cold, a thin trickle of ice inside her vain until it reached every part of her body and she felt herself collapse on the street below. Her leg folded under her in an uncomfortable fashion, but within seconds she no longer cared about either the emotional or physical pain resulting from hitting the concrete so hard.
Michael was beside her, his silhouette drifting in and out of focus like a hesitant fish breaking the surface of a pond. There were noises coming from every side, indistinguishable but she knew one of the low hums were coming from Michael’s panicked lips.
Her last sensation was that of his trembling hand brushing her rain-soaked hair away from glassy eyes.
Character/Pairing: Sara, Michael
Rating: PG-13
Summary: This takes place shortly after the escape with slightly re-written history. Sara regrets what she had done and decided living is too much.
When it Becomes Too Much
Michael/Sara
It has been three weeks since the Fox River breakout, which released eight men, some of them very dangerous. A few are dead by now, the wrong ones in Sara’s opinion. The most psychopathic is still somewhere, out there, and he was probably the only one who knew where. Some agent, she heard, shot the youngest, shortly after the escape. And he didn’t deserve that - he couldn’t have.
The last three weeks have been hard, very difficult.
Michael Scofield and Lincoln Burrows had broken off from the rest and came to meet with Sara a few days ago, relieving her from the incessant fear that they would be the next checked off the FBI’s Most Wanted list. Their reunion did help, but not as much as she had wanted.
Words echoed in her head while she tried to sleep at night with Michael by her side, his brother on the couch outside the bedroom door. They were mostly phrases she heard from the various news channels she’s watched in plentiful amounts lately, about how she released murderers to roam the public freely. The words hurt, and they penetrated much further than she let on with anyone that asked how she was doing.
She felt responsible, and she supposed in the most logical sense, that she actually was. Every person that Theodore Bagwell killed would be more blood on her hands. Every person that stayed up late at night checking and re-checking their locks in fear their family would be butchered in the night was weight on her conscience. It would not be happening if it weren’t for her.
Eventually, her mind began to feel like it was bleeding to death from the inside.
Michael shifted in his sleep on his pillow, pulling the thick white blanket closer to his side of the bed. Sara glanced over at him, deciding that it was finally past too much. She slid deliberately out of bed and crossed the small room, reaching for her purse on the mirror-less dresser against the far wall. Slipping her boots on over the jeans she didn’t bother to change out of before going to bed, she made her way out of the room, past the sleeping Lincoln, and out into the hallway.
Within minutes she was outside the looming building, watching the heavy rain fall over the luminescent glow of the purple streetlamps from under a thick red awning outside the main entrance.
There was more than enough in her purse, several days ago she had filled a syringe with enough to kill a full grown man. She reached into the purse and groped around her wallet and car keys before grasping the syringe. Pulling it out, she let the purse fall to the ground with a small, nearly inaudible thump. Her sleeve was already pulled up over her elbow before the door behind her clanged open.
She didn’t even need to turn around to know who was there.
“Sara?”
“Michael - you can’t, you can’t make me stop,” she told him in the most emotionless voice she could pull from her throat, locking her eyes on the vain slightly protruding from her upper arm.
She could feel Michael, very cautiously, lay his hand on her shoulder and slowly whirl her around to face him. Despite looking directly at him, Sara was oblivious to his features; she couldn’t (and wouldn’t) see the worry leering on the surface of his eyes. The way she was sure his lips were contorting into silent concentration while he wondered exactly how he could talk her out of this one.
He lowered his hand from her shoulder, brushing her hand as he did so. “Don’t do this to me. Please.”
It almost didn’t matter any more, how much it would hurt him. Everything she had done was always right there with her, and she couldn’t bear to live standing beside herself all the time. “I can’t look at it like that, Michael.” She said flatly, moving the syringe toward her exposed flesh. “I love you - I love you but I can’t if this knowledge is always right there. I’ll never be happy with you because there will always be this distraction…”
He shook his head. “You may feel certain that it will never go away now, but not everything lasts forever, Sara. Give it time and it will go away, I promise.”
“You can’t promise…” her voice trailed away as if she had forgotten she was talking. If he just couldn’t let her be, then maybe with this much morphine she wouldn’t need to hit the vein, perhaps if she just stabbed-
Michael’s hand extended toward the syringe and Sara backed three steps away from the shelter of the awning and into the street where rain pounded heavily onto the pavement. She felt her clothes soak through almost immediately.
“I know I did it for you and your brother because he was innocent, but how many other-” She was yelling at him now, trying to accuse him in her own mind in a final effort to take some of the blame off herself in case she couldn’t do it.
“You can’t think like that!”
“But I do.” She whispered, unsure if he could even hear her response. And with that she plunged the needle as deep in her flesh as she could and pushed the pump all the way down.
At first everything was cold, a thin trickle of ice inside her vain until it reached every part of her body and she felt herself collapse on the street below. Her leg folded under her in an uncomfortable fashion, but within seconds she no longer cared about either the emotional or physical pain resulting from hitting the concrete so hard.
Michael was beside her, his silhouette drifting in and out of focus like a hesitant fish breaking the surface of a pond. There were noises coming from every side, indistinguishable but she knew one of the low hums were coming from Michael’s panicked lips.
Her last sensation was that of his trembling hand brushing her rain-soaked hair away from glassy eyes.