Fic: "Reverie" (Prison Break, M/S)
Reverie
By: Bella Lumina
Fandom/Pairing: Prison Break, Michael/Sara
Rating: PG
Canon: "The Killing Box"
Notes: This is for permissionslip, who requested a 500-word fic with the prompt "Prison Break, Sara/Michael, ecru."
Summary: "She doesn’t tell anyone, not even him, because the dream is full of all kinds of things that she hasn’t let herself imagine for a long time."
She has this dream that she’s never told anyone about before.
It started a while ago, weeks after he’d been sent to Fox River. She can’t pinpoint the exact night she dreamed it first, but she knows it must have been after the riots, because the way his hands felt against her sides definitely translated accurately from reality to dream world.
She doesn’t tell anyone, not even him, because the dream is full of all kinds of things that she hasn’t let herself imagine for a long time.
***
The aisle in front of her is long, and the dress she wears is heavy, tight, and uncomfortable. She should have told them, she realizes. They could have fitted it again last week.
There’s a bouquet of soft pink roses in her hands. She’s grateful - it’ll be good camouflage, and God knows enough media people are there - but also a little unnerved - after all, any setting involving her father and flowers is enough to break her on a normal day.
But this isn’t a normal day. She walks down the aisle with measured steps, focusing on the crucifix behind the altar instead of on all the eyes watching her. She knows she is a spectacle and an oddity to them. How in the world could Frank have let his daughter, the shame of his political career, be here today? She just smiles.
She doesn’t see him until she’s reached the altar and taken her place beside her new sister-in-law. He’s sitting a little back from the rest of the family, smiling at her. Such a sight is still so rare that it makes her warm all over.
Her father kisses his new bride (she knows it’s a dream because this doesn’t bother her in the least; all of her dreams for years were nightmares about her father replacing her mother), and they exit the church jubilantly. Instead of following them obediently down the aisle, she sneaks off to the side and smiles as he wraps his arms around her.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs later, as they sway slowly in a darkened corner of the ballroom. “The dress is beautiful. I don’t know what you were worried about.”
She curls her fingers in the soft fabric of his dress shirt, noting happily that he feels comfortable enough to roll his sleeves up to his elbows. “I still think it looks too much like a wedding gown in this color.”
He lets one hand drop down between them to caress her rounded abdomen through the pale antiqued lace. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.” And they dance together, not caring even a little bit about the crowd around them. No one notices, and no one says a word.
***
She startles and wakes, twisting in his arms. Her eyes register the shadowy motel room, the heavy silhouette of Lincoln sleeping in the next bed. She closes her eyes tightly and scoots closer to Michael.
Some things are just meant to be left in dreams.
THE END
By: Bella Lumina
Fandom/Pairing: Prison Break, Michael/Sara
Rating: PG
Canon: "The Killing Box"
Notes: This is for permissionslip, who requested a 500-word fic with the prompt "Prison Break, Sara/Michael, ecru."
Summary: "She doesn’t tell anyone, not even him, because the dream is full of all kinds of things that she hasn’t let herself imagine for a long time."
She has this dream that she’s never told anyone about before.
It started a while ago, weeks after he’d been sent to Fox River. She can’t pinpoint the exact night she dreamed it first, but she knows it must have been after the riots, because the way his hands felt against her sides definitely translated accurately from reality to dream world.
She doesn’t tell anyone, not even him, because the dream is full of all kinds of things that she hasn’t let herself imagine for a long time.
***
The aisle in front of her is long, and the dress she wears is heavy, tight, and uncomfortable. She should have told them, she realizes. They could have fitted it again last week.
There’s a bouquet of soft pink roses in her hands. She’s grateful - it’ll be good camouflage, and God knows enough media people are there - but also a little unnerved - after all, any setting involving her father and flowers is enough to break her on a normal day.
But this isn’t a normal day. She walks down the aisle with measured steps, focusing on the crucifix behind the altar instead of on all the eyes watching her. She knows she is a spectacle and an oddity to them. How in the world could Frank have let his daughter, the shame of his political career, be here today? She just smiles.
She doesn’t see him until she’s reached the altar and taken her place beside her new sister-in-law. He’s sitting a little back from the rest of the family, smiling at her. Such a sight is still so rare that it makes her warm all over.
Her father kisses his new bride (she knows it’s a dream because this doesn’t bother her in the least; all of her dreams for years were nightmares about her father replacing her mother), and they exit the church jubilantly. Instead of following them obediently down the aisle, she sneaks off to the side and smiles as he wraps his arms around her.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs later, as they sway slowly in a darkened corner of the ballroom. “The dress is beautiful. I don’t know what you were worried about.”
She curls her fingers in the soft fabric of his dress shirt, noting happily that he feels comfortable enough to roll his sleeves up to his elbows. “I still think it looks too much like a wedding gown in this color.”
He lets one hand drop down between them to caress her rounded abdomen through the pale antiqued lace. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.” And they dance together, not caring even a little bit about the crowd around them. No one notices, and no one says a word.
***
She startles and wakes, twisting in his arms. Her eyes register the shadowy motel room, the heavy silhouette of Lincoln sleeping in the next bed. She closes her eyes tightly and scoots closer to Michael.
Some things are just meant to be left in dreams.
THE END