Every memory I hold were just scars in the making.
Title: Every Moment
Author: muldy
Pairing: Michael/Sara
Spoilers: Up to 2x22 - Sona
Rating: PG
Summary: “You know sometimes you can know someone better in two hours than two years.”
A/N: Written for the pbhiatus_fic Challenge #11 'The End Of All Things'.
“Do you think he’s OK?” Sara asked, eyeing Lincoln passed out on the porch in front of them.
Michael shrugged slightly and took another drink from the bottle of Midori. “He’s been through a lot, I think he can survive a little hangover.”
Sara laughed slightly and reached out for the bottle Michael was holding. He held onto it tightly and turned to look at her.
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough for an ex-alcoholic,” he said quietly, the concerned tone in his voice returning.
“You’re probably right, but this is a celebration and I intend to be a part of it," Sara grabbed the bottle from him and had another sip.
She felt his concerned eyes wander over her as she pulled the bottle from her lips and handed it back to him.
“Besides, I have you now…I'm not relying on the alcohol to keep me company,” she whispered.
He smiled at that. “What’s your favourite colour?”
She tilted her head to one side, frowning slightly. “What?”
“Favourite colour,” he repeated.
“To wear, I suppose is green, but I think my favourite colour to look at is blue,” she replied. “You?”
“I’ve never had one,” he replied. “I relate blue to Fox River, white to my old office, grey to the weather in Chicago, orange to the first girl I had a crush on because she always wore this orange jacket…”
He pause for a moment as though thinking.
“My favourite colour is red,” he said quietly. “My mother used to wear this red jumper in winter, and every night when I went to bed she would read me a goodnight story wearing that jumper.”
She stared at him for a few moments, taking in the way his eyes narrowed as though he was focusing on something in the room, not a memory from a long time ago, the way he creased his forehead slightly and the way that his hand had gripped tighter around the Midori bottle.
“What was she like?”
He looked at her in surprise, as though he had forgotten she was there. “Well…I don’t really remember all that much. I was really young when she died, Linc knew her better. But she was kind, never shouted at us. I remember her crying a lot after our father left, I used to go and sit with her and hug her and I never understood why that made her cry more but I think I do now.”
“My mother was always drunk,” Sara turned on the sofa, sacrificing the dark view of the ocean to face Michael. “She would come home and my father would shout at her and then she would cry. I never went to sit with her because when I tried she would tell me to go away. When she died was when I started drinking, I don’t know if it was to push away my own depression or if a part of me just wanted to be like the one parent who had been there during my childhood.”
“How old were you?” he asked, touching her arm lightly and taking a drink from the bottle.
“Twelve.”
What she saw in his eyes would have angered her if she didn’t know that he had been through much worse, but sympathy was never something she had dealt with well. He seemed to sense that he should change the topic.
“What made you work in a prison?” he asked, handing her the Midori bottle.
The sudden flashback to the AA meeting that had gotten her the job at Fox River made her push the bottle away.
“I wanted to help,” she said. “I’ve told you that before.”
“What’s the real reason?”
She smiled slightly and met his eye. “Promise not to laugh?”
“Promise,” he smiled at her smile, waiting for the response.
“Bellick offered me the job and then asked me out,” she bit her lower lip to stop the broad smile she felt coming on at seeing Michael’s shocked expression.
“He did what?” a smile slowly spread over his face.
“Bellick…asked me out,” Sara responded. “And I told you not to laugh!”
He put his hands up in the air. “I’m not laughing, just double checking my hearing was working. You said no I take it?”
“Oh yeah,” she laughed slightly.
They fell silent and she realised it was her turn to ask a question.
“The tattoos…what do they mean?” her smile faded as she traced her hand lightly over his lower arm where the tattoo was visible under his lose shirt.
“They’re the layout of Fox River,” he sounded surprised, as though she was the only person on the planet who had no idea.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, pulling her hand away. “That’s how you got out…”
He nodded slightly. “The people I worked for designed the place, I stole the plans and designed the tattoo myself.”
Suddenly she was even more in awe of the man sitting before her. His escape from prison hadn’t just been a spur of the moment decision, it hadn’t been a ‘I’ll get myself into jail and break my other out’ overnight decision. He had spent time planning it.
Deep down she had always known that, but she hadn’t realised exactly how planned out it all was.
“Haywire figured it out,” Michael surprised her by continuing the conversation. “That’s why I had to have him sent back to the psych ward, I couldn’t have him in the cell with me.”
“Wow,” was all she could manage.
“I almost miss Fox River,” he said quietly.
She looked at him in surprise.
“Everything was so simple there, to me anyway. Get in, break out, run. And in essence that’s what we’ve done, but back then it all seemed that much easier. I didn’t hate being there, everything I had was inside those walls. My brother, my friends, you…”
She wondered if her flushed cheeks were a result of the alcohol or of his comment, but she hadn’t noticed them before that moment.
“Friends?” she decided to focus on the one thing that wasn’t obvious.
“Sucre,” Michael smiled again. “Sucre is possibly one of the best friends I’ve had in years.”
It was his turn to ask the question and as he turned back and looked out at the ocean she knew he was trying to think of something else he wanted to know about her.
“Would you do it again?” he asked, not looking back at her.
She hesitated for a moment, not entirely sure what he was referring to, before it dawned on her. “The door?”
He nodded.
“Yes.”
“If I could go back in time…I wouldn’t have used you,” he said, quietly. “I would have found a way out of there without using you.”
“It’s OK,” she said, touching his shoulder again.
He turned to look at her. “No it’s not. You’d still be safe back in Chicago if it wasn’t for…”
“And if it wasn’t for me you’d never have gone back to prison,” she whispered. “So we’re more than even.”
They both fell silent for a few moments before she adjusted her position on the sofa and rested her head on his shoulder, staring out at the ocean. They had never had a restful moment alone, knowing that no one was out to kill them, that they weren’t going to be interrupted any second by the threat of gunfire or someone discovering them in the prison infirmary that seemed like it came from another life.
She wanted to reach out and take his hand but it was surprisingly difficult for her to make the simple movement. A few moments later, as though reading her mind, he did it for her, tangling his hand in hers.
“You know sometimes you can know someone better in two hours than two years,” he said quietly.
“Yeah,” she agreed, taking the bottle of alcohol from him one last time and taking one last drink. “To friendship.”
She handed it back to him and he took a drink.
“To more,” was his response, as he squeezed her hand. “And to the future.”
For the first time in her life she felt like everything was right. Sure she was in Panama, far from the life she had grown up knowing, but she had the guy, she had her freedom and she was able to drink alcohol without fearing that she could never stop drinking it.
Because she knew he was there to help her through it all no matter what. For the first time her future wasn’t an empty abyss of nothingness to dread.
“We should sleep,” she said quietly.
“I’ll sleep here,” he replied. “You take the bed.”
She sat up and shook her head, pulling his hand as she stood up. “Michael Scofield, if you think I’m going to bed without you next to me one more night then you’re more delusional than I thought.”
He stood up slowly and let their hands fall between them, still intertwined. She expected him to say something in response but instead he leaned forward slightly and touched his lips lightly against hers.
“Sara,” he whispered. “If that’s what you want, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Pulling away without kissing her properly he led her towards the door to the house. She glanced at Linc one more time.
“Should we at least pull him inside?” she asked.
“You’re ruining the moment,” he said. “Leave him, he’ll be fine.”
“Ok,” she said simply, following Michael into the house, into what felt like the beginning of the rest of her life.
A better life.
Author: muldy
Pairing: Michael/Sara
Spoilers: Up to 2x22 - Sona
Rating: PG
Summary: “You know sometimes you can know someone better in two hours than two years.”
A/N: Written for the pbhiatus_fic Challenge #11 'The End Of All Things'.
“Do you think he’s OK?” Sara asked, eyeing Lincoln passed out on the porch in front of them.
Michael shrugged slightly and took another drink from the bottle of Midori. “He’s been through a lot, I think he can survive a little hangover.”
Sara laughed slightly and reached out for the bottle Michael was holding. He held onto it tightly and turned to look at her.
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough for an ex-alcoholic,” he said quietly, the concerned tone in his voice returning.
“You’re probably right, but this is a celebration and I intend to be a part of it," Sara grabbed the bottle from him and had another sip.
She felt his concerned eyes wander over her as she pulled the bottle from her lips and handed it back to him.
“Besides, I have you now…I'm not relying on the alcohol to keep me company,” she whispered.
He smiled at that. “What’s your favourite colour?”
She tilted her head to one side, frowning slightly. “What?”
“Favourite colour,” he repeated.
“To wear, I suppose is green, but I think my favourite colour to look at is blue,” she replied. “You?”
“I’ve never had one,” he replied. “I relate blue to Fox River, white to my old office, grey to the weather in Chicago, orange to the first girl I had a crush on because she always wore this orange jacket…”
He pause for a moment as though thinking.
“My favourite colour is red,” he said quietly. “My mother used to wear this red jumper in winter, and every night when I went to bed she would read me a goodnight story wearing that jumper.”
She stared at him for a few moments, taking in the way his eyes narrowed as though he was focusing on something in the room, not a memory from a long time ago, the way he creased his forehead slightly and the way that his hand had gripped tighter around the Midori bottle.
“What was she like?”
He looked at her in surprise, as though he had forgotten she was there. “Well…I don’t really remember all that much. I was really young when she died, Linc knew her better. But she was kind, never shouted at us. I remember her crying a lot after our father left, I used to go and sit with her and hug her and I never understood why that made her cry more but I think I do now.”
“My mother was always drunk,” Sara turned on the sofa, sacrificing the dark view of the ocean to face Michael. “She would come home and my father would shout at her and then she would cry. I never went to sit with her because when I tried she would tell me to go away. When she died was when I started drinking, I don’t know if it was to push away my own depression or if a part of me just wanted to be like the one parent who had been there during my childhood.”
“How old were you?” he asked, touching her arm lightly and taking a drink from the bottle.
“Twelve.”
What she saw in his eyes would have angered her if she didn’t know that he had been through much worse, but sympathy was never something she had dealt with well. He seemed to sense that he should change the topic.
“What made you work in a prison?” he asked, handing her the Midori bottle.
The sudden flashback to the AA meeting that had gotten her the job at Fox River made her push the bottle away.
“I wanted to help,” she said. “I’ve told you that before.”
“What’s the real reason?”
She smiled slightly and met his eye. “Promise not to laugh?”
“Promise,” he smiled at her smile, waiting for the response.
“Bellick offered me the job and then asked me out,” she bit her lower lip to stop the broad smile she felt coming on at seeing Michael’s shocked expression.
“He did what?” a smile slowly spread over his face.
“Bellick…asked me out,” Sara responded. “And I told you not to laugh!”
He put his hands up in the air. “I’m not laughing, just double checking my hearing was working. You said no I take it?”
“Oh yeah,” she laughed slightly.
They fell silent and she realised it was her turn to ask a question.
“The tattoos…what do they mean?” her smile faded as she traced her hand lightly over his lower arm where the tattoo was visible under his lose shirt.
“They’re the layout of Fox River,” he sounded surprised, as though she was the only person on the planet who had no idea.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, pulling her hand away. “That’s how you got out…”
He nodded slightly. “The people I worked for designed the place, I stole the plans and designed the tattoo myself.”
Suddenly she was even more in awe of the man sitting before her. His escape from prison hadn’t just been a spur of the moment decision, it hadn’t been a ‘I’ll get myself into jail and break my other out’ overnight decision. He had spent time planning it.
Deep down she had always known that, but she hadn’t realised exactly how planned out it all was.
“Haywire figured it out,” Michael surprised her by continuing the conversation. “That’s why I had to have him sent back to the psych ward, I couldn’t have him in the cell with me.”
“Wow,” was all she could manage.
“I almost miss Fox River,” he said quietly.
She looked at him in surprise.
“Everything was so simple there, to me anyway. Get in, break out, run. And in essence that’s what we’ve done, but back then it all seemed that much easier. I didn’t hate being there, everything I had was inside those walls. My brother, my friends, you…”
She wondered if her flushed cheeks were a result of the alcohol or of his comment, but she hadn’t noticed them before that moment.
“Friends?” she decided to focus on the one thing that wasn’t obvious.
“Sucre,” Michael smiled again. “Sucre is possibly one of the best friends I’ve had in years.”
It was his turn to ask the question and as he turned back and looked out at the ocean she knew he was trying to think of something else he wanted to know about her.
“Would you do it again?” he asked, not looking back at her.
She hesitated for a moment, not entirely sure what he was referring to, before it dawned on her. “The door?”
He nodded.
“Yes.”
“If I could go back in time…I wouldn’t have used you,” he said, quietly. “I would have found a way out of there without using you.”
“It’s OK,” she said, touching his shoulder again.
He turned to look at her. “No it’s not. You’d still be safe back in Chicago if it wasn’t for…”
“And if it wasn’t for me you’d never have gone back to prison,” she whispered. “So we’re more than even.”
They both fell silent for a few moments before she adjusted her position on the sofa and rested her head on his shoulder, staring out at the ocean. They had never had a restful moment alone, knowing that no one was out to kill them, that they weren’t going to be interrupted any second by the threat of gunfire or someone discovering them in the prison infirmary that seemed like it came from another life.
She wanted to reach out and take his hand but it was surprisingly difficult for her to make the simple movement. A few moments later, as though reading her mind, he did it for her, tangling his hand in hers.
“You know sometimes you can know someone better in two hours than two years,” he said quietly.
“Yeah,” she agreed, taking the bottle of alcohol from him one last time and taking one last drink. “To friendship.”
She handed it back to him and he took a drink.
“To more,” was his response, as he squeezed her hand. “And to the future.”
For the first time in her life she felt like everything was right. Sure she was in Panama, far from the life she had grown up knowing, but she had the guy, she had her freedom and she was able to drink alcohol without fearing that she could never stop drinking it.
Because she knew he was there to help her through it all no matter what. For the first time her future wasn’t an empty abyss of nothingness to dread.
“We should sleep,” she said quietly.
“I’ll sleep here,” he replied. “You take the bed.”
She sat up and shook her head, pulling his hand as she stood up. “Michael Scofield, if you think I’m going to bed without you next to me one more night then you’re more delusional than I thought.”
He stood up slowly and let their hands fall between them, still intertwined. She expected him to say something in response but instead he leaned forward slightly and touched his lips lightly against hers.
“Sara,” he whispered. “If that’s what you want, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Pulling away without kissing her properly he led her towards the door to the house. She glanced at Linc one more time.
“Should we at least pull him inside?” she asked.
“You’re ruining the moment,” he said. “Leave him, he’ll be fine.”
“Ok,” she said simply, following Michael into the house, into what felt like the beginning of the rest of her life.
A better life.