Old Misa Fic
Title: Differentia
Pairing: Michael/Sara
Rating: PG-13? Mentions of sex...
Summary: It’s almost ten at night when he shows up, and she’s surprised.
A/N: This was written... a long long time ago. Before I'd seen any season two PB, so no spoilers for that season. Also it doesn't really fit anywhere into that timeline, so just... pretend.
It’s almost ten at night when he shows up, and she’s surprised. Still, she wouldn’t expect to be anything else. Sara’s grip on the water bottle in her hand tightens as she opens the door and he’s the first thing she sees, but he doesn’t notice that. She wants to speak, especially when he smiles a little; then she wants to yell.
“Michael.”
“Hey.”
“What do you think you’re doing here?”
“I’m visiting you.”
Sara sighs, remembering that this was Michael, who never gave anyone a straight answer if he could help it. “You need to leave.”
“Do you say that to every man that visits?”
“Michael, you’re wanted by the police. I… I work at Fox River. The prison you escaped from. Even if I didn’t, I’d still be required by law to report that I’ve seen you, and I don’t -
“Do you really think I give a damn about the law, after all this?”
She doesn’t reply. Glances at the floor, then back at him, giving him a piercing, almost pitying look that breaks his heart just like it did three months ago.
A step forward, but he’s not inside. She doesn’t move.
“Look, I know it’s selfish, and I hate myself for giving in… but I had to come.” The soft sorrow in Michael’s voice affects her, but it was the same tone he used with her back when he would lie every time they met, and she had learned to almost ignore it.
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes, I did! I talked myself out of it at first but it became too much, and I’m risking you because I couldn’t handle it. I’m so sorry.”
And he steps forward and catches Sara’s face in his hands, carefully joining their lips. She doesn’t resist so it deepens, because he simply can’t do anything else.
The water bottle in her hand drops to the floor and she briefly tries to remember whether or not the top was open, but then she doesn’t care. Michael’s hand leaves her cheek to shut the door and they’re stumbling into the apartment with closed eyes and wandering hands, like lovers so experienced they have nothing to learn.
Around the corner and into Sara’s room. The door stays open.
Eyes are still closed as clothing falls. Sara touches the skin beneath Michael’s shirt carefully, trying in vain to feel the lines crossing his body. It feels like there’s nothing there. The shirt is quickly removed and forgotten.
Everything else they’re wearing has the same fate in seconds, and they don’t stop for anything. They don’t think. They don’t consider the consequences.
Michael is gentle, and he moves above Sara carefully, watching her until his eyes slip closed for a moment with a groan. Sara bites her lip and pulls him down to kiss so desperately she surprises herself.
It’s not over too soon; they could stay together there forever. But when it is, as it inevitably would be, they stay together. Michael, ever careful, lies beside her on his back and they don’t speak, because this was spontaneous, and that doesn’t need words. She rolls and lays half on top of him.
Michael is humming something and his fingers tease through Sara’s hair happily. Sara keeps her head still on his chest and follows the intricate blue designs with her eyes. But she doesn’t ask. About the tattoos, or this, or them. She won’t ask, and she won’t say they shouldn’t have, because they were always going to.
“I missed you, Sara, I really did.” Michael starts, and somehow Sara can tell he intends to make this into a speech. And she can’t handle that, so she stops him.
“Michael.”
“What?”
“Just… shh.”
Michael thinks that she doesn’t want him to say that because she feels like she has to say it back, only it wouldn’t be true. He’s only half right.
Sara doesn’t want to say it. But she knows deep down that she missed him. She knows that deep down Fox River feels more like a prison now than it ever did when he was there.
She tried to change the subject, though there’s not much to change it to.
“Where’s Lincoln?”
Michael hesitates. “He’s safe.” He says softly and presses a kiss awkwardly to her hair.
When they get up it’s like finally having to face reality. They dress quietly.
Michael feels like this went wrong, and says something.
“Sara… I didn’t just come here to… to sleep with you, I didn’t mean for that, I just wanted to see you, really -
Cuts him off, smiling to let him know she understands. “I get it, Michael. You think I don’t feel the same?”
Sara is understanding. Michael is grateful. Still, it’s all he can do not to cry as he wishes it were different.
And soon after, Michael leaves. Pulls his jacket tightly around his body and his hat low over his eyes, and leaves.
Sara resists going to the window and watching him leave; it’s too cliché, and she knows whatever they have is definitely not that.
She looks over at the phone and the card next to it, Henry Pope’s name in print at the top. She knows that it would be so easy, and it would probably be the only right thing she’d do all day.
And then she picks the card up and moves aside the paper beneath it. She picks up the photo taken surreptitiously from Scofield, Michael’s file, and puts it on top.
It might not be right, but it’s definitely not wrong.
Pairing: Michael/Sara
Rating: PG-13? Mentions of sex...
Summary: It’s almost ten at night when he shows up, and she’s surprised.
A/N: This was written... a long long time ago. Before I'd seen any season two PB, so no spoilers for that season. Also it doesn't really fit anywhere into that timeline, so just... pretend.
It’s almost ten at night when he shows up, and she’s surprised. Still, she wouldn’t expect to be anything else. Sara’s grip on the water bottle in her hand tightens as she opens the door and he’s the first thing she sees, but he doesn’t notice that. She wants to speak, especially when he smiles a little; then she wants to yell.
“Michael.”
“Hey.”
“What do you think you’re doing here?”
“I’m visiting you.”
Sara sighs, remembering that this was Michael, who never gave anyone a straight answer if he could help it. “You need to leave.”
“Do you say that to every man that visits?”
“Michael, you’re wanted by the police. I… I work at Fox River. The prison you escaped from. Even if I didn’t, I’d still be required by law to report that I’ve seen you, and I don’t -
“Do you really think I give a damn about the law, after all this?”
She doesn’t reply. Glances at the floor, then back at him, giving him a piercing, almost pitying look that breaks his heart just like it did three months ago.
A step forward, but he’s not inside. She doesn’t move.
“Look, I know it’s selfish, and I hate myself for giving in… but I had to come.” The soft sorrow in Michael’s voice affects her, but it was the same tone he used with her back when he would lie every time they met, and she had learned to almost ignore it.
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes, I did! I talked myself out of it at first but it became too much, and I’m risking you because I couldn’t handle it. I’m so sorry.”
And he steps forward and catches Sara’s face in his hands, carefully joining their lips. She doesn’t resist so it deepens, because he simply can’t do anything else.
The water bottle in her hand drops to the floor and she briefly tries to remember whether or not the top was open, but then she doesn’t care. Michael’s hand leaves her cheek to shut the door and they’re stumbling into the apartment with closed eyes and wandering hands, like lovers so experienced they have nothing to learn.
Around the corner and into Sara’s room. The door stays open.
Eyes are still closed as clothing falls. Sara touches the skin beneath Michael’s shirt carefully, trying in vain to feel the lines crossing his body. It feels like there’s nothing there. The shirt is quickly removed and forgotten.
Everything else they’re wearing has the same fate in seconds, and they don’t stop for anything. They don’t think. They don’t consider the consequences.
Michael is gentle, and he moves above Sara carefully, watching her until his eyes slip closed for a moment with a groan. Sara bites her lip and pulls him down to kiss so desperately she surprises herself.
It’s not over too soon; they could stay together there forever. But when it is, as it inevitably would be, they stay together. Michael, ever careful, lies beside her on his back and they don’t speak, because this was spontaneous, and that doesn’t need words. She rolls and lays half on top of him.
Michael is humming something and his fingers tease through Sara’s hair happily. Sara keeps her head still on his chest and follows the intricate blue designs with her eyes. But she doesn’t ask. About the tattoos, or this, or them. She won’t ask, and she won’t say they shouldn’t have, because they were always going to.
“I missed you, Sara, I really did.” Michael starts, and somehow Sara can tell he intends to make this into a speech. And she can’t handle that, so she stops him.
“Michael.”
“What?”
“Just… shh.”
Michael thinks that she doesn’t want him to say that because she feels like she has to say it back, only it wouldn’t be true. He’s only half right.
Sara doesn’t want to say it. But she knows deep down that she missed him. She knows that deep down Fox River feels more like a prison now than it ever did when he was there.
She tried to change the subject, though there’s not much to change it to.
“Where’s Lincoln?”
Michael hesitates. “He’s safe.” He says softly and presses a kiss awkwardly to her hair.
When they get up it’s like finally having to face reality. They dress quietly.
Michael feels like this went wrong, and says something.
“Sara… I didn’t just come here to… to sleep with you, I didn’t mean for that, I just wanted to see you, really -
Cuts him off, smiling to let him know she understands. “I get it, Michael. You think I don’t feel the same?”
Sara is understanding. Michael is grateful. Still, it’s all he can do not to cry as he wishes it were different.
And soon after, Michael leaves. Pulls his jacket tightly around his body and his hat low over his eyes, and leaves.
Sara resists going to the window and watching him leave; it’s too cliché, and she knows whatever they have is definitely not that.
She looks over at the phone and the card next to it, Henry Pope’s name in print at the top. She knows that it would be so easy, and it would probably be the only right thing she’d do all day.
And then she picks the card up and moves aside the paper beneath it. She picks up the photo taken surreptitiously from Scofield, Michael’s file, and puts it on top.
It might not be right, but it’s definitely not wrong.