vyncapervynca (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} vyncapervynca) wrote,@ 2007-07-08 03:16:00 |
|
| Current mood: |  sleepy |
| Entry tags: | fanfic, the little things |
The little things
Disclaimer: I don’t own Prison Break or Wentworth Miller…Sad but true.
Rating: NG-17
Pairing: Michael/Sara
Summary:Because she had discovered one insomnia night, that Michael Scofield was the only thing that was keeping her from fall down and break…
Dedicated to my wonderful and patience Chloe, who makes this possible.
Thank you for your magic touch.
Spoilers until 2x16, after that, just my sick imagination.
Title: The little things.
Chapter title: Inflection point. (IX)
By Lylou
Feedback is always like sex and coffee combined.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
-“…One more day Sara… That’s all I’m asking.”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Sara felt Michael’s familiar hand squeezing softly hers upon the worn-out tapestry of that tumbledown Ford.
The rain and the wind outside the car were hitting them without mercy, and the complete darkness around them was briefly interrupted only by some blurred and far car spotlights.
Michael hadn’t looked at her in all the time; he hadn’t even talked to her.
Not since the low and distant “-I’m sorry.” that he had whispered ashamed into her ear when she was examining his injured and bleeding wrist in that dark motel room, with her hands still trembling and feeling her heartbeats in her temples.
But now they were in the back seat of the Ford and Lincoln was driving again under the storm; the four had been in complete and uncomfortable silence since they had left that shadowy and untidy motel room and the three dead bodies in the floor, more than two hours ago.
“But you have left something more in that room Sara …Your blood in that small table night, and Michael’s in the floor, just next to everything else that he used to be.”
Sara closed her eyes slowly; she was tired, scared, soaking and all muscles in her body aching her while she was trying to release all the fear and the adrenaline accumulated that long night.
The rain sounded against the chassis in a metallic and angry noise, and she heard the windshield wiper working full speed to brush apart the dark rain; Lincoln had turned on the radio a few miles ago, surely sick of hearing only the sound of that uncomfortable silence, and now from the back seat, Sara could catch some blurred chords of something that she recognized automatically like Van Morrison.
How would Van Morrison sound like over a hammock, in some warm and quiet beach of Panama?
“But you are very far from Panama right now Sara… Maybe you never have been farther than now.”
Sara looked at Michael disguisedly, he was quiet and wide awake, looking steadily to the darkness outside the window and Sara knew intuitively that in his eyes there wasn’t even a small trace of sleep.
“But he used to sleep right? After making love to you in some unmade bed of an impersonal and dark motel room… He sleeps isn’t it?”
Sara couldn’t answer completely convinced to that question, and that scared her.
The head was burning her as if she had gotten drunk the night before, and Sara could recognize that feeling very well; actually, time ago she had been a damn specialist in that and in waking up in some unknown bed next to someone that she didn’t even remember to have met before… But all that had been before; when she was a different woman, a lost and completely alone woman.
It wasn’t as if she was trying to find excuses for some of the things that she had done or for all the far and dead people that she had disappointed in her life, but the truth was that during the most part of her life, being Sara Tancredi hasn’t been exactly a fucking fairy tale.
Because Sara had felt everything falling down and dragging her to the sink enough times, to recognize when it was going to happen again.
To know when she was about to feel that unmistakable sensation in the pit of her stomach, indicating her that everything was going to come down around her, the headache that always tells her that the tide was rising fast.
“But you are not that woman anymore Sara… You are not alone, now you have Michael.”
Sara took a deep breath and felt his warm hand squeezing hers a bit harder. Michael was still there, or at least, he was still there enough to understand that she needed him too.
Because she had discovered one insomnia night, in some unmade and still smelling like them motel bed, that Michael Scofield was the only thing that was keeping her from fall down and break…
But what would she do now? Now that Sara knew that he was broken too?
“No matter what Sara, just don’t screw up everything this time too… No one drags you to the sink faster than yourself.”
Then Sara heard Paul’s severe and commanding voice breaking the silence in the car and the rain noise outside for the first time:
-“We need to hide for some time…
Let the storm passes.”
-“No, we should continue without stop until Chicago.”
Paul sounded fed up and impatient when he spoke again:
-“Sure Burrows, I almost forgot about how stupid you can be.
The man who went to kill someone openly in a parking lot full of security cameras. ”
Lincoln grunted and took the wheel harder, until his knuckles turned white and spoke pissed off:
-“Maybe I`m not the bitch of the President over here, but I can still remember what happened in that motel room in Montana, the last time we -hide to let this pass-.”
Paul sighed frustrated and talked upset:
-“Well Burrows, then maybe this time you could be careful enough to not let someone catch your gun from your back to blow up his brains.”
-“Fuck off Kellerman!”
Kellerman smiled softly without a trace of humor and spoke again in a cold and condescending tone, as if he was trying to explain something really difficult to a child:
-“We have activated all the alarms tonight Burrows.
Our fingerprints are all over that room…”
Paul pointed to Michael and Sara direction and spoke again in a less ruthlessly tone, but still arrogant and annoyed:
-“…And their DNA is spread by all the sheets, and God knows where more.
Surely The Company already know that we have been in that motel and are searching us right now!
And they are going to catch us if we don’t hide; soon. ”
Lincoln was about to answerer him when Michael spoke from the back seat, he didn’t even look away from the car window to look at them, and his voice sounded distant and cold, as if he was just speaking out loud:
-“The bastard is right Linc… We have to hide and let all that pass.”
Kellerman smiled fun in the copilot-seat when he heard his new nickname and looked at Michael, his eyes sparkled in that half dark car and he asked in a really convinced tone:
-“And surely Scofield, a first class nerd like you knows where… isn’t it?”
Michael moved his look from the darkness outside for the first time and looked at Paul, considering all the possibilities before to answer him in a pissed off and cold tone:
-“Yes… I know a safe place.”
The car kept in silence for a very few seconds, until Lincoln asked unsure from the driver seat:
-“You want me to drive there Mike?”
-“Yes… It is like four of five hours from here.
I’ll indicate you.”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Michael heard the cold rain falling outside the big and warm cabin and he intuited the dawn, ending up forever with that damn and endless night, slipping in weakly through the closed blinds.
Michael felt his injured and burning wrist between Sara’s soft hands.
The peroxide slid painfully over his skin and he could saw Sara looking at him a bit concerned when he sighed in pain; but just a moment after he smiled weakly at her upon that comfortable bed but she didn’t looked at him, and suddenly, if it hadn’t been by the rain falling outside and the fireplace lighted up in the wall in front of them, Michael could have sworn that they were in that hot and dark motel room in El Gila again, with both seated upon that bed and with Michael breathing his regrets and her disenchantment like a warm poison.
“-One more day Sara… That is all I’m asking.”
Actually, he was asking for much more then; But now, after everything that had happened to her he didn’t have right to ask anything.
Or at least, that was what Michael had been painfully thinking in silence during the last five hours.
In his poisonous and hot guilt, in the more and more distant Panama, in the future…In her dry blood upon her lower lip.
Sara dried his wrist slowly and started to bandage it in silence and professionally until she finally spoke in a far tone:
-“I don’t think that you are going to need stitches after all… But it is an ugly wound.”
She looked at him but Michael didn’t answer, just looked at her with his greenish eyes sparkling under the orange fire light.
Sara sighed frustrated, picked up the cotton balls and the peroxide white bottle from the duvet, and rose slowly from the bed.
She pushed a chunk of hair beck behind her hear in a reflex and tired gesture and went away slowly and in silence from the bed, but then Michael held her hand softly in the very last moment and whispered her name:
-“…Sara…”
-“So… Are you talking to me finally?
It only took you five hours.”
Michael looked at her a bit surprised by her hurt tone of voice, but Sara wasn’t looking at him, she had her look lost somewhere in the floor; Michael sighed softly and tried in vain that his apology didn’t sound too worn-out when he whispered:
-“I’m sorry.”
Then Sara raised her gaze to look at him for the first time, and Michael could saw her eyes wets and trembling with the gilthead light of the fireplace.
-“You don’t have to be… I understand it perfectly Michael, you were too busy driving us until your hidden and fucking perfect just-in-case weekend cabin to talk to me.”
Sara release from his hand and gave a few steps in the bathroom direction, going away fast from the bed and from him. Michael looked at her walking away, still sited in the edge of the bed with his wrist burning him.
But then Sara stopped halfway for a second and turned to look at him; Michael saw perfectly her tears, shining under the warm fire light and rolling by her face, she covered her eyes with her free hand and sobbed in silence.
Michael got up from bed, walked a few fast steps to Sara and crushed his lips against hers in a consuming and needy kiss.
He slid his tongue between her warm and lips, kissing her intensely, feeling the salty taste of her warm tears mixing with the dry blood over them; he closed his eyes and hugged her as tight as he could, without knowing very well who was he really trying to comfort.
Michael broke away from the kiss and stepped a few inches back from her lips, he slowly brushed her hair away from her face, whispering desperate against her mouth in a scared and guilty tone that she hadn’t heard him before:
-“I`m sorry…
I’m so sorry Sara.”
She stepped back from Michael’s mouth, sighed quietly and looked to the floor, still feeling the hot tears rolling by her cheeks and his warm and guilty grip around her.
-“I know Michael… You always are.”
Sara released completely from Michael’s arms and walked depressed to the bathroom closing the door behind her, leaving Michael alone, sorrowful and still feeling her taste in his tongue in that room illuminated only by the orangey fire.
She heard the bathroom door closing behind her, left the cotton balls and the peroxide in the first-aid kit again and turned on the water in the bathtub; Sara hadn’t taken a bath since… well, leaving aside that bathtub issue with Paul the last time that she had get on into a hot bath Michael was still definitely in Fox River and she didn’t know how her name sounded when he moaned it between kisses.
Sara heard water noise outside the house too.
Will be raining in Chicago too?
…Or in Panama?
She nodded in silence and while the restroom was filling up with hot vapor, Sara took off slowly her dirty sweater and threw it to the floor.
She looked herself in the mirror and saw someone very similar to her, with her black bra, her jeans, her tired and pale face, the dark circles under her eyes, her hair uncombed, and the dry blood in her lower lip…
-“Sara, Do you need something?”
She heard Michael’s low and familiar voice at the other side of the closed door and looked sorrowful to the floor; but Sara didn’t see him, leant against the wood and facing the door with eyes closed, like that evening, when he had called her, leant in that dark wall and crying gutty at the other side of the phone, fighting against the urge to turnaround for her.
“-No.
I’m fine.”
But Sara knew him good enough to know that he wasn’t going to give up that easily, at least not now that seemed finally to had left back that stage of silent and guilt that had scared her.
His voice sounded pleading and faltering at the other side of the door:
“-I can fix this Sara… I can take the three of us to Panama, I know I can.
But I need you.”
She soaked up her tears and touched slowly the closed door with the palm of her hand.
-“…I need you too.”
Sara closed her eyes slowly, feeling a new fit of crying shakes when she continued:
“-But you have brushed me off, you have ignored me as if I had done something wrong… …I just wanted to save you Michael.”
Sara’s voice broke with her last words and for a few seconds she only heard the rain and the hot water running.
But when Michael spoke again, still eyes closed and facing the closed door, his voice sounded more desperate and helpless, as if he was crying in silence against that door or about to do it:
“-I know… But you can ask me to continue as if nothing knowing what would have happened to you Sara.
What you would have done to save me.”
-“Why not Michael?
I’m fine, they didn’t hurt me.”
He soaked quietly against the door and thought again in her dry blood in her lip, or in that man, holding Sara face down upon that night table and passing his hand through her hair, while he was just a few meters from her and was unable to help her, unable to shoot that son of a bitch and to hug her… Unable to stop hearing Sara saying “-I can do everything you want… But you’ll have to let them go.”
“…You’ll have to let them go.”
Surely he would never forget that words in his whole live.
Michael spoke again, softly and broken:
-“I can’t live with that Sara… There have to be an inflection point in all that, even for me.
Even for us.”
And then Sara felt the tide rising really fast for the first time since that lonely and painful night in what she shot herself that poison again, cursing his name and that kiss he stole her.
Her words sounded wet and Sara burst in tears and spoke flattering and infinitely scared of her own question:
-“What does that mean Michael…Are you leaving me too?
…Is that?”
But Sara didn’t hear anything at the other side of the door.
She moved away from the closed door and walked slowly backwards in that bathroom full of vapor; until she only felt the cold wall tile at her bare back.
To be continued…
You may now commence throwing tomatoes, don’t be shy about leaving death threats, criticism, insults, comments…
