. I've done a few fics, all of which will find their way here eventually, but for now this is a start.Brief summary:
Michael and Sara have finally been reunited- and can finally be alone.
Both bear the scars of their past, but together they will discover that love can heal all wounds.
Rating: PG
~*~
Michael wiped his damp palms on his jeans, trying to ignore the rapid acceleration of his heartbeat. He shifted slightly from foot to foot, his nerves and anticipation making him impatient as Bruce unlocked the front door and stepped inside.
Every second seemed to last forever as his thoughts fluctuated between excitement, fear, anticipation, and anxiety. Every nerve in his body was on fire; he needed so badly to see her, to hold her in his arms again. But they had not seen each other in weeks; anything could have happened in that time…
Did she blame him for the pain he knew she must have suffered at Gretchen’s hands? Bruce had said she was fine, physically- but emotionally? Had she changed? Had her feelings for him changed?
He knew, that whatever she chose, he would accept her decision. Yet the mere thought of losing her again tortured him; he closed his eyes briefly against the sudden pain that speared his heart. If she wanted him to leave, he would leave… but he would not survive. He would not- could not- live without her.
Michael snapped out of his reverie as Bruce opened a second door, and motioned for him to enter first. Taking a deep breath, he forced back his fear and stepped inside, his eyes sweeping the room, seeking her out.
Then suddenly, there she was. He froze, unable to breathe. His eyes met hers across the room, and instantly he knew all of his fears had been for nothing. In that one moment he saw everything he had felt- the anxiety, the love, the fear, the passion- mirrored in her eyes. Slowly, he stepped towards her, his hand reaching involuntarily for her face.
Suddenly she was in his arms, both of them gripping each other tightly. He exhaled, breathing again for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. For several moments he simply held her close, crushing her against his chest. She returned his grip just as desperately, her hands clenched tightly in his jacket, her face pressed against his shoulder. Pulling back slightly, he brushed her hair aside, trailing his fingers gently across her face and lips as he stared deep into her eyes.
She met his gaze until, unable to wait any longer, he leant in, pressing his lips to hers. The kiss was short, but they were both overwhelmed by the intensity of the emotion burning behind it. As soon as their lips parted, Michael again wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tightly against him.
In that moment he swore to himself never to let her go again.
For several minutes they neither moved nor spoke; they simply held each other, listening to their combined breathing. Finally, without releasing Michael, Sara lifted her head to see his face. She glanced quickly over his shoulder, then looked back at him with a smile.
“I think Bruce and Lincoln decided to give us a little privacy,” she said with a laugh.
Michael too glanced over at the doorway; neither of the other men were in sight. Turning back to her, he simply replied huskily, “Good.”
Then suddenly his lips were covering hers, fiery and urgent. She needed no further encouragement; her arms wound tightly around his neck, pressing herself as close to him as possible as she returned the kiss. His arms tightened against her back as he devoured her mouth, his tongue exploring it, claiming it as his own.
He kissed her hungrily, and she responded with a passion that set his entire body on fire. Burying his fingers in her hair, he tilted her head and deepened the kiss, causing a low moan of desire to rumble deep in her throat. His body burned hotter, and he pulled her tighter, desperately trying to get closer to her, to become a part of her. They were both mindless with love and desire, aware of nothing but each other and the fiery passion between them.
At last, Michael pulled back, cursing his body’s need for air. Together they gasped for breath, their faces still only inches apart. Michael opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off as Sara again covered his lips with her own. The fire surged again, and for another few minutes their lips were fused together, unable to pull apart.
Sara drew back only when their lungs demanded air; then again they simply held each other, breathless and trembling.
“Sorry,” Sara laughed huskily.
Michael exhaled a shaky breath, then grinned down at her. “Don’t be.”
They laughed together, then Sara closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his neck.
“I think we should probably go join the others,” she said with a sigh.
Michael sighed in response, but agreed, “Okay.”
With extreme reluctance, they released each other, but clasped their hands firmly together.
Side by side, they walked from the living room to the kitchen, where they found Lincoln and Bruce debating at the dining table. Pulling up a pair of chairs, they sat, moving their chairs as close together as possible. Michael rested their joined hands upon Sara’s knee, and met her eyes, unable to mask the desire in his.
Slowly, her eyes on his, she lifted their entwined hands to her mouth and kissed them gently, causing him to shiver involuntarily. With a satisfied smile, she replaced their hands on her knee, and turned her attention to Bruce and Lincoln, who were resolutely ignoring them.
Michael too turned towards the other men, but could not concentrate enough to listen. Flipping Sara’s hand over onto his knee, he absentmindedly traced patterns across her palm. Reluctantly, and with much effort, they forced themselves to follow the conversation as Bruce and Lincoln debated their options.
Gradually, as the sun began to lower in the sky, Sara squeezed Michael’s hand gently.
“I’m going to go have a quick shower and then have a bit of a rest.” She said quietly, and he nodded.
“I think we’ll be getting some dinner delivered soon. Chinese sound okay?”
She smiled, “Sounds great.”
“Good. I’ll bring it in to you when it gets here.”
Standing, Sara kissed his forehead gently, then reluctantly released his hand. Turning, she walked into the other room. Michael watched her until she was out of sight. As he turned back toward the table, Bruce and Lincoln both scraped back their chairs and stood, shaking hands across the table. Lincoln murmured his thanks as Bruce pulled on his jacket, then both Michael and Lincoln walked him to the door.
They both let out a sigh as they closed the door behind him.
Lincoln spoke first. “I’m starving. Let's order that damn Chinese.”
Michael tapped lightly on the door. He could barely hear his own knock over the blaring TV in the loungeroom, where Lincoln was sprawled across the couch, tucking into the Chinese takeout. Pausing for a second, he opened the door and stepped inside. Sara smiled at him from the bed, sitting up a little straighter.
“Hey,” she said, the welcome evident in her tone. Smiling in response, Michael gently closed the door and moved over to the bed, perching beside her. He handed her the container, studying her seriously as she took it. Unable to hold back his feelings any longer, he said gravely;
“I thought I’d never see you again.”
Sara’s hands stilled, the takeout forgotten. Her eyes met his, her gaze searching. For a few moments they stared silently into each others’ eyes, communicating without words. Slowly, Michael brought his lips to hers, as if drawn by an irresistible magnet. They kissed softly at first, their lips meeting tenderly. Then Sara reached for his face, their kiss building as she wound her arms around his neck. With a quiet moan, Sara pulled her lips away, resting her forehead against Michael’s as she exhaled.
Drawing back slightly, she watched him closely as his eyes flicked up to meet hers.
“I have something for you.” Hearing those words whispered in his husky voice sent a shiver down her spine. She wondered briefly if he could feel her skin warm beneath his touch, then hoped he could. She wanted him to know the effect he had on her.
Michael pulled gently away, crossing to the other side of the bed. Even that minor separation tore at her heart. She forced down the sudden pain, instead focusing on him, observing his graceful, sure movements.
“Okay…” she said, confused yet intrigued.
Turning, Michael leant on the bed, one arm behind his back. Sara watched as he held out his hand toward her; in it was clasped her flower, the flower he had made for her back in Fox River.
“You left this behind,” he commented, a smile playing around his lips.
She laughed, accepting the flower from him as he moved to take his place by her side. The symbolic gesture touched her, warming her heart.
Michael watched her smile, relieved to be close beside her again. He hated not having her within his reach, even for a moment.
Sara’s grin widened mischievously and she leaned against him, sliding down against the pillows.
“Is that what this is about? Just getting me my rose back.”
Michael trailed his knuckles over her knee, playing along; “Yeah, I guess I’m done now. I can retire.”
Sara laughed again, turning the flower over in her hands. After a few moments her smile faded, and she placed her hand over Michael’s.
“How much time are you looking at?” She asked quietly.
“They’re saying 15 years… I have to find out for sure.” Michael replied, staring across the room.
Sara clasped his hand in hers, rubbing her thumb lightly over his knuckles.
“I heard Lincoln say something about a deal?” She asked, leaning her head back to see his face.
“No jail time,” he replied, “in exchange for taking down The Company.”
Sara tilted her head, eyebrows furrowing slightly as she considered it.
“How?” she asked after a moment.
“Exactly,” Michael replied, a shadow of despair flitting across his face. But almost immediately it was gone, and he turned his head to rest his cheek softly against her forehead.
“I love you,” he said, emotion causing his voice to come out as a half-whisper. “That’s all I know right now.”
Sara drew back a fraction, looking intently into his eyes. For a few heartbeats they simply stared at each other, then slowly Michael lowered his lips to hers. Though the kiss was brief, it was almost overwhelmingly sweet and tender. Sara’s hand gently caressed his face as they drew back slightly, resting their foreheads together.
They sat unmoving together for so long that, if not for her even breathing, Michael would have thought she had fallen asleep. He wondered what thoughts were in her head; was she thinking about him? Was she wondering what he was thinking about? Surely she knew him well enough to know that he was thinking about her. She was forever on his mind; he found it difficult to concentrate on anything else.
“Michael,” Sara said softly, without looking up.
“Yes?” He murmured, his lips brushing her cheek.
“Will you do something for me?”
“Anything,” he promised, his brow furrowing slightly at her tone. Was that embarrassment?
“Take off your shirt.”
Michael was momentarily speechless. He would have pulled back, but Sara’s hand clasped his neck firmly, refusing to let him go.
“Sara… I really don’t think…” despite his words, he felt his body respond to the images forming in his head. Gritting his teeth, he tried again.
“I don’t… I mean… I…” with a huff of frustration, Michael stopped again. To his complete surprise, Sara laughed, looking up to meet his eyes.
“Relax, Michael,” she said, pressing her smiling lips to his. “Just the shirt. I’m not trying to taint your virtue.”
Michael bit his lip, his eyes uncertain.
Sara’s smile faded. “Michael, please.”
Michael swallowed, then took a deep breath as he nodded. Pulling away from her slightly, he grasped the bottom of his shirt and tugged it over his head. He was surprised by the sudden nervousness he felt; after all they had been through together, somehow he still deeply feared her rejection.
Sara watched him as he leaned back against the pillows beside her. She could feel the sudden tension radiating from his body, his movements slow, controlled.
Her eyes travelled along his torso, following the line of hair from the top of his jeans to the lean navel, continuing up to the firm pecs and strong shoulders. She studied his tattoo, knowing that it would soon be gone; she had heard Michael and Lincoln discussing it after she had left the room. Though it was beautiful, its beauty could not compare to that of the man underneath it.
The sight of him took her breath away, just as it had the first and only other time she had seen him like this. She flushed slightly as she remembered that day in the infirmary; she had been trying so hard to breathe normally, to keep her distance and remain professional.
But in one moment- one single moment- he had broken down her defences, and stolen her heart.
“You’re blushing.”
Michael’s surprised comment woke her from her daydream. She blushed harder, realising she had been staring at him while deep in thought. She tore her eyes from his chest, looking up to find his on her face. The intensity of his gaze made her breath catch in her throat. As she stared into his eyes, she detected something in his expression; she would have sworn he looked worried.
For a moment she watched him with confusion, before the words of his psychologist came back to her.
“Michael came to me with very little sense of self worth…”
Could he honestly be afraid that she would reject him?
Picking up his hand, she kissed it gently, her eyes prickling with tears. Blinking them away, she slid down more on her pillows so she was half-lying on her side next to him. He remained on his back, his head turned toward her, moving only his eyes. His breathing was slower now, steadier; he had calmed under her tender touch.
Releasing his hand, Sara’s fingers trailed lightly up his arm, pausing at the crook of his elbow. Her fingers traced lightly over the point where she had injected his insulin shots so many times. Slowly, she lowered her lips to his arm, pressing them softly against the invisible scars. Lifting her head, she looked down towards the end of the bed.
“What is it?” Michael asked softly.
Sara did not answer, but simply pressed her fingers against his shoulder when he moved to sit up. Then she moved to the very end of the bed, beside his left foot. Grasping it gently in her hands, she pulled off the sock and dropped it off the bed. Her fingers traced the scar tissue left by the removal of his two smallest toes. Then, like with his arm, she pressed a soft kiss to the scar.
“Who was it?” She asked quietly.
Michael closed his eyes briefly. He didn’t need to ask what she was talking about.
“Abruzzi,” he paused, “I had information he wanted.”
“But you didn’t tell him.”
“No,” Michael said with a sigh. Sara watched him pensively for a moment.
“How?” She asked, her eyes serious.
Again Michael closed his eyes, blocking out the memory.
“Garden shears.”
Michael heard a quiet hiss as she drew in a quick breath. He felt the bed shift as she moved, and opened his eyes to stare straight into hers right beside him. To his horror, they were wet with tears, rolling down her cheeks in silent streams.
“Hey,” he soothed, lifting his hand to wipe her cheek. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”
She nodded, drying her eyes with her palms. She caught his hand in hers and pressed a quick kiss to it, then blew out a shaky breath. Her gaze shifted to a point just above his left eye, and she lowered his hand, lifting her fingers to trace the faint scar just above his eyebrow.
“Who did this?” She asked seriously, then looked at him in surprise when he laughed.
“Actually, I did.”
“What?” She exclaimed, her tone disbelieving.
“They assigned Haywire to be my cellmate. I needed Sucre; I needed someone I could trust. But the only way to get them reassigned was to prove that Haywire was a danger to me. Hence- this.” He rolled his eyes up toward the scar, making a vague gesture with his hand.
Sara had been leaning over him, absentmindedly stroking his head as he spoke. When he finished she simply looked at him, then shook her head with a sigh and a wry smile.
“You’re an incredible man, Michael Scofield,” she said softly, then leaned closer and touched her lips to the scar. Pulling back, she trailed her fingers down his shoulder to his bicep, feeling for the short, straight scar hidden by his tattoo. She didn’t ask, just looked up to meet his eyes.
“Me again,” Michael said, his expression turning slightly sheepish. Sara simply raised her eyebrows, so Michael continued.
“Remember when Lincoln was really sick with stomach pains? The day you thought I was saying goodbye to you?”
Sara nodded, watching him intently. Michael sighed.
“Lincoln was sick because of the pill I gave him. It had been hidden in my arm. We were supposed to leave that night, but…. but the pipe leading to the drain below the sink- the one that had been gradually corroding through since one of my first visits to the infirmary- had been replaced. We couldn’t get through it. I was convinced that my failure would be the death of my brother.”
Michael swallowed the lump in his throat and fell silent, staring at the ceiling. Sara said nothing, silently kissing the scar on his arm. Though she should have felt anger that he had deceived her for his plan, she felt only pity and sadness for how he must have suffered, believing that because of him- of his inability to save his brother- Lincoln would die.
“You saved your brother’s life, Michael,” she said softly, “Because of you he is free.”
Michael’s eyes moved to meet hers and he gave her a small smile.
Sitting up beside him, she lifted her hand, and crooked a finger at him.
“Your shoulder,” she said simply. Quickly understanding her wish, Michael rolled onto his side, facing her. She inched closer to him, placing her hand on his shoulder. Glancing down at him, she saw his eyes were on her. Her heart beat a little faster. With a deep breath, she touched her fingers to the shiny pink skin marring the tattoo on his shoulder. She gently traced the inked lines running out from the scar, pausing when a sudden thought came to her.
“It wasn’t one of the guards,” she stated, wondering why she had never realised it before. She looked at him questioningly, and he nodded his head slightly.
“You were wearing it…” she breathed. Again Michael nodded.
“I had to. There were places I had to go that an inmate couldn’t go.”
Sara listened, amazed by what he had been able to do right under the noses of the guards.
Michael continued with a sigh.
“I was nearly back to my cell when a guard stepped out. He didn’t see me; I quickly stepped back against some pipes. One of them was hot. But there was nothing I could do. He was so close, if I moved he would hear it and turn round. So I stood there, waiting, until he finished the drink in his hand and left. Then I stumbled back to my cell.”
Sara frowned. “The cloth would have been seared to your skin…”
Michael smiled wryly. “Poor Sucre. I hated to force him to do it, but it had to be done. If I had been caught with it on…” he trailed off. Sara flattened her palm over the scar, covering it. She was only just beginning to realise the true extent of the pain he had endured to save his brother. Removing her hand, she replaced it with her lips, kissing the pink skin tenderly. Moving back, she lay on her side beside him, their bodies only a few hand widths apart.
Picking up his right hand, Sara rubbed her thumb gently across his calloused knuckles.
“Not to forget these,” she commented, remembering back to his time in the SHU. She kissed each knuckle gently, then looked into his eyes.
“Your breakdown… you were acting?” she asked, already guessing the answer.
“Yes… and no. I needed to get into the Psych Ward, but… that burn destroyed my map. It could have destroyed everything. I was already so close to the edge; acting was barely necessary…” he fell silent, thinking about how she had come to the SHU to treat him.
“Sara… there’s just something I always wondered… when you were treating me in the SHU, you told me everything was going to be okay. There was something in your voice…” he paused, struggling to explain. “It was like you weren’t just talking to me.”
“I think I was talking to myself as much as to you,” Sara admitted quietly. “It was… it was painful for me to see you hurt. That time was the worst, though the burn… and your toes…” she closed her eyes, blocking out the pain of her memories. She felt Michael’s hand on her cheek and opened her eyes. He rested his forehead gently against hers, and for several minutes they simply lay together in silence.
“Michael…” Sara began.
“Hmm?” he prompted, his hand gently stroking her face.
“When did you first know…” she hesitated, then used his own words: “that it was real? You and me?”
Michael’s hand left her cheek to find her hand, his fingers absentmindedly tracing shapes on her palm. Taking a deep breath, he told the truth.
“From the first time I met you I thought you were beautiful. And yes, I was attracted to you. There were times I drove myself crazy, because I was trying to concentrate on saving my brother’s life and yet all I could think of was you.” He sighed, but forced the words out. “And then there was the riot. I caused that riot, Sara. I needed a diversion, so no one would hear Sucre and I working on our escape. Then I saw you on the monitor-“ his voice broke, and he covered his face with his hand.
Drawing a deep, shuddering breath, he continued, “I’d never been so scared in my life. I was terrified you’d be hurt…or worse… and I knew that if you were, it would be my fault. I could have never forgiven myself if anything happened to you. So I told Sucre what to do, and went to get you. I told myself it was because I needed you, because of your part in the plan. I was afraid to admit otherwise. I don’t think I actually breathed again until you were outside, and safe.” He twined his fingers through hers, holding them tightly
as he continued.
“By our first kiss I was hopelessly in love with you. Just too stubborn and scared to admit it, even to myself. So I sat and watched you walk away. I’d never realised that it would feel like my heart was being ripped from my chest.”
“Walking away from you then was one of the hardest, most painful things I’ve ever done,” Sara whispered, breaking her silence for the first time since he had begun speaking. Shifting her body close to his, she rested her head against his chest. Her voice was even quieter still when she continued, “And I never want to do it again, Michael.”
Touching his lips to her forehead, Michael wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer still. Then he drew the bedcovers over them.
“I think we both need some rest,” he murmured. Sara nodded slowly in agreement, already sleepy in his warm, safe embrace. Burying his face in her hair, Michael sighed and fell contentedly asleep.
Sara woke sometime during the night, her breathing coming in quick gasps. The nightmare had been a regular one; flashes of her imprisonment at Gretchen’s hands, the smell of blood on her clothes, the crack of the whip… But this time had been different. Normally she would have woken screaming, calling Michael’s name. This time she had woken because… because she felt safe. Nothing could hurt her while she lay in Michael’s arms.
Sara sighed, knowing she would not get back to sleep. Carefully, she manoeuvred herself out of his grasp.
Being careful not to wake him, she slipped out of the bed and walked to the window. Michael’s jacket was tossed casually over a chair. Picking it up, she sat, and pressed the jacket to her face, inhaling Michael’s comforting scent. After a moment she rested the jacket in her lap, absentmindedly stroking the smooth material as she gazed out into the night.
Michael woke with a start, his arms cold and empty. Suddenly panicked, he sat up quickly, then relaxed as he saw her by the window. Scooping his shirt off the floor- it was cool in the room- he pulled it on and stood, moving to her side. He placed his hands lightly on her shoulders, startling her. She placed her hands over his, trying to slow her rapid breathing.
“Hey,” he said softly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” His fingers tightened protectively on her shoulders, his eyes concerned.
“I’m sorry…” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Taking a deep breath, Michael finally voiced the question that had been burning in his throat since they had been reunited.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Sara’s hands left his, and he immediately regretted his words, thinking he must have upset her. He was about to apologise when she leant away from him, lifting her shirt and exposing the skin of her back.
Michael inhaled sharply, expressions of horror and devastation crossing his face. His eyes burned and he swallowed, lifting his hand to trail his fingers along the healed scar tissue. His heart ached for the pain she had suffered, his lungs constricting as he struggled to breathe around the lump in his throat. His mouth opened soundlessly; his mind could not find words strong enough to tell her how truly sorry he was, and how much he loved her.
So he said nothing, instead lowering his lips to her skin, pressing his lips softly to each scar with the same incredible tenderness and love she had shown him. Sara’s tense body slowly relaxed, her head rolling back as a small moan escaped her lips. As Michael began to straighten and draw away, she half turned, her hand cupping his neck. For a moment they stared intensely into each other’s eyes, both bright with unshed tears.
“Thank you,” Sara whispered.
“You have nothing to thank me for,” Michael replied quietly, his voice breaking with emotion. Squeezing his eyes shut, he drew a ragged breath.
“Michael, look at me,” Sara ordered gently. Michael opened his eyes, and the tortured look in them tore at Sara’s heart. Tightening her fingers around his neck, she pulled his lips to hers. The kiss was brief, but charged with emotion. Pulling back slightly, Sara rested her forehead against his.
“I love you, Michael,” she whispered.
Gathering her in his arms, he rested her on her feet, then held her close. Sara wrapped her arms tightly around his back, her hands clenching in his shirt.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered in her ear, then his body shuddered, unable to hold back his tears. Sara’s fingers tightened in his shirt, and their bodies shook together, their tears staining each other’s shoulders. They stood together, unmoving, until gradually the tears stopped and the trembling subsided.
“Don’t let me go,” Sara pleaded quietly, her face pressed into his chest.
“I’m never letting you go again, Sara. I promise,” he swore, his voice cracking. Then pressing his lips to her hair, he vowed again, “I promise.”
~*~
