A stroke of luck

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my laptop.
Thanks to becoolbec for beta-reading.

Something was not right. They had found what they'd been looking for. They were still alive. Kellerman probably wasn't, but that was just an added bonus. Still, his brother looked grim. He didn't like the resignation he caught in his eyes.

"What's going on?"

"I made a deal with Pope," Michael answered as they stepped out of the car.

"You made a deal with Pope? What kinda deal?" Lincoln felt his heart race as he understood that by the look of him, his brother had done something incredibly stupid.

"If he came with us and if we got what we needed, I said I'd turn myself in," he sighed.

"What?" Lincoln roared, realising his brother may have just sentenced them all to death. "We don't even know what this thing is! It could be nothing, Michael. Did you know about this ?" he asked, turning to Sara. He didn't bother to smother the threat in his voice.

She shook her head and looked down. "Not until it came out of his mouth."

"It's the only thing I could think of. You two can still finish this. You'll just have to do it without me."

"I'm not gonna let you do this, Michael!" He watched helplessly as his brother walked to the house, raising a hand to silence him. He ignored it. "There's no coming back from this!"

But Michael didn't seem to listen. He directed his gaze to Henry Pope as he walked out the front door, looking stern and resolute.

"I suggest you two get the hell away from my lawn, because I'm calling the cops right now." He didn't acknowledge Sara as he handed the USB key to Lincoln before turning back to Michael, who nodded.

Lincoln seized the drive and stood as if frozen into place, mouth agape. When his anger took over once again, his eyes shot daggers at his little brother.

"Well done, Mike. Now we're really screwed!"

"No, you're not," he replied, struggling to keep his voice serene. "You're gonna get whatever's on this drive and leak it to the media. You need to move. Now. Both of you."

Sara looked helplessly at Pope. "Please, Henry, you can't…"

"He's right, Sara. You need to leave, now. I'm not going to tell you again." With one last severe stare, he walked back inside the house, knowing Michael would keep his end of the bargain and wait for the police escort.

At that, Lincoln shook his head and turned back to Sara.

"Let's go," he let out between gritted teeth.

"But, Michael..."

"There's nothing we can do about it now," he replied, his fury fully fleshed in the low, dangerous tone of his voice.

Standing by the car, Sara felt her panic rise at the thought of leaving Michael behind. He was undoubtedly going to be killed. Or rather, executed. He might not even make it to the police station. If he survived long enough to be sent back in jail, who knew how long he'd stay there this time around.

She watched him as he sat on the stairs before the house, resigned and composed. She wanted to plead with him, to beg him to run with them. When he didn't look back at her, she knew he wouldn't budge.

Lincoln jumped in the driver's seat and slammed the door. He noticed the slight shake of his own hands on the wheel as he waited for Sara to get in. His cheeks felt too warm, his whole body was boiling with repressed rage. After one last look at Michael, Sara obediently climbed into the passenger's seat. She looked smaller to him than she had just moments before. Silent tears were rolling down her face and she looked dazed. Out of it.

He started the engine and moved out of Pope's lane, before realising he had no idea where to go. Michael was the one who knew that. They had no plan, no clue as of what was coming next. Without him, they were doomed.

"What now?"

Struggling to recover enough to think despite her state of shock, she mumbled, "now, we go to my apartment."

"If you expect me to put out, you're gonna be sadly disappointed."

"My laptop. We need to know what's on this key."

The drive to Sara's place was spent in a freezing silence, except for her occasional directions between muffled sobs. Lincoln felt as angry as she was devastated and sharing was out of the question.

All she could think about was that she was never going to see him again. Her brain seemed to have lost the capacity to form any other thought. She cried in silence all the way back to what was left of her former life.

Lincoln, on the other hand, couldn't seem to shake out his anger at what a fucking idiot his genius of a brother was. Or had been.

By the time they parked in front of her building, Sara's eyes were reddened but she was visibly less distraught. It was worse, Lincoln thought to himself. She was defeated. If it weren't for him, he suspected she'd curl into a tight ball and wait for another trigger-happy secret agent to find her.

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Moments later, everything changed again. They were sitting at Sara's desk, both their hearts beating too fast as they listened to the very distinctive voice of President Reynolds planning in details with her former trusted vassal, one Agent Paul Kellerman, the faked murder of Terrance Steadman, his "retirement" in Montana and the framing of Lincoln Burrows.

At that, Linc let a predatory grin light up his otherwise grim face. For the first time, they were one step ahead of them.

Just then, the recording skipped to another conversation. The same two voices were now discussing the lethal poisoning of President Mills.

"My God..." Sara breathed, crushed between trepidation and disbelief, as the file reached its end and on the screen, the line of the media player fell flat.

They both stared at her computer for a long time, dumbfounded, before any of them dared to speak. That was so much more than either of them had expected. It was tangible, explosive. It was probably enough to get Lincoln out of trouble for the time being, but probably not… him.

They had been very careful not to mention his name.

"It needs to be authenticated", Sara breathed, forcing herself to rationalize her frenzied emotions, "otherwise, it's useless."

"You know how to authenticate a sound-bite?"

"Well..."

"Mike said to leak it to the media. That's what we're gonna do. They'll have the resources to prove it's not a fake. We can't wait here for one of them to find us."

"We can't give that up to the press. The Company would cover up for it."

There was a pause, then Lincoln frowned. "Jane."

"Who?"

"Jane. She worked with my father against the company. She'll know what to do."

"How do we reach her?"

"Phone." He stood up and walked to Sara's telephone.

"Not this one. Get a disposable."

She was vaguely aware that since they had left Michael behind, the communication had been shred to a bare minimum. She didn't feel very articulate anyway. She didn't feel much of anything. Her previous excitement had quickly worn off and she was falling back into the black hole of grief that had been threatening to engulf her completely.

He got up to grab his denim jacket and her keys.

"When this thing hits the wave, all bets are off," he said before closing the door behind him.

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"We meet up with her in two days. She's got everything we'll need to make the file usable."

She was sitting limply on the couch right where he had left her, staring idly at a spot on wall. When he called her name, she didn't react. There was no time for this.

Lincoln pulled her up as gently as he could in his agitated state and directed her to the bedroom, where an empty duffel bag laid open on the bed. He motioned for her to take what she needed and she started throwing random items in the bag. Every move seemed difficult, exhausting.

She felt like a discarded rag doll.

When she was done, she closed the bag and sat on the bed next to it. She couldn't think of what to do next. Her father was dead. Michael was dead. She wasn't sure why she was supposed to follow Lincoln. She had done her share and had no more part to play in all this. She wanted to tell him to just go and do what he had to do, but couldn't muster the energy to speak up.

Putting a hand on the small of her back, he got her up and pushed her to the front door. Her apathy was irritating. He was doing his best to hide it, both for her sake and his. Since Veronica had been shot, there hadn't been any time to mourn, but he could relate to her pain. He just couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that Michael was probably dead by now. Seeing her like this made it seem real and he couldn't deal with it.

It was going to be a long drive.

When they got in the car, he didn't turn on the radio for fear of hearing the news of Michel Scofield's death. He could live with uncertainty, for now.

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Sara hadn't talked since he had called Jane and he was starting to wonder if she may have fallen into some sort of catatonic shock state. With his brother gone, he was now responsible for her and she obviously needed to be taken care of. He pondered what to say for a moment before settling for the blunt approach.

"How do you feel, Sara?" he asked carefully.

Her voice was surprisingly firm when she turned to him to answer.

"Like the man I love just died. How do you think I feel?"

At any other time, she would have blushed at her own admission. Now, it seemed futile, ridiculous. She had fallen for him just in time to lose him. She needed to push away the memory of his intense blue stare and how soft he made her name sound or she wouldn't stay sane much longer.

"Michael's not dead, Sara," he said softly.

"Maybe not yet. But they're gonna kill him. You know that. When he turned himself in, he didn't give up his freedom. He offered his head up on a plate."