We're Free Now
Author's Notes: So this is the first chapter of my first ever Prison Break story, please let me know what you think. I've only just been introduced to this TV show and wish I had been a long time ago. All the words in italics (apart from the first paragraph which is a variation on the start of the speech Michael gives at the beginning of season 4) are taken directly from the Prison Break seasons 1-4, so all credit goes to Fox for the memories in this story. I don't own anything, I just made up this scenario. Enjoy!
Chapter 1: Reality of the Past
My name is Sara Scofield, and I am a fugitive. A year ago I was incarcerated in Miami-Dade Penitentiary. While I was there I was approached by Michael Scofield, and it is because of this man, my husband, that I am free.
This time of the day was the worst for Sara. Stuck between the light of a new day and the end of the present day activities she had nothing to occupy her. That was when the memories hit the hardest. Propped up in bed by her pillow Sara tucked her knees up close trying at no avail to comfort herself. The thin sheet that covered her was twisted and uncomfortable due to hours of tossing and turning in an attempt to gain some sleep before she was woken again.
Succumbing to the knowledge that sleep would be impossible tonight Sara now sat staring at the paper rose that was nestled in her hand. Its folds were delicately accurate, each angle precise and planned. She carefully held it at arm's length and twisted the stem between her fingers, viewing it from all angles. If she spun it fast enough it looked 3-D again, like it had the day she had found it upon her desk in the Infirmary. Now worn and well-loved the origami rose was flattened and slightly faded from being continuously handled. Sara brought the rose to her chest and sighed. Holding it close to her heart she felt closer to its creator. She imagined him delicately folding the paper in his cell, thinking of her as his hands worked methodically to create a flower that would never die. "You left this behind." Sara heard Michael's voice say from a past memory as he produced the flower again on the night of their reunion, after she had left it behind as a sign to him. She settled further down the headboard into the position she had that night they had cuddled on the bed. Closing her eyes she imagined Michael's warm hand resting on her propped up knee, both just relieved to see the other alive.
Placing the rose back on her bedside table Sara felt the grief beginning to build. Bringing her hands up to her face she took a couple of steady breaths. Helplessly Sara tried to smother the lump that was slowly rising in her throat, and the burning tears that stung her eyes. Through blurred vision she saw the time on the digital clock turn over another minute, 23:49, she still had time before she would be needed, just enough time to compose herself.
After a year she thought that she wouldn't be able to cry anymore, that finally she had used all of the tears she could ever shed. But with each day she now realised that time didn't really heal, as each day past was another day without Michael. Sara knew that the future was not as dark as she felt now; she still had one ray of hope left, and with that ray she would be linked to her Sun forever.
Leaning her head back on the head board Sara closed her eyes and replayed some of her most reviewed memories. A series of scenes flashed before her eyes and she let the sound of his voice wash over her ears, reminding her that Michael Scofield, her late husband, would never truly leave.
Lost inside her memories Sara sat in the Infirmary and stared at her patient. Michael held her interest, his eyes seeming to hold a thousand stories and many levels of emotions. His gaze was strong and slowly she felt the blush creep up her cheeks as she found her eyes locked inappropriately on him too. Suddenly the moment became too intense and she severed the connection, focussing on the plainness of the clipboard to distract her. Seconds passed in silence and Sara was relieved when Michael finally spoke, "Be the change you want to see in the world." His soft voice said clearly, holding her attention with every syllable. Michael's words caught her by surprise and she looked up again from the clipboard. From that moment on Sara realised that Michael was different from all the other convicts she had treated, that he still cared. With these words though came the burning image of the cold stone on which this phrase had been carved in Michael's memory, bringing with it a fresh wave of tears.
Pulling away from the Infirmary Sara now walked along one of the pathways out of the prison. Shielded from the rain by a large umbrella she scanned the yard for Michael. Through the woven metal Sara found his serious gaze fixed on her. Fingers locked through the metal caging Sara wondered if he had watched her walk all the way from her office. He wore a hat to shield his closely shaven head from the cold and rain and Sara wished that she could give him the umbrella, for he needed it more than she did. She smiled at him and was pleased when he continued to gaze at her until she looked away.
Stepping out of her memories Sara looked at the clock on the bedside table again. The green light of the display numbers read 00:12. "Any minute now," Sara thought too herself.
Flashing back into her memories before she was needed, Sara felt the warmth of sand between her toes and the safety of Michael's hand in hers as they walked down the beach. She smiled at the fact Michael still had his shoes on, knowing that he wasn't quite ready to show everyone his two missing toes. The sun beat down on the side of his face and Sara looked up at him, drinking in every inch of him, in that moment believing that they would never again be parted.
"I want you to know," Michael began over the crashing of the waves, "I'm totally going to be a hands on Dad." Sara smiled at the thought of them being parents together, that the child inside her belonged to him.
"Ok," Sara giggled letting him carry on with what he was about to say.
"Like if the baby needs a bottle in the middle of the night, I…" Michael's words and the memory were cut off by the sharp cry of a child from inside another room.
Sara smiled, her prediction of her son waking up being correct. Knowing that her son needed her she paused the memory and quickly made her way down the corridor to his room. The fragile cry pierced the silence that had befallen the house and her pace quickened as his sharp breaths and following long sobs became more desperate.
Moving inside his room Sara made towards the cot and lent over the rails. In front of her her son wriggled, his little fists clenching and relaxing as he grabbed for some unforeseen force to stop his pain. Not able to see him so upset Sara reached in and picked up her son, bringing him close to her chest. Cradling him in her arms she rocked him back and forth hoping to ease him until she could make him up a bottle. As they walked into the kitchen the rhythmic nature of the rocking began to sooth him and the cries quietened as he felt the safety of his mother's arms around him. With one hand Sara prepared the bottle of milk and placed it in the microwave.
Waiting for the milk to warm Sara looked down at her son. Between his little eyebrows Sara saw a familiar crease on his forehead. In this small characteristic she saw Michael again, that same expressive line having appeared on his head in times of concentration or pain. She bent her head and kissed his soft forehead, brushing his wispy hair back from his face. Staring back at her Sara saw Michael in all of the child's face and once again was grateful that through everything they had managed to create this miracle.
The microwave pinged suddenly and she saw the child's attention shift from his mother to the milk he so desperately wanted. Laughing Sara took the bottle out and tested the heat before happily feeding Michael's son; her whole world.
Eventually the bottle emptied and her son's eyelids began to flicker into sleep. Gently she placed the baby boy back in his cot and rearranged the covers so they weren't twisted or uncomfortable around him. Backing out of the room Sara knew that there was nothing that could harm her child and that was all that Michael had ever wanted, his family safe.
Stepping back into her room she started at the empty bed and the unfinished memory came back to her. "Like if the baby needs a bottle in the middle of the night," Michael's voice repeated in her head, "I will totally keep your side of the bed warm until you get back." . Sara ran one hand over the mattress and felt the cold sheets under her fingers. With her absence they had grown cold, and he wasn't there to warm them for her. He never would be.
And now like the sheets Sara too felt all warmth drain out of her due to Michael's absence. Slowly she sank to the floor, the grief finally too much. In that moment she couldn't see how her life could ever work without Michael, for it seemed that she had only truly started living when he had walked through the Infirmary door that first time in Fox River.
Although there were many tears and cold nights to come Sara Scofield knew she had her son and that eventually she would start to live again. All she needed now was to just have a little faith.