When he left her the rose he had no idea it would come back to him, that it would someday be riding shotgun next to the cold steel of a hand gun.
Sara should be in that seat next to him. She should be smiling over at him as the wind ruffled through her hair. Ideally the sea breeze should be making a mess of her auburn tresses all the while the sunset touched its blaze with perfect light.
This was not how things were supposed to turn out. No one was supposed to be hurt, no one was supposed to die, and so many had
Was it worth it
This question was one that Michael had refused to let himself answer for fear of what that answer might be. Now here he was and the question would not leave him. It kept bouncing back at him with the silent passing of each empty mile on the odometer.
Was it worth it?
As he traveled these dusty roads, his only company the rose, the gun resting so unnaturally next to the folded paper, both silent companions that spoke so loudly of all that had come to pass, all that his life had become, or what was left of his life anyways.
Was it worth it?
He could listen to the radio. Pretend that this wasn't what it was. That he was not on his way to end a life, possibly several lives. But why should he bother? There was no pretending that he could fix this, make things right. All that was left was making them pay. And they would pay.
An end to the lives of those held accountable and if he was lucky maybe even his own life, that's all that was left. Causing such destruction should be rewarded in kind.
The tiredness in his bones liked the idea, this sepulcher of thought that drove him, made his foot press harder on the accelerator. Soon, no matter the outcome it would all be over. Lincoln and LJ were safe; they could have a life, which is all Michael had ever really wanted for his brother anyways, life.
Was it worth it?
His eyes shifted from the road, dipping down to close for a brief moment under tired lash before moving to the rose. She had given up so much for so little, Sara. She deserved so much better, so much more. The angry tears stuck in his throat mixing with his saliva, the taste of the road dust he couldn't seem to swallow down.
Was it worth it?
Lifting his head, the sunset shining low on the horizon set fire to the unwavering steel in his eyes.
He knew the answer, had always known the answer, but he also knew that it didn't change anything. It wouldn't bring her back.
Tired fingers reached with purpose then, to press the two buttons that would lower the glass for the Panamanian air, its warm breath of fingers cued to nudge the rose, setting it a sail, to swirl and fall before lifting it up one last time to join the dance of wind, as the last rays of sunlight lit its once companion in cold steel reverence.