A/N : Y'all, I saw the fall finale yesterday, and I have to say, I thought it wasn't nearly as oh-my-god-I'm-clutching-my-heart-I'm-so-scared as the first season's final. And no MiSa reunion 'I love you so much, never leave me again'. Like Grrr.

Nevertheless, I HAD to start writing this…the way I imagine it to go. Of course it's mostly MiSa, and I'll try my hand at writing a real actionplot. I KNOW my other story isn't finished – haven't forgotten about it, you know! Anyway, here goes..

Please let me know if I should continue this!

XO

Michael

I guess it's in a time like this

The winds would blow the other way

Sailing through a sea of doubt

I have the time to contemplate

A world so harsh to face and lies so commonplace

Michael and Lincoln ran behind the now unknown man – with one burning question resounding in their heads. Can he be trusted? For now, they had to believe that the answer to that question was positive. It was the only chance they had.

Michael took only one look back at the fading body of Alexander Mahone, the man who'd been on his trail ever since they first escaped. He felt sorry. Alex had had a family. A nice wife, who'd treated Michael with respect, who'd opened up to him, not knowing who he was. Alex was a genius, too. The codes Michael had made up...all the paths and figures drawn across his body, this man had cracked them all. Respect, is what he felt, most of all.

But there was no time to pay him proper respect now, because they had to keep moving, following this man whose life had been wrecked by the president, as much as their lives had been torn apart. An inside man...Which meant he had been fighting them too, for a while. Michael frowned in his frantic run. What had he done to them?

The man turned around. "I have a place to hide, not far from here. I rented it last night. My face hasn't been plastered around the country, so I can help you in many ways." His eyes shifted to Michael. "But you're going to have to trust me."

Lincoln looked at his brother. Whatever Michael agreed on, he would do it. He'd always trusted his brother's senses and right now, he needed them more than ever. He needed – God, he needed whatever was necessary to see his son again. LJ was probably scared out of his wits right now. He'd seen the report on the capture of his father and uncle, and was counting down the hours until they would be... Lincoln shook his head. No. He'll survive, for LJ.

Michael stared back at their unknown helper. "I can't promise you trust.. not until I know everything there is to know. But we'll go with you." His eyes shifted to his older brother, and he saw him nod slightly.

"Yes," his brother agreed, "we'll go with you."

The man nodded slightly. "Okay. It's this way."

Sara

It was over. Michael, the only person she could trust, the only man she had ever allowed herself to really...care for, was on his way to Fox River, preparing himself to spend his life behind bars. A heavy ache shot through her chest. He must be so scared. And the thought of him...her...but not them...not ever anymore, was more than she could bear.

A few blocks away from the trashcan she'd thrown her personal belonging into, Sara Tancredi sank down to her knees and cried in the middle of the street.

She didn't blame him anymore, she couldn't. Because, contrary to what she had believed, after her run-in with not Lance, not an addict she knew that they would have come after her anyway, wether or not she had anything to do with Michael. It was because of her father that she was in this mess. But she didn't blame him either. You can't speak ill of the dead.

And it wasn't his fault...she let out a bitter laugh. It was. It was his fault. The father who'd never taken the time to know her, had left her a final present that could get her killed. No dying flowers on her birthday, no...he'd given her a death hovering over her. There wasn't anyone who could protect her now.

"There's a way I can protect you."

She heard Michael whisper to her in her mind. His broken voice, calling out to her in pure desperation. He'd needed her just as much as she'd needed him. As much as she still needs him.

People say you shouldn't think of the 'what if's, but there were many running through her head. What if she hadn't walked to her car in Gila, only to realize she needed him too much and then to step out again, and be faced with the gun? What if Michael hadn't been captured now, would he have come back for her again, would he have kept on fighting for her? And...what if she hadn't met him at all, what if Lincoln had been in another penitentary and she wouldn't have had to administer his shots? As much as it killed her to be apart from him now, she would have been forever aching for him if they'd never met.

A soft hand clutched her shoulder. "My child, are you alright?"

Looking up into the face of a woman in her late fifties, Sara smiled a little. "No."

The woman nodded in understanding, and squeezed Sara's shoulder reassuringly. "Do you have anywhere to go?" A rough sob escaped the crying doctor's throat and the woman knew everything she needed to. Putting her two hands underneath Sara's arms, she lifted her up from the pavement she'd been lying on. "How about we get you a cup of coffee, and we'll see from there?"

Sara was so broken, so utterly alone, that she couldn't say no. Besides, she hadn't had a decent drink, or a filling breakfast, for four days. The doctor inside of her made small alarm bells go off. She'd lost a lot of weight – and that wasn't good. She nodded at the woman, whose face was kind and whose eyes held unshed tears for her. Not one of the bad guys. Although, you could never be to careful. Sara mentally shook herself. If they want to kill me – they go ahead and do it.

The boys

The appartement was large enough to hold the three people, and had enough emergency exits in case they needed to make a run for it.

The man who'd brought them here smirked at Michael. "Memorizing the escaping-possibilities, I assume?"

Michael shrugged. "You can never be too careful."

He got a small, uncomfortable nod in return. "I'm new to the running and hiding-part," he shook his head lightly, as if to ask himself why he was doing this. "Paul Kellerman." He held out his hand and Michael shook it. A small chuckle escaped Kellerman's lips. "Or er- Owen Kravecki. But I haven't been called that in ages. Just stick to Paul."

Lincoln came back from the bathroom and peered at Kellerman with an intrigued look on his face. "So who are you."

His brother shrugged. "Paul Kellerman."

"Former Secret Service Agent Paul Kellerman, also known as Carolyn Reynolds's right hand man. I know everything you need to."

"So why did you team up with us, then?" Lincoln asked, apalled.

"They killed me off." Paul explained. "I didn't get done what they needed me to, and now there aren't any traces of my being alive – ever. I'll bet Alex Mahone got the orders to kill me, so I needed to lay him down. Survival of the fittest kind of thing." He took a breath. "And I figured, they try to erase me... I bring them down." He laughed bitterly. "I really wish it had something to do with doing the right thing or something like that, but I have to say – It doesn't. I'm not like that." Paul thought for a moment. "Well, maybe a tiny little bit. But that's not what matters, what matters is that I'm here now."

Michael nodded. Honesty. Which was good. He didn't trust 'Paul Kellerman' yet, but the fact that he wasn't beating around the bush pleased Michael. They could do business.

Paul's phone started ringing, and he grinned at the brothers. "Let me take care of this... Kellerman." He bit into the phone and pushed the button for the speaker. Kim's voice sounded loud through the room, and the occupants could all hear what was being said. A plan to gain their trust, Paul figured.

"Well, well, Paul, what did I hear? You failed." A short pause could be heard, and Paul could almost see Kim tilting his head menacingly. "Again."

Paul laughed. "What do you mean, I failed?" He saw the brothers tense, but held up his hand so that they would hear him out. "I got Mahone out of your system, that was what you wanted, right?"

"It was PART of what I wanted. You still have a long...loooong to do- list, Paul. And you know you better scratch out every little item or..."

"Or I disappear forever." Paul finished the sentence, once again showing Scofield and Burrows that he could be trusted.He's been telling them the truth.

Kim let out a bitter bark of a laugh. "That was very poetically put, Paul. I thought of other, less pretty synonyms, but yes...I suppose it all comes down to your 'permant non-existence.'"

Michael saw Paul clutching the phone so tightly he thought his fingers were going to snap the thing in two, but when the man answered, his voice was as controlled as always. "I'll get it done."

Kim ended the call and a sharp dialtone could be heard ringing through the silence. Paul looked at Lincoln and Michael, his head tilted to the side. "Now do you believe me?"

Michael gave him a quick nod and turned to walk out of the room, leaving his two companions to stare at his retreating back. He found his solace in the place he'd claimed as 'his room' for the time being and he sat down on the bed, before letting himself fall onto the old, worn blankets.

The dialtone had made him think of her again. She was always on his mind, that was for sure, but the hollow sound brought her right back, standing next to him. He heard her soft voice call out to him in fear and remembered the heat of the burning car he'd just exited. "Hello? Michael...Michael?!"

He pressed the palms of his hands to his closed eyes, pushing back the tears that were forming. "Sara could be dead, Michael." Lincoln's voice rang out through his mind. He shook his head frantically and took a deep breath. She wasn't dead. She couldn't be.

His arm remembered her sweet touches, his fingers still felt the tips of hers. He looked at his hand in wonder. His last connection to Sara, other than the note she'd left him in Gila.

Michael's eyes shot open wide in the darkness of the room. Was it really the last connection?

His cellphone. She'd – she'd called him when he was in held by the boarder patrol, his forhead leaning against the cold white bars. His heart had ached to hear her voice, and the fact that their connection was so close, yet out of reach, had made him angry. Had she been checking up on him, or was it something more?

He jumped up and walked hurriedly to the livingroom, where Paul and Lincoln were eating bowls of cerreal and talking. Lincoln held out his bowl for Michael to take a bite, but he shook his head. "Paul..." the man turned to him. " That fancy phone of yours, can it tap into a voicemail inbox of a phone that's a few miles away?"

The man nodded and grinned at Michael. "There's nothing a secret service phone can't do."

"Good." A short pause followed. "I need you to tap into mine."

Sara

Christine, as she had told Sara her name was, sat next to her and pushed a hot cup of coffee into her cold, clam hands. Sara sniffed lovingly at the warm liquid and for a small second, she smiled.

Christine looked at her worriedly. God knows what this woman had had to go through in the last few days...weeks? At that moment, she made a decision not to let this one out of her sight until she was strong and healthy again. "Sara, dear?" She said, and the moment looked at her nervously. "You're staying with me for the next few weeks, is that alright?"

As soon as she opened her mouth to protest, Christine interrupted her. "Good, well that's setteled then. After you finished smelling – and hopefully drinking that cup of coffee, we leave for my house. It's just around the corner, so we can come back here everyday and you can sniff all you want." Her brown hair moved around her head as she laughed and Sara felt a rush of hapiness course through her body. She had someone again. She wasn't alone anymore.

But could she do this to her new friend? Sure, she'd left all evidence to her being here, and they'd never look for her here, since she was already 50 miles further than she had been with not Lance (thank you, Greyhound), but could she take the risk?

What would Michael do?

She smiled around her coffeecup. What wouldn't Michael do?

"Okay." Sara nodded. "Thank you so much."

The boys

Paul took the phone out of his pocket and unclasped it. "So, what was your number?" He turned to look at Michael, who was pacing the floor behind him, making the floor squeak every time he ran over a particular part of it. He walked over it every three seconds. That's a lot of pacing. "Michael?"

"505 – 555 – 0163." His voice sounded worn and emotional, but Paul ignored it. They didn't know eachother well enough for 'are you okay's and 'do you want to talk about it?'.

He punched in a few numbers and listened intently as the operator threw instructions his way. Finally, he grinned and thrusted the phone into Michael's hands. "You're in."

Michael eagerly grabbed the phone and put it to his ear, praying to hear her voice. "You have one new message." Thank God, he thought. Sara. "Message received on November 28, at 3 46 pm from 505 – 555 – 0162. To play message, press one."

His finger shook nervously as he pushed the button. If she wasn't alright, he didn't know what he'd do. Closing his eyes, he let her nervous, scared voice take him over.

"Michael it's me, listen this phone rang last night and I went to answer it but I couldn't hear anything and I wonder if maybe it was you.Uhm...oh God, I don't know what I should do right now, I need to know you're okay. I need you to know that I'm not. I didn't leave you in Gila, something happened to me and I don't...uhm...I don't know what to do right now, I'm not too sure where to go, but I know you're the only person I can trust, and I need you to uhm...ah...I need you to be okay"She let out a soft, nervous laugh, similar to the one she'd sighed in the infirmary, after their kiss, and continued. "and...uhm...and I need you. Please."

Michael squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Hearing her like this...so lost and broken – it tore him apart. His plan was to make her happy and now she was as scared as a woman could be. But she was tough, Sara. She didn't cry.

He ran his hand over his head and sniffled. He needed her too – more than he should. Even though it wasn't fair to her that he needed her. She deserved better than that.

The operator's voice was asking him the same row of questions she'd asked him four times before, but he kept holding on to the cellphone as if it was his lifeline.

He felt guilty, because his heart had done a somersault when she told him she hadn't left him in Gila. So she wanted him as much as he wanted her? The somersault had turned to nausea though, when she continued to tell him her tale.

" and I need you. Please."

So, What did you think? Please tell me if you want me to continue this...Please, please, please?

XO