It was quiet. Like everyone knew what was about to happen and was keeping their own private vigil.
Sara looked at the clock. 5:00 pm. Soon the guards would be going to solitary to shave Lincoln's head bare. Then they would take him to a private room where he'd have his final meal. Michael would be brought there so they could spend a few hours together. The warden had promised them that time. Then at eleven, he'd be taken to the Death Cell where she'd give him one final look over and sign off. There was an irony to the whole thing, making sure a man was healthy enough to kill. At 11:45, he'd be taken on his final walk. To the chamber. She'd be with him. Protocol. They would strap him in the restraints, secure the wires. And wait. A window would let the witnesses watch the whole macabre little show. At 12:01 am, if there were no miracle reprieves, Pope would read the death warrant. Bellick had the honor of calling out the command to flip the switch. The SOB was probably looking forward to it. He had it in for Michael and ordering Lincoln's death was going to be worse than a shank to the gut or hedge clippers to the toe.
She tried to keep busy, filling in medical reports. For a while it worked. Until the test rolls caused a brown out. Flickering of the lights all over the prison. As the lights faded in and out, her mind left the mundane paperwork and back to the events of the past month.
Michael, all charm and quiet good looks, introducing himself like they were on a blind date and not in a prison infirmary.
The day the guards dragged him in, his foot covered in blood from his severed toes. The quiet tears of pain, the insistance that she not report what happened.
Hearing that Michael and Lincoln were brothers. Finding out that Michael had asked to be sent to Fox River so he could be near his brother.
The visit with Michael's doctor and the strange news about his near genius intelligence and his bizarre sensitivity to other people's pain. A sensitivity that made him do odd things, like marrying a woman he barely knew so she could get a green card and make a better life for herself.
Michael understanding that she didn't agree with her father's politics and that she couldn't change her father's mind even if she wanted to.
The riot and Michael appearing out of nowhere to save her. Even almost getting shot by the guards that must have assumed he was one of the men that had held her hostage.
But mostly she thought about Michael walking into the infirmary for his insulin and seeing Lincoln in the adjoining room. Begging her to let him see his brother, the heart break on his face when he was refused. His begging her to go to her father. If only she could convince her father not to kill Lincoln, to let him simply live out his life in prison. He'd been at Fox River through three years of appeals and other than a couple months of fighting, he'd been a model prisoner.
Sitting in Lincoln's cell with him, talking to him about whatever was on his mind. She really wasn't shocked when he asked her to watch out for Michael. She could tell that the two of them loved each other in a way that wasn't just brothers. More like soulmates. And she'd known for some time that Michael didn't belong there. He'd let himself be given punishment that was far more than he deserved just to be close to Lincoln. She'd made up her mind weeks before that once Lincoln was gone, at the first sign of trouble, she'd report it and get Michael transferred for his own safety. She couldn't live with herself if she didn't.
She sighed and forced herself to finish the day's paperwork. She wrote out drug orders, comments on vitals, made a note to have the nurses review the supply inventory and make sure none of the stock was low. Especially on anti-histames. Something about the summer heat made all the prisoners develop hay fever. She'd be passing out allergy pills like they were candy. Especially to the PI crews. She'd also need to make sure they had snake kits on hand. With the river nearby, they were sure to get a handful in the yard.
Sara scrawled a couple of final notes on a chart and set it in the basket to be filed. Underneath it was Lincoln's chart, ready to go with her.
Michael's voice crept into her thoughts. He'd begged her to go talk to Lincoln's lawyers. He said his brother was innocent. He believed it with all his heart. He said if she talked to Lincoln's lawyers she'd believe it to. And maybe she could convince her father.
Could she. Would her father possibly believe that the jury that convicted Lincoln Burrows was wrong. That the courts that turned down every appeal for three years were wrong. Would he be too afraid of killing an innocent man that he'd stay the execution and simply let Lincoln Burrows rot in jail for life with no possible parole.
In her heart, she knew the answer was no. Her father would never believe it. Never stop things before it was too late. He had too much faith in the system.
But there was a part of her heart that believed that Michael Scofield was a good person that just made a bad mistake. That snapped under all the pressure he was feeling. Pressure anyone would feel under the circumstances, but, thanks to his odd condition, he felt magnified a hundred times over. And that same part of her heart said that Lincoln might have also simply snapped but at his core was not a bad person. Not bad enough to wipe him out of existence. That maybe there was some good in even him.
And maybe the best reason for keeping Lincoln alive was the undeniable fact that his death might just damage Michael beyond repair. Without Lincoln, even trapped in prison, Michael might cross the line between the good guy that did one stupid thing and a true criminal. A part of her wanted to save him from that dire fate. Just like, she would never admit to anyone else, a part of her wished that she'd met Michael anywhere but in the prison.
Sara fingered the chart. Amusingly she had a copy of Lincoln's full record in front of her. Not just the medical reports but everything since the day he'd entered to then. She'd become the keeper of his life at Fox River. She'd write the final comment -- the time of death -- after she confirmed that the electrical current had achieved its goal.
On one of the final pages she found a visitation note. His last visit from his lawyers. There were names and phone numbers. She could at least hear them out. She could try. For Michael's sake. Maybe then the pit of guilt in her stomach would lessen a little. Maybe then she'd be able to look Lincoln in the eye when she signed him off to die.