The first thing Sara noticed when she woke was that her hands were tied. She was lying on a couch in an unfamiliar room with absolutely no idea how she got there. Trying to sit up, she felt a dull throbbing on the back of her head, and it started to come back to her.
Kellerman.
Her breathing quickened as her confusion instantly turned into panic at the memory of her so-called friend holding her at gunpoint back in Gila.
"Hi, my name is not Lance and I am not an addict," he'd said at the time, his annoyingly smug smile plastered on his face. It was the last thing she saw before he lifted his hand and rammed the gun into the back of her head.
And now, here she was, although it appeared she was alone. At least for the time being. Which meant there wasn't a moment to lose. Struggling to her feet, she looked wildly around at her surroundings, searching for something, anything that would help her get free her hands. It took a few minutes but she found a knife in one of the kitchen drawers - it turns out it's a lot harder to find things when you can barely use your hands.
A few minutes, a cut on her palm, and several choice words later, her hands were free. Rubbing her stinging wrists, Sara went back into the room with the couch, seeing her purse on the coffee table. Rifling through it, she sighed in relief when she found the paper crane. Kellerman either hadn't looked through her bag yet, or hadn't thought anything of importance was in it. Lifting it up to her shoulder, Sara hurried out of the room and to the doorway. She stopped just before opening it and listened.
Footsteps were coming down the hall. Shit.
Thinking fast, Sara positioned herself beside the door, taking deep breaths as she waited for the inevitable.
As expected, the knob turned and the door opened, revealing her captor. Without wasting a single second, Sara grabbed his shoulders and brought them down, lifting her knee and ramming it straight into his stomach. An "oof!" escaped his lips as he crumpled to the floor. Sara stepped over him and ran for the door but his fingers quickly curled around her ankle, causing her to fall, the back of her head smacking against the open door, shutting it with a slam.
Her forehead throbbed but she could barely feel it. Adrenaline coursing through her veins, she kicked as hard as she could, making contact with the top of his head. He cried out but didn't let go of her hand. Tightening his grip even more, he dragged her backwards, fighting off her attempts to free herself.
"LET ME GO!" she yelled, clawing at the floor, trying to find something to hold her back.
"You bitch," he muttered. "Why do you have to make things so difficult for yourself? All I want to know is where the brothers are."
"I don't know where they are," Sara said, gritting her teeth. "I already told you that."
"Wrong answer," Kellerman replied, swiftly lifting her over his shoulder. She pounded her fists against his back, hitting as hard as she could, but it seemed to make no impact on him. She half-opened her fists and dragged her nails over his skin, scratching as hard as she could. Her captor tensed in pain and then threw her against the wall. Sara cried out, momentarily dizzy from the impact, and he took that moment to pin her against the wall, holding her head back by her hair.
"Don't test my patience, Sara," he said, smirking. She spit in his face, her saliva mixed with blood. Laughing, Kellerman slapped her, hard. It was enough to make tears spring into her eyes, gasping. His hand came up again and connected with her other cheek, and Sara could taste the blood on her lip. Her eyesight was blurring from the tears that had already begun to fall.
"Where are Michael Scofield and Lincoln Burrows?" he asked again. When she didn't respond, he struck her a third time and she cried out in pain.
And then she crumpled to the floor, no longer being held up by the smug-faced devil. Her eyes were shut tight as she waited for him to strike her again. But he didn't. After a moment, she opened her eyes, wiping her tears away in an attempt to clear her vision. What she saw made her forget how to breathe.
There stood Michael, holding the semi-conscious man by the collar, punching him in the face repeatedly, his eyes wide in fury. As Sara watched, she heard a crack as Michael's fist collided with the other man's jaw, a clear sign that it was now broken. But Michael didn't stop. He kept punching Kellerman, showing no sign of stopping despite the fact that the other man was unconscious.
With a sinking feeling, Sara realized that if Michael didn't stop soon, Kellerman would die and, despite all that he'd done to her, the doctor in Sara couldn't let him die.
"Michael!"
Fist raised, ready to strike again, Michael stopped. His head snapped to the left, the fury in his eyes gone in an instant. Loosening his grip, he dropped Kellerman, who crumpled to the floor, unconscious, and rushed to Sara's side.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered, looking at the bruises that had already started to form on her face. He gently held his arms out and lifted her up, carrying her to the couch that she had woken up on. "Are you okay?"
Sara shook her head, unable to speak. Michael wrapped his arms around her, holding her against him. Sara buried her head into his neck, whimpering.
"Of course you're not," Michael said, mentally kicking himself. "Sara, I'm so sorry."
"Could you please just get me out of here?" she whimpered into his neck, holding him so tight that it hurt.
"Of course," Michael said, gently moving her hands away from him so that he could lift her up. "I'm sorry, but this might hurt a little." He hoisted her up into his arms and a sharp pain stabbed through Sara's side, her hip still throbbing from when she had fallen to the floor. She gasped in pain and Michael apologized again, but she bit her lip and shook her head, willing him to move faster, to get her out of that horrible place, away from that horrible man. He did just that, carrying her out of the motel with surprisingly no issues - the front desk clerk was asleep, and nobody else seemed to be there. Michael quickly carried her outside and went straight to a black van.
"What the hell happened?" came a masculine voice from the front and Sara lifted her head to see Lincoln looking at them from the front seat. The second her head lifted, Sara felt a wave of nausea wash over her from the pain and she quickly hit her palm against Michael's chest. He let her down mere seconds before she turned around a wretched all over the pavement. She could feel Michael holding her hair back and hear him whispering something to her, but her head hurt too much to be able to make out what he was saying. Her vision started to blur and her head felt like steel. And then, all of a sudden, she felt nothing.
"She'll be fine, Mike. I've taken enough beatings to know, trust me."
"Linc, we have to take her to a hospital. If something happens to her-" Michael voice cracked as he said this, and he may have broken dwn right there if Lincoln hadn't interrupted.
"If we take her to a hospital, we'll be made. And so will she. It's too risky," Lincoln reasoned. "Michael, think about it."
"WHAT IS SHE DIES, LINCOLN?" Michael shouted.
"I'm not dying."
Both brothers' heads whipped around instantly, staring at Sara in shock. The car swerved to the side and Lincoln immediately turned his head back to the road, moving them back into the lane. Michael climbed over his seat and to the back where Sara was lying down, covered by a blanket.
"You're awake," he said, smiling.
"I'm not dying," Sara repeated. "I had a concussion and, from what I can tell, nothing seems broken."
"Are you in pain?" Michael asked, his forehead creased in worry.
"My head feels like lead, and I think I'm definitely going to have some nasty bruises on my cheeks and hip, but otherwise, I'll be fine," Sara replied.
Michael gently caressed her cheek, careful to avoid the red splotch on her skin from where it made contact with Kellerman's palm. "I'm so sorry, Sara. If I had gotten there sooner-"
Sara shook her head, and then instantly regretted it as another wave of nausea hit her. She gagged, holding her hand over her mouth and Michael quickly grabbed a plastic bag from the car floor, holding it up to Sara's face just before she puked again, emptying what was left of her stomach. When she was done, she fell back against the car floor, holding her temples.
"Here," Lincoln said, tossing a water bottle to Michael, who caught it with ease, uncapping it and giving it to Sara. He helped her sit up too and she took a few small sips before she gave the bottle back to Michael, massaging her temples. Michael put the bottle down and sat next to her in the backseat, and she leaned against him, feeling his arms instinctively wrap around her.
"I'll keep you safe, I promise," he whispered, kissing her hair.
Sara pressed her lips to the back of his hand, entwining her fingers in his. "I know, Michael. I know."