Voice Of Reason
by TeeJay

Characters: Michael Scofield, Sara Tancredi, Lincoln Burrows (with involvement of Sucre, Bellick, Mahone, Roland and Agent Self)

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Sara learns about Michael's headaches and nosebleeds, and after talking to Lincoln she convinces him to do something about it. Sara and Lincoln have an honest talk about things left unsaid. While trying to get to the bottom of Michael's medical problems, things unfold that no one could predict.

Setting: Season 4, prior to episode 4x07 and continuing from there on

Spoilers: Pretty much everything up to and including episode 4x06 in the first two chapters, spoilers for all aired season 4 episodes in later chapters

Author's Note: I started to write this before having seen episode 4x07 (Five The Hard Way) in hopes of my predictions not coming true, but now everything indicates that they're really gonna be this corny and predictable. I mean, come on, lethal brain tumor? Please, that's just way too TV drama. I'm really gonna hate this season if it ends with Michael in mortal peril, being rushed to a hospital with a deadly brain tumor, and by episode 5x01 he's as fine as a young gazelle because they've found some miracle cure that only the FBI has access to. I loved it when this show could still surprise me. However, I'm willing to give them the benefit of the doubt for now.

You will see when you read this that I took a bit of a different path. I'm no doctor, and even though I work in the pharmaceutical industry, I don't have a lot of medical knowledge. Please go easy on me if I didn't get the medical details right. I just hope I'm not leaning too far out the window with this. If so, feel free to let me know.

The last sentence of Chapter 1 is a homage to MsGenevieve's latest story. If you've read it, you'll know what I mean. Her Michael/Sara stuff is fantastic, I wish I was this prolific and good at it.

Please leave me a review if you feel like you have something to say. Every little piece of encouragement or constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated. Thanks!

xxXXxx

Chapter 1

It was hard to escape Michael Scofield. Or maybe not so much to escape him but to do anything without his noticing. And she didn't want to either elude or escape him, what she really wanted was a moment alone with his brother.

Sara had been waiting for the right moment all day, but either Michael and Lincoln were in close proximity of each other or they were both off somewhere without her.

Finally, she saw her chance. Agent Self had arrived ten minutes ago he and Michael had wandered off to places and conversations shielded from her. It was obvious that they both needed each other in a twisted sort of way—to accomplish their mutual goal that didn't have quite such a mutual motivation.

She stole a quick glance at Lincoln, who was sitting by himself, hunched over a stack of documents that were lying on the table in front of him. He looked as tired as she felt, and it was less the physical strain than the psychological one that was taking its toll on all of them. The way Lincoln was running his hand over his shaved head only seemed to underline his state of mind.

She approached the table and sat down in the vacant chair to his right. His only acknowledgment of her present was a quick sideways glance at her.

She was silent for a moment, then she cut right to the chase. "Lincoln, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

She looked at him. Did his positive answer belie his willingness to answer her question? It didn't matter now, he was here to talk to her. She asked him, "Is there something going with Michael that I should know about?"

He swiveled his chair slightly in her direction, giving her a look that she had trouble deciphering. "What do you mean?"

"I mean the headaches, the nosebleeds. He's trying to hide it, but he's not doing a good enough job of it."

Lincoln sighed. What was he supposed to tell her? He knew Michael didn't want her to worry. "Sara," he said wearily, "Look, he... he made me promise."

"Promise? Promise what?"

"That I wouldn't tell you."

She thought for a moment. "Technically, you're not telling me. I figured it out on my own, remember?"

"Figured what out?" He looked at her in puzzlement. Did she know more than she let on?

"Oh, I don't know," she said mockingly and lifted her arms in a shrugging gesture. "He's had these headaches for a while now, right? I know he's not rubbing his temples because of occasional tension headaches. I've seen him trying to hide a nosebleed twice. That can't be a coincidence. And you know that I can't ask him about it because he'll just give me that brave smile and tell me that he's okay."

He smiled a grim smile to himself. Maybe he needed to give Sara a little more credit. She knew his brother better than he thought.

She pressed on, "So what's really going on?"

"Look, I'm not sure, okay? He said he's just adjusting to the humid climate."

When he didn't go on, Sara cut in, "But you don't believe that any more than I do, right?"

Lincoln lowered his head and rubbed his skull, the way he did when he was worried or agitated. Then he lifted it again and looked her straight in the eyes. "No, I guess I don't."

Did she have to beg him for more information? After another stretch of silence, she told him, "Lincoln, why do I get the feeling that there's something you're not telling me?"

He drew in a long breath, holding it before he spoke. "When he was 13, he had this... thing. I don't remember what it's called, but it was something about high blood pressure and adrenaline. I think they called it chromo-something."

"Pheochromocytoma?"

"Yeah, I think that's it."

She racked her brain for the little information she might still have stored in it on the condition, but she came up empty.

Lincoln interrupted her train of thought. "He had surgery then, it was a big deal for a while."

She nodded, her thoughts spinning. His voice drew her back to reality once again. "Do you think it's that same thing all over again?"

"I..." She didn't quite know what to tell him. "I don't know. I only know about pheochromocytoma what I learned in med school—and that's a long time ago. But I guess... it could be."

"Can you find out?"

"It's not that easy. You need to run blood tests and other diagnostics." She looked around the warehouse. "I think you know that we don't have the luxury to have him admitted to a hospital right now."

He nodded and muttered a resigned, "Yeah. So now what?"

She ran one hand through her hair. "I don't know. Maybe I can talk him into letting me draw some blood. I could try to pull some strings and get it tested at a lab. I wish I had something here to measure blood pressure."

"There's nothing in the med kit?"

"No, nothing I can use."

"Damn," Lincoln hissed.

"Yeah," Sara sighed in a whisper.

He rubbed his eyebrow. "What if he needs surgery again?"

"Let's not cross that bridge until we come to it, okay?"

He stared into the nothingness of the bleak, non-descript warehouse walls. "Okay."

xxXXxx

It was too much. She couldn't keep her eyes off him, worrying about whether his next gesture, his next flinch was another indication of a headache, waiting for the next time she would detect a spot of crimson above his upper lip. Whenever he caught her staring, she quickly looked away, pretending to be busy with something or other.

This was driving her insane. She couldn't breathe. She needed air. As she left the warehouse, she could feel Michael's eyes burning into the back of her skull from where he was standing with Roland, discussing their next move, their next plan, their next near disaster.

The last light of the setting sun gave the dismal industrial scenery a certain consoling glow that drew her out to the pier. Sitting down on one of the metal boulders, she drew in a long breath and slowly let it out again, watching the orange sun melting into the horizon. She should be sitting here with Michael by her side, her head leaning against his shoulder, and not worrying about losing him. Again.

It was moments like this when she felt lost. Everything inside of her wanted to be with him, but when she was, there was always something that got in the way. For a while, after he had boarded that boat to Panama that she hadn't been able to make, all she wanted was to be with him. It was what had kept her going during the time when Gretchen had held her and LJ hostage.

And now? Things weren't quite so black and white anymore. Every day she found herself looking at a new shade of gray.

"Sara," she heard his soft voice from behind her. He knew better than just to approach and touch her without warning. Her heart briefly stung at the memory of when he had learned this particular lesson, that first night they were reunited after his escape from Sona.

For a split second she wished he wasn't there. She knew it was wrong, but right now she wished they didn't have to have the conversation that she was dreading.

"Sara?" he said again when she didn't react.

"Yeah," she replied, turning her head around to acknowledge him.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Of course she was gonna say that. It was their little game. Keeping up pretenses. She was as much not okay as he was.

He came around to face her. "What's wrong?"

She avoided looking at him. "I should be asking you that question."

His brow furrowed, then it dawned on him. "You talked to Linc. He told you, didn't he?"

She looked up at him. "Don't be mad at him, Michael. I know he promised not to tell me. And he didn't come to me, I came to him. How long have you had the headaches and nosebleeds?"

"Look, it's no big deal, okay?"

She had never hated his little I'm-okay game more than at this moment. She raised her voice. "Stop lying to yourself. It was a big deal when you had to have surgery!"

"Maybe so, but that was then and this is now."

"And what if now was just as big a deal?"

"Come on, Sara, you know I can't go to a hospital and get checked out now." He gestured at the warehouse behind them, "In the middle of this."

"So you're gonna pretend it's nothing and ignore it until it kills you?"

"You got any other ideas?"

"Let me draw some blood, get it analyzed. Then at least we'll have an idea what we're dealing with."

She looked him straight in the eye, pleading for him to say yes. "An old friend from med school moved to LA to practice pediatric medicine here. She'll get me the material I need and she'll run the bloodwork for us. Please, Michael."

She could see the wheels turning in his head, weighing the risks against the benefits. It was a good sign that he wasn't immediately rejecting the idea. He turned his back to her, rubbing one hand over his head where the stubbles of his hair were getting longer than she had ever seen him wearing before.

Finally, he turned around again to face her. "Okay," he simply said.

"Okay," she repeated. "I'll get in touch with Becky."

"Who else knows?" he asked.

"You, Linc and me, that's it. I don't know if anyone else has noticed."

He just nodded. She knew that was how he wanted to keep it until they knew more.

She got up and stood next to him, sliding one arm around his waist, leaning against his side. In silence they watched the last rays of sunlight dissolving into the horizon that were turning the sky into a myriad of reddish and pink colors.

It was Sara who interrupted the rare peaceful moment. "You have to stop keeping these things from me, Michael. I'm here to help."

He bent down to plant a soft kiss on the top of her head. "I know," he whispered. "It takes some time getting used to."

She lifted her head away from his shoulder and looked him in the eyes. "Getting used to what? Not shouldering the blame of the whole world on your own shoulders?"

He smiled a small smile. "Something like that."

Just then, it hit him like a rock slamming down on his skull. He drew in a sharp breath, cringing slightly. It took a minute for the pain to lessen enough for him to even hear her question.

"Another headache?"

"Yeah," he whispered hoarsely.

She touched his arm. "Let's go inside. You should get some rest."

xxXXxx

Michael was all too aware of the prying eyes on him as he and Sara entered the warehouse and he climbed into the boat on his own after exchanging a few words with her. He didn't like it, but she was right. If there was one thing they couldn't afford right now, it was him being incapacitated.

As Sara approached the group that was gathered near the whiteboard, Lincoln guided her to a quieter corner of the large room. "Did you talk to him?" he asked right out when they were out of earshot of the others.

"Yeah."

"And?"

"He agreed to let me draw some blood. I'll get that done tomorrow."

Lincoln let out a relieved sigh. "Good."

She just nodded and mentally reminded herself that she'd be spending the night in front of the computer, reading up on pheochromocytoma.

"Listen, I have some research to do." She turned towards the laptop that was sitting next to Roland's workstation, currently unoccupied.

His calling out her name made her turn around. "Sara?"

She looked at him.

"You know, I think you're the first voice of reason that he actually listens to."

She gave him a small smile. "Was that a compliment?"

He smiled back at her, one of the rare smiles she saw on his face these days. "Yeah."

"Thanks. I guess," she said with a chuckle.

His expression turned grave again. "Thank you, Sara."

She suddenly felt something dangerously controversial crackling in the air, and she wasn't sure if she should act on it or just let it go. Maybe it was time to chart their territory.

"Listen, Lincoln, I... I didn't mean to barge into your life and claim him for myself, if you got that impression."

He nervously rubbed his eyebrow. "No, I..."

"You're his brother. I can't compete with that."

He looked down at his hands, couldn't help fidgeting with them. "You know, it wasn't always like this. We didn't get along all that great before..." he didn't quite know how to put it into words, "all this."

"You're really lucky to have him, you know?"

"Yeah," he said in a low voice. "I know. I would be dead now if it wasn't for him." Something compelled him to meet Sara's eyes. "I'm not sure I even fully realized that until now."

She tried to find something in Lincoln's eyes that would tell her what the right thing to say was, but there was nothing there—nothing that would guide her, so she just mumbled, "Yeah, that's..."

"Sara," he interrupted her. "I know you wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him; if it wasn't for me. I'm really sorry you got dragged into this."

"I'm not," she said in a determined voice. "If I wasn't here with you, I'd probably be God knows where, strung out on smack or wasted or... worse." In a low voice she added, "He gave me a reason to live for. And for that I'm grateful."

"So am I," he said, and his tone bore softness that matched hers.

Their eyes met again, and there was a mutual understanding in them that they had not shared before. An invisible barrier was starting to melt like an icicle in the mild sun of approaching spring.

She fidgeted with the ring on her index finger. It seemed that this conversation was over, but they couldn't quite figure out a way to part. "Listen, I..." she pointed at the computer in the corner, "gotta go do that research."

"Yeah," he just nodded and turned his attention back to where Sucre and Mahone were standing at the whiteboard.

As she walked over to the computer, she silently wished that everything would turn out okay. It had to, right? Whatever was wrong with Michael, they'd get him treatment and he would be fine. There had to be a cure.

She was determined that they would have that future together—the one that spoke of sailboats and sunsets over the ocean and postcards from the edge.

xxXXxx