A/N: This is my first Prison Break fic; there is ample material in this show for everyone, but this week's episode really did it. I just loved their interaction, it was so sparky it almost had sexual tension. Well, it did have that too. If you don't care for or hate slash, forget this one…. Plausible or not, it happened in my mind, so I'll write it down! Second part will be… well, not sure yet. Might be anything. Smut not out of the question, depending on my mood. Please review:)
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-How much can a man take, Alex? –asked the voice on the end of the line.
Mahone felt his throat go dry; he opened his mouth to retort something witty, but the words got stuck to his palate. His hand twitched, his fingers automatically looked for the pen, for small, rounded relief. His mind went blank for a microsecond, and weakness seeped through his whole body. Propping himself with a shaky right hand, he ignored the bead of perspiration trickling down his cheek, next to his ear, and said:
-There is no way you can prove this, Michael.
-Of course not. You will prove it yourself.
Mahone stared at his stupid colleagues through the darned transparent glass wall. They wore suits and glasses, and walked around the office as if they ruled the roost. Alex detested their sense of superiority and the calmness which was apparent in each and every one of them; no one else had anything to hide. He knew. He had looked their records up. Their past was impeccable. They had not committed any felony, any crime, anything anyone could ever hold against them.
-Why do you think I made you dig up that corpse, Alex?
Michael's voice was low, threatening in its soothingness. Mahone closed his eyes and tried to imagine himself in another place, another time. Somewhere where none of what has kept him vigilant for the past year had ever happened. He tried seeing himself in remote Hawaii, or Europe; wearing casual shirts, laughing with Pam, or any other woman. Hugging his kid. Living life and enjoying it to the full, not having to bother with a bad conscience.
He opened his eyes and sat down on the chair. He knew he had lost the mental battle to Michael Scofield, who was the first to discover his dirty little secret. He knows. The question is, to what extent will he go to with this knowledge?
Scofield was not a criminal, Alex Mahone was perfectly aware. He was blameless prior to getting into Fox River; the circumstances of the bank robbery were all puzzling and unclear, but Mahone had been preoccupied with the present tense situation rather than unfolding the past. The past was taboo for him. What he cared for, was the present. But even without the crucial information concerning Michael Scofield's charges, Mahone was aware that this guy was someone special, a brain, a heart. But not a criminal.
So why is he blackmailing me now?
He wants his family left alone.
Alex knew he could never do that.
He was paid to kill. He was bribed to kill. He was blackmailed to kill.
And he was going to kill them all.
-Evidence will be visible for weeks, Alex. I already sent the police to your garden. No matter how well you hid the facts, they will discover the DNA in the soil.
Alex Mahone dropped the phone to his lap; with a shaking hand he retrieved his pen from his suit, and swallowed three pills. His whole past, present and future seemed to collapse into that one second; all was lost, and there was no hope.
-I will be seeing you around, Michael- he managed to mutter into the phone, hardly able to hold the slippery object in his hand. –Oh, and it will be sooner than you might think.
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The cellphone clicked in Michael's hand. He gently put down the phone and started the engine of the car. He had a good hundred miles to cover in… less than a few hours. With finding the hotel and averting Sara, in case she gets there, he will lose another half an hour at least.
What did Mahone mean? Sooner than you think? What did that mean? Does Mahone already know where I'm going? How is that possible? How did they acquire Sara's code? Is she in danger? Is she captive? Or does she help them?
The questions raced through his never sleeping mind, as the car stormed across the dusty state, basking in the sunsine. His left hand propped his head and his right palm rested casually on the steering wheel. He knew his plan was highly risky and dangerous, but he could not back down now. Tweener was dead, Abruzzi was dead. God knows what's happening to the others. He could not bear thinking about Sara without a painful fear creeping up to his heart; he was scared she was not safe, but even more than that, he was dead scared she might not want to be with him. He would not blame her; after all, he is a criminal. A fugitive conman. And he brings danger to anyone he has any ties with.
Oh, Sara, Sara… he remembered their kiss in the infirmary just before the escape. Her eyes had told the whole story: she loved him, he was sure of that. But afterwards everything turned messy and ugly; she rightfully hated him for being used, and yet, she helped them. Because he had asked her to. She had left the door open for them, and later overdosed herself and almost died. His left thumb pressed to his lips, he swallowed, remembering the pain and desperation he felt when he found out. The frightening sense of helplessness, of not being able to be there, of not having been there for her. A whole continent separating them almost- how is he to know she would be there at the hotel?
What was Mahone planning? If he cracked the code, he probably knows everything. He knows the locality of the meeting place. He knows the date.
He has to save Sara. If Mahone knows, and will be waiting for them, he has to avert Sara.
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Alex Mahone lay on the bed in a dingy little room at Sundown Hotel in Gila. What a crammy place to meet the love of your life, he pondered. He checked the walls, and his glance skid over the torn wallpaper. Everything was petty and despicable in this place, and just imagining a couple making love in such a room made his stomach turn.
He remembered the first time with Pam… beautiful, firy Pam, int he back of their car in Paris, under the floodlit Eiffel Tower. They were so much in love they couldn't care less about their visibility; it was the city of love and romance, and they felt they were rendering homage to it by making love under its greatest symbol.
His talkie beeped.
-She's here, boss.
Mahone sat up and felt his heart race madly: Sara Tancredi was here. The woman who had led them to Scofield. If they catch her, they catch him.
-Do not fuck this up –whispered raucously, then threw the talkie to the bed, and slowly walked to the window.
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Sara was tied down in the car, her mouth covered, her eyes swollen from crying. She had been captured not two minutes after she pulled up with her car; she had not had time to even think about what was happenning. They had told her they need Michael, and thanked her for having led them to him. Her heart beat inside her, wanting to pop out of her chest, feeling pain and immense fear holding her ruthlessly, like the strings cutting into her legs. This was not happenning; it was not possible that they will get him, and take him back, or worse. Her eyes could not stop watering, and her tears tasted salty and bitter through the tape on her lips. Shaking in dismay and hopelessness, she awaited the worst, and prayed.
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Michael saw the blue car parked just outside the hotel, and instantly knew it was hers. He jumped happily out, and looked around. There didn't seem to be any one else, no cars, no people. Silence and dust covered the premises, and his heart leapt when it occurred to him that Sara is waiting inside for him.
He felt so happy and light that he paid for a room without thinking.
He walked up the stairs in half a minute.
He opened the door and reached for his phone.
He locked the door as he dialled the number.
He sat down onto the bed as he heard the ringtone.
He looked out the dirty window when a male voice spoke ont he other end.
-Hello Michael.
(to be continued)