"Don't make me lie to you, please."

Michael's eyes went from the paper to Sara's eyes and back again. Every possible explanation or excuse went out of his mind as her eyes bore into him, far more confused than angry. Extended before him, just out of reach of his fingertips, was the press announcement that his old firm had been selected to design Fox River Penitentiary.

"How did you find that?" Michael asked, going with the accusatory route.

"How did I find this?" Sara repeated, "well when I was informed that Prison Industries would never clean out toxic mold from the air vents, I snooped around and found this."

"Dr. Tacrenderi?" A guard stuck his head in. Sara turned to him, the paper hidden behind her back, "are you almost finished?"

"Yes," She said, "I'll call you when I'm done."

He nodded and vanished.

"Do you even need this?" she demanded holding up the insulin. Michael's eyes never left hers as he slowly shook his head, "do you have any idea how much damage this could have done to your system?"

"Yes," came the flat reply.

"Of course you did," Sara said throwing the still-full syringe into the biohazard box. Stripping off her gloves, she turned around to find Michael standing right next to her. She looked up into his eyes, her heart hammering wildly in her chest.

"Please, don't say anything," he said, his eyes boring into her. The way he looked at her, Sara fought against every instinct that screamed for her to tell the guard to lock him away. She turned her face, missing the flash of pain in his eyes. The guard came in and grabbed him, "it's in your hands," he whispered before they pulled him out.

888

Michael sat weakly on the bed.

'This is not happening' he thought furiously. All his careful planning, all the dedication could not be foiled so easily. All he had to do was think, change his plan, move his deadlines—but even as his mind whirred he knew it was useless. He closed his eyes and tried to think of some way to fix it.

"Fish?"

His eyes opened and he looked up at Sucre. His cell mate looked down at him with quiet understanding, by far the most serious look he head seen in Sucre's eyes.

"Anything we can do?" he asked.

"No," Michael said, "not tonight," he corrected himself, "get some sleep, we'll need it tomorrow."

"Night Fish," Sucre said rolling back onto his bunk. Michael turned over and looked at the wall, his eyes slowly closing as sleep took over. When he opened his eyes again, it was morning. He felt better than he had in a while, though he couldn't remember his dream for the life of him.

"Time to go see the doc," a guard said.

And everything crashed down.

88

He should have seen it coming. He sat down, his heart pounding. Sara was waiting, sitting on one of the stools, needle laid out. Pulling on gloves, she spun around to face him, holding a glucose meter. She took his blood sugar silently, her face not reacting at the read out. Turning to him, she picked up the needle.

"I'm injecting you with something to counteract the Insulin," she said filling the syringe. Grasping his elbow firmly, she injected him. Discarding it and pulling off her gloves she turned to the report in front of her, "do you have any idea how this could affect your system?"

"Yes," he said.

Sara walked over to him.

"That first day, when you said the quote by Ghandi, I didn't think about it—but now," she nodded, "now I realize I've been a part of your plan from the beginning."

"Sara—" he began.

"Was the riot part of it too? Gain the Governor's daughter's trust? Or was it gain the doctor who's infirmary leads right to the outside world?" the venom in her voice was un-mask able. Michael stood up abruptly and headed for the door, "because now it's very clear. Why someone like you would get themselves locked in a place like this."

He froze, his hand against the doorknob.

"You're trying to get out."

Michael kept his eyes on the doorknob, but his voice was harsh and meant for her.

"I told you about my brother telling me to face my fears. He's a good man, an innocent one no matter what anybody says and I will not sit back and let a man like your father kill him."

Pulling open the door, he walked out. Sara leaned against the desk and pressed her hands to her forehead, trying to clear the thoughts tumbling through her head.