Disclaimer: I don't own any of the guys from Prison Break, innocent, guilty, convicted or free. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Paul Scheuring, 20th Century Fox Television, Adelstein-Parouse Productions, and Original Television in an original wrapping and unharmed.
I make no money, I mean no harm.

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"Hey, Sara!"

"Don't call me that," she snapped, but without real heat. It was wonderful how situation could change her point of view; four days and nights in his company and she simply couldn't hate him anymore. Because then she wouldn't have anyone even remotely on her side.

But that didn't mean she felt friendly towards him. She might need to remind herself sometimes, but it was still Theodore Bagwell on the other side of the thin makeshift fence between them - and thank God and their kidnappers for the thin fence, because without that, she was certain, she wouldn't need to remind herself of what he was capable of. He would take care of the reminding himself.

"Well, it is your name," he pointed out from his tiny cell. Tiny, if it was similar to her own - a confined space so small she could barely stretch her legs when sitting on the only not directly uncomfortable spot in there - which happened to be just at the fence separating them, made of two layers of wire netting on her side, a smelly blanket and - probably - another two layers of wire netting on the other side.

"I don't want you to call me that," she replied tiredly and closed her eyes. The fence shuddered as T-Bag shifted on the other side. Maybe if they tried enough, they could tear it down - but, then again, was it really what Sara wanted?

"Oh, what are you gonna do about that, Sara?" He tried to sound casually, but the frustration was clearly audible in his voice, and palpable in the way he taunted her. "Give me the finger?" She did, wordlessly, hitting the fence and holding her hand against it, using the fact that the only source of light in the room was on her side to her advantage. The message was received, by the wounded silence that poured from the other cell, and Sara was left to her thoughts.

That turned out to be a bad company. All she could think about was how she had been captured, on the street, just because she wasn't careful enough, and that Michael was in trouble because of her, and that she had no idea what these people wanted from her, except that they wanted her to stay.

God, she was beginning to think like him.

The silence stretched until their meals were brought by a dirty scrawny boy. He always smiled brightly when he pushed the plates into their respective cells, as if he were a waiter in a luxury hotel, and secured the double wire netting fence in what Sara decided to call the front of their cells, so they couldn't use the small hole to escape. He always left and brought them fresh water some time later, expecting to retrieve the plates. He never said a word - just smiled, big almond-shaped eyes bristling with happiness - Sara suspected he couldn't talk, and wasn't sure whether it made her sad because he wouldn't help them, or because he was so - in her opinion unnecessarily - limited.

She sat quietly with her meal - it was probably terrible, but she didn't care anymore. She was always famished when the meal arrived, to the point where she would eat practically anything, and all that interested her in the meal was the fact that it kept her alive. Feeling much more alert, Sara engaged in studying the wall opposite. That was a real wall, made of bricks and painted a colour that was indistinguishable from the colour of the dirt on the floor, and it was blessed with a leak, oh good grief, a real leak, which made it damp and allowed for several species of mould to flourish on in.

Sara shook her head. She probably should start talking to Bagwell, otherwise she would drive herself crazy. She would swear there was something moving at the base of the wall, just inches from her feet, and that was impossible, because...

She drew her legs to her abdomen and hugged her knees, letting out a frightened whimper.

"What's wrong, darlin'?"

"There's a rat in here," she answered, too distressed to notice the name he called her now. The rodent in question stopped sniffing around the wall and turned to her, rising on its hind legs. Sara pressed further into the fence.

"Good for you. It would serve as an excellent pudding," came the cheery reply from there.

"That's disgusting!"

"And very nourishing."

Sara stood up, plastered so close to the fence it bent into the other cell. The rat crept closer to Sara's plate and examined it. Sara escaped into the corner - it was just inches further from the little animal, but it was further nonetheless.

"If you don't want it, throw it here. I'll take it," T-Bag offered. He sounded amused.

"I'd have to touch it!"

"I'd love to help a damsel in distress, however, I'm in no position to do it now." When it didn't rouse any reply from Sara, T-Bag continued, "I could give it the finger."

"Shut UP, you SICK pervert!" Sara yelled, absolutely out of control. The rat squealed in terror and squeezed through a hole in the fence.

"Gotcha!" There was a moment of silence, in which Sara managed to force her breathing to slow down. Then T-Bag started to softly hum.

"What?" The humming grew louder. "Where is it?" Sara demanded.

"Did you know that rats taste like chicken?"

"That's disgusting. You're disgusting." Sara returned to her sitting spot, pushing the plate to the front of the fence with her foot. More than anytime she hoped the plate would get to be washed.

She settled down, looking around herself warily. T-Bag was, by the sound of it, sucking marrow from the rat's bones, making sure to express his utter contentment. A movement at the door caught Sara's eye. She cocked her head and cleared her throat.

"So... you caught the rat?" she asked lightly.

"Mmm." More slurping sounds.

"And killed it?"

"'s what I do. Kill the rat."

"So why is the rat currently sniffing around the door?" In the curious silence that followed the rat in question again stood up, turning its beady eyes from one prisoner to another, as if evaluating why they were watching it so intensively.

"That's a ghost," T-Bag finally explained.

"A ghost," Sara nodded. "Looks rather corporeal to me."

"It may be a zombie," T-Bag suggested.

"Oh - a little zombie rat, ready to suck out our brains. That's very reassuring." In spite of her statement and an ironic tone of voice, Sara felt more calm. It was, in a way, reassuring to know that something could escape T-Bag's murderous attempts.

"I've been known to have a calming effect on my companions."

"Permanently calming." Whatever T-Bag wanted to answer to this remained unspoken. The floor creeked, the rat fled, the door opened and the boy returned with fresh water and out-of-place smile. They waited quietly until his steps died down in the corridor outside the door. Sara started to laugh, at first just to herself, but soon the outbreak took over her and she slid to the floor, not even trying to suppress the hysterical fit.

"What's wrong with you?" T-Bag cried out, alarmed. "What... Sara?"

"Zombie... zombie..." Sara whimpered, clutching her side. "A zombie rat... aaah... coming for youuuuu..." She nearly howled with laughter, tried to sit up, keeled over and rolled on her back.

"Is it the full moon already? Because it sure sounds from here like you have turned into something wolfish." Sara kicked in the fence where she believed T-Bag sat on the other side and missed him. She couldn't catch her breath for long enough to deny that she was a werewolf; so, instead, she attempted to howl like one.

"I'm scared," T-Bag commented, trying to appear only lightly amused.

"And nourishing..."

He failed.

Sometimes they came - two men with black glasses and wearing suits - and brought a local paper for Sara to hold when they took a picture. That wasn't every day - as Sara could read the date before they asked her, very politely and only lightly touching grips of their handguns, to hand the paper over - rather three or four times a week, and it always made Sara feel better.

Because it meant Michael was out there - that he was free enough to be blackmailed - that he was alive.

"So any news?" T-Bag asked when they were alone again.

"Some ugly guy made it to the headlines. And it's Wednesday." Sara leant heavily backwards and looked at the ceiling. It was a boring ceiling, especially when it was the only alternative to watching the walls. She felt T-Bag pressing against her.

"Miss Pretty?"

"Beg your pardon?" Sara exclaimed, although as soon as she said it, she realised what he meant.

"You must miss him. I miss him myself."

"There go all your proclamations of not being gay."

"I'll have you know I'm as straight as any other!"

"... who happen to like men," Sara added, smiling to herself. She knew he wasn't really angry - there was a very distinct difference between a T-Bag faking being hurt and a really angry T-Bag,

"I only like some of them."

"Those who come accross your way?"

"Watch it, girl."

"Oh, I am watching whatever I can," Sara replied. The rat, now fondly dubbed Zombie, just entered. Sara kept an eye on it as it searched the floor, not really hysterical anymore, but cautious just in case.

"Not missing Pretty anymore?" T-Bag's voice gained a new undertone.

"What do you expect to hear?"

"Details of your sexual life," he suggested shamelessly.

"Nonexistent."

"With Pretty."

"Nonexistent," she insisted.

"Before now."

"There's really nothing to tell," Sara gave in. "We never really had time to do anything. Constant mortal peril, always on the run, you know it," she finished, unable to keep disappointment out of her voice. Frustrated, she flicked a bite she had saved for Zombie through the netting.

"A little stress makes wonders for one's libido."

"Speak for yourself. Besides, it was a lot of stress." Zombie hopped over to the food and picked it up. Sara threw it another bite, but she managed to hit the wire and had to bent forward to get it through.

"What... are you feeding her?" The fence gave in to Sara's weight, unsupported from the other side.

"How do you know it's a she?"

"She likes me."

"Does it?"

"She didn't bite me," explained. "Why do you feed her, though? There's barely enough food for one on that plate." Sara frowned. Her true motivation was to starve herself enough to skip her period - she really didn't even want to know how she would cope without a shower, a change of clothes and a lot of ice cream - but as much as she discussed mostly anything with her only human companion, she found this a little too personal a topic to share.

"I'm making friends with... with her."

"Ah, you think she could bring you a wire cutter, so you could escape, stun the guards, find Pretty, have sex with him and come back to tell me about it?" Sara suppressed an urge to laugh, intent on besting him.

"I'm also fattening her up." The shocked silence that ensued was absolutely satisfying.

"Driiiiiiive - push it down till the engine screams - driiiiiiive..." Two voices, both unable to carry a tune, echoed in the small room as Sara and T-Bag went through TV shows theme music. Their path through the gems of television production was haphazard and absolutely random, but what they lacked in skill, they made up with enthusiasm and volume. They missed the moment when the boy delivered the food and only noticed him when he was standing at the door, eyes wide open.

"What light through yonder window breaks? It is the East and Juliet is the sun!" T-Bag declared dramatically.

"Can't... what?" Sara exclaimed, completely unprepared for the quotation.

"Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out!"

"What?!" It took Sara only seconds to realise the connection - but that was enough for her mouth to babble, and T-Bag was more than happy to tease her.

"He jests at scars that never felt a wound," he said with a sigh. Sara was sure he rolled his eyes, too, but before she managed to string a sentence, he continued, "O dear account! my life is my foe's debt."

"Fitting," Sara commented.

"Give me my sin again!"

"Use your lips in prayer!"

"Ah, so you know the story. Okay, delivery boy, what do you have for us?" It took the boy, who had been watching them in awe, a couple of minutes to break the charm, give them the plates and leave, all the time looking from one to another expectantly.

"If he doesn't come back, it will be all your fault," Sara said when they were finally alone.

"You should have answered at once."

"That wasn't my cue. I'll drink your blood if I don't get water soon," she threatened.

"Must be the nicest proposal I ever received," replied dreamily. "But he'll come back. It's good to keep the guards amused. Trust the experienced prisoner."

"What other wisdom have you for us minions, oh experienced one?"

"Don't mock me."

"Was that a part of the wisdom or just an empty threat? Because I don't think I can tell the difference."

"That was a full threat. See, I told you he would come back." The boy just appeared, looking a little disappointed.

"We should finish the performance," T-Bag suggested as the boy went about his business.

"No way. I don't like how it ends." Sara drained a third of her supply of water and decided she felt much better.

"So they die. It's their own fault. Why doesn't Juliet leave with her husband? There's nothing to keep her home once she's married." Sara didn't say anything, finding nothing incorrect in the conclusion.

"Are you still there?" T-Bag asked after a period of silence.

"No, I moved to Tanzania."

"We don't need to go the all way, you know," he nearly begged, sounding desperate.

"Oh, I remember the last time a guy told me that," Sara laughed, rather bitterly. "He lied." He had also given her a scare. She had seriously thought she had been pregnant and her supposed boyfriend had decided it hadn't been his problem - she had been lucky, in the end, and that had been the moment he had come back to her.

The one and only time she had humiliated a boy at public. Sara licked her lips. She had sometimes felt guilty for that, but right then, sitting on a dirty floor locked up in a damp cell, it was a very good memory.

"Noticed something?"

"Mmm?" Sara answered lazily.

"The keyhole's dark."

"So?"

"There's usually a little light coming through, all the time. It's not there now." Sara turned and crawled to the front netting. She could see the keyhole and it was dark, but she couldn't remember ever seeing light coming from it. Maybe it was the angle - the keyhole was at the further side, opposite to the other cell.

"Can't tell." She settled back down.

"Reckon it's our delivery boy standing just behind the door?" Sara considered it. Then, at the same time, they started again.

"Driiiiiiive - push it down till the engine screams..."

The men came during a rare moment of silence. Sara half rose when she realised they were there to see T-Bag.

Opened his cell, too, and went inside. Sara closed her eyes to concentrate on whatever she could hear - not that she could do anything, but she was still curious.

From the almost regular mugshots they took of her, it was pretty clear what they wanted her for - as a lever to move Michael, and so far the lever seemed to work. But all that T-Bag knew about his purpose was that they had pulled him out of Sona and asked him for a "favour" and in a heated moment, still remembering painfully they had left him in Sona earlier, he had declined before they had gotten to the nature of said favour.

Since then, they hadn't as much as talked to him - if it hadn't been for the food brought to him, he might have been forgotten.

No voices sounded from the other side of the fence, just rustling of paper. A soft half-muted whimper.

Sara frowned.

"I'm afraid she decided to try and give the children a chance to escape," one of them said casually. "In vain." There was a short, deadly silence.

Sara closed her eyes in fear.

A struggle followed, and a gun went of - at which moment it was Sara who let out a whimper - and the silence came again.

When Sara opened her eyes, T-Bag was standing before her cell. The front of his shirt was soaked with blood, he was gripping a gun and had a wild look about his eyes.

"Stay right there," he whispered, "I'll come back for you." And before Sara could say anything - before she could as much as stand up or take a breath - he was running up the stairs. She could hear more deadly silence through the open door, more gunfire. She scrambled to her feet, not certain whether she wanted to run after him or hide, rooted to the spot by fear, feeling helpless and frightened.

Steps sounded on the stairs. Sara backed to the wall.

"Teddy?"

She couldn't see the door now, only hear the steps enter the next cell, hear someone shifting something - that could only be dead bodies - shifting, turning on the floor.

The world crumbled. Or, T-Bag pulled down the netting, destroying the confined false world they had been sharing. He seemed to have calmed down, but something wild still remained in his eyes. The blanket had fallen on the corpses, and Sara was heartily thankful for that, because she didn't think she could handle seeing them.

"What happened?" she asked hoarsely, still unable to move.

"They killed... someone I... knew."

She decided to try and give the children a chance...

"You got all of them?" The hardness in her voice surprised her. It didn't surprise T-Bag, however, who didn't seem to actually care.

"One zombie. And the boy is somewhere hiding." Which, Sara thought, meant he didn't include the boy in the crowd - he didn't mean to kill him as well. She felt relieved.

"Come." He turned, not waiting for her reply, and Sara followed him upstairs. They appeared to be in a small house with tiny dirty windows that only allowed a limited amount of light to shine through. There was another body on the floor - T-Bag stepped over it and Sara had to swallow and not look - and smeared blood on the floor hinting yet another body was behind the kitchen counter.

It was a good thing they had crammed a kitchen counter in there.

There was also a shabby closet that seemed to be shaking. The boy, Sara realised, was probably hiding in it, trembling with fear. T-Bag tapped something on the table and Sara came closer to have a look.

An unfinished letter - it wasn't clear what it was about, but it was more than clear who was supposed to receive it, and Sara's heart started beating a little faster.

"Guess our little delivery boy takes these deliveries as well." Sara cautiously opened the closet, revealing the boy sitting inside. He was hugging his knees and he looked up at her with teary eyes.

"Don't be frightened," Sara said softly. T-Bag turned away. Sara reached out to stroke the boy's arm, but he flinched from her. She shushed him, bracing herself, struggling to keep it together and not to scream at him like mad.

"We won't hurt you," she continued in the most persuasive tone she could muster. Funny how situation had changed her point of view - we. "I'm Sara. But you know that, don't you?" She leaned forward to see his face and he tried to squeeze through the back side of the closet. "What's your name?" He didn't answer.

"Here, let me." T-Bag pushed her aside and knelt practically in the closet. The boy whimpered. T-Bag looked at him.

"Now, there's no need for that," T-Bag said matter-of-factly. "Nothing bad happens to you, promise." The boy, understandably, didn't look convinced. "The lady already told you her name, so it's your turn, boy. What's your name?" The boy choked, sobbed, then forced out two syllables, choked again and started chanting what could only be his name.

"Pablo?" Sara guessed.

"Is that so? Pablo?" T-Bag looked the boy straight in the eye. For the first time, Sara saw what must have been the source of T-Bag's power back in Fox River - there was no saying no to that hard, demanding stare, and Pablo nodded, looking much calmer than moments ago.

"Come here, Pablo." The boy didn't question the command. Whether it was what he was used to - following commands, and the familiarity made him feel comfortable - or whether this was another extension of T-Bag's personality, Sara couldn't tell, but Pablo climbed out of the closet and let T-Bag steer him to the table.

Sara didn't stand up, just turned to watch.

"D'you know the people the letter's for?" Pablo shrugged. "Do you know where they are?" Pablo nodded. "Can you show us?" At this he hesitated, but nodded again. "Let's go then," T-Bag said, pleased with himself.

It was rapidly getting dark. T-Bag kept hold of Pablo's elbow and Sara trailed behind them. They crossed the small garden, stepped over a half ruined wall and headed for a forest. It started to rain, large warm drops of water, and Sara couldn't resist. She stopped and tilted her head backwards, catching the raindrops in her mouth, attempting to wash her hair with it - they had been locked up for more than a month and the fresh air made her feel incredibly dirty - the rain grew thicker and washed away all of it.

"Sara!" She looked around herself with a start. She had fallen behind, T-Bag and Pablo were already at the first trees. And there were lights on the road.

She sprinted to them. A car had just pulled over before the house they had left. A man jumped out, ran to the front door and shouted something at the others.

"They're after us. Come, quick." T-Bag pushed Pablo into the forest, grabbed Sara by the elbow and dragged her along the first few steps, just in time before they got out reflectors and started scanning the land between the house and the forest. There was an uproar - had they been seen?

"Move!" T-Bag cried.

They ran, blindly, Pablo in the lead, following an invisible path that twisted among the thick bushes. The heavy rain covered everything - whatever trace they might be leaving behind them just as well as whatever sound their pursuers might be making - the darkness made everything else seem unreal.

Sara though they would run to the end of the time, when Pablo came to a sudden stop. T-Bag narrowly avoided the boy, only to be hit from behind by Sara who slipped on the wet grass. Pablo was pointing to a darker shadow in the darkness. A shadow in a shape of a shed or a very small house - the windows, if there were windows, were dark, and if there were a door, it had to be where a thin line of light seemed to escape just above the ground.

"So," T-Bag mumbled, examining the landscape, which seemed to be the very edge of a town. "Hey!" he exclaimed, but Pablo was already gone, successfully hidden in the forest. With a sigh, he turned to Sara.

"So," he repeated, but it had a different sound to it. "Hope you don't expect me to stay for a cuppa, 'cause Pretty might not like it." Sara laughed and looked at him, lost for words.

With a quick movement, he drew her into his arms. Close enough to see each other even in the dark.

"Tell Pretty that I..." A short pause, and then he kissed her - a rough, demanding kiss - a desparate attempt to express all at the same time - and it was nothing like kissing Michael, Sara knew, there was no love and certainly no fireworks - but it didn't feel wrong either - in fact, it felt hot, to feel all the anger and arrogance concentrated on her - to be demanded - and at the slightest touch of T-Bag's tongue, her lips practically jumped apart.

There were no fireworks, no, instead everything seemed darker, and Sara closed her eyes, because with closed eyes, the darkness was less scary and more natural.

"Tell Pretty that he owes me," T-Bag said hoarsely, and before Sara caught her breath, she was alone with the rain.

She ran over the wet road, skipped over several bedflowers she hadn't noticed from the distance and burst through the door. Two faces and a gun turned to her - then two jaws and a gun fell as she was recognised.

"We have to move," she said instead of a greeting. Efficiently and without questions, they obeyed, and it wasn't until twenty minutes later, in the car, Lincoln behind the wheel, when Michael took a hold on her arm and drew her into an embrace.

He kissed her, lightly at first, as if he didn't believe it was really her, then with all the passion - and it was there, the love, the fireworks, the feelings - it just wasn't enough.

Sara let her head fall on Michael's shoulder, as if tired. Only half-listening to his whispered words of endearmount, she realised, with a growing despair, that Michael didn't owe T-Bag anything, certainly not for bringing Sara back, because he hadn't brought her back, not whole, because in that one solitary kiss T-Bag had stolen her very soul from her, and disappearing among the trees, carried it away into the darkness.