A/N : This is a story I came up with when I was lying in my bed the other night. I decided to write it and see what you guys thought about whether or not I should continue...So could you pleaaaaase pleaaaase tell me if I should stop or keep on going?

Now, I think I messed with the timeline a little : The Utah-business happened before they met up with Nika and Michael called Sara. And Sucre took the right bag - so he took the money. And he split it with the brothers. Now, that leaves a very very angry T-bag, don't you think?

XO

Please tell me if you like it??


Michael rested his head against the cold window of the car, thinking back to her venomenous words, spit out as if she wanted nothing more than to make them and him disappear into the blackness. "I have no ties to you and your brother anymore."

"She'll come around," he heard Lincoln say to him.

Turning his head to look at his brother, he raised his eyebrow. "What?"

"Sara." Lincoln took a breath and beat his fingers onto the wheel. "I know it seems now as if she's...I don't know. But she'll come around."

"Yeah, well..." Michael sat up straight and traced his finger along the less-than-quality fabric of the seat he was in. They'd just been betrayed by his 'wife', and were running once again. He sighed. "I wouldn't blame her if she didn't."

His brother rolled his eyes. "Michael, is this how I raised you? Never give up the fight for love. Never. Make them love you." Michael opened his mouth to protest, but Lincoln continued, without mercy for poor little Mike. "I don't want to hear any 'but's, Michael. I've seen the look in your eyes when you talk about her and really, I've seen the look in her eyes too."

Michael laughed sceptically. "Oh yeah, and when exactly was that?"

"When I told her to take care of you before the execution and when she stood there watching. Michael, she..."

He ran his hand over his face. "That was before I betrayed her."

"So she's pissed – yeah? I mean, I can't blame her..."

Michael huffed. "Yeah, thanks Linc."

"...but that's anger, Mike. Anger doesn't have anything to do with love. People are angry all the time. But if you show her that it's real – not just say it, but proove it to her...she still loves you. That doesn't change overnight."

He prayed his brother was right. With all his might.

-

Sara sat behind the wheel and watched her windshield, tainted with millions of raindrops. The rain reminded her of Michael. Then again, everything did, nowadays.

She just hoped he wasn't out in this type of weather.

The fact that he'd called her had meant something, right? It meant that he at least cared wether she lived or died. Always a good sign. She didn't know how the news had reached him, she hoped it wasn't through some bastard or the other, but the mere action – the simple call he had placed to see if she was alright...

It had meant everything.

"It was real, Sara. You and me, it's real."

His voice had sounded...pained. Fragile. True.

She knew it was real, she believed the meaning behind those simple words. But she was angry. She was upset. Both at him and at herself. At him, for the obvious reasons – and at herself, for still...loving him. Loving him so much it hurt inside.

On her stereo, a woman was singing the blues, needing her man to put some sugar in her bowl. Sara sighed. She just needed Michael.

And he was miles away, wrapped up in some terrible conspiracy, constantly fighting for his life. Needless to say, Sara hadn't had a good night's sleep in ages, tossing and turning while worrying about him.

She shook her head and told her subconscious to get over it – it was the price you pay for love. The lying, the cheating...she hadn't ordered it – but it was on the check anyway. Her auburn hair clung wet to her face when she ran the short distance from her car to her appartement. To make matters even worse, she dropped her keys. Bending over to pick them up, she stumbled because of an unseen force. The next thing she knew – there was blackness.

-

The shrill ringing of the cellphone brought Michael out of his reverie. His shaking fingers opened up the newly arrived message.

I'm calling you soon. Pick up, Papi.

Sucre. Michael stared at the small screen, immediately worrying about his friend. He knew that Sucre would never contact him unless it was something really important, so... let's just say Michael was all tied up in knots.

Lincoln shot a glance at him out of the corner of his eye. "What's wrong?"

"It's er – It's Sucre. I think he's in trouble."

The cellphone rang, and Michael immediately put the phone to his ear. "Sucre, what's wrong?"

"Hellooo, Pretty."

"T-Bag? Where's Sucre." He heard a shrill laugh, that rang in his ears for seconds to come.

"No worries...Your little Mexican is fiiine. But I was wondering...how – how was my slave-language? Should I update? It's been a while."

Michael frowned. "The message...it was you."

"Well done, well done. I aalways knew you were the one with the brains. I was just.."he laughed, "calling you with an invitation for this little game I made up. Do you want to play, Pretty?"

He snorted. "No."

He heard T-bag sigh. "Now, Pretty, don't – don't judge the game before I told you how it goes. I think you'll be ve-ry interested. The game is called 'four'." T-bag paused for a dramatic effect before continuing. Michael could hardly wait.

"I – I'm going to tell you a little story, and every little keyword is going to have four letters. Now, once upon a time, there was a good, good, boy. God loved him. The little boy's name was T-bag. T B A G. That's four letters, you see? Now, T-bag was in jail. J A I L. And there he met another little boy. A smart, pretty little boy. Let's call him Mike. M I K E. Little Mike was in love with a pretty woman. S A R A."

Michael smacked his palm flat against the dashboard. "T-bag, what the hell did you do to her? I swear to God, that I will make you pay." Lincoln snapped his head around and stared at his little brother, seeing the rage pour out of him.

"Pretty, I strongly advise you to keep quiet until the story is finished. I'll continue now – but if you interrupt me one more time, then your little doctor won't be around to hear the ending. Am I clear?"

Michael nodded. "Go on." He sighed.

"I thank you. Little Mike had stolen T-Bag's cash in Utah, and little T-Bag wanted it back. He gave Michael FOUR hours to bring it, or else he would pump, pump and pump and make pretty Sara scream so loud that God himself would get a private concerto. Pretty Sara would scream so loud, and he would let her – little T-bag would let her scream four times. One little scream more, and he would slit her pretty, milky-white throat. S L I T. Now, pretty – would you like to play?"

His nails had dug so hard into his flesh that small little bloodringlets had appeared in the palm of his hand. "I don't have the money, T-bag. Sucre took it all, remember?"

T-bag laughed. "I know that that's the story you want us all to believe. But I ain't buying, sweetheart. You and that Mexican slave-boy were like two multi-colored peas in a pod."

"Sucre was Puerto Rican."

"See if I care. You have that money, pretty. And if you don't – then you got four hours to find it.Tick tock."

"I want to speak to her. I want to speak to Sara, now."

"I figured. That's exactly the reason why I waited for her to be...conscious, again. You have four minutes."

Hearing mumbling and rummaging on the other side, Michael closed his eyes, imaging where they must be, how Sara must be feeling. And guilt. An immense ammount of guilt washed over him. If only he had...

"Michael?" She breathed in to phone, her voice scared, but stable. Michael snapped his eyes open again. It was really her.

"Sara...Are you okay?" His own voice was calm, but inside of him a storm of feelings was raging. Fear, anger and most importantly – love. But he needed to keep it together – for Sara.

She gave a small laugh. "Not quite.I'm er – I'm..." I'm scared, he heard her continue in his thoughts.

"I know," he said, tracing a pattern on the window. "I know. I'm so sorry, Sara. I never meant to –"

"It's not your fault, okay. Listen, Michael," she inhaled sharply, "about before...I know, okay. It was real, I know."

He gave a weak smile. "It still is. Sara, I promise that I'll get to you somehow. I promise, okay? I'm on my way."

"Yeah. Michael, I-" Suddenly, the phone was ripped away from her face and T-Bag spoke up again. "The clock is ticking, Pretty. I'll be in touch."

The dialtone resounded in Michael's ear and he snapped his own phone shut and wiped away the small tear that was forming in his eye. "Lincoln – we've gotta go back." He sighed. "We've gotta go back, Linc."

His brother nodded and turned the car around.


So? To continue, or not to continue?

XO