The bright morning sun shines through the gap between the curtains, casting a strip of white light across Michael's tattooed chest. You stretch out your arm and gently trace the intricate patterns with the tip of your finger. Even though you have seen his tattoo countless times, you still find it intriguing and love to examine the intertwining lines.
Glancing over Michael's sleeping form, you read the red numbers on the clock next to the bed. You close your eyes - you don't need to get up for another hour - however you can't relax as your mind is buzzing with thoughts.
Carefully, you climb out of bed and throw on a crumpled shirt of Michael's. The material is soft against your skin making you appreciate his love for expensive clothes. Once you have finished fastening all the buttons, you slip out of the bedroom and pad down the hall to the kitchen.
You distractedly pour yourself a glass of orange juice - accidentally spilling some on the counter top - and grab a bagel from the selection in the cupboard. As you begin to munch your breakfast, memories from the previous night flood your mind.
The waiter fixes you with a stare that is as curious as his tone as he repeats your name in disbelief. A million different ways to reply fly through your head, but you stick with your patent smile that says, "Yes, I am related to him. Now can we move on?"
The waiter nods and immediately leads you to a table even though there was a line of people waiting to be seated in front of you. As the waiter walks away to get the drink you ordered, you can't help but wish that you had a last name like Jones.
The bagel in you mouth tastes sour. You have always hated how people treat you differently all because of your name. You elder sister always loved having the last name Tancredi. She loved how people would be friendlier and more helpful just because she was the daughter of Frontier Justice Frank. But you always hated it. Then again, you muse, she always was the polar opposite of you. With model looks and a sing-song voice, it was natural that she wanted to grow up to be a wealthy man's wife. You, on the other hand, look like your mother.
By the time Michael arrives, you have raked your fingers through your deep red hair three times, smoothed out your dress five times, and yet still believe you look like a mess. But your doubts are put to rest when the first thing that comes out of Michael's word is; "You look beautiful." He then swiftly places a kiss on your forehead before sliding into the seat opposite you. As you smile at him across the table, you can't help but think that he looks beautiful too.
Michael shuffles into the kitchen - dressed only in a pair of boxers - and wanders directly towards the kettle. He yawns "hello" at you before clicking the kettle on and locating the jar of coffee. As the hissing noise of the kettle fills the room, you stare at Michael who is now pulling a mug out of the dishwasher. You can't help but think that his tattoo gives off the impression that he is permanently wearing a navy top. That is until your eyes catch on the fading pink scar on his back. The skin has healed over smoothly and the tattoo has begun to reappear around the edges of the burn. A slight smile of doctorly pride tugs at your lips.
"So," Michael mumbles between mouthfuls of steak. "How's work going? You haven't said anything about it all week."
You swallow down some wine; the warm feeling it creates pooling in your stomach.
"Work is the same as it was last week."
Michael looks at you for a moment with an expression that makes you think he is going to launch into a speech. Instead he surprises you by just saying, "I think you're a good doctor."
You shake your head and tell Michael to just eat his food.
It has felt like years since you were a good doctor. You currently help at a free clinic not far from where you live. The conditions there are as good as they were at Fox River.The patients are just as nice too.
The main difference is that the clinic won't let you deal out any drugs. Plus there aren't any cute inmates to fall in love with either.
As Michael sits down next to you, he brushes his lips against your cheek. You feel warmth rise in your face from the contact and you know that your porcelain skin will now be stained pink.
You are both giggling as you stumble out of the restaurant. While neither of you have drunk much, you feel high just from being in Michael's presence. You are so busy retelling him a story that you nearly miss the fact that he is no longer laughing. You pause mid-step and turn to face him. Your eyes lock with his clouded ones. The deepness of his stare causes your breath to hitch in your throat before leaving your body in a gush.
Gently he places his hands on your cheeks. He draws your lips towards his, then whispers, "I love you, Sara Scofield" before your lips connect.
Michael sets down his coffee and looks at you for a long second. "Are you okay?"
You look down at the ring on your finger and smile. "I'm fine," you reply. "Absolutely fine."