Her eyes glisten at the sight of him in front of her, nails digging into the palm of her hands, resisting the urge to spring into his arms. She summons all her self-restraint to wait until he passes through the last gate to freedom, to her eager embrace.
She takes a deep breath, pushing her auburn hair behind her ears, a nervous habit she never could get rid of, before bringing her hands to her mouth. The coolness of his ring she'd never taken off tingling her lips, leaving her with a taste of the life she is now free to live. No more threats, no more danger. A second chance. Or rather a third.
This was their time.
He slowly makes his way towards her, glancing back at his brother and best friend several times, as they nod in assurance.
She notices that his hair is a bit more grey than she remembers. But the same cerulean eyes bore into her, as if begging for answers to questions she doesn't yet have. She remembers that was the first thing she noticed about him when he first stepped foot into the infirmary. It wasn't the tattoos covering every inch of his body, a sprawling display of intricate designs and clues, nor was it the effortless charm that seemed to radiate from him. It was his eyes. How they seemed to penetrate through every defense she attempted to put up against him, reaching right to her core, worming their way into her heart.
A small grin appears on her face at the memory. The quote he spouted off to her, the instant connection she felt, all a calculated plan to get to know her. But she knew better now. She knows that what had once started out as a mark, someone to study and get close to, had turned into so much more. And although the tattoos have long since been removed, she can still feel the sensation of her finger tracing the ink up down his veined arms, the soft whisper of his voice pleading for her to wait for him, speaking of a future she was sure would never be.
She closes her eyes at the thought, the idea of a normal life having been nothing but a pipe dream for so long. The grief washes over her like it had been just yesterday that she had been forced to say goodbye. The daily reminder of their bond in the form of the young child that asked endless questions, held a wisdom of someone twice his age, and revered his father like the hero that he was.
When she glances up, he's there, right in front her, a quizzical look on his face. But she pays no mind as she throws her arms around his neck, burying her face in his neck. Her fingers find themselves sweeping over his short hair, her tears soaking through his dirty shirt.
She doesn't notice that his hands hang by his side before hesitantly lifting and gently wrapping around her back at a safe distance. The warmth of his body more comforting to her than his lack of affection.
Pulling back, leaning in for a kiss, he pulls away with a "Whoa" escaping, just as a frown appears on her face.
"What's wrong?" she questions, not understanding, fully, what's transpiring in front of her.
"There's uhh, something you should know…," Lincoln starts, and she glances back at him before quickly flicking her attention back to Michael.
"I'm Michael, by the way," he says with a cheeky grin, as if she didn't know who he was. "And you are…?"
Her eyes go wide, the realization of what the price was for this freedom, this chance at a new life, a cure for the incurable.
xxxxxx
I'm so ridiculously excited for the revival that I decided to do my own little take on what I thought Michael and Sara's reunion would look like. It's my first time writing this pairing, so it's pretty short, but it was fun. I hope you all enjoy!