Roaming around the Christina Rose, waiting to hear from his missing brother, he has to wonder how the situation got reversed to such an extreme. He's always been the unreliable one. The con artist, the cheater, the crook, the one who vanished into thin air without notice or goodbyes. His little brother was all brains and cautiousness, too delicate for his brutal world. He tried to shelter him and by all accounts, failed miserably. He couldn't imagine how much until he saw the blue patterns adorning his body. Michael was so out of place in Fox River it would have been laughable if it wasn't so tragically real.
That first time he showed him his tattoos might be the moment things started to shift. Michael had obviously lost his mind; it was his turn to show some discernment. To be the dependable older brother again, for the first time since their youth.
Vee used to tease him senseless about his lack of clairvoyance. She could always tell when the gift he offered her had been stolen, gambled or bought from a dubious fellow. She knew before they were even fully formed when his plans would fall down. He used to think she was gifted with a second-sight that only applied to him. She would say with a tender smile, "You never think things through." And he didn't. He didn't figure out what he would lose when he first hooked up with Lisa Rix. He never considered that the hit in the parking lot might be a trap.
But sitting in an electric chair, waiting to have your brain fried tends to change your perspective on life. The look of utter misery in his brother's eyes, the despair in Veronica's are burnt into his mind for the rest of his days, and when he didn't die that day, he resolved to change his ways. To be everything he's never been, cautious, circumspect and careful. Prudent.
What he never expected is that his newfound prudence would paralyse him, oppose him to his brother and his rescuing nature. Antagonizing them so completely that Michael would rather run away without a word than let him in on his plan. And rightfully so, because he would have beaten him into unconsciousness if that was the only way to stop him. He would rather have his brother alive and tormented by his guilt than let him attempt another outrageous rescue operation.
But Michael ran away and there's not a thing he can do about it but wait. He's out there risking his life again and not thinking things through; blinded by that visceral urge to help that Lincoln cannot begin to understand. Not now they're almost there.
He couldn't help Vee when she faced a bunch of armed mercenaries. He couldn't stop his brother from throwing himself into the lion's den once more. And it's killing him, as surely as the memory of the unshed tears in both their eyes as he walked to the chair.
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When he's called to the witness stand, he's ready to tell his life story for the first time. Everything he couldn't say to his sister, he tells the court, loud and clear. It's only later, when he goes back to sit behind Sara, that he'll realise he has left out everything that truly mattered.
He explains expansively, with fastidious details, the truth behind Vice-President Reynolds' agreeable smile, but wouldn't dream to say out loud why he still refers to her as Vice-President. When she became President, Caroline pushed him away from her inner circle, before erasing him completely, and it's the worst rejection he has ever suffered. He could never admit publicly that there was a lot of truth in Terrence Steadman's derisive words about him and his delusions.
He doesn't begin to explain how his sense of what was true and what was Right became so intricately mixed up with Caroline and what she expected from him. He did what he did because to him, she became the very idea of Country and Loyalty. He never questioned what she asked him to do, the fairness or righteousness of her orders, he only executed them like a good soldier.
During his testimony, he manages to catch Sara's eyes only once, when he admits that he had orders to kill her. Her soft features express a mix of horror and relief, and it suits her well. He looks back at her with a pleasant smile, and doesn't say that in that Church, the first time they met, she reminded him a lot of a younger Caroline. She had the same sharp, unapologetic way to tell him off, the same penetrating glare that never failed to turn him on. Today, in court, he sees something new in her glare, and he knows without a doubt that she understands what he's trying to do.
When the public prosecutor announces her intention to go after him, he's far from surprised. He puts on his fake, professional smile and lets the guard handcuff him. He knows he's going to die for what he just did, that the Company would never let that pass, but can't bring himself to mind. Being shot in the head by his former allies is, all in all, a more suiting death than a dishonourable suicide. If his values and perceptions were undoubtedly twisted, at least he had a chance to bring back a little justice in the mess he has done. Justice in its most religious sense, giving others what is due to them. He's giving back what was never his to take, her life, if it means he has to give his.
He's infinitely pleased when Sara turns to him before he's taken away, and tells him she doesn't know what to say. He's perceptive enough to know that it's her way to say 'Thank you', humbly and truthfully, although it doesn't erase a thing. Caroline didn't thank him once. He wouldn't give his life for Caroline's. Not anymore.
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She tries to ring him, once, twice, three times, and each unanswered dial tone sends a new pang of worry to her gut. It could either mean a good thing or a very, very bad thing. She doubts he has heard the news of his brother's exoneration yet and she longs to hear the relief and pure happiness in his voice when she tells him.
After they've escaped the crowd of reporters, she agrees to let Bruce arrange for him to get a skilful counsel. It's been a long time since she last wore a formal suit and high heels, and she tramples uncomfortably behind him toward his car. That's when her attorney jogs back to them, grabs her elbow and murmurs in her ear, "Let's celebrate."
In her former life, celebrating meant getting admirably drunk on expensive bourbon. It couldn't be that long ago, because the memory of the bitter sweet sting is so vivid she suddenly has to swallow the aftertaste. She can almost hear the clinking sound of ice cubes.
She doesn't reply immediately and hates herself for it, because hesitation is, in itself, a little defeat. She's salivating, she realises. Her body's humming. It's the first time in three years the craving is so intense, stronger than it felt the night of the escape, when she last gave in.
Temperance was never her strong suit, but she thinks she might have earned the right to give herself a break. Have a drink, maybe two. Celebratory drinks.
She would be sitting on a fancy bar stool, balancing her high-heeled foot idly. Her elegant suit would feel a little too tight, and after a couple of drinks, she'd laugh good-naturedly at her counsel's witty jokes. The taste would soften with the second glass; the warmth would expand, relaxing every muscle, slowing her racing mind.
He'd ask her if she ever considered letting go, now that she's out of the woods, so to speak. She could start over, in Chicago or elsewhere, some place new where people didn't care that she was Frank Tancredi's disgraced daughter. For the first time since she jumped bail to run to him in New Mexico, it was, after all, a tangible possibility. A not-entirely unpleasant possibility. For a moment, she would forget that Michael was still running for his life, somewhere, worried sick about her. Alcohol, like morphine, has that amazing power.
But it would never be one drink, or even two. The thirst would only grow stronger with every sip, the need to feel her senses blur would overtake her, until she would feel nothing but warmth and the urge for more, negating three years of struggle and weeks of fighting side by side with the brothers against something bigger than the three of them together. Spoiling both victories in one self-indulgent, destructive impulse.
She shakes away the thought as she remembers the saying, 'like mother, like daughter'. She disappointed his father many times. Michael, only once, and it's more than enough.
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If he had time to think this matter through any other prism than the urgent pragmatism it required, he would probably wonder how the man he once was found himself kneeling in the darkness with a woman in tears, surrounded by a crowd of Panamanian policemen.
With his expensive suits and high profile office, his spacious, tastefully decorated condo, he used to look down with disdain on his brother's antics. He once was a man who attended exclusive dinner parties and the occasional vernissage. He associated with equally successful bachelors, dated gorgeous women with a taste for luxury and carefully hid his scanty upbringing. Back then, he lived in the blissfull ignorance that the brother he was so ashamed of was the one who had predestined him to a wealthy, easy life.
If his former self had been asked to define himself in a few words, courage would certainly not have been one of them. Successful. Intelligent. Skilled. But not brave.
Nothing could have prepared him to be in a situation where he has to choose between the woman he loves' freedom and his own, and after everything they've been through together, it feels both surreal and oddly appropriate. His brother gave up his liberty for his benefit, in his own way, secretly, silently. So has Sara, in more ways than one. He put his own in the balance without ever considering it might be a permanent forfeit, because he couldn't contemplate failing to save Lincoln's life.
Fox River has changed him more than he could have ever imagined. All the crimes he witnessed have damaged his values, attenuated the sense of purpose that brought him there, but what he has lost in virtuousness, he gained in fortitude. If he had been the one with a gun at arm-distance, he would have shot the man himself without thinking twice. Not for his own safety, for Lincoln's and Sara's. They are both innocent, because all the blood that was spilled belongs to him and him alone.
His new found bravey orders him to face his sins and he knows, in that moment, that he could never live in peace without paying for them. He tells her everything is going to be okay, and he means it, because he needs to reciprocate every sacrifice that was made in his name and his brother's in order to get rid of his own burden.
The decision is surprisingly easy to take, as is the one to not tell her what he's about to do. He knows she wouldn't let him, wouldn't understand that it is not only a practical necessity, but a way to earn back a little of what he has lost.
He smiles to himself at the thought of feeding himself to the lions and its adequacy. He'll take on her crime in all honesty, because it's his. He kisses her urgently before raising the gun to her head, grabbing her delicate neck, because it's the only way to set them free.