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The cost of an alternative that must be forgone in order to pursue a certain action.

Opportunity Cost

She wasn't sure what it was about him. His air of secrecy, mystery, maybe. The intense look in his blue eyes when she caught him looking at her, or the half smile half smirks that seemed to always grace his lips. There was something Sara couldn't quite put her finger on about Michael Scofield, yet it completely captured her attention all the same.

She tried convincing herself it was her professional curiosity and investigative instincts to try helping him and protecting him against further injury. But the woman she'd suppressed for so long inside her told a different story. That woman knew it was the way he smelled when she leaned into him to administer his insulin shot that kept Sara awake at night. It was his cryptic remarks and his out of place genteel and quiet attitude. She knew she wouldn't sleep easily until she had some answers about him.

Sara sighed as she looked out the window onto the yard. The prisoners had just come in from rec, and it would be time for her rounds soon. To keep herself busy, Sara left her office and checked the prisoners bedridden in the infirmary. Ignoring a few snide remarks and rewarding a few polite comments with a smile, Sara did her duty and returned to the safety of her office. Only moments later was there a knock on her door. She motioned for the guard to enter, and he opened the door, steering Michael into the room. Sara did her best not to sigh in relief.

Michael knew the drill; he perched himself upon the crispy papered seat and watched her with that intense blue-grey stare as she readied his shot. He surprised her by initiating conversation.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Tancredi."

She smiled back at him politely, "Hello Michael. How are you today?"

"As good as can be expected from an eight and two half toed man." He joked sarcastically, and Sara surprised them both by laughing. She sat on her stool next to him, taking his arm. His skin was hot, it burned her through her latex gloves, and the tattoos on his arms were mesmerizing. Michael noticed her hesitation. He noticed everything.

"Something wrong, doctor?"

She glanced up at him, "Nothing at all." Then, deciding answers and embarrassment were better than no answers at all, "I was just admiring your tattoos. What do they mean?"

Michael was quiet for a moment, contemplating as he stared down at her. "It's a maze." He smirked. "It's life."

Sara tried reading his eyes, was he telling the truth? But she got nothing from him. No indication of lies or truths. She finally gave him his insulin and checked his vitals, holding her breath unconsciously when she leaned in to shine her pen light in his dazzlingly colored eyes. Michael smiled that knowing half smile that made her wonder if he couldn't read her thoughts.

She grew somber as she chided herself for getting worked up over a convict. But she contradicted that inner voice with the fact that Michael was different. She didn't know how or why, but he just didn't belong here, with these other convicts. He was no criminal. It was ludicrous for her to make such a statement, yet she realized she would back it up with all she had. There was an innocence in him that was so new to her. She'd seen it briefly around his brother, Lincoln, but it was so much clearer with Michael. He was so grounded, so intelligent. And, at his very center, so…good.

"Doc?" He interrupted her thoughts with a laugh at her flakiness today. She smiled sheepishly. "Didn't sleep very well last night?" Michael asked in a low, insinuating tone, leaning forward subtly. Sara narrowed her eyes at him in consideration. She pulled her stool a bit closer to him and took his wrist, pretending to count his pulse, though she only wanted to see closer into his eyes.

"No. In fact I haven't been sleeping well for the past couple weeks." Sara admitted, mildly horrified at herself for the confession. It had been that long since Michael had come to Fox River.

Michael grinned. It wasn't a smirk or a mysterious turn of the corners of his mouth, but a toothy grin. It was beautiful. Sara instinctively smiled upon seeing it, then immediately cursed herself for allowing herself to pursue this stupid infatuation with a patient. With a convict.

She let go of his wrist, but he reached out and took her hand. Sara's eyes widened momentarily, then snapped up to his. There was something raw there, that hadn't been there before. A plea, a desperation, gratitude, sadness and determination were all clear as day to her. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but had a second thought, and closed it again. In a flash it was all gone, he released her and looked away. She gasped and slammed her hands on either side of him on the crinkly paper.

"No, Michael!" Then, softer, "Tell me, please."

He looked at her in utter surprise. Then Michael grew solemn.

"You wouldn't like what I have to say." He warned cryptically. Which only made her desire to know everything about him all the more intense.

"Try me." Sara challenged in that fierce way of hers, hands still on the seat on either side of him so that she was leaning dangerously close into his personal space. Michael was painfully aware of their proximity, and it had sent his body into a reaction he wasn't quite prepared for. His heart pounded rapidly, sweat prickled on his brow, and his whole body tightened tensely.

As soon as the words left her mouth, Michael knew what he was going to do. He also knew it was a terrible, terrible idea. He knew he'd be crossing that thin, thin line that separated the plan from something much more. He knew it would break their hearts even more when he had to leave. But that didn't stop him from leaning quickly into her, pressing his lips over hers. She would've jumped back in surprise, an instinctive reaction coming from years of working with inmates, but Michael already had one arm wrapped around her waist gently, the other hand on her cheek.

It took only a fraction of a second, such a short time it surprised him, for Sara to relax in his arms. All her professionalism, years of training, years of fear of her patients melted away. She was blissfully unaware of her entire surroundings, her entire life, but for Michael. Her lips parted further with his next kiss, and she balled her fists in his blue government-issue shirt, pulling him harder to her.

He pulled away gently, moving to kiss her cheek and her ear. She trembled in his arms, the explosion of emotions inside her racked her small frame. Michael held her tighter, whispering apologies in her ear. What he was sorry for, Michael couldn't say. Maybe it was for lying to her, maybe it was for kissing her so suddenly and making her break her cherished rules, but in any case, he knew she would refute his apology.

"Please don't be sorry." She whispered back. "I'm not."

She felt him smile at her confession before he kissed her again.

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Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed, and I hope you review. Also, if you enjoy my writing, I have an original fiction I just finished and am extremely proud of. Titled The Sham, it follows a struggling actress through a marriage for publicity scheme concocted by her sleazy agent, her gay best friend, and her air-head sister. It's an interesting romance comedy and it's not really long, so if you'd like to read it, I'd appreciate an email and would be more than happy to send it to you.

Love always, Austin