Author's note: Do read this before you move on to the story please. So this fic is a little particular, there are two of us writing it. It was actually my co-writer (Faith4000) who had the idea. We'll be writing the story together in this style, my co-writer wrote the first chapter, I added modifications, I'll write the second chapter, and so on.

We don't enjoy any characters of the show, this is made purely for fun, hope you'll enjoy it.

…

A week, an entire week had passed and the shock didn't subside, the numbness, the strange envelope of cold that surrounded her, numbed her pain, softened the shock of what had happened – could she refer to it any differently? Sara had never felt more frozen emotionally that these last seven days, everything happened so fast the day of her breakout, Michael had made the ultimate sacrifice for her and the living child inside her… And it was this moment that she couldn't stop replaying in her mind, she relieved it hundreds of times, picturing different endings for each, there were so many way this could have ended, but this, the way it truly had turned out, in the world of reality she was so badly trying to ignore? This was the worst. He had died being exactly who he was when he'd lived, careless for his own life and risking everything to protect those he loved, was it wrong for her to resent him this? He had died a hero, anyone should call him that she knew, so was it so wrong to think "How could you"? "After everything we've been through, I could you think that I could live without you?"
Her hand went to cover her belly, lingeringly clinging to the feel of their baby growing in there. This was how, she knew, this was the only reason that had kept her from running back to him the second she saw the sparks, dropping to her knees, holding his lifeless body to her, waiting to get caught, and be dead within the week. The baby was what changed things, the only being that kept her sane at the moment, a face, ten fingers, ten toes, a perfect little baby that she knew right now just sort of looked like a tiny alien, if she'd gotten a picture from an ultrasound, which she couldn't, unless they found equipment, or an honorable doctor pleading for her cause, which she knew was unlikely. But she didn't want the picture, she didn't want it if she couldn't show it to Michael, she wanted this moment to be theirs, or to not have it at all, she wanted him to squint and not see it so she could point him to the little peanut, so maybe she could teach him this time. Her own hand on her belly just felt like a reminder of the absence of his, why wasn't he there for her? At this moment? She couldn't do this alone, how could he have assumed that she could?

She wanted to scream and yell in injustice, why did she only manage to choke? It felt like healing wasn't even ready to be on its way, why couldn't she cry her heart out, and grieve the death of her husband? Her husband, how she wished she could think that at least they had had this, their wedding, this moment, but they hadn't, they didn't even have that, they didn't even have one day, not the single eternal "one day" he' d promised her. Liar.

It all felt so unreal, disbelief governed her mind although everything around her reminded her that Michael was gone, his presence was everywhere, in every sentence, in every word; how could someone be too present whilst gone? Or maybe it was his absence that was present, the boat on which she was standing, the ocean waves that crushed against it while she stood watching, because he wasn't there, he should be there, and he was, in every scenario she replayed in her mind, in every thought or dream she had, he was there – he was gone – everywhere, I can feel you, I know you're here, watching me, whispering to me – gone again. Every time she felt his presence with her, next to her, inside of her, and every time he disappeared, every time she remembered, it was like losing him all over again.

This was his idea, this was his plan, he should be there. And the biggest reminder, the highest peak of the torture of not having him around, of feeling him with her but knowing he wasn't there, the video he had left for her and Lincoln to watch…

She hadn't said a word ever since she had watched it, in that boat cabin, alone with his brother, and the tiny being growing inside of her, the three persons in the world he loved the most – and now that it was over, she wished to close her eyes and make everything disappear, turn back time, back to their wedding day, change the turnout of things… Why did he have to save her this time? Why couldn't he just let her, just save himself for once, how could he think that she could live with the guilt, the pain, the loss, the absence of him by her side? Because this was the worst part, his absence, now it was over, all of it, the running, the prison life, the lying, torture and manipulation, and she had seen the last piece of him she would ever see – and it felt as though there was just nothing left. His life was over, hers wasn't, but theirs was. How was she supposed to go on after that?
The memory of Michael's sickness suddenly snapped something inside her. She remembered him being operated, him being saved, and at that instant, the fear of losing him she hadn't even noticed had grown had just faded and finally, finally she could breathe, because he was there, and he was not leaving her, not this time. Not this time. Her knees felt so weak she feared they were no longer holding her up, flashes of the last moment she had with Michael made a roaring wave of pain rush up the tears to her eyes. The way he'd touched her, kissed her, and all this wrapped up in the haunting sensation that this was it, what else was there? Was she just supposed to go on living empty days –how could she not see how empty they were before she'd met him– and live half alive, only because he had died so she could do so? Should she just live, reach eighty or ninety, exist through this whole long life but never feel alive again the way he had made her feel?
Giving in to her agony, Sara slowly collapsed, leaning against the rail of the small boat, her body was shaking, trembling through heavy sobs, she was hurting, aching, and not only her mind, her body and her soul, reaching her all the way through to her core; everything hurt. The tears didn't rid her of the pain, nor gave her a sensation of relief, but she let it out anyway, fisting her hands around the metal bars of the boat, right then and there, the realization hit her, the image of the thousand watt electric explosion, Michael's tears as he kissed her goodbye, it all drained every bit of strength in her and left her breathless.

…

There she was. Slowly coming off the boat…

It's been a while since he'd been able to even see her, to really see her, and the last time he has, she was at Michael's side, right after he had gotten them exonerated, and, he had to admit, had been hoping for a chance to exchange a few words with Sara. Make a proper apology after all he's done, after all he's caused, but he hadn't even managed a word – not a single freaking word – when he handed her the file. She'd smiled, sure, a forced, joyless smile, if anything, just a little nervous. Better than nothing, he assumed, but it hadn't chased away the infuriating sensation of having planned an entire apologetic-nostalgic speech only to remain speechless when she'd given him a miserable little smile. But what could he say, he'd been distracted, blindly started thinking that she did look cute and dinky when she blushed, and then back to the thought of seeing a true, genuine smile on her face, that afternoon, when she'd made him laugh, which was actually pretty rare – and whilst he was thinking this his chance was going… and going… and gone before he could even tell.
The day he found out she got imprisoned; he hurried to send all the help he could in order to get her out of there. Given the situation, it came down to one powerful lawyer that was ready to do what was necessary in that matter.
Things had taken a different turn out, Michael took matters into his own hands and broke Sara out –and if that genius hadn't been in such a freaking hurry his own plan would have worked out just fine– but he couldn't actually contend the man's decision, nor the means of that escape, or the costs, he had, after all, saved her life, but lost his in the process. He was pretty sure you could have called it romantic, poetic even, but it would be snowing in hell the day Paul Kellerman would be called a romantic.

Of course, damn Michael's Scofield death had shown consequences, tremendous impact of it was massively painful on all his family, and mostly…on her. The only one who actually did give a damn, because he could care less about Lincoln Burrows' hurt feelings.
Now as Paul Kellerman sat in his black sedan, he couldn't find the will to go towards her, again, the idea of remaining frozen like an idiot, incapable of talking to her like a shy teenager on his date with the girl of his dreams, when he was the one assuring her safety, made that rage grow back inside of him. He ignored it.

Not today, he simply decided, he would see her again, he'd make sure of it, but not like this… not when she seemed emotionally at her worst, and that his presence would be a mere reminder of what had gone wrong in her life, of all the injustice and pain she had been put through, and everything she'd lost. Not like this.

It was clear that she'd been crying. He'd noticed the minute his eyes fell on her melancholic face…of all the people he needed to make it up to, it was Sara that always came to his mind, deep down he knew why… he had cared for her, before, briefly, perhaps, in the short length of time his 'undercover mission' had allowed him, he'd grown to appreciate her, he liked her hair, the way it smelled, and the way she fiddled with her hands when she was nervous; he liked the clear-pink shade her cheeks got when he'd insinuated her having a relationship with Michael Scofield –Lord bless his soul– that light, almost funny sort of blush that suited her so well; he liked her manners, he liked the way she repressed a smile and passed her hand through her hair – red fluid soft hair, he was sure about the softness, he remembered how that one day he'd caught a glimpse of her bare shoulder, after the thin faded grey shirt she was wearing had loosed enough to slither down just a little, lowered just enough so he could see a red flaming strand flow over her shoulder, sliding on it like water; he had no idea shoulders or hair could be that hot, but he had to admit he'd fantasized about kissing that shoulder just a little bit.

To make it shorter, he cared, he could call it whatever he wanted, but he did, he had. And still did to this day, nothing could ever change that.
He cast a look at the person that stood a few feet away by Lincoln's side, the woman that had contacted him for help in the name of her boyfriend. He was more than happy to oblige, finding a safe house for Sara was one thing that could start his mission of earning her forgiveness and Paul didn't hesitate to do everything he could to fix her problems. He would see her again, he repeated to himself, he had made sure of that, the first step was for her to get better, to heal, not that he expected to be Mr. Right who got in stage at the perfect moment, and he knew she wouldn't heal completely, only heal enough for her to deal with him.

One thing he was grateful for, was their respect for his choice of keeping the source of their help secret until the right moment…

…

One month later

Her head lifted from the kitchen sink where she had just poured the rest of her stomach contents because of the nausea that had become a routine for the last month. She knew that it happened to pregnant women, she'd witnessed it before. Happening to other women. She had no idea morning sickness could get this bad, the last few weeks had been unbearable, she had to spend most night in the bathroom, and she had been forced to bar out tuna, chicken, pickles, French fries and nachos out of the list of things she'd eat in the rest of her life.

Rinsing her mouth, Sara finally opened her eyes and faced directly the window, letting some early morning light touch her skin.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror and exhaled in a sigh, so she was swollen like a balloon, like her mind was making her think she was. She found herself looking a little paler than usual, her eyes were underlined by dark bags, caused by the tiredness of the lack of sleep, probably. She also knew she had to eat, but the mere idea of food was enough to make her nauseous already.
But soon, she couldn't see her reflection anymore, because her eyes were drawn to something behind her. Her feet went dead at the sight of a stranger outside, standing not too far from her house, catching one glance from him, she watched him stroll away and out of her eyesight. Had it been at another place, another person that didn't look so suspicious, she would not have thought twice about it, but the way this man walked, hands in pockets, dead cold stare, and keeping near the shadows… He was no civilian, she was sure of it.
Recovering instantly from her stunt, and as soon as she could feel her heart beating again, she hurried to grab the phone and dialed fast.
"Sara?" she heard the manly voice on the other end of the line.
"Lincoln Hi, I'm sorry for calling so early, I just… I saw somebody outside and he… looked off to me, I-I don't know why but," She mumbled rapidly in slight worry, she knew she'd feel stupid if this turned out to be nothing, Lincoln had been extra careful about her these days, and the least from her was enough to get him to drive over there.

He just interrupted her, immediately inquiring.
"What did he look like?"

She cleared her throat, trying to think, nervously passing her hand through her mane of red long hair.
"I don't know-six foot tall um…late thirties, brown haired. He looked familiar," She added, "I could swear I've seen him before" she described swiftly.
"Oh" His tone got her immediately more suspicious, "Listen Sara, that man's there for your protection-"
"What…protection? You've put surveillance on me?!" He noted her voice sounded angrier that it should have been and a sigh left her in premature apology.
"Kellerman thinks it's for the best if-"
Sara's shock came to the surface, she could believe what she'd just heard so little she felt like she was about to laugh, a joyless, stunned scoff, but turned out what she let out instead was hugely far from any form of humor.

"What has Kellerman got to do with this?"
She heard Sophia's voice calling his name and his low groan over the phone as though reminded of something.
"Well?" She muttered, awaiting his answer in that awkward silence of his.
"I'm sorry Sara, you weren't supposed to know about this…" He started gravely, and just a little hastily.
"Know about what Linc?" She inquired, and had she not been this angry, she might have noted how close her tone was to a mother's already, maybe the clue came from Lincoln who sounded like a kid getting seriously grounded.

But she didn't notice, because the mere mention of Kellerman's name kicked the baby-thinking of her mind.

"Lin," She went on, "if there is something threatening my safety in here, then I'm leaving this place right now," she could notice the resentment in her tone, her upset voice that came out shivery as she blamed, "What are you all keeping from me, damn it? Ever since we got back, you're all so…" She cleared her throat – her thoughts, before she went on, louder, and clearer, "I have the right to know."
Silence fell and she almost snapped at him just before he replied, causing the very blood in her veins to run cold from the blow of his confession, "Paul Kellerman sent that man over there Sar…to watch over you, he has been helping us since the day you got arrested… look, he found you that safe house, the boat? The lawyer that's trying to clear your name…"
Lincoln continued explaining, waiting to hear a word from her, anything, but her lips were dead sealed as Sara lowered the phone and hang up numbly, looking blankly ahead with the shadows of fury hovering on her face.

How come every time there was a crossroad, whichever path she took, this man was at the end of the way, waiting for her there, each time?