Name: S.O.B
Characters:Michael Scofield, Sara Tancredi, Christina Scofield, mentions of Paul Kellerman
Pairing: Michael/Sara
Genre:het, drama, angst, extended scene, POV
Rating: R (for strong language)
Spoilers:4x19 (!)
Word count: approx. 1250 words
Warning: No beta, sorry for mistakes, feel free to point them out to me.
Summary: Bathroom scene from 4x19 from Michael's POV. He was never a violent man, but today he learned more than just one thing too many, and that awoke a beast in him he never knew existed.
This is for ladykaru. It's not the gift I promised you yet, hunny, but since I have no idea when I will finish your actual present, take this as a little appetizer till then. ;)
S.O.B
He stops the water and the small room instantly bathes in silence, the only sounds the heavy breathing of three people present, plus the wild thumping of his own heart. Steam is still forming small puffs of smoke-like air around them, the hot thick atmosphere too hard for Michael to breathe in, the space too small and crowded and crushing. He barely scrambles to his feet, unable to process what just happened.
He was never a violent man, but today he learned more than just one thing too many, and that awoke a beast in him he never knew existed.
He has to face the facts. His mother to be a self-righteous bitch, who left him when he was six all alone, depending on just one person, his older brother and still a child himself, a brother who isn't his consanguineous brother after all.
The thoughts are swirling in his head, but Michael knows it's not about blood, it's about creating the feeling of family and caring and looking after one another, and Lincoln long ago earned his title of a brother, no matter if they share the same DNA or not.
Only when he finally manages to stand up - still slightly swaying in his spot - does he realize what he was determined to do just a few moments ago in case Christina didn't provide him with satisfactory answers to his questions.
She's just 'Christina' to him, not his 'mother'. His mother died when he was six. And even those few rare happy memories he was left with about his childhood, this woman managed to destroy and mutilate in less than a few minutes. All these new information provided by this farce of a mother happened to turn him from an unlucky orphan to a man without any true memories or real past, not to mention a less than tangible future.
He is sick to his stomach, the air in the room hot, the walls suddenly closing in on him. He needs to get out, he needs to get away, and most of all, he needs to find his brother. The only obstacle in his path is a person standing in the doorway, her knuckles turned white with horror at what he was about to do. Her face is a mixture of remembrance of her own horrific memories and relief that he managed to put a stop to his actions before any real damage was done. Still, he cannot look at her, he cannot bring his eyes to meet hers, he is so ashamed.
Is this how it was for her? Did Paul Kellerman also act out of rage, grabbing her by the shoulders and neck and hair, his patience wearing thin while his mind was coming up with the simplest method of torture within an apartment of thin walls and nosy neighbors? Or was he cold-bloodied from the start, prepared to do whatever necessary to complete a dirty job, no matter what the cost? He doesn't know, Michael realized, God, he doesn't even know.
He cannot handle this situation anymore and blindly stumbling forwards, he manages to ignore and bypass her in the doorway. Tears are springing to his eyes - he is frantic, he is shaken, he doesn't know what to do or what to say, and he is utterly lost.
Without as much as turning, he hears the door to the bathroom shut with a distinct silent click, her footsteps following him into the main area instantly. He covers his eyes, not ready to face her, not ready to face himself. Still shaken and confused and horrified by his behavior, he only manages a weak and unconvincing 'I am sorry, I don't know what to think...'
He was just about to torture his mother for information the same way the woman he loves went through just mere months ago and he is sickened to his stomach, ashamed of his very existence, of how far he is willing to go in his quest for justice and revenge.
Feeling her hands gently tugging on his wrists and slowly pulling his hands away from his face, he cannot believe she is still there, still solid and warm and compassionate and welcoming, offering a strong shoulder he could cry on, if only he had the time. He doesn't and she seems to know this too.
"Go," she calls softly, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out what she means. Still, he is so confused, so afraid, so torn. He cannot leave her here alone with that sick woman, nor can't he let Lincoln get in harms way, again.
"Go, go find him," she says again, this time with more forcefulness in her voice, as if she is reading his mind, sensing his inner battle. He feels her hands on his face, on his neck, and he takes a few deep breaths, grounding himself against her, through her. Every day, she amazes him to a point where he is almost suffocating under the heavy pressure and want and need to pay her back for everything she has done for him.
"I've got her, go." His hands are squeezing her elbows almost painfully, although he still isn't able to look directly at her.
'No, no you left me in there to drown!'
The words echo through his head, spitted with fury and spite, accusing, hurting. And although he knows they were not aimed at him back then, they just as well might apply to him today.
He hand gropes for the gun hidden in a thin cloth resting upon the dresser, his sweaty hot fingers gliding over the cool steel.
"If she gets you in any trouble…" he starts but she already knows what he means.
"I know, go."
"If she gets you in any trouble," he repeats again, this time more forcefully, and the meaning of his words is crystal clear this time, leaving no room for debate.
"If she gets you in any trouble, don't hesitate to use the gun."
She nods, her movements sending him away, ushering him to leave in haste, despite her wish to not let him go but hold him close instead. He turns to leave, confusion and pain still wrapped tightly around his mind and heart. In the door, he finally realizes what he is about to do, about to leave behind, once again, and he stops and turns towards her one more time. His emotions are still raw and painful, his mind sore and his body aching, as if thin shreds of skin and meat are being ripped from his body one by one.
She merely stands there looking at him with that unwavering determination, her eyes encouraging and assuring him he is doing the right thing.
He wants to say something, anything, maybe apologize again - properly this time - or say something else altogether to her. What she just did for him was more than he could have ever expected, but it's also something that's hard to grasp into words. His thoughts still completely scattered, he is unable to form any coherent thought, not to mention an actual sentence. He ends up shutting the door behind him with haste, praying he will be able to tell her everything is he feeling but unable to voice just yet.
The door loudly clicks behind him, and he is once more alone and forced to make the toughest choice again - his brother or Sara - both currently trapped in the lion's den.
xxx
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