They were free. Leaning against the rail of the boat, Lincoln released a long sigh filled with relief. No longer were they running, worrying about the constant threat of being discovered. Kellerman had upheld his end of the bargain. The exoneration papers were signed and they were half way to Venezuela with a mere blink of the eye. No second thoughts, no worries. Finally, they were living, or at least preparing to. Immediately following signing his name along the dotted line, he had rummaged about in the pocket of his worn jeans and produced his cell phone. Pressing the send button twice, he had raised the phone to his ear and listened to the repetitive ringing for a long few moments, silently willing the voice on the other end to pick up. "LJ? Hey, it's me. Listen, it's all over… yeah, I know. Pack your stuff, we're leaving tonight. I know… I know, I'll see you soon."
They had beat LJ and Sofia to the dock by mere moments. Michael and Sara had barely finished loading their bags onto the boat when the black SUV had pulled up, and Linc felt the hint of a smile cross his lips at the sight of his son. The boy looked older, more knowledgeable – something, anything. They could be a family again, in Venezuela where no one knew their names (and if they did, they didn't care about where they had come from or the troubles they had conquered). When he had realized that Sofia wasn't with LJ, however, his features had knotted together in a frown. "Where is she?" he had questioned, and instead of speaking his son had merely handed over a lined piece of paper and entered the boat. Dark eyes had slid over the scrawled words, brows knotting in confusion and realization.
Linc –
I'm sorry that I'm not there with you. You have to understand, the past few months have been a roller coaster ride – an unexpected one at that. Thank you, for everything that you've done for me. At this point, I'm sure you've come to realize that I won't be joining you in Venezuela. Be free Linc.
Sofia
A few hours later he still held the note, eyes slipping over the now creased paper once more. With a careless flick of his wrist, he allowed the material to slip from between his fingers. It drifted down to the water effortlessly, meeting the smooth blue surface and floating there for a long few moments before becoming saturated and sinking away to the depths of the ocean. She had been given a choice, and she had made the decision to return to her life. He couldn't fault her for that, couldn't question her motives. They hadn't been in love. The one night that they had spent tangled in the cotton sheets of the musty hotel had merely been an act of comfort. The way that her hands had slipped over his heated flesh in a manner that could only be described as needy had been fleeting – a fleeting moment that was now nothing more than a long lost memory. Venezuela meant a fresh start, with his brother and his son and his soon to be sister-in-law and their child. Family meant everything, it always had.
Footsteps on the deck caused his head to tilt ever so slightly, and he nodded at LJ as the teen leaned against the railing beside him. For a long few moments, they merely stared at the water and the sun as it began to sink in the afternoon sky. "I'm sorry, that she didn't come," the boy murmured, and Linc moved one calloused hand to gently grasp his sons shoulder. "It's alright," he said dismissively, no longer wishing to dwell on the thought of Sofia. "She made her choice, and I made mine."
.:..:..:..:..:.
Michael hadn't been joking when he had simply stated that he had things taken care of. Why it surprised him, he wasn't sure. His younger brother had always been the one who focused on the details – the who's and the where's and the when's. He had been the brain of the operation, and though Linc had never considered himself unintelligent, he was merely no match for his younger brother in a contest of wits. Staring at the multi winged home on the shore of Caracas, he was forced to pause for one long moment to allow it all to sink in. No one would be pursuing them. No one would be hunting them down or attempting to bring them in. They wouldn't spend another night in a jail cell, instead they would find themselves bedded down in the comforts of their own rooms instead their own home along the coast. It was over. For once, it was finally over.
The woman that stood on the front step was unexpected, as was the tentative smile that she offered them. "Michael Scofield?" she questioned, her accent surprisingly American. "That's me," his brother said hesitantly, and the brunette nodded and extended her hand to him. "Elena Capone," she informed, "I'm the one who got things lined up for you." His brother's visage relaxed noticeably, the worry dissipating before Linc's hesitant eyes. Free or not, the distrust would not merely evaporate in a few hours. It would take time, more time than expected. "It's nice to meet you face to face," Michael said and the woman motioned for them to follow her into the home.
His brother had briefly informed them that this woman, Elena, had been selected by Kellerman to arrange things for them in South America. Linc had intentionally been hesitant of the plan, of the idea of leaving the details of their future in anothers hands – but they had little choice in the matter when thousands of miles had separated them from South America. It wouldn't have sat well with Michael to merely arrive in the new country without a plan of action. Not only did he have Sara to think about now, but he also had an unborn child to consider. Never had a real need for safety been more evident. "The home has two wings," the woman was explaining, leading them through the main foyer. "The one to the left has three bedrooms and two baths. The one on the right," she continued, one slim finger pointing in the opposite direction, "has four bedrooms and two baths. There's also the guest house out back that you had requested, two bedrooms and a bath in that as well."
Linc glanced at his brother, arching one dark eyebrow. "Guest house?" Michael nodded as the four of them followed Elena into the heart of the home. "For Sucre, if he comes down with Maricruz and Leila." He nodded, dark eyes sweeping around the spacious kitchen that they found themselves in. It shouldn't have surprised him, the notion that Michael had made plans to care for all of them. His heart was far larger than Linc had ever realized, and the caretaker in him seemed to overpower all other emotions whenever humanly possible. "The money was wired this morning, from Kellerman," Elena stated, and Linc watched as her blue eyes glanced down at the paperwork that she held in one dark skinned hand. "Here's the home information, and the keys. My number's there as well," she continued, pausing momentarily in thought. "I'll be by again later this week once you're settled to help get you situated with all of the formal paperwork." A tiny smile crossed her lips as she read their expressions, a mix of awe and peace. "Welcome to Venezuela."
.:..:..:..:..:.
As promised, Elena remained absent for the remainder of the week to allow them times to settle in. Closets were filled with clothing, food was neatly aligned in both the cupboards and the fridge, and they had spent a considerable amount of time on the beach. The past year seemed to be a blur – a miserable, abstract blur that he was more than willing to erase entirely. Lives had been lost, and lives had been changed – both for the better, and for the worst. He was forced to constantly remind himself that it was indeed over. The new passports and forms of identification that he held in his right hand allowed him to believe in such a thing, in this fresh start. Sara had deemed it a reason to celebrate. She moved around the kitchen naturally, her dark locks pulled back as she worked on seasoning the chicken breasts that had been purchased from the market. Her stomach had begun to expand with child, though hardly noticeable to anyone who didn't know the woman's physique. He often caught Michael's eyes drifting down to the hardly there bump, or his hand sweeping over the expanded flesh as though he needed the reassurance that they were safe – that they were all safe.
LJ was laughing, and Linc found his dark eyes sweeping across the back patio to observe the teenager. Elena had said something humorous apparently, her blue eyes crinkled at the edges as she laughed along with the boy. He hadn't heard her laugh before, had barely seen her smile really. Though she had been directly working with them since they had arrived, helping to get them adjusted and settled, she hadn't shared much about what had resulted in her own relocation to Venezuela. She knew Kellerman, somehow, and she had once lived in the United States. They were the only two things that he knew about her, besides her name, and it left him curious. LJ had clearly indicated the coast that stretched behind their home, and the boy stood to head down to the ocean side. "Dinner will be ready soon," Linc called, a mere reminder, and the teen nodded in his direction. He knew, of course he knew. His eyes tracked Elena's form as she stood, hands moving to the hem of her tank top. Tugging upwards, she shed the thin cotton and shimmied out of her denim shorts.
For a moment, his breath hitched in his throat. Her petite frame loomed before him, now barely clad in the string bikini that concealed the rest of her from his watchful eye. She knew that he was watching, of course, and offered a smile in his general direction as she pulled her long brown locks back into a messy bun. When she turned, however, his eyes gravitated to her lower back. A tattoo sprawled there, below the string of her bikini in black ink. The phoenix was stunning, wings spread wide. Tribal and feminine, he found himself captivated by the art. His, however, caught sight of far more than a tattoo. In the path to the back of her head, his dark eyes stopped once more, frozen by something far more puzzling. There across her upper back and shoulders were scars, formed of scar tissue. He had seen those scars before, twice, on the backs of Sara Tancredi and Gretchen Morgan.
.:..:..:..:..:.
The night sky was decorated by thousands of twinkling stars, and she admired them in silence from the patio. LJ had dispersed in search of sleep and Michael and Sara had disappeared to do the same, or so they claimed though she suspected anything but after noting the glimmer in Michael's eyes. Alone, enjoying the silence of the evening, she had almost missed the soft padding of bare feet against the brick patio. Blue eyes shifted from the sky to the man who approached, and the hint of a smile tugged the edges of her lips upwards as she took in the sight of Lincoln Burrows. Clad in worn jeans and a half buttoned shirt, as well as a noticeable five o'clock shadow, Elena found him captivating in the moonlight. "Dinner was nice, thanks for having me," she murmured, her voice nearly a whisper.
"No problem," he said simply, sinking into the wicker chair beside her. For a long few moments, they sat in companionable silence, both staring at the waves that caressed the shore. "I didn't know that you knew the General." She tensed momentarily as his words hit her ears, and a low sigh escaped her parted pink lips. After a moment of contemplation, she nodded, tilting her head to meet his inquisitive dark eyes. "I don't know that I knew him, really," she retorted, "only what he was capable of." Intrigued, Linc shifted forward in his seat as her blue eyes returned to the sight of the sand and the beach before them. The silence stretched between them as he awaited further explanation, and she toyed with the loose strands of fabric at the bottom of her shorts.
"He kidnapped me," she said by way of explanation, regretfully reminiscing on the past that had brought her to Venezuela. "My father had information that he craved. What better way to get to a man than his only child?" Reflecting back on the dreadful week that she had spent as a captive, she felt her chest tighten at the memories. "I'm lucky to be alive," she said simply, refusing to delve further into the torture that had occurred – the way that she had been choked and beaten and left for dead. "Aren't we all?" His words met her ears and she tilted her head, observing the way that he inspected the night sky as though it held all of the answers. With a tiny nod, she mirrored his position. "I guess we are."
.:..:..:..:..:.
He hadn't intended to touch her. They had been in the kitchen, placing dirty dishes in the sink before she departed for home when he allowed one finger to trail over the raised flesh of the largest scar across her back. She had shivered, the goose bumps rising on her heated skin and he was suddenly captivated by the sight of her bathed only in the moonlight that slipped into the room via the window above the sink. Without a word, he repeated the motion, tracing a pattern across the scar until it disappeared beneath the cotton of her tank top. He didn't miss the way that she tensed ever so slightly, or the way that she inhaled suddenly, but it didn't cause him to stop. If anything, the slight reaction only encouraged him to repeat the motion a third time, moving his frame ever so slightly closer to her.
The heat radiated from her skin, and Linc fought the urge to press himself against her from behind, to press her back against the broad expanse of his chest. Tipping his head downward, his lips pressed feather light kisses down the length of her neck. A tiny mew slipped from her mouth, the sound soft and slightly strangled at her attempt to contain it. She was intoxicating and he wanted more, needed more. One large hand grasped her waist firmly, pulling her backwards to meet him. His mouth refused to leave her neck, continuing to kiss and caress up and down in encouragement. Elena felt like putty in his hands as her framed pressed back into him ever so slightly. He could feel her hesitation fading as he bit down on the junction between her neck and collarbone. The gasp caused the blood to navigate south rapidly, and his free hand crossed protectively around her middle, holding her to him.
It was wrong, wrong and right all at the same time. She was a grown woman, though a relative stranger, and he was a grown man. They had needs, unexplainable needs that would require fulfillment and he was more than happy to oblige her. With a few more heated kisses, he turned her carefully in his grasp so that he could stare down at her face, take in her features. Blue eyes were considerably darker as she stared up at him beneath hooded lids. She was a goddess, one who was visually flawless to the entire world. Her scars reminded him that she was human, a human who had experienced trials and tribulations just as they had. The hand that had held her to him crept up to trace over the scar tissue once more, and as their lips met for the first time she gasped into his mouth.
The moment that his palm moved over the expanse of her breast, he knew that something had changed. She tensed beneath his touch, and for a moment he expected her to melt back into him – but it never came. Instead, her hands pushed at his chest, gently at first and then more insistently. He stopped, brows furrowing together in confusion as he took a step back to grant her the space that she requested. "Linc… I'm sorry, I can't… I can't do this." Turning away from him, she moved briskly to the door. "Elena…" he stated, and she paused momentarily, blue eyes turning to meet his in the moonlight. The pain was there, evident and raw, and he found himself unable to speak, unable to form any words. "I'm sorry," she whispered into the night, and with the soft click of the door she was gone.