I'd like to thank the lovely Mel for the quick beta job! Comments are love so hit the button and tell me if you liked or not! Also I was content writing this because I know it will NEVER EVER happen. LOL-thanks for reading!
An old American man watched from the end of the hallway as the newest con made his way through the hall.
He didn't allow himself to remember how terrifying it had been. How the fear of the unknown, of how dangerous this place was, had almost made him run.
Or how seeing a man from his past had made vomit crawl up his throat.
Instead he focused on the new con. The new con was scanning the faces, looking for someone to help him. Someone to ease his mind away from the fears.
Michael stepped forward, "Come," he muttered in Spanish.
The boy gave a relieved smile and followed him from the hallway. "Hey, you American?"
Michael shook his balding head. "Yes." He responded in English.
"What you doing here, man?" The boy asked confidently.
Michael smiled as he led the boy to a relatively safe area. He reminded Michael of another young man he had taken under his wing. Another boy from another lifetime.
"It doesn't matter." He said, refusing to think of that subject.
"I heard a rumor of an American who got thrown in here for murder. Seems he made quite a name for himself here too. Killed a few people to survive in here." The boy's eyes gleamed with wonder.
"If you want to survive here, you make choices." Michael whispered.
The boy sat behind a tree, watching Michael who dropped against the wall and sat on the ground. "So what's your story?"
"I haven't got one." Michael replied, his eyes scanning the crowds.
"Oh come on man, are you the legendary Michael Scofield or not? Cause, fuck, man I've heard stories about you!"
"There nothing more then stories, son. And in this place stories do nothing but distract you." Michael snapped angrily.
The boy crossed his arms over his chest, "Why haven't you escaped by now?"
Michael turned back, finally certain of no immediate danger. "Because it would do no good. I killed a man. There's no point."
"You know, my dad used to tell me something. When shit's hitting the ceiling you just have to have faith. Where's your faith man?"
Michael flinched. Oh he'd had faith once. Faith that he would one day walk out of here a freeman. Walk straight into the arms of his loved ones. And his loved ones had had faith too. Michael allowed himself the memory of his single visitation from his family.
Sara had arrived, thrown herself in his arms. Sobbed for ten minutes into his shoulder, whispering of her undying love for him…telling him that they were never going to give up on him. That she was never going to give up on him. He allowed himself to believe her, to hold her so tightly in his arms they seemed to be sharing the same heart beat. He'd kissed her, telling her that he would never stop loving her, no matter what happened.
A part of him had known, even then, that there was no escape. There never would be.
They spent years, from what he could gather from rumors and whispers, fighting the courts to free him. Then suddenly one day the rumors ended, the whispers died.
And Michael gave up. If they weren't fighting for him why should be fight for them?
Oh it hadn't been that easy-in fact he had spent the next twelve years searching for ways out-options to free him. But they never presented themselves. So he finally gave in.
"Why'd you kill that man anyways?" The boy asked.
Michael allowed himself a bitter smile, "For love."
"Ahhh…well that's reason enough. For the doctor then?" The boy smiled. "I remember my father saying there was a woman. There's always a woman."
"There was a woman." Michael leaned his head against the fence. "She was amazing."
"Dr. Sara? Right?" The boy asked. "She was your love?"
"She was my love," Michael agreed closing his eyes.
"Then why don't you go get her? Break out of this shit hole?"
Michael shook his head, "Because time goes on. People move on, people forget things-and other people."
"But you killed for her…she wouldn't forget you." The boy gasped.
"I would like to believe that, I would love to believe that." Michael returned his gaze to the surrounding people. "But this place has a way of killing faith."
"If faith is strong enough, it can never be killed. Just like love. If you loved her enough, if you had even faith in her, you wouldn't give up."
Suddenly a fight broke out, two men swinging at each other. Yelling curses in Spanish, spitting on each other in frustration. Then suddenly one of the men fell to his knees, a shank through his gut. Blood dribbling from his mouth. It was over.
"What were they fighting over?" The stunned boy asked.
Michael stood, and prepared to fight. "You."
Minutes later, Michael laid on the ground in a bloody mess. He could barely make out the boy standing over him, sobbing into his shirt begging for something he couldn't quite make out.
Michael lifted a hand to the boy's face in comfort.
He was dying. But his enemy was also dying, so the boy would survive-for now.
He could feel the man's shank in his neck, blood was clogging his throat-making it hard to breath. Hard to feel anything.
But for the simple reason that he would be joining her, it was the greatest experience he ever had.
He closed his eyes and allowed his greatest memory to consume him, driving all other feelings away.
Suddenly he wasn't laying on a bloody ground in Sona, he wasn't wearing clothing ripped and stained from years of wear.
He was in a clean infirmary with clean clothing on, warm boots that covered his eight toes. Kissing the most beautiful woman in the world, holding her face, stroking her hair, allowing her to kiss his palm in a way that nearly drove him over the edge.
"Wait for me?" he begged softly, in the most intimate tone he'd ever used.
This time she placed her forehead against his and cupped his face in her hands.
"Always."