Jane checked the gas tank. It was less than a quarter of a tank.

"We're gonna need to fill up," she said and spotted a gas station a mile up the road.

She pulled into the self service and Lincoln huddled in the passenger seat with his shades on, hiding from view. Jane wasn't wanted from the police, her face wasn't plastered on America's most wanted and no one knew she was traveling the country with the infamous Lincoln Burrows. So she was free to leave the car and run all their errands. But she wore shades and a hat, tucking her long blonde hair up, in the slim chance the company was looking for her. She knew that if anyone was searching for her, that her hair would be a dead giveaway.

Through his dark aviators, Lincoln peered out and watched average people walking in and out of the convenience store. He paid careful attention to a man holding his son's hand. The boy looked about 3 or 4 years old. He was smiling as he ate his popsicle, which seemed too big for the little boy to handle.

It reminded him of LJ at that age. So clearly the image came to mind of the time Lincoln bought LJ a vanilla ice cream cone with colored sprinkles. It always had to be colored sprinkles. Lincoln could never tell the difference between the colored and the chocolate sprinkles. To him it tasted the same. But not to little LJ. He'd lick the cone, leaving smudges of ice cream and colored sprinkles all over his face. And Lincoln would always have to wipe his son's face off.

It's funny the little things you remember and stick to your mind after so much time has passed. On any other day it wouldn't have crossed his mind. But right now at this moment, it seemed like the most important memory to him. It represented a time of normalcy. A time when he was free to walk the streets with his son doing normal things like normal people.

He heard the sound of the car door opening and turned to see Jane hop in with two shopping bags filled with things she bought inside the convenience store and a cooler filled with ice. She pulled out a small bottle of water for herself, placed 1 bag in the back seat and the other bag on Lincoln's lap.

"I got you something," she said and started the car.

Lincoln looked in the bag and grinned.

"For me?" he asked.

"I thought you could use one."

He looked at the 6-pack of beer. "You don't know how much."

"I guess they didn't serve that in prison," she said driving, making sure she stayed within the speed limit.

"Only milk and juice," Lincoln frowned and pop the top of the can.

"You probably forgot what it tastes like."

He took a huge gulp and gave a satisfying moan. "Yep, but I'm remembering," he said and they both laughed.

"May you never forget," she said.

"I'll drink to that," he said and tucked the remaining cans in the ice filled cooler and set it on the floor between his legs.

She turned to watch him enjoy his drink. "So how was it in there? How do you deal with things like not being able to drink a cold beer?"

"It's strange you know," he rested his elbow on the window and rubbed his head. "At first it seems impossible. You feel like you could never let go of things. But the scary part is that you do. You learn to live without. You learn to let go of the things you love. Like beer, your favorite TV show…" He took another gulp of beer and shook his head. "Maaan, I used to love baseball. I used to watch the Cubs all the time."

"Like father like son," Jane said grinning and Lincoln sat up and looked over at her.

"You're talking about my father, right?"

"Yeah, Aldo loved the Cubs. We went to a couple of games together."

"My father took you to a Cubs game?" Lincoln looked at her with extreme curiosity. He had learned to hate his father for the past 30 years, but there was still a part of him that needed to know all about him. What kind of man was he? What were his likes and dislikes?

Jane could see she hit some kind of nerve in Lincoln. Nothing bad, but something in him that was missing. That somehow she held the key to something Lincoln needed to have in his life, a void in his heart. She looked over at him.

"Yeah we went to a couple of games. He was an avid fan. The kind of guy that kept score cards so he could have every play written down. Although he could recall it from memory anyway."

"I remember the last time I saw my dad as a kid. He took me to the Cubs game to watch his favorite pitcher pitch the game. I was around 4 at the time," his voice trailing off as he looked out the window.

"Seems like a good memory."

"It was…at the beginning anyway…and then…" Lincoln said. "Well, it was the last time I saw him, until recently anyway."

There was an uneasy silence and Lincoln could feel himself drifting into a pain he wanted to forget. He didn't like to show that side of himself to anyone, not even Michael.

"So," he said, sitting up as he reached for another beer. "I take it you like baseball."

"It's alright. I'm more of a football fan myself."

"Football? Not too many woman like football." But then Lincoln knew she wasn't an ordinary woman, recalling the cool way she shot that man in Aldo's house, saving his life.

"Well I didn't have much of a choice. I was an only child and my father loved football, so I used to watch it with him growing up. Then I started to like. It was our bonding time on Sundays. It was nice," she said then she too started to drift off.

"So you still watch football with your father?"

"No," she said, her voice lowering. "He past away a few years ago."

"I'm sorry," he said. "What happened?"

"He was murdered…It was a mugging. He had just left the atm, where he got 80 bucks. Some thief came and robbed. My father must have fought him off, because he was stabbed to death. Stabbed for 80 plus dollars and an old watch."

"Wow. I'm really sorry Jane. I didn't mean to bring it up."

"It's ok," she said and gave him a reassuring grin.

"Did they ever catch the guy?"

"Yes."

"So he's in jail?"

"No. He's dead," she said with a chilling finality.

Lincoln sat there frozen. He didn't know what to say. He couldn't even manage to press the can of beer to his lips. Did she kill the guy? As if reading his thoughts, Jane continued to speak.

"I didn't kill him if that's what you're thinking," she said.

"No, I ahh, the thought never crossed my mind."

Jane just looked at him grinning like she didn't believe him.

"Ok," he confessed. "Maybe for a minute."

They both laughed.

"So what about your mom. Does she like football too?" Lincoln asked.

"I don't know if she did. I never knew her. She died when I was a baby. A car accident my father said."

"That must have been rough, growing up without a mother."

"It was. I used to visit my friend's houses and they all had mothers. I used to wonder what it would be like to have one. Somebody to show me how to wear make-up, walk in heels. Things like that. It's no wonder I was a tom boy growing up. I guess I still am in a way."

Lincoln looked her, studying her face. And for the first time he noticed just how beautiful Jane was. It wasn't because he hadn't looked at her before. It was because he was preoccupied. Every minute with her was riddled with stress, the fight for life & death. And now here he was, alone in a car with her, drinking beers and talking, and it hit him just how attractive she really was. She didn't wear make-up or a dress up, but she didn't have too. And as he studied her some more, he grew curious as to how she would look dressed up. If she looked this beautiful plain, she must have men eating out of hands if she were to dress up.

Jane started to laugh as she recalled a memory. She hadn't noticed the way Lincoln was studying her, because she was focused on the road.

"What's so funny?" he asked almost laughing along with her.

"I was just thinking about growing up with just me and my father and how awkward that was for me…. I must have been about 12 when I got my period for the first time…"

Lincoln looked at her with a strange grin. He had dated plenty of women in the past and of course was familiar with menstruation, but never had a woman tell them of their first experience. And he found it oddly interesting for some reason.

"Of course I couldn't tell my dad. It was embarrassing. I knew all about periods. Some of my friends at school had gotten theirs. And I remember thinking, heck I'm not going to get mine. But of course I did," she said looking at Lincoln who shook his head in agreement. "So here I am in the bathroom with blood stained panties. I was horrified. What do I do now? My father was in the living room watching TV and I was scared to tell him. So I stuffed some tissues in my panties and asked to go to my best friend's house. My father told me to wait till tomorrow and I was like, but I can't dad, it's important. I couldn't wait till tomorrow, are you crazy. So he took me over and I asked my friend's mother to help me out. My friend hadn't gotten hers yet, so I couldn't ask her. So instead her mother showed me what to do. Explained how to use kotex and gave me some to take home. She was really good about it."

"What happened when you needed to buy more ahhh…supplies?" he said half laughing.

"My father gave me an allowance and I used that money," they both looked at each other with a funny grin. She turned back to the road. "But my dad was a good man. Maybe he overcompensated with me when my mother died. He took me everywhere he went and he used to love to show me off to all his friends. It was a good time, a really good time."

And as she spoke the sun dimmed in the distance as nightfall loomed.

"We should probably find a place to sleep," she said.

They spotted a motel and Jane went in and got a room for them. The place was fairly empty and she was able to get a room in the back. She parked the SUV in front of the door and they carried their bags into the room. Jane was the last to enter the room and Lincoln watched as Jane moved around the room like a professional. She drew the curtains closed and slid the chain on the door. She checked the bathroom. There was no window in it, just small vents, not big enough for anyone to sneak in on them.

"I'll take the bed by the door," she said and slid her gun under the pillow.

Lincoln was about to suggest taking that bed. He had always been the protector and it was strange to give that role up to someone else. He wasn't use to be the protected, especially by a woman. But he had to keep reminding himself that Jane was the professional, not him. So Lincoln followed suit and placed his gun under the pillow of the other bed farthest from the door.