Disclaimer: I've no rights to Prison Break or the characters.
Michael quickly cut through the fabric of Sara's jeans, trying hard not to stare at her sitting in the desert sand in her pretty pink underwear. She'd pulled the hem of her shirt down as far as it would stretch, but Michael had still been afforded a flash of lace and satin. Sara had not flashed him intentionally, but how could he not see, when he'd been the one to skim her jeans off in the first place.
When he'd successfully rendered the garment into a pair of uneven Daisy Dukes, he tossed them at Sara, careful to keep his eyes averted as he slipped his knife back into it's hiding place.
"It's not much further, and you'll be cooler," he said by way of explanation, even though she hadn't asked for one.
Sara blinked, holding the mutilated jeans up by the waist band.
"I'm glad you didn't pay big bucks for these," she said absently, slipping them quickly over he shapely legs and hips.
Michael grinned, and turned to her when he was sure she was decent.
"Yeah, well;" he blushed enough to turn his ears pink.
"Someday I'll buy you some really high-priced ones." His wink caused Sara to blush herself.
"Come on," Michael coaxed, standing.
"We've got to get going. It's not far, and if we hurry, we might still catch Fernando and my brother."
Sara tried to stand, but those blasted black dots that were filling her vision moments before returned swiftly. Michael grabbed her beneath the arms before she hit the ground a second time.
"Put your arm around my neck," he instructed, and Sara did as she was told.
Carefully, Michael picked her up, nestling her body securely against his. If he had to, he'd carry her all the wretched way to Panama, if it meant he wouldn't have to be away from her again.
"Comfy?" Michael asked when Sara made no complaints about her current mode of transportation;
"Yep," she answered drowsily, and Michael thought he could detect a slur to her speech.
You stupid fool, his conscience chastised,
You're killing her anyway.
Michael looked down at the woman in his arms. Unless he were dreaming, the flush to her face had lessened, and she was breathing easier. Sara caught his gaze, and smiled back at him.
"You're sure you're okay," Michael asked, and Sara nodded.
"I'm worried about you. You can't carry me all the way to the rendevous point."
Michael raised an eyebrow.
"Watch me." he said, his voice determined and his jaw hard.
"I guess I have a front row seat don't I?" she asked, and Michael grinned.
"You must be feeling better with all the chattering you're doing," he teased, and Sara snuggled her head against his shoulder.
"I'm sorry I got upset back there," she said, and tightened her grip around his neck.
"Don't sweat it," he said, keeping his eyes straight ahead.
It had killed Michael to realise that Sara thought his intentions anything less than honourable. He was in a hurry, and didn't want to waste time explaining his every move. But maybe he should have.
"I told you; you can trust me, Sara."
Getting no response; no smart remark, not even a grunt, Michael looked down to see that Sara had finally lost consciousness. After what she'd been through the past twelve hours, it should've been no surprise, but Michael suddenly felt as if his world were about to come crashing down on top of him.