II. The Stranger
"You used me Linc," Michael's words, too calm and alien to his ears, rendered all of his excuses, all his reasons moot in less than a second. But what truly cut him to the quick was being thrown into the same league with the very organization that ruined his life and tried to end it in the process. "Looks like you and the company have something in common." He felt his face go numb with disbelief before the passive-aggressive mask that was Michael Scofield.
Anger and distress ripped through his chest, combating each other for superiority over his immediate response to such an statement. He wanted to snap, scream and defend himself against Michael's presumptions, but he couldn't find it in him to unlock his jaw to do so.
That, and he remembered the slightest show of aggression would earn him an bullet in the head from the tower guards.
He couldn't blame his brother for feeling like he did, but that didn't mean he had to accept it on the chin like a child being scolded. The death of Sara and the fear of loosing his son in the same way he lost everyone else to this goddamned situation, kept him from revealing the truth to the one he person he trusted without hesitation. He was scared shitless by the unapologetic promise that Susan B. Anthony would do to L.J. what she did to Sara. The dread that Michael's affection for Sara trumped his obligation to his nephew (because his every mention of his son always felt like an afterthought to Lincoln) was not a reality he wanted to face if he had confessed the day after he found the box.
Before the entire conversation began, Lincoln never doubted Sara was the only thing keeping Michael going in that decrepit pit, he appreciated that much. But, L.J. was and always would be Lincoln's top priority and if lying to his little brother about his girlfriend's demise ensured his son's survival, he would lie all over again in a heartbeat. If he could control the outcome of the situation, he would take out Michael's "no pictures, no escape" ultimatum altogether.
Now, however, the knowledge that Michael's stance on his nephew had not changed in the least since this entire ordeal began, twisted the knife of his guilt even deeper into his heart. There was no point in wishing he could do it all over again; He had no illusions that if their places were reversed, Michael would do the same as he did. At least, that's he kept telling himself.
Watching Michael retreat back to the prison, Lincoln felt his insides thawing and body tremble. Things were different now. There was no taking back what was done and he had to live with that. "Don't do anything stupid, Michael," Lincoln whispered as Sona's gates closed.