Two Halves
Summary: Michael isn't quite whole and its up to Sara to show him how he completes her. A fic about what happened before their first time. Warning: a bit of language. Seuxal references but no actual sex.
Timeline: Extending the Panama Universes. Michael wasn't sent to Sona. He and Lincoln managed to evade the authorities. Sara is managing by herself. They're still on the run but things have settled down a bit so Michael sneaks off to see Sara. Again.
You'd think that the first time…the first time would be one of the things you remember most? Well it was certainly true for Sara but what was even more memorable was what happened before that first time. It was a first time of all sorts. It wasn't like anything she'd ever thought it would be. Nothing like her fantasies and dreams. She understands why the first thing they tell you on a job is to never fall for a con. Because love is exactly that. Falling.
Just like every other clandestine visit, it began with dinner. Then a spot of red wine. Lots of looking at each other and holding hands. Then there are frantic kisses but this time she guides him down the corridor and suddenly they're on the bed. It's all very suggestive. They've waited so long for it. She pulls him into the kiss, pulling his shirt off, pulling him down with her. Then he's pushing himself up, pushing himself away from her.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Michael murmurs.
"What's wrong?" He could pick up the disappointment in her voice. The questions unsaid – what's wrong with me? What did I do wrong?
"Its…its…" he stutters. "Um…I just need a shower." He knows how lame that sounds and he apologizes profusely.
"I see."
But the mood is broken and Sara is all too understanding. It's awkward. He tries to make up for it and gives her a quick, chaste kiss on the cheek before going into the bathroom. He doesn't need to get any clothes; he hasn't got a change of clothes.
Sara puts her coat back on, not noticing that she'd shed it in the hallway. It's cold without Michael's warmth. The dying embers of their passion only add to her chilled disappointment. He's run away from prison and he's running away from her too. She is confused, feeling lonely sitting on the bed listening to the sound of running water. Is he having a cold shower? Is he trying to wash away the traces of her? She felt guilty about the doubts about Michael in her mind. She was so in love with him she was afraid to lose him. His shirt is still on the bed where she took it off.
There is a thump in the shower and noises. Sara wonders whether she should go and see him but she thinks not. More thumping and a definite cry. It occurs to Sara's mind that Michael could be having very personal and private moment and her face burns at the thought. However, all thoughts of such sexual nature go out the window when she hears a strangled cry… She isn't sure and she can barely hear it but she thinks she hears him say I'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorry over and over.
She knocks on the bathroom door. No response. She calls out to him. No response. A sense of fear fills her – not unlike the same feeling she'd felt when he was in the J-Cat. She yells his name.
"I'm coming in," she says quietly, trying to control the panic. She closes her hands around the doorknob and hopes that he didn't lock the door out of habit. She's asked him about that and he told her that he doesn't because jail showers don't have doors let alone locks. The door opens easily.
"Michael?" His name becomes a question. A plea. A prayer.
She sees him kneeling in the shower with his pants still on, his right hand bleeding. "Oh Michael." She's glad he's not naked. Not that he isn't beautiful, but it didn't seem right. Like it would somehow be taking advantage of the moment. He looks so vulnerable, but still beautiful. Like a fragile kind of beauty. She didn't want to intrude on his privacy but he's not responding. Sara reaches in the shower to turn the taps off, not caring if she got herself wet in the process. The water is ice cold. "We have to get you out of here. It's freezing cold Michael."
He doesn't react. He's not saying or doing anything at all.
She shakes him. It's different this time and though she's concerned, she's also that little bit angry with him. She shakes him gently and then with more force, her frustration and fear overwhelming her.
He just blinks and looks at her like he doesn't know her. She sighs ands him a towel. He just stares at it. She taps his cheek lightly.
"Michael? Wake up."
He moves slowly. She isn't sure if she should slap him. When she can finally resolve herself to do it so she can snap him out of his trance, he grabs her hand just before contact.
"Talk to me dammit. You'll catch pneumonia if you stay there." Despite her harsh words, she's gentle in wrapping a towel around him. She reaches into the bathroom cabinet for some bandages. "Why do you do this to yourself Michael?"
"I'm sorry."
"Don't say it if you don't mean it. You're always fucking sorry." The fear slips out and she regrets it the instant she says it. She avoids looking him in the eye; afraid to see the hurt she's caused. She swabs his hand quickly with the antiseptic then starts wrapping the white gauze around his palm, looping it around his knuckles. She pulls it to tighten it with more force than needed and he hisses from the sharp pain it causes. She pretends that it doesn't bother her, but gently snips the end off the bandage and fastens it with a clip. If only healing was really this easy, she thought.
"I'm sorry, Sara." His voice is so faint that she can barely hear him. It has none of the smooth confidence she's used to. It's raspy and tired.
"No I'm sorry. I'm just…worried…scared." She cradles his injured hand and kisses the bandage before pulling him up to get him out of the shower, relieved that he's still in his pants. Otherwise it might have been even more awkward. "I shouldn't have pushed you. I'm sorry."
He resists her and sits down in the shower again, in the cold. Before she could protest he puts his head in his hands and pulls at his hair. The severe prison cut had grown to a reasonable mushroom kind of shape. His new bangs flopped in his eyes, hiding their blue depths. "I don't know how you can tolerate me."
"What?"
"I'm a freak. I've always been a freak. Don't you see what I am? I could practically be fucking Frankenstein." He hadn't meant to yell but his voice was echoing in the bathroom.
"You think I care about that? You think that I just want you for your body?"
"No. I know you don't but can't you see that I'm damaged goods? I don't want you to take me like this. I have eight toes Sara. I have tattoos that will never fade away. I'm dirty. I've done all these things that I'm not proud of. I've become part of the problem, you know? You shouldn't have to settle for anything less. I'm sorry-"
"Are you saying that I'm too good for you? Stop worshipping me Michael. Its sweet but I'm not perfect. I've fucked up too." Sara's voice is cynical, still angry and he flinches at her language. It's so unlike her. "I was a junkie. I've now got a criminal record and I've killed someone. Does that make me dirty too?"
"No. Of course not but you had reasons for what you did-"
"So did you Michael! Stop excluding yourself from everyone else. Where is that man I love that told me 'toes are overrated' huh? Where is the guy that saved me during a riot? Where is the guy that told me about optimism, faith and hope? You are a good man Michael. Your scars? I've already seen them. They don't scare me."
"Why?" What Michael doesn't say is that he's scared of himself.
She slides down next to him, not even noticing the cold. She puts her hand on his face and tells him that she loves him.
He doesn't know how to respond to it. Such a beautiful gift from his angel. He didn't feel like he deserved it. "Sara, I-"
"Its my choice to make isn't it? I love you. I love every part of you."
"I can't promise you anything. I have nothing to give you except myself. I'm not even…whole." A flush blossoms over his face and he turns away slightly. He unconsciously shifts his mangled foot away from her.
Sara smiles. "Neither am I without you." She leans her forehead against his, touching his body. Wanting to tell him not to be ashamed of his beauty. He is enough. He is everything she's ever wanted, everything she needs.
A rush of hope fills his heart. Sara knows that she is breaking through his walls. Giving him hope like he gave his brother hope. "Have a little faith," she whispers into his ear.
He embraces her with trembling arms. Then they are kissing each other again. Slowly then desperately. Like two people clinging to their last hope. Two people saving each other.
The lovers are on the bed again. She peels his wet pants off, throwing them in the direction of the bathroom. She's warming him up with her hands, drying him. She sees his uncertainty, fear and shame written on him when she's touching his foot. "Did you know that it was the first time I'd ever dealt with severed toes in the infirmary? Severed hands, fingers, ears, even penises, but not toes. I think it's a masterpiece."
He cracks a hesitant smile but its there. Michael is glad because he sees her return it. She's left the towel on the floor and snuggled up next to him. He is almost in disbelief that he is where he is, with an amazing woman by his side. Someone who loves him despite all the uncertainties he faces. He wants to make it worth her while.
"I don't know about that, I might have to consult a specialist," he says huskily, wanting to savor the moment. "I do believe I have an appointment to make with a very attractive Doctor…"
Now I'm broken and I'm faded
I'm half the man I thought I would be
But you can have
What's left of me
- Nick Lachey
