A stroke of luck
Spoilers: Up to 2x17, "Bad blood"
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my laptop.
A/N: Thanks to becoolbec for beta reading.

When he woke up at the break of dawn, he found her asleep, curled into a tight ball, on the floor next to the bed. She practically jumped at his throat when he shook her shoulder to wake her up and he told himself that was a good sign.

Sara still didn't talk much, but she looked better. Determined. She also seemed increasingly stiff, but that was a nice change from her previous lethargic state. Not that he would trust her with the wheel any time soon. She sat with her shoulder to the window, watching the road before them intently. After an hour of driving in silence, Lincoln thought it was time to try for a bit of light conversation

"So, who do you think recorded this thing anyway?" Or maybe not so light.

"I don't know... It could be anyone who had access to her office or private quarters at the time. It could be Kellerman himself, for all I know."

Lincoln chuckled. "Uh, I don't think so."

Sara turned to him, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean our dearest sociopath secret agent is in love with President Mussolina."

"Allow me to doubt his capacities in the romance department. He doesn't strike me as a guy with an extended emotional range."

"Oh, I think he loves her. Actually, I'm pretty sure he only helped us 'cause she broke his heart." His smirk grew larger. "Although he said I couldn't understand the relationship."

Sara almost smiled at that. "Okay, let's say he does love her, however horrifying the thought. He's still, well, him. I wouldn't put it past Kellerman to collect material against his own mother. You know, just in case."

Lincoln had to agree. She was silent for a moment, her eyes back on the road.

"This Jane person. Do you trust her? I mean, completely trust her? With our lives?"

"I have too. I left my son with her. We're meeting them in Washington tomorrow afternoon. She's got internal contacts there who'll know what to do with the recording once it's proved legit."

If she was concerned about their destination or LJ's well-being, she didn't let it show. She retreated back into her thoughts and a thick silence fell back into the car. Sara seemed to be debating something and he didn't dare to interrupt her. After a moment, she shocked him by turning on the radio and fiddling with the channels until she caught a newsflash. What they heard then was exactly what they had both feared and Lincoln had to pull over to collect himself.

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"...at the moment, escaped convict Michael Scofield's whereabouts are still unknown, after he was released from custody last night by a man who presented himself as a federal agent. Both men are now actively being searched for..."

"Sounds like you're in a bit of trouble, Alex."

"It's Agent Mahone, Scofield."

"So, what happens now? We drive to the desert and you put a bullet in my skull? Or do you need to bring back my severed head to your pals?"

"That sounds like a very satisfying scenario. However, it's not part of my current plan. Not for the time being, anyway."

"Care to fill me in?"

"Not really. Let's just say my employers and myself have reached a breaking point."

"Color me astonished. I guess we'll have to stick to Mister Mahone, then."

"Do me a favor, Scofield, and keep your smart-mouth to yourself. I need to think."

"How did you manage to get me out, if you're now persona non grata?"

"I guess all those press conferences finally paid off."

Michael smirked and muttered, "Ah, I see, to them, you're Mister Manhunt."

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"We knew it was coming, Sara"

"I know. I didn't say anything."

"For the past... I don't know how many fucking hours. I noticed that."

"Excuse me if I don't feel very loquacious at the moment."

"Now is not the time to break down, Sara."

"I know that too."

"You're still doing it."

"I'm not breaking down, I'm... introspective." She paused and grimaced. "And I might be craving for a drink, or a shot, or..."

"I get it. Damn, I could use some booze too right now. But we need to stay focused."

"I. Know. That. Stop pestering me." She turned back to the window, ignoring him.

"Okay. Just checking on you."

The truth was he was having a collapse of his own, but introspection wasn't his strong suit. He wished Sara would talk about something, anything but... that. He wished he could punch someone or something. He wished he could get off his face and forget all about it. He wished he could kill with his bare hands the gang of bastards who had murdered his little brother, Veronica and Lisa, as well as damaged his son's life beyond repair. And most of all, he wished he could beat Michael into a bloody pulp for inflicting this on himself and on the both of them.

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"We're gonna stop here for a few hours. If you want to live to see the next day, I suggest you don't try anything stupid."

Michael, who was uncomfortably laying accross the backseat with his arms bent behind him, sat up straigt and, raising an eyebrow, tried to catch the other man's eyes in the rear-view mirror. "You expect me to sleep with my hands cuffed behind my back?"

At that, the ex-agent chuckled. "Don't press your luck."

"You know, your former employers might find themselves in some trouble of their own in the very immediate future."

"How so?" Mahone asked with mild interest.

"Out of the loop, are we?" he asked with a smirk. "My brother recently acquired something they're gonna wish he didn't."

"What kind of something? You should know we're well past the time for charades, Scofield."

"I don't know exactly," he admitted. "But they sure did their best to stop us from getting it. In fact, it was worth stopping Governor Tancredi in quite a definitive fashion. If our connections are worth anything, it's gonna prove my brother's innocence and that your government's corrupted."

Michael bent to watch Mahone's face more closely. He was frowning but didn't seem particularly deterred. "Also, at some point, someone is bound to wonder about all those cons dropping like flies whenever you're around."

"What's that, a threat? A warning? I don't you if you've noticed, but we happen to be on the same ship at the moment. I thought you were a perceptive guy. You should have realised by now I don't have much left to lose. And that is most definitely a warning."

"Your wife and kid aren't enough?"

"Not that it's any of your business, Michael, but I believe that from now on, they'd both benefit from keeping as few ties with me as possible."

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They had stopped again for the night and Lincoln had gone out to call Jane and LJ. Sara was stunned that no one had seemed to recognise them yet. Even with a baseball cap and a growing whiskers, she found Lincoln to be quite noticeable. But after all, T-Bag was still at large as well, despite numerous reports of his malign behaviour. As she waited, she paced the room earnestly before turning on the TV to learn that, as she expected, Michael was still missing. The report was vague and slightly perplexing. It still didn't mention who had broken him out, not that it mattered much to her. They had reached such a simplified state of affairs that people were either with or against them.

She hadn't paid Lincoln much attention since the news of Michael's disappearance had broken, but when he came back, she couldn't help but notice that his eyes looked suspiciously red.

"Are you alright, Lincoln?" she asked as softly as she could in her restless mindset.

"Fine. I'm perfectly fine. I just had to corroborate to my son that his uncle's corpse was about to surface somewhere in the coming days. Other than that, things are absolutely peachy."

She flinched before replying harshly, "Could you, I don't know, watch your language on that matter? It might come as a surprise, after all the time I had to digest the news, but it's still a sensitive issue for me."

"Sorry," he breathed and raised a hand in a gesture he hoped looked conciliatory. "Look, tomorrow, we get to Washington and we get this thing done. We take them down, all of them. The President and all her freaking minions. Fuck knows they've earned it."

She nodded and went to lock herself in the bathroom to wash off her face and gather her thoughts. The freezing water on her face reminded her of a very unfortunate memory, which now seemed distant, ancient. She embraced the muted panic it brought back in her as a sign she was still alive enough to feel such a strong emotion. She kept her face under the flowing water until she felt on the verge of screaming.

In the other room, Lincoln clicked the TV back on and listened to the same report of Michael's vanishing. He had to demonstrate an amazing measure of control not to punch a wall or the TV set itself. His whole body was clenched so tightly he thought he might snap in two.

When Sara's trembling frame emerged from the bathroom, they took in each other's afflicted state and reached an unspoken agreement. They both sat down to watch, hypnotized, the ongoing newsflashes that felt very much like a knife being twisted into their wounds.

Little did they now that in another motel, less than two hundred miles away, Paul Kellerman was checking his weapons and getting ready to settle his own score with his former love.