A/N : I don't think I'll ever be able to thank you enough for all the encouraging..But to give you just a small fraction of gratitude, here's a little 'Michael kicking Kellerman's ass' for you.

Please let me know what you think?

XO

The boys

Paul couldn't breathe. Michael's arm was pressed firmly against his throat, cutting off all possible airsupply. The man's finger pointed firmly at his chest and the burn that was glowing on it. The deep dark color of skin couldn't be identified as a simple sunburn and they both knew it.

Kellerman knew at that time that even though Michael Scofield was the brain, Michael Scofield could be more muscle than his brother when he found out certain things, having to do with Sara. Paul grimaced. Sara junkie Tancredi.

"Does it worry you, that he's out there?"

"That's good pie!"

He'd spent time with the woman, enough time to know her strength, to know her weakness. Michael was both. He supposed, felt, that it was a mutual feeling. Michael was no killer, but he'd do it for her. Yes, he'd press his elbow just a little harder for her.

His voice was a low rumble, a sudden darkness and thunder after the happy smile that had been on his face when he exited the chamber just a few minutes ago.

"You son of a bitch."

Kellerman drew at his last straws. Sarcasm, and superiority. "Now, now, Michael – don't do that..." he chastited with the little breath he had. Like talking to a small child, that's the way he said it. Don't put your hand in the oven, sweetie – you'll get burned.

"Why shouldn't I?" Michael drew his prey forward, only to slam him back into the wall and forcing his head to hit the cold harshness of the tiles. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't."

Lincoln's eyes were as large as saucers. He didn't know this Michael – he didn't even understand this Michael. Sure, Lincoln hated everything about the former agent, but he knew that they needed him. It was only rational thinking that had gotten him to the conclusion. His brother, the cool, the collected Michael 'I'm-getting-you-out-of-here' Scofield was anything but rational. "Michael..." he began.

"STAY out of this." Michael's head snapped around as he rose his voice at his brother, who stepped back and held his hands up in defeat.

"Could you at least tell me what he's done?"

Michael's eyes, shooting fire at Paul, burned with anger. "He took her from me." His head tilted to the side and a venomenous grin appeared on his lips. "Ain't that right, Paul? Isn't that where you got that nasty sunburn? 'Cause I doubt you've been on a recent vacation and forgot to put lotion on your chest, that you covered everything but an iron-shaped patch." His voice was cold, demanding respect. He was now superior.

Kellerman licked his dry lips, heaving a fake sigh of desperation. "Gee, Michael, you've got me all figured out. Yes, I did get your girl." An evil smirk appeared. "If I'd known she'd be as feisty as she was hot, I'd - "

Michael's fist hit him not completely out of the blue, but nevertheless, it took him by surprise and hurt like hell. But Paul didn't show it. Remember, Paul, they need you.

"Michael..." Lincoln warned, his gruff voice cutting through the new-found silence.

"WHAT?"

His older brother crossed his arms in front of his chest. "We don't have time for this."

Michael snapped around. "We don't have time for this?" His anger was at a high point, crossing limits it had never crossed. "What if it had been Veronica?"

Lincoln face twitched with pain at the name of his lost love, but he needed to make Michael see that... "If it had been Veronica," he answered. "then you would have told me the same thing, and I would have listened."

Well, he thought as he saw his brother release a little of the pressure on their 'help', at least it's something.

"Michael," he continued. "He's useful." No way was he going to say the words 'we need him'. Kellerman had a big enough (and really purple) head as it was, he didn't need that kindn of admission.

His brother sighed and let go, stepping back and watching with satisfaction as Kellerman ran his hand over the now very sensitive spot on his throat. "I'm going to get her back within the next couple of days," he stated, "and if you so much as look at her, I will hurt you so badly, you'll be breathing through a tube for the rest of your life."

The 'victim' didn't look overthrown in the least, but wore a blank expression. Lincoln shook his head. They needed to move.

"You should have heard her scream..."

This time, when Michaels hand, and then his foot, connected with Paul's body, Lincoln didn't do a damn thing to stop it.

The girls

Sara lay in the bathtub, her legs swung over either side of the cold material and closed her eyes at the pleasure of this. Sure, she'd been reluctant to take a bath, seeing as the last time she came in connecting with one, her head had been plunched into the water and she was being drowned, but Paul wasn't here now. Her hands weren't tied behind her back and it was Michael's sweet and reassuring voice and loving words that were repeating in her mind. It wasn't her attacker's icecold, businesslike voice that screamed words at her.

Michael had gently told her that it was okay – a bath would do her good. He'd be with her soon and she just needed to keep on taking one step at a time, and trusting him. 'I won't let you drown' he'd said to her. And she believed him.

He was right. The bath was wonderful, and so was the ability to clean up for the first time in weeks of running through the dirty dust.

A smile appeared on her face. Michael knew best.

--

Many minutes later, she walked into the decorated livingroom, wearing a soft bathrobe Christine had given her. It had belonged to her daughter once, and would fit her perfectly. It did. Sara felt warm.

Her thoughts never wavered. Every second of the day was a second spent thinking of him.

Eating the home-made cookies they'd made.

Michael.

Watching the new series on tv, with a bag of chips next to her and her friend commenting on the characters every three seconds.

Michael.

And at the end of quite the productive day (she'd baked cookies after all), he was the last thing she thought of, her hands folded underneath her head and staring up at the glow in the dark stars taped onto the ceiling of the room, right above her bed.

The stars seemed to be dancing, she thought. Michael, she thought.

I know it wasn't as long as the previous ones, but I got busy a little too late. I didn't want to end this day with an update, though. What did you think?

XO