Michael Scofield: Thief Extraordinaire chapter 4
The punch had been expected as Sucre's body filled with rage. Sucre ending up pinned to the wall by an equally angry Barry, who had lightning sparking in his eyes, had not been as expected.
"Look, I don't know how you two know each other but you hurting Len is NOT the way to get on my good side." Barry growled as Len straightened and rubbed his jaw.
"Len? Len! Is that what you are calling yourself now tú pedazo de mierda!?" Sucre began to shout in Spanish, his accent making it impossible to keep up.
"I have neighbors you know." Len snapped, his scowl not hiding the fact that he had taken a few steps back.
"Oi don't you go running away papi! You and Link don't get to just disappear again! I deserve and explanation, hell we all do. Me, Sara, LJ, your son!" Sucre shouted. However, the words he had spoken made Barry falter.
"His son? Leonard?" Barry inquired, his use of Len's full name showing his hesitation and insecurity as his grip on Sucre lessened.
"Yes his son." Sucre snarled, drawing Barry attention away from the anger growing in his lover's eyes. Satisfaction burned in Sucre's chest as Barry released him and looked over to Len.
"Lenny?" Barry called.
"The baby." Michael, or Len, began desperately, his eyes only on Barry, "He isn't mine. I-"
"Don't bullshit us papi. I was there remember? You and Sara were so damn excited. You broke her out of prison for your kid." Sucre scorned, making Len's face go from vulnerable to iced over as he switched his piercing gaze to Sucre.
"He isn't mine. I can't have kids, even if I would want to. I'm infertile. That mixed with the fact that Sara and I never even had sex should be enough to prove he isn't mine. She was pregnant because of someone else." Len drew, his Captain Cold voice making an appearance as he his words lengthened with supposed boredom, "She was drunk and drunken people do stupid stuff. However, I told her I would treat it like it was mine. No kid deserves to grow up feeling like they are unwanted. I know first hand what it does to you."
"What?" Sucre blinked, the feeling of his whole world coming from under him, overwhelming his senses.
"I don't like to repeat myself Sucre." Len drew before walking over to Barry, grabbing his hand, and placing a small kiss on his knuckles and softening his voice, "Barry, my love, could you call Mick for me while I show Sucre around? Tell him that one of the eight showed up and we need him over here." Barry looked at Len, his gaze searching, before nodding and slipping from Len's hold without the usual blinding smile that accompanied the act of Len showing affection. The man simply left the room, going into the spare bedroom to make the call as requested.
Len sighed and rubbed his hand over his shorn head and gestured for Sucre to follow him into the kitchen. As Len poured two glasses of whiskey the tense duo listened to the sound of Barry's voice drifting in from the open doorway.
"Hey Mick it's me-no, well…maybe? Look we need you to come over-nothing per say-no you don't need to burn anything. Lenny told me to tell you that one of the eight is here. -Mick, what's going on? I'm confused and to be honest a little scared.-fine don't tell me anything. Goodbye." Barry snapped the ending and shoved the phone back into his pocket. He strode into the kitchen, made his way to a cabinet, and pulled out a small flask marked with a lightning bolt. As he took a draw from it Len looked away and Sucre stared.
"Well?" he asked. Barry glared.
"He is on his way." He informed, "come get me when he gets here. I am going to be in the spare bedroom until then."
"Barry please." Len reached out to grab said man but stopped him with a glare.
"Don't touch me." Barry hissed, "You don't get to touch me or my stuff or have anything to do with me until I figure out who you are. You're a criminal and a liar and you hurt people and I don't know why I expected I would be treated differently. You really live up to your title Captain." Len's hand dropped as Barry spun and left the room, anger and hate rolling off his frame in the form of small sparks that lashed out at anything around him.
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The Band of Thieves