"No, Lincoln. I'm done with this. I'm going to school, and I'm starting over. Without you. I'm sorry."
"But Vee—"
"No. I've had enough." He could hear her voice break. "I really am sorry."
The click of the phone was harsh in his ear. Lincoln swore and smacked the receiver hard against the countertop.
He heard Michael's voice timidly from behind him. "Linc?"
"Just be quiet, Michael," he said, not in the mood to deal with his brother right now. He dropped the receiver back into the cradle and stalked into the bathroom, relieved that he could at least be alone, here.
They had stitched him up, and then arrested him. He'd known they would; that was why he'd had Veronica promise to watch after Michael. And she had; when he'd gotten out three months later, Michael had been okay. And Vee had been getting ready to go off to school. For pre-law. He'd laughed, of course; how ironic.
He'd always known she was too good for him. He was, after all, Trouble. With a capital T. A high school drop out, in and out of Juvie, and now, apparently, starting to go in and out of the adult system as well. But she'd always been there, at least as a friend if not as a lover. And now she was just leaving him.
Lincoln didn't cry; he hadn't since Mom died. Or at least, he hadn't admitted to it. He left that kind of thing to Michael, who cried more than enough for both of them. He got angry.
He hit the wall, smashing his fist against it hard. It dented, sending pieces of drywall flying all over the place.
"Lincoln, don't!" he heard Michael cry from the other side of the door. The little fucker was standing out there? What the hell? "We'll be sharing an apartment with the guy next door if you do that!"
His brother's tone was completely serious, and Lincoln paused for a moment. "Which room?" he asked, betting that Michael would know.
"The bathroom," Michael replied, without hesitation. "The apartments mirror each other. Come on, Linc. Please!" Michael's voice was a little shaky. "Please, don't."
Lincoln shook his head. Michael. He unlocked the bathroom door and stuck his head out. Michael was sitting in the short excuse for a hallway, his arms curled around his knees with his back to the wall. He looked up at Lincoln with wide eyes.
"Please. You just got back," Michael said timidly, looking like a turtle ready to duck into his shell at the first sign of anything amiss.
Lincoln sighed. "Two weeks ago. They're not gonna send me to jail for putting a hole in the wall, Mikey," he said.
Michael's face transformed stubbornly. 'We only kept this apartment because Vee paid for it while you were in jail. You shouldn't ruin it."
Lincoln felt a new spike of anger run down his spine when Michael said Vee's name. Perhaps Michael saw it, because he pulled closer into the wall.
"Please, Linc. Please. Don't." Michael was mumbling now, not really looking at him. "I'm sorry, okay? Just don't."
Lincoln sighed and cracked his neck, then walked out of the bathroom, slamming the door anyway. It was too lightweight to even slam satisfyingly, and he grunted.
Michael's eyes popped back up to him, eyes widening again. "What did she say on the phone?" he asked.
Lincoln stared down at Michael for a long moment. He reminded himself, repeatedly: he's just a kid. Vee saved both of us. It's not his fault. Take a fucking breath.
"It's none of your fucking business," he snapped finally. "Get off the floor."
He reached for Michael, to pull him up, but Michael was already on his feet. He'd popped up with remarkable speed. His eyes were glued to Lincoln's hands. Lincoln walked past him, heading for the door.
"Where are you going, Lincoln?" Michael asked.
Lincoln patted his pocket, pulling out his smokes and a lighter. "Lock the door," he said, looking back at Michael, still standing in the hallway, with his arms wrapped around his torso. "I've got my keys, so don't open it, okay?"
Michael's face shifted. "You're not telling me where you're going," he said, with that tone. Lincoln hated that tone, that "Michael-is-too-damn-smart-for-his-own-good" tone. He was uncanny. Somehow, he knew.
Lincoln clenched his teeth. "Relax, Michael," he said, unlocking the door from the inside and opening it.
"Just be careful," Michael replied, approaching the door as he stepped out of the apartment. Lincoln paused for a moment, and looked down into his brother's eyes.
"Have a little faith, Mike," he said.
He shut the door then, and heard Michael turn the lock. He sighed, and lit up a cigarette, taking a deep drag.
He needed something better than this though. Some fun, maybe? He hadn't really had much fun at all since he'd gotten out of jail, with Vee mad at him, and Michael terrified he was going to disappear again or something. But tonight, he was gonna see Derrick, score just enough weed for fun, and go do something. Anything. He didn't care. And forget about Vee for awhile, and forget about the responsibility of Michael, and all that.
He started for the stairwell.
He'd always loved this place. A crappy little restaurant and bar mixed together, heavy on the bar, Lincoln had been showing up here since he'd discovered its existence during his first run from a foster home, at the age of fifteen. That place hadn't been too far from here…and just like tonight, he'd slipped into the darkness of the restaurant and sat at the bar.
Even then, they hadn't asked him for ID. He'd always thought it was because of his physical size—generally, they just didn't make fifteen year olds with shoulders like his—but as he nursed his first beer, looking around at the other people, he decided they probably just didn't give a flying fuck, one way or the other. Because that girl sitting down at the other end of the bar, flirting with an obviously drunken patron, didn't look any older than Lincoln himself.
And she was pretty damn good-looking too. Nice body, blond hair…he didn't usually go for blondes; he liked his women darker, but hell, she had a great ass at least.
She looked up, as if she sensed his eyes on her. He didn't bother to look away. She smiled.
Lincoln nodded at her and took another drink of his beer.
Then he got a surprise. She patted the drunk guy on the arm and grabbed his empty mug and went behind the bar, disappearing.
So she worked here, then? That explained a little bit, at least. He knew you only had to be nineteen to serve, and twenty one to drink. He chuckled to himself as he took another drink. He was close enough, damn it. As much responsibility as he had? How many eighteen year olds had a fucking ten year old to take care of? He was pretty sure that alone made him plenty old enough to drink.
Soon enough, Mike would be eleven. In September. Lincoln shook his head. He was not gonna think about his fucking brother tonight. He took out his pack of smokes and lit one up.
"Want another?" a cheerful voice asked him from behind the bar. He turned to see the blond from earlier.
He glanced down at his drink; nearly gone. "Sure," he said, tossing the rest of it back. "What's your name?"
"Lisa," she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she turned to get him another beer. He watched her; he knew she knew he was watching her curves move in those jeans, and he appreciated that she let him enjoy the view. "How 'bout you, stud? You're a lot better looking than the average Joe who comes through here." She spun back around, putting the beer down in front of him, then propped her head on her elbows, giving him a good look down her shirt.
He laughed and looked down the bar. That was true enough; most of the patrons were at least in their late forties. "Lincoln," he said. He thought about the slight amount of money he had, and decided to go for it. "Can I buy you a drink?"
She grinned at him. "Not on the job," she said. "Maybe…some other time?" Her hand touched his.
Ah, hell. "Sure," Lincoln said.
"Hey, Lisa!" an older man slurred from farther down the bar. "Need 'nother!"
"I'm cutting you off, Harry!" she called back. "You still need to get home tonight!"
The man cursed and gestured at her. "Need 'nother!" he repeated loudly.
She smiled at him apologetically, and then she was gone, back to work.
He watched her walk away.
He paid his tab, and Lisa smiled at him again. "Hey. If you meant it…?"
Lincoln looked at her. "Sure," he said.
She scribbled something on a piece of paper. "Go ahead and call, then," she replied, and pressed the paper in his hand.
Then she was back to getting drinks for other customers. Lincoln looked down at the piece of paper in his hand.
Seven numbers, and a name. Lisa. He put it in his wallet, and headed out the door.
"Who's Lisa?" Michael asked.
"What?" Lincoln said.
"Who's Lisa?" Michael repeated.
"Why?" Lincoln asked, turning from the pot of coffee he was attempting to make and facing his younger brother where he sat at the kitchen table.
Michael squirmed a little in his chair. Lincoln raised his eyebrows.
"Michael?" he said, half question, half warning.
"I was just wondering," Michael said.
"Where did the name come from, Michael?" Lincoln demanded. Michael was being purposely dense again, a new and rather irritating trait he'd picked up sometime during his stay with Veronica.
"Um," Michael replied, nervously tapping his fingers against the tabletop. "Never mind. I don't care." He pushed his chair away from the table.
"I do," Lincoln replied. "Were you digging through my stuff?" He crossed his arms over his chest, watching Michael.
"No," Michael denied. "Uh-uh. I…" He looked around, seeming frantic to Lincoln.
"Michael," Lincoln said.
"The name is from your wallet," Michael replied finally, in a small voice.
"Obviously," Lincoln replied, thinking of how he'd stashed Lisa's number in there a mere two nights ago. "What were you doing in my wallet?"
"I needed money to do laundry," Michael said.
Lincoln studied his brother. He shook his head. "Don't lie to me," he said.
"I'm not!" Michael said. His voice squeaked on 'not.'
"You've never been a very good liar, Michael Scofield," Lincoln said. "Really. What were you doing in my wallet?" He wasn't really angry at Michael, but he did want to know.
Michael stared down stubbornly at his bowl of cereal, which was getting soggy.
"Really?" Lincoln said, as if Michael had said something. "You're gonna pull that?"
"I don't have to tell you if I don't want to," Michael replied after a moment.
"And you don't want to, I'm assuming?" Lincoln said, torn between amusement and irritation.
"I don't want to," Michael confirmed.
Lincoln looked at him for a long second. "Well, too bad. You don't get to dig around in my fucking wallet and not tell me why. So spit it out, Michael."
Michael pursed his lips, his grip tightening around his spoon. He shook his head.
Lincoln walked up to the opposite side of the table and plunked his hands down on the tabletop. Michael's head shot up immediately, his blue eyes widening.
"What were you doing?" Lincoln asked.
Michael's eyes were all over the place. It made Lincoln dizzy, trying to follow his brother's path of sight. Then, they froze on Lincoln's hands, pressing into the tabletop.
"You going to…punish me, if I don't tell you?" Michael asked.
His voice was small, and something about it made Lincoln's stomach twist. He felt his shoulders sag.
"Michael, come on, man. I just want to know why the hell you were going through my wallet. Did you need money? Was it something else? Just tell me, alright? I won't get mad at you, okay?" He could hear his own voice become softer and more placating, to match his brother's odd tone. He shifted his weight over one hand and pulled out a chair with the other, sitting down in it.
Michael's eyes rose to his face. "You will," he replied with certainty.
"I'll try not to," Lincoln replied. "Come on, man." Michael was really starting to freak him out here.
Michael sighed. "I just…you were gone late, and I thought you'd…I just wanted…I don't want you to go to jail again, Linc."
If it hadn't been for the complete, honest, earnestness in Michael's eyes, Lincoln would have gotten mad. But unfortunately, Lincoln understood Michael's thoughts.
"You thought I was selling again?" he asked. Michael nodded, still watching him.
"I'm not, okay?" Lincoln said.
"I smelled it on you when you came in," Michael said quietly.
Lincoln sighed. "I didn't say I hadn't used it; I had. But I'm not selling it anymore." Part of him couldn't believe he was defending himself to his ten year old brother, the other part of him just thought: Michael.
"That's not legal either," Michael said.
"They won't send me to jail for it," Lincoln said with certainty. "Okay?"
He studied Michael, who nodded after a moment. "But…you still shouldn't do it," Michael said.
Now Lincoln did roll his eyes. "Finish your damn breakfast," he said. "You're gonna be late for school." He got up and returned to his coffee pot, pouring in the water and flipping the switch.
"Linc?" he heard Michael say as he leaned against the counter, waiting for his coffee to start brewing.
"Yeah, Mike?" Lincoln replied.
"Who's Lisa?"
Lincoln rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Don't worry about it, Michael," he said.
"Is Lisa there?" Lincoln asked, jingling the quarters in his pocket, and cursing the fact that they still didn't have a phone in their fucking apartment.
"This is Lisa," she said.
"Hey," he said, leaning against the wall. "This is Lincoln. You gave me your number the other day? Said I could buy you a drink when you weren't working?"
"I remember you," she said, and he heard a smile in her voice. "Still up for that?"
"Yeah," Lincoln replied. "You?"
"You bet," she said.
This was the difficult part. "So…I don't have a car. Do you want to meet somewhere?" He knew this could be the deal-breaker, and he was hoping it wouldn't be.
She laughed. "I've got a shitty little hatchback," she said. "You want me to pick you up?"
"Anytime," Lincoln replied, smirking slightly.
"Let me have your address," she replied.
And this time, he actually remembered it.
They'd actually gotten lunch, at a diner. "I eat here all the time," she said, leading the way inside.
"I've been here a couple of times," Lincoln replied. He didn't mention exactly what he'd been doing here; it hadn't been eating…more in the way of sales. It wasn't exactly the best part of town.
"Food's pretty good," she said. "Among other things." She raised an eyebrow, a subtle question. He nodded.
"So I've heard," he replied.
They sat at a booth in the corner. "Do you have a last name, Lincoln?" Lisa asked.
"Burrows," he replied. "You?" he asked.
"Rix," she said.
He extended his hand, and she shook it. Then she started to laugh.
"What?" Lincoln asked, feeling suddenly self-conscious.
"I just realized that I've gotten a good twenty minutes into a date without knowing your last name," she said, still laughing.
A date. Hmm. Lincoln chuckled too. "Hey, it could be worse," he said.
"Yeah? How?" she asked.
"We could have woken up tomorrow morning and looked at each other, and said, "Hey, do you have a last name?"
Her mouth dropped open. "That's not my style!" she protested.
"It's happened," Lincoln replied, shrugging. "Hell, I've asked, "Hey, do you have a name?"
"You're a bad boy, huh, Lincoln Burrows?" Lisa asked, talking a sip out of her Coke.
Lincoln just laughed.
He liked Lisa. She wasn't Veronica; no one was like Veronica. But she was fun, and pretty, and she had a nice body, and that was good enough, he figured. Maybe he didn't exactly love her, but he liked her well enough. And she was good in bed; that didn't hurt anything. So they stayed together. Dated. And he didn't think much about Vee anymore.
They never fucked at Lincoln's apartment. There was no room. It was dirty. There was Michael. They always went to her apartment, an equally small, if unshared, studio that was only fifteen minutes away by the EL, less if you had a car and traffic wasn't bad.
She stretched out next to him, both of them still breathing heavy. Her head lolled onto his chest.
"You're damn good at this, Lincoln," she said.
"You're not too bad yourself," he replied, lazily stroking her arm.
"Think you'll be up for another round before work?" she asked.
Lincoln groaned good-naturedly. "Unfortunately, I still have an eight hour shift ahead of me."
"As do I," she replied, sighing. She pushed herself into a sitting position, and Lincoln forced himself to sit up as well. He watched her stand.
"I'm gonna take a shower," she said. "You want to join me?"
Lincoln laughed. "If you insist," he replied.
"Oh," she replied, grinning back. "I insist." And she beckoned at him with her finger before disappearing around the corner into her bathroom.
He walked into his apartment, his shoulders sagging. Michael was awake, sitting at the kitchen table, doing homework.
"Why are you still awake?" Lincoln asked.
"Homework," Michael replied. He scribbled something on his paper, then looked up at Lincoln. His eyes widened. "What happened?"
Lincoln closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Michael always noticed. Always. "What do you mean?" he asked anyway, playing for some time.
"You don't look very good," Michael said. "You look stressed."
"I'm fine," Lincoln said. He walked into the kitchen and looked into the fridge, hoping against hope there might be a beer in there, to take the edge off. There wasn't; he hadn't bought any for awhile now.
"Are you and Lisa okay?" Michael asked. Again, Lincoln was surprised. How did Michael always do that?
"We're fine," Lincoln said. Even he could hear the edge in his voice. He forced himself to soften it. "Lisa and I are great, Mike. It's not that." Exactly.
"Well…what is it, then? Can I do anything?" Michael asked quietly. Lincoln turned and looked at him.
Michael, who had recently turned eleven. Who was sincere in his query; it was obvious in his eyes. He wasn't trying to be a pain in the ass. And this wasn't his fault. So Lincoln took a deep breath and forced himself not to snap at his brother, not to yell, or hit something, or throw something. He slowly shook his head instead.
"Nope," he said. "I'm going to bed."
He walked out of the kitchen and kicked off his shoes, then started pulling off his shirt. He heard Michael sigh, lightly.
Lincoln kicked out of his jeans and left them in a heap on the floor before getting into bed and pulling the covers over his head to block out the lights. "Can you at least turn out the lights when you're done with your homework?" he said to Michael.
He could hear Michael moving around, but there was no reply. Figures. He knew his brother was still afraid of the dark, for whatever reason. It didn't make any sense to Lincoln, but…he shut his eyes. Whatever.
He stayed still, curled on his side, trying to sleep, but Lisa's words kept echoing through his mind. It couldn't be true…and yet, it was. She'd been sure. She'd been excited. Scared, but excited too.
Lincoln…he was just afraid. How the hell was this going to work? He wasn't ready for this, not at all. Christ, he was only eighteen.
Suddenly, he heard the click of the light switch, and mere moments later, felt Michael crawl into bed next to him.
"You sure you're okay?" Michael whispered. Lincoln opened his eyes and pulled the sheet off his face; he really had turned off the lights, he noted with surprise.
"It's not something you can fix, Mike," Lincoln said.
"I can try," Michael replied.
The images that came to Lincoln's mind were both disgusting and absurd. He snorted.
"Sorry, bud," he said.
He heard Michael sigh again, and then felt Michael's hand pat his shoulder. "Well, if I can help, you'll let me, right?" Michael asked.
"Sure," Lincoln said after a moment. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Michael nod, and then settle deeper into the covers to try to go to sleep.
Lincoln tried to let his muscles relax. He might not be ready to be a father, he thought, but it was too damn late for that. And Michael…well, Michael would make a damn good uncle. Even at eleven.
Lincoln sighed again. He really knew how to fuck things up for everyone around him, didn't he?
Now the question was, how was he going to tell Michael?