A/N: To my dear betta Ashley – I love you for your carefull and considerate work on my stories, they make my work always a notch better. Your help is always greatly appreciated.

Chapter 11 – A Greek Gift(Part 1)

Sitting in their darkened living room, unbothered to switch on any lights, Sara's eyes wander to the window, whereas her mind drifts off miles away.

The last three months had been…rough, to say the least. Michael's frantic yet still unsuccessful job hunt has caused him to sink into a deep depression, his shoulders always slumped a little further, his head bowed lower every time he came home to her with bad news.

It was not for the lack of trying though. Chicago being a huge city and the architectural gem of the whole country, there were plenty of offers for young and eager structural engineers. None of these positions it seemed however, available for Michael Scofield.

And with each new unsuccessful interview, Sara's spirits sink a little lower too, her heartstrings pulling a bit more painfully for the man she loves. She has never been bothered by the issue of money or social status, although truth be said, there was a fair lack of both recently.

But what's really been bothering her lately was the sight of Michael's spirit crumbling in front of her eyes with each passing day. He seemed to have fixed his focus on one single goal these days, and unused to not reaching any goal he's ever set for himself, the self-depreciation and angst she can see possessing his heart and mind every day is slowly starting to rub off onto her as well.

Originally, he tried - at least where she and his brother were concerned - to play it cool, play it down. But he couldn't hide the truth from them as little as he could hide it from himself. He suffered under his current situation, and what made it even worse was that his feelings of guilt and inadequacy were making the people he loved miserable as well. This was how Michael Scofield saw the world around him, and in a way, he was correct.

Sighing deeply, Sara cannot help but rise to her feet, impatiently walking the short distance between the couch and the window in a few quick strides. She leans her body heavily against the window frame, her suddenly throbbing forehead coming to rest against the cool of the window glass.

If things were only so simple.

If it was only the disastrous job search that was bothering Michael these days, Sara was sure her and Lincoln could have done something to make Michael feel easier about it. But these days, it seemed that Michael seemed to struggle with more than just one issue.

With an uneasy knot forming in the pit of her stomach, Sara cannot help but remember all the discussions, arguments even, they've had in the last couple of months. Even before this she'd seen Michael work under immense stress, more than once, seen him pull off all sorts of crazy, life-endangering stunts and she'd even seen him wallow in guilt, fear and self-loathing. But never before had she seen him unable to cope with any situation quite like this.

He's been irritated and angry, one minute picking a fight with her over some silly matter and another one apologizing to her nearly on the verge of tears. His rapid mood swings left them both surprised, confused and at a loss of words. At first, Sara thought it was all due to his job limbo and the general misery of the whole situation. And after consulting with Lincoln, he only confirmed her worries; „Michael without any job or occupation equals a ticking time bomb.", he'd said to her.

So they've tried to occupy him as best as they could. Lincoln took him out for beers, forced him to work on his house, asked him to help LJ with schoolwork, and Sara…well, Sara found other ways to take any troubling matter off of Michael's mind.

But what seemed to have helped at first started to slowly backfire on them, Michael gradually growning irritated with their endeavors. Of course, a brilliant man like him, saw through their plan early in the game, but he seemed to be grateful at first, relieved even, by their arrangement. Yet not long after, he slowly started to throw it back in their faces.

Sara had to admit, she never expected to see her lover quite like this - so angry, irritated and vicious nearly all the time. A couple of weeks ago, on the verge of tears and paranoia after a particularly nasty fight – yes, a fight, something they've always seemed to miraculously avoid before – Sara called Lincoln and demanded he confirm her suspicions that Michael was simply trying to find a way out of their relationship.

Lincoln, behaving like a real big brother to her at her darkest hour, explained in a calming and soothing manner that whatever the hell was going on with Michael really had nothing to do with her. Lincoln admited that he'd been acting that way towards him and LJ as well and that once he even snapped at LJ for not being quick enough to understand a math assignment, to which Lincoln quietly but firmly sent him home to 'get some rest'.

"If anything Sara, it's you who's keeping him sane these days," he said, quickly continuing upon hearing her doubtful scoff at the other end of the line, "Seriously Sara. He knows he's behaving impossible and irksome, he told me on several occasions during his lucky Dr. Jackill mood swings. He told me how horribly he's feeling at times for treating you like that and that he doesn't understand what's going on with him when he snaps. Nearly crushed his scull against my wall one evening out of sheer frustration. I'm just sorry, and I'm certain Michael is too, that it's you who's nearly always on the receiving end of these outbursts of his. I know it's not easy, and I know it's a lot to ask of you, again, but please, try to be patient with him, because he obviously can't be the voice of reason right now. I promise you though, I'll try to talk some sense into him."

That evening, Michael came home late with his head hung even lower and Sara knew that Lincoln must have fulfilled his promise in a record time. Wordlessly, Michael crossed their living room and for the first time in over a year she saw tears escape his eyes as he enveloped her into his trembling arms. When he saw she wasn't resisting, he brought her even tighter against him, and with a shaky voice, he whispered into her ear all she had wished to hear from him since she felt she was starting to loose him.

Later, as they were lying naked in their bed, a thin layer of sweat still glistering off their skin, he opened up to her at last, trying to explain best as he could what was going on with him, a process he couldn't understand himself in this unprecedented situation. He told her he loved her, apologizing over and over again for making her uneasy and doubtful about the nature of his feelings for her. He told her that his family meant everything to him, although she knew this by now fairly well. He told her he never thought - even after falling in love with her in the infirmary - that a woman could understand, fulfill and complement him as perfectly as she did and still did every day.

That night, Sara fell asleep peacefully with the thought that they'd finally talked everything out, that they'd made it over the top of the hill.

She's been wrong.

Michael's misery and mood swings prevailed, only now, he tried to mask them, cover them with excuses of headaches and tiredness and bad days. His attempts to shield his loved ones from his misery only made it worse as they were forced to watch helplessly as he struggled through each day in silence.

Enduring another two dinners with her father and the knowledge Michael still hasn't been able to acquire a proper job to support his daughter, had not been all too pleasant either. Both Sara and he Father were trying hard, and at least this seemed to boost Michael's spirits a little bit. It was, however, a double edged sword, on one side Michael's short - always too short - happiness about Sara and her father's relationship on the mend, on the other side the feeling of utmost shame Sara knew Michael harbored every time her father asked about his proceedings in acquiring a job.

Waiting silently in the dark living room, Sara resolutely tells herself that today is the day.

Michael's having another interview at the moment, one that looks promisingly for a change, and she really hopes it will work this time, for all of their sakes. However, she's been living with a master planner for quite some time and knows that one always needs a plan B. So if this interview doesn't go the way they're all hoping, Sara decides to put another plan into action. One that she dreads pulling off, because surely it will involve a lot of shouting and a lot of denial, but she is willing to do absolutely anything it takes to get Michael back on track again.

She's been playing with this thought for months now, always trying to delay the inevitable, but she's a doctor and she cannot ignore it and wait any longer. All the symptoms seem to point to one thing, and despite on a personal level it causes her to feel like she failed him, as a doctor, she knows she couldn't have done anything to stop it from happening.

All those mood swings, fatigue, loss of weight, insomnia, headaches, displaced anger and misery indicate for Sara one over arching problem – clinical depression.

She tried to convince herself otherwise for weeks, her heart tried to bargain with the doctor in her that this was just a bad time in his life, that he only needed support and maybe a little bit of luck to get a job and then everything would be okay again. But she knows now she cannot ignore his symptoms any longer. It's been too long and if anything, it only seems to get worse, and she knows she owes him at least that much as to detach herself from her private insecurities in order to help him in his darkest hour.

So today is the day. Either Michael comes home beaming and successful and she will give it another few weeks to observe and see if his mood improves, or he comes home crestfallen – God, she wishes this scenario never to occur ever again, for it pains her to see him like this just the same – and she will try, as gently as possible, to persuade him to see somebody professional who can help him. Because frankly, she is at a loss as to what to do herself. She cannot help him anymore, and that thought wounds her more than anything she ever thought could.

Standing at the window, Sara can feel her insides shake with fear. She knows how much Michael is suffering, she knows how hard he is trying for her and Lincoln's sake, and the very last thing she wants is for Michael to think she believes he's some kind of unstable failure who needs to see a shrink because he's not able to get his life in order again.

But she loves him too, and she knows she cannot watch him torture himself like this any longer, not one single day more. She's spoken to Lincoln about this, and got his full support, and she is more than glad for the backup. Still, it doesn't make the task at hand any easier.

Then, she is berating herself mentally. Who said Michael didn't come home with good news for a change? The interview looked really good, in fact, comparing to all the other ones, it looked more than promising. This time, it wasn't Michael applying for the position, it was the company itself that sought him out.

God, Sara quietly prays despite never being a religious person, let him get the job and feel like the wonderful, brilliant man I know he is.

A key rattles in the lock and the door opens. One look at him tells Sara everything she needs to know.

The interview must have gone beyond bad.

*x*x*x

Michael walks into their apartment, a place he's always viewed as his sanctuary, a place where everything around him is a reminder of his life with Sara, his own personal heaven.

Tonight though, the place feels strange, the feel of betrayal accompanying Michael ever since he found out the truth about his interview earlier today. He knows Sara is home, her keys are in the bowl sitting on the cabinet next to the front door, but the place feels empty and is shrouded in darkness.

Then he spots her, quickly emerging from the sitting room, her eyes expectantly on him. Within seconds she notices his slumped shoulders and loosened tie, and her eyes immediately soften. Her gentle look nearly kills him. He doesn't want her pity, he doesn't deserve her compassion. Not again.

She starts to cross the room, her arms already on the rise in order to hold and comfort him, her voice quiet yet fierce. "I'm so sorry Michael." She hugs him tight. "I really hoped this time would be different."

He lets her hold him, unable to resist her sweet consolations, then his own arms sneak around her. For a split second, he pushes his doubts and suspicions aside, letting the smell of her hair invade his nose and senses.

He is home.

Her head is pressed against his shoulder, the moment is so familiar yet never tiring. All too soon the spell is broken, her voice breaking the silence, disrupting the peace and brining all the details of his horrible day crashing back to him with a sickening force.

"What happened? What didn't they like this time?" her voice is a little bit muffled against his shirt and in an irrational but powerful surge, he feels the need to distance himself from her.

Untangling from her embrace and taking a few steps back, he walks around her and into the sitting space, heavily lowering his aching frame onto their sofa. "In fact, there wasn't a thing they disliked," says Michael with a chilly voice, something that takes Sara aback. Following him, she sits next to him, her hand coming to rest on his thigh.

"What was it then?" she asks, her heart lurching when Michael slowly maneuvers out of her touch.

"They offered me the job-"

"But Michael, that's wonderful -"

"- but I declined," finishes Michael and Sara notices, for the first time, the cold fury clouding his gaze. Standing, she quickly switches positions from sitting next to him to sitting opposite him, lowering herself unceremoniously on their coffee table so she is able to look him in the eye.

He finally raises his eyes, his gaze burning into Sara's, and despite having to act against her every impulse, she doesn't reach out to touch him, to take his hands. His odd behavior is unnerving her, she doesn't know what to do with the situation, so she waits.

She waits for a long moment, Michael's gaze nearly burning her. He acts like he is seizing her up, like he is looking for a hidden clue, an answer to a question Sara doesn't know. He doesn't seem to find what he is looking for, because when he finally speaks, his voice a tiny bit warmer. He's looking all of a sudden lost and more than a little bit tired.

"Please, could you honestly answer me just one single question?"

She is so unnerved that she is able only to nod in response. She doesn't know what this is about, but whatever it takes she will do everything to get the Michael she knows back to her. Because right now, the man who is sitting in front of her is looking at her with distrust, and even though she doesn't know the reason and she can't possibly think of one, it's breaking her heart.

"Did you know about it? Did you ask him to do it?" His eyes are glued to hers, his gaze inquiring, calculating, as well as beseeching.

Now she is really confused. She stammers against her next words, really worried for his mental health now. "Knew about what? Michael, what are you talking about? I didn't ask anyone to do anything…" her head is shaking in denial, her voice an octave higher than usual.

The panic in her voice must get to him at last for he lowers his head in shame, letting out a long tired breath. The headache that started building right after he left the office seems to have done nothing but increase ever since he got home.

"What's wrong Michael? Please, talk to me? You are scaring me."

Her eyes are frantic and moist, he notices, and he knows he owes her an explanation. And an apology, he remembers with a deep lace of shame. He should never have doubted her…

"I'm sorry Sara. I know I'm not making much sense…I just…" his eyes avert, closing momentarily, and he brings his fingers up to press against the bridge of his nose. A burst of nausea hits him and the pain in his skull feels like somebody has slammed his brain against the inside of his scull.

The press of two warm palms against his cheeks brings him back, Sara's worried gaze coming back into focus once he opens his eyes again. Despite the darkness, he can see the anxiety in her eyes. Her hands come to cradle his aching scull, trying to guide him to lie down on the couch.

"C'mon Michael, rest for a whi-"

"I'm fine," he snaps, wondering momentarily where his anger came from. He is not angry with her, but her hovering makes him irritated. He is not a little boy, he doesn't need to rest. He just needs to explain to her before the fury from before grips him anew.

Looking at Sara, he nearly winces at her sudden submissive position. Still sitting on the coffee table with her hands quickly withdrawn and now tightly squeezed between her legs, she looks at him seemingly patiently, but her eyes are betraying her.

She thinks he's lost my mind. He cannot blame her.

Taking a deep breath, Michael finally explains. "You know that I was called to an interview I didn't apply to." He states the obvious just for the record, watching Sara nod. "Well, the interview went well, up until the point when I asked how they came across my name."

Michael takes a deep breath, unsuccessfully trying to suppress the anger and humiliation once again bubbling under his skin. Sara only nods again. He has to squeeze his next words through his teeth so he doesn't hiss. Still, the momentary outrage seems to cloud his judgment, because he doesn't take care in choosing his next words.

"Well, as it appears," he starts, sarcasm and coolness coating his voice, "the only reason I was offered the position was because the CEO wanted to 'return the favor to the governor'." His eyes dart into her, his blue gaze steely, cold. "The truth is, they didn't pick me because they thought I was good, but because I am screwing the governor's daughter." The moment his last words leave his mouth, he knows he should regret them. They are crude and offensive and they don't seem to fit his mouth. Yet somehow, he is so angry and tired and fed up with covering and sugarcoating everything these days, that he doesn't care anymore.

This last for only the first five seconds. Then the belated feelings of shame and regret start to take over. She doesn't deserve this. Chancing a look at Sara, he is about to apologize for his vulgar, insensitive words when after a moment of stunned silence, Sara finally speaks. Her voice is indignated, but not with him as he would have thought.

"Son of a bitch!"

Michael is taken aback. He surely didn't expect such a reaction.

"I cannot believe he's done it again! What the hell is he playing at?" The indignation in her eyes, the hurt and betrayal mirrored in them is the last drop for Michael. He screwed up again. Her eyes are roaming the walls for a moment, then they crush back to him, her gaze turning fierce and accusing.

"And you! You thought I arranged that? That I had something to do with that?" she is angry with him too now, and he cannot blame her.

Michael slumps against the cushions, utterly spent. His head feels like it's being squeezed in a vice. Throwing it back, he closes his eyes, his lids burning and aching like sandpaper.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have made any assumptions like that…" he sighs, his ears ringing. This is not how it was suppose to be, not the way he should have handled this delicate situation.

"Damn right, you shouldn't!" Sara raises to her feet, starting to pace the room angrily, like a caged animal about to attack its captor. Slamming her fist into the light switch, the room comes to light, Michael's eyes wincing and shutting in pain at the sudden brightness.

His eyes finally adjusting, he now worriedly watches Sara pace the room, enraged and muttering under her breath. She disappears momentarily in the bedroom, only to emerge a short while later, something clutched in her hand. His eyes follow her to the kitchen where she rummages through the cabinets. The sound of running water can be heard, than she is back at his side, slumping heavily on the edge of the table again, a glass of water in one hand, two pills of strong Tylenol in the other.

"Here, take this," she says, outstretching her hands towards him in a gesture that clearly states she isn't going to take no for an answer.

"How did you -"

"Oh c'mon Michael, I can literally feel the migraine rolling off of your skin," she dismisses his question with a scoff, shoving the glass and pills again into his face.

"Take them."

Not wanting to argue with her, and rather touched by her concern despite being so preoccupied with his and her father betrayal, he gratefully takes the pills, emptying the glass in a few hasty gulps.

"Thank you," he croaks, his eyes seeking out hers, which are now blazing with anger.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

"For what? That my father is a sneaky bastard with obsessive-compulsive controlling issues or for saying you are screwing me?" the sudden cool in her voice hurts him more than his migraine, but he knows he deserves ever bit of it.

"Well, for both actually," he utters quietly, honesty lacing his words. "But right now, I am more sorry about the last part because it's me who said those hurtful words. I'm sorry Sara, for being so cynical and crude. You don't deserve it," he ends in a whisper.

She holds his gaze steadily then something in her look breaks, her eyes averting from him.

"To be honest, I regret the first part more…" she whispers in a shaky voice, her shoulders slumping. He reaches out to her, but this time, it's her who pulls away.

"He meant well," says Michael, trying to convince her of something he didn't believe himself a couple of hours ago. Only now, being confronted with Sara's feeling of betrayal, his own anger towards Frank Tancredi seems to magically subside into nothingness. Because whether he likes it or not, this is not about him.

She speaks her next words through gritted teeth, her eyes momentarily swimming with angry tears, "How? How could he possibly of meant well by humiliating the both of us, arranging interviews behind our backs, messing in our private matters in such a crude, intrusive way? He knows I hate his favors, he knows I hate using his contacts, and yet, despite knowing this, he does so anyway?"

"Sara…" he reaches out anew, her rigid posture making him momentarily forget his own humiliation and discomfort. She pulls back again, averting her eyes.

"You should go get cleaned up," she says, her lips in a thin line, her eyes still moist, her look hurt.

"Please, we could-"

"We will talk about this later," she interrupts him curtly then adds in a more gentle tone. "You need some rest. Go get cleaned up, take a long, hot shower. Then we'll talk, okay?" she says, finally looking at him. She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes. When she opens them again, she looks calmer, composed even. There is a sudden glow in her eyes, a determination that takes Michael by surprise. Before he has a chance to think about it further however, Sara is rising from the coffee table and grabbing his hands to help him stand before she ushers him into the bathroom.

"Go get cleaned up Michael," she repeats. In the doorway he turns however, taking Sara by surprise when he envelopes her in a tight embrace.

"I'm sorry Sara. For everything. Now I'll take a quick shower and we'll talk about this all thoroughly over dinner, okay?"

"Okay," she says, her lips stretching into a small smile that hardly reaches her eyes. There is something odd about it, about the way she stands, about the way she looks at him. Before he has time to think about it twice, she closes in on him, pressing a lingering kiss on his lips.

"How's your head?"

"Better already," he lies, his scull feeling like exploding.

"Liar," she retorts with a small smile. "But give the Tylenol a couple of minutes and you'll be as good as new." With that, she pushes him through the door of the bathroom closing it behind him.

*x*x*x

The water is pleasantly warm, hot even, the way he loves it. Taking his time, Michael let's the spray massage his neck, his back, the tiny knots in the back of his head uncurling. Slowly, step by step, he feels the tension leaving his body. True to her words, the pain meds seem to be working, his migraine subsiding significantly, only a dull ache being left instead.

Shampooing his head, Michael cannot help but smile when remembering how Sara always makes fun of his short hair, playfully calling his use of shampoo a waste of time and resources. A sudden urge of loss hits him and a craving to be close to the woman he wounded so thoughtlessly just minutes ago fills his soul. Feeling guilty and a little more than ashamed for his sharp reaction to her father's actions, he realizes his wounded professional pride may have gotten the better of him.

Now thinking about it more clearly, relaxing under the pleasant and warm spray of water, his headache subsiding, Michael only now realizes the extent and implications of the whole situation.

In the past couple of months, they've had dinner with Frank two times and the man always seemed genuinely interested in Michael's job hunt. Maybe he really just meant well, wanting to ease the situation for him and his daughter. Could Michael really blame him? He's been living off of Sara's pocket for months now, a fact he's loathed ever since he lost his job.

He wasn't one of those proud men who couldn't bear to be with a woman who earned more money than him, no, the problem was a completely different one. He loathed to be dependent, on anybody, he was ashamed to leave the money problems to Sara while he was taking months to find a job. He was saddened by the thought he couldn't offer her more, couldn't be the man he so wanted to be for her, the man he knew he could be in another life, and maybe in this life too, if given another chance. He wouldn't screw up again.

Sighing deeply, Michael puts his fingers on the water tap, stopping the warm stream. No need to beat oneself up about it now, there's nothing he can do about it. What he can do however, is walk out of this door and spend a nice evening with Sara, who - thanks to his tactless disclosure of her father's involvement in his today's interview – is fuming and aching, feeling betrayed and humiliated by her father's actions, on his account too.

He steps out of the shower, drying himself with a soft white towel, one that Sara always thoughtfully leaves for him because she knows it's his favorite one. Smiling, he puts it around his waist, making up his mind. He will walk out of here, fetch some dinner and gently force Sara into bed with him to eat it. Then he'll pick up on their unfinished conversation from before, this time taking another approach on the issues, a more tactful one. Sara and Frank have come such a long time in the last couple of months, a stupid misunderstanding or mistake cannot be the reason for this all to end in nothing. Not like this.

They will talk it through, he will try to soothe Sara's anger and ease the pain of betrayal in her as she has done for him countless time before. He will try to persuade her to call her father, invite him in for dinner and try to clear the air with him, confronting him with his sneaky behavior, asking him not to do it again. It will be difficult, to say the least, Michael is not naïve. Sara and Frank are equally stubborn and rash in jumping to conclusions caused by their previous disappointments, but Michael will be there for her, all the way.

With a new plan in his mind, Michael finally walks out of the shower, automatically looking for Sara as he crosses the apartment to their bedroom to retrieve fresh clothes. The unusual quietness and darkness of the whole place surprises him. Checking the living room properly, then the kitchen, he makes his way to their bedroom, expecting her to be curled on the bed – she's probably just tired and went ahead to bed.

However, finding the room dark and empty, a feeling of dread starts to creep up his chest, her calm demeanor and determined eyes right before she sent him off suddenly making a horrible, sickening sense.

Checking the key bowl near the door, his suspicions are confirmed. Not only are her house keys, but also their car keys missing, and there are only two places Michael can imagine Sara might have gone.

Panicking, he rummages through his discarded things, finding his phone. Dialing Sara's number, he listens to the ringing sounds for a couple of moments before another, faint sound in the apartment catches his ear. Following it, he finds the source in their bedroom, Sara's phone discarded on their bed.

Michael curses deep under his breath, his pulse quickening. Not wanting to make the worst assumptions right away, he ends the call to Sara's phone only to start another one, this one to his brother. He waits impatiently, drumming his fingers on the wooden frame of the bed, when at last, on the sixth ring, his brother finally picks up.

"Hey there Mike, what's up bro?" Lincoln's voice is cheery and it's the worst message Michael can receive, yet he asks anyway.

"Linc, is Sara there by any chance?" he says without preamble, holding his breath for his brother's reply, still clanging onto the last shred of hope.

"No," says Lincoln, the cheeriness out of his voice and replaced with worry. "Why, what's wrong?"

The air in Michael's lungs leaves his body in a quick rush, his posture slumping in defeat.

"Linc, I fucked up."

TBC

A/N: Okay, so I would love to hear your thoughts.:) Reviews are love and inspiration and they make me write the quicker, so be sure you leave one on your way out. ;) Also, criticism is always welcome, I mean it, as well as guesses and suggestions about the plot.:) See you all hopefully soon!