AUTHOR'S NOTE: So, I've deleted the rest of my chapters for now but I'll add them up as I go; I won't change much about the plot anyway, I'll only modify the dialogues and a bit of in between. If there's a chance anyone's still reading that story, I always appreciate reviews; enjoy. WARNINGS: SLURS
"If there's anything I hate worse than pity, it's fake pity.
– I have no pity."
Red Dragon
Kellerman had no idea people could change a place so much. The lodge used to feel like his shelter, his home. And it was now starting to be a place he hated.
Paul couldn't tell how long it had been since T-bag and the company's man had "entered" the lodge. Bagwell was sitting next to Sara, groping her, whispering to her, while she just looked into the opposite direction and tried to keep it together; the company man was standing up, blocking the door. Paul didn't know whom exactly he was keeping from leaving, nor did he know the orders that had been given to him by Caroline.
The sight of an animal like T-bag this close to Sara Tancredi looked wrong, and it made something inside of Paul Kellerman him ache, deep inside; it looked against nature, about as repelling as the thought of a cockroach crawling across a fair maiden's skin. And there was something wrong about how vulnerable the young woman looked, and helpless. In fact, Kellerman found it so disturbing he could barely stand to be in this room right now, and he both wished to leave and prayed he wouldn't have to – as odd as it sounds, it would feel like abandoning her.
Instead, he started paying attention to the other agent Caroline had sent. Kellerman looked at the man, as though trying to block out Sara's distress. "So, are you going to tell me your name?"
"We're not here to get to know each other."
"Just trying to make conversation."
The man seemed to hesitate for a few seconds before he finally answered. "I'm Alex Mahone."
"And in what consist exactly the orders Caroline gave you?"
Mahone stared at his interlocutor for a while, as though both suspicious and slightly outraged to hear Kellerman call his employer by her first name. Ultimately, agent Malone threw a quick glance towards Sara before answering, as though he hadn't really noticed her before.
"That's more of a private conversation," he settled, and paused for a few seconds before he offered. "Do you want to take a walk?"
Paul glanced at Sara before saying anything else, and he was aware of how much she hated for him to see her like this – and yet something beyond shame and hatred and her eyes was begging him not to go. Kellerman had seen enough of Sara to know that she was the type to remain pride till the very last moment, in fact right before he left her to drown inside that bathtub back in Gila, he remembered her head had been held high. But beneath that pride, he could tell she was faltering – he could tell that beneath her stone-hard never ending attitude, she was as scared and defenseless as anyone would be. And looking at him the way she was, he was pretty sure she held her breath until he spoke.
"Sure." He finally answered.
He shook off the sensation to have just signed the young woman's death warrant. Kellerman felt her eyes on him until he had left the room and exited the lodge; he followed Mahone outside, even though part of his brain was still focused on Sara. If he thought it was painful before to imagine that she was with Scofield, it felt so much harder now, and the nature of the discomfort was much worse.
"So?" Paul said, trying to force his head back in the game. "Is that something else she asked you to do? To get me to leave the room, to see if I would?"
"Can't hide anything from you, agent Kellerman."
'Stop thinking about her, Paul, just focus on now, not the room you left her in and are now walking further away from, not this sick pervert who's alone with her, not her.'
"I know Caroline too well for her to be able to hide things from me," Paul forced on a smirk, "and if she thinks I won't sacrifice an insignificant pawn as Sara Tancredi to keep my job ,then she doesn't know who she's dealing with."
"I actually haven't been given details concerning your particular situation," Mahone said, "but I'm not naïve. Between the information I gathered before I got here and what happened ever since, I'm doing a nice job putting the pieces together so that the big picture is looking clear enough. "
"And what might that be?" Stop thinking about her, Paul, you just can't focus can you? How is it your mind can be detached from your body and bound to hers?
"That you ended up growing quite fond of the girl," Mahone said, waving his head toward the lodge that was now far behind them. "Foremost, that Caroline wonders how far you'll be willing to go for the job."
Kellerman snapped through his nervousness. "I already told her I'd go all the way." Oh really? Even if you have to kill her, Paul? Would you kill her? How much more blood are you ready to spill for Caroline Reynolds? What kind of man kills on demand just because he has been told to do so? What kind of man kills without restrain? What kind of man kills the woman he loves?
"I don't doubt that, agent Kellerman, I'm just here for verification."
"And what is Bagwell here for?" Paul stopped walking – stopped dancing around. "What more does Sara Tancredi need to be put through to satisfy Caroline's insecurity?" He couldn't contain the anger in his voice.
"I don't enjoy an innocent person's suffering either," Mahone stopped walking as well, "but I guess I got used to it with time."
Paul couldn't help a glance at the lodge. He preferred not to think of what was happening in there. "Why don't you and your watchdog go back where to you came from and let me finish my goddamn job?"
"You know why as much as I do," Mahone pointed out before stating. "Rules are the rules."
...
Michael just waited. Waiting was all there was to do. He wanted to plan, he wanted to help but he couldn't. All he could do was being worried sick and wait. The brothers had learned that the redhead –Willow– apparently knew a bit of witchcraft, and that she would try to do a tracking spell on Sara; all she needed for that was a crystal, a map, and something that belonged to her, she'd said. Something personal would work better.
Michael had searched all over the house to find the right object before he spotted the origami rose he had made for her on the bedside table. He couldn't help feeling a slight reluctance when he handed it to Willow. Now he was alone with his brother, waiting in Buffy's living room for some good news.
"You think she's all right?" Lincoln broke the silence.
Michael glared at him. "How the hell am I supposed to know?" He articulated.
"Look, I worry about her too."
"Don't try to compare the situations. You don't know what I'm feeling right now."
Lincoln had a humorless laugh. "Funny," he said without humor, "Sara's been kidnapped by a sadist torturer, and you're talking about how you're feeling."
Michael got up, uncertain of his own intentions before the door opened. Buffy and Willow walked in the room. "She's in Napa," Willow said immediately.
Michael's heart filled with hope. "You found her?"
"I saw her. She's in a lodge out of town, that's all I can tell you."
"Is she okay?" The young man's voice was lost in emotion, while Willow exchanged a look with Buffy, as if they'd both discussed a particularly delicate topic. "Well, is she?"
"She's alive, but you better hurry," the young witch said, awkwardly stumbling on words. "She, hum... she's in trouble."
...
"So you and pretty boy, hum? I always knew you had a thing for the dangerous kind."
"He's not." Sara spoke through gritted teeth. At first, she'd promised herself that she wouldn't do Bagwell the pleasure of responding to him whatsoever, but then she figured if she could win a little time by talking, it wasn't exactly beneath her. He'd snaked a hand around her neck a while ago, and although she did her best to ignore it, it felt as uncomfortable as to have a spider crawling up your throat, and she was about as tense as could be at the moment. The only thought that kept her going was the image of a burning bath and extra soap.
Sara kept her teeth clenched tightly; she despised talking to him, always had even when he had been her patient, and she would rather keep her mouth shut at the moment, but part of her knew that talking was the best scenario for her right now.
"Well," he went on, "from what I've heard, pretty's not the only bad boy you've been playing the naughty with." His voice was a sickly purr, but also a bit more serious than just teasing – it almost sounded like a bad student who did his homework and tries to subtly brag about all he's learnt.
Surprise pierced through, and Sara felt a bit relieved to have something other to focus on than her disgust. "What?" She stopped avoiding his gaze, wrenched her eyes from the wall she'd been staring at for god knew how long.
Theodore stared back at her, still serious for a while before he went back to that drawling voice that made it clear he'd never enjoyed himself more than right now. "Well, why'd you think I'm here, gorgeous?" Sara tried to focus on his words, tried to pay genuine attention, tried to focus on anything other than Bagwell's fingers lowering to the line of her shirt. "I'm here to make sure agent heartbreaker's loyal to his job before being loyal to you."
And now, she felt a bit of anger through her disgust. When had that asshole ever been loyal to her? He had betrayed her the most cruel way possible, and had still managed to surprise her when he'd betrayed again, which she could only assume he had prepared weeks before, because given the way he'd abducted her in the kitchen, aided by chloroform, he'd probably wanted it to have a certain amount of style. She wasn't sure which man she hated most right now, the animal who'd started to dive into her cleavage with his fingers or the man who had brought her here.
She couldn't believe how naive she'd been to believe him. She couldn't believe she had come to get used to his presence in their house in Sunnydale. She couldn't believe she had started to think of him as a human being instead of ruthless torturer. She really, really couldn't believe what an idiot she was.
Theodore chuckled in her ear, apparently having the time of his life, like a cruel child who enjoys tearing an insect's wings apart. "I've heard that the boy has an high school crush on you," he said, and T-bag's breath on her neck made something inside of her chill – it was only his proximity, she swore to herself, and not his words that had this effect on her. He finished with a slight sigh. "Don't it just break your heart?" He laughed to himself again, and shook his head before pursuing. "So, you see, I'm here to make sure the boy knows his priorities."
Sara's fingernails dug into her palms, and the discomfort in her stomach slowly started to mutate into fear as he started unbuttoning her shirt, taking his time. She swallowed with difficult; she had to stall some more, but she was absolutely out of ideas. "Well," she managed, "it's really unnecessary, because he doesn't care about me."
She tried to pull away from him discretely and froze when he locked a hand around her waist, quick as a snake, his hand shutting tight around her hip. "Leaving so soon, darling? We're just getting to the good part."
"Please." She'd also promised herself that she wouldn't beg, but come to think of it there was nothing she could do to help it.
"Just relax," he scolded softly, almost actually caring, as though he wasn't enjoying every bit of the fear his words provoked in her eyes. "It won't hurt much if you don't fight."
Hundreds thoughts were popping inside her mind right now, as though her brain was going into hyperventilation. Did Kellerman and the other agent lock the door behind them? How much time would she get to run if she managed to get rid of Bagwell somehow? Not very far with her hands tied behind her back, but right now the priority was getting this man off of her, the other important question followed the previous ones : where was she? Would she be able to run and lose her abductors? Then another question just crushed in her mind, heavy as a rock dropping into her chest as she acknowledged for the first time the inward pain since she had been taken here. How could Kellerman leave her with him? She knew Paul didn't have any obligations toward her, but if the situations were reversed she couldn't have left anyone in the situation she was in right now.
Definitely not, she mentally stated as her tormenter started stroking her over the bra with rough hands, his lips so close to her throat she could feel threads of saliva sticking to her skin. "You miss your boyfriend now I bet, don't you?"
And suddenly, out of all hope, Sara started to think like Michael. She detailed the tiny suffocating room with her eyes, searching for anything that would help her, any advantages she could think of. Then it hit her, that T-bag wasn't concentrating right now, in fact it was the only upside of this sick game, he was getting lost in it, which meant the only asset she had over him was the effect of surprise. She felt his arm around her waist losing its grip while his other hand wandered on under her half button shirt, feeling the skin of her bare stomach. She tensed but resisted any urges to fight him; she was waiting for the right moment, she would wait until he was sure she wouldn't fight him. He was basically on top of her now, the hand he had holding her still a moment ago was now busy unbuttoning his pants; she wasn't one hundred percent sure this was the right moment, but she was definitely sure that in a few seconds, it wouldn't matter anyway.
She kicked him in the groin with her knee, hard, without giving him time to think; she didn't wait a second before running to the bathroom and shutting the door close with her foot.
"Come on!" She said to herself, trying to find balance on one leg to lock the door. She managed to close the lock half a second before Bagwell reached the doorknob, and then she heard banging on the door.
"You know, Sara, since I know you and all, I'm gonna make you a deal." She could hear him distinctly through the door. "You open this door right now and I won't hold this whole running away thing against you. It's the best you've got, honey, and that offer expires in five seconds! And I can assure you that whatever pain you've ever gone through in your life is going to feel like heaven compared to what's expecting you if you don't open the goddamn door!"
Sara tried to ignore how much she was shaking and sat on the ground; she needed to take things slow, she needed to focus, and it was rather impossible with the heavy pounding that screamed its menace into her ears. She ignored the rush, pretended she was inside a hospital right now, trying to think this was just another extreme situation that she needed to handle with calm and patience. She dragged in a deep breath and gave herself a few seconds to calm down before she tried to put her hands in front of her, by passing her handcuffs under her whole body. She wasn't in a much better position when she succeeded, but it was at least that.
T-bag just kept trying to break the door, and Sara couldn't help but being brought back to the riot, months ago. It had been about as terrifying, except she knew the situation was even worse now. Because no Michael Scofield would save her this time. When she realized the door was about to give in, she rushed towards the window. It was a little small, but she would fit. It was still better than the alternative. Although she had trouble opening it with her still tied up hands; in the end, instinct took over and she kicked it down with her foot.
The glass finally broke and she managed to get out the small window, and let out a silent gasp when she cut herself to the arm with a piece of sharp glass. By the time the door was finally kicked in, she was already out.
She didn't wait long before getting back on her feet and starting to run, but she was satisfied to see that T-bag couldn't make his way out the window. Her relief didn't last long since she knew it would take him about five seconds to get to the door and leave, and so she ran as fast as possible with her hands tied up, ran as though her life depended on it, ran with the frenzied desperation of a damsel in distress, and all the sudden, running along the woods, she remembered Little Red Riding Hood. Her mother used to read it to her before she died, and it was silly that Sara would think of it now – the thought was about as silly as unshakable. Because that's exactly what she felt like, right now; like little red riding hood, running blindly into the woods, towards god knew what big bad wolf.
She wasn't sure where she was running to, mainly she was focused on losing Bagwell, then she figured she'd get back to the road, maybe she'd even run into a car with a little luck. She stopped for a few seconds, only to catch her breath, and obliviously, she wondered why T-bag hadn't yet caught up with her. She'd never been a fast runner, sports were the only thing she sucked at in high school, and the fact that her hands were cuffed together really couldn't help her. Bagwell should have caught up with her right now.
And then, the most beautiful thought in the world occurred to her; what if Kellerman had locked the lodge's exit door on his way out? Had he? And maybe Theodore Bagwell didn't have a key. Still breathless and exhausted, she started to laugh in relief; the simple thought of him locked inside that lodge and how furious he was, although he terrified her minutes earlier, now seemed to make her hilarious. She tried to calm down, breathed out a curse as she finally managed to think more clearly. Well, at least her life wasn't boring. Though given she was still in an unknown place with two trained assassins and an escaped rapist on her tracks, she didn't waste much time before she started running again.
She threw a glance behind her shoulder to make sure she'd really lost T-bag, and smiled at the clear coast. She turned back around with ever intention to keep on running, and jumped with a loud gasp when she hustled into the company guy that was watching her earlier.
She had absolutely zero time to react before he grabbed her. "What the hell are you doing here?" Kellerman said while she faintly struggled against Mahone. Sara didn't answer him, and it was only under Paul's attentive gaze that she realized what she must have looked like, with blood dripping down her arm and her shirt unbuttoned halfway down.
She let out a sigh that sounded more like a grunt as she gave in and stopped struggling against the agent's grip. "Get of me." She hissed.
"It's all right," Kellerman sighed, "let her go, I've got this." He grinned at Mahone's reluctance. "What? You're scared you can't handle a handcuffed woman?"
Mahone gritted his teeth but he obeyed. And obviously, Sara tried to escape the second she'd been let go of. Kellerman grabbed her arm. "Easy."
"Don't touch me." She retorted and pulled away violently while Mahone cussed.
"I swear, I'm going to kill Bagwell. Can't do a thing right, this one."
Paul remained silent; he had no idea the state Bagwell was in right now and he didn't really care, his mind was fully occupied on Sara. Truth be told, he was kind of impressed she had managed to get away, though he had no idea how; he just hoped Bagwell hadn't hurt her too bad. He observed she seemed to be in state of shock, and the way she'd pulled away from him just now, as vehemently as if his touch set her skin on fire, it made him feel – shameful.
Sara didn't say anything, she much preferred grieve the loss of her freedom in silence. She knew very well that her only chase of escaping had been blown away the second she had run into her abductors. Kellerman kept his eyes on her, appraising her shortly before he spoke. "Mahone, why don't you go back to the lodge and check on Bagwell? I'll take care of our young friend here."
Despite her will, Sara shivered when Paul mentioned her.
"That's not what the orders were," Mahone pointed out.
Kellerman rolled his eyes, annoyed. "Well, the orders changed the second she ran away, now would you stop babysitting me for a second and go check on the damages?"
Mahone hesitated a second before starting to walk back to the lodge. Sara couldn't exactly put a name on what she felt when she was alone with Paul, and the ambiguity had never more unnerved her than right now. She felt angry at him, because he'd left her to her fate earlier with Bagwell, she was furious that he'd gotten her into this mess in the first place – but she wasn't scared, oddly. Which was a little stupid, she figured. Paul sighed when he turned to look at her, like a parent facing a particularly turbulent child, before he skimmed his eyes over her and said. "What am I going do about you?"
...
"Are you sure it's that way?" Lincoln asked, seeing his little brother turn right.
"Yeah."
A short silence set in before Lincoln summed up. "So we're looking for a little lodge out of town, except nobody we talked to has ever heard of one?"
"That's exactly why I'm sure she's there," Michael answered. Then a certain thought hit him and he cursed.
"What?" His brother frowned.
"I think we're running out of gas, I forgot to refill."
"Well, I saw a station a few minutes ago, we just have to go back."
Michael sighed before making a u-turn. "I'm tired of wasting time. You heard what Willow said, Sara's in trouble."
"It's just a few minutes Mike. There's nothing you can do for her if we can't get to her."
"Yeah, I just..." Michael said, shaking his head, "I'm just worried that's all."
They reached the station a few minutes later, and while Linc tanked up, Michael talked to the owner. "So um, we kind of asked everyone around, but, hum... you wouldn't happen to know if there's a lodge nearby, would you?"
The guy shook his head. "Not that I know of."
"That's fine." Though the young man didn't bother to hide his disappointment. He paid the guy and went back in the car with his brother, and the owner didn't wait a second before dialing his boss's number on his phone.
"Yeah it's me," he said, "just thought you'd like to know that two men matching Lincoln Burrows and Michael Scofield's description just stopped at my station to ask me where they could find a lodge."
...
"You want to tell me how you escaped?"
Sara didn't like where they were going; they'd been walking in the same forest for about half an hour, and it seemed to become wilder and wilder. Sara was a little relieved to have her hands free, even though she knew Paul had only untied her because she was slowing him down.
"Hum..." She swallowed. She had no desire to tell him how she had managed to run from Bagwell, but fear made it so she chose conversation over silence. "I, uh – I got lucky.
Paul glanced at her briefly and couldn't hide his amusement when he noticed the scary look on Sara's face, as she looked around her, as if every tree was going to grab and eat her. "No need to worry," he said with a grin; for some reason, the idea to be reassuring her confidently brought him a certain kind of joy. "I know this place by heart."
"So where are we going?"
"It's just a short way back to the lodge."
Sara froze as though she'd just walked into a bear trap. Kellerman turned to her and frowned. "We've got to keep moving, Sara."
"Can we please not go back to the lodge?"
Behind the perennial pride, Paul observed, she sounded terrified. He put on a reassuring smile before he spoke, as soft as he managed. "Well, we have to, else our friends are going to think we skipped out."
"Paul, please." She let out sharply, and he flinched slightly at the realization – he was almost positive it was the first time she spoke his name. "I don't want to go back."
"What are you afraid of?" He wondered. "Bagwell?"
"Yeah!" She spoke shamelessly. "I have a feeling he doesn't like me too much right now."
"Please Sara," Paul rolled his eyes in slight bemusement, "he's not going to kill you."
"Why?" She challenged. "You're going to protect me? Like you do it so well?"
He couldn't find anything to retort, so he borrowed her dryness. "Stop being a baby. We need to move."
"I'm not going back." She stated with all of the stubbornness she was capable of.
He sighed. "You can walk with me or be dragged by me, or I can just carry you onto my shoulder, now, are you sure you don't want to work with me ?
"Yeah," she spat without being able to hold back. "I don't want to work with you. We didn't all sell our soul to the devil."
They were both silent for a moment and Sara lowered her gaze; that mouth of hers was going to get her killed one of these days, yet it wasn't anger she found in Kellerman's eyes when she looked. In fact, she wasn't sure she'd ever seen him so serious. "Why are you so scared of him?" He wondered, almost with genuine curiosity. "Did he rape you?"
"No." She answered right away for some reason.
"But he unbuttoned your shirt."
"Actually, I'd rather not discuss this with you."
Kellerman tensed at the despise in her tone. "Why not?" He spat. "You'd rather discuss it with Michael?"
Sara was going answer him that it wasn't any of his business when she noticed something in his voice, something that made her stop in her haste. Something that she prayed wasn't what she thought it was. She stared at him, both in disgust and realization as she managed out. "Are you jealous?"
Kellerman chuckled humorlessly, with that cold cruel way only he owned. "No," he lied, and looked away.
Sara stared at him in complete disbelief. "Oh my god." She breathed. "You are jealous."
He didn't answer her, but she could see how angry he was. Angrier than she'd ever seen him. He grabbed her arm tightly, bruising it on the way as he pulled her behind him. "Let's go." He had never been so furious. He suddenly hated her, hated her for the disgusted look she'd given him when she had figured him out, he hated how it seemed twisted and impossible to understand for her, as if him loving her would be as unthinkable as ridiculous, he hated her so badly at the moment, he hated her so much he wanted to strangle her right now and make that look forever disappear out of her face.
Sara breathed out dizzily, picking up all the little details that now started to make sense. "God," she realized in a breath, "when you kissed me..." At first she'd mistaken it for an act of domination, it hadn't even occurred to her that it my simply be a feeling; an urge. A need that he could no longer repress.
"Wow, Sara," he chuckled and feigned admiration, fumbling to act as though he wasn't losing ground. "Such an imagination! You should consider becoming a writer."
He didn't let her look him in the eyes for a second. Because then she'd know; if she looked at him right now, she'd know.
"Let go of me," she ordered, trying to pull away. This time he had to turn to her to hold her still. He pushed her roughly against a tree, and didn't even try not to hurt her. Her lips parted in a silent scream when he pinned her against the wood, preventing her from moving an inch.
His anger vanished when he heard her whimper. He had let go of an ounce of all the anger that had gathered inside him by hurting her, and hurting her had made all of his anger go away. The apology was on his lips but he couldn't say it; he wouldn't say it, he wouldn't give her another opportunity to see how weak she had made him.
Instead he swallowed back everything he felt and feigned indifference. "Pay attention now, sweetheart, we are going back to that lodge, and if Bagwell wants to finish what he started with you, that's fine by me."
Something in his chest twitched when he saw the tears in her eyes that she struggled to repress. "Why do you have to be like that?" The pain was audible in her voice. "Why do you always have to pretend?!" His blue gaze lit up with anger but she didn't care. "Why can't you just drop the act?" She almost yelled. "Is it so terrible to be yourself that you have to conceal yourself behind a mask to run from everything you feel?"
She suddenly fell to the floor, her head hitting the earth hard; he watched her for a second, her red hear spread on the dirt like a stain of blood. It took him a while to realize that he'd slapped her. His hand had gone against his will. He hadn't meant to hit her this hard. He hadn't meant to hit her at all.
A thousand apologies on his lips, a self hatred so deep that he wanted to cut off his hand.
She gasped at the hit, her cheek on fire. She recovered slowly, face down in the dirt. He hadn't held back his strength.
Paul kept his eyes on her, fumbling for a reason, an excuse – panic surged through his veins when he realized he was trembling. Suddenly, he decided he couldn't stand to see her lying there on the floor like a beaten puppy and he gripped at her half-ripped shirt and lifted her to her feet, shoving her back against the same tree when she tried to run again. He swallowed, and his voice betrayed his guilt. "You better behave now, Sara. You've gone through the last bit of my patience."
He was willingly trying to sound intimidating, and he felt himself panic a bit more when she didn't answer – did his confusion show? Could she finally see through to him, this moment he had dreaded since the second he understood he wasn't physically able to stay away from her – he both wished she would say nothing and stifled the urge to shake her brutally, only to make her speak. They'd already played that game. When she ultimately spoke, her voice was both calm and honest as she appraised him, and realized. "I pity you."
He slapped her again, holding her still with his other hand so she wouldn't fall. He clenched his teeth as hard as he could to hold back the words that threatened to come out. He'd hit her as hard as the first time, and she was certain she would have dropped if he wasn't supporting her. Sara looked back at him, his face was impassive but his eyes betrayed him, and it occurred to him that she had never seen him so human. So true.
Kellerman couldn't believe what he saw. She wasn't scared of him. He had abducted her, twice, tortured her and now he'd just brought the back of his hand in contact with her face, and she wasn't afraid one bit. She uttered, as though reading his mind, as though he was as easy to figure out than an open book. Perhaps she'd simply noticed that he was shaking. "Funny thing, isn't it Paul? That you're the one who's scared?" Her tone was devoid of all mockery.
Paul didn't get the chance to answer, or ponder on whether he was going to response with words or strength, before his phone rang, bringing him back to reality. He held her still with one hand to make sure she wouldn't run away. She made no attempt to even move. "Kellerman," he picked up.
"Paul."
He recognized Caroline's voice. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" He said, hoping she wouldn't notice anything odd in his tone.
"One of our agents in Napa saw Michael Scofield and Lincoln Burrows. They were asking about a lodge."
Paul's felt his heart tighten. "Is he sure that it was them..." He began, but Caroline wasn't in the mood to listen.
She was furious. "Yes he's sure!" She shouted. "It means that instead of playing by our rules, Scofield decided to play hero. Kill her." Her tone was placid.
The weight in his chest felt so heavy it seemed as though his heart had been turned to plumb. He knew how this conversation was going to end before it started, but he still attempted a vain attempt. "She's our only leverage against Scofield," he managed, "she's the only way he's ever going to give us the tape." He paused for a second and swallowed before concluding. "We need her."
"They tried to play us, Paul." Caroline articulated. "Kill the girl, it's an order. Then you can come back home."
She hung up and Paul felt like smashing the cell in his fist but he held back; he just dropped the phone to the floor as he realized, this was the final test. It had always been. He felt dizzy. He felt like each fiber of his body was burning. He felt sick.
Sara didn't move. She didn't exactly understand what was happening, but she had understood most of it. Before she met Michael Scofield, she hadn't been brought so close to death, before she met him, everything was so much easier – it was at that exact moment that she realized she wouldn't trade it for the world. And then there was Kellerman, standing right there in front of her, trying to make her believe that he was a cold blooded monster. She cared about him, she realized as her eyes lingered on his faltering blue gaze, she couldn't explain why for the world, but it was a simple fact. She hated him, she despised the ways he'd taunted her in Sunnydale, she loathed him from the deepest of her soul, but she cared about him too, for reasons she couldn't name. Strangely, perhaps they'd be the same reasons why she hated him.
Maybe she just felt sorry for him.
Maybe she was simply the only person he'd ever met who didn't believe he was the soulless man he pretended to be, the one person in this planet that, regardless of her naivety, hadn't believed his lies.
Maybe she was plainly losing her mind.
Paul finally got out of the state of numbness he was in. He breathed in deep and closed his eyes, and tried to make the pain go away. He was going to kill her, she acknowledged as she spied him beneath her lashes, she was certain that he was, and she kept waiting to feel terrified but the fear just wouldn't come. For the very first time in her life, she simply wasn't afraid anymore.
Paul's fists tighten, his eyes were still shut. She was nothing, she was just a pawn, she was nothing and he couldn't screw this up. He just had to do what he did best. He just had to follow the orders and shut his mouth, do what he was told without asking questions. And then, just forget about her. Forget about it all.
Almost terrifyingly, he started to think practically. He shut everything down and hid behind his mask of carelessness, the mask of the good hit man who did what he had to do. He had left his gun at the lodge, so he'd have to improvise. He grabbed the knife at his belt, it was the same weapon he'd received on his first mission, Caroline had given it to him; he had killed dozens of people with it, and they were no different from Sara Tancredi. It shouldn't be much harder with her.
He pushed her away from the tree, with no other intention than to stall, then he turned her face to him and held her still, holding her by the shoulders with both hands, the long blade in his right hand grazing her neck. She made no attempt to run, she didn't screamed, or even fought back. Why was she making this so easy? And yet at the same moment, so hard?
He raised the blade above her heart. He had done this a thousand time, hitting the heart was the quickest way to end it. He was ready, the knife was an inch away from her flesh and he pictured it, he saw himself digging the blade into her chest in a quick hit; he'd done it thousands of times, but his hand just wouldn't obey him. It shook for a second, so he tightened his fingers around the knife, so hard his knuckles turned white but his hand stopped shuddering. He stood there for a while, frozen as if incapable to move; incapable to kill her.
Sara didn't resist him; she knew it wouldn't be of any use whatever she did, he was a trained assassin and if he was going to kill her then she wouldn't do him the favor to run so he could stab her in the back. He'd have to look her in the eye. She held her breath when he lifted the weapon above her chest, and she could see it lowering down in painful agony over and over in her mind. Though the apprehension was torture, she forbade herself to close her eyes; she watched him with attention, and spotted the same impassive mask on his face. His face was lying, his eyes weren't. Sara could feel the cold steel of the blade through her shirt. She tried to swallow, vainly. She was looking right into his eyes, resisting the urge to look down – his blue gaze was as hypnotizing as always, but there was something in those eyes that told her that he was as much as a prisoner from her stare as she was from his.
"I killed dozens like you." He spoke. He was finally letting go of these words that had haunted him for days, and they only sounded plainly curious and angry. "Why are you any different?" His eyes were still fixed on her, but she felt like he was talking to himself. The knife was still pressed flat against her skin, but she wasn't holding her breath anymore. He shouted this time. "Why are you any different?!"
Sara didn't answer, his gaze held her prisoner for one more second, then, his eyes let her go.
He looked down and the knife fell at his feet.
He took a step backward but his expression didn't change, he was still looking at her, his mouth slightly opened in startle. He had never left any survivors before, he had never let anyone go, especially against orders. He had never let himself be moved by any of his missions, but when he had entered Sara Tancredi's world – everything had been different. Being with her, being her friend... it was unlike everything he had ever done before, and he didn't like it at first, because she made him changed and he didn't like change, he liked things to stay in their proper place, but then he'd come to realize that with her normal city girl ways, Chinese takeout and blueberry pie, and that breathtaking smile, she'd oddly made him better. Then it was too late, the addiction had started; he just had to see her, to be with her, and need her the same desperate way one needs air. These feelings he felt around her, so strange, so unknown and unlike everything he knew, a part of him must have known that they were confusing, so from the start he could prepare himself for the moment where he'd hold that blade against her skin; this, however, was the moment he knew best, almost familiar like a safety net, unlike what she'd awakened inside of him. And now that had come to finally go back to what he knew – he couldn't.
Sara was holding still, as startled as he was. "Get out of here." He breathed in an almost inaudible whisper.
The young woman just stood there, incapable of moving an inch. He hadn't killed her. He hadn't killed her and her first reflex was to be mad at him for it, because she couldn't plainly hate him anymore, but on the other hand, to just look at him right now – as peculiar as it sounds, she suddenly couldn't come up with one reason to hate him, at that second. He looked too wounded, she thought in defense of her own feelings, he looked crushed and destroyed and – had she done this to him?
"You..." She uttered, uncertain. "You're letting me go?"
He didn't answer. Couldn't she just goddamn go and leave him to his misery? Because all he needed right now in addition to everything was for her to see him like this, an inch away from breaking. "Why?" She even asked the stupid dumbass question.
He sighed angrily. "Does there need to be a reason?" His eyes left the floor he'd been staring at to set on her.
He was right though, and a part of her knew it; she should just go. She didn't owe him anything, she should just save herself and run.
But she couldn't move.
"They're going to kill you when they find out you let me go." She stated.
"Why do you care?"
"I don't know."
Something lit up in his eyes, a bit as though someone had thrown gasoline and struck a match. After everything he'd said, everything he'd done and let others do – couldn't she simply answer 'I don't'? Leave him to his grief and wreck of her life, save herself… could she care? He wondered if it was even possible, after everything. Though he observed one did care about the people they hated; hating is just another word for caring.
They were both silent, and for a moment Sara whished back these three little words she had just spoken, but she owed him the truth even if she didn't understand it one bit more than he did. "I just..." she managed, shaking her head, "I don't know."
He looked away immediately. He was so close to his breaking point, he could feel it, and she didn't make it any easier. He could still change his mind, he could still kill her, right now, get up so quickly that she wouldn't even know what was happening; he could hit her to the side, or slit her throat. But part of him knew he wouldn't; because truth was, he couldn't kill her. And if he did, he could never live with himself again.
Kellerman dropped on tree trunk with a sigh – more of an annoyed sigh than anything really, and he took his head in his hands, dug his fingernails through his scalp as though to summon a thought. Any thought at all.
He wasn't looking at her, he was giving her a chance to run, and both were wondering why she wouldn't just take it. Why she chose to just stand there and stare at him like an idiot.
Sara really couldn't explain why even if her life had depended on it, couldn't explain why she stayed, why she wasn't able to simply run without looking back; she just knew it, somehow. If she looked back, she'd return to him. Maybe just because it wasn't in her nature, because she wasn't someone able to be blind to others' pain, someone who could walk away and choose to ignore the fact that another person would die because of her – someone like him. She didn't know why she cared so much, she didn't know how one act of mercy would ever repair everything else he had done, but she knew that whatever the reasons were, she just couldn't leave him to die. He hadn't.
She was so silent that for a moment, he thought she was gone; and then, before he had time to determine whether he felt pain or relief, he felt her sit next to him. Startle made his mouth run without him. "You've got to be kidding me." He muttered to himself, sighed and looked back at her. "Are you for real? I mean, seriously, what in fuck's name are you still doing here?" He tried to chase her, he did his best, threatened and used violent words to wake her up – something had to wake her up. "Shouldn't you be running away so that you're not here when by the time I change my mind and kill you?" For a second though, it felt like he didn't even know how to be menacing anymore. "Can't you at least act like you're afraid of me?"
"Is that it, Paul?" Shivers ran down his spine when she spoke his name. "Is that why you do the things you do? Because you want people to be afraid of you?"
"There's nothing in this world that could begin to make you understand why I do the things I do."
He had been cold and harsh enough, and he figured between how close he'd come to her with that knife earlier and the tone he had use, anyone with half a brain would have walked away. Instead she just stared at him with that unflinching attitude of hers, her hazel eyes locked into his with determination and a bit of anger, but not an ounce of fear, as she answered. "Try me."
He held back a smile at her persistence. "You're something, Tancredi," he'd give her that at least, and even though he wouldn't have believed he'd be having this conversation a few hours earlier, something inside of him seemed to have decided that it didn't really matter – nothing really mattered. And so he just sat next to her on that fallen tree, talking, because it's what she seemed to be decided to do. "You know," he added, "I'm really starting to wonder if you're all there, mentally speaking."
She didn't comment. Actually, she was starting to ask herself the same question – for what reason other than insanity would she be chitchatting with a man who had nearly killed her twice? The silence lingered, and Paul didn't really feel like smiling anymore. He wasn't looking at her either. He wasn't certain he still wanted her to leave, in fact he was quit sure he didn't; her warmth against his side oddly made him feel quieter, almost peaceful. And she – well, he couldn't even begin to define how she made him feel; closer to a better man, perhaps.
He suddenly wondered how much time they'd have before his two guests at the lodge started wondering why they were taking so long; even if that was the case, he thought, there was no way Bagwell or Mahone would manage to find them into the forest. Kellerman knew it could be a real maze for someone who didn't know it already, and so he figured they had a little time – what for though, he had no idea.
Sara waited, unsure what to do, though it didn't exactly feel awkward. She didn't know why, but something about sitting next to Paul Kellerman was so absurd that it strangely felt okay. It felt oddly comfortable, and as though he wouldn't push her away – it also felt safe, as paradoxical as it might sound. And he felt better, with her, part of her knew it, and part of her wanted it. Part of her wanted to make him feel better, even though she couldn't explain why in god's name. Maybe it was just because she had a feeling she was the one to have made him so miserable, and that made it her duty to turn him back into the self-confident jerk he usually was.
A bit of awkwardness pierced through their moment; Sara wasn't too sure what to do or say exactly, wondered if she should say something to appease him, maybe hold his hand – no, she decided. No, that would definitely be weird.
He was the first one to talk, the first one to tear himself from his contemplation of the woods to look back at her, also. "Why didn't you run?"
She let out a shy smile and deflected his question. "Why didn't you kill me?" She asked in return.
A small burst of laughter crawled out of his throat. "I doubt we have the same reasons. You go first."
She bit down on her lower lip; she didn't really have an answer for him. She didn't even have an answer for herself. "I don't know."
A short silence settled in before he asked, his voice devoid of any reproach. "Is it because you pity me?" To be honest, he didn't expect more from her than pity; in fact he might even expect less.
"Maybe." She pondered on what she'd felt and looked at him, sitting on that fallen tree – she'd seen a broken man, but had it exactly stirred pity? "No." She finally determined, still not looking at him.
"Then why?" He persisted calmly. "Righteousness?"
"Neither." She hadn't stayed because it was the right thing to do, and she wouldn't have stayed if it had been someone else, say that other agent who had broken into the lodge earlier; if this man had spared her life and told her to run, she would have. She kept her eyes set ahead of her, and began hesitatingly. "I – I'm not sure why, but for some reason, I… I can't leave you behind."
At that exact second, he wanted to show her the tremendous wave of emotion that she'd made him feel, like a devastating hurricane of warmth with cream skin and auburn hair. He wanted to thank her, to close his hand around her fingers blindly and draw her against him; he actually longed for it. To run his fingers through her silky hair, grip at the back of her head and clamp his mouth over hers to kiss her frenziedly.
Too much. Definitely too much for a thank you.
"Why not?" He asked instead.
"Your turn," she decided, meeting his eyes this time. "Why didn't you kill me?"
He smiled slightly, as though aware of how ridiculous it was. "I feel strongly protective of you." He chuckled humorlessly; because really, who acknowledges that they want to protect someone after torturing them without mercy?
Though she didn't laugh, or question him. She simply waited a while before she suggested. "Maybe you feel some sort of obligation towards me? Maybe I don't even have anything to do with what you're feeling, maybe you're just growing a brand new conscience and I'm bugging it."
He escaped another chuckle at the end of her sentence, not just because of the way she'd chosen to put things, but because it was actually a good theory, and a goddamn shame it wasn't true. And for a second, he wished it were; he wished that he wouldn't be tormented by this perennial need to see her, every day for the rest of his life.
He winced and answered. "I don't think that's it."
"Well, what do you think it is?" She was calm, though a bit of annoyance pierced through. "They're your feelings, you know them better than I do."
He could feel her eyes on her, even though he'd lowered his. "I just…" He managed, then turned towards her, as though incapable not to be looking at her for one more second. "When we were together at your apartment," he began, "when you thought I was Lance, playing your friend, you got me so confused. It was as though you were always on my mind, but I couldn't name a thing among the tangled mess you made me feel," acknowledge, "and when I received the orders to –" He lowered his eyes, as though stopped in his haste; as though suddenly incapable of vocalizing what he'd done with his own hands. "To question you," he swallowed before continuing, "I couldn't understand why I wanted to keep you with me, and – keep these feelings be."
He didn't even make sense to his own ears, and it was a miracle she didn't point it out before now. "Okay, calm down." He was plainly lost in his own words, and couldn't even believe he was even telling her this. In her attempt to slow him down, she grazed his cheeks with her knuckles, and didn't realize the intimacy of the gesture until the contact made her shiver.
He felt as though she'd set his skin on fire. She'd lowered her hand immediately, of course, but the burning sensation lingered on his cheek. He locked eyes with her, as though to prevent her from looking away. "You hated me," he stated, "back in Sunnydale, you couldn't stand the sight of me. What's different now?"
"Nothing." Everything. "I don't know," she reiterated, "I guess back then, I thought of you differently." She really had no idea why she was being honest with him, as though incapable of lying. "I guess I saw you as a soulless man. Some sort of sadistic torturer." Plus an arrogant jackass, was added in her mind only.
He just chuckled without humor. "Yeah, old news, that's what everyone thinks of me."
"Well you only have yourself to blame," she pointed out, "that's how you want people to see you." She was certain of what she advanced for some reason. "It's how you wanted me to see you, but..." She swallowed, fumbling for words that escaped her. "I just don't seem to be able to see you like this, anymore. It feels a bit like you've never been honest to me up till now, and –" she shrugged, unsure of her own suggestion. "Maybe I don't hate that guy so much."
He stared at her in disbelief. Shock. Amazement. Fascination. He'd scarcely ever been sincere to her, and yet he felt she could see him so clearly, see him differently than anyone had ever seen him, differently than Caroline – as if she could see the actual person, beneath every single mask. And the most startling news was, she didn't hate him. He had done everything he could think of to get her to hate him and it had failed somehow; then it occurred to him, maybe he'd done it just to make sure he would never have to make the choice that he'd just made.
Sara felt herself blush under his gaze.
She had told him the truth, even though said truth was inexplicable even to herself; she didn't hate him anymore. It wasn't that she'd forgotten or forgiven what he had done to her, both were impossible, but she now had trouble associating him to the man who had done these things to her. It was perhaps easier to keep seeing him as the big bad wolf, but it was undeniable: he had changed. And a week ago, she would have hated him for changing, she would have wanted him to forever be the coldhearted monster she knew he was – and yet, how could she hate him for changing when she was the one who had changed him?
Kellerman's words tore through the silence; he heard himself speak. "Thank you." They had come out loud and clear, and her hazel eyes set on him, inquisitive, but he hesitated when it came to justifying. "Hum, for…" He uttered. "Not hating me?"
She smiled slightly, and for a second, wondered why this didn't feel more awkward than that. She hated him days ago, no, hours ago, and yet she wondered if she'd ever feel shame or embarrassment in front of him again – it didn't really feel like she would. In fact, as mad as it sounded, if felt as though she'd never feel the need to hide anything to him, when there was only him around. As though she would simply remember this moment, and what it felt like to be sitting on a fallen tree, next to a fallen man, and the shame would fade away. As though there were no lies in this world able to conceal her from Paul Kellerman. As though she was and forever would be, oddly and helplessly, bare in front of him.
Sara gasped when Kellerman's phone started vibrating, as though they'd both been cut out from reality for a while and it had just crushed right back in. Kellerman sighed, deep in his throat; he knew who was calling; he knew it was Caroline. And right there, at this second, he hated her a little for ruining this moment. He had no intention to answer his phone whatsoever, at first, as though to demonstrate: I-will-no-longer-be-Caroline-Reynolds's-living-thing. Though in the end, the annoying sound of the alarm made him give in.
He got up and left Sara a few steps behind to pick up his cell phone, which was still lying inert on the ground. That's all it took for Sara to jump back into the real world. She had just spent the past half hour inside this forest, chatting with Paul Kellerman. And she hadn't even thought of Michael. Michael, who was probably worried to death because of her.
The ring of Caroline's shrill voice echoed as soon as Kellerman answered his phone. "Is it done?"
"Yes," he spoke casually, "I'm actually dealing with the body right now."
Sara knew that he was a good liar, and still she was surprised to note that she almost believed him. And though to see him play this role again – be this man – it was blood chilling. She heard him chuckle at one of his interlocutor's comment, before he sighed. "Oh please, Caroline, I'm offended that you would question me at this point. It's been what, fifteen years since we've been working together?" Though through his casualness, Sara was certain that he knew exactly how many years. He knew exactly how many days. "All this time," he went on, "and you still don't trust me." There was a short silence in the conversation before he continued. "Fine, I'll take a picture of the body and send it right away."
He hung up, and when he looked back at Sara, all masks were dropped again as he informed. "I think you need to leave right about now." And at that second, she knew as well as him that he had played this role for the last time
He started guiding her towards the edge of the forest, and she inquired as soon as she saw they were heading back to the road. "What are we going to do? Wait for a car to pick us up?"
"Oh no," he countered calmly. "I was here during my first mission, you see, and me being me, I always have to leave a plan B behind."
She understood what he meant when he led her to a small garage. He opened it and Sara squinted at the sight of a black motorcycle. "What the hell is that?" She managed.
He grinned. "Plan B."
...
"So what do you suggest we do?" Lincoln asked, "Just break in, grab her and take off?"
"I have a feeling it's not going to be this easy," Michael said.
They were both crouching near the lodge, and the older brother went on. "All right, so what do we do? Should I recall you that we're a little short of weapons?"
"Would you stop talking, Linc? I'm trying to think." Michael somehow managed to both yell and whisper at the same time. He couldn't risk whoever was in there hearing them.
"Didn't mean to disturb your thinking."
Michael snapped. "Could you stop being such a baby, Linc? Sara's in there! And she's in trouble! And I can't help her! And it's driving me nuts!"
"I'm worried about her too, you know."
"I know, I'm sorry. I just – I just hate myself right now."
"Don't beat yourself up, Mike. It's not your fault. Technically speaking, it's mine."
Michael was silent for a moment before sighing. "You know last time I saw her, we argued. I –" He shook his head, as if he couldn't even believe himself. "I accused her." He finished. "I blamed her about Kellerman kissing her. I said she let him."
Lincoln didn't answer. He thought that was actually a pretty stupid thing to say, but he didn't comment.
"I wish it back." The young man went on, "But I was just so angry. We were breaking up, and she was getting upset about Kellerman disappearing like that and – the worst thing is, she was right. She was right to be suspicious, and we all should have been. Then I left her alone. I basically left her there for him to take."
"Don't say that." Lincoln said, both authoritarian and serious.
Michael didn't answer, before he ultimately said. "I should have been there." The his phone rang, and he was pulled out of his thoughts; when he recognized Sara's number, he couldn't help his hands from turning into fists – he was quite certain he wouldn't be able to contain his rage if he talked to Kellerman right now. He answered right away. "Look, I'm making progress, so you better not hurt her or I'll –"
"Michael, it's me."
He felt his heart jump in his chest. The anger in his voice disappeared, and he let his relief take over. "Sara?"
She sounded as relieved as he was to hear his voice. "Michael, I – I got out, I can't… look, we can't go back to Sunnydale, we have to meet somewhere else."
"Wait, slow down, what do you mean you got out?"
"I escape." She let out a slight chuckle through her seriousness. "I guess spend too much time with you."
He smiled. He couldn't believe how relieved he felt. "Where are you? I'm coming to you."
"Santa Rosa, we drove all the way here. I'm at some motel, I... I'll be more precise when you get here –"
"Wait. What do you mean we?"
"Uh – I'll explain when you get here, just... I need to see you. I miss you. Just hurry."
"I'll be here as soon as possible," he promised before he hung up.
"What the hell was that?" Lincoln said with a puzzled frown."
"She..." Michael managed, smiling stupidly, "we need to get to the car."
...
Sara hung up and turned to Kellerman. "They're on their way."
He simply nodded. They had driven all day before taking a motel room here. Sara was exhausted, but the idea to see Michael again seemed to refuel her strength. .
"Well," Kellerman said, "when do you think they'll be here?"
"By morning maybe," she hazarded, "somewhere around 5 a.m."
She dropped on the bed and sighed with contentment. It was the only bed inside the bedroom, and her companion had told her she could have the bed; she should have said no, but she was too tired to protest. Besides, Paul Kellerman wasn't the kind of man to take no for an answer.
He smiled watching her like that, abandoning herself as though they were above formalities of all kinds – he liked the sound of that. He liked how peaceful she looked. He hated the fact that Scofield was going show up tomorrow and ruin it all for him, but part of him knew it was fair. He had already obtained from Sara Tancredi more than what he deserved.
He lay down on the couch and sighed, visibly as tired as she was. "I better not be there when he gets here," he observed. "I'll just take the motorcycle."
"You're not going anywhere," Sara countered without much vehemence, but enough authority for him to know that she was serious. "You're not going to make it alone," she went on. "You're staying with us."
He smiled without joy, and yet it felt oddly genuine. "I have a feeling your boyfriend isn't going to be so happy about that."
"You saved my life." She pointed out. "I'll just explain him what happened –"
"I'm afraid that's not how he's going to see things."
Sara didn't argue; yes, Michael was going to be pissed off, super pissed off, maybe as pissed of as she was when he first got Kellerman to join the team. "He'll come around." She decided and closed her eyes.
She just wanted to sleep, just for a little while...
"Sara?" He asked, summoning her to an aware state. "Are you serious about this?"
She sighed and opened her eyes. He was sitting on the couch, his blue eyes fixed on her, as if he was – she pondered on it for a second before she realized – willing. He simply looked willing to do anything she'd ask.
"Yeah," she said, "I'm serious about this."
He pondered on it for a second. "Look, back there, in the forest, it was... it was special. But now we're out, and you did enough for me. I wouldn't blame you for wanting me to leave as soon as the sun rises." She didn't answer and so he continued, more than serious; strangely solemn, too. "I'll do it." He simply said. "I'll do it if you want me to, I'll leave and I'll never bother you again. You should be aware of that, Sara. At this point, I think I'll do anything you want me to do."
She smiled, and he didn't know whether to be angry or amazed at her innocence. "You don't have to do that. You don't have to do anything I say, Paul, but – I'd like you to stay."
He remained speechless for a few seconds before he uttered. "You don't mean that." It was a statement, not a question.
She sighed slightly before she asked. "Would it be terribly hard for you to believe that I like you?" The question came with genuine curiosity, and he forced himself not to get carried away – she hadn't said she liked him. She hadn't said anything concrete.
And yet instead of being happy with what he had, instead of contenting himself of her tolerance, he pushed. "Do you?"
She stared at him, as though rising to a silent challenge between a strong presentiment and her sanity. It was a bit like knowing something, deep inside of you, knowing it in your bones and wondering whether you should reflect upon it quietly or just trust it.
"Yes." She answered, and went on before he could interrupt. "And don't ask me why, I don't know. But I don't want to leave you behind." She still wasn't sure why she was entirely honest with him. She remembered what he had told her in the woods and posed. "You say you feel like you need to protect me? I feel like I need to help you." Both desires were equally absurd. "And I know that for years you've obeyed orders from a woman who played you, and I don't want to tell you how to act, Paul, or what to do. But even though I can't tell you why, I think that we can learn from each other. And I think that setting yourself free of that woman was the best thing that could happen to you."
Paul didn't answer.
He didn't love Caroline, he was obsessed by her. He had loved her once, maybe, but she had changed with time and all he could do was hold on to her to try to keep up. What he felt for Sara was different. What he felt for her was just – warmer. Deeper. Stronger. Almost as though he didn't only love her more, but loved her from a better love. Sure, it could be destructive, and it could hurt like hell, like any other love, but deep down he sensed that the way Sara Tancredi had taken over him was nothing like what Caroline had done. She'd put her claws onto him and trapped him there, manipulated him and turned him into her willing slave, but with Sara… It was more as though a warm wave had overwhelmed him. Washed away the pain and suffering. Taken all his doubts on its way. A huge burning tidal wave that had burned everything he was only to leave the best of him, the same way a phoenix is reborn from his ashes. And that's what he felt like, that's what he was. Reborn.
And now that he could analyze the feeling, now that he knew what it was and had gotten used to it, it just felt like the best there ever was.
It just felt like love.
'Did my heart love until now? I swear it sight! That I never saw true beauty 'til this night!'
Great, and now he was quoting Shakespeare.
"Hum... Paul?"
He looked a bit as though he was in an awaken coma. He managed: "Yeah, hum..." and, "I just..." He looked right at her, still illuminated by the brightness of realization, as he uttered. "I'm sorry."
She smiled politely, only a hint awkwardly. "No big deal."
"No." He said. As in 'No. you didn't hear me.' He repeated. "I'm sorry."
He looked at her, sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at her with those big brown eyes, and her uncomprehending gaze was almost the same as when he'd been torturing her. That's when he realized how truly sorry he was. "I'm sorry I lied to you," he said without lowering his eyes. "I'm sorry tortured you."
She trembled at the mention, and she suddenly thought that if she'd been able to look away, right now, she would have.
"I'm sorry I kidnapped you." He went on, enumerating. "I'm sorry I left you with Bagwell." Though every apology was tainted with sentiment, not ice – the same sentiment that he'd let her see earlier, in the forest. And she became aware of how close he was from crying, even though he didn't seem to. "I'm sorry I hit you, earlier today."
She didn't realize she'd gotten up from bed until she reached him.
"I'm sorry I held a knife to your throat –"
The rest of his words died when she held him in her arms; no warning, just like that. Just because they both needed it right now. He stopped talking, at first from startle, and shock stopped him from reacting; then, slowly, he wrapped his arms around her too.
He locked her there, satisfying an urge that had resigned itself to linger unfulfilled, and although he would have thought he'd hold her tight enough to smother her if he could, both were surprised by the gentleness of his touch; as if he was afraid to break her by making a wrong move.
"I'm sorry." He whispered again against her.
"I know." She hushed him, and unconsciously, instead of waking up and unlocking himself from his embrace, she started stroking the base of his neck with her thumb. Her other hand was laced across his strong back, rubbing softly through his shirt in an unaware gesture. Both his arms were around her back, though one of his hands sank slightly in the length of her auburn hair – perhaps that's what should have waken her up. Because Michael had touched her like this, more than once. Because the contact was too intimate for her to be comfortable with it, or at least, should have been.
And yet instead of awakening from this insanely mad day, instead of realizing and walking away from the odd sensation, she stepped deeper into it. Because this didn't make sense, none of it did. But it felt safe. It didn't feel like losing herself into a stolen moment of passion, the way it did with Michael. But it felt right. Horribly, disturbingly right. In fact, ever since her father had been killed – no, before that – ever since she'd come back from school at fourteen years old, on a Thursday afternoon, and she had been told that her mother was dead, she finally, inexplicably felt like she'd come home.
And that was the strangest thing about it. She knew what he felt. She knew it even if he couldn't explain it, as though their lives and souls had been bound by fate and awkwardly thrown together, all at the wrong timing. It's what scared her most, too. Because all he felt, she somehow felt it too; in a different way. She loved Michael, it made the scale tip, she loved him more than anything, but she wondered if that was really all there was to it – if it was the only reason why her feelings were different.
This odd sensation that had tugged at her, earlier in the woods, when she'd started to see through his lies, and the certainty that after seeing the crack in his ice-cold mask, he'd never be able to lie to her again. This indescribable feeling that had snaked inside of her, back in the forest, the one that had turned her feet to plumb and her hatred to ash and made her stay. Was there really anything but bad timing to separate her feelings from his? She felt what he felt, in the inexplicable way that she understood it, sensed it, but didn't let it take over her. It was the only thing she could do, after all; she already belonged to someone else.
And so, locked into strong unthreatening arms, she wondered… What if there had been no bad timing? What if the timing had been as opportune and favorable as can be?
What if she had met Paul first?
What if she hadn't been a fugitive, and he hadn't been working for Caroline?
Her throat tightened with self-hatred when the worse question of all crushed inside her mind.
What if despite her self-control and resignation, she simply ended up loving them both?