Disclaimer: So I had a totally random burst of creativity when I was writing my last disclaimer. Tragically, I have been struck by no such artistic mood today, so we'll just leave it at this: I don't own Prison Break.
Reviews are like smiles: everybody can give them, they're free, and greatly appreciated.
The first coherent thought Kate had upon waking up was that the hotel room smelled like coffee. This was enough to get her to sit up, carefully keeping the blanket wrapped around her. She ran a hand through her hair and looked around for a moment, searching for the source of the scent, eventually seeing a cup of coffee standing on a small table near the television, still steaming. Coffee at this hour would be good. Wait- what hour was it? Kate glanced at the alarm clock beside the bed: 9:42 a.m. Okay, so it wasn't as early as she'd originally thought, but still, as one accustomed to the hours of a surgical resident, coffee was always good.
"Hey." Lincoln said, stepping out of the bathroom, fully dressed.
"Good morning." She replied groggily.
After a brief moment of silence, Lincoln said, "I, uh, I got you coffee. I wasn't sure what you wanted, so I just got regular."
"That's fine." Kate swung her feet over the side of the bed and stood up, still clutching the blanket. She walked slowly over to the table, and picked up her coffee. She took a long sip, and smiled faintly.
"So, last night..."
"Last night." Kate repeated, still savoring her coffee.
"Do you regret it?"
"Do you?"
"I asked you first." He pointed out.
"How do I know that you're not going to change your answer when you hear mine?" Kate countered.
"You'll just have to trust me."
"Or, you could just go first."
"How do I know you won't change your answer?"
"You'll just have to trust me." Kate replied, grinning. He stared at her. "Okay, here." She tossed a small notepad towards him, followed by a pen. Kate lifted another notepad and a pen. "Write down your answer. Do you regret last night?" Kate instructed. She wrote her answer down without looking at the paper, because she was looking at Lincoln the whole time, which was acceptable because he was looking at her.
"This is stupid." Lincoln remarked, staring at her. She nodded. "Ready?" He asked. Kate nodded again. Simultaneously they turned their notepads around. The word "no" was written on both pages.
"Mahone."
"Where are you right now, Alex?"
"Chicago. At the Bureau."
"Hard at work on the Fox River 8, I trust?"
"Yes."
"How's your head healing?"
"Just fine." Alexander Mahone replied, rubbing a finger along a line of stitches along his jaw. He had Lincoln Burrows to thank for the five similiar lines on his face, all from the same bottle of vodka.
"That's good. I need you to do something for me." Mr. Kim paused, but Alex remained silent. "I need to you get to Minnesota as quickly as you can. Scofield might be meeting someone there."
"You want me to leave things here, where we are making progress in tracking down where the rest of the escapees are, to go where Scofield might be?" Mahone asked, astounded.
"Are you turning me down, Alex?" William Kim's voice was full of false kindness.
Alex sighed in exasperation and shifted the phone to his other ear. "No, I'm very busy here, so I'm just wondering why somebody else can't handle it. Like Kellerman. He's capable. Send Kellerman."
"I asked you to do this." Bill said coldly. There was a silence. "But you know what, Alex, that's not a half bad idea. We'll contact Paul. You're right; he is capable. He should be able to handle this, even if he's proved incompetent in other tasks."
"Thank you." Alex said, surprised.
"No, no, thank you."
Sunlight was streaming in through the window, creating a lazy, peaceful atmosphere in the hotel room. Both of its occupants were, again, in one of the beds. "Thank you for saying no." Lincoln said softly, playing with several strands of her hair.
Kate smiled. "I'm just glad you returned the favor." Kate replied.
Suddenly Lincoln frowned. "That's not from me, is it?" He asked, referring to a bruise on her neck. Kate immediately brought a hand up to cover it, face turning pink.
She closed her eyes. "No." She replied. "It's from T-Bag."
Lincoln slammed his fist into the mattress on his other side, swearing furiously. "Lincoln, just calm-"
Both of them immediately fell silent as a voice outside the door called, "Housekeeping!" The lock clicked, and the door opened, revealing a young woman standing in front of a cart containing cleaning supplies. "Oh!" She pressed a hand instantly over her eyes, as she saw them in bed, obviously not dressed. "I'm so, so sorry!"
Kate's back was to the door, and Lincoln had wisely ducked his head, to prevent him from being recognized. "It's okay. Just, could you come back later?" Kate asked.
"Yeah, sure thing." The maid replied, still covering her eyes. She shut the door quickly.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Indeed, they barely breathed as they realized how close that had been. And then- "You didn't put a 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door, did you?" Kate asked wryly. Lincoln shook his head, and both of them collapsed into peals of laughter.
A couple hundred miles away and several hours later, when Michael, Sara, and Sucre arrived in the moderately-sized town in central Minnesota that Rain lived in, they found that Logan's Diner was bustling. "You two wait outside." Michael ordered, not liking how many people were around.
"Michael-"
"Please. It's safer if you wait here." Sara fell silent. She kissed him quickly, and then walked away with Sucre. They went back to wait in the car.
Michael, on the other hand, adjusted his hat and sunglasses, and boldly entered the agreed meeting place. "Welcome to Logan's! Just you?" A young waitress asked, walking up to him.
"There'll be two of us." Michael replied, glancing around and not seeing his friend.
"Right this way." She led him to a table by the counter.
"Actually, would it be possible to have that table?" Michael asked, pointing to a table in a more secluded corner of the restaraunt.
"Sure." The waitress shrugged indifferently. "Can I start you off with something to drink?"
"Some coffee would be fantastic." Michael said. How long had it been since his last cup of coffee? It would have been before the breakout, before Fox River, so months ago. He wondered briefly if he would still like how it tastes. A lot of things he used to like before prison now seemed worthless. Michael knew he had changed there, perhaps irreversibly.
"Here you go, sir." The waitress set a cup of coffee down in front of him, causing his thoughts to scatter. "Would you like to order now?"
"No thanks. I'm still waiting for my friend to show." He replied, taking a sip of his coffee. Michael smiled faintly; it still tasted good.
"How long has he been gone?" Sara later asked, from where she was laying in the backseat.
"Almost two hours." Sucre replied, sounding as though he was about to scream out of boredom. "What do you think is taking him so long?"
"He didn't come." Michael announced, sounding bitter and opening a door to the car. Sara sat up.
Sucre glanced at him. "What now?" Michael frowned, and got into the car, thinking.
"This is it." Michael proclaimed, as the car came to a stop in front of a large, six-story brick building. "He lives in number 36." Michael got out of the car, and was quickly followed by Sara and Sucre. They entered, and took the stairs up to the third floor. It was the third door on the right.
Michael knocked on the door. "Bobby? You there?" He called. There was no response. Michael knocked again, and got the same result. He twisted the nob, and the door swung open to reveal an apartment that looked like a tornado had hit.
"Who could have done this?" Sara asked, staring at the chaos.
Michael smirked. "Bobby. He's the messiest person I know."
"Oh."
He gestured for Sara to stay behind him. "But he always locks his door." Michael added apprehensively. They slowly went deeper into the apartment, trying to avoid stepping on any of the junk on the floor.
"I think that you'll agree, I've been a fairly nice guy." A voice that was definitely not Bobby's said. Sara froze. "Up until now. This is your last chance to tell me anything that you might want to, oh, get anything off your chest." Michael signaled for them to be silent, before continuing towards the back of the apartment. "No?" There was the sound of a fist colliding with human flesh, followed by a cry of pain. Many similiar shouts of agony echoed through the apartment as Michael and Sucre rushed forward. Sara hung back, leaning against the wall, biting her lip.
The eyes of the tall, almost unnaturally skinny man tied to the chair grew wide as he saw Michael over the shoulder of the man attacking him. This caused the agent to turn around. "Michael Scofield." The man said, sounding remarkably pleased. Michael wasted no time explaining before lunging forwards and attacking the agent. He pulled a gun out of his jacket, but Sucre yanked it away from him. Together, the former cellmates wrestled the federal agent to the ground. They bound his hands and feet, and Sucre sat on him while Michael stood.
"Are you okay, Bobby?" He asked the man on the chair. Bobby Rain nodded. Michael turned his attention back to the agent. "Name." The agent hesitated. "Name!"
"Paul Kellerman." He answered, anxiously eyeing Sucre, who was pointing the gun at him.
"Who do you work for?"
"United States Secret Service."
Michael exchanged looks with Sucre. He took a moment to think, before asking his next question. While he did this, Sara crept into the room.
"Hello, Paul." She snapped bitterly, stepping on the agent's chest and twisting her foot slightly. The agent screamed, before passing out.
Michael stared at Sara, eyes wide. "What happened?" He asked.
Sara stared down at the agent. She stooped, and ripped his shirt open, exposing a half-healed burn in the shape of an iron on his chest. It was now bleeding and pussing, not in a life-threatening manner, but enough that she knew she had caused an incredible amount of pain. Good, she thought. He deserves it.
"How did you-"
"Now's not the time, Michael." She cut him off. Sara strode over to where Bobby Rain said, and cut his bonds. "Where did he hit you?" She asked softly.
"She's a doctor." Michael explained, setting the gun down on Bobby's cluttered desk. Bobby nodded, and pointed to his ribs and the side of his head. Everyone was silent for a moment, as Sara examined him.
"You'll be fine. Ice those spots a bit; they'll bruise. But you'll be okay." She said. Bobby nodded.
"I'm glad you came when you did." Bobby said to Michael.
"Me too." Everybody turned around, and saw Kellerman standing, holding the gun. He seemed to not notice that his shirt was hanging off him. Michael and Sucre were on him again instantly. Sara grabbed the gun from Paul when Michael slammed the agent's hand repeatedly on the desk. Finally, Paul put his hands up in surrender. Michael and Sucre stood, allowing the agent to do the same. "Thank you." Kellerman said, glancing at them all. His eyes lingered on Sara. "Good to see you again, Sara." The agent then lept backwards, crashing through a large window and falling out of the building.
They all rushed forwards, and saw the agent land in a dumpster almost thirty feet below. His body was sprawled limply across several bags of garbage. "I've never seen nobody survive a fall like that." Sucre said, in hushed tones.
"Me neither!" Bobby quicky volunteered. Michael stared down at the agent for another moment, before turning to Bobby.
"I'm sorry about this." He said. "I'll understand if you don't want to help."
"Not help? Are you kidding?" Bobby laughed. "Of course I'll still help! If all this trouble is over what you have to say, it seems to me that the sooner it surfaces the better. Just try and silence me! That son of a bitch'll know he picked the wrong computer geek to mess with soon enough! Just let me call the police and report the guy... Oh." Bobby grinned shakily as he realized that calling the police with three wanted people in his apartment would be a bad idea. Michael smiled faintly. "Of course I'll help!"
He slid the computer chip out of his pocket. "This is what I need help with." He said. Michael carefully tossed it to his friend, who caught it deftly. "I'm glad you're so enthusiastic."
Bobby glanced up at him. "It's the right thing to do." Michael didn't respond, as Bobby turned back to the chip.
"Hey, Papi!" Sucre called, from his spot near the window. "Paul, his body's gone." Michael strode over, and stared down. True enough, the agent was no longer in the dumpster.
Sucre was in the kitchen, seeing about food, leaving Michael and Sara alone in the living room while Bobby worked in his "office" with the data from Sara. After shifting piles of stuff out of the way, they sat down on a couch.
"How did you know Kellerman?" Michael asked softly, after a moment.
Sara sighed into her cup of tea. "He was the guy in Gila."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"I'm sorry."
"I know." Sara paused. "Has Bobby always been so..."
"Naive?" Michael suggested. Sara shrugged.
"He's very concerned with helping us because he thinks we're right, and thinks nothing bad will come to him because he's doing the right thing."
"Naive."
"I guess."
"Yeah." Michael paused. "I used to be, too."
"What happened?"
Michael smiled grimly. "My brother got framed for murder, remember?"
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