"You know you only hurt yourself out of spite. I guess you'd rather be a martyr tonight."

Billy Joel

...

Sara woke up in the middle of the night, slithered comfortably inside a thick sleeping bag, stretched out on the living room floor, where five more improvised bunks had been settled. Unable to go back to sleep, she got up; her senses were weakened by the darkness, and she did her best not to step on anyone as she exited the room blindly.

The clock read ten to one a.m., and yet tiredness wouldn't creep in. It left place to excitement and enthusiasm; training, yesterday, had just felt so surreal she wouldn't have been surprised to realize that it had all been a dream. The argument between Michael and Paul occurred to her also; and 'argument' was a true euphemism. Michael had started the fight, technically speaking, but who could really say who was to blame when Kellerman had provoked him into it? After he'd promised her to behave. So to make things simple, she decided to plainly be angry at both of them; but perhaps her annoyance towards Michael was a bit shallower, a bit closer to plain frustration. It was different with Paul.

A sigh of sarcasm escaped her as she realized. It would always be different with Paul.

He had looked for trouble, almost as though he wanted to start a fight. Almost as though he wanted to be hated.

She suddenly had the tempting idea to go downstairs and practice some more, to take her mind off of things. Buffy had said that the field would be open to anyone, every day of the week twenty-four hours a day, but Sara doubted anybody would be down there at this hour of the night.

She had enjoyed practicing so far; granted, it was exhausting, but when she had reached the target with that crossbow, she'd just felt... not helpless anymore. Of course, she would have never succeeded if Paul hadn't been there. She couldn't help but shiver when she remembered his hand snaking on her waist. He had taken advantage of the situation a little bit.

...

"Wow." Michael uttered. "You're really that stupid."

Paul shrugged. "Like I said, I didn't expect you to understand."

"I understand just fine." The young man countered. "I even honestly believe you think you have a connection with her, you've just gotten the wrong idea, Paul. Sara hates you."

Kellerman said nothing. He didn't have the patience nor the will to try to convince the girl's boyfriend; besides, there was no way to prove what was there, even if he'd wanted to. Michael hadn't been there, two days ago, in the forest; he hadn't seen. Sara's words replayed in his mind when, feigning indifference, he'd asked why she'd care if he were to get killed; she could have said "I don't", but she'd answered "I don't know". Then she'd said "I like you", a while later, in the motel room they'd shared. And of course, there was that moment he would never forget. He could still feel his skin burning with her touch when she'd held him, and it had occurred to him he had never experienced gentleness before in his life, the way he did that night. It probably qualified as the best night of his life.

And that moment could never be taken away by anyone, no matter their past nor their future; not even by Michael Scofield.

Besides, these moments… They weren't hate.

"No she doesn't." Kellerman insisted, calm but confident.

Michael was just as self-assured. "Oh yes she does. You simply don't know that because you're not the one who quiets her when she wakes up screaming at night, shaking, still reeling from a nightmare that has you in it, only we both know they're not nightmares. They're memories."

Kellerman's jaw clenched, but Michael ignored it and went on.

"You're not the one who watches that broken look in her eyes when I ask her who put the bruises on her face, or the scars on her back. You're not the one who has to remind her that she's safe, that she won't be hurt again, that she made it out of New Mexico alive. You're not the one who's there for her!" He was shouting now. "You never were. So go back where you came from, go back working for them! And let us be!"

A horrible silence started setting, which was disrupted seconds later as a light noise near the door sounded in the field.

Both men's eyes flew to the woman. Sara was standing by the door, eyes filled with a knowing disappointment. She couldn't not have heard the last part of their conversation.

"Sara." Michael managed. He didn't ask what she was doing here, nor did he have the time to. Before a single second went by, she ran right back out the door. Michael threw a glare in Kellerman's way before he went after her. "You did this." He said, and disappeared out the door also.

Paul remained motionless. Of course, not moving was about the last thing he wanted to do; what he wanted was to go to her and hold her, the way she had when he was distraught. But he didn't move. It wasn't him she needed. It'd never been him. He felt rage was about to burst in and he grabbed an ax from the wall, then blindly threw it towards one of the human-shaped targets. It was cut in half, and straw came pouring out.

He wanted to be in Scofield's shoes, because the boy's words hadn't only triggered anger, as he'd described the young woman's distress, throughout everything – Kellerman had felt envy. He wanted to be the one. The one who'd be there for her, the one she would need. He could neither consider or believe that all she felt for him was fear, regrets and pity. Here he was, teasing and standing with confidence, like a perfect fool, when truth was, he was months too late. He wasn't just inexcusable. He was unforgivable.

And in a mere second, things felt clear. Some things in life were irreversible. Love didn't come with a clear sign or an identification plate. He'd spent twenty years believing he loved a woman, and these feelings were so cold, so contradictory and wicked that when real love had been blown in his face, he hadn't recognized it. He hadn't recognized it.

Then, he stepped outside his own situation and thought of Sara, and faced something that ne never wanted to have to face again.

She'd be better off without him.

"Sara, please wait!"

The young woman heard Michael calling her name, but she didn't want to listen. Tears of pain and rage were boiling behind her lids. She walked quickly and made her way out of the house through the backdoor; rain was pouring outside, but she'd never cared less.

"Sara!" Michael shouted again. He had reached the door too, but remained inside the house. "Get back in here!" He pleaded. "The protection spell Willow cast doesn't spread to the streets, you're not safe here! Come on, get back home."

"There is no home, Michael!" She screamed back, tears mixing with the rain. "Not for me at least, isn't that right? Because what am I but a broken doll, all yours to fix?"

"I didn't say that, come on!"

"How could you?" She said instead. "How could you do this to him? How could you do this to me?" Anger crept inside her tone. "You don't get the right to act as though you're the one who has to put up with what happened. This story wasn't yours to tell!"

She turned to walk away and he panicked. "It's not what I meant! Please." He cast a glance towards the street, before cursing out loud. "Damn it." He stepped out in the rain as well, and caught up with Sara in an instant. "Listen." He stood before her to make her face him. "I'm sorry you had to listen to this, I just meant to make understand that –"

"That what?" She yelled, furious. "That he's a hopeless monster who's too far gone to try? That no one can care about him? That I can't care about him? Who the hell are you to make this sort of decision, who the hell are you to act as though you've never made any mistake? Screw this. Screw you, Michael, who the hell do you think you are?"

For a second they were both silent. "I'm sorry." He ultimately uttered.

"Yeah." She said, still angry. "You're always sorry. I just wish you didn't have so many reasons to be sorry for." She walked past him and inside the house. She was furious, she was soaking wet, and she was cold. She went back to the field, hoping to find Paul there, but he was gone.

She let out an angry sigh.

The other day, when it had just been the two of them, it had felt as though he was getting better, as though she could actually help him. She wanted to help him; wanted to make him see that there wasn't only wrong he could do, even if it's all he knew how. And now, Michael had just brought him back to square one.

She sighed and lowered her eyes.

She wasn't being entirely honest with herself, she knew that. Helping him get better had not been the only thing she'd felt, when they'd been alone, the other day. They'd held. It had been innocent, nothing inappropriate, just shy strokes and the lulling sound of heartbeats. And it'd been nice, to feel his warmth against her. It'd felt safe. It'd felt like home. She understood what he felt for her, she understood it because she could feel it too, like an inexplicable yet unbreakable bond. It was just different for her; it had to be different, because of Michael. But it was real, and it was strong; and it was there. And she knew it.

...

It was already three in the morning when Sara had changed into dry clothes; she doubted Michael would be asleep, but he at least showed the decency to give her some privacy. Good. She felt exhausted, but her sleeping bag was now being used by some snoring guy, so going back to sleep was not an option. She wanted to look for Paul, but since everyone was sleeping just about everywhere, switching on the lights was off the chart, and she could hardly find him in the dark. She really wished she could have talked to him. Instead she went to the kitchen and made some coffee. Suddenly, she heard the door open carefully, and turned around to see Michael.

He looked so sorry he didn't even have to say the words.

"I don't want to hear what you have to say." She informed.

"I've been a jerk, I'm sorry."

"You've actually been worse than that. You were a selfish jerk." She paused for a second. "You really couldn't stand him being in the picture, could you? No. You just had to do something about it, which is actually funny, because when I couldn't stand him being in the picture, I couldn't do a thing about it."

"We needed him then, Sara." He defended. "We don't need him anymore."

"I did." The words escaped her lips before she could think of stopping them. "I mean…" She shook her head. "He needed me. He needed me to get better, and you've ruined it."

She tried to shake off her nervousness, but her boyfriend looked frozen in a way she'd never seen him before, as though those two simple words had been a burning iron against the back of his brain. "What did you say?"

She swallowed. "Look, I love you." She said, "That'll never change, no matter what you do or say. I just need time. I…"

She really wished he'd say something right at this moment, but he merely watched her coldly. In the end, he spoke, icy and sharp. "So, you want to break up, is that it?"

"No." She was visibly startled at the mere suggestion. "No, I mean – you remember what happened last time we broke up?"

She'd thought a joke would break the ice, but Michael didn't laugh. "I remember." He said. "You were abducted and beaten by a sadistic killer."

She swallowed, and anger made its way back inside of her again. "He didn't beat me."

"Look, I have to be honest with you, Sara. You protect him, you stand up for him and – I don't understand that. I just don't."

"Neither do I." She confessed, without shame. "I don't know why I do it. But for some reason, I need to." Her boyfriend nodded coldly. He was about to walk out before she spoke again. "Wait. I know I said I needed some time, but will you – wait for me?"

Michael said nothing. He didn't know what to say. A week ago, she loathed him. Exactly what had happened for her to stand up for the man who had haunted her nightmares? He just wished things would go back to the way they were. But regardless of how angry he was, he knew he had no right to resent her; he had to be the better man, so he smiled, and it almost became genuine when he saw the expression of relief on her face. "Yeah." He promised. "I'll wait for you." He shrugged before asking. "You need some time, I get that. So – can we still kiss?"

Sara pondered for a second before pecking him on the cheek. Michael smiled; he figured to ask whether they could still share a room would be useless.

"I love you, you know." He said. "I'd be willing to do anything not to lose you, and if you care about Kellerman – that's okay."

"I –"

"I didn't say you did." He interrupted before she could protest. "I'm just saying that, if you did, I'd be okay with it." He kissed her forehead before leaving her alone in the room, and she knew at this moment she'd never loved him more than now.

...

Sara searched everywhere; the field slash backyard, every room in the house, but Paul remained MIA. It was now eight a.m., and the field was already crowded. She spotted Elena, sitting on a bench.

"Hey." She said, walking towards her.

"Oh, hi." The young girl retorted. "What's up?"

"Nothing, I'm just wondering if you've seen Paul anywhere around. You know," she went on to the girl's confusion, "the guy that you said was staring at me?"

"Oh, that guy. No, I haven't seen him anywhere."

Sara fought to repress a sigh, and the anxiety that was beginning to spread inside of her. The words Michael had spoken a few days ago came back to her in a flash. "Did you expect him to say goodbye?"

"What's the matter?" Elena asked.

"Nothing. Would you tell me if you see him? It's starting to worry me."

"Sure."

Sara glanced at the training crowd, and skimmed over the perimeter, searching for him with her eyes. A sensation of cold swamped her system when she only recognized strangers, and she went back upstairs. Desperately searching for some privacy, she locked herself in the bathroom and buried her face in her hands. He couldn't have just left. He wouldn't have, not without saying a word to her. She breathed in deeply, pain jammed her throat, and surprise came over her when she realized she was about to cry. It wasn't because of Paul, she hastily told herself. She'd been through a lot lately, it was normal that her nerves should break loose at some point. It wasn't because of Paul. She had no idea why the thought of him being gone would upset her so much, and doubted she ever would.

Knocks on the door were pounded, and she got a hold of herself. "I'll be out in a minute."

"Sara?"

She recognized Michael's voice. He really was the perfect guy, the man you can only dream will so much as notice you – yes, that's exactly what he was, a dream come true. Exactly how stupid could one be to want more?

"Are you crying, honey?"

"No." She lied.

A second of silence set, then his voice sounded again, softer than milk. "Sweetheart, please open the door."

There was no way she'd let him see her like this while hell was breaking loose inside of her. She probably looked like a mess, too. She breathed in deep, and was surprised to hear frustration in her voice, through the tears. "Why do you have to be so perfect? Just leave." She heard him laugh slightly, through the door.

She sighed before she went to open the door to him–apparently, it's all she was good for–and sat back on the floor miserably.

"Darling, what's wrong?" He asked, concern crowding his voice. "Is it me?"

"No." It's your fault, but it's not you; was added in her mind only, despite her will.

"What is it then? What can I do?" He seemed to hesitate shortly. "Is it what happened, when you were abducted?" She was uncertain which time he was referring to. "Would you like to talk about it?"

"It's not that. I just –" She shook her head before she managed. "I think he's gone."

"Kellerman?" Michael didn't exactly know how to feel. He for one was glad to think that the man would be out of their lives, but he'd never be able to wish for something that would hurt Sara. "Well," he said, "at least you can tell yourself that you've helped him, as much as you could."

"That's not it, Michael! Don't you see it? I'm a terrible person."

"Of course not, honey, you're the sweetest woman on earth."

"No!" She persisted stubbornly. "There's something wrong with me. There has to be."

If she were all right, she thought, if she were fine, then she would hate him. Hate would be the appropriate feeling concerning Paul Kellerman. If she were fine, she would be happy to think him gone, she would feel glad. She wouldn't feel hollow.

"Sara, baby," Michael lay a gentle hand on her cheek. "Look at me. Nothing's wrong with you, you're just confused; no one could blame you for that."

"You don't understand." She swallowed before she managed the confession. "A few days ago, when we were arguing, you told me Kellerman was gone, and I just – I kept waiting to feel relief, it just wouldn't come. I couldn't place a name on what I felt. I still can't now, but –"

But it was definitely not relief.

"It's all right, honey." He sat next to her and drew her into his arms. "It's all right."

But how could it be? She loved Michael. She'd loved him from the second she'd set eyes on him. And right now, she needed him to be someone else.

…

The whole day went by without a sign from Paul, and although Sara didn't stop searching, she knew it was vain. He was gone. She could feel it. She couldn't explain how or why; but she could feel it.

Sara was alone in the living room; she'd convinced Michael to go outside and practice with the rest. She'd never needed privacy more than now.

"What are you doing here?"

She gasped at the sound of Buffy's voice. The young woman was looking at her inquisitively, blond lashes falling upon her blue eyes.

"I didn't mean to scare you."

"No," Sara said, "I was just – daydreaming."

"Well. You should really come practice with the rest of us. I mean, I'd hate to say 'there's a war coming', but…"

"I'll be there in a sec."

Buffy bit her lip. "You all right?" She didn't wait for an answer and asked, hesitatingly. "The guy from yesterday, the one who was fighting with your boyfriend. I haven't seen him at all today. Is that the reason why –"

"I'm fine."

Buffy nodded. "Okay. Then I'll see you downstairs." She walked away, and left Sara sitting alone on the couch for a second.

She tried to see the bright aspects of things. This was the ideal occasion to move on, she thought, maybe this was even the only way she could heal; maybe in five years, she'd even be able to sit in a goddamned bathtub. She thought she might as well start facing the situation now. Two days ago, alone in that forest, with Paul, it had felt as though the rest of the world had disappeared. It had been special; now it was over. Fine. He was gone. She was with Michael, anyways; she couldn't have it both ways.

She repeated it to herself twice before she went downstairs, searching for anyone she knew.

"Hey."

She turned around to face the young girl. "Elena. Hi."

"So, you found the person you were looking for?"

Sara swallowed. "No. I'd just like to get my mind off of it."

"You want to train?" The girl offered.

"Well, Elena, I thought I was your partner."

Both women turned around to face the man who had spoken. "Oh." Elena uttered, and she looked both ashamed and proud. "This is Damon, he – I came here with him."

"Nice to meet you." Sara said, but the man froze when he saw her.

Damon didn't need a second look to be sure, he would have recognized the tall redhead anywhere; she was the same woman he'd saved from his own brother, back in Mystic Falls. He could recognize her scent.

"Nice to meet you too." He managed. "Elena? Can I talk to you for a sec?" He drew her away without wasting a second.

"What's wrong with you?" His girlfriend said.

"She's the girl Stefan attacked the other night."

"What? No way."

"I got a closer look at her than you did."

Sara only watched the two of them staring at her, unable to hear what they were saying. Before she could wonder what was going on, she felt Michael's hand slide on her shoulder. "Hey," he greeted. "I'm glad you decided to come."

"Yeah. I'm sorry about earlier." She inhaled sharply before pursuing. "You're right. I was just breaking down a little. I'm better now."

"I'm glad to hear that."

"Yeah, well – you know what I said this morning, about needing some time?" She swallowed once before she managed. "I had all the time I needed."

He remained calm, and didn't yet dare look relieved. "Are you certain?"

"Yes." She shrugged, feigning casualness. "Life is short. I won't waste it in the past."

He smiled, and didn't hide his relief any longer. "I'm so glad things are becoming clear to you." He leaned in to kiss her just when his brother's voice sounded behind him.

"Hey man. Sorry, I didn't want to ruin your moment, I just wondered if I could borrow your girlfriend a second. Just to train."

"Wait." Sara frowned. "I thought you didn't want to practice with me."

"I changed my mind."

"Well," she glanced at her boyfriend and smiled. "I was going to train swords with Mike. Can't you just go with Buffy?"

"Hell no!" He shouted. "The woman's a bloody ninja."

Sara couldn't hold back her laughter and Michael smiled. "You mean you got your ass kicked by a girl?"

Lincoln arched a brow. "A girl? I don't know what that thing is Michael, but she ain't a girl. She looks like one, but she's not. So come on, Sara, I need you to restore my dignity."

She sighed. "All right, go get me a sword then."

He smiled and she did too, only she wondered how long she would need to act before life went back to normal, or whether she'd have to fake smiles all her life and always feel that something was missing.

…

It was past midnight when Sara decided to go to bed; she changed into a pajama short and a baggy sweatshirt. Michael had saved an entire room for them, she knew he'd probably had to beg Buffy to get it, and she appreciated the gesture. Yet she couldn't manage to feel pleased about it. Since it'd be a while before her boyfriend and her obtained privacy again, she knew he'd probably be expecting something, and tonight she'd never least been in the mood for it.

She sighed looking at her reflection in the bathroom's mirror, then heard knocks pounded on the door. "Come in." She said carelessly.

She saw his reflection in the mirror and gasped. In an instant, she forgot everything she was concerned about seconds ago, she forgot about Michael, who was waiting in the bedroom, and above all she finally forgot that sick feeling she'd carried around all day.

"Cute PJs." He said, for no other than reason than to break the silence.

She was unable to do anything but stare at him, unaware of what she was feeling, seeing him again; not a second later, she realized it was relief.

"I thought you'd left." She uttered.

"I did." He answered.

She shook her head, still startled by his presence although slowly coming back to her senses. "What are you doing here, Paul?"

His mouth opened, but he didn't answer just yet. "I was at the airport," he ultimately said. "And… I couldn't." As though it said it all. He swallowed before pursuing. "I had to see you again, I had to ask –" He interrupted himself shortly. "Sara, I'll leave." He said, and she remained frozen. "I will, I'll get on that plane and you'll never hear from me again. It'll kill me, and I'll think of you every day but I will, I'll leave. If you want me to, I'll –" He paused for a second. "I want to do what's best for you. If my presence is standing in the way of your happiness, I promise I'll be more than willing to trade mine for yours. I will leave, Sara, if you want me to."

She didn't speak a word. She stood there, motionless, unable to think but visibly able to speak, and before she could stop them the words slipped out of her mouth, and she knew when she said them that she was crossing a line. "I don't want you to."