Hey, PB buddies! How's it going? Sorry for the delay in posting my next chapter. Hope you enjoy. Jen

25. Father to Father

"I'm asking you, father to father, to leave her alone. You can kill me if you want to kill me—I'll trade my life for hers. But leave Sara alone."

~Michael Scofield to General Krantz, The Final Break

"Christ," Todd muttered as he looked through the one-way mirror into the interrogation room at Miami FBI headquarters.

Ms. Lisa Tabak sat alone at a table, her hands neatly folded in her lap. After hours of reviewing company transgressions, Todd was amazed the General's daughter continued looking so dignified given the gruesome malice of her family.

"Her father's a freaking monster," he said to himself.

"He is," an unfamiliar voice agreed, and Todd turned to see a woman approach. Her short hair drew his gaze to her large brown eyes, striking against her ebony skin.

He glanced at the credentials hanging from her neck.

She offered her hand. "Felicia Lang from the Chicago Division, Agent Wheatley. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Agent Lang." Todd shook her hand. "Now where have I heard that name before?"

"Please call me Felicia, Todd." She smiled disarmingly. "I was part of the manhunt for the Fox River Eight, so I assume you saw my name in your reports?"

"Ah, yes. You worked under Alexander Mahone." Eyeing her tight, shapely figure, he wondered if that was a literal statement.

"Until I was reassigned," she reminded him. "Once Alex went, uh . . ."

"Once he went rogue?" Todd smirked. "Once he started murdering the Fox River Eight, mowing them down one by one?"

She shifted from one foot to another. "That would be the time, yes."

"Hopefully you have better judgment than your former boss, then. Why're you here, Felicia?"

"I'm here to help you, if you need help filling in the holes."

I know one hole I could fill. "What kind of help?"

"We've investigated Scofield and Burrows for six months now. I have plenty of information to assist you."

"Thanks, but I've got Scofield's coffin nailed shut by now."

Felicia gestured to the mirror. "And Lisa Tabak's the one providing the hammer and nails?"

"How do you know her?"

"I know a lot about the company. We've been tracking them, too. I have in my possession records about their assets, their criminal activity, their personnel . . ."

Todd had to admit he was impressed. "Maybe you can help me fill in the holes. I need to get up to speed with this company, and you seem like exactly the person to do it." He leaned in. "But let me run this by my supervisor first. He's been on my six ever since I started this case."

She smiled. "I'll be right here. I'll tell you everything I know."

When Todd strolled down the hallway, Felicia took out her cell phone and typed:

I'm in.

~~ o*o ~~

"At least you got me a jacket that fits, this time."

Karina's worry faded when she looked at Lincoln's doctor get-up. Despite his faux grey hair and beard, he still looked sexy as hell—scads hotter than any other physician at Coral Gables. The green scrubs fitted loosely over his muscular frame, and the white coat lent him a sense of authority that made her want to curl by his side and respond to his every order with a breathy purr, "Yes, Doctor."

"You look, uh, very believable in that disguise," she managed.

"Good, 'cause this needs to work."

They'd just ducked inside an empty coffee break room fifteen yards down the hall from Michael's hospital room.

Karina gulped. "You know what to do, right?"

"I'm good." He frowned. "You okay?"

She couldn't tell if she was nervous or excited. His close presence sent flutters up her spine.

Lincoln brushed his hand down the side of her face, eliciting a hot blush. "Be careful," he said.

His deep blue eyes combined with his deep baritone voice combined with his deep, sizzling touch . . . Karina was simply in deep. She nodded, frozen for a second. "You, too." She somehow left his side and headed to her patient's room with wobbly legs.

Once she arrived at Michael's bedside, she noticed the police officer posted in the corner of the room. "How are you today, Mr. Scofield?"

Michael squinted at her as she checked his IV. Before he could answer, she said, "You're looking really pale. I better check your vitals."

Michael tried to figure out her weird vibe as she slid the blood pressure cuff over his arm. "Well, I may not be as red-faced as you are, but—"

Her glare made him shut his mouth.

As she pumped air pressure, she placed a small clipboard on his lap.

He saw a white origami crane clipped onto the board atop some papers. After he read the message written on one of the crane's wings, his piqued crystal eyes shot up.

She scowled. "Your blood pressure's skyrocketed. Are you feeling okay?"

"Um . . ." He closed his eyes. "I feel dizzy, actually."

She inhaled through her teeth. "I hope you're not having an allergic reaction to the pain med."

On cue, Michael let out a low moan.

The police officer came out of his corner. "Is he okay?"

Michael began violent shaking. He threw his head back in a contorted angle against the pillow and twitched his limbs like an electric current jolted through him. The entire bed vibrated, causing the chains to clank. Karina scuttled around the bed to clamp the IV line and shouted over the din, "Get me Dr. Ryan! He's in the break room down the hall!"

The officer rushed out of the room. Once he was gone, Michael stopped seizing, but Karina whispered, "Keep going!"

The other officer stuck his head into the room and caught an eye full of the prisoner's dramatic epileptic fit.

"Oh God!" Karina cried. She busied herself with the equipment at the side of the shuddering bed. "Hold on, Mr. Scofield!" His chains jangled.

Dr. Ryan flew into the room, trailed by the first police officer.

"Dr. Ryan, I think the patient's allergic to hydromorphone!" Karina said. "What should I give him?"

Lincoln licked his dry lips and strained to remember his line. "Twenty CC's of lydo-kane."

"Of course! Why didn't I think of that?" She fumbled through the drawer of medical supplies then begged Lincoln, "Can you get them out of here? I need room to work on my patient!"

"You heard the doctor." Lincoln corralled both officers toward the door. "This patient's in trouble. Give us some space."

He wasn't surprised they succumbed to being pushed out the door—Michael's seizure was ghastly to watch. It made Lincoln remember times during their childhood when the LLI would overwhelm his brother, leaving him dazed and nursing a pounding headache.

Once the officers were gone, Lincoln scooped the origami crane off the clipboard. He read his scribbled message on one wing:

Fake a seizure.

"Gotta destroy the evidence." He pocketed the crane.

Michael wiped his sweaty forehead and aimed a lopsided grin at his brother. "You sure took long enough getting here."

"Thought that seizure would never end . . . you even worked up a sweat."

Dabbing under his nose then looking at the still-white bandage, Michael said, "But no nosebleed." He nodded at Karina. "I guess the tumor really is gone."

She huffed, "You should never doubt Dr. Daniels! Or Dr. Ryan, for that matter."

Lincoln chuckled. "The 'Why didn't I think of that?' was a nice touch, Kar."

When Michael observed her sly grin in return, he tilted his head. "Great acting performance for both of you, but I'm thinking those bulls won't stay away forever?"

"Right." Lincoln nodded. "We don't got much time, and I need to run some things by you."

"Maybe I should leave?" Karina asked.

"No, don't," Lincoln told her.

"It would ruin the ruse," Michael added. "Besides, we trust you."

She felt touched.

"Okay," Lincoln began. "I did talk to Douchebag like you wanted me to. You owe me, bro."

"Can Paul help Sara?"

"No," Lincoln said.

Michael slouched into the mattress.

"But he can help you."

Crystal eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"It's Scylla—there's a problem with it. Douchebag said if you help them figure it out, he'll try to get the UN to exonerate you again."

Michael stilled, stunned by the news.

Karina wanted to ask about Scylla but knew their time was limited so she kept quiet.

Michael asked, "What's the problem with Scylla?"

"Dunno . . ." He shrugged. "Some kind of glitch or something in the computer. Kellerman said he knows you can fix it."

Biting his lip, Michael grimaced. "Maybe back when I had my LLI."

Lincoln's face fell. "Shit. You think you need it to figure out Scylla?"

"Of course I do!"

Karina cut in, "But how do you know that, Michael?"

"I, I . . . I just know."

"Your brain might function even better without that hypothalamic tumor strangling the optic nerve."

"No." Michael clenched his teeth. "This isn't going to work! Sara—we need to focus on Sara. Stop pushing for my release, both of you. It'll never happen."

Karina could feel fury rolling off Lincoln, and she had to admit she was angry as well. Michael wouldn't even try? Did he want to spend years in prison? Then she looked at her patient with a new understanding. "You're afraid."

"What?"

She nodded. "You're afraid of failing. You never fail. You pull off these incredible stunts to save the people around you, taking all kinds of risks and somehow succeeding, but you can't do the same for yourself."

His eyes flared. "You have no idea what you're talking about, Doctor."

Lincoln broke his silence. "You need to know something, Michael. Sara wasn't sure if I should tell you."

"Sara?" His breath caught in his throat.

"Something happened, uh, she told me something happened. She's still mad you didn't tell her about your nosebleeds and she didn't want you to be mad at her, too, but she knew how upset you'd be, not to mention there's nothing you can do, chained to the bed—"

"Tell me what she said!" A vein on Michael's neck pulsed.

Lincoln glanced at Karina then back at Michael. "Sara's spotting."

Michael gasped.

Karina added, "We talked about her symptoms, and I think the baby will be okay. She's going to see a doctor down there . . ."

Michael's horrified expression sickened Lincoln. "This is why you have to get out of here—you have to go to Sara. You have to give Scylla a try. I'm asking you, father to father, to do this. Sara needs you, Michael. Do it."

His jaw hardened. "I'm not doing anything until I talk to Sara. Call her right now."

"What if the cops come back in, or Wheatley shows up?" Lincoln said. "It's too risky."

"I have to know she's okay. I have to talk to Sara."

Lincoln's hand closed around his cell phone, lying in the pocket of his doctor's coat, right next to the origami crane. He exchanged a worried look with Karina.