'That which is done out of love is always beyond good and evil.'

Nietzsche

…

Sara had done everything in the world for Michael Scofield. She thought about that, on her way to her bedroom. She had given up her beliefs and her life for him, she had been willing to die to protect his life and his brother's – and for what?

She shut the door on her way in. The room was very dark.

From everything that she had been through, she had never blamed him. She had never hated him. And now he decided that she had crossed the line of his affection. She had gone one step too far and his tenderness had run out.

She had fallen in love with another man, but not that or anything else would have killed her love for Michael Scofield. How did he get to decide that his had drained away?

She remembered meeting that blue-eyed con and how easy it had been to fall in love. That riot that had broken out, the way he had looked at her, in those ceiling pipes – it didn't seem that anything made sense anymore, in a world where Michael didn't love her.

Kellerman switched on the light and looked at her warily. "Hey. Where were you?"

"I went to see Michael."

She saw no point in lying. Kellerman straightened up on the bed. "You did what?"

"I needed to talk to him."

"You could have warned me."

"You wouldn't have let me go."

As she didn't sit down next to him, he got up and walked to her.

"I'm all right." She said as he lay a hand on her shoulder. "I am. Part of me just can't believe that this is happening – Michael, the way he looks at me now. I just don't know what's going to happen if I can't set this right."

"It'll wear out, Sara." Kellerman assured. "Scofield won't turn his love into hate even if he tries, even if he wants to. He won't be able to hate you, that's something I've tried, it's something I know."

"And if he does?"

He answered honestly, without reluctance. "Then you'll let him go."

…

The next day on the field was even worse. Sara tried to focus on what Paul was telling her, but determining whether or not Michael was looking at her seemed to be a full time activity. She hated that he held so much power over her when he seemed to be entirely free from hers.

He did watch her, most of the time, when she was not looking.

Michael Scofield was a man with a plan. That had been proven innumerous times. Right now, the plan was setting a distance between Sara and himself and ensuring that he did nothing impulsive out of anger. He needed to wait. He needed to resist chopping off the man's head right now, despite how attractive the thought was.

"Don't do this to yourself, Mike."

Michael turned back around to face his brother before setting eyes on Sara and Kellerman again. "What do you want me to tell you? A week ago, it was me standing there with her."

"I get that being her friend must feel awfully cruel to you, but I'm saying you should be careful – it might be all you have left. It's that or nothing."

"Then I'll be nothing." He replied, colder than stone.

"Look, the man was there to save her life, okay? She might be blinded by some kind of post-traumatic glow or whatnot, the fact remains that Kellerman is her knight in shiny armor right now. And the way you're acting – it's scaring her. It's scaring me. What you said yesterday, in front of everyone?"

"I've got no one left to impress here."

"You've got me. I know you wouldn't want Sara dead, Michael, not for the life of you. Not for anything. Since I've got no real idea who my brother is right now, I'll tell you about Sara because I know her, and I take it that whether or not she's under Kellerman's spell, she loves you. If you want to lose that, you just be my guest, if not – you better stop acting like a bloody fool."

…

Kellerman whistled his way up the kitchen when he went to get something to eat for Sara. The current happiness he felt about sleeping in her bed every night had done a fine job making him more arrogant, and he thought that one of these days he ought to be careful about that. Better safe than sorry. He had never seemed able to live by that imperative.

"In a cheerful mood, Paul?"

Kellerman met Michael's eyes with caution but no worry. "Is there something you'd like to say, Scofield? Given your attitude lately, I'm not sure I'm interested in listening."

"It's always about what you want, isn't it?" He smiled coldly. "My brother's life, my freedom. My love. You know what I want, Paul? I want Sara to wake up. I want her to open her eyes while she's in your arms, and for her to scream from fear and disgust – I want you to go back to your sweet Caroline and never bother us again."

"Well, that's not going to happen." Kellerman said firmly. "And while we're at it," he took a step forward, the tone of his voice threatening. "The only thing that's keeping you alive is the fact that Sara loves you."

"How ironical." The young man replied. "I have everything to gain from killing you and nothing left to lose."

"What's your game here, Scofield?"

"What's yours? Playing house with the woman I love, pretending neither of you can see those awful scars on her back. What will you tell her children when they ask what happened? Will you say daddy got mad as a hatter one day and wondered what burnt skin smelled like?"

Kellerman shoved him into the wall, flat hands and no blow. He didn't want this to degenerate. "The only person that's acting mad these days is you." He retorted.

"You're going to break her, Paul. One day, she'll realize that the man at her side is her nightmare, not her dreams. There's no such thing as a clean slate when it's been so dirty. Those scars will always be the proof of what you have done."

Kellerman saw himself grabbing a kitchen knife and stabbing the young man in the neck. He saw himself clasping his hands around his throat and squeezing hard enough to break.

"It's what you want, isn't it?" He said. "Killing you would ruin me and Sara yet you think that if you push me hard enough, I might just do it anyway."

Michael didn't reply.

"The thing is," Kellerman went on, "I've got other means to lock you out of our lives if you go on hurting her. You better think well about what you're going to do next, Scofield. I'm not sure you're ready to become the one she hates."

He walked away after grabbing a box of Chinese noodles from the counter. Michael stood still with his fingernails drawn hard into his palms.

…

"Are you still jealous of Michael?"

Kellerman looked back at Sara and did his best to look surprised. "Sorry? No, I don't really see for what reason I might envy him today. Why would you think that?"

"It's just – the way you look at him."

"Honestly, ever since you told me you loved me, hon, I decided that jealousy would never be justified between us." She looked at him still with sapient eyes and so he let out a sigh and confessed. "Of course I'm jealous, Sara. He's got a nearly flawless path with you. He's able to look at you and not burn out of guilt every second. I'd trade places with him in a heartbeat – supposing I would a chance to win you back, that is."

"Of course. Well, I get it, you know. I mean, we're still young and yet we both have incredibly complicated, overwhelming romantic pasts behind us."

"You're not talking about Caroline Reynolds."

"Are you joking? You nearly killed me for her."

"Nearly." He emphasized. "Does that count for nothing?"

She rolled her eyes and started focusing on her target again – she was currently trying to shoot arrows into its heart. "You're adorable." She stated with a half-focused interest.

"Adorable?" He repeated the word as if he had never heard it in his life. "Sara, I'm an ex-assassin, I'm a coldblooded government Agent –"

"Give it up. You're adorable."

…

She had been so exhausted he had not made a suggestion about resuming unfinished business that night. They both awoke around eight and although he still had an arm locked around her and his front pressed against her back, Kellerman supposed he would not get much luckier this morning.

Sara started getting properly dressed before he even kissed her hello. She said something about a shower and he dared a teasing comment and a smile. "Showering sounds like fun."

She gave him a reprobating look. "We need to be downstairs by eight fifteen."

"Buffy and her bloody rules. Perhaps we're cursed."

She chuckled and slowly became more serious. "You know," she suggested, "maybe I could try not to get too tired with training today. Make it so I'm not that worn out by evening."

He arched a brow. "Really?"

"Why not?" She gave him a shrug and a pleased smile before kissing him on the lips. "Unless you've got other plans for tonight."

He stroked his hand up and down her arm. "Well, I'll have to check my schedule." He watched her walk out of the room and thought to himself today was going to be a long one.

…

A few times, Sara thought maybe she shouldn't have said anything about tonight – not because she was having second thoughts, but because the tension between Paul and her was doing a fine job killing their capacity to focus. No hesitation was necessary. She wanted this to happen and she had for a long time.

She glanced at Michael from time to time and wished she could settle things with him once and for all, but given what had happened two days ago, it didn't feel like the best of ideas. She didn't want this to keep haunting her or him and when Kellerman walked upstairs to get some water, she thought this was the only shot she would get and she walked to confront him.

Michael let out a sigh when she neared him. He was using a crossbow now. "You're wasting your breath, Sara."

"I didn't come here to apologize."

"Good. You're not forgiven."

She stepped in front of his target and he raised an eyebrow. "You want me to shoot you, maybe? Tear you out of your misery?"

"You really need to believe that I'm miserable, Michael?" She stared into his face, skinnier than before and darkened with exhaustion. "When's the last time you slept?"

He put on a grin that wasn't half amused. "Maybe I don't want to sleep without you. What are you going to do about it?"

She wondered what he would do if she held him, right now. She felt she needed to, somehow, without it being betrayal or false hope. She just wanted to hold him and save him while there was still time.

"Michael, please. You need to sleep and you need to start taking care of yourself, you're not fit to train – you're not fit to fight."

"Sara." Kellerman said behind her. She hadn't heard him arrive, with the ambient noise of the field.

She had not realized the look on Michael's face had softened until it became harsh again. "You know what?" He said. "I think I might go get a drink."

…

She and Kellerman got out of the field around 7 p.m. He laced his arms around her waist and pulled tight against him. "Should we skip dinner and go straight upstairs?" He hazarded.

They ultimately grabbed a box of Oreo cookies before heading for the bedroom. Halfway through the stairs, Sara heard Lincoln call her name. She was sure to entangle from Kellerman by the time Lincoln walked up to meet them.

"Hey." She said and tried not to sound too awkward – she was unaware how it was that one acted, after breaking someone's dear brother's heart. "Is everything okay?"

"I'd like your help, actually." He kept his eyes set on Sara all the while. She figured that, if shutting Kellerman out of the picture helped him cope, she would tolerate it.

"My help?"

"I'm worried about Mike."

Kellerman tensed. "It's not exactly her job to take care of your resentful little brother."

"I'm talking to her, if you don't mind."

Sara swallowed. "Michael made it clear that he didn't want anything to do with me."

"Look, he's getting drunk in the bathroom downstairs right now and honestly, I don't know what to say to him. Maybe there's a chance you might get to him, I don't know –"

"He said I was dead to him, Linc."

"We both know he was lying."

Sara said nothing for a while, glancing at Kellerman who was still holding the box of Oreo cookies. In the end, she figured that it wasn't really about what she wanted. There was no way she was having sex with Paul whilst knowing Michael was drinking himself to death downstairs.

"Of course." She turned towards Kellerman and added. "I won't be long, just wait for me upstairs."

"I want to come with you."

"I have a feeling I'll be more successful if Michael and I are alone."

He had no argument to counter this and so he let her go. She thought all she pretty much needed to do was get Michael to sleep tonight – drunk as Lincoln said he was, he shouldn't be too hard to convince.

She followed Lincoln to the bathroom door, at the end of the hallway. "You should go back to the living room." She suggested. "I think we might need some privacy."

"Right. Well, I'll just leave you guys some space."

The young woman drew in a breath before opening the door and kneeled down when she spotted Michael on the floor. He closed his eyes at the sight of her. "Of course Lincoln sent you."

She the amount of bottles on the floor was quite impressive and for a moment, medical attitude took over her reaction. "Have you been getting drunk all day?"

"Maybe."

"I'm surprised you haven't passed out."

"So am I."

"You look like hell. Come on, let's get you to a bed."

"I don't really think like moving."

He seemed to want to protest when she grabbed the bottle of scotch out of his hand and poured it in the sink.

"Well, then you'll just have to sleep here." She put a hand on his torso to make him lie down. There was something so brutal about the way he pushed her away that she started and became cautious. "Jesus, Michael. Calm down."

"You're the only one that's allowed to get drunk when you're depressed?"

"Okay. I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."

"I'll just have to say it again."

"Whatever you may think, Michael, it doesn't suit you to be mean."

She tried to lie him down again and smelled the alcohol on his breath when she was on top of him. He made no effort to fight her this time.

"I don't want a room." He whispered. "I want our room. Will you take me there?"

She closed her eyes as if to take in the pain. "You can't do that, Mike. You can't – you can't act as though you hate me then say things like this, please."

"Isn't that what he said to you? Made you hate him first, then seduced you – is that what's working for you, Sara?"

"That's enough." She drew away to assume a more decent posture. "You need to sleep, Michael."

"Well, maybe I'm just unable of doing that, knowing that a man I hate is sleeping with my girl."

"I'm not your girl."

"So you are sleeping with him? That's just – great. I think I'll put more whisky on top of that."

She stopped him from reaching for a bottle and he pulled her down so harshly her head hit the floor.

"What the hell, Michael?" She cried out. "You need to calm down."

"So you can go back to him?" He put his hand around her forearm and tightened his hold until she could feel the old bruises awaken. "How can you even look at him, God – that man ruined us. We were supposed to be together. Yes, I think there was a chance for us."

"Mike –"

She didn't get to add a word before he kissed her, the kind of drunken sloppy kiss that she usually hated. Now the dominating emotion was pain. She had probably ruined him, and not Kellerman. She could feel it, all the while he was trying to make her go back to where he still was.

She pulled away and tried to think of something to say. She hadn't come up with much more than: "We can't" by the time he was kissing her again. Her words came out smothered against his lips. The first thing that occurred to her was that she couldn't speak.

Because if she did speak, of course, he would stop. He might not be the right guy, he was the good one. He was the wonderful man that she had thought was her dream come true, from the moment he had quoted Gandhi at her, in Fox River.

He drew her wrists against his chest and kissed her still until his love was a prison. She could not struggle against the dominance of his strength and his lips scarcely allowed her to breathe. She thought she might die choking in his embrace. He had been on top of her many times before but now Scotch had numbed his dexterity and he was crushing her. The cold tile of the bathroom floor felt so cold against her skin. It was probably the coldest thing she had ever seen. He held her tight and kissed her and said all sorts of things that could have made sense, once – that he loved her and that he had missed her and that she was his.

She did not punch him. She did not cry out for help. His forearms were crashing her wrists and his kissing prevented her from speaking, but she couldn't say that she would have, even if it hadn't been the case. Shock was starting to put out her brain altogether. A man that she loved was assaulting her and it was not at all how she thought it might happen. She had been so afraid, sometimes, at Fox River, when inmates would look at her too closely, or when she would walk home alone at night, but she had walked in this room of her own volition. She had asked Lincoln to leave them alone.

And she would have laughed, one hour ago, if she had been told this precise situation might happen.

Then the bathroom door opened and Sara wasn't too sure what followed. Buffy pulled Michael away from her and punched him hard against the wall. It knocked him out cold. Sara let her head fall back against the tile. Finally. He was sleeping.

…

"Sara. Please, open the door."

"I'm okay." The young woman replied.

After what had happened, she hurried past Buffy and locked herself in the first empty room she found. She took it Buffy had gone to fetch Paul and Lincoln, but really she found the people behind the door more embarrassing than comforting.

"Really, I'm fine." She assured. "I just don't want to see anyone. That's all right, isn't it? Just – don't worry about me. I'll be out of here in a few."

"Sara." She recognized Kellerman's voice. "I'm begging you here – I really don't want you to be alone."

"I need this, okay?"

"We don't want to push you." Lincoln spoke this time. "I would feel better if you let at least one of us in."

"Again, being alone makes me feel better."

She heard Lincoln sigh and say something like "I don't know what to say to her."

"Look," Buffy started, "I really don't want to bother you but I'm not going anywhere until I've seen you. I'm sorry, it's just how it is. You're one of mine now and I need to be sure you're okay."

Sara opened the door and all three of them turned silent. The sigh that the young woman let out did not sound at all casual. "See? I'm in one piece."

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" Buffy inquired.

Sara looked at Lincoln then Kellerman. The latter was going to offer to kill her ex-boyfriend for her while the first would probably feel guilty as hell for asking her to help him tonight.

"Just you." She answered, and closed the door before Lincoln or Kellerman had time to look surprised.

Both women sat down on the bed and Sara sighed. "I'm really not in the mood to be treated like a victim right now."

"I know the feeling."

"Really? Being super strong, being beyond anyone's violence or abuse – I don't reckon you do." She looked down at the bedcover. "Michael was never abusive to me when we were a couple."

"I didn't say that."

"I didn't date an abusive man."

"All right."

"He was really drunk."

"You don't have to find excuses for him, you know. I'm not going to judge you, or him."

"That's just as well." She said nothing for a moment, then finally. "I drove him mad."

"I've seen mad people, Sara. Your ex-boyfriend was drunk and he was angry, but he's sane, make no mistake."

A dim chuckle parted her lips. "I really thought I was done being naïve." A few more knocks were pounded on the door. She took it Kellerman was getting impatient.

"You want to see him?" Buffy asked.

"No." Sara sighed. "I don't think I ever want to look him in the eye again."

She got up after a while of silence and opened the door. She looked at Lincoln first and he seemed to understand that they wouldn't talk until tomorrow. She did not have the remote wish to talk about what had happened tonight. She met Paul's eyes and let out a breath of tiredness.

"How are you?" He asked.

"Let's go home." Was the reply.

…

She didn't say anything until they got upstairs. It wasn't home, truly, but it was the best they had for now, they couldn't run from this war or from the people in this house.

"How do you feel?" He asked after she had sat down on the bed. He made no motion to join her.

"Numb." She answered. "Angry, I guess. Because it's in order, not because –" She shook her head. "I feel sorry I put him in such a state. How are you?"

He met her eyes and she could see him debate on whether or not he should lie to her. "I want to kill him."

"I reckon."

"There are flashes of torture methods running across my mind, I can't do anything about it."

"Try."

He clenched his teeth. "He could have raped you."

"I suppose." She looked down at the floor calmly. "It's a good thing I've learned how to control my anger. When I was a child, I used to picture myself saying such terrible things to my father. I never thought he'd die before I got the chance to say them. And you – well." She smiled. Her heart wasn't in it. "I'll admit I thought about pushing you under a bus a couple of times."

"No hard feelings." He replied.

"I'm not saying that he's excusable." She managed to sound admirably detached. "I just hope he gets better." She let out a chuckle. She couldn't make it sound amused. "You know, down to the very last moment, I hoped he would stop."

He leant down and locked an arm around her. She didn't bury her head in his chest and cry every tear in her body, she didn't cry at all.

This wasn't over, to Paul Kellerman. Not close to over. Michael Scofield had done something tonight that could not be forgiven, and as a response he would be quite unforgiving. If Scofield wanted a war then he would give him one. The hell of a kind.