Happy one-month anniversary to this little story! In celebration, I'll be giving you the end of season 3 today! Finally, am I right? I know, I'm just as ready to get out of this hell-hole of a season as you are! ;) And, in response to the guest reviewer, I saw the news about Wentworth too- I'm sure we all did. Personally, I'm glad he feels comfortable admitting the truth. I'm proud of him and still love him to death! :D


Under & Out

Whistler is caught up and agitated and there's something else on his mind other than the breakout. He's worried about Sofia and Michael wishes he would focus on the task at hand and let Lincoln worry about Sofia, since there's nothing any of them can do about keeping her safe in here. He's hit with an enormous sense of déjà vu; just a week or so ago, he had been in the same position, worrying aimlessly about Sara and not being able to do anything about it. Michael knows he should be sympathetic with Whistler, but he can't be; he can't be sympathetic with anyone right now. He wants to keep moving, to get out of here, and Whistler studying the bird book as if it was the damn Bible is starting to piss him off.

"I figured them out," Whistler says. "The coordinates. I'm going to hand them over. I thought you should know so you can take whatever precautions you can."

Michael frowns. This had not been part of the plan. "What if… What if you give them the wrong coordinates? It might buy us some more time. Maybe Linc can get Sofia to safety."

Whistler accuses, "Like he did with Sara?"

And suddenly it's fresh all over again; Whistler's only rubbing salt into the still-aching wound. If Lincoln had only gotten there sooner, if he had only been a bit quicker, he may have saved Sara's life. It isn't his fault, of course, and it's useless to think this way, anyway. Michael can tell Whistler regrets these words the moment they've left his mouth and the moment he sees the look on Michael's face, but it's too late and it doesn't matter. Nothing matters, anymore. He could break out of here and turn Whistler over and kill whoever it is that had murdered Sara, but it wouldn't matter, anyway. Sara's still gone and no matter what he does from this moment on, no matter what happens to him or how hard he tries to change fate, Sara isn't coming back to him.

"I'm sorry, I… I didn't mean to," Whistler quickly backpedals and Michael glances to the floor to avoid his empathetic gaze. "I just don't know what else to do. I'm damned if I do, damned if I don't. There's no way to win."

"It's not about winning anymore," Michael deadpans. "It's about surviving, which is not the same as giving up."

"But you can go gracefully," Whistler points out. "There's honor. Protecting the ones you love."

Michael shakes his head. "Honor's a luxury men like us can't afford."

And it seems his profound words have an effect on Whistler, because he doesn't give up the coordinates, and that night, they're on their way out of Sona for good.


Sara's been keeping everything she knows about Michael's arrest on little index cards she's borrowed from the front desk. It took her days to learn that he's been placed in Sona, days of calls to the police station he was originally brought to and endless transfers to the American Consulate that ultimately got her nowhere. Sara's been hiding out at this little bed and breakfast for over a week now, too afraid to go anywhere else and lacking enough information to locate Lincoln and Michael. She knows The Company must be looking for her and she's doing everything she can to stay anonymous. Now that she's finally found out which prison he's been placed in, she calls the American Consulate once more for information.

She's been told innumerous times that she should go home because there's nothing she can do for her friends and this phone call isn't any different. Still, Sara insists, "He's been wrongfully imprisoned, though, and I can't imagine the American Consulate would stand for that."

"You have proof of this wrongful imprisonment?"

"Of course, I was a witness at the scene," Sara bends the truth a bit. "It was self-defense; it wasn't murder."

"I understand. Look, just tell me the name of the prison and I'll look up your friend's trial date."

"Sona," Sara states. "And I'm not sure he's been assigned a trial date yet."

"… Did you say Sona?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Miss, I'm not sure how to tell you this…"

"Not sure how to tell me what?" Sara's heart begins to pound and whatever it is she had been expecting him to say, it isn't what eventually comes out of his mouth.

"Sona burned to the ground two days ago."

"Wh-what?" Sara exclaims, feeling bile rise in the back of her throat. She's going to be sick. "What are you talking about? What… What happened?"

"We're still investigating, but it must've been a riot. That place wasn't under much control. There's nothing left but ashes."

"What about…" Sara asks desperately, trying to find the words. What about Michael? "What about the prisoners? What happened to them?"

"As far as I know, they're all dead. Body count's up to almost two hundred and they're still finding them."

Sara hangs up without another word and bends over the trashcan to vomit. Her mind fills with white noise and she feels like she's going to pass out. Michael is dead; Michael's dead and it's all because of her. She can't breathe, she can't think, she can't even move. Their last conversation flashes to the forefront of her mind ("Sara, I love you.") and when she realizes she'll never hear him say that again and she'll never get to say it back, she breaks down in heaving, guttural, heart-wrenching sobs.

Michael is dead and she's never going to see him again. She has to repeat this over and over again, despite the feeling of a thousand knives lacerating her heart, in order to fully understand that this actually happening. Sara feels empty and broken, desolate, somber and utterly devastated. She had loved Michael so much and they had had very little time together; certainly not enough for her liking, not enough to satisfy her. She sobs and sobs until she can no longer make a sound and the innkeeper is asking her over and over in Spanish why she's sad, why she's crying so hard, why she's pouring her heart onto the floor. Sara has to get out of here; she can no longer stay in this awful country and wait for the people who took Michael from her to find her and kill her, too. She makes a collect call to Bruce immediately.

"Sara? You sound awful. Are you alright?"

"Bruce," Sara says, her voice hoarse and raw and empty. "I'm coming home."