Michael woke up with Sara curled up under his arm. Her back was tucked tightly against his stomach, his arm draped over her waist. She was still asleep, breathing soft and slow. He closed his eyes again and felt the easy rise and fall of her breathing against him; his lonely apartment in Miami felt like a hazy memory, and nothing existed beyond the bed of warmth and comfort he was in.
He moved his head closer against her back, inhaling a mixture of whatever shampoo she'd used the night before, and a smell that was simply her; a warm sweetness that he'd spent far too long without. It was hard for him to imagine life without it; a life where he woke up alone and got ready, went to work and came back to an apartment that belonged only to him. Being alone never felt strange when he was in Miami, but looking at that life from his present situation made it seem insufferable.
He lay awake, but with his eyes closed for a while. After admitting that there was no way he'd be able to fall back asleep he considered getting up, but Sara was still breathing steadily under his arm. He realized she must be making up for a lot of restless nights. The fact that those restless nights were ultimately because of him didn't elude him - she'd been working hard on the whole Lincoln situation and keeping up with her day job while he'd been simply doing his day job. The least he could do was make her breakfast.
With that resolution in mind, he now had to gamble with his chances of getting out of bed without waking her up. He slowly lifted the weight of his arm off of her and rolled away and onto his other side. She stirred a moment, giving a small groan of protest before adjusting the covers with closed eyes and settling back in.
He looked at her for another moment, a smile tugging the corners of his mouth, seeing her face relaxed and peaceful.
Softly, he padded into the kitchen and started rummaging around, finding eggs in the fridge and bread to make some toast. He started a pot of coffee and got breakfast going. He glanced at the clock and realized it was almost nine, which surprised him considering they were both pretty early risers. Granted, they'd been up late after getting back from the airport, but still- she must've been really tired.
Did he dare wake her up? He argued with himself for minutes. On the one hand, she needed to catch up on sleep, but a sense of urgency started creeping on him as he listened to the coffee pot drip, knowing that they still had a lot to do today and in the days coming if they were going to get Lincoln out.
A few minutes later, the eggs were done and so was the toast. He plated them and poured two mugs of coffee, watching the steam roll off of everything and evaporate into the air. He glanced back towards the bedroom, knowing it was best for everyone involved if she was awake and ready to get moving, but not thrilled about the prospect of waking her. He braced himself for an angry morning Sara…if that was a thing; looking at the mugs on the counter, he decided to take one with him, a peace offering if needed.
He opened the door quietly; the morning light was brighter now and illuminating the room despite the curtains. She was still laying on her side, a few loose strands of hair pressed against her face, her eyes still peacefully closed.
"Sara," he whispered, setting the mug down on the nightstand and crouching to her eye level. He placed a hand gently on her shoulder and saw her squeeze her eyes shut more firmly.
"No," she mumbled out, hugging the covers tighter.
Her expression made him smile, "Wake up, I made breakfast," he insisted, "and I've got coffee for you right here."
Slowly, one eye opened and blinked against the bright light, "Here, here?"
He picked it up again, "Right here."
She sighed in resignation, blinking her eyes again and slowly sitting up, taking the mug from him.
"You sleep ok?" he asked, wondering if worrying thoughts had kept her awake until the early morning, causing her to sleep late.
"Fantastic, actually," she replied, "making up for lost time I guess."
He smirked, thinking that there was a lot more than just sleep they needed to catch up on.
"Well, I'm glad. I didn't want to wake you, but I figured we better get ready for the day."
Confused, "What time is it?"
"A little after nine."
Her eyes widened, "It is? Geez I haven't slept that late in a long time."
He shrugged, "Like you said, must've needed it," he started to get up, "ready for breakfast?"
"Right," she nodded and got out of bed, following him to the kitchen.
He grabbed the two plates and set them on the table, watching as she sat down across from him and wasted no time digging in.
"Don't tell me they starved you in Montana," he teased.
She looked up with her fork mid-air, like a kid with their hand in a cookie jar, "No, we had pizza last night."
He laughed.
"But in my defense," she continued, "there was a lot of stress and a lot of adrenaline. Hence why I want to do nothing but sleep and eat today…apparently" she chuckled at herself.
He nodded and smiled, "Can't argue with that...except we probably will have to do more than that."
"Right," she sighed, "I should text Veronica, see if they're meeting Judge Davis this morning."
"It'd be a good idea," he paused, sipping his coffee, "and I guess I should…" he couldn't even bring himself to say it.
"What?" she asked, watching him more closely.
Sighing, "I need to talk to Lincoln, but I don't know if I should go to Fox River and visit, or if I should call him or…"
She reached across the table and put a hand on his, the gesture grounding him, "Want me to go with you?"
He considered the offer for a moment; he had to hope that if Sara was with him, the guards and Warden Pope and anyone else who was around might show a bit more professional courtesy and not chew him out or deny him access. They all probably hated him at this point and with good reason; he'd embarrassed them in front of the entire nation.
On the other hand, he needed to talk to Lincoln alone, brother to brother.
He wasn't happy about it, but knew he'd made his choice, "Thank you, but I need to do this alone."
She nodded, understanding, "Well, if you want to go there, the car is all yours. I'll be here today until Veronica and Aldo are ready to meet up and discuss everything."
"Thank you."
He popped the last bite of toast into his mouth and she grabbed their plates, taking them over to the sink.
"So we haven't really talked about it yet," she started, running water to soak the dishes, "but what do you want to do when Aldo confesses? Do you want to be there…?" her voice trailed off.
To be honest, he hadn't consciously thought about it. In the back of his mind, he'd always assumed that he'd be there, but never thought to consider in what capacity he'd be involved. He'd prefer to be a fly on the wall, not wanting to bring himself and his own criminal record into the mix, tainting the confession of their father.
"Uh," he thought a moment, "I'd like to be there, but I don't want to go on the air. I'll leave that to Aldo and Veronica."
"Ok," she nodded, drying her hands on the towel, "I'd like to be there too, if that's ok."
He looked at her, aghast, "I…" he didn't even know what to say, "I wouldn't want to do it without you. You're a part of this too, Sara," he exhaled nervously, "whether you wanted to be or not."
She smirked, "I made my own choices. Like I told you at Fox River, it's in my nature to want to help," she shrugged, "sometimes that means dealing with a few consequences."
"Usually doesn't involve being stalked, but I take your point."
She raised her eyebrows, as if just remembering about that aspect, "Any news on that? General Krantz give you any threatening calls lately?"
Shaking his head, "Thankfully, no. I haven't heard from him since our last meeting."
Meeting was one way to put it, he thought, ignoring the bitter taste in his mouth. He subconsciously scanned the apartment, figuring out the best exit routes if one of his associates from The Company decided to pay them a visit.
She tilted her head, "You still worried?"
"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't."
"Well," she sighed, "all we can do is focus on today. I'm gonna go get dressed – you should too; go see Lincoln before Veronica and Aldo are ready. Don't want them waiting on us," she dropped a kiss on top of his head as she walked by, towards the bedroom.
He knew she was right - couldn't let himself fall down the rabbit hole of worrying about their security when they had bigger fish to fry. One thing at a time. He pressed his hands on his knees, standing up and following her to the bedroom. When he walked in, she was moving her shirts on their hangers one by one to the left, examining each possibility.
"What do I wear to silently support someone who's confessing about a government conspiracy?" she asked with a straight face.
He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her from behind, looking over her shoulder at the options, "What about this?" he reached over her, gesturing to a black suit jacket with a matching pencil skirt.
"A power suit? Really?" she asked in disbelief.
"With a skirt," he defended himself, "we may not be on air but…I don't know. I want to look nice…feels like a big deal.
"It is a big deal," she agreed, more softly, "what shirt with it?"
He spotted a silky something further back on the rack and pulled it out, finding it to be a sleeveless emerald green V-neck, "How about this?"
She tilted her head and then nodded, "Fashion, really? Is there nothing you can't do?" she teased, pecking him on the lips as she took the clothes from him.
"That reminds me," he realized, "I have something for you."
She glanced back at him with a small laugh, "Ok?"
He got up and went over to his bag in the corner, sifting through it to find the small jewelry box, making sure it was still intact after traveling.
He turned around to find the shorts and t-shirt she'd slept in on the floor, and her shrugging the shirt on; the silky fabric resting easily at her hips. He sat down on the bed and gestured for her to do the same, trying to ignore the distracting view he was presented with. He handed her the box, small and black, with a delicate bow tied around it.
Her eyes narrowed as a small smile crept onto her lips. She took it from him and gently tugged at the bow, letting it unravel and fall into her lap. She lifted the lid and her curiosity turned to silent surprise.
"Michael," she traced her fingers over the delicate gold chain and the small black tusk pendant. When she finished her thought, she sounded dumbfounded, "it's perfect."
Satisfied and grinning, he helped her take it out of the box, "I'm glad you like it."
"Seriously, you have an eye for jewelry too?" she asked with a smile.
He pulled her hair back and swung it to one side, fastening the clasp behind her neck, "Yea, I guess so," he remembered is revelation from the day he picked it out, and decided it was safe to share, "although I realized something in the jewelry store."
"What?" she asked.
"That I have my mom to thank for that," he said slowly, realizing he'd called her mom for the first time in ages.
Sara must've realized the same thing, because she paused, searching his eyes a moment before her own softened, "She taught you?"
"She always had an eye for design, so fashion came naturally to her too. When I was little, we obviously had to tag along everywhere," he shrugged, "guess I picked up a few things along the way."
"Well, I love it," she faced him now, her voice lower, "thank you."
He wrapped his hands around hers, relieved that the necklace was a good fit, and she surprised him by leaning forward and catching his lips in hers. Kissing her the last time felt like years ago, a distant memory that he'd seldom allowed himself to think about, fearing it would distract him from everything else; but having her now brought those memories and feelings back in a second. He raised his hands to frame her face, cradling her smooth skin, holding her to him.
She scooted closer on the bed, allowing the kiss to deepen, taking their time to slowly familiarize themselves again.
A distant buzzing noise crept into his awareness; she must've heard it too because they broke apart reluctantly.
"No, no," she groaned in protest, reaching over to her phone on the bed side table, "it's Veronica," she informed him.
"Hello?"
He watched as she listened, her hair softly framing her face, lips parted and slightly pinker than they'd been before.
"Ok," she said, "uh, any time is fine we're both here. Sounds good, bye."
"What is it?" he asked.
"They're just leaving Judge Davis's house, and he thinks they're ready to take this whole thing public. They're driving back to Veronica's place to get ready, then they'll head over so we can all drive to the news station together."
Stunned silence came over him until he blew out a sigh, "Wow, ok. This is really happening."
"Guess so, yea...are you ok?"
So many possible answers to that question came into his mind all at once, but he settled on a question instead, "Do you think I still have time to talk to Linc before we go?"
She shrugged, "I don't see why not. I mean, they've still got to go home and get ready."
That reassurance caused conflicting emotions; he almost wished that he didn't have time, giving him a valid excuse to not go.
Almost.
He really did want to see Linc and make sure he was ok, but what he didn't want was a literal representation of his failure right in front of him – Lincoln back in Fox River. Worst part of it was that he had no idea how Lincoln felt. Was he angry? Hopeless? Did he feel betrayed, or was he grateful that everyone was still trying to help? The possibilities were endless, which left him with only one option: go see him and find out.
She must have sensed his hesitation, "Can I at least drive you there?"
The possibility made him feel more secure, knowing she'd be there as soon as he left. Otherwise, he'd be left alone with the aftermath of his conversation with Lincoln, and if Lincoln was leaning towards the "angry and betrayed" end of the spectrum, he feared where his mind would go, even for a short drive home in silent solitude.
"I'd appreciate that," he admitted quietly.
"Ok," she started to get up, pulling the skirt off the bed and putting it on, shrugging the jacket on too and grabbing his hand, "let's go."
XXXXXX
"Linc, you've got a visitor."
Again? He thought, wondering if it was Veronica, back already from Montana. How long had they been gone? He couldn't be sure, the days all blended together.
They cuffed him and he made the walk from solitary to visitation, his eyes adjusting to the harsh, bright light and stark white walls. The contrast of the brightness to the darkness of his cell pained his eyes every time. He should be used to it by now; but that thought was less than comforting, realizing that he'd been to visitation and back enough times in his life to be intimately familiar with everything about it.
Being in Fox River and on death row for the second time felt like a dream; or rather, a nightmare he just couldn't seem to escape from. The freedom he'd tasted had left his mind shortly after he came back, adjusting to the routines, sounds, and smells of being back in prison rather quickly. He was becoming numb to it, like he was watching his own experiences from a distance, and the demons that once scared him were now familiar enough that they didn't phase him anymore.
So much of his days here were "expected." He knew the routine and not much else ever happened, so when he entered the visitation room he almost took a step back, stunned at who he saw waiting for him at the first table.
"Michael?" he approached, hardly believing that his brother was really there. He sat down opposite him and asked, "what the hell are you doing here, are you crazy?"
Michael looked a bit surprised at his question, but answered, "I'm free, Linc. Christina held up her end...I can visit you."
Even though he'd known about the deal, knew that Michael had been working in Miami, he'd always had a hint of doubt that Christina and The Company would actually wipe his slate clean, but here he was, back at Fox River…as a visitor this time.
He looked good, Lincoln realized. The cloudiness of pain in his eyes from the brain tumor was gone, and his gaze was as clear and blue as it ever was.
Honestly, "It's good to see you, man."
Looking relieved, "You too. I'd ask you how you're holding up but I think I know what you'd say."
"I'm fine."
A smirk, "Yup, that's exactly what you'd say."
He shrugged, having so many questions on his mind and preferring to talk about anything aside from his dull days in this place, "How're things?"
"Uh," he took a moment to search for the words, "well, Steadman is alive. Veronica and Aldo found him, took pictures, but they got trapped at his place-"
"-trapped?!"
"They're back now," he assured, "Sara went to Montana to get them out."
After a moment, "Huh, so that's where she went."
"What?"
"They rescheduled my weekly physical, said she had to take some personal time."
"Ah," understanding now, "And now Aldo is getting ready to confess everything. They're going on the air tonight."
Slowly, "Tonight?"
"Yup," he leaned closer, "we're almost there, Linc. Just a few more days and hopefully you'll be out of here."
The possibility still didn't feel real. He'd been so out of the loop with everything happening, he hadn't allowed himself to really anticipate getting out, figuring it better to plan on being executed and then being pleasantly surprised than the other way around.
"What happens after that?"
Honestly, "I'm not sure. Veronica mentioned hoping for a new trial, but at the very least they'd delay the execution or take you off death row until they can figure everything out."
"Hmm," he mumbled, not knowing what to say and decided to change the subject, "how've you been? How's Sara?"
A bit surprised, "Uh, I'm good...I guess. We're getting close to finishing the project I was assigned for The Company. And Sara is," he smiled a little, "Sara. I'm a lucky man."
Nodding, "You are. I'm happy for you, Michael."
"Thank you," he sighed, "I really appreciate that."
Michael grew silent, a pained look appearing on his face that Lincoln had seen before, "What is it?"
His blue eyes were clouded, "You have no idea how sorry I am that you're back here-"
"-don't-"
"-I'm serious," he emphasized, "everything I did was to get you out and now you're back and I'm stuck working for The Company."
"But you said you're almost done, right? Then you're free to go?" he asked, remembering the terms of the deal.
After a moment, "Not exactly."
"What?"
His body language became more guarded, more tense, "They've been stalking Sara...threatening her if I don't stay working for The Company after I'm done with the bargain project."
Eyes wide, "Threatening her how?"
"I don't know, Linc. All I know is they've been following her and taking pictures, but considering who we're talking about, I know they wouldn't hesitate to torture her if I don't give them what they want," after a moment, "I might be naive, but I'm hoping they won't kill her because then they'd lose their leverage. But either way, I don't want anything bad happening to her."
"So what're you going to do?" he asked. Knowing Michael, he had to have a plan up his sleeve.
Silence.
"Come on, you don't take a piss without a plan man. Can't tell me that someone is threatening Sara and you haven't thought about a way to get out of it."
Slowly, "Well, there is one option…"
He waited for him to continue.
Sighing, "Christina contacted me again."
That elicited an eye roll, wondering what the hell she wanted this time.
"She told me that if I completed Bargain on my own and then gave Scylla to her, she'd sell it and give me 25% of the profit, have the General killed, and she'd be the new leader of The Company. I'd be free, and she'd have everything she wants."
It took a moment for him to process the deal Michael had laid out, "Can you do it?"
"What?"
"Finish it on your own."
"Oh, yea that's not the problem. I mean I don't think it is anyways...I should be able to figure it out. I'm worried about giving her that much power," he paused, "and about having someone murdered. I mean, The General is threatening Sara, but to kill him? I don't know. I don't know if that's a line I should cross."
Lincoln shrugged, "He's threatening someone you love."
"I know, I just-"
"-do what you have to do to protect your family, the family you've chosen. It ain't about blood, we know that, our parents left us like it was nothing, but we had each other. You're choosing to help me, and you're choosing to be with Sara. Whatever we gotta do to keep each other safe...nothing else matters."
Michael held his gaze for a moment, the look in his eyes reminding him of a younger Michael, one who used to ask his older brother for advice. He couldn't remember exactly when Michael had started being the "older brother to his older brother" but he felt something shift now, the roles reversing back to how they'd been when they were kids.
"I guess so," he said finally, "I'll talk to Sara about it."
"Good."
A guard barked from the doorway, "Visiting hours over, start walkin ladies."
Michael looked at him one last time, "We'll talk soon."
XXXXX
Sara sat in her car with the windows down, the sun and humidity causing her car to be an oven, but the steady cross breeze through the open windows was enough to make it bearable. Michael had been in there for a while, so she tried taking advantage of the downtime, letting her mind wander and rest, preparing for the storm that was brewing.
She saw him exit the building, walking towards her in his black slacks and blue shirt. His head was down, and something about his posture and expression made her think that he was deep in thought, contemplating something.
He opened the door and got in.
"How'd it go?" she asked.
"Uh," he buckled his seatbelt, "good I think."
She started the car and waited for him to elaborate. He didn't.
"What'd he say?" she asked as she backed out of her parking spot.
After a moment, "I need to talk to you about something."
"Ok?" she answered slowly, a nervous feeling prickling in her belly, "what?"
He started fidgeting his hands, "I uh, I got a call from Christina the other day."
"Ok?"
"She offered me a deal, one that would protect you from the General."
Without even hearing what the deal was yet, she could feel that she didn't like it, "What is it?"
"She wants me to finish Scylla without the help of my team and give it to her. She'd sell it and give me 25% of the profit, allow me to leave The Company, and she'd have the General killed...and become the leader of The Company."
That was a lot to take in, "Uh...wow, ok. What're you thinking?"
"To be honest, I've been avoiding thinking about it, but Lincoln thinks I should go for it."
"He does?"
"He says whatever I have to do to protect the people I love, I need to do it."
She heard the uncertainty in his voice and reached her hand over, resting it on his knee, "I won't blame you if you don't," she glanced over, "I won't. I realize that it's my safety on the line here, I don't want you to do anything-"
"-Sara," he grabbed her hand, searching for the right words, "I don't even know what's holding me back. She held up her end of the deal with my surgery, so I have to believe she would do it again."
"Is it about the General?"
He grew quiet, "I'd be the direct cause of someone's murder."
After a moment, "He might be the direct cause of mine."
He glanced over at her, but she kept her eyes on the road, not wanting to see whatever pain might be in his clear, blue gaze.
"That's the thing; I don't think he'd kill you. If he did, he'd lose his leverage."
She considered this, "True, but God knows what else he'd do to me," she understood where he was coming from, but she finally had to admit, "look, Michael. I'm scared. I'm trying to be brave through all of this, and to do the right thing, but having a stalker isn't something I'd wish on anyone, the paranoia is-"
"-I get that. Believe me."
"Right," she realized, remembering his time spent on the run, "I guess you do."
"And you're right," he continued, "I wouldn't wish it on anyone."
She parked the car at her apartment.
He glanced towards her and squeezed her hand, adding, "Especially you."
She felt his gaze settle on her again, the penetrating gaze that made her feel heady and squeamish all at one. Before she could register it, he was leaning over to kiss her, wrapping his free hand behind her head, fingers sliding through her hair. The desperation behind it took her by surprise; he acted as if the act alone could shield her from all the ugliness in the world, that as long as they were together, nothing bad could happen.
She kissed back without restraint, letting all of her frustration, her fears and uncertainty flow out of her, being replaced by the comforting bliss that always seemed to come from being with him. When their kisses slowed, she kept her face an inch away from his, searching his eyes and saying plainly, "Do whatever you think is best."
He lowered his head, "I have to take the deal. Again."
XXXXX
Veronica straightened her dark gray suit, the one she reserved for only the most special of occasions. Aldo was in a black suit and a red tie, ready to go on the air, and she was ready to be his wing-man, backing up his story and providing moral support with her presence. Michael and Sara were behind the camera, holding hands tightly and watching with baited breath. Sara gave her an encouraging nod and smile, nudging Michael to do the same. Veronica almost laughed, the reluctance on Michael's face was evident; that man didn't like to wear any emotions on his sleeve, let alone those of a cheerleader. She took a deep breath to compose herself, readying every fiber for the big reveal, the moment they'd all been waiting for.
Her stomach was hollow but somehow still filled with nerves, a warm tingling feeling in her lower belly. She was convinced that if she'd eaten lunch she'd be throwing it up behind the white leather couch she and Aldo were sitting on. Thankfully, she hadn't; she'd decided to save her appetite for a victory dinner once they were done with this whole thing.
The reporter stepped onto the stage with them, adjusting her mic. She was a quick-witted blonde woman; tall with a square jaw and commanding voice, she always wanted to be the first to get the scoop, which is why Judge Davis had recommended her. She was willing to report anything as long as it was mind-blowing and she was the first to tell the world about it.
Veronica squinted under the bright studio lights, feeling the heat radiate off them, baking her in her suit from the inside out. She glanced again at Sara and Michael who stood off to the side, looking professional and cool as can be in the darkness behind the lights. In that moment, she envied them, wanting nothing more than to slink into the shadows, but knowing that she had to be in the spotlight. That's why they were here, after all, but it didn't mean she had to like it. For some reason, she could command the attention of a judge and jury no problem, but being in front of a camera and addressing the nation just felt different.
The assistants came by one last time to check her mic and Aldo's just as the cameraman counted down, and the reporter started her broadcast, "I'm here today with Aldo Burrows and Veronica Donovan, the father and lawyer of convicted murderer and death row inmate, Lincoln Burrows. Tell us why you're here, Aldo."
"Thank you, Lisa," he began, sitting up a little straighter, "I'm here to shed light on why my son, Lincoln, was incarcerated, and it wasn't because of the murder of Terrence Steadman. In fact, Terrence is alive and well, living in a secluded home in Montana."
Veronica watched Lisa's face, her eyes widened as she latched onto this revelation, "So if Mr. Steadman is alive, as you claim, why was Lincoln supposedly framed for his murder?"
"Because of me," he said simply, "Mr. Steadman's company, Ecofield, was involved in a scandal with a group of multi-nationals we call The Company. They could have covered the scandal up a thousand different ways, but they chose to frame Lincoln for Steadman's murder."
Lisa's eyebrows furrowed, "Any idea why they chose that route?"
"Because I was the one who leaked the information about the scandal. They knew that a man with a son on death row would come out of hiding, and they would kill me to keep me quiet."
Shocked, "A bold statement," she then paraphrased, "so what you're saying is, this group called The Company was seeking revenge on you for leaking a scandal, and to do that, they chose to frame your son for murdering Mr. Steadman?"
"That's correct."
Lisa then turned her attention to Veronica, "Now, Ms. Donovan, you're Lincoln Burrow's attorney, correct?"
"Yes," she replied, commanding her foot to stop tapping nervously.
"With this information coming to light, what is your hope for Lincoln?"
More confidently, in her lawyer tone, "We're requesting a retrial in the hopes of getting Lincoln acquitted and out of Fox River. He's innocent, and we have evidence to prove it. Terrence Steadman is alive, and Lincoln never killed anyone."
"Well, there you have it folks," Lisa wrapped up the interview, "from Channel Five news, I'm Lisa Cross."
The camera's red light went off and Lisa addressed them both, "You guys were fantastic," she gushed.
"Thanks," Veronica replied, slightly annoyed with her fascination with all things perverse and disturbing, but was grateful for her having them on the show in the first place. And beyond relieved that it was over.
She glanced towards Michael and Sara - they were talking to each other with hands loosely intertwined, and she smiled, happy that her childhood friend had found someone to confide in.
Looking back at Aldo, "Alright, tomorrow I'll officially request a retrial."
He nodded, looking like a deflated balloon, obviously relieved as well, "Sounds good."
"And Aldo," he met her eyes, "thank you."
XXXXX
Aldo was back at Veronica's place, feeling exhausted yet satisfied, sitting on her couch. He'd finally done it; the burden of carrying his secret at the expense of both of his son's was finally lifted. That fact alone was allowing him to feel more joyous than he had in a long time, but there'd been an added bonus just before he'd gone on air; Michael had talked to him.
It hadn't been much, but Michael thanked him before he'd gone on stage and they chatted a little bit about how Lincoln was doing. Sara helped keep the conversation going, giving them both tidbits about him that she'd observed at Fox River and he was grateful for it; her easing the tension.
He saw the looks she and Michael exchanged, how their bodies drifted towards each other subconsciously and he could practically feel his heart expanding in his chest. She was a good woman; he could tell that from the first time he'd met her, and his son had somehow managed to capture her heart. He was happy for them, elated if he was being honest, but kept his enthusiasm to himself, not wanting to embarrass them or be the doting father watching young love blossom.
He also had to believe that Sara had played a part in getting Michael to speak with him at all; he hoped so anyways, that he'd at least earned her trust enough for her to nudge Michael back in his direction.
He listened now as Veronica cooked something for dinner, the smell of garlic and butter filling the air and realized how lucky he was. He was a man who'd lost his wife and both kids due to his own poor choices, now slowly gaining back the trust of both of his sons. Plus he had one, maybe two, potential daughter-in-laws who were some of the most capable, kind-hearted women he'd ever had the pleasure of knowing. Tears threatened to well in his eyes as he watched Veronica cooking, remembering the young lady she'd been years before, sneaking over to hang out with Michael and Lincoln after school, keeping them both in line and on top of their homework. The memory made him smile.
He speculated, but didn't dare ask, that Lincoln and Veronica still had more feelings between them than simply being friends and having a lawyer-client relationship. The lengths she went to in an attempt to save him were astonishing. He only hoped that once Lincoln was free, he'd be smart enough to see that, and to not let her slip away again.
He almost didn't realize it as his phone began to ring, vibrating deep within his pocket. He blinked back the moisture in his eyes and looked at the caller I.D.; it was Gretchen.
Curious, he stood up and excused himself, "I've got a call Veronica, I'll take it outside. Be right back."
"Ok," she answered from the stove.
"Hey," he greeted, shutting the door behind him and stepping into the cool night air.
"I saw your little stunt on T.V. tonight."
After a moment, "I did what had to be done."
Bitterly, "I'm wondering where exactly that leaves me?"
He sighed, "Honestly, stealing Scylla isn't my top priority right now. Getting Lincoln out of Fox River is."
"Saving your children. I get it. But when the time comes," she paused, a hint of sadness entering her voice, "please don't forget about mine."
He thought of Emily, the picture Gretchen had shown him years before, "I won't," he reassured, "when we move forward on that front, I'll let you know."
XXXXX
"Michael?" Sara asked, pulling him out of his thoughts.
"Sorry, what?"
She smiled from her seat next to him in front of the T.V., "You're obviously not paying attention to the show and I've said your name three times now."
"Oh," he realized, "I was thinking about calling Christina."
She rubbed his back lazily, "If it's bothering you that much, why not just do it? Get it over with."
He paused, "She irks me."
That elicited a chuckle as her hand stopped moving, "I get that. But if it's what your gut is telling you to do...the sooner the better, right?"
He glanced behind them, looking at the clock on the oven which read eight o'clock, "You think it's too late?"
"Unless she goes to work every day at four a.m., I think you're good. Give her a call," she encouraged.
He pushed himself up slowly, acting like an animal being led to slaughter, and grabbed his phone from the coffee table, "I'm going to go in the bedroom if that's ok?"
"Whatever you need to do," she assured, "I'll be right here."
"Just don't eat all the popcorn while I'm gone."
She looked up with wide eyes and a smirk, "No promises," popping another kernel in her mouth.
He opened the door to the bedroom, turned on the light and shut the door.
