The bill aiming to restrict access to firearms became known throughout America as the People's Reform.

An unsurprising title, seeing as Sara herself was getting praised by the Democrat press as the People's President; it was the most significant piece of legislation in Sara's term at this point, and all her administration agreed it would be difficult to top even if she was to succeed at reelection.

It was January by the time the Senate finally approved the bill, which Sara was to sign into law in early March.

"Congratulations," Kellerman told her. Since his reappointment, he was much more present at the White House, which would have probably suited him better from the first; if only he didn't know Sara had arranged this specifically so she could keep an eye on him. "Champagne is in order, I should think. When they passed Obamacare, I heard the president treated himself to a little celebration."

"And seeing how hard we're still fighting to maintain the ACA," Sara said, "I don't think we should cry victory too early."

Kellerman sighed. "Always looking on the side of what remains to be done."

"You know me, Paul. I'm not the type to rest on my laurels."

"If I were you, it's not the bill I'd be worried about."

Sara sighed. "So I got a few poisoned letters. It happens to a lot of presidents."

"If it was just poisonous mail, I wouldn't be so concerned. But that's a little weak for the NRA. I'm not even sure they're behind it. I'm afraid if they decide to strike, it'll be the kind of clean job we won't see coming."

"I never step out of this office anymore without being followed by a bodyguard," Sara said. "What more would you have me do?"

He shrugged. "It's just you've made a powerful enemy, the minute you decided to take on gun control. Since the bill passed the Senate, the threat became a lot realer. In less than three months, you're going to sign it into law – meaning if the NRA wants to stop you, they'll have to act soon."

"They'd achieve nothing by taking me out. My VP would sign the bill in my place, that's all."

Kellerman chuckled. For a second, the audible arrogance in his laugh annoyed Sara so, she had to struggle to keep it below surface.

Maybe Kellerman had never quite forgiven her for his reassignment, but she was far from forgiving him for his betrayal, or for that nagging doubt that flashed through her head, sometimes, when his eyes gleamed in a certain way.

Like his mind was brewing a secret scheme in which she played a part she was confident she wouldn't want.

"If you think the VP is as loyal to the cause as you are, then I'm afraid you're optimistic. A lot of people in your administration believe in what you're doing, don't get me wrong. Would they sacrifice their careers for it? Maybe. But their lives?"

Sara shook her head. "If you're afraid the NRA will come after me, then talk to my security staff. I'm already taking all the measures they have in store. But I'm not going to back down, Paul."

His brows furrowed. "You think that's what I was pushing for?"

"I don't know. Sometimes, I can't read you right." She was tempted to add, Or at all.

His mouth twitched at the corners; she could tell he was repressing a smile. "What I mean is," he said, "you should see the signing ceremony as the finish line. Not in the sense that it's the high point of your career. You're barely thirty. You still have six years in the office ahead of you. But in the sense that the NRA is going to make it hell for you to get there."

Sara gave him a curt polite smile she knew he secretly hated. "Anything else?"

He was silent for a moment. "Yes."

"Do tell."

She bent over a pile of paperwork; it'd become the norm for her to multitask and go over some reading during reports. Now, it proved especially convenient, hiding her face from Paul at the right moment.

"You remember that lawyer vigilante we talked about?"

His voice showed no trace of annoyance or satisfaction. Still, it was impossible for Sara to guess how much he knew.

"Michael Scofield," she said evenly enough. She was a decent liar but a bad actress, and she knew she couldn't have pulled off the act of not remembering his name. "The Batman of lawyers."

"Right. A little pathetic, don't you think?"

Sara turned over her ink pen into her hand, her eyes still fixed on the sheet of paper before her. "Oh, don't be so cynical, Paul. The people need vigilantes. People who are willing to devote their lives to improving those of others."

Though Sara still wasn't looking at him, she could sense he was allowing himself a wry smile. "Be the change you want to see in the world," he said.

"Isn't that what we're all trying to do?" She adopted a more earnest tone. "What about him? I don't have time to listen to all the gossip that goes on in Washington."

"I just thought you'd be interested to know he's made his first mistake."

"How so?"

"People who play vigilantes should always remain loners. Strings attached are weaknesses, potential targets for the enemies he's likely to make. And it turns out, our legal genius is no longer a bachelor."

Her eyes didn't waver from the words on the page.

Suddenly, she didn't feel the weight of the pen in her hand anymore, didn't feel the rigid touch of the back of her seat, or the wooden surface of the desk against which her left hand was lying numbly.

"Got married this week. It was in the news," Paul said.

"Was it?"

She didn't want to have this conversation. At this moment, it didn't feel important what signs Kellerman could read on her face. Images drowned her mind with overwhelming strength. The sight of Michael's blue eyes, a blend of hunger and innocence, when he traced his fingers over her body at night, in those motel rooms that they had been foolish enough to treat as a separate world, free from danger, free from sight.

The weight of his arms around her when he pulled her tight against his body, enjoying every last second until she had to leave, how he would sink his face into her neck and hair and breathe her in, like he'd given up all hopes to renounce this intoxication.

In some other but no less real reality, Sara wasn't sitting in the oval office with Paul Kellerman; she was back in Chicago, she could feel the satin of the sheets and the warmth of Michael's body on her naked skin.

What it was like to be loved, to be touched, to be looked at like she was the only thing worth having eyes for in this world.

It was over in a second. One single shattering second.

Then, the cool-headedness she had gotten used to since she had put her hand on a Bible two years ago and become president returned to her in a flash.

She looked up at Kellerman. His face was cautious, betraying little.

"And you're telling me this why?"

He waited, weighing each word before he spoke them. "Maybe – so you will treat me to your complete confidence again, Sara? So I don't have to pretend I don't know."

"Don't know?"

She deliberately pushed him to say the words. This was too serious a matter for her to risk betraying herself because of sheer bluff.

They'd been dancing around long enough. Now, it was time she knew for sure how much of the truth he'd gathered.

"That he was your secret lover," Paul said.

Sara waited, never lowering her eyes from his. Now was one of the moments when such small signs of power mattered.

"I really don't get you, Paul," she said. "I try to think what you could have hoped to achieve, by doing what I explicitly told you not to do. You betrayed my trust and now – what? You hope to gain it again by going against my orders? I told you not to investigate. That my private life was off limits and it wouldn't be a problem once I was in office. And it hasn't been. It doesn't matter, by the way, whether you've guessed right or wrong. I don't owe you any explanation. If I'd had Michael Scofield as a lover, or half a dozen other men, what difference would it make? What goal could you possibly have coming here and trying to blow a news like that into my face? I always thought you were smart, and now I'm starting to think you're getting sloppy. Emotional."

Her voice became cool as the sharp edge of a blade, one that didn't need to cut to show you it could bleed you dead.

"I don't know what this little scene was about, I don't know where you thought it would end," she said, "but I'll tell you one thing. It better not be revenge."

He shifted on his feet. He was still standing up while she sat behind her desk, the way she usually saw Kellerman, now. A reminder of the distance between them couldn't hurt.

"Now," he said, "you're insulting my commitment to my president."

"Maybe your commitment merits the insult."

Sara was in no mood to be coaxed. The tightness on Kellerman's face loosened, and for a second he was ten years younger, he was her father's man, a Republican, smiling with increasing fascination at her ideals as she won him over.

"Please," he said, and sounded genuine enough that Sara allowed herself to soften just an inch in her icy posture. It was rare to have a man like Paul Kellerman beg for anything. "Believe that I didn't mean any offense."

"I will," she said, "if you tell me what you meant."

"This job –" He looked around them, looked at this room where he had worked so hard to place her. "It's a difficult one. Impossibly difficult. It takes its toll on people. Ages them, wears them down. Kills them, sometimes. And before you, hardly any of the forty-five men who enslaved themselves to that office tried to do it alone."

Understanding dawned upon Sara's mind. She wanted to laugh but couldn't.

"This is about my being single. Again."

"Things have changed," he said. "You became more vulnerable since your campaign. There's the NRA to think about."

"What, a ring on my finger will stop their bullets?"

"Be serious."

"Oh, I am." Her voice grew deep with anger. "We covered this years ago. No husband, Paul. I didn't think I could make myself clearer."

"I thought you might reconsider."

There could be no room for mercy when she stared back into his eyes, unblinking, unwavering.

"And you have a candidate in mind?" She said.

Pushing him over the brink. She didn't care that it was the stupid thing to do; that if he actually stood there and asked for her hand in marriage, she might really fire him once and for all, forgetting those ten years of friendship and loyal service, forgetting that she had first decided to make him a friend because he was too dangerous to become an enemy.

"It was just a thought," he said, finally.

The anger in her voice was blazing now, but that was all right; she wanted him to hear it.

"Good," she said. "Bury it."

He bowed his head and she dismissed him, and felt herself collapse into the chair, as if nothing but skin and nerve was holding her together.

Behind close eyelids, she saw the playful smile on Michael's lips, she felt the fire of his fingertips on her flesh, tasted the warmth of his kisses on her tongue.

Married, she thought. Married.

And in her mind, the words he had said to her that one night at the motel, when he had promised to wait for her.

"Two years," she said.

After all…

What more could even the most cherished woman alive ask for?

End Notes: Okay, okay, please don't kill me for that ending. Instead, do vent your frustration in the comment section. I promise I will reply to all ;-). I apologize for the cliffhanger but we're getting close to the end of Part Two, so it makes sense the tension should be climbing up. Please share your thoughts with me. See you soon with an update!

PS: I don't know if you've noticed I've uploaded the image for this story. Credit goes to misa_pb for the gorgeous fan art 8-)