A/N: Well, this is it - the last chapter. Thank you all so much for reading and sharing your thoughts. This was my first "big" story, and I had a lot of fun writing it. I hope you enjoyed reading it too :)
FYI: The last section changes from Sara's perspective to Michael's. I wanted them both to have a few final thoughts and that was the easiest way to do it.
XXXXXXX
"Thought I might find you here," a low voice startled Veronica from behind. She was sitting outside eating lunch at her favorite place, just a block away from her work. The smell of toasty bread and brewing coffee lingered in the air despite a soft breeze, the murmur of conversations all around her.
Lincoln took the seat across from her and smiled, obviously satisfied that he'd surprised her.
"Am I that predictable?" she replied, pretending to take offense.
He shrugged, "You said work has been busy, and that usually means you end up eating out a lot," he pointed to the building, "and this is your favorite place."
"Alright, I guess I am predictable," she admitted, taking note of the fact that he paid more attention than she realized, "do you want something?" she pointed to her melting grilled cheese, offering to order another.
He waved a hand, "Nah, don't have time. I've got a job interview in a half hour."
Pleasantly surprised, "You do? Where?"
"Gas station over on tenth," he nodded behind them in the general direction.
She tried to keep her expression neutral, "Oh…that's-"
"-It's something, Vee. They don't mind hiring ex-cons."
"I know," shaking her head, "I'm sorry. I figured you go for something more…" she held her sandwich mid-air, searching for the right word. Picturing Lincoln behind the register at a gas station, doing his best not to scowl at customers had her trying not to laugh. Maybe she figured he'd do something less involved with people. Working on cars, landscaping…something physical that didn't involve having to fake smile at members of the public on a daily basis.
He shrugged, "I have to start somewhere," then he smirked, "besides, they said they like hiring tough guys in case someone tries to rob them."
She smiled hesitantly, not liking the idea as much as he seemed to, "And that's funny because-?"
He shook his head, smiling, "Buddy of mine back in Fox River, that's what he was arrested for."
"For robbing a gas station?"
"Convenience store, but still."
Eyebrows raised, challenging, "You think you could've stopped him?"
Unwavering, "I know I could have. Sucre wouldn't hurt a fly."
"Except the guy he apparently tried to rob," she countered.
"Meh," he waved a hand and she laughed.
He checked his watch, "Anyways, can't be late. Let me know if you're free later, though."
"I will," she promised with sincerity, "I want to hear all about it."
He nodded and turned to leave.
She watched his retreating figure, strolling easily down the block. The sun was warm on her back, a cool breeze playing with her hair as she finished her sandwich. Work had been busy, Lincoln was certainly right about that. She hoped that her being busy wasn't something that he took personally; she wanted to spend time with him, but she'd been staying late at the office more often than not, and not ever knowing what time she'd be free. It wasn't exactly the best position to be in when you were trying to make dinner plans.
She wiped the grease off her fingers and tossed the napkin on her empty plate, realizing that there was a noticeable shift in her mood since he'd stopped by; even that quick visit was enough to put a little more pep in her step as she left cash on the table and headed back to work. That was a good sign, right? They could make it this time.
Her heels clicked against the pavement as she walked the short distance back to her office, the rhythm offering a background noise for her thoughts.
They hadn't spent much time together lately- certainly not as much as she would've liked. Thought she never thought it possible, ever since he was released he'd been on her mind even more. He may be a free man, but that didn't guarantee any kind of happiness, stability, or sense of purpose; she was concerned with how he was adjusting. He can be hard to read anyways and spending less time with him didn't make assessing his mood any easier. But they'd known each other a long time, and her instincts were telling her that he wasok. That he wasn't hiding anything from her.
He wasn't a good liar, so if he was burying a deep unhappiness, she would've sensed that something was off and confronted him about it by now, but there wasn't. No red flags, which was probably why she was worried. It seemed too good to be true.
The other day when she'd called him in the morning just to chat for a minute, he'd been out of breath. Apparently, he'd taken to going for morning jogs by the lake. He'd never been a runner before, so she'd asked him why he'd taken an interest in it. His reply had been simple.
"It clears my head, makes me feel better," then a pause, "I like watching the world go by."
His response had made her smile, while simultaneously making her chest constrict. For so long he'd been locked away, unjustly, and been robbed of so many chances. She'd gone to that same lake countless times to stroll and think, sit on the bench, watching the world go by and listening to the waves. Her freedom had been a given.
He couldn't ever get that time back. His freedom now didn't wipe away the time in confinement. Despite all of her efforts to get him out, and her success, a feeling of guilt always pricked at the back of her neck when she thought about his lost time. The unfairness of it all would never be lost on her, and she knew it would probably never be lost on him either. But, he didn't seem to linger on that or even acknowledge it. Instead, he just plowed ahead, taking advantage of all of his opportunities and keeping the past where it belonged.
She was proud of him.
She felt a swell in her chest as she pictured his retreating figure once again. He'd been through enough challenges to break just about anyone but there he went, off to get a job. This time could be different, she thought with a tingle of excitement. It already was.
XXXXXX
Michael was back in Fox River, standing outside the door to the infirmary, watching as Sara got the room set up for him. It felt like a normal day.
Without warning, the window behind her was filled with the ominous gray of an impending storm. The rain poured down, lighting cracked, shattering the glass and allowing the water to pour in.
He reached for the door, but it wouldn't budge. It was locked; no amount of kicking or ramming against it would break it open. Rain poured into the room impossibly fast, the water level rising and rising. She looked at him through the glass with wide eyes, full of fear. Of desperation. The water was rising above her waist, she held his eyes, begging for help, but something about the look in them told him she knew she was doomed.
Frantic, he tried with all his strength to open the door, she gasped for air, the water at her throat until-
Michael jolted awake, drenched in sweat, his heart racing. It took a moment for him to remember where he was – he looked around, assessing his surroundings and confirming that he wasn't at Fox River. His apartment; he was at his apartment. Miami. Sara was safe in Chicago.
Safe. After today, she really would be.
The nightmare left him rattled. He didn't have them often – not ones he remembered anyways. When he did have them, their meaning was blatantly obvious, not bothering to hide themselves in complicated metaphors. Sara was in danger, and he felt helpless to save her.
He exhaled and sat up, balling the comforter in his hands, further cementing himself in the present reality. Images from his dream still flooded his awareness, their vividness making them hard to forget. His emotions still running high.
But he wasn't helpless.
That fact had him getting out of bed and grabbing jeans and a gray t-shirt, heading for the bathroom to shower off all of his nightmare-induced sweat.
The hot water pelted his skin as he continued to extract himself from his own mind. He forced himself to mentally go through his day, his reality, and prepare for everything he had to do. The process had his dream slowly slipping away and a more pleasant mental dialogue filling its place.
After toweling off and putting on some clothes, he grabbed his laptop and set it on the kitchen table. It would take a bit of time, but he started the process of transferring everything he'd done on the Bargain theory onto an external drive, ready to sell.
He made some toast, more out of a sense of obligation than anything else, and ate it in silence, watching the bar on the computer slowly indicating its progress. One phone call was still between him and finally moving past this mess, but he wanted to make sure the data transfer went smoothly before making that call.
His phone buzzed, a text from Sara, "Morning! How's everything going?"
"It'll all be taken care of today."
"Yea? When will you be back?"
After a moment, "Hopefully the day after tomorrow. I'll need tomorrow to terminate my lease, pack my stuff..."
"Makes sense. Can I ask you something?"
His curiosity piqued, "Of course."
His phone buzzed again, she was calling him. He set his toast on the counter and answered, "Hey."
Flatly, "Hey. Look I know you've already made whatever choices you need to make, I just need to ask one thing."
She sounded tired, like she'd pulled an all-nighter doing paperwork. Knowing her, she probably had, but there was something else in her voice that had him concerned, "What?"
After a moment, "Is there any way we can get out of this whole thing…without killing the General?"
He didn't know what to say, frozen by both confusion and his lack of an answer.
She continued, "I know you're looking out for my safety, and I'm concerned too but… murder?" she said with a nervous laugh, "Is that really how we want to start a life together?"
"Sara," he started, fighting his conflicted feelings. She had more compassion than anyone he'd ever known. It was an admirable trait, but one he was honestly afraid would get her killed, "if we sell Scylla and undermine him, he'll just come after us even harder. I can't risk that."
"What about prison?" she asked, obviously grasping at straws.
"I considered that," he admitted, "but with all of his connections and money, I'm afraid he'd weasel his way out of there in no time."
There was silence for a moment. Then quietly, "Will it at least be quick?"
"I uh," he searched his memory, trying to think if Christina had specified how she'd carry out that promise, "I don't think we ever talked about that, but I can ask."
"Demand it," she replied, her voice low, leaving no room for debate, "no torture, no slow, painful death…"
"I will," he promised.
Her voice sounded far away when she replied, "Thank you."
He didn't know how to ease her mind; rather, he knew that he couldn't. Not with this. The best he could offer was a small reassurance, reminding her why they were doing this.
"A few days, Sara- that's all I ask, and then I'll be back in Chicago and we can put all of this behind us."
She exhaled audibly, "You really believe that?"
Simply, "I have to." He waited a moment, and with nothing left to say, he offered a sincere, "I love you."
"I love you too," she replied, and he hung up.
The laptop was done transferring data, his toast long forgotten. He unplugged the external drive and tucked it safely into his laptop bag.
He'd agreed to meet Christina early today, figuring the sooner this was over with, the sooner he could really get ready to leave. In two days, he could be back in Chicago and starting the life he wanted. He could wake up next to Sara every day, find a simple job that he liked, come home and they'd eat together, debate over what to watch on T.V…
With that happier image in mind, he put on his shoes and grabbed his keys, tucking the laptop bag under his arm and walking out the door.
He got to The Company headquarters and walked through the familiar courtyard and entryway in a daze. He'd worked here for months and normally entered the building feeling calm and confident, but the energy was different today. It wasn't a normal day at the office, it was his final day dealing with The Company.
He got on the elevator and almost pressed the button for his floor by mistake, his mind on autopilot. He corrected and pressed the number for Christina's floor, his heart racing. This was it- the final step.
He had doubts.
He did his best to shove them aside, but his mind was a mess. The firm resolve in his decision was battling it out with the relentless doubts that always seemed to seep in when they were least welcome.
He rubbed a hand against the stubble of his head, anxious. There was no right answer here. He knew that. This was a leap of faith at best, and it was one he was going to take, no matter how many times he second guessed himself.
When the elevator finally reached the right floor he practically bolted out of it, as if hurrying to her office would somehow squash every last bit of uncertainty. His mind still raced as fast as his feet as he approached her door.
There was an agent stationed at her doorway. Michael approached him and stated flatly, "I'm here to see Christina."
"Is she expecting you?"
"Yes."
"Name?"
"Michael."
He went inside the room and after a brief moment came back out, "Go on in."
Curtly, "Thank you."
With his bag still safely tucked under his arm, he entered the roomy office and approached her at her desk.
"Michael, welcome," she greeted from a relaxed position in her chair. At seeing the bag, he was carrying, she stood up, "is that it?"
"Yes," he confirmed, setting it down on a glass table in the center of the room.
A quiet settled, though the air buzzed between them. He knew he was holding his breath, but couldn't bring himself to take in any air; every nerve in his body waited with heightened energy, like sprinters for the bang of a starting gun.
She approached the table from the other side, her feet barely audible on the carpet. The silence was deafening, but a careful look at her expression showed that she was eager to see his work. She was trying to hide her enthusiasm under an air of disinterest, but he saw through it, and that realization gave him some comfort- a reassurance that if she was playing him, at least he'd have more than a snowballs chance in hell of realizing it.
He opened the laptop and softly set the external drive next to it on the glass, pulling up everything he'd accomplished.
"May I?" she asked.
"By all means," he stepped back slightly and let her stand in front of the computer, looking over everything with a careful eye.
She took her time, which was fine with him…in theory. He understood the need – she didn't want to sell something sub-par to a buyer for millions of dollars…that was a good way to get killed, but the wait itself was killing him. He forced a few breaths and wandered towards the window, looking out at the skyline on yet another sunny day.
He might miss that; the warmth and consistent sunshine, but that alone wasn't nearly enough to keep him in Miami. Admittedly, working on the Bargain theory had been a fun challenge, and the group he'd worked with was probably one of the best he'd ever have, but that was okay. He'd be content in whatever job Chicago had to offer, and he could get back to the simple life. The life of engineering things that didn't carry the weight of the world on its shoulders…that wasn't worth millions, and that didn't have stakes that were soul crushingly high.
"Michael, this is impressive," her voice drew him back to reality, "are we ready to make the deal?"
"Isn't that the question of the day," he thought with a dose of dark humor. It was now or never.
He wandered back to the table and met her eyes, "You'll take care of Krantz?"
Nodding, "Today if you'd like."
He remembered Sara's wish and asked, "How?"
An amused smile appeared on her face, "I have a man in place to take care of it, why do you ask?"
"No, I mean…how will you do it? How will he die?"
Growing more confused, "I was planning a simple gunshot to the head, if that's agreeable with you? I can come up with far more sinister ways, but I didn't think you'd appreciate-"
"-no, you're right. Gunshot is fine," he agreed quietly, feeling completely out of his element. The words felt too familiar and casual, like a cashier asking, "Receipt with you or in the bag?" and him replying, "In the bag is fine."
It was ridiculous. He was picking the best way to have someone killed. He could see where Sara was coming from, now that he was saying the words out loud. Ordering an execution.
"Very well," she agreed as she shut the laptop and packed everything back into its case, "I have a meeting with the buyer this afternoon, and after that you'll get your cut. As of this moment, you're officially relieved of duty from The Company…with the understanding that you're always welcome back if you so choose," she paused, "any questions?"
He tilted his head back and forth, "Not so much a question, but I do have a demand."
She gave a slight huff, "And what might that be?"
"I need Krantz gone…taken care of, before I leave this room."
A smirk appeared, "Still don't trust me, huh?"
"Can you blame me?"
"I suppose you're right to have doubts, I can call now and have him disposed of if you'd like."
Without emotion, "I would."
"Very well," she grabbed her phone and dialed, putting it on speaker, "Do you have him there?"
A man's voice replied, "Yes."
"I have Scylla, we're ready to move forward."
"You want me to do it now?"
"Yes."
Only seconds later a gunshot echoed through the speaker. He heard screams from the other end, and the man's voice again, "It's done."
"Thank you," Christina said calmly, "and you'll make sure there's nothing left?"
"Of course, ma'am," the agent agreed, obviously having destroyed evidence and bodies before.
"Thank you," she repeated, and hung up, looking at Michael, "satisfied?"
Eyes narrowed, "How do I know it was Krantz that you killed? How do I know your man there wasn't firing a gun in the air, fabricating the whole thing?"
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Michael," she rolled her eyes, "Do you even know what Krantz looks like? Sounds like? Video, pictures…none of it would do you any good anyways," after a moment, "I want him out of the picture too, remember? I want to lead this place the way that it's meant to be. He's gone."
Realizing she had a point, he backed down, "Ok."
Satisfied, she pressed on, "I'll be in contact after the meeting with the buyer, and I'll have your cut sent via a wire transfer as soon as I get it."
He nodded in agreement and turned to walk out of her office, feeling lighter than he did when he'd entered it. He could breathe again.
He and Sara were safe. Lincoln was free. He had millions of dollars coming his way – not that that really mattered to him, but it did provide a sense of security. He could take his time finding a job that he liked without worrying about paying the bills.
The elevator ride down and the walk outside the building went by in a blur, a sensation like he was floating, not really present- like he was incapable of thought.
It was pleasant.
He'd been working so hard and for so many hours, it felt strange to not have that responsibility anymore. With the whole day ahead of him, he now had to find ways to fill it that didn't involve Scylla.
It took most of the walk home before his mind clumsily forged ahead, remembering that he had to move out and fly back to Chicago, so today would be a day of packing and getting his affairs in order. Tomorrow would be the same, and then he'd be on his way back home.
XXXXXX
*******Months later********
Sara came down the stairs and smoothed her long, yellow sundress, her gaze falling on the sliding glass door.
Michael and Lincoln were both hovering over the grill, and she couldn't help but chuckle at the sight before her. Lincoln was shirtless but wearing an apron, twirling the spatula around with ease as they both watched the burgers with a careful attentiveness. Michael was next to him, and she couldn't help but wonder how the man could look so darn cute in a bucket hat.
The smell of sunscreen and summer food mingled together as she walked barefoot through the kitchen and opened the door. She stepped onto the deck and felt the warm wood beneath her feet, the sun hot on her shoulders.
"Sara, hey!" Veronica greeted from the lounge chair. She was in a shorter blue dress, a sunhat, and sunglasses, getting up to give Sara a hug, "Thank God…I've been listening to these two for almost an hour," she joked, pointing her thumb towards the guys.
"What?" Lincoln asked incredulously, "we're not that bad."
Sara leaned in, quietly, "Do I even want to ask about the apron?"
An eye roll, "No, you do not," she replied with a laugh, "how was work? Come on, let's sit," she offered as she plopped back into her chair. Sara took the one next to her, pulling the sunglasses down from on top of her head.
"It was good…busy as usual."
She'd been late getting out. There was a case in the afternoon that she knew she couldn't leave in Katie's hands, and by the time she realized how involved it would be, she couldn't really spare the time to call Michael and let him know. Better to just work as quickly as possible and get out when she could. She hating missing out their time together; she'd hurried home and changed out of her work clothes as fast as possible, but was still a good hour behind everyone else.
Veronica nodded in understanding, "I hear you. Only reason I got here so soon was because the judge had some sort of family emergency."
"Well, it's a good day for it," Sara laughed, "it's not often all four of us have a chance to hang out."
"I know," she commiserated, sipping on a glass of iced tea, "I wish it worked out more often."
"Me too," she agreed, then lowered her voice a little so as not to be overheard, "How's Lincoln doing? Does he still like his job?"
Nodding, "Yea, he likes it ok. He's not thrilled beyond measure to go to work every day, but most people aren't," she laughed, "but he's doing well."
They both looked over towards the guys, overhearing bits of teasing and childhood memories. Something about Lincoln breaking Michael's arm in little league…she'd have to remember to ask him about that later.
Veronica looked back to Sara, "How's Michael?"
Honestly, "Really good. He's had interviews all week and has a few offers. Now he's just trying to figure out which one is the best fit."
"And you guys-?" Veronica prompted her to fill in the blanks.
Grinning, she lowered her head, "We're good," she glanced over to Michael, "really good."
A gleam appeared in her green eyes as she leaned forward, "Like, "wedding bells" good, or?"
Sara grimaced a little and tilted her head back and forth, "Well-"
"What?" Veronica asked in good humor.
Sara shrugged, smiling, "You know how Michael is. He's not very direct…can be hard to know what he's thinking sometimes."
Incredulous, "You mean, he hasn't asked you? Hasn't even hinted at the possibility?"
"Oh, he's hinted, but that's about all he's done," she sighed, then shook her head, "it doesn't matter anyways," sincerely, "He's here. I'm here. We're together."
Veronica nodded in understanding, her gaze landing on Lincoln, "I get that."
They watched on as the men talked and plated the burgers, a wave of hunger coming over her.
"Order up," Lincoln announced as he set the plate on the table at the other end of the deck.
Sara and Veronica got up and made their way over. Sara sat down, thankful for the umbrella over the table that mercifully blocked some of the hot summer sun. It felt instantly cooler, aside from the remnants of sunshine radiating from her shoulders.
Michael sat next to her and placed a hand on her arm, "You're getting a little pink," he noted, looking worried.
"Yea," she replied casually. She burned easily and knew it, but the few minutes she'd just spent in the sun wouldn't kill her, "it'll fade. I wasn't out there long."
"Work busy again?" he asked as he grabbed a burger and put it on his plate.
"Yup, but it's Friday so I don't care," she replied good naturedly, the possibilities of a weekend off keeping her spirits up.
"Cheers to that," Lincoln agreed, taking a sip of his beer.
The evening floated by in a blissful haze of good food and conversation. When the meal was done, they moved from the deck and into the yard where Michael had set up a fire pit. Together, he and Lincoln started the fire until it was at a steady burn, putting out a palpable warmth. The flames matched the glow cast by the sinking sun, crackling and popping as embers floated upwards towards the sky.
The continued their comfortable chatter as the cool dampness of evening settling in. The quick contrast in temperature caused a shiver, and Michael noticed, shifting closer and draping an arm around her bare shoulders.
He felt her warmth against him as her head rested on his collarbone. Across the fire, Lincoln and Veronica bickered over something from back in the day, a playful banter that he hadn't realized how much he'd missed. She brought out that side of him, more than anyone else. His eyes closed as he listened to them go back and forth, the smell of campfire mingling with the smell of Sara's shampoo, her hair soft against his cheek.
He couldn't suppress the smile that came across his face; it was slight, but it was genuine. They were all here. All safe. All free. Sara must've sensed his emotions threatening to boil over and glanced up, her brown eyes deep and open, "You ok?"
A lump formed, but he swallowed it down, and pressed a kiss on top of her head, "I am," squeezing her tighter, "I really am."
