Hey guys! I had an idea, and I'm rolling with it. Please let me know what you think! Reviews always make my day.
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***In Panama, Season 2***
"She's very pretty."
"She'll get us where we need to go," Michael told his new friend, referring to the boat he'd procured.
He winked, "I'm not talking about the boat señior."
Michael looked up and saw a figure standing on the deck, one he didn't know if he'd ever see again.
Sara waved and smiled, shading her eyes from the bright sun. Michael felt an overwhelming sense of relief. She was safe.
He walked towards her wordlessly, still not believing that it was real, that she was ok. That she was here.
"I got your message," she smiled, taking a seat on the edge of the boat.
He hugged her, wrapping his arms around and feeling her soft white shirt beneath his hands. Her hair smelled clean, the feel of her against him familiar and comforting. He didn't realize how alone he'd felt since he got to Panama until now because now, everything felt right. Everyone he cared about was safe, and they were all together.
He pulled back and saw a brightness in her eyes as she spoke, "Michael, Lincoln is free."
Behind them on the boat, Lincoln offered a startled, "What?"
She turned to face him, "They're dropping all charges, you're fully exonerated."
Lincoln stood wordlessly, a small smile on his lips.
Facing Michael again, "And it sounds like because of the circumstances," she grabbed his hand lightly, "they aren't going to pursue you either."
Still shocked, Michael asked, "What about you, how did-"
"-Paul Kellerman came forward," Michael blinked, unsure he heard correctly, "he had everything documented and he made a full confession."
Lincoln, "I need a drink."
Sara stood, "I'll see what I can find," and retreated into the cabin.
She came back out with two beers for them and a soda for her.
Lincoln popped the top off and heard that satisfying sound, offering a, "Cheers," as they all clinked their drinks together.
"Oh, shoot I need to let Bruce know I found you guys," Sara remembered, taking out her phone.
Lincoln grabbed it, "Here," and opened up the camera, extending his arm to take a picture, "Michael get in here."
Michael sighed but humored him, wrapping an arm around Sara and scooting closer to Lincoln. Sara stood close and they all smiled, except for Lincoln who gave his usual scowl.
"Ok, now a silly one," he encouraged, and Michael couldn't help but smile. If Lincoln was encouraging family photos he was obviously in a great mood, and it had been a long time since that had happened. They were happy; together, on a boat, and with a beer in hand. He resigned to more pictures and played along.
Sara kissed his cheek, he laughed, and Lincoln gave a half crossed-eyed smirk.
Sara sent the first picture to Bruce.
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***A little cabin in the woods, Season 4***
Michael awoke on a bed that was too firm. He was on top of the covers, and the comforter was the scratchy kind he'd felt in cheap hotels, its navy-blue pattern underwhelming.
He sat up, his hand going to his head that immediately started throbbing.
The surgery. He'd just had brain surgery.
He looked around and tried to figure out where he was. There was a painting on the wall of a mountain reflecting into a lake, surrounded by pine trees. The room itself had a log-cabin feel, the floor was hardwood and covered mostly by a rug. He tried to open the door, but it was locked.
The other door led to the bathroom, which was open. It was mostly white and tiled, nothing extravagant or personal about it.
The door opened behind him.
"He's awake," a bald man with muscles and a mean face told his partner.
"Where am I?" Michael demanded.
"A cabin, in the woods," he evaded, "you'll be free to roam around the cabin and the grounds during your recovery, but keep in mind that there are four kinds of mountain lion in the area, so you might not want to go too far."
"How long are you keeping me here?"
"Until you're ready."
"Ready for what?"
The man smirked and exhaled audibly through his nose, turning to walk out.
With no more information, Michael started exploring the building. The two guards stood outside on the front porch and faced outward, giving him some sort of privacy. The kitchen was stocked with food, but he didn't have any kind of an appetite. He had too many questions.
To his surprise, there were cleaning supplies and chemicals under the cabinet…his mind started churning on possible uses for them. He wasn't a chemist, but he knew enough from his escape plans at Fox River to be mildly dangerous.
He'd have to think on that.
Mountain lions and armed guards be damned, there had to be a way out.
The rest of the cabin was about as interesting as his room. There were three bedrooms in total, he only assumed that the guards were sleeping there as well. There was another bathroom that could've been a replica of the one attached to his room, and a living room with several couches but no television. He realized he didn't have a phone on him either. He glanced around and saw no phones anywhere; not a land line or cell phone to be seen. He sighed.
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Sara paced barefoot in her hotel room, the glorious, extravagant hotel room that the General had put her in. A cantaloupe sat on the coffee table, half-eaten, the only thing she could stomach since they'd taken Michael away was the damn fruit basket they'd sent her, which was ironic because she was pissed about it. They sent her flowers and a fruit basket and zero information about Michael…but she had to eat something to keep her strength up.
The glass walls on either side over-looked the city. The sunny day would've been lovely under any other circumstances, but she was too worried to enjoy it.
Her phone rang.
"Yea?"
"Sara, it's Linc."
"Have you heard anything about Michael?" she didn't try to mask the desperation in her voice.
"No, I was hoping you had."
She kept pacing, "No, two guys from the Company brought me to a hotel and gave me flowers and a fruit basket and no information about Michael," she paused, "Is Sucre with you?"
"No, Sucre split."
Confused, "Then who're you with?"
"…People I don't trust."
She sighed, sinking down onto the couch, "Look, I know why you did what you did," she could practically hear his walls go up, "but do you really think that after you give Scylla back to the General, that he'll let us live?"
A pause, "I'm doing the best I can. Call me if you hear anything about Michael."
"I will," she hung up and bit her thumb nail. She stared at the wall, at the abstract painting of different shades of blue splattered onto a white canvas. Sitting around doing nothing wasn't an option, but what the heck was she supposed to do?
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Linc hung up the phone and stared into the spacious apartment the General had provided. They had to get Scylla back from Christina, his mom.
His mom, he thought again, lowering his head and giving it a shake, trying to jar reality back into place. His mom who was supposed to have been dead for years.
He lifted his head and watched as Gretchen sat, one leg crossed over the other in a tight black pencil skirt, a laptop in front of her. Mahone and T-bag flanked her, peering over each shoulder. He shuffled over to join the group, knowing that they had to finish this.
Sooner started, sooner finished. He just wanted his life back.
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Michael stepped outside and took a deep breath of fresh air. It was chillier than expected, which meant they must be up quite a ways in the mountains, and there were no other buildings he could see. The grounds were vast and included an in-ground swimming pool, several picnic tables, and a large paved area with comfortable looking chairs.
"Beautiful view isn't it?" a man's voice asked from behind him.
Michael turned to see someone new, not one of the guards. He was a man of average height and build, probably in his sixties and had a kind face. He wore an argyle sweater vest and pleated khaki pants.
"It is," Michael agreed slowly.
The man extended a soft hand, "I'm Roger, I'm a psychiatrist here to aid in your recovery."
He narrowed his eyes, wary, "A cigar is a cigar, can I go now?"
Roger chuckled, seemingly used to being met with such resistance, "Not quite. You've been operating under a lot of false assumptions about the Company. I'm here to set the record straight and help you come to terms with everything."
"If by, "everything," you're referring to Scylla and the fact that my mother worked as a Company agent, I already know these things."
Roger took a small step closer, "Worked?"
A pause.
"Your mother works for the Company. Michael, your mother is still alive."
His initial reaction was scorn; how dare they pull this card. After everything he and Lincoln had been through, now they were going to lie about his past? Tell him that his mother's death, a true turning point in his life, was all fiction?
Flatly, "I don't believe you."
He tilted his head towards a picnic table, "Why don't you have a seat, there's something I'd like to show you."
"And if I say no?"
Roger's eyes darted towards the guards and then back again, "I'd prefer to keep this friendly."
Michael held his gaze, weighing his options, and decided to comply. For now.
He took a seat on the wooden bench of the table and waited. Birds sang in the trees high above him, the smell of cedar and redwood all around him. The sun was hot, almost too hot for the navy sweater he was wearing, but he didn't seem to have any other clothes around. He pulled the sleeves up, deciding that would have to do for now.
Roger came back with a photo album in hand. Michael grew even more wary.
"This," Roger began, "is something that your mother gave me to help you come to terms. To know that she still cares about you."
He slid the book in front of him, but Michael didn't move. Sarcastically, "If she's alive and cares so much, why not get her on the phone? I'd love to chat."
A pause, "When you're ready."
"No time like the present."
"When you're ready to join us."
"Join…us?"
He clarified, "When you're ready to work for the Company."
Disbelief clouded everything else in his mind, the wheels turning but not going anywhere. That's what this was about? To recruit him? After all the trouble he and Lincoln had caused the Company, he couldn't believe that they'd even consider employing him.
"Why?" he asked lowly.
"The General believes that you and Christina share the same, gifted mind. He wants you and Christina to manage the operations relating to Scylla once it starts being applied on a global scale."
He processed silently.
Roger continued, "The General has seen what you're capable of, and has no doubts that you could succeed in this."
He leaned forward, elbows on the table, "And if I say no?"
He sighed and shook his head, "That's something you do not want to do."
X
After Roger's thinly veiled threat, Michael sat and flipped through the album. He was reluctant at first, not wanting to stir up old memories or wounds, but curiosity got the better of him. The photo staring up at him was he and Lincoln, one Halloween. They were both dressed as robots, their costumes made of foil and pie tins. He smiled a little at the memory – their mom scolding them both to hold still while she fastened the costumes, the two of them hobbling their way down the sidewalks of their neighborhood collecting candy.
They had good memories together, which made his current situation even harder to swallow. If she'd been a terrible mother from the get-go, it would be different.
Why had she left them? And why was she coming back into his life now?
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Sara approached the General's office. Two men stationed outside attempted to guide her in, but she slinked by, avoiding their touch.
The General sat in the middle of the room with a tray of food in front of him, a wine glass on his right.
"Sara, to what do I owe this pleasure?"
She took a breath, summoning every patient, professional bone in her body, "I'd like to offer my professional assistance with Michael's rehabilitation."
Flatly, "That won't be necessary, he's receiving the best possible care."
"Where?"
He evaded, "Try to relax, sit by the pool-"
"-Look, I have no agenda other than simply wanting to help maintain his health."
"And you'll be able to, in three to seven days when he's back in your loving arms."
Honestly, "Ok, I'm not that patient."
"There's nothing to worry about," he soothed unsuccessfully, "he's getting the best possible care."
She knew he wasn't going to budge any more, "If there's anything I can do…"
He nodded, "We'll let you know."
X
Back at the hotel, Sara paced again. She was surprised she hadn't worn a path in the carpet yet. The light brown flooring was soft beneath her feet, but she barely noticed it anymore.
Where was he? That's what she desperately wanted to know. She had a reasonable amount of faith that he was alive and that any medical needs were being taken care of. They'd done the surgery and removed the tumor…why do all that only to kill him during recovery?
But then why all the secrecy? Why wasn't he still in the hospital bed, with her by his side?
She despised their forced separation. She couldn't know the General's exact motives, and that troubled her to near insanity.
The flowers on the table by the window filled the room with a floral scent that was almost overpowering. She had to get out of there.
Being alone was starting to get to her too; she could handle the independence. Hell, she lived alone for years, but this was different. She'd gotten used to living in the warehouse with the guys and being part of a team – having the table downstairs always covered in snacks and papers and coffee mugs, the white -board full of scribbles, the clacking sound of keyboards…
She picked up her phone.
"Hey," Linc answered.
"Is there any way you can find out where Michael is?"
A pause, "How could I?"
Directly, "You're working for the General, and he knows where Michael is."
"So? He's not just gonna tell me or he would have by now."
"Did you ask him?"
A pause, "No."
"Well I did and he stone-walled me. I made it very clear that I have no ulterior motives – I just want to make sure he's ok. He told me in no uncertain terms that I'll have to wait three to seven days before I can see him again."
Silence.
"Please, just ask him. I need to know he's okay."
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Lincoln called the General.
"Any progress to report?"
"Where's Michael?"
"That doesn't answer my question."
Growing angrier, "Tell me where he is or you're never seeing Scylla."
"No," the General clipped back, "if I don't see Scylla, you're never seeing Michael," a bit calmer, "for now, just know this: He's safe. He's recovering, and if you hold up your end of the deal he'll be back with you and Sara in no time."
Lincoln huffed and clicked the phone shut. Sara was right, something was off. He really didn't want to admit it because there was nothing he could do to change anything. The General was stone-walling him too, forcing him to retrieve Scylla before any other deals could be made.
A deal had already been made: Michael's life-saving surgery in exchange for Scylla. Apparently, information regarding Michael's post-op care wasn't part of the package. That's why he hated making deals in the first place…the devil was in the details, and it's not like they signed a contract or nailed down specific terms.
He rubbed his head, frustrated.
"Hey Linc," Mahone called, approaching him with a phone in his outstretched hand, "phone for you."
"Who is it?"
Shaking his head, "Don't know, she just asked for you."
He took it, "Hello?"
A familiar voice, "Hello, Lincoln."
His heart raced, disbelief, "Christina?"
"I think we need to talk. Meet me at 1435 Stockholm street. One hour."
X
Lincoln found the address and entered the bar. Mahone asked if he wanted back up, but he chose to go it alone, walking in by himself and spotting a high table by the window. The space was open and bright, looking like they served high-class clientele.
He wandered towards his chosen table at sat, waiting.
A soft voice from behind, "You grew up."
He turned and saw her face, aged from the last time he'd seen her, but unmistakably hers.
"Yea I guess."
She sat down across from him and he took in her appearance. She'd obviously done well for herself; she wore a white pantsuit and jacket, a large gold necklace, her hair and make-up done to impress. Staring at her he felt an emptiness; he felt cheated, betrayed.
She set her purse down and folded her hands on the table, "I'm sure you're wondering why I called," her eyes were piercing yet calm, "it's come to my attention that the General has recruited you to help retrieve Scylla."
"Which you have."
Nodding, "I do, but I'm hoping to…enlighten you a bit."
He didn't like where this was going, but asked, "About what?"
She took a deep breath, "The reason I took Scylla isn't…it wasn't out of selfishness. I know its potential. I know what we could achieve by utilizing it on a global scale, but I can't do it alone, and that's what the General has been asking of me," she sighed tiredly, "It's been too much, and I don't say that lightly. I'm not one to back away from a challenge, but this is a two-person job, plain and simple."
He waited for her to continue.
"I need a partner, someone capable and someone I can trust."
He gave a confused look.
"Michael."
Lincoln's heart sank. All they wanted was their freedom, to be done with The Company- not to have its teeth sunk even deeper into them.
"How is he doing by the way?" she asked.
"Don't know," he looked down, "they haven't told us where he is."
"He's in a little cabin in the woods."
"They didn't say that-"
With conviction, "-he's in a little cabin in the woods. That's how they recruit," wistfully, "it was quite eye-opening, my time there…"
"What're they doing to him?"
She eyed him carefully, a smirk, "Let's just say that when he's ready to come back to reality he'll be much more…mailable. More compliant. He has a brilliant mind you know-"
"-Let me get this straight," anger started bubbling, "Michael is being brain-washed to be a Company agent so that you and him can run this whole Scylla project?"
"Yes."
Yelling now, "Then why does the General need me to get Scylla from you? Aren't you working together?"
Her voice growing louder, matching his, "I stole Scylla as leverage. I told him I needed a partner, and Michael was the only acceptable candidate. Our deal was for him to do the surgery and aid in Michael's recovery, so that in a week or so when he's ready to come back, I'll have the partner I've always dreamed of."
Slowly, putting it together, "So even if I hadn't made the deal with the General…he would've done Michael's surgery because of you?"
She nodded, "Once they had Michael in custody, going downhill fast, I knew it was my chance for leverage. That's when I made the deal."
"So, the General telling me I need to get Scylla from you was all just a ploy."
"Afraid so."
"But why?" he wondered aloud, "What does he get out of it?"
"Well," she thought, "if we weren't chatting right now you'd never know about this. You'd fail at retrieving Scylla from me and you'd be indebted to the General. He'd be able to hang that over you, have you do his bidding some other time."
"Puppet master," he muttered.
"Yes," she agreed.
"Why tell me this?" he asked.
She sighed, "I owed you that much. Can't have you wasting your time trying to track me down on a fool's errand. Those agents tend to be trigger-happy," she shrugged, "if I could play a small part in trying to save your life…"
He stared at her with utter disbelief. Where the heck was she when he was on death row? On the run? He shoved the questions down, knowing they wouldn't help anything or get him anywhere. That was a conversation for later, when Michael was safe.
With firm resolve, "I can't let this happen."
"Which part exactly are you referring to?"
"Michael working for you guys!"
"I'm afraid you don't have a choice where that's concerned, he's already started the process I'm sure."
Lincoln was deeply disturbed by something in her tone; he stared her down but remained silent. He had to find out where his brother was.