One of the General's men walked into his office.

"We have a situation with Scofield, sir."

Looking up from his desk, "Oh?"

"He left the building for lunch, went to the park nearby."

Unimpressed, "Well, that's hardly a crime."

"He met with Sara, sir."

His expression unchanging, "We knew they'd be in contact, that's no surprise. Given his current state, there's nothing she can do. Let her be; she can fawn over him all she likes- he's locked into working for us."

Hesitantly, "There was another man with them."

Eyebrows raised.

"We've identified him as Patrick Jane."

Remembering, "Why does that name sound familiar?"

"He's worked with the F.B.I and a number of other law enforcement agencies…he's a skilled hypnotist and manipulator."

A hint of dread filled his bones, "What's your assessment?"

The man seemed nervous, inadequate, "It was hard to tell from a distance, sir…without hearing their conversation, but Scofield stormed off. Walked away from all of them to come back to work."

Slightly appeased, "Hmm. Keep him under careful surveillance. If there's any change in his behavior let me know."

"Will do, sir."

XXXX

Lincoln got up from the couch as Sara and Patrick walked in, "How'd it go?"

Patrick shook his head, "Didn't find the trigger; he got agitated and left."

"He ok?"

"He'll be fine…his reaction was likely a side effect of the suggestion. A built in fail-safe."

"Hmm," Lincoln looked at Sara, seeing the slightly lost look in her eyes, and moved forward, "so…what's next? Christina?"

Mahone lowered his head, obviously not fond of the idea. Gretchen stared ahead, looking indifferent.

Sara asked, "Are we spinning in circles here? What if it's too much? Brain surgery and drugs and hypnosis. How do we even know that a trigger alone will get him back to the way he was?"

Patrick answered softly, "We don't."

Lincoln, "We can't quit," he shrugged, "gotta try something."

Patrick asked, "Is there any chance he's still being drugged?"

All eyes darted to him.

Elaborating, "You said he works with Christina, the likely hypnotist…the one who wanted him working with her. Maybe she brings him a special cup of coffee every morning with an added something."

"I could check his blood," Sara offered, "if she's using something out of left field we won't be able to detect it, but anything more common…"

"Wouldn't hurt to try," Patrick agreed.

"What if it comes back positive?" Sara asked, "I mean, does that change how we move forward?"

"The drugs would add a layer of complexity," he explained, "we'd still need to find how to break the trance, but the drugs could be aiding them with the memory loss bit. We'd obviously want to figure out how he's being drugged and tell him to avoid it."

She nodded, "I'll get some blood from him tonight."

X

"What's this for again?" Michael questioned as Sara tightened the tourniquet, rubbing an alcohol wipe on his skin.

"We need to make sure you aren't being drugged."

Slowly, "By the people I work for?"

She poked him, "Mhmm."

They were at his apartment again. She'd been there when he got home; he'd changed into t-shirt and jeans while she made dinner. They ate and chatted before she bluntly requested some blood. He liked her for not beating around the bush, but it all seemed a bit odd.

"Is this because of what happened at lunch?"

She pressed a cotton ball to the poke, "What do you mean?"

"All this- taking blood and suspecting drugs…is it because I got agitated earlier?" he went on, "I'm sorry for how I reacted, I really don't know what came over me. I felt like a kid again; a frustrated kid, like I literally couldn't stand being there another minute."

"Hold pressure on that," she instructed, and he did; she grabbed a bandage and started unwrapping it, "it's not just because of today, it's because of a lot of factors."

"Such as?"

She exhaled through her nose but remained otherwise silent, placing the bandage on his arm.

"This is the part where you don't answer me, huh?" he asked softly, not completely understanding her reluctance.

"It's complicated, and you need to rest."

"So do you," he observed, "you look tired."

She smirked, "Gee, thanks."

A smile, "You know what I mean."

She nodded, got up, and pressed a kiss on top of his head, "I think I'm gonna take a walk if you're okay here?"

"Fine yea," he agreed, ready to settle in for the night anyways- and make his video for tomorrow.

"I won't be gone long," as she grabbed her keys and clicked the door shut behind her.

Silence settled in her absence, and he sighed. Life was certainly strange these days.

X

Michael was right; she was tired, but it was more of a weariness in her soul than her body. She walked along the sidewalk, feeling the evening air still warm but cooling by the minute. The smell of earth and flowers mingled around her and she took a deep breath, her mind feeling the full weight of a long day.

She wore a hoodie and stuck her hands in her pockets as she walked, a self-soothing gesture, snuggling against the fabric.

What the hell were they doing?

Finally alone, she let herself ask that question. It often felt like they were treading water; Michael was still in the same state he was when he first came back from the cabin. Sure, he caught up to the present a lot more quickly each morning, but it didn't change the fact that his mind forgot each day, every day. Unless he specifically told himself about something, it didn't happen.

She'd ran into this problem over and over; since she didn't watch the videos, she couldn't know what he told himself and therefore didn't know what he "remembered" about the days before. She'd mention something casually, a conversation they'd had or something he'd mentioned, and he'd stare back with his eyes narrowed in confusion. She'd wave a hand, say never mind and they'd move on…or if he really got curious she'd explain it to him to catch him up. It wasn't a big deal.

But it was starting to feel like one.

She sighed and let her heart feel heavy, looked around, and realized she was near a park. Her feet took her in that direction.

She found a wooden bench and sat down, pulling her sleeves up and putting her feet on the bench, hugging her knees to her chest and feeling the slight breeze. Her mind went blank as she took in the view of trees and green grass. She just wanted a normal day again; she wanted Michael fully present and self-aware, shared memories between them. What was it like for him? Waking up every morning and finding out, "Ok, here's your girlfriend. You love her but don't know much else about her, here we go," and being expected to move forward like nothing was out of the ordinary. If the roles were reversed, she'd be incredibly bothered by her lack of knowledge.

He seemed to take it all in stride; perhaps being so satisfied and fulfilled with his work was helping in a strange way, but she was reluctant to offer even that small bit of praise to the Company. This whole mess was because of them.

A faint jingling sound caught her attention. She looked to her left and saw a curly haired spaniel, brown and white, bounding towards her and dragging its leash.

A ways back was a woman, perhaps in her early sixties, running and trying to catch up. Sara reached out a hand and intercepted the dog, giving a chipper, "Hey, come here, come on," to entice it closer. Her arms were soon covered in enthusiastic kisses as she snagged the leash, letting the dog jump all over with its wagging tail.

The woman had caught up, slightly out of breath. She had shoulder length blonde hair and intelligent blue eyes, a slightly raspy voice, "Thank you so much," she panted, taking the leash from Sara's hand.

Smiling, "No problem."

"God," the woman sat down, catching her breath, "it's my son's dog. He and his wife are away on vacation and I volunteered to dog-sit," she pointed to herself, "super smart, right here."

Sara chuckled, "They can be a hand full."

She shook her head, "This one," pointing to the dog, "don't let the cuteness fool you. That was my tragic error in judgement."

"It's always the cute ones that're the troublemakers," she agreed, patting the dog's side as it rubbed up against her, tongue hanging out the side of its mouth.

"Right!?" she agreed, smiling, "damn thing," then after a moment, "beautiful night though, and I probably wouldn't be out here walking if I wasn't watching him."

"It is," she agreed, watching the sky fade to a darker blue.

"Guess I should be grateful," the woman continued, "spent all day inside doing paperwork, I probably should be outside running after a dog," she laughed, "sorry, I'm rambling. You probably came out here looking for some peace and quiet."

"No, you're fine," she assured with a smile, still petting the happy dog at her feet, "I'm not sure what I came out here looking for."

The woman gave a knowing smile, "Anything you wanna talk about? Sometimes it's easier chatting with a stranger."

Sara considered for a moment, innately trusting the maternal aura of the woman next to her and figured it couldn't hurt. She was right- talking to someone you'd probably never see again took the pressure off somehow. She knew that the whole situation was far too much to explain, but settled on the big picture, "I guess I'm just feeling a bit…I don't know, hopeless is the wrong word. More like, I don't know what to do to fix something. I know there has to be a solution, I just don't know what it is…so I feel like I'm treading water."

The woman's eyes, kind and thinking, met hers, "I assume you been trying for a while to find a solution?"

Soberly, "Every day."

She shrugged, "Then you're already way ahead of someone who doesn't even try."

Sara nodded, agreeing, "True. Still doesn't feel like enough though."

"Is there someone you trust that could help you?"

"Yea, I've had help all along," she gave a laugh, "its definitely been a group effort."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that," she replied, then thought, "I could ramble on with quotes, but I doubt that'd be helpful."

"I'll try anything," Sara laughed, not wanting her new friend to leave yet.

She looked to the sky, searching for wisdom, "The simplest solution to a problem is usually the right one. Look for horses not zebras," she shrugged, "basically, don't overthink it. One step at a time."

Sara nodded, wondering if this is what motherly advice was like, "That is pretty good advice."

The dog barked, looking at the woman holding the leash.

"You getting anxious?" she asked him, which got a faster tail wag, "guess that's my cue to head back home."

Sara stroked the soft, curly ears one last time as the woman got up.

"Thanks again for wrangling this little guy."

"Happy to help," she replied, meaning every word.

The woman met her eyes again, "You'll be okay. You seem smart, capable…just trust your gut," she winked, "you'll get through it."

Sara felt a lump in her throat, "Thanks."

She nodded and took off with the dog, happily bounding next to her.

Sara suddenly felt lonely, yet more at peace than she had when she'd gotten to the park. The sun was almost set now, which was her cue to leave. She stood up and stretched after sitting, slowly waking her legs up with each step, heading back to Michael, hoping deep in her heart that he was still awake.

XXX

"I got the blood test back," Sara announced as she walked into the gang's apartment. She pulled the rolled up pages out of the back pocket of her jeans and threw them down on the counter, looking at Patrick, "you were right."

His eyebrows raised.

"Lorazepam," she told them, Lincoln walking over now.

"Enough to be a problem?" Patrick asked.

She nodded, "I mean, he doesn't need any. It's not like he's using it to treat anxiety or something, so any amount at all means he's being drugged without his knowledge."

Lincoln, "Any idea when or how he's getting it?"

"Has to be at work," she shook her head, "there's nothing like that in his apartment and he doesn't go anywhere else."

"Hmm," Patrick tapped his lips, "any chance we can talk with him again? I need him to lay out his whole day-tell us everything that happens to figure out when someone might be dosing him."

"Will he remember?" Lincoln asked.

"He should," Patrick assessed with a hint of skepticism, "he remembers work related things, so it only makes sense that anything that happens at work would be included in that," looking at Sara, "does he talk about his job much?"

"Yea he does," she thought back to their evening chats, "but it's usually about the actual work. He never really mentions colleagues or anything."

Patrick asked, "Can we see him today?"

Sara, "I can try."

X

They'd arranged to meet Michael mid-morning, at the coffee cart in the lobby of his work building. Sara walked in with Patrick; she got two coffees, one for her and one for Michael, and Patrick got a cup of tea. They took a seat; Sara on a couch with room for two and Patrick across from her in a comfy chair. The building felt open and spacious, large windows along the main wall, allowing in all the sunshine.

They waited, both looking up when they heard Michael's, "Hello."

"Hey," Sara greeted as she handed him the mug.

Michael's eyes narrowed at Patrick, "Sorry, I don't believe we've met."

Patrick stood up and put on an easy smile, "Patrick Jane, pleasure to meet you," then sat back down and sipped his tea.

Michael sat next to Sara, "So, what's going on?"

She turned towards him, "Do you remember that I took blood from you yesterday?"

He gave a confused look. She grabbed his dress shirt and unbuttoned the cuff, rolling the sleeve up and pointing at the tiny, red dot where the needle had poked.

"Huh," he replied, staring at it.

Must not have mentioned that in his video, she thought, then moved on, "You know how we feel about the Company, right?"

Quietly, "You don't like them. Lincoln doesn't either."

Nodding, softly, "That's right. We're concerned that they might have been drugging you. I checked your blood…and we were right," she got the lab results from her bag and held them in front of her, "it came back positive for this drug here," she pointed on the sheet, "it can be used to induce memory loss…and to aid them in manipulating you."

His eyes met hers, confused and hurt.

"I need you to tell us everything that happens here every day; your schedule, who you interact with…"

Michael glanced over at Patrick, then back to her.

"He's here to help," she assured.

Michael took a sip of his coffee, "Well, I come in every morning and take the elevator there," he pointed, "up to the fifth floor. They have security there, so I go through that-"

"-same security guards each day?" Patrick asked.

"There's a couple that rotate. Always the same two or three guys."

Patrick nodded, waiting for him to continue.

"Then I go to my office. I have my own so it's just me there. Then, I don't know," he paused, "I just work independently or we have meetings…Christina checks in every morning before lunch-"

"-checks in physically?" Patrick asked, "does she come to your office or does she call, email…?"

"Physically," he answered.

"Does she bring you anything? Coffee, tea, snacks?"

Shaking his head, "No."

"What does she do?"

Shrugging, "Usually just comes over to see what I'm up to…stands behind me and looks at whatever I'm looking at on my computer. We chat, see if there's anything to add to a meeting agenda, and that's about it."

"And these meetings," Patrick continued, "snacks? Coffee? Donuts?"

"All of the above," he confirmed.

"You have any?"

Shaking his head, "I usually don't bother since I end up speaking a lot during the meeting, but sometimes someone will set a cup of coffee in front of me."

"Is it always the same person who does that?"

Thinking harder, "Yea, it's usually Paul."

"One of Christina's men?"

"I mean," he paused, "they're all her men…she's the top dog when it comes to the Scylla project."

Patrick met Sara's eyes, an understanding passing between them.

A booming voice startled them both from behind, "Patrick Jane," the General approached, flanked by two men with guns.

Patrick stood up, extending a hand, "That's my name. I don't believe I know yours."

The General ignored his hand and Patrick put it down, not the least bit ruffled. The General went on, "Your reputation precedes you, I hear you're quite the master hypnotist and con man."

He grinned and shrugged, feigning modesty.

Sara's heart was beating faster, nervous as she watched.

"I could ask what you're doing here, but given who you're with right now, I think we both know."

"Oh, I'm just here with my old friend," he gestured to Sara, "such a lovely day I figured what better way to spend it than a cup of tea and a chat."

Amused, "And you just happened to be in L.A.?"

"It's a free country, I can travel wherever I want."

"And you just casually find yourself talking to Michael here?"

Unphased, "Yup."

A wicked grimace, "I don't know what kind of fool you take me for-"

Patrick gave a playful punch to his arm, grinning, "-I'm just messing with you, just monkeying around that's all."

Sara watched in amused horror-she'd never seen someone so flippant with the General. This man was fearless.

Patrick continued, "I'm here to help Michael. You've unfairly influenced him and I for one don't think that's a very nice thing to do."

The General laughed, shocked, "What possibly gave you that idea?"

Tilting his head, "A number of factors…"

Slightly angry, "And you think you can change him back?"

"I know I can."

Darker, "Well then we have a problem."

Patrick looked him in the eyes, "You're going to try to stop me?"

The General acknowledged Sara for the first time, pointing to her, "If you need examples of what we're capable of, why don't you ask your good friend here."

"No need to flaunt your body count," Patrick retorted, unphased, "you can't stop me."

"We can and we will. You're not to set foot in here again-"

"-or else what?" he interrupted. Sara's eyes widening.

In a low voice, "Everyone has a weakness Patrick. Someone they love…"

"Well, the jokes on you," Patrick shot back with his usual ease, "I'm a loner, so if you're threatening to tie up my soulmate in a basement somewhere you're going to have a tough time with that," he looked to Sara, "but I must say, it seems we've overstayed our welcome. Perhaps it's time for us to go?"

Sara nodded, still in shocked silence from the conversation she'd witnessed.

Patrick shook Michael's hand, "Lovely to meet you, have a good rest of your day," then nodding, "General."

They exited the building quickly, leaving a shell-shocked General and confused Michael behind them.

"Are you crazy?" Sara asked as they got into the car, amused and horrified at the same time.

"What? Him?" he waved a hand.

She gave a laugh in disbelief, "He's had more people killed than…God I don't even know how many people he's had killed. He's dangerous."

"He's all about image," he replied as Sara started the car, "neglected as a child I expect. He has a need to intimidate, to make others feel as small and afraid as he did."

Sara tried imagining the General as a child and honestly couldn't. She thought back to their conversation with Michael and asked, "So what do you think about Michael?"

"The meeting room coffee is a definite possibility."

"So, do we just tell him every morning not to drink any?"

"It's a good place to start."

She let her mind wander for a moment as she drove, "Guess we're not getting anywhere near Christina...won't be able to figure out the trigger from her."

He looked over, questioning.

"The General banned you from the building."

He didn't look concerned, "Doesn't mean we can't "accidentally" run into her somewhere else."

She smiled, "Nothing ever rattles you does it?"

Grinning, "Not really. I just like puzzles, and this is an interesting one," he shrugged, "might as well have fun."

She shook her head then glanced over, "Well, I certainly appreciate the help."