A/N: Thank you all for the reviews so far! I'm excited to see where this story goes :D

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Lincoln came home from work and toed off his work boots, sighing in relief. They were comfortable, but after so many hours it was heavenly to finally take them off.

"Those better be on the rug," he heard Veronica call from the other room, where she had no way of actually seeing him.

Ignoring her psychic abilities, he huffed and took his dirty boots off the floor and moved them over to the black, rubber mat that she'd specifically gotten for that purpose.

He walked into the kitchen, "Tight ship around here," he observed with a jab of humor. Veronica was cooking and Charlotte was playing in the living room.

"Someone's gotta do it," she retorted, stirring the pasta she had boiling on the stove.

"Smells good, I'm starving," and he really was. The sandwich he had for lunch felt like eons ago. Combine that with hours and hours of physical labor and he was ravenous. She'd obviously predicted as much and had plenty of food cooked. Garlic bread was in the oven, and the sauce was almost done too.

"I figured," she replied, "thanks for letting me know you were on your way, otherwise I definitely wouldn't have started dinner yet."

"Oh?" he wondered aloud.

"Yea, I was working on stuff…"

"Case stuff?" he grabbed a beer from the fridge and popped it open.

"Yea, just trying to tie up a few loose ends before tomorrow. Oh! I forgot to tell you," she turned off the burner for the sauce, "Sara and Michael are officially starting to look at houses tomorrow."

He rolled his eyes, feigning feeling sorry for them. When Veronica had a task, she took it very seriously, and had clearly took it upon herself to be their "assistant" in house buying.

"How many links you send them? Five? Twenty?"

She slapped him playfully, "I'll have you know I that I showed great restraint, and only sent seven listings."

"Mhmm," he replied skeptically, and dodged her next backhanded slap attempt. He grinned and took another swig of beer, "sounds like they're really anxious to get outta there."

Nodding, "I think Sara is more than anything. I mean, I don't think they've mentioned it to Mike yet, and Michael seems to be able to adjust to just about any living arrangement."

A scoff, "Ain't that the truth. He's probably just happy to have a real bed and roommates who won't shank him the second he lets his guard down."

That gave Veronica pause, her hands holding the colander in the sink as the water drained, "You think he's really doing okay? I mean…seven years is a long time. Being back to reality can't be an easy adjustment…it's not like he can just flip a switch."

Lincoln considered how to respond. She was right; he knew from personal experience that going from prison life to civilian life was a pretty jarring culture shock. You forget how quiet the world can be, how…civilized. It takes time to retrain your instincts, to not jump at every possible threat and to relax into the world a bit. That's not to say he'd become complacent, but he had to relearn that not everything was out to get him. It had taken time, and Linc had, at this point, spent less time in prison than Michael had.

They'd talked about it briefly when Michael had come back from the dead, but Michael had made it pretty clear that he'd rather forget it and move on, a task that was easier said than done.

"He'll be alright," was the only response he could decide on, "he always is. He's got Sara and Mike back and if I know Michael, that's all that matters."

Charlotte can running into the kitchen, "Is it dinnertime yet?"

"Almost," Veronica answered as she finished getting everything ready, "why don't you wash your hands-"

"-they're clean, see?" she held them up for inspection.

Eyebrows raised, "Did you wash them since you came in from outside?" she'd seen Charlotte playing in the dirt, no doubt digging for worms and God knows what else.

A hesitant, "No…"

Vee glanced to Lincoln who took that as his cue and swooped her off her feet, "Come here, you," he playfully swung her in front of the sink, holding her up as she obediently, yet still unhappily, pumped soap into her hands and rinsed them off.

"You need to wash yours too, Daddy," she noted, seeing Lincoln's hands stained from the day.

"Nah, I think they're ok," he joked, "what do you think?" he looked at Veronica, who gave a, "Seriously?" look, much to Charlotte's delight. She took off towards the table and climbed up into her seat while she waited.

"We should see about dinner with them sometime soon," Lincoln thought aloud as he washed his hands, "I can talk to Michael again, make sure he's alright."

"Yea that'd be fun," she agreed, "let's figure out a day that could work."

XXXXXX

Theodore Bagwell was back to the cell block, although no longer in cell fourteen. Inside he was furious that Jacob, still the newest fish in the tank, was allowed to stay and T-bag had to move. It wasn't as if he had any particular attachment to cell fourteen, but rather it was the principle of the thing; he had seniority here. Sure, his relationship with Fox River was on again/off again, a few years here and there, but still- a lot of the guards were still familiar faces. A lot of the inmates were too.

Bright side though, was that his new living quarters had a bird's eye view of his old cell; he was now one row above Jacob and almost directly across from him. He enjoyed the perspective, being above him and therefore being provided with a sense of superiority, and the perfect opportunity to watch his enemy, and to make sure his enemy knew that he was being watched. Jacob would glance in his direction from time to time, and whenever he did, T-bag's gaze only intensified, conveying how much trouble he'd be in the second an opportunity was presented.

Curious though, as T-bag watched on now, and a guard came to escort Jacob out of his cell.

Probably headed to the infirmary, he thought with a smirk, having noticed the massive bandage around his neck these days.

But no, he squinted and observed more closely. Jacob looked un-willing, and that wasn't the body language conveyed by someone heading in for a check-up. The infirmary was an oasis, a safe place that most inmates were glad to occupy for as long as they could, even despite the fact that the current doctor was less easy on the eyes than the previous.

, he thought with a sly grin, shaking his head. Those were the good ole days. Now he watched as her ex-husband walked through the door and out of sight.

He did feel some sympathy towards her; he knew she didn't like him…never trusted him, but she had good reason not to. He tried to imagine what it would be like to stand in her shoes, to have a soul mate return from the dead, and have someone you thought you loved and trusted, turn out to be so ugly, so manipulative…

He could imagine it. He knew betrayal, disappointment...his mind flickered back to his abusive father, but he quickly shut that image away. He knew what it was like to rely on and protect oneself at all costs, because who else could a person really trust?

Did he trust Sara? Michael? He couldn't say. They'd done right by him lately, taking care of Whip and all, but there was a lot of baggage between them, and it was complicated. He preferred to take things one day at a time.

He still wished he'd been able to ask Michael if housing him with Jacob had been his doing, a silent request for revenge to be taken. Truly, no other scenario made any sense, and he knew that Michael ended up chatting with the CIA director- someone with that much authority could certainly pull a few strings regarding cellmate assignments.

He sighed when he realized his eyes were still lingering on the door through which Jacob had exited minutes before. Shaking his head, he moved to sit on the bunk, beginning to access his options…who to trust, and who to align himself with.

XXXXXX

Jacob, flippantly, "What the hell is this?"

"Divorce papers," Warden Pope answered.

Frustrated, "I see that," he slammed them on the desk between them.

Eyebrows raising, "You have to sign them, now-"

"-no, no…I don't have to sign them."

He was furious. Divorce papers? How low could he go? He was in prison for fucks sake and now is when she decides to rub salt in the wound. He wouldn't sign them, wasn't about to give her the satisfaction.

Being married to Sara was the only power he had anymore; well, that and the secret bank account he had, the one even Sara didn't know about. Was it dishonest? Sure, but he always knew that something like this was a possibility, and he had to look out for himself. He made good money both at the college and through his less-than-legal activities, so he could be financially set for life if he wanted to be.

Sternly, "You do have to sign them," Pope insisted, "I've been given strict orders to have these in the mail by the end of the day with your signature on them. If you don't cooperate-"

"-you'll what?" he challenged, and saw the polite gleam vanish from Pope's eyes. His jaw set. Jacob sighed, not wanting to dig himself into a deeper hole than he'd already dug. Pope dealt with delinquents all day…perhaps a more charming approach was better suited.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he backpedaled, lowering his head into his hands, faking sadness, "I'm just…I didn't want to lose her, you know? You remember Sara, don't you? So smart and funny, beautiful…she and that child were everything to me and to lose her like this…"

Pope sighed and leaned forward, "I've had my share of relationship problems, believe me, but don't you think it would be better this way? To just…sign the papers and let things settle down? She's not gonna let this go, you and I both know how determined she is-"

Jacob raised his head, smiling through fake tears, "Yea, when she puts her mind to something…"

A soft expression, "Son, I know how painful this is, but I suggest you do everything you can to keep things civil. The last thing you want is a messy divorce, you said there's a kid involved…"

Jacob silently weighed his options. Did it really make a big difference? Probably not in the long run, and playing nice for the Warden would earn him brownie points. He wasn't sure what he'd need those points for, but having a few tucked away never hurt anyone.

Keep them percolating.

Jacob made a show of pretending to make a tough decision, and hesitantly reached out to grab the papers, "Is there a pen I can borrow?"

XXXXXX

"He signed them," Sara told Michael as she hung up the phone, surprised.

"Hmm?" he looked up from the book he was reading, sitting on the couch.

"The divorce papers, he signed them," she clarified, unsure of why the words felt so foreign coming out of her mouth, "they just called to let me know they got 'em back."

"So it's over," he replied with an air of hope, closing the book and turning to face her.

"Yea," she still looked shocked, "I guess it is," then added, darkly, "just like that."

Eyes narrowing, "Did you want him to put up a fight?"

A moment, "I'm just surprised he didn't."

He shrugged, "Maybe he did and you just don't know it. All we can be sure of is that he signed…you don't know what preceded it."

She scoffed quietly, "Guess that's true."

It's not that she wanted Jacob to fight for her; that ship had set sail and if she was lucky, would hit the gnarliest storm and be sunk forever…or maybe a giant rock. Or a storm that would throw him into a giant rock…her mind concocted various scenarios that would send him to a watery grave, although given his nickname "Poseidon" that might not be the best plan…

She supposed she was surprised because something had actually gone as planned; being married to him was a problem and she took the necessary steps to fix it, and he did his part to finish the deal. It had gone smoothly, and that was peculiar. Something felt off.

"So what's next?" Michael wondered aloud.

She knew he was referring to marriage, but dodged the question, "Next, we have dinner, and talk to Mike about moving."

He nodded and set his book down on the coffee table, a smirk, "Pizza? Butter him up for the bad news?"

She scoffed, "Pizza sounds good, but doesn't that feel like we're buying him off?"

He shrugged, "Sometimes it's a necessary evil."

"He'll know you're up to something," she informed him, "take out is a special occasion."

"Really? He'll call me out on it?"

She shrugged, daring him to try.

"Hey Mike," he called through the screen door.

Helicopter stopping and falling to the ground, "Yea?"

"You want pizza tonight?"

Mike's eyes narrowed, "What for?"

Michael glanced at Sara, who had a smug look on her face, "What do you mean, "what for?""

"We only get take out when something good happens or something bad. So…which is it?"

Damn, he thought, though amused, "It's good, I promise."

"Okay," Mike agreed simply and then resumed his playing.

Michael shook his head and glanced at Sara, who was giving him a "I tried to tell you" look.

"I didn't lie," Michael defended, "it is a good thing."

"You're right," she approached him and gave him a peck on the lips, "I'll order the pizza now. As far as telling him, we need to be direct. He's smart-"

"-I see that," he replied good-naturedly.

"I'm just saying...he'll want to know why, when...all the details. The more we're honest with him, the better off he is."

"No lying to protect his innocence?" Michael clarified.

"Exactly," she shrugged, "he's smart and wise beyond his years. He likes to know the truth."

Michael nodded, "Don't we all."

XXXXXXXXXX

Michael awoke as the sunlight just started to seep through the blinds. He'd actually managed to get some sleep last night. Maybe it was because dinner had gone well; Mike didn't seem to be upset at the idea of moving houses, and that gave Michael some peace of mind. After Michael had been assured that he'd attend the same school and that they'd move all of his things, he'd shrugged and continued happily munching his pizza. It was remarkable, how adaptable he was, but one bit of the conversation was still stuck in Michael's mind.

Mike, "But…why are we moving houses? What's wrong with this one?"

Sara, "Well…you know that Jacob and I bought this house together, and now that he isn't here, we want a place that's ours," she brushed a strand of hair out of his face, "somewhere new for us to all be together."

Mike considered, "Could Jacob come back here? I mean…it's still his house too, right?"

Michael's stomach lurched at the thought, "He's not coming back."

"But he still owns it too, right?" Mike wondered- there were those "questions beyond his years" Sara had warned about.

"You don't need to worry about that," Sara replied, "all you need to worry about is helping us pick out a new place. We've got a few houses to look at tomorrow," she told him, "and it'll be fun, right?"

Mike nodded and set his pizza down, "Can this one have a fenced in yard? Maybe we could get another dog?"

Michael remembered the picture Sara had shown him, Mike cuddled up with what looked like an older, yellow lab. He'd never asked- they must've had a dog and it passed away?

Sara chuckled, "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, but we'll certainly take a look at all of the yards, okay?"

"Yea, that sounds fun," he agreed.

*Could Jacob come back?*

Was his son worried for his safety, or did he miss the man who'd been a father figure for so many years? How could he broach the subject with him? If he was being honest with himself, Michael was afraid of what the answer might be.

He knew it wasn't Mike's fault, it wasn't a betrayal- he was simply being a kid, latching on to the parental figures in his life, and suddenly, one of those figures was swapped with a new one.