A/N: It's been a while! Sorry for the longgg time between chapters. This is on the short side, but I'm writing more as we speak ;) Let me know what ya think!
XXXXXX
"Do I really have to go to work?" Michael asked Sara as he stared up at the ceiling, just having silenced his alarm.
He'd been awake most of the night, but finally fell asleep a little after two…his alarm blaring at six-thirty was cruel, and he knew he'd be distracted all day anyways, unable to focus on his work.
She placed a hand sleepily on his shoulder, "I mean…kind of. If you want to keep your job."
He chuckled at her half-lucid reply, "I guess you're right. I just know I won't be able to focus on anything besides Mike."
She stretched a bit, blinking her eyes open, "Well, Alex won't be here until this evening anyways, right? You said his flight won't get in until five. By the time he grabs his bags and gets here-"
"-he only uses a carry-on. Travels light."
"Ok, but still. By the time he lands and actually gets here you'll be home anyways."
Michael sighed.
"You can't do anything else right now," she went on, "just…go to work and do what you can."
"What if someone calls about the BOLO, or what if-"
"I'll be here," she replied, "I'll have my phone with me every second- if anything happens I can do whatever needs to be done or call whoever…Michael you need to go in. He's been good to work for but I'm sure his tolerance for work/life balance tilting significantly towards the "life" part has its limits."
He sighed again, "I know. You're right."
"What was that?" she joked, leaning closer.
A smile, "I said, "you're right,"" he repeated with an eye roll, leaning down to kiss her cheek before sliding out of bed.
XXXXXX
Alexander Mahone shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to allow more elbow room for the man next to him on the flight who didn't seem to understand personal space.
He'd bought the ticket last minute and was stuck in the back of the plane, not that he would usually mind, but his seatmate was causing undo stress, not allowing him to easily access his laptop or files, and distracting him by simply existing beside him.
Despite the less than ideal circumstances, he pulled his laptop out once they'd reached cruising altitude, and used the almost acceptable Wifi on board to start researching.
When Michael had called him the day before, he knew the situation must be dire; Michael was smart and highly capable on his own, so the fact that he was reaching out for help...well, he must really need it.
The initial shock of hearing from Michael had worn off quickly, and the conversation flowed easily, their history of working together allowed them to slip back into rhythm and get down to business. Michael had explained the situation to him succinctly and had given him enough information to start with, giving him a few key points (and people) to research.
It wouldn't be easy though, he could tell from the start that Jacob was clearly a worthy adversary, and any real clues they had were few and far between. Finding a missing child was difficult under normal circumstances, but considering that the man responsible for Mike's capture was an expert in game theory and manipulation…well, that put a different spin on things.
It was tough from the get-go to find kids because kids didn't own property, they didn't use credit cards of have government I.D.s. They were at the mercy of whoever took them, and since no one besides another child was an eye witness to Mike being taken, he had little to start with.
Michael had told him about Emily, Jacob's lackey, who he suspected to be the one who took Mike, but Mahone was starting to wonder how much information about Emily would be accurate. Even if he could dig into her file, her records, he couldn't be sure that Jacob hadn't fabricated some, if not all of it. Hell, he'd given Michael a new identity that was flawless. In the eyes of the law, he'd completely changed him into Kaniel Outis with no errors, no trial of bread crumbs that could lead anyone back to the real Michael Scofield. Who's to say he hadn't done the same with Emily?
"For you, sir?" a flight attendant asked and he glanced up, noticing her presence for the first time.
"Uh, coffee. Black," he requested, knowing he'd need all the help he could get.
He liked working on flights; there were no distractions, nothing else to do. This particular journey wouldn't be very long, but he'd feel better by getting a head start on any digging that he could. When he arrived at Michael and Sara's, he'd be able to ask them more questions, try to share anything he'd learned. For now, he could just skim the tip of the iceberg, but he considered that better than nothing.
XXXXXX
"God, you need to be more careful," Veronica scolded Lincoln with a voice steeped in concern.
"It's not that bad," he insisted as she poured disinfectant around the deep gash between his thumb and finger. He was sitting on a bar stool in the kitchen, and she had an array of first aid supplies on the counter beside him.
"If it was any deeper, I'd be taking you in for stitches," she retorted.
He'd come home from work early- very early; he'd gone in around five a.m., and Veronica hadn't even left for work yet when he opened the door, a bloody shirt wrapped around his hand. When she'd asked why he hadn't gone to the hospital he gave her a, "It would take too long, and you can do the same thing here," answer.
"Did you report it?" she asked him as she started wrapping gauze and a bandage around it tight.
He scoffed.
Her eyebrows raised, "You could get workman's comp."
He eyed her again, amused.
"I'm serious! What if this gets infected or gets worse, or what if you have to take a few days off?"
"Lotta "ifs" in that sentence," he joked, grimacing as she pulled the bandage a bit, smiting him.
"Besides," he went on through gritted teeth, "it was my fault anyways."
"That's not the point."
"Is to me."
She huffed, "Whatever. It's clean now and almost done bleeding but you have to keep an eye on it. If it gets swollen or anything-"
"-we'll just call Sara."
A scoff, "Right, like she doesn't have enough on her plate already," she tilted her head, "you really hate going to the doctor's, don't you?"
He shrugged.
"Except Sara," she noted, curious.
He shrugged again, "She's nice. Doesn't pour disinfectant all over me and then yank the bandage."
That earned him a playful backhanded slap, "Oh shut it. You're lucky I helped you at all instead of shipping you off to the E.R."
"You'll never take me alive, copper!" he countered as he got up, flexing his fingers a bit to test her handiwork.
"You're not going back to work," she shot him down before he could even say the words.
He sighed dramatically, "Fine."
"Char is almost ready for school, and her bag is packed," she gestured to it, propped up by the door, "just have her there-"
"-by eight. Got it," he finished for her as she grabbed her purse.
"And try not to injure yourself while I'm gone," she joked as she brushed by, kissing his cheek.
A smirk, "No promises."
XXXXX
Michael couldn't help but break several speed limits on the way home from work. He'd had an anxious energy all day- able to do his work, sure, but a constant buzzing seemed to surround him, nagging him with a feeling that he shouldn't be there. He should be home. His logical mind knew that if he was home, he'd just be a nervous ball of energy there instead, but that brought little comfort and did nothing to soothe his frazzled nerves.
When he finally rounded the corner of their block, he noted an unfamiliar vehicle parked in their driveway. His heart kickstarted despite the fact that he knew they were expecting a visitor, knew that Mahone was on his way. He hadn't expected him to beat him home though, so he pulled in and hopped out of the car, ready to dive straight in.
He walked in to find Sara and Mahone standing opposite each other in the kitchen- Mahone was leaning forward, his forearms resting on the bar and Sara had her back against the opposite counter, arms crossed in front of her though not in a defensive way. Her face was relaxed, and had an easy smile as she greeted him, "Hey."
"Hey," he returned, then faced Mahone, "Alex."
Mahone offered a hand and Michael shook it, "Michael."
"Thanks for coming," he replied, holding Mahone's hand for an extra beat and meeting his eyes, wanting to make sure he knew it was genuine.
His gaze conveyed his understanding, and when their hands broke apart, Mahone cleared his throat, "So, Sara has been telling me a little about Jacob, and about Emily."
Michael would've loved to be a fly on the wall for that conversation, curious what his wife might say about her ex to someone who wasn't emotionally involved. Having the chance to talk freely about him and to not have to walk on eggshells, what would she say?
"And I had time to look into them both a little bit," he went on, "from what I can tell, Jacob only owned property at the location you used to live, correct?" he looked to Sara.
"As far as I know, yes. That house was all he owned."
Slightly confused, "As far as you know? You were married to him."
"Clearly, he was less than honest," Sara told him with a slight bitterness, "our whole marriage, everything he told me…I really can't know what's true and what isn't. All I can say is, he never mentioned owning any other property, and I never saw any documents that would lead me to believe that he did."
"No other mortgages, no property taxes," Mahone supplied as he pulled out a pad and pen.
"Exactly," a pause, followed by a dark scoff, "I would've noticed if we suddenly had a second mortgage that he'd failed to mention."
Michael could see that she felt betrayed and perhaps even ignorant. Her gaze fell to the floor, her voice trailing off. It made him so angry to see what Jacob did to her, was doing to her in the present even though he was locked up and far away. He was making her doubt herself, doubt everything that had happened for years of her life.
They'd talk about this later, not in front of Mahone, but when it was just the two of them, he made a mental note to tell her in no uncertain terms that she was anything but blind or stupid. She'd trusted Jacob, and having that kind of trust broken was punishment enough, she didn't need to pile on it with self-doubt or God forbid, blaming herself for their current situation.
"Does Jacob have money?" Mahone asked, "from what I can tell his pockets were pretty padded but…"
Sara sighed, "Again, I don't know exactly. I can give you an estimate of what his income was and what we had saved but he may have other accounts I don't know about."
"I'm guessing he didn't tell you he worked for the CIA at all?"
"Correct."
"So, the only income you saw was related to his work for the university."
"Right."
"I can only assume he wasn't working for the CIA for free."
Michael interjected, "It wouldn't have been the CIA paying him after he went rouge. He had alliances with a lot of bad people…bad people with deep pockets. If I had to bet, I'd say he has overseas accounts in several places…probably with millions."
Two pair of surprised eyes fell on him.
Michael shrugged, "He helped a lot of powerful people. Get out jail free cards don't exist in the real world, and there's a heavy price tag to break someone out."
Sara seemed to accept the truth in that, but followed up with a question, "What does money have to do with this anyways?"
Mahone stood up slightly, leaning on one side against the counter, "Probably nothing, not directly anyways. Just trying to get the full picture of who he was, what resources he has-"
"-no one knows who he really was," Sara told him, "but honestly I think he might come the closest," and nodded in Michael's direction.
Mahone looked to Michael, "You worked with him a long time," he observed, a solemnness in his voice, an empathy, "I know what it's like, being forced into a job you don't wanna do. But after years of working with him...is there anything else you can tell me about him? Other friends, resources…did he have any aliases?"
"Well, his nickname was Poseidon, but he had no other identities that I'm aware of."
"Huh," Mahone replied, as if surprised.
"What?"
He shook his head, "Just another Greek reference. Scylla…Poseidon."
Sara, slowly, "You think he was Company?"
"Just a theory."
Michael countered, "That name came about pretty organically though, they called him Poseidon because he was so deep you couldn't find him with a nuclear sub. Might not have had anything to do with The Company it just...the name makes sense."
"Who is "they"?" Mahone asked.
"Huh?"
"You said, "They called him Poseidon.""
Michael considered, actually having to pause to remember, "I'm not sure. When he brought me into twenty-one void the nickname was already there."
Mahone replied, "I wouldn't be surprised if Company agents worked with him during his years as a legitimate CIA agent. They could've come up with the name then, and it stuck."
"The Company is gone," Sara pointed out, clearly unsettled by the possibility of their existence.
A shrug from Mahone, "Doesn't mean the love of Greek mythology from their members just disappeared," to clarify, he went on, "I'm not saying he was Company or that active company agents gave him the nickname recently it's just…a weird coincidence."
"Yea…guess so," Sara's voice trailed off as she chewed on this new idea.
"So, what about Mike?" Michael asked, "where does all of this lead us?"
"Well, without Jacob owning any other property that makes it tough for us to find where he might be keeping Mike. I didn't have much time to research Emily, but I'll start that tonight. You're sure she's the one who took him?"
A pause, then at the same time, "No."
"But," Michael went on, "we're reasonably certain. She's one of the few people Jacob may have actually trusted."
Mahone nodded, repeating, "I'll start researching her tonight."
"You can stay here if you like," Sara offered, "guest room is just down the hall."
"Appreciate that," he replied as his eyes briefly swept across the kitchen.
Sara noticed, "Coffee is here," she pointed to a cabinet, "use whatever else you need."
A slight grin as he nodded, "Thanks."
Michael glanced his way again, "Thanks for helping us."
