It's a regular looking house. Sara's embarrassed by the fact that revelation surprises her. She realizes she'd been expecting an abandon warehouse or something. Instead it's a clapboard bungalow in the middle of a simple, middle class housing track. The lawn has been freshly mowed and there's even a quaint painted mailbox out front and an American flag hanging by the front stoop.
Despite the darkness of the night and the privacy of the two-car garage they've just pulled into, Lincoln adjusts the baseball cap on his head and slips quickly and stealthily out of the car. It's clear Lincoln's become an expert at being a ghost.
Sara steps out of the vehicle and heads straight to her trunk, popping it and removing the medical bag and the emergency kit that's always inside. Lincoln's disappeared from view but she sees a light from the open side door. Lincoln's in the hallway with his hat off. She realizes his hair has begun to grow back. "He's in here."
Once again Sara feels her emotional brain fighting with her medical one as she follows Lincoln through the tiny, well-kept house to the second of two bedrooms. There's a dim yellow glow from a bedside lamp and a dark haired woman sitting by the bed. Michael is lying still, a sheen of sweat covering his exposed neck and face. A heavy down duvet covers the rest of his body. Even though it's warm in the small room, Sara can see his body shake.
"Any change?" Lincoln asks, concern and fear decorating his words.
The brunette lifts her, head. Her eyes bloodshot and her voice shaking as she replies. "He's having a harder time staying conscious. A really hard time. But no more seizures."
Sara drops her bag beside the bed and the brunette moves back towards Lincoln. Medically, she begins to examine her patient. Emotionally, her brain examines the situation. Who was the woman? Why was she nursing Michael? Touching his cheek, wiping his brow… Did Michael love her?
His eyes flutter open and it takes him a few seconds to focus. Sara does not want to make eye contact but she needs to in order to gage his alertness. His mossy green eyes tear at her heart like jagged glass.
"Sara," her name leaves his parched lips with a tone of disbelief and her heart hurts.
She turns to Lincoln. "When was the last time he had a shot?"
She reaches for her medical bag and begins to look for a glucose meter. Her fingers feel thick and clumsy, making her feel slightly foolish and incompetent. If only he hadn't said her name.
"A shot? Like a tetanus shot?"
Sara looks at Lincoln like he's lost his mind. "An insulin shot. For his diabetes."
"What are you talking about? Michael doesn't have diabetes." Now it's Lincoln's turn to stare incredulously.
"How many seizures has he had?"
"Two in 12 hours. And he's been increasingly incoherent." The brunette offers up.
Sara looks down and her heart races as she sees Michael's eyes are closed. "Michael, Wake up. Michael! I need you to talk to me." She reaches into her bag and pulls out smelling salts. A quick wave under his nose has his eyes opening and she sighs outwardly in relief.
"Sara." Now it's a statement laced with what sounds like relief.
"Are you a diabetic?" She asks, taking his hand into hers and quickly pricking his skin with a glucose meter.
"No."
Quickly digging through her medical bag again she pulls out a small vile and a syringe. Checking the results of the glucose meter she pulls back the duvet and reveals Michael's naked torso. She curses the warm feeling that slithers through her at the sight. Lincoln walks forward to stand directly behind Sara.
"What's wrong with him?" Lincoln wants to know.
Sara begins to tie a piece of plastic around Michael's bicep and then takes a moment to turn to Lincoln. "I had been giving him insulin daily at the prison. He had medical files that indicated he was a diabetic."
"Michael's never had so much as a cold." Lincoln muttered and turned to the brunette who looked confused.
"Yes, well apparently he needed to gain regular access to my infirmary in his efforts to break you out," Sara realizes aloud and the anger is more than apparent in her voice. "He knew I had to be the one to administer his shots – daily. What your brother didn't anticipate was that taking insulin without a medical need can cause serious health problems"
"So these are like OD symptoms?" The brunette asks. "But he hasn't been taking it in almost a year."
Sara glances down at Michael's forearm and taps a vein, encouraging it to protrude and hoping she can see it through all the ink. "Prolonged, elevated levels of insulin can drive glucose levels down. In severe cases it's been known to limit the body's ability to release naturally stored sugars in the long-term. This can cause hypoglycemia and right now Michael seems to have a severe case."
Sara looks at him. His green eyes are closed again. She prepares the needle, filling it with the liquid from the vile and tapping it carefully. "Your brother didn't seem to understand the risks involved with his plan."
She's just about to inject him when Michael says softly. "I knew this could happen. But there was only a 47 percent chance. It was worth the risk."
She finds the vein and locks eyes with him as she plunges the needle under his skin. His eyes narrow slightly with the sting of the injection, which, if Sara wants to be honest with herself, could have made less painful.
Pulling the needle away she discards the syringe in a nearby wastebasket. She looks up at Lincoln and the brunette who has moved closer and is standing directly behind Lincoln. "I've administered a shot of Glucagon. It's a hormone produced by the pancreas that causes the liver to release its stored sugar into the bloodstream."
Lincoln's brow furrows deeper as he tries to absorb this new information – both the treatment for his brother's illness and the new risk he's just learned Michael took for him. Sara stood up and touched his shoulder. "He should be perfectly fine in a few hours."
"Thank you." Lincoln says, but there's apprehension in his voice.
"I'm going to stay and make sure."
"You shouldn't." Lincoln says.
"I know," she replies simply. "But I will."