I own nothing...

The truth is rarely pure and never simple. - Oscar Wilde

Prisoners

Michael was not a man prone to denial. With his psychological condition, it was just about literally impossible. But there were some things that were so hopeless and he wanted so bad that he couldn't help but deny.

Like Sara Tancredi.

Simply the fact that she felt the need to clear up their relationship as 'strictly professional' was a vivid indication. The hurt he read in her eyes after witnessing he and his 'wife' could have gotten through to even a heartless bastard like Abruzzi.

Still he denied it. No one could love him. And besides, think about what it would mean to the plan. If she fell for him, he'd for sure let her too deeply into him, and she'd figure it all out. God, she was smart. She was beautiful, too, and compassionate…she was perfect in ever sense of the word.

Yet another reason she could never love him. Sara could have anyone she wanted, why on earth would she choose an unlovable convicted felon?

So there it was all laid out on the table. He smiled to himself in the darkness of his cell, though it was a hollow smile. He had it all figured out. He would resist making jokes and flirting with her. He would not smile, not laugh, and most definitely he would not look her in the eye, for it would shatter his flimsy self control.

Michael drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, allowing his eyes to slide shut. Sucre snorted in his sleep above him, and Michael chuckled as he pulled his blanket tighter around his shoulders.

Time. Damn this thing. If only there was a little more time. Michael wouldn't have to push, rush, stress, clench his teeth and curse under his breath. He could deal with the obstacles rationally. If only there was a little more time.

He could see her once more. For just a little longer. But after his next visit, he would be gone forever, and Sara would never see him again. Would she be sad that he left? Hopefully not. That would mean their relationship was based on nothing but the shivers a smolderingly sexy con elicited from a lonely woman. Maybe she would be angry. Michael furrowed his brow as he acknowledged hope. He hoped she would be angry at him after he left. That would mean he had really gotten to her. She would be hurt that he lied to her. That would mean she had attached herself to him. The way he had attached himself to her. Michael swallowed hard and pushed the thought from his mind with all the fervor he'd put into planning his brother's escape. Deny, deny, deny…maybe even he would begin to believe his lies.

The CO escorted him to the infirmary for the very last time. As he drew nearer to the white door, his heartbeat increased. She passed in front of the glass, and his steps faltered.

"Watch your feet, Scofield." The CO warned unenthusiastically. Michael muttered something in reply, but thankfully he didn't catch it.

"Afternoon, Michael." Sara offered coldly, not bothering to even look him in the eye.

"Afternoon." He replied forcedly as he drew himself onto his designated chair and pulled his sleeve up past his elbow. Sara had already prepared his shot in order to minimize the time she had to spend in his presence. She just reached into her cabinet, retrieved the hypodermic needle and injected it into his arm. Michael held his breath when she drew near, and he noted how rigid her features and her body became. He tried not to acknowledge disappointment.

"I'll see you later." Sara glanced up to meet his gaze momentarily, which had fixed on her face despite his best efforts to keep his eyes on the far wall. She turned her back to him, something she never would have done with any other inmate, further proving how open and trusting she became with him. It was an action meant to hurt him. She was giving him the cold shoulder, closing herself off from him.

"Sara, wait." Michael blurted, not really knowing what he was going to say next, just that he couldn't let this go on.

"It's –"

"Doctor Tancredi, I know. I forgot." He corrected, sliding to his feet and holding his hands out. Just hear me out, he plead. "All these questions, I'll answer them for you, I promise."

"No, Michael-"

"Sara, you can know me." Michael insisted, and Sara didn't object again. He took a step toward her, and her eyes shot from his to the floor. Michael stopped and hung his head. Why did he think he could ever reason with her? What could he possibly say to make her believe him?

What did he want to make her believe, anyway? All the lies he's been feeding her? Was he going to tell her the truth? The plan? No, he would never betray his brother. What did he want Sara to believe, then? There was only one other truth to his entire existence in Fox River. And he was still denying it.

"I can't know you, Michael." Sara spat bitterly, her brown eyes flamed with anger that could only have sprung from one emotion.

"Why not?" He returned, fevered, sweat prickling his brow, his breath heaving.

Sara let out a shrill staccato laugh, humorless, and opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again. She just shook her head.

"We're done here, Michael. I'll see you later." Sara said as she turned around again, the coldness had seeped back into her voice, slightly malicious, now. Great, Michael thought. I try to make things better and it only gets worse.

So, Michael resigned to his cell. Sucre had let out a loud exclamation of laughter upon seeing his celly return, but quickly capped his enthusiasm.

"Hey, man," Sucre gently began again after a few moments of silence. "We getting out tomorrow night. Why ain't you a little more excited?"

"I don't know, Sucre. I should be, shouldn't I? I'm saving my brother's life." Michael replied flatly, and didn't say another word all night. Sucre respected Michael's need to brood, and didn't ask questions, though he was observant enough to suspect the reason.

My first Prison Break fic, so be gentle with me, please. Constructive criticism and praise only...

All are not cooks who walk with long knives. - unknown

Love, Aleks