Sin writes histories. Goodness is silent. –Thomas Fuller

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Prison Break and am making no profit.

Seven hours. Michael was counting down. Staring at his watch. Lying to himself. Making excuses for the emptiness, the sadness he felt despite Sucre's jovial whistling and the fact that he was going to save his brother today.

He tried focusing on the good points. And there were many, he counted them on his fingers. LJ would have his father, Michael would get to keep the only family he had, Sucre could finally marry Maricruz…

Speaking of Sucre, it took Michael a moment to realize he had stopped whistling. When he looked up he was greeted by a fearsome bellow and Sucre's contorted face as he reeled back and released a punch to Michael's cheek. He was thrown from his bunk where he sat, into the sink.

"Sucre what the hell!" He shouted, cradling his head.

"Oh, buddy, you got one hell of a scrape there." Sucre said surprisingly sympathetic and with a hint of laughter lacing his voice. Michael looked up to him questioningly. "You're probably gonna have to get that looked at." He added with a grin and a wink. "We need a CO up here!" Sucre shouted, and the click of polished shoes was soon heard. A half smile grew slowly across Michael's face.

The cell door slid open loudly, and a CO stood there.

"What the hell did you do to him, Sucre?"

"We were just wrestling, officer, honest." Sucre shrugged, struggling to suppress his grin.

As Michael passed him to follow the CO to the infirmary, Michael murmured, "You coulda picked something less painful."

"What fun would that be?" Sucre yelled after him, once his cell had been locked again.

Sara read the same sentence again, still seeing only words, not putting the meaning together. This paperwork would never get finished if she couldn't get Michael Scofield off her mind. She growled in frustration and slapped the forms down on her desk. The nurse on duty gave her a skeptical eyebrow raised look. Sara just rolled her eyes and refocused. But when she looked down at the white paper with the lines of words, all she saw was that tattoo. That winding maze of ink on warm, soft skin.

Dammit! Sara clenched her teeth and stood, intending to go out for coffee.

"Surprise." The nurse said half sarcastically, half amused as she saw Michael Scofield walk down the hall.

"Oh no." Sara breathed. Michael and the CO entered the infirmary, and Sara led Michael into her room.

"What happened to you?"

There it was, Sara thought, that enigmatic look. That half smile that curves his lips in such an enticing way.

"My celly."

"Fernando? I thought you two were friends?" She asked, confused. Michael, only glad to hear some tone in her voice other than anger, smiled.

"We are. He was just messing around."

"What a pal." She murmured as she dabbed the red scrape on his left cheek. Was it his imagination, or did her gaze keep jumping to his lips and lingering there? Sara glanced up to his eyes, and seeing him catch her staring at his face, her face flushed.

Michael was never prone to impulses. His systematic mind made it impossible. So how was it that now he blurted out anything at all, just to see what she'd say?

"June 26th." He stated.

"What?" Sara almost smiled at the random comment.

"My birthday. June 26th. I just know that was at the top of your burning questions list."

Still leaning dangerously close to him, applying ointment that was not really necessary, Sara grinned.

"Actually, I wanted to know what you meant by married but not in the traditional sense."

Michael suppressed a comment about jealousy, "Nika's an old friend who needed a green card to get away from some trouble in Prague."

After a pause, during which Sara stepped away to clean up; "I should have known. There's no possible way to be mad at you, Michael."

Michael's half smile faded. Deny, deny, deny. He felt his defenses slipping. Whatever happened to his decision not to flirt, or to make jokes or look her in the eye? It had been forgotten almost as soon as it had been made.

Sara, too, seemed to feel the weight of her words. Turning to him, she forced a quick smile. "Anything else?" Her voice was thin, almost strangled with tears. Why did it hurt so much to be close to him, but never close enough?

"Yeah." Michael whispered, and he could almost feel it breaking. His breath was knocked out of him with the force of it. In one sweep, he slid off his chair and scooped Sara into his arms. She was shocked, placing her hands tentatively on his upper arms that were wrapped firmly around her waist, wondering if she should push him away immediately, or allow herself this pleasure for a little while and pretend to be reluctant.

Her gaze was permanently fixed onto his gray blue eyes that suddenly seemed so clear. She read everything in them. He had let go. He had let go of it all for her. The tips of their noses brushed together, and Sara could feel his breath hot on her lips, and her eyes once again drifted down to his mouth.

Michael inched his face a bit closer. He could almost taste her kiss, but this exquisite torture was too delicious to rush. They lingered there for a moment that felt like a thousand years, hovering between reality and fantasy, struggling to let go of professionalism. It was all too easy to give in to him, Sara realized with a vague dread that she did not acknowledge, for the greater presence of anticipation.

Her fingers slid up to his biceps and gripped his shirt tightly, unconsciously pulling his body closer to hers. Sara realized, in a moment of clarity, that Michael was waiting for her, patiently, as patiently as he could when within reach of this thing he'd wanted for so long. He just wanted her to give in to him. And Sara was all too happy to, in that moment.

She nearly lunged at him, closing the miniscule gap of a few inches between their lips. His hands were tangled in her hair, crushing her lips onto his, pushing his tongue greedily over hers.

Determined to make every moment last, Michael pulled back gently and brushed a few light kisses over Sara's lips, to the corners of her mouth, along her jaw line and under her ear. But when a kiss pressed to her throat elicited a deep, throaty sound of pleasure, Michael seemed suddenly confined within his clothes.

Sliding his hands over Sara's shoulders, her white lab coat dropped noiselessly to the ground. Deft, slender hands slid over her breasts to unbutton her blouse. That dropped to the floor, too, and Sara realized again that they were not the only two people in the world.

"Michael." She whispered as a warning, but the sound just made him even more eager, and he pulled her mouth to his for a fevered kiss. His hands slipped around her waist again, this time coming in contact with her smooth, supple skin. Sara took in a sharp breath, and Michael looked up at her face for encouragement. She wore a half smirk and the dark smolder of her brown eyes urged him on. He lowered them to the floor and was cradled between Sara's thighs.

The high exam table hid their view of the door, thankfully. A knock on the door nearly gave them both heart attacks. Sara didn't bother with her shirt as she and Michael whispered hurry ups and be quiets as they pulled her white lab coat onto her and buttoned it up.

She grabbed a tool from the table and stood up, pretending to have retrieved it. Michael did the same, replacing the tool on the table. Sara smiled at the nurse in the doorway.

"Your 3 o'clock is here." She said, with the faintest narrowing of eyes.

"Thanks Katie. I'll just be a few more minutes."

When she left, Sara heaved a sigh and regained her breath. She looked over at Michael, who was bent over the exam table, his body shaking with laughter. Sara chuckled in disbelief, but when Michael looked up at her with tears in his eyes and tried to speak, only to be racked with more laughter, it infected her, too. She was trembling, from passion, from fear, from laughter, until Michael pulled her to him again.

Their laughter quenched as he pressed a sweet kiss to her lips.

"This can't be happening." She whispered.

"What? Falling for me?" He grinned.

"You're an inmate. I'm your doctor."

The sensible, responsible Sara was coming back. Michael cupped her face in his hands. She placed her hands on his arms to deter him, but he held her tighter, pulling her lips to his. She responded with frenzied passion, until Michael was sure he had her attention, and he pulled away.

"I've never felt anything like this before, Sara, you have to believe me."

"I do. I believe you, Michael." She smiled breathlessly.

"No matter what happens, just remember this." Littering kisses generously over her face and neck, Michael wondered who he was. Since coming to Fox River, meeting Sara, he hadn't felt the same. He was not so guarded with her. He trusted her because she wanted to help him. She cared.

Would she understand how much he cared, even when she came to work tomorrow and he was gone?

God, he loved her. Sara, in all her goodness and her glory, pouty lips and secretive eyes. He prayed she wouldn't hate him. When he got to the door to leave, he held her hand a moment longer, and looked into her eyes, which still held the flickers of passion. He wanted to kiss her again, but knew it was too dangerous. So, he just winked, squeezed her hand, and exited. Sara followed him to the nurse's desk, where the CO took him, and before she was out of earshot, he yelled, "I love you, Doc!"

Sara smiled giddily, and the nurse shot her a smirk and an eyebrow raise that almost suggested a playful congratulations.

As she went about her daily routine, nothing seemed routine anymore. Sara smiled all day, hummed her favorite song, and had to be told everything twice. But as she lay in bed that night, nestled comfortably far away from all those criminals that eyed her daily, Sara felt unmistakably cold. It was a hot night for early winter, yet Sara could not warm herself up.

She knew she was coming down off her high, coming out of the bubble of happiness that had protected her from the truth all day. But she still held onto the memory of his kiss. Her passion for Michael was so hot that it melded them together. She had known something so real in her moments with him, that without it, she wasn't whole anymore. Without him, she would never have it any better than those stolen caresses in the infirmary. A tear of self pity escaped her, and it ran over her cheek into her hair.

Dammit, Michael. Look what you've done to me. You've ruined me forever. Why was the perfect man not so perfect after all? How could she have fallen in love with him?

She shivered in the night, and knew she was ruined. The delightful feeling Michael had instilled in her had worn off to reality, and she was stuck with the fact that it could never be. He was a prisoner.

And when she thought about it, she was, too.

You're right, Abruzzi is not a heartless bastard. He has a family, and was sincerely regretful when his guy killed that little boy. He really was repenting, and T-Bag, worthless scum that he is had to go kill him. Now how are they going to make it on the outside without his plane?

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El Fin!