I wasn't going to continue this story, but due to urgings by reviewers, I caved and wrote this.

Panama

Her days were grey. That was the only way she could think of describing it. Tasteless, drab and grey. A few of the nurses noticed her change in demeanor, but as expected, she waved it off as nothing. She was horrified when even the Pope voiced his concerns for her well being. Sara insisted she was perfectly fine, she had just had a rough couple of weeks; had not been sleeping very well.

She grumbled as she threw the coffee pot onto the burner, sloshing boiling liquid onto the counter. Sara hardly noticed. This forced two week vacation was not going to do her any good. All she'd do was sit around, watching old sappy romances and trying not to think about Michael. She savored the hot liquid she sipped from her ugly brown mug as she padded in her slippers through her hollow, empty home.

There was a movie on Lifetime, so Sara grabbed a blanket and got comfortable in front of the television for the second day in a row. The next twelve days were going to be well wasted.

Just when the woman in the movie was about to make her decision between her husband and her lover, the phone rang.

"Dammit!" Sara cursed softly and glanced between the television and the phone across the room. Narrowing her eyes, she dashed for it. "Hello." She said hurriedly, taking the cordless with her back to the couch. There was no answer for a moment.

"He-"

"Sara?"

The voice on the other end clicked and popped with static. She was stunned into silence at the mere prospect of this being true.

"Sara, are you there? Can you hear me?"

"Uh-yeah. Yeah I can hear you." Sara turned the television off and sat very still, as if moving would disrupt the precarious connection, and he would be lost.

"Hi, how are you?" He started uneasily, though she heard the happiness in his voice.

"I'm alright." Sara replied dazedly. "The more pressing question being…how are you?"

Michael laughed and Sara doubled over on the couch, pressing her fingertips to her mouth to suppress a sob. Of happiness, sadness, anger, or all of the above, Sara could not tell.

"I'm good. Lincoln and I…well, we're safe. I just had to call and see how you…well I had to call and hear your voice, actually." He chuckled nervously, and his voice fizzled.

"Where are you, Michael?" Sara barely managed more than a whisper.

"What? The phones aren't that great down here."

"Where are you?" She said louder, and her cheeks started to burn.

"At a bar enjoying twenty five cent beers." He hesitated. "The only thing that could make this any better…is you."

Sara swallowed hard. She wanted to scream at him, tell him how much she hated him for turning her into this pathetic, quivering little girl. Her knuckles turned white on the phone. All she wanted was to shout the speech she'd told herself in her head a million times about how wrong it was for him to do all the things he did. About how he used her and how he hurt her.

But all Sara could say was, "I'm on a two week vacation." She winced at her stupid words.

She heard the sarcastic smile in his voice, "Forced, I suspect."

"Absolutely. The Pope seemed to think something was bothering me." She grit her teeth as she spoke, though she was sure Michael could hear her smile, too.

Someone spoke in the background, and Michael replied in quick Spanish.

"Look, Sara, I've got to go. It was so good to hear your voice again." His tone was low and full of meaning. "Bye Sara."

"Goodbye Michael." She whispered, and held the receiver to her ear long after the line went dead.

Sara spent the rest of the day in front of the television. Not watching the mindless chatter on the screen, but her thoughts were turned inward. She smiled as she played their conversation again in her head. Hearing his voice again was better than it should've been, she knew. She always thought if she ever spoke to him again, which was not likely in the first place, she would be so angry with him she wouldn't even be able to speak.

Instead, she wanted to jump around and do cartwheels. Sara slapped her hand to her forehead, cursing herself for her childishness. She refused to even acknowledge she felt anything for him.

So, Sara jumped up and vacuumed her carpet, organized her closet, and dusted her house from top to bottom.

She woke with a start, her back damp, pulse racing, hips and legs entangled tightly in her sheets. Sara let her breathing even before pulling herself from the white cotton trap. She walked to the kitchen in her long T-shirt and short shorts before even wondering what it was that caused her to wake in a frenzy.

What was it? Sara stared at the microwave as it wheeled her instant coffee around and around. It had been years since Sara'd had a bad dream. What was it, then?

A movement past her window caught her eye, and Sara saw Jennie, the mail carrier, walk by. The microwave beeped, and Sara mixed herself coffee and took it outside to her mailbox. Cradling her mug carefully in one hand, Sara grabbed a newspaper, a flier, a bill and a postcard from the box.

The postcard had a picture of white sand beaches, and the bluest ocean she'd ever seen. Panama, it said. On the back was written: Enjoying twenty five cent beers with the fam. Wish you were here.

No signature.

It didn't need one.

Sara knew it was from him. He was with Lincoln and LJ, his only family, his 'fam' in Panama. He was having the time of his life in tropical paradise. While she was here, a workaholic, no life outside the prison, suffering, without him!

Her coffee mug was dashed to the sidewalk and she stalked inside, throwing the pile of mail on the table. Sara turned in circles for a moment, unsure of what to do with her rage. She clenched her fists and growled, slamming her hands on the table, shouting curses. When one of her shouts turned into a long wail, Sara sunk to the floor. She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling fan, tears running into her ears.

Wish you were here.

A sob racked her, and she curled herself into fetal position, arms cradling her head. She was sure she looked like a fool, but what did she care? She was alone.

That was just it: She was alone.

In that moment, Sara made a decision. She would not become a prisoner at Fox River. She would not stay late and study files at home and ignore her own desires. She would not live another second of her life without him.

Twelve hours later, she was on a plane. It wasn't until it landed in Panama that her heart began to pound. It wasn't until she started asking around that her hands began to shake. She checked into a seaside bed and breakfast, set her bags on the bed, and left again.

There was a bar down the street. She'd seen it when her taxi passed by it on their way to the hotel. It was not a typical tourist bar with palm fronds and drinks from a coconut with little umbrellas. This was not the tourist part of the country. Though the floors were made of sand, everything else was just like the bars back home. Not that she'd gone barhopping often. Patrons sat quietly at the bar, some at small circular tables lining the fences that marked the boundaries of the bar.

She scanned their faces, until she found him. She narrowed her eyes. Lincoln.

"Hey Doc." Linc grinned as he saw her approach. "I was hoping I'd see you sometime soon." He sipped his beer.

"Hello Lincoln." Sara said blandly, because she could not at that moment think of anything else. "How are you?"

Linc laughed. "I've never been better."

Sara's expression was grave and she swallowed hard. "Where-"

"He and LJ went to the Crabshack. They'll be back in a few. Hop up." He patted the barstool next to him, and Sara gently slid into it and ordered a beer when the bartender asked. She wiped the condensation from the brown glass with her thumbs, and she felt Lincoln's eyes on the side of her face. "Why did you come, Sara?"

She looked at him. How they could've thought he killed a man was beyond her. His blue eyes just seemed so…good. When he looked at her, she couldn't help but tell the truth.

"I needed to see him." Sara looked out at the water. "He just left so many questions." She said quietly, as if covering for herself.

"Yes he did." Linc killed his beer and ordered another. "Once, when we were kids, Michael and I were at the park. We spent most of our weekends there, since mom had to work. Anyway, one day I was stepping on ants, you know how kids do, and Michael ran up to me. He pushed me off them and said, he was so frantic, "Stop it, Linc, stop it!" I told him they were just ants, they didn't matter. But he told me that there were father ants and mother ants who had son ants and daughter ants. And I was killing them." He chuckled, at himself or at the memory, it was hard to tell. "All day he stood over that ant hill, protecting them. Even then he couldn't stand to see anyone hurt."

Sara smiled. She had to admit that if you could even put Michael in a nutshell, that was it.

"You talking about me again, Linc?" His husky voice came from behind her, and Sara nearly choked on her beer.

Thank you for the kind reviews!

Aleks