Disclaimer: I know they're not mine. I'm old and tired so, PTB,
please don't slap me around for playing with your toys.
Last Time: LJ, in act or rebellion to get his fathers attention happened across
Michaels location during a impromtu tattoo session on his trip to Mexico with the guys.
I didn't tell a soul what I was preparing to do.
After a day or two at home, by all accounts setting LJ straight after the stunt he'd pulled, picking up where I'd left off and heading back to Mexico to look for Michael seemed logical and beyond suspicion.
Only LJ knew the truth.
He knew because he was the one who brought it to me.
Things changed for us at that moment.
Veronica came to stay this time because he was under age and someone needed to be there, not because I thought he needed someone to watch over him.
The openness and trust, finally a real relationship with my only son, that grew between us in those two days together after he returned made me almost as happy as the thought of seeing Michael's face again did.
It was hopeful.
It was good.
It felt really good...
...all of it...
... with the one exception of not being able to tell Sara.
Going to see her and Emma to pick up the latest pictures of Em, ones I'd been meaning to drop by and pick up for over a week now, was the hardest thing I'd had to do in a very long time.
Standing there holding Em in my arms, listening to Sara plead with me to stay with my son ... to let Michael go... I wanted nothing more than to tell her I'd found him, and I was going to get him and bring him home to her.
I wanted to tell her the truth more than anything, but I couldn't bring myself to do it until I'd seen him for myself ... until I'd found a way to bring him home without losing his family.
My bag in the car, baby pictures tucked safely in my pocket, her hug and a soft kiss on the cheek telling me to ' please be careful ' as she takes Emma from my arms sets me on my way.
It takes most of the first day to get to Salagua.
The second day I nearly go insane stuck sitting in a cramped, hot hotel room staring at the four walls, waiting impatiently for the cover of darkness to set in.
I have no doubt that at first people kept tabs, watching me carefully and hoping to catch up with Michael through me. Over time, as each trip has come up empty, I've come to feel that I am now the only one still searching, certainly the only one still believing, leaving no one interested enough to bother lurking in the shadows behind me anymore.
Feeling certain I've not been followed, yet cautious with him so near, I wait quietly in my room for night to fall and allow me to make my way to him unseen.
A youthful life of crime, our time spent running to clear my name of the crime I didn't commit, serves me well as I move through the streets, shadow to shadow, blending in basically unnoticed as I find my way to his home.
While sitting in that room all day, and every step along the way to his home, I'd told myself that the instant I saw him, the instant I knew for certain it was him, I'd barge right through his door - no hesitation. I'd grab hold and hug him so fiercely, leaving him unable to draw breath until he ended up begging for mercy, pleading for me to let him go, like he did when we were kids.
But all that falls away as, approaching his door, I see him move to the window and look through it out into the darkness briefly as he reaches up to pull the shade.
Seeing his face for the first time in so long, all the things I need to say rushing through my head like a flood gate has opened at the sight of him, has the opposite effect of causing a knot to rise up in the pit of my stomach, so powerful it forces me to dart out of sight behind a bush.
Standing there in the dark, waiting, searching for the strength to go to him, the sound of a screen door slamming hard on squeaky hinges draws me around back to the tall wooden privacy fence lining the garden behind the house.
The fence, neat, level and perfectly aligned, something I'm guessing from one look he built himself, stands a good six feet in height and allows me, by hanging back a few steps, to keep hidden from sight until I'm ready for him to see me.
Listening carefully, I can hear him moving around the yard, the sound of dry twigs snapping between his fingers catching my attention right before the faint smell of smoke begins to fill the air.
Only a few minutes pass before I realize he is no longer moving. I hear no noise at all any longer, it's gone quiet behind the fence. It takes mere minutes for the sudden fear that he has slipped away, somehow gone, to push me forward up to the fence to be sure he is still there.
Rising up on my toes to look over, I steal a moment to watch him lean forward in his chair to poke at the fire that is growing bigger with each passing second in the large metal pot near his feet. I can't help noticing how different he looks from the last time I saw him, with skin deeply tanned from the hot Mexican sun and hair grown long by his standards, thick, dark and waving uncontrollably from the humidity.
It takes everything I have in me to speak, my voice cracking as I do.
"Michael?"
His eyes, never changing - always the same, drift upward to meet my own.
"Linc?"
Shocked, left unable to speak, my nod of confirmation prompts him up onto his feet. He closes the distance between us, throwing open the wooden gate forcefully and stepping through to me without hesitation. "I can't believe it's you..." His arms wrapping around me, pulling me to him hard as he speaks, take me back in time to the relief on the heels of desperation I felt when I did the same thing to him during the riot at Fox River. "It's so good to see your face!... I can't believe you're really here..."
A noise, something moving in the tall grass nearby, startles him and causes him to let go of me as he takes several steps backward through the open gate. "You were followed?"
For a moment I'd forgotten where we were.
Forgotten the circumstances that had brought us here.
But that doesn't last.
The look in his eyes, the tension and worry of fearing someone was watching - one step behind, always hot on your heels - something I personally know well, is written in his stiff defensive posture as he slips back into shadow, reminding me what it's like to hide as a way of life. "No one followed me, Michael. I was careful..." Looking around, I see from of the corner of my eye the tip of an orange and white tail, flicking occasionally above the high grass just behind me. " ... it's a cat. It's just a cat, Michael. Maybe we should go inside?"
"Yeah ... maybe that's a good idea"
Eager to be out of sight he turns on his heels, moving quickly. He draws me with him
every step of the way, through the gate, careful to close it behind us, and into the house
just beyond.
Tucked safely indoors, seated across from one another at the small dining table, cool drinks in hand, talking as if little or no time has passed, I can't help wishing that things were different, that there was nothing pulling me back and I, we, could stay here together like this forever.
Taking his time he asks, cautious yet curious, how I found him. He shakes his head and clucks disapprovingly about LJ's tattoo adventure until I remind him I wouldn't be here at all without it. He asks about nearly everyone and everything he'd left behind, omitting only one.
"Aren't you going to ask me about Sara, Michael?"
He fidgets at the mention of her name, reluctant to meet my eye, head hung low. Dragging his hand over his head, his fingertips dig hard at his scalp through thick hair damp with sweat as he speaks. "I hadn't planned on it. It's been a year, and I imagined, I hoped, she had put it all, me, behind her and moved on with her life."
Listening to his words, feeling the smooth gloss of the photo in my pocket under my fingertips, I realize I can't wait any longer and rise from the chair to my feet. "There something I need to tell you..." Stopping just over his left shoulder, I pull the picture out of my pocket and lay it on the table in front of him as I speak "... something I need to show you."
Standing there waiting for his reaction I find myself caught off guard, not understanding what is happening as he looks up to me, photo in hand, smiling. "She's beautiful..."
He pats my arm hard, grinning knowingly. "You didn't waste any time, did you? The dark hair, those eyes, it looks like she'll end up looking more like Veronica than you, thank goodness."
Understanding his mistake, knowing I need to set him straight, I reach down over his shoulder and turn the photo over in his hands.
"She's not mine, Michael."
His hands, suddenly holding the picture as if it might break, begin to shake as I watch him read, his lips moving yet not making a single sound, the words written in Sara's hand on the back.
' Emma Elizabeth Scofield. 3 Months old '
"She's not mine..." He looks up at me, stunned, his eyes filled with tears I know he won't be able to hold back much longer. "She's yours... your little girl, Michael...yours and Sara's."
TBC...
Next time: How does Michael react to the startling news that he is a father?