The woman was blonde and petite Michael noted, with warm brown eyes and quick movements that showed that she was expert in her craft. She asked the mandatory questions, administered the mandatory insulin, and sent him on his way in a mandatory fashion. There was one problem however, and the problem was that she wasn't Sara.

"Dr. Elizabeth Charter," she introduced herself when Michael entered the room.

"Oh, Sara's sick?" he had questioned.

"N-, no, not exactly," she stammered, taken aback at bit by the casual tone in which he had asked. He was leaning against the doorway in a relaxed manner, almost as if they were talking about a mutual friend. Elizabeth grabbed her clip board quickly and began the check up. The last thing she needed was to think of the handsome inmate as a friend. She tried to ignore his piercing blue eyes and well built physique as she continued, wondering why Sara had given up the chance to treat the polite and not to mention gorgeous male prisoner.

Meanwhile Michael was experiencing something mildly short of a heart attack. What the hell, he had thought when he first saw his new doctor. His stomach had sunk to his toes and then come back up again with a force that was strong enough to make him worry that he might lose his lunch. What the hell? But it was okay, right? Of course it was. It wasn't like he had been looking forward to this particular visit with any more vigor than normal. None at all. No- well, maybe just a little. Somewhere in the back of his mind teased the lingering fantasy of his nighttime dream. Somewhere in the way back, back, back part of his mind. Well maybe it was closer to the front, but really he had so many other things to think about.

Like finishing that damn hole in the guard's break room and getting his brother and all the other inmates out of an incredibly life threatening situation. Sara was just a pawn he reminded himself. An incredibly beautiful, smart, perfect, witty pawn…but nonetheless a pawn in his carefully thought out and strategic game.

He gave a quick wink to Doctor Charter as he left the infirmary.

"Thanks, Doc."

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The kid was barely nineteen. His real name was David, but everybody called him Tweener. He'd done some work for Michael before, but Michael was positive that this time around, he'd have to come up something a little more tangible than just some vague promise of PI work sometime in the future. The question was, what the hell did the kid want? Michael racked his brain for the answer to this elusive question. Extra food? Money? A personal stripper? Too obvious, he thought… maybe a new set of prison clothes?

"There are a lot of things a kid his age could want," C-Note mused as they sat observing Tweener from across the yard.

"CDs, books, magazines… porn,"

"Porn is good," Michael agreed.

C-Note raised a questioning eyebrow before continuing.

"I'd have to say your best shot is to give him PI though,"

"No way, not happening," Michael disagreed, "There are already way too many people in on this as it is. And I wouldn't bet two cents on that kid keeping his mouth shut for more than five minutes."

"Maybe," C-Note consented, "But you might just have to take the risk."

Later in his cell Michael contemplated C-Note's words. Maybe he would have to take a risk and let the kid in on the plan. The entire escape was hinged on the obtainment of two very normal-looking keys Michael knew hung on a bright orange keychain deep inside Dr. Tancredi's pocket. Her house and car keys she had confirmed one time when Michael had purposely knocked a pencil to the ground. She'd bent to pick it up and as she did he'd "accidentally tripped" behind her, causing her to bend forward more than she'd intended, sending the contents of her coat pockets tumbling to the floor. Besides a piece of Juicy Fruit gum, another pencil, and the keys there wasn't much else to be found. He'd asked what they were for, and she'd answered without thinking. He wondered if she suspected his intentions… even now. His plan was to bring the rest of the convicts to Sara's house that first night, calling the cops only minutes before they would arrive. Then he and Lincoln would take off in Sara's car to a secret spot where Michael had arranged for a black Mercedes to be waiting. It was nice, discreet looking car and it would serve them well when they traveled to their next destination.

Michael sighed… apparently Tweener would be joining the already too full guest list of cons on the trip to Sara's house.

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Elizabeth glanced around the tiny infirmary office, trying desperately to force images of Michael Scofield out of her head. It was unprofessional, unrealistic, and incredibly stupid for her to be having thoughts like this. What was she doing?

But as she locked up for the night ideas swirled in her head about the hard-on that had been visible through the thin fabric of Michael's prison issue pants, and the quick wink he had given her before he'd gone back to his cell. What would it be like, she couldn't help but wonder, to have a man like that all too herself, unleashing all his hidden desire upon her… on the desk or maybe even the floor of this very office. He wouldn't protest if she suggested it, Elizabeth was sure.

Well, it was certainly something to think about.