This is somewhat a companion piece to Always Warm, from Mike's POV...enjoy all! I own nothing pertaining to anything:)
He knew he had to be dreaming. Michael Scofield had the reason of mind to know what was taking place in front of him had already happened.
Therefore, it HAD to be a dream.
Or, in his case, a nightmare.
But even so, his feet itched to move forward and his body felt like lead as he stood in Sara Tancredi's den.
In front of the couch.
In front of the table.
In front of the morphine she was preparing to inject herself with.
She was already drunk, having a half empty shot glass sitting beside the needle. Her half-lidded eyes showed more emotions at once then he thought existed.
Fear, depression, anger, regret, confusion….he knew there was more, but Michael couldn't bring himself to continue down the list.
Sara was quiet as she took another long gulp of what looked like vodka.
The glass nearly tipped over when she set it down fiercely, her anger rising.
She had every right to be mad at him. He'd done so much to her…so many things he didn't want to do.
Michael moved a foot forward, but stopped when Sara stood abruptly.
He watched in despair when she stumbled down the hall, returning before he could lift his heavy legs to follow her.
With a sigh she collapsed back onto the sofa. The brightness of the red petals peered out of her tightly gripped hand, and Michael realized what she was holding.
The paper flower crumpled under her fingers, and was tossed onto the table, giving it's place up to a needle.
Michael shook away the wave of sadness when the bottle was snatched into another shaking hand.
It was as if every muscle in his body suddenly gave way to his demand to move, and the fugitive rushed to stop her.
His hand reached to the morphine, and went straight through.
"NO…Sara…"
He knew he was helpless. And he knew it was because he was dreaming. But seeing her do this triggered a fear and panic in him that blocked any reasonable thought. He wanted to stop her.
He HAD to stop her…
"Sara, don't do it. Put it down, Sara!"
He voice was cracked and pained.
The doctor expertly filled the syringe almost completely.
And sat staring at it as she pointed it towards her veins.
Michael slapped at the needle in vain, and fell to his knees in hopelessness.
"Sara! Please, hear me…put it down, put it down! I'm sorry! Don't do this, listen to me Sara!"
He was yelling now, his tone nearing an all-out scream.
Sara didn't hear his voice. She didn't see his attempts to stop her.
She didn't witness the tears that fell from wide-open, fearful eyes.
The needle pierced her skin, and her slight gasp was muffled by the scream of the man who kneeled at the foot of the couch.
Morphine raced from the syringe into her bloodstream, causing an almost immediate reaction in the beautiful redhead that had injected it.
Michael's shocked gasps ceased as he seemed to hold his breath.
Sara sunk down onto the cushions, her head falling quietly onto the pillow. The needle dangled loosely in her hand as it fell limp.
Her eyes narrowed and fluttered from open to closed.
He sat in silence and watched in horror as the woman he had found himself falling in love with began breathing unnaturally.
"Sara…God…why, why did you think you had to…I never meant to do this to you. I'm sorry, please hear me, Sara…I'm sorry!"
His breath caught when Sara's heavy eyes darted to his.
Her voice was soft, and full of emotional agony.
"Michael."
Did she see him?
"Sara? Sara!"
Her eyes rolled back and white liquid seeped from her closing mouth.
"NO..NO! SARA! Open your eyes! Look at me! Sara, please!"
His pained scream fell on deaf ears.
Sara was gone.
"Sara, Sara!"
He was suddenly aware of being shaken.
"Mike! Hey, Michael!"
Stinging eyes opened and fell upon his brother. Lincoln loomed over him, Sucre, C-Note, and Abruzzi shifting uneasily in the background.
He was in their safe house. Far away from Sara's apartment.
But with the dream fresh in his mind, he felt like he could still stop her.
He knew the truth, however. Sara was in a hospital, trying to recover from the O.D.
He hadn't been there when she did it.
And now, after imagining what it would have been like, he was almost glad he wasn't.
Lincoln helped his shaken brother sit up, kneeling to face him.
"Michael. I know there's really not much I can say to help this, but…she's alive. She alive, Mike, and that's what matters. You need to try and focus on what going on here… let the doctors take care of her, and stop worrying. Okay?"
Linc's words helped him overcome the panicked feeling that swam in his gut. But it also gave him a sense of determination.
Focus on their situation first.
Sara was safe, and she was alive.
He would stop worrying about her, but he would never stop thinking about her.
And the moment he had the chance, Michael would tell Sara everything he'd tried to in his dream.
She would know that he was sorry.
She would know that he loved her.
And he would make sure she never came so close to death again….