"Michael! Michael!" she called him, sitting on the couch, next to him.

"Michael..." she repeated, slapping his face lightly, trying to wake him up. He seemed exhausted and she was sorry she couldn't just let him get some rest there and forget about the pain. But it would be too dangerous for him, he had lost a lot of blood and shouldn't sleep before everything was under control. He opened his eyes with difficulty, confused, blinking as though he was trying to see clearly.

"Hey... I need you to stay awake, ok?" Sara said, in a low voice. He blinked twice and closed his eyes again.

"No no no no", she called his attention one more time, turning his head carefully, hands still on his face. He was now looking at her. She suddenly felt a little flushed, as that well-known feeling overwhelmed her. Why those eyes had to be piercing her again? What had she done to deserve such a torture? She couldn't help but remember their times in the infirmary in Fox River. She would feel her legs weaken with that gaze. And that laugh. Michael Scofield's laugh. So playfull and...boyish. God, she loved it so much. She was now wondering if she would ever hear him laughing again. But maybe it didn't matter after all, because she was not sure that laugh wasn't a part of his plan, of his act. Fake, just like the rest. It was then that Sara realized that he was already awake and she hadn't removed her hands from his face. I'm probably going mad.

"You can't sleep now, all right? It's just for now. I promise I won't take long".

Then she removed the hands, totally ignoring her heart, which was screaming to her to do the opposite and just stay there caressing his face and telling him that everything would be fine. For now, Sara was going to listen to her mind only: she was well aware that it was far clever than her heart. At least her mind would never tell her to let a door open so eight inmates could break out from a prison. Yes, definitely, her heart had better shut up.

Sara was speaking to him, he knew. And he was trying with all his strength to listen whatever she wanted to tell him, but his body wasn't helping and her words were all mixed up. I don't like getting attached to things if I know they won't last. No, she wasn't saying this. She had said it before, back in Fox River.

I went to Northwestern. Graduated two years after you did. Ok, you're going to feel my fingers on your wrist. So I get flowers instead. It's just that out of that twenty-nine birthdays my father has actually managed to see me in precisely six of them. Images of Sara flashed through his mind, and he couldn't differ the real Sara from the memories.

Thank you for trying to make me smile. But not today. He sighed, relieved. He wasn't still hearing her voice, but now she was there, in front of him. It wasn't a memory.

He kept eye contact with her, thinking that maybe it could make him understand what she wanted him to do. But after the first moments, he got lost on that chocolate eyes that were staring at him with a little bit of fear, a little bit of shock, a little bit of confusion and a little bit of something else that although Michael couldn't figure out what was, he somehow liked. He wanted so much to talk to her, but his mouth was dry, and he didn't want to risk losing the touch of her hands that were resting on his face. Maybe he could just sleep like this... he shut his eyes, but Sara's voice brought him back to consciousness. She didn't want him to sleep, he concluded. Once more Michael tried to speak, to show her he had understood and to ask her not to take her hands from him, and once more he failed, feeling the words dying inside his throat. When she removed her hands, that cold strange feeling took hold of him again and he felt dizzy. To get things worse, he was starting to feel an almost unbearable pain somewhere on his stomach.

"It's dangerous for him to sleep now", she told Lincoln, trying to avoid letting him have a moment to think about what her hands were doing on his brother's face a little longer that they should, only a minute ago. But she knew he was wondering. And she knew he knew the answer to this question. Lincoln wasn't stupid. And even if he was, there was no way he wouldn't figure out why on earth the Governor Tancredi's addicted daughter would leave her cozy apartment in the middle of the night in order to help two escaped convicts that had used her in order to break out from a damn prison. Yes, he knew. But yet he didn't bring it up and she was grateful for it.

"Do you need more water?" he asked, but the question was left unanswered. Sara was now fully concentrated on Michael's wound. Lincoln didn't want to interrupt, so he just stayed there, observing. After a few minutes, she stopped and sighed, resting her full of blood hand on her forehead.

"I've got to take the bullet out." she said.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I've got to take it out. Now." She knew this would have to happen since she had listened to Lincoln explaining where the bullet was. Sara wasn't looking at him but could guess that he was pretty scared.

"Are you sure? I mean... we can't do this. Look where we are." He was obviously desperated. He lowered his voice so that Michael wouldn't be able to hear them: "He's not going to resist".

She sighed once more, closing her eyes and thinking fast. After a few seconds, she looked at Michael and saw that Lincoln was doing the same thing. They both stared at that tattooed man who who was now facing the ceiling, sweating and trembling, unaware of what was going on around him. His face was paler than ever and his lips were now getting purple.

"An analgesic" said Lincoln.

"What?"

"An analgesic. I have some here. You'll need them to... take the bullet out." he told her, maybe realizing that his brother had only one chance and that being a doctor, Sara probably knew what had to be done. She was relieved that he trusted her enough to let her do it.

"Ok"

He quickly reached a drawer in the closet that was near the couch and took something from it. The room was becoming darker because the candle was almost all gone, but Sara could see it in Lincoln's hands: a syringe and a small bottle with a colourless liquid like water. Morphyne. She could smell it in the air. Hell, what a night, she thought, almost smiling to herself. How come they have Morphyne stocked in the closet? That was another question to add to the list of Michael's mysteries. Lincoln gave her the syringe and she started preparing it, in silence, trying not to think about what had happened just a few days before. Come on, Sara, you can do it. You're fine. You don't need it. Not anymore.

Sara was not sure that Lincoln knew she had overdosed, but if Michael knew, he probably did too. There was a chance that they didn't know it had been on morphyne and she was silently praying that this was the case, because the last thing she wanted now was Lincoln imagining things. She wasn't using it and she would rather prefer not having to be next to it, but now she had to be strong for Michael.

Michael opened his eyes slowly. His eyelids were so heavy, it seemed he had been sleeping for decades. He wondered where he was. The last thing he remembered was running from the police with Lincoln... going faster than his legs could just to look back and realize that the cops were still only a few meters behind. He remembered suddenly seeing a cop in front of him, yelling, telling him to stop. He obviously didn't. And then that odd feeling... as though there was something inside his body that shouldn't be there. The sharp pain invaded him like a poison. Lincoln jumped on the cop and fought, leaving him unconscious on the ground. Then he carried Michael and they both hid in the woods for hours. After that, everything was pretty unclear in his mind. He remembered being on the passengers sit, while Lincoln was driving somewhere. And then, waiting alone in a small and dark room. And then... her. This particular memory surprised him: firstly, because he was sure it hadn't been a dream. Secondly, because he had just moved his eyes from the ceiling and they had found an amount of auburn hair resting on his chest. And he already knew the owner of that redhead sleeping so next to him. Yet, Michael closed his eyes and opened them again, in disbelief. Sara was asleep, sitting umconfortably on the floor, the left side of her back against the couch, her hand lightly grabbing his arm. Her head wasn't touching him, but her hair was spread all over his chest and he could smell her shampoo. Strawberries. He smiled. She cared about him, or she wouldn't be there. And that made him believe there was still a chance for them. Seeing how tired Sara looked, Michael immediately thought he should make her more comfortable. When he tried to get up in order to bring her to the couch, the pain started again and he realized he wasn't supposed to move. However, his attempt was enough to wake her up: he saw the sudden movement of her head and she opened her eyes...