Diclaimer: I own nothing, not Sara, and lamely, not Michael.
Rating: All
Paring: Michael/Sara.
Spoilers for the second season.
Title: His Voice.
Dedicated to Lisa, I hope youll know how much I appreciate your work.
By Lylou
"It was real... "
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Sara looked in silence at the small white box on the kichen table, she hadn't opened it yet, but she already knew what was inside.
With the course of the years she had gotten used to his cursive and neat writing, and to the way that he always writes her name: "Claire Thomas".
Sara could clearly read her new, and long time ago invented, name and surname on the small box.
Actually, her new name and her husband's surname.
She had received again, the white and small box, with a paper flower inside.
There have been more than four years since the last time that she had saw him, in that lost and dusty motel in New Mexico, but every year she gets a paper rose in the anniversary of that night.
Sara had changed her name to hide herself, had move to another state, the damn secret service couldn't find her... but he did.
Michael found her, with her new name, with her new direction... and just to send her a flower.
He was the fucking Michael Scofield. He has used her, saved her, and kissed her passionately in that far infirmary...
But she loved him.
And maybe she still loves him.
But their "relation" now was that, just a paper flower every year.
Wherever he was now and whatever he was doing, Michael still remembers her and the only night that they slept together.
Maybe that should make her feel better, but it doesn't.
It was like saying "good-bye" to him each time, like losing some of their memories together with the years, until that maybe, some day, Michael would be just that far prisioner with sad and beautiful eyes that she knew once, and Sara wouldn't even think about him when she sees the little white box with the rest of her mail...
It was too sad an ending, even for them.
She used to think about what would happen if Michael would knock at her door some day.
How Michael Scofield would be now... four years, and hundred of kilometers, older.
Sara used to think about that morning too, when she woke up in that far hotel, with his warm body next to her, feeling his breath upon her skin...
Sara could have stayed then, she could have closed her eyes again and wait under the blankets until he woke up, just to hear how was the Michel Scofield sleepy voice.
But she didn't.
Sara dressed up quickly and left the shadowy room feeling guilty, sad and lonely.
And knowing that she would never see that man again.
The man that maybe she loved.
Billy, her husband wasn't acquainted with her past, or about those days in where her life was in danger... or about her real name... no one in the whole world called her "Sara".
Nobody called her by her real name.
Every single person that knew it where dead or lost... or hidden... But she still missed the sound of her name in his voice.
She always would be "Sara" for him.
She couldn't imagine Michael calling her "Claire".
Sara wanted to cry, she could even feel the warm tears behind her eyes, but she opened the box finally and touched the flower softly... But there was something more this time.
It was a small card, with his cursive written on it.
Sara passed her eyes upon the small letters several times, and finally, she cried in silence, hoping that her husband wouldn't come in to the room now:
"It is still real..."
She wasn't crying for the distance, or for his missing.
Sara cried because she knew that some day, not so far, she wouldn't understand those words, because "It is still real" will be just some half vanished memory for her, like the right color of his eyes, like the sound of his voice...
THE END.