The top step in the warehouse was cold and uncomfortable, yet it had quickly become Sara's favorite place in the few hours they'd been there. She could see everything; the ceilings were high, and the wall was covered in windows, offering a view of the water that actually wasn't bad. There were worse places to hide from the law.
The whole place just felt open, airy, and brighter than what she'd gotten used to.
All of her time spent at Fox River had been much more compact. The modest infirmary lacked much personal space, but she couldn't ever bring herself to complain; her patients spent most of their time in even smaller spaces.
But those days were long gone. She was no longer "Dr. Tancredi", she was just Sara. A woman on the run, eluding the authorities once again…a habit she really wished they could all break and get back to normal. She scoffed internally at the notion. Normalcy felt like a pipe-dream.
She shifted her weight a bit and rested with her elbows on her knees, twirling the ring on her finger as she watched everything going on below.
Mahone, Bellick and Sucre all sat around the table. Papers were strewn across its surface, only interrupted by the occasional cup of coffee. Mahone was peering down at a laptop, his fingers speeding across the keys as Michael stood behind him looking over his shoulder, both of them deep in thought about whatever plan they were working on.
She spaced out a bit as she watched Michael in his element. She smiled at the small furrow between his eyes, the way he held his hand to his chin when deep in thought and the almost inconspicuous movement of his lips as he processed information, as if speaking silently to himself.
She wondered what it would be like to get even a glimpse inside his mind. Then again it was probably a dizzying assault of information, so better not.
What she really wondered was what occupied his mind aside from Scylla. What he thought about in his rare moments of down time. And with that question, a realization hit her with full force.
She missed him.
He was standing right there and yet it was as if they existed in different dimensions. Unreachable. He was the group leader; he was the brilliant mind that was going to figure all of this out. And she missed him; missed their time alone together in the infirmary.
Isn't that something. She thought. Here they both were, not in prison, and she was reminiscing about the good old days at Fox River. She rolled her eyes at herself, realizing how ridiculous it all was. Those damn insulin shots were the only real alone time they'd had…and she wanted that to change.
Of course, everyone in the group knew they were together, but the mission required significant downplaying of their relationship. No one said a word or subjected them to merciless teasing, which she was grateful for, but she longed for time to talk to him. Not about Scylla, not about a plan, or outsmarting whatever mangled scenario The Company had in store for them. She wanted to get to know him, but there hadn't been time for that yet.
Since leaving Fox River their life had been a hurried combination of hiding, being on the run, and on her end, being captured and tortured. The thought of that dank shed in Panama…the metallic smell of blood…her back stinging…the echo of gunshot…
She could feel bile rising in her throat as her mind tormented her with memories.
She closed her eyes and exhaled loudly, clenching her fists to stop her hands from shaking. Some moments were fine…and then out of nowhere it all became too much. The flashbacks came without warning or remorse, leaving her anxious, angry, and frustrated…all swirling together at once like water going down a drain…but she didn't have a drain. No outlet for any of it.
Just breathe, deep breaths. She told herself.
After a moment or several she unclenched her eyes, willing herself back to the present moment with another shaky exhale.
Her eyes wandered and landed solely on Michael down below; he was sitting now, clicking the pen in his hand as his eyes scanned numerous papers in front of him. It was hard to believe it was only yesterday that Michael knew her to be alive. She could only imagine how strange had been for him to see her.
As far as he'd known, she'd been dead for months; walking into that room with Bruce and seeing her standing there must have been like seeing a ghost.
She remembered feeling oddly nervous waiting for him; would he be happy to see her? She knew now how silly that question was, but her self-effacing nature had taken the lead in that moment. To assume that he'd be over the moon to see her would be setting herself up for disappointment. For rejection. She'd experienced enough of that in her life to know how to protect herself, never letting her hopes get too high.
But the expression on his face when he saw her took away all her worries. In fact, her relief was a mirror image to his own; she saw his chest cave as he exhaled her name, the wave of relief flooding through his entire body.
He's been blaming himself this whole time. She'd thought as her heart sank.
She'd felt herself move towards him, pulled by an invisible force into his embrace, melting into the warmth and comfort; the perfect fit of her cheek against his shoulder. She loved the way he always cradled her head against him; it made her feel safe. And if there was any time she needed that feeling, it was now.
The memories were still too fresh. The nightmares unrelenting.
She wanted to go down to the table where he was, but she could tell he was deep in thought. He'd have to get some sleep eventually…she'd just have to be patient; wait for him to wear himself out and willingly head to bed.
The thought of which caused butterflies to flutter in her stomach as she remembered what had happened earlier that day, when they'd first arrived at the warehouse.
"Why don't you uh, put your bag over there, on the boat." He'd gestured towards the vessel.
"Ok," she'd shrugged and obliged, leaving her single bag on deck.
After hopping off the boat, she walked over to the table to join the others. When she glanced over, she saw him climbing onto the vessel, setting his bag down as well.
She shouldn't have been surprised; they were together, but her mind had immediately gone to the fact the boat has only one bed. Even thinking about it now caused color to rise in her cheeks, stirring quite a few feelings and accompanying thoughts that she didn't dare entertain, denying her mind the chance to run rampant with that idea.
She felt silly at her own embarrassment. She was a grown woman for God's sake, why be embarrassed about it? Maybe because it was all so new. Their relationship had been fast and intense, but seriously lacking on the physical side of things.
A flash of movement in her periphery caused her to gasp. She startled, practically falling off the step before regaining her composure. Lincoln paused on the step in front of her and looked back.
"You ok?" he asked.
"Yea, yea I'm fine sorry," she ran a hand through her hair, "I didn't hear you coming," she managed to get out as her heart thudded loudly in her chest.
Lincoln nodded and continued down the stairs.
She willed her heart to slow down again, could feel her cheeks burning. She'd been so jumpy ever since... "nope, don't even go there" she told herself. Focus on something else.
Her eyes were resting on Michael when he looked up from the table below and made eye contact with her, a small smile appearing on his face. She smiled back and quickly looked down at her feet; she'd been caught in a full-blown "I'm spaced out but totally staring at you" moment.
She hadn't noticed that the sun had almost completely disappeared into the horizon, a soft orange and pink glow not quite giving way to the night. It had gotten later than she'd realized.
She paused before sneaking a glance back at him and saw him inching away from Mahone, finishing up whatever conversation they'd been having and making his way towards the stairs.
She watched as Mahone took his glasses off and set them on the table, rubbing his eyes and then his eyebrows with the heel of his hand. They both had to be exhausted.
Come to think of it, she hadn't really slept in two days and neither had Michael, aside from dozing off here and there on the flight over. Their previous "night" at the motel had ended up lasting only a few hours; not even getting the chance to eat their take-out before someone was once again after them, and they were on the run.
That realization entering her mind provided validation and allowed a nearly overwhelming sensation of numbness and fatigue to wash over her. Her body felt so heavy on the step, she might as well have melted into it.
Michael leapt up the stairs until he reached her and swiftly sat down next to her, the medium blue of his shirt somehow highlighting the cool blue of his eyes even more.
"Hey" he started, in his usual quiet tone.
"Hey," she said casually as she continued twirling the ring on her index finger, "Solve all the world's problems yet?"
"Not quite but uh, we should be able to track down the card holder tomorrow." he spoke softly.
"Already?" She was surprised they'd figured it out so fast but knew she shouldn't be.
"Yea I think so. If it all goes according to plan."
"You know what they say about making plans." She raised an eyebrow at him with a playful smirk.
"If there was any chance that God isn't already laughing at me I'd be worried." He said it with a chuckle, but they both knew how painfully true that statement was.
Nothing had gone according to plan. She wasn't naïve enough to think it would now.
"You should get some sleep."
"So should you," he retorted with a suggestive smirk.
She couldn't help but smile, "Come on, let's go."
They stood up and she lightly put a hand on his back, guiding him down the stairs and over to the boat they would call home.
XXXX
The boat wasn't very big and being as tall as they were, they both had to crouch down quite a bit to get inside, but it'll do. She couldn't complain considering they had the best place in the warehouse to call their own; everyone else had cots on the upper level.
Michael paused inside the doorway and put his hands on his hips, taking in their temporary home. Sara stood behind him and looked around at the bare interior. The air was stale and smelled of old wood. There wasn't much to see aside from white walls and dark trim.
He sighed, "Not exactly how I pictured our first night together."
She couldn't help but smile. Maybe it was the fatigue and jet lag getting to her but suddenly their current situation was hilarious. How long had they dreamt of this? Being together and at least somewhat free? Yet here they were, in a warehouse, on an obviously neglected boat, with five other guys not too far away…one of whom was already snoring loudly. She couldn't stifle it anymore and started giggling.
Michael looked at her with a confused seriousness that only made her laugh harder.
"What?" he asked.
Knowing Michael, he'd probably planned their first date all out in his head. A fancy restaurant, his hand on the small of her back guiding her to their table, the soft candlelight glow…
The stark contrast to their current situation had Michael concerned and Sara greatly amused.
"What?" he asked again, but with a nervous chuckle this time.
"I'm sorry I just," she took a deep breath to compose herself; calming down from her fit of laughter.
"It's perfect." She said with sincerity and a smile.
She was here with him; someone who cared for her enough to be visibly upset that he hadn't been able to treat her to his idea of a "perfect" first date. The notion of which seemed silly and completely unnecessary; he was a good man and they cared about each other. That was more than enough.
"Really?" he still didn't seem convinced, "I just wish I could do something spec-"
"-Michael," she interrupted, moving in front of him now, meeting his gaze.
"I love it." She snaked her arms around his waist and buried her face in his shoulder, listening to his breathing, a sense of calm coming over her.
"I love you." He replied.
She smiled and let out another small chuckle.
"Why is that funny?" he asked.
She looked up at him, "You're not just saying that because you don't have to take me out to dinner, right?"
He didn't hesitate, "Oh, I'm still taking you to dinner. Fanciest restaurant we can find, as soon as all this is over."
She raised an eyebrow, "I'm holding to you that."
"You better."
They stood in silence for a while; she rested her head against him once again, letting her eyes close. She felt herself getting really sleepy, but didn't want to move.
"Sara?" he whispered.
"Hmm?"
"Let's go to bed," he started to unwrap his arms from around her, "here I'll get your bag from the deck and bring it in…I'm guessing you don't want to sleep in jeans."
"You would be correct." She replied, sleepily running a hand through her hair.
"I'll be right back," he whispered, and she nodded.
She took off her shoes and pulled the covers back on the bed, sitting on the edge. She wanted nothing more than to flop backwards, but knew if she did she'd never get up to change her clothes.
Michael returned with both bags in hand, putting hers down on the edge of the bed.
"Thanks," she opened it immediately and started digging around for something comfy, finding a pair of shorts and a soft t-shirt.
"Do you want me to-?" he motioned to the other side of the boat, wondering if she needed privacy.
As sweet and endearing as the offer was, she couldn't accept it. She wanted them to be comfortable around each other.
She shook her head, "Stay."
"Ok," he whispered as he started rummaging through his bag as well.
She peeled off her jeans, trying to remember how long she'd been wearing them. A gross amount of time. Days? Wearing them on an airplane was enough for them to need a wash as far as she was concerned. They'd have to figure out the laundry situation at the warehouse.
A shower would have been a good idea, but she was so tired. There'd be time for that in the morning. She assumed she'd be at the warehouse the next day waiting around.
She pulled on her shorts and slipped her shirt over her head. Her back was still to Michael who was now sitting on the bed in boxers and an old shirt, resting his back against the wall.
He saw the scars on her back. He'd seen them the night before, traced his fingers over them so lightly she'd barely felt it.
He sighed loudly, almost a sound of despair.
She turned her head around to look at him, saw the pity in his eyes. The guilt.
He lowered his head.
"Michael," she started, already searching for the words to assuage his guilt.
"I'm sorry, Sara…I'm just…I'm so sorry."
"I know," she moved over to him, making the daring decision to straddle him without warning, forcing him to look her directly in the eyes, "this is not your fault…you know that right?"
"None of this would have happened if I-"
"-I made choices too, Michael. And what happened with Gretchen…everything in Panama it's not…" she sighed, "it's over. It's done. I'd really like to just move past it, to…forget it."
"If there's any way I can help?" he asked quietly, his eyes pleading.
She reached down slowly and grabbed his hands, moving them around her so they rested on her back.
Her gaze lowered as she spoke quietly, "I don't want to be afraid anymore. I don't want to jump at every little noise or…or flinch every time someone touches me. I just…"
He understood and started running his hands up and down her back, so gently.
"Do they hurt?" he asked.
Any contact besides clothing on her back still caused some anxiety. She forced a deep breath, closing her eyes.
"No," she managed, "no they don't hurt," she took another deep breath through her nose, exhaling shakily, trying with every ounce of her being to stay calm, to shut out the flashbacks.
"Hey," he said gently, letting one arm rest around her hips, the other coming up to brush a strand of hair from her face, "I'm right here. You're here...we'll get through this."
She nodded silently, offering a weak smile. After a few more steadying breaths, she opened her eyes and saw the corner of his mouth turn up slightly.
"What?" she asked.
"Nothing it's just…it's a little distracting having you sitting like that."
She raised an eyebrow and smiled, "Really? I didn't think anything could distract you."
"That's where you're wrong," he pointed a finger at her playfully, "It took a lot of willpower to not abandon the table down there and join you on the steps a lot earlier."
"Is that so?"
"Mhmm," he nodded, "but I have a job to do…I can't let everyone down."
She could see the weight he was carrying. Everyone here depended on him for their freedom…and that's a heavy burden.
She grabbed his hand and held it between hers, "Do you think it'll work? The…the plan for tomorrow?" Her eyes searched his, wondering what was in store for them the next day.
"Only one way to find out I guess," he sounded tired, deflated.
She nodded, not wanting to push it any further, "Why don't we get some rest."
He didn't respond and she saw the furrow reappearing between his brows, staring at the wall, obviously contemplating something.
"Hey," she started, his eyes snapping back to her.
She leaned down and pressed her lips to his. His hands came up to frame her face, holding her to him and kissing her slowly, torturingly. She let out a soft moan as she broke off the kiss to rest her forehead against his, knowing neither one of them would get any sleep if they continued.
"I love you," she whispered before leaning back, "now get some sleep, doctor's orders." She demanded, giving him a stern look.
His eyes widened, "Yes ma'am," he joked, holding his hands up in surrender.
She laughed and rolled off him and onto her back, sinking into the comfortable bed. She let out a deep sigh as he slouched down and under the covers.
She repositioned herself, bringing her head to rest on his chest, snuggling into his side. His arm came around her slowly, not wanting the contact to startle her as it settled gently against her back. She didn't flinch. Her eyes closed as she felt sleep coming on, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, knowing that in that moment, she was finally safe.