Sara opened her eyes, blinking a few times to adjust to the darkness. The boat provided a solid barrier to any sunlight coming into the warehouse. She had no idea what time it was. Next to her, Michael was breathing steadily, still sound asleep. She grabbed her phone from its charger and looked at the time – 7:24am. There was no way she'd be able to fall back asleep anyways, so she decided to get up and see if there was coffee anywhere to be made.
Pulling the covers back slowly, she crept into the corner where her bag was stashed. Using the light from her phone screen, she dug around and pulled out a clean pair of jeans and a light green button up sweater. She always thought Michael would be a light sleeper, the slightest sound or movement awakening his over active mind, but apparently that wasn't the case. At least not today after so many hours of wakefulness and scheming.
She smiled as she watched him for a moment, the easy rise and fall of his chest, his face peaceful. She finished pulling up her jeans and tugged down on her sweater, quietly making her way out of the boat.
She pulled her hair into a pony-tail as she walked, thankful she had a hair tie on her wrist to fasten it.
Mahone was already awake and at the table, and she could smell coffee. As if they could expect us to complete this mission without it.
"Morning," Mahone greeted, looking up at her with his glasses on the bridge of his nose.
"Morning, where did you?" she gestured towards the steaming mug he had in front of him.
"Over there," he pointed towards the east side of the warehouse, "I made it strong, don't say I didn't warn you."
Sara looked over and saw a cheap folding table with a coffee maker and packets of cream and sugar.
"Wouldn't take it any other way," she replied, finding it funny how people bonded over things like strong coffee.
She filled her mug and wrapped her hands around its warmth, heading back to the table where Lincoln and Sucre had joined Mahone.
"Where's Michael?" Lincoln asked.
"Still asleep," she replied with a sip of her coffee, as Lincoln gave her a confused look. She shrugged, "I didn't want to wake him…if he's not up within the hour I'll go get him."
Lincoln nodded and looked over to Mahone, "What're you working on?"
Mahone looked up from his papers, "The card holder…we don't know his name or much about him at this point, but I did get a good look at his driver."
"How does that help?" Sucre asked.
"Because if we find the driver, we find the cardholder."
Lincoln already sounded annoyed, "So what? You wanna sketch this guy's face and try to find him out of all the people Los Angeles? That's just great."
Sara glanced back at Mahone.
"While all the other drivers were chatting, this guy was standing off to the side, feet apart, hands behind his back…at rest, he's former military."
Sucre leaned forward now and Lincoln didn't give a smart ass remark; Mahone had the groups attention as he continued.
"His car rode lower than the others, weighed down, bulletproof…"
Sara caught a glance of motion coming from the boat. She looked over and saw Michael making his way over, dressed in his blue button down shirt and jeans. She slipped away from the group and walked over to meet him halfway.
"Morning, you sleep ok?" she asked, putting a hand on his upper arm.
"Better than in a long time," he smiled, "is that for me?" his hand reached for her coffee mug and she pulled it away just as fast, shielding it.
"Nice try but no," she said playfully, "why don't you go join the others and I'll grab you a cup."
"Thanks," he said with a smile, making his way over to the guys.
Sara walked back over to the folding table and grabbed another mug, filling it. Did he like cream in his coffee? Sugar? This is the kind of thing she really felt like she should know by now. But how could she? When had they had a relaxing morning at home together...brewing coffee and reading the paper? Never.
Well, he can decide himself, she figured as she grabbed packets of cream and sugar to take with her.
She walked back over and sat the mug and fixings down next to him, but he didn't even seem to notice; he was listening intently to the rest of what Mahone had to say.
After a few minutes he grabbed the mug and took a sip, then dumped in a few creamers in.
Noted. She thought, now she'll know for tomorrow.
After getting the gist of what was going on with the plan, she found herself spacing out, not really being interested in hanging around anymore. She slipped away from the group and out of the warehouse silently, wanting some fresh air and solitude.
The warehouse door clicked shut behind her and she went to the side of the building facing the ocean. It was littered with old crates, pallets, and boating equipment. The air was salty, and slightly fishy...normally not a great smell but for some reason, standing by the ocean, she actually found it kind of pleasant.
She leaned against the side of the building, but the harsh cold of the metal had her startling upright immediately. Her back was still overly sensitive to everything, and a jolt of panic went through her body. Heart racing, pounding in her ears. She moved away from the building a bit and paced, slowly and methodically, watching her feet move one in front of the other, trying to calm herself. Seagulls wandered near her, curious, tilting their heads at her. They didn't bother flying away no matter how close she got.
Twenty years ago, she'd be happily running into a flock of them, entertaining herself by sending them scattering into the sky. But now she just watched them, watching her. Their piercing yet vacant eyes somewhat unnerving and out of nowhere, causing a feeling of loneliness.
Her stomach lurched at the sudden assault of emotion, the ugly smells from Panama coming back. She forced a deep breath, hoping the sea air would calm her but instead, the intake fueled the fire.
Driven by an force she couldn't name, ugly and unfamiliar, she raced to the pallets and started pulling them apart, the buzzing energy of rage filling every muscle. She kept smashing them on the concrete as the images of her torment filled her mind. The blood. The gunshot. The sound of the whip. When will it end?
And as quickly as her fit of anger and pain had come, it was gone, leaving her exhausted. Her arms shook as she panted, her hands came to her face, rubbing her eyes, and covering her mouth that struggled to take a steady inhale. When. Will. It. End.
Is this what people mean by "going off the deep end?" A psychotic break? This wasn't her. Certainly not a "her" she'd ever experienced and she didn't know how to deal with it. Did anybody? What do you do when you're so deeply traumatized, when the slightest thing...a fucking seagull sends you spiraling?
I need to go back in. Be around people. Something to focus on.
She didn't give herself a chance to argue with that, and without another thought she whipped open the door to the warehouse and rejoined the group, just in time to hear that Roland had a device to help get Scylla. "A digital black hole" as he called it, able to get the information on Scylla as long as they were within ten feet of it.
Michael cast her a glance as she sat down at the table and she did her best to force a smile, pulling down on the sleeves of her sweater. For some reason doing that always made her feel safer, like a kid hiding under the covers.
She was glad that no one had seen whatever had just possessed her outside, something she couldn't explain or defend. She couldn't burden Michael with that too, not now and certainly not since he still blames himself for what happened.
The group continued chattering and a plan started to come together. The cardholder had a maid who took the bus, same time every day. Sara would make casual conversation and drop the device in her bag, and hope the maid would get close enough to Scylla for it to work.
"You ok with that Sara?" Michael asked.
She nodded in agreement. All things considered, that task wasn't very risky.
As Mahone and Michael discussed how to get the device back from the maid afterwards, her eyes roamed the files on the table until one caught her eye, the tab said, "Aldo Burrows".
She remembered hearing Lincoln talk about their father a little; Michael had never said much. All she knew is that he wasn't around during their childhood...definitely something she could relate to. She didn't want to intrude, but she couldn't help her curiosity. Besides, Aldo's involvement with the company was apparently relevant to what they were all trying to do, the file was there in plain sight.
She grabbed it and headed over to the boat.
Her stomach growled and she realized she hadn't eaten since lunch the day before. Hopefully they could order pizza or something later…if that was ok? What if the delivery person recognized them? Being a fugitive was getting really old. It made her feel like she was constantly paranoid…and being a tall red head didn't help at all when it came to blending in to a crowd.
Her fingers flipped through the pages of the file. There were official files-information about Aldo that people like Don Self probably found relevant; but she was more interested in the hand-written notes...less censored, more telling.
There was a piece of lined paper, and scrawled out in cursive were passages she immediately recognized from the Odyssey.
She'd read it growing up; in fact, she'd read lots of Greek mythology, partially because it was expected of her (being the governor's daughter she had to be well read, lest she embarrass her father at high class dinner parties and campaigns). But she genuinely liked them; the stories were brutal and honest. People got hurt, people died, and sacrifices had to be made.
Her eyes scanned over the passage, it was about Scylla. Faint bells went off in the back of her mind, trying to remember the details she'd read long ago. Maybe something about it would help; but if nothing else, it would satisfy her need to make connections…to make what they're going through less obscure.
She heard footsteps and looked up to see Michael climbing onto the boat.
"Doing some light reading?" he asked.
"Something like that."
He sat down across from her, "Anything useful?"
"Well, I was going over some notes from your father…" she held up the paper she'd been staring at, "this passage…it's Homer, it's from the Odyssey."
She met his questioning eyes and continued, "In this chapter, Odysseus is told that he has to pass a six headed monster, Scylla, and it'll require the sacrifice of six of his men. Otherwise he has to abandon his path. And in the end…he makes the sacrifice."
Michael paused before saying softly, "That's a tough choice…one I don't want to make."
She easily read between the lines, "You don't have to, Michael you're not alone in this. Everyone here is choosing to be here. This doesn't all fall on you." She put a hand on top of his.
He looked up, "What does that say, on the back?"
She hadn't realized there was anything on the other side. Flipping it over, she read it and bit her lip before saying out loud, "All that avails is flight."
Michael stared off into the distance, obviously processing this revelation. The words carried a weight in her own mind. The finality of it; a warning from Aldo before he even knew his sons would be involved to this extent.
"What are you thinking?" she asked.
"What if he's right?"
She sighed and tucked a strand of auburn hair behind her ear, "Well…if we run at this point what are our options? I mean, realistically we what? Try to cross the border again? Last time that didn't go so well." She looked down and tried not to shudder, "I think we have to keep going."
He nodded slowly, "Alright…you ready for tomorrow then?"
"Make small talk, be sneaky, I can handle it." She winked at him.
He smiled back and leaned in to give her a kiss before turning to make his way back to the group.
"Hey wait," she started and he turned around, "are we ever gonna eat or-?"
He laughed, "I'll see what we can do, maybe Self can order us something."
"Appreciate it," she replied.
XXXXX
She once again woke up before Michael, but this time decided not to let him sleep. It didn't take more than a small shake and kiss on the shoulder to have him stirring, opening his eyes and squinting at her with endearing confusion.
"Morning," she whispered, "time to get up."
"Do I have to?"
"I'm afraid you do, can't be late today."
He groaned and sat up, rubbing his eyes before turning a light on and facing her, "You look beautiful."
His voice was so sincere. She looked down at her baggy shirt and ran her hand through what was obviously a bad case of bed-head, "I don't believe you."
"It's true," he reached up to brush a strand of hair out of her face before gently bringing her closer to him, taking her lips in his.
She sighed, letting herself enjoy a rare moment of bliss between the chaos. Her arms wrapped around his neck as his went down to rest on her hips.
A knock on the door startled them both, "Guys we gotta get going," Lincoln said from the outside.
"Be right out," Michael yelled back, before looking at her sheepishly.
"Busted." She teased, sliding off the bed and getting dressed. She pulled on the same jeans from yesterday and a long-sleeved white shirt. She ran her hands through her hair a few more times, surprised that it behaved itself and lay flatter. She grabbed sunglasses just in case, slung her bag over her shoulder, and made her way out to the car.
XXXX
Michael and Lincoln dropped her off a few blocks away from the bus stop. It was sunny and smelled like someone had just cut their lawn; judging by the well manicured gardens of every yard in the neighborhood, someone probably had. She took a deep breath and felt the sun on her face as she walked over, easily spotting her target who was wearing a maid uniform.
She casually took her spot standing next to her and pretended to read a newspaper. The headline was something about the take-down of a drug lord, not exactly the kind of thing she was in the mood to hear about. She clung onto Roland's device with one hand, hiding it under the newspaper until the time was right.
They stood for minutes in silence until the maid started digging in her bag, obviously struggling with the cup of coffee she held in the other.
"Here let me take that," Sara offered, grabbing the coffee.
"Thanks," the maid smiled.
"That's a great bag, where did you get it?"
The maid looked up from rummaging, "Oh, my boss gave it to me so I, I'm not sure…but I love it, so many pockets."
Sara smiled shyly, "Do you mind if I take a look? I'm a teacher so I've got books and grading materials…I can never find a great bag."
"Oh sure!" The maid opened the purse and held it out to her.
Sara's heart was racing, but it helped that the maid seemed really friendly. What surprised her most about the whole thing was how easy lying had become; apparently she was a teacher now. Huh.
She slipped the device into the bag before handing it back to the maid, offering another smile.
The bus arrived and they all got on. Sara took a seat close to the front, letting out a deep breath and looking out the window. In a few stops she'd get off and Sucre would be there to pick her up and go back to the warehouse.
Michael and Lincoln would be outside the cardholder's house, waiting to make sure everything went according to plan.
Everyone played their part and Sara had to admit, it was impressively orchestrated. They'd pulled off the impossible so many times it was almost laughable.
Sure, Michael's mind was one of their best assets but the team was a force to be reckoned with. So diverse. So much history between them all, both good and bad. Despite the fact that most of them were convicted criminals, it dawned on her just how oddly safe she felt being part of this team. She trusted these guys with her life. Every day they were risking it all, and they counted on each other. It was a lot of things: thrilling, terrifying, challenging…she just hoped every day that they'd all come back in one piece.
She stepped down off the bus and saw Sucre, he waved and smiled from the driver's seat of a little black car and she nodded, signaling that she saw him. She had to admit she had a soft spot for him too, dimples and a kind heart went a long way.
"How'd it go?" he asked.
"Good, I'm just hoping it goes well for Michael and Linc too."
"They'll be fine, those two can work their way out of anything," he said with a wave of his hand.
She smiled, "That they can."
XXXXX
Sara was sitting by Michael at the table, her hand resting on his knee. Linc and Sucre were next to them making easy conversation, snacking on some pretzels Self had brought them.
They'd been able to copy the information on Scylla, but needed Roland's device back from the maid's bag.
Mahone and Bellick has been assigned that task and it was taking longer than expected. Sara could tell Michael was getting nervous, his knee had been bouncing up and down...she'd rested her hand there in a silent act of reassurance.
Bellick and Mahone burst into the warehouse, out of breath and obviously frustrated.
"What happened? Did you get the device back?" Michael demanded.
"It wasn't in the bag," Mahone let out, "she must have lost it or-"
"Or found it and realized it wasn't hers," Michael finished, "she probably thought it belonged to her boss and left it in the house." He brought a hand up and pinched between his eyebrows.
Lincoln leaned back in his chair, "That's why she went back in. Remember? She left the house and then turned around and went in for a few seconds."
"So it's probably close to the door then," Sara offered, "entryway table or something."
"Yea she was in there fifteen seconds, tops," Lincoln confirmed.
The group launched into a discussion of how to get it back, something that was of course dangerous and complicated. Hours later she realized it was getting dark. She caught herself yawning as Bellick and Roland snuck back to the upper level, calling it a night. Roland was pissed that his device was gone, like that was the worst of their problems. If someone found it…that's when they'd really be in trouble.
Michael was at the white board and Sara approached him, putting a hand on his back, "I think I'm gonna go get some sleep."
"Ok," he nodded, eyes not leaving the board.
"Don't work too hard alright? No staying up all night." She ordered.
"I promise."
"Good man," she patted him on the back before walking over to the boat.
She took off her shoes and went over to the bed, flopping down on her back and looking up at the ceiling. Her mind went blank, in the way minds do when they've been assaulted with too much information for too many hours.
She felt her eyes start to close but didn't have the energy to fight it and fell asleep.
What felt like minutes later she jolted awake, heart pounding, sweat all down her back and on her chest. She was still fully clothed and lying on top of the covers. What time was it? Her mind was foggy, and disturbed, as if she'd had a horrible dream but couldn't remember what.
She dug her phone out of her pocket, it was 2am, and Michael still hadn't come back.
She sat up slowly and made her way to the door, fanning herself with her shirt. She peered out into the warehouse and saw Michael alone at the table, clicking his pen and looking down at an array of pages.
Everyone else was asleep and she didn't want to cause a ruckus, but she didn't want to sneak up on Michael either.
She walked barefoot towards him, and he looked up when she was about ten feet away.
"I thought you said you wouldn't be up all night," she said with a raised eyebrow.
"How late is it?" he asked genuinely.
"It's two in the morning," she said with a chuckle.
"Oh," he gave sigh, "I didn't realize…"
"It's ok," she smiled, "but you shouldn't be tormenting yourself all night, come on," she went around the table to him as he stood up. She slipped her arm around his waist and looked up at him.
"You ok?" she asked.
"I think I figured it out…we should be able to get it back tomorrow it's just, we'll just have to be strategic. Timing. Location, not being seen…but it should be doable."
"What time do we have to start?"
"The earlier the better, I was thinking around 5am…the guards at the cardholder's house change shift around then."
"Then you really need some sleep," she said firmly.
They started walking to the boat and he put an arm around her back, feeling the dampness beneath her shirt, "You're sweating. Are you feeling alright?"
"Uh…yea I…I think I must have had a nightmare? I don't know, I don't remember anything."
He paused, "I'm sorry."
"It's fine, I'll sleep better now…not being alone."
XXXXX
Michael's alarm went off at 5am as promised. He turned it off and rolled out of bed, getting dressed while still half asleep.
He came over to Sara's side of the bed and crouched down, "I'll check in later, but we should be back within a couple of hours."
She reached a hand out from under the warm covers and held it to his cheek and said sleepily, "You know, one of these days I'd really like a lazy morning together, or an early night."
"I'd like that too," he said slowly, wanting to make sure he understood her intentions considering they both weren't very awake, "maybe tonight we can make some time for ourselves."
"I like that idea."
He started to walk away but she grabbed his hand, "Hey."
He turned around to face her.
"Hey," she said again, pulling him back, him kneeling again to her level.
"Be safe," she wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him in for a kiss and holding him tightly to her. She needed him to be ok.
He put a hand on her cheek and gave her one last kiss, "I will. I love you."
"Love you too."
XXXX
She awoke again hours later, at a much more reasonable time and headed out for some coffee. Bellick has picked up donuts for the group which was a welcome sight; she grabbed a chocolate one, trying not to laugh at the whole "cops and donuts" stereotype manifesting before her eyes.
The only people left hanging around were Bellick and Roland, so she decided to go outside.
The fresh air felt good after being cooped up on the boat all night, and the sun was warm on her skin. The dock provided a good place to sit and watch ships coming and going, the steady hum of their engines calming.
Her hand went up absentmindedly to fiddle with her necklace, thumb and fingers sliding up and down the chain as her mind wandered. She watched as two men boarded a small yacht, laughing and chatting away about the night before, which had apparently consisted of a lot of alcohol and a card game that the larger guy "should have won."
She rolled her eyes with a smile as he went on and on about how "that guy from up north must have cheated."Maybe one day that would be all she'd worry about too.
Their boat left the dock and once again, all she could hear was the lapping of the waves against the dock and the occasional call of a seagull.
Hopefully everything was going well for the gang. She wanted for her and Michael to have that early night in, more than anything. There were a few things she needed to get off her chest.
She understood his guilt; if the roles were reversed she'd feel the same way. But it wasn't his fault and she didn't want them to continue their relationship with that cloud hanging over them. They needed to move forward, to…start over. No guilt. No blame. She wanted him to choose to be with her, not to feel like he had to or that he owed her anything. She could take care of herself, and certainly didn't want him to be with her out of pity.
As if on cue, she heard someone approaching and turned around to see Michael.
"How did it go?" she stood up to meet him.
"We got it back," he said with a nod.
"Oh thank God," she sighed, "and everyone is ok?"
"Yea, everyone's fine, we're all back," he paused a moment, "Listen Sara, about last night...the nightmares...I wanted to offer to talk to you about what happened in panama...but I think I already know what you're going to say."
She glanced up and saw a slight smirk on his face, "how's that?"
"Because you're a little like me...you'll say you're fine, you can handle it, but I'll leave it at this. If you ever want to talk...I'm here."
Her eyes were glued on her shoes. That is what she'd say. That's why she hadn't talked to him or anyone about it yet. She didn't want to make her problems theirs; they all had a lot on their plate as it was.
"Thank you." She said with a nod.
He turned and started to walk away, but she heard herself calling after him, "Michael," he turned to face her again.
She didn't even know where to begin, "You should know that...when I was being held in Panama, the only thing that kept me going was the thought of being with you...but I knew if anything happened to me you'd spend the rest of your life blaming yourself and I can't bear the thought of that. So can we just make a deal that we're even?"
She let out a nervous laugh. This was the most she'd gotten off her chest in weeks.
"If we're going to be together I don't want it to be out of a sense of obligation."
His eyes had never left her face. He paused a moment considering, "Yea-yea start over...uh, does that mean I need to divorce my wife?"
His unexpected humor left a huge smile on her face, "Because you're still married to a Russian stripper." She couldn't help but laugh, having honestly forgotten that detail...whoops.
He feigned being offended, "A. I've been a little busy, and B. I'm pretty sure she was Czech." He smirked, glad they could both laugh about it.
She walked over to him, still chuckling. He wrapped his arms around her, shielding her a bit from the cool breeze coming in off the water. She took a deep breath, and settled into the warmth.
"Yup, I think you should divorce her."
He raised his eyebrows, "And why is that?"
She looked up at him, her chin on his chest and smiled, "Just because."
He laughed, "Just for fun, that's a good reason."
"I think so." She buried her face in his shoulder.
"Don't worry, I will. I need to be able to marry someone else some day." His arms wrapped around her a little tighter.
"That's true, anyone in mind?" She asked playfully.
He kissed the top of her head.
She looked up again and smiled before giving him an innocent peck on the lips.
They both turned their heads at the sound of footsteps and saw Lincoln and Roland approaching.
"Whatever we got, it ain't it" Lincoln said.
"What do you mean?" Michael asked.
Roland answered, "Let's just say...if Scylla was a pizza, all we gots a slice. We need the rest of it."
Michael looked concerned now, "how many pieces are we missing?"
"Don't know," Roland said.
Every time Scylla was mentioned, an image of the mythological Greek monster popped into Sara's head. Though it seemed too obvious to be correct, she had to mention just in case.
"Well, Scylla is a six headed monster that requires the sacrifice of six men..."
Michael saw where she was going with that and pinched the bridge of his nose, "so Scylla isn't one card...it's six."
They weren't done. Not even close. That realization came with the same feeling she used to get in gym class when the teacher said "one more lap" about five times before it actually WAS the last lap.
The finish line kept moving farther and farther away. Their freedom, always out of reach.
Without another word they all turned to go back to the warehouse, there was plenty more work to be done.