After having dinner, they sat together on the sofa and stared into the embers of the fire. Michael recalled wistfully, "Mike called him 'Dad'."

The cabin and the food had worked a kind of magic, easing Sara's tension. Michael's comforting presence and the warmth of the fire were making her feel almost drowsy. She laid a reassuring hand on his knee. "He's just upset and confused! We'll talk to him…he's a smart kid, he'll understand." She thought about Mike, where he might be, what he was doing now. "I hope he's safe."

Suddenly, the idea of her son in the hands of the man who had planned to kill her and Michael struck her like a blow to the face, and her tone turned bitter. "That bastard is lying to him, manipulating him...that's all he's ever done- "

"You don't think he'd hurt him, though...do you?" Michael asked.

"I can't imagine him hurting Mike, but I couldn't have imagined him doing this either." Sara indicated the darkening bruise on the side of her face where Jacob had hit her.

"He did that to you?!"

"I'm okay." Sara laid her hand on top of his. "What's important now is Mike. I don't believe he'll hurt him. His affection for him seems real. Everyone loves Mike. He's irresistible...like his father." She smiled at him reassuringly. "The thing about Jacob is that... he's insanely jealous of you, Michael, and he's obsessed with beating you. He wanted to have us, Mike and me, because we belonged to you."

"He likes to pull my strings, to control me. He's using all of us as pawns in his sick game, and he knows that my weakness is my family."

"Well, Jacob's weakness is his arrogance, but it's just a mask for his insecurity. He always has to believe he's got the upper hand. Pierce his armor and he's nothing but a second-rate bully, terrified of being exposed," she told him.

Then Sara softened her tone. "As for Mike, he idolizes you, his idea of you. He's fascinated by mythology...he built a model of the Acropolis. You're like a Greek god to him!"

"A Greek god, huh?" Michael shook his head slowly. "That's a lot to live up to. I hope I won't disappoint him."

"You won't disappoint him." She looked down, and her next words came out reluctantly. "Mike understood when I…remarried… that Jacob was not his father. I wouldn't have allowed him to think otherwise." She went on. "He calls him 'Jacob', not 'Dad!' He knows who his real father is! When he gets to know you..." She smiled at him.

Guilt distorted Michael's features. "What about when Mike realizes all I've put you through? You didn't deserve any of this. What if he hates me for that?"

Sara closed her hand firmly around his forearm. "Michael, he doesn't need the whole story. He's just a kid! Linc and I told him... you were sick, and you died. Mostly, we talked about the happy times." She smiled, picturing how Mike's eyes had shone hearing their stories about his father. "He knows we loved you. And missed you." She grew quiet. The truth was, she had hid her grief. Afraid the enormity of her loss would drag them down, she had put on a brave face for her son and married Jacob so Mike could have a family. With anguish, she thought how misguided that choice had been. But now, only two things mattered: reassuring Michael, and getting Mike back. "You will get the chance to be the dad you wanted to be."

Michael sat, still and silent. "And... us?" he asked her tentatively, his eyes cast down at the floor.

"I've made mistakes," she replied. She knew Michael didn't blame her for marrying Jacob, but she blamed herself. Why hadn't she seen what he was? How had she been so blind? She forced herself to shake it off. There would be plenty of time for self-recriminations later. "But you need to know that..." she took a deep breath "...my feelings for you haven't changed. I still love you, Michael."

Michael exhaled. "You have no idea how I've wanted to hear you say those words!"

"We'll begin again, right where we left off: our wedding day. What a beautiful day..." Her eyes were bright.

"You were the most beautiful part of it." He took her hand and raised it to his lips. "And you are even more beautiful now."

Sara's blush was visible in the firelight. "Michael Scofield, are you flirting with me?"

"There's so much lost time to make up for, I'm not going to waste any of it," he told her. "I didn't get the chance to tell you, that day...to tell you how much it meant, that you were willing to marry me."

"I never doubted I was doing the right thing."

"Well, I was as nervous as hell," he admitted, "until the moment I saw you there on the beach...my bride, barefoot and pregnant."

Sara rolled her eyes at him and grinned, relieved they could tease each other the way they always had.

"Seriously though, I was afraid that when you got to know me better, you might have regrets," Michael continued. "We'd only known each other for a few months, and under trying conditions; we already had a baby on the way... I didn't even have a job."

"Yeah," she shrugged. "I wasn't worried. I figured if we ran into financial difficulties, you could rob a bank."

Michael laughed and nodded.

Sara smiled wistfully, thinking of Mike again. She leaned back against the sofa cushions and stifled a yawn.

"Hey, it's late. Maybe you should lie down now and try to get some sleep," he suggested.

"What about you?"

"I need to get cleaned up, and then I've got a couple phone calls to make," he replied. "I'll bet it's nice and warm in the loft. Why don't you go up and see?"

Sara climbed the ladder to the loft and lit candles on the dresser, slipped off her shoes, pulled down the quilt and top sheet and stretched out on the bed. She heard the shower come on. Several minutes later, she could hear Michael speaking to someone in a low, urgent voice. He hung up and made another call, this time to T-Bag, planning their morning rendezvous. As he started up the ladder she heard him quietly exclaim, "Oww!" in pain, and she realized that, of course, he was still healing from his injuries in Yemen. She stood up.

"Michael, let me take a look."

"I'm okay," he objected.

"No, you're not," she countered in a determined voice. "You're still having pain. I need to see your wounds."

"Honestly, Sara, I'm fine-" he began, but she cut him off.

"Michael, I would be remiss if I didn't examine you. Please."

He obliged her by lifting his shirt. Just as she had suspected, the skin of his abdomen was still pink around the site of his healing wounds. Sara frowned and shook her head at him, then descended the ladder and returned from the kitchen with a jar of coconut oil. "This should help. Coconut oil has healing properties." She motioned for him to lie down on the bed.