Part Nineteen
It took twelve more hours of hard driving to reach Topeka. Aldo pulled over to the side of the road as soon as they were a safe distance from the president's estate so that they could all confer, but no one even considered stopping to rest while the end was so close. Steadman was not asked for his opinion on the matter. He spent the rest of the trip in close proximity to Lincoln, who made it abundantly clear that he was looking for any excuse and would not deal with any further suicide attempts as gently as Michael had.
They stopped only for gas and so that Aldo could pull the bullet from Michael's arm when Michael confessed that the pain was making it difficult for him to keep his thoughts straight. Michael made no sound while Aldo was working the bullet out, but he did turn his face to the side and grip at Alex's forearm so hard that Alex would find bruises in the skin later. He guessed that he could deal with that, he decided, especially as his hand had found its way to Michael's shoulder and was kneading at the flesh in a way that was intended to be soothing. Michael went rigid when the bloody gleam of the bullet was finally revealed. He exhaled hard when it was removed, and his entire body sagged sideways against Alex's. Alex was not sure that Michael was even aware of what he had done. The back fender of an SUV parked alongside a Nebraska cornfield made for a strange operating table, after all, and there were no precedents for the two of them.
"Sorry," Aldo said as he pulled a gauze pad from the first aid kit at his side, disinfected Michael's wound, and began to bandage it. "Most father's teach their kids to play catch instead of patching them up after gunfights."
"I was never very athletic," Michael said. "This is probably more useful." He watched as Aldo finished bandaging his arm before he added, "Thank you."
"It's fine." Aldo packed all of the supplies back into the first aid kit, leaving streaks of blood across the plastic, and stood. "I should call Jane," he said. "She'll have shot someone in the kneecaps by now." Alex suspected that Aldo was mostly using that as an excuse to give them a moment or two alone. The Jane that Alex had met in New Mexico would have had no problem shooting someone in the kneecaps regardless of whether or not Aldo called her to assure her that he was all right.
Michael sprawled back across the SUV and examined the neat white bandage that encircled his bicep. His face was still tight; had pain medication been available, Alex did not think that he would have said no to it. "Thank you," Michael said, lifting his head so that he could look Alex in the eye. "For not turning the car around. It was the right decision to make."
"I can understand the temptation towards tunnel vision," Alex said. "Believe me, better than most."
"I suppose that you can." In the shadow of the vehicle, Michael's eyes were mostly hidden, but Alex still thought that they would have been hooded. His voice was a burr; it still stroked against Alex's skin in just the right way.
Pam had always asked him what they were putting in the water whenever he had finished a big case, for he would fall on her almost before he had managed to kick the front door closed behind him. Alex took a breath. It hurt, and he knew a considerable amount of time would go by before it lessened, but already the few moments when he could lay it down where so nice. Alex extended his hand so that Michael could take it and pulled him to his feet. Michael did not let go immediately, stepped close instead.
"What are you going to do when this is over?" Michael asked.
Alex barely had to think about it before he cracked his face into a bitter grin. "I'm done at the Bureau," he said. "I wouldn't be surprised if there are warrants for my arrest, either." While Pam and Cameron had always been the real threat that the Company had employed in order to keep Alex on his leash, neither had they been bluffing when they had dangled Oscar Shales over his head. And now they had John Abruzzi and David Apolskis, too. "The only way that I'm going to be able to stay with Cameron is if I run."
Michael released Alex's hand, finally. The heat remained. "Think about Panama," he said. Aldo was getting off of the phone several yards away, and Alex saw Michael glancing his way. All that Michael had to do in order to speak to Tancredi was to lift his hand to get his father's attention. He got back into the SUV instead.
They continued on.
Alex was exhausted from the drive by the time that they reached Kansas. He and Michael followed behind Aldo, who seemed to know exactly where he was going. Michael had offered to take over the driving twice as he saw how tired Alex was, only to be shut down each time as Alex pointed out that the one who drove was going to be the one who did not have any unnecessary holes in him. Michael's response was to lean back against his door and arch his eyebrow in that way that said that Alex wasn't fooling anybody. One mirror couldn't get one over on the other.
The first time that Alex had seen Michael Scofield, Michael had been scowling out at Alex from a mug shot. The second time had been while Michael was blinking down at him disbelievingly from the top of an elevator, and the third time had been when Alex had tried to kill him. Michael relaxed and pleased with himself and even, every now and again flirting, was bizarre. Alex half-expected Michael to start giggling.
Aldo led them through the downtown area and into an older industrial section full of buildings that had clearly not seen much life lately. They parked behind a structure that could have been an office building or could have been a warehouse, and in the boxy architectural style which guaranteed that the viewer could several long moments pondering the question before finally giving up. Alex could almost feel Michael's skin crawling from where he sat.
They emerged, the five of them, although Steadman did not stand so much as dangle. Lincoln was still dragging him about by the collar of his shirt like a mother cat who didn't like her kitten very much. Even with all of the loathing that he felt for the man and everything that he stood for, Alex looked and Steadman and thought that he would soon be grinning. Everything boiled down to this, and if in the end Steadman knew something that would make his sorry life worthwhile, maybe there would be a day when Alex would able to stop reeling over everything that had taken place since he had first hurled the ultimatum at Michael. He paused as he thought that he saw a shadow move in one of the upper windows of the supposedly abandoned building, but the rest of the group was already moving on.
Aldo led them to a small side door where the similarities to an aging and down on its luck office building ended, for he had to enter a code into a small keypad set beside the door before it would allow them entrance. Alex saw movement for a second time in one of the windows above their heads and would have laid down all of the money in his bank account that it was accompanied by a gun. The door made a soft whooshing sound which suggested that it was fortified before it shut automatically behind them.
'That's not at all like entering the haunted castle,' Alex thought but did not say. In the strange camaraderie that and Michael now shared, they exchanged a look.
Some effort, not entirely successfully, had been made to ensure that the warehouse was not so terribly depressing from the inside as it was from the outside, and the rest was being accomplished through sheer industry. Even though Alex's mind understood that there were only a handful of people running about the space, a dozen at the most, his eye insisted that there were many more based upon the energy with which they zipped back and forth. There were several computers, and at every one sat a man or a woman whose fingers moved as fast as Ben's had and who had a tendency to blink about themselves owlishly whenever they had to lift their eyes from the screen. As Alex had suspected from the outside, there were men with guns, though less there were less than he would have supposed given how important this place ultimately was. It was nerve center of all resistance against the Company.
And cutting through the sparse crowd, heard by the clicking of her heels across the cement long before she was seen, was a woman. She was brunette and had the curves that suggested both childbirth and the occasional full meal, though she was not fat. Alex guessed her to be somewhere in her late thirties. While her smile was warm, in particular once she saw that Aldo was there and not riddled with bullet holes, her eyes were cool and shrewd. She held out her hand for each of them to take in turn, even Steadman, though he refused. The upward tick of the woman's eyebrow said that she had expected no less.
"Hello," she said. "My name is Melinda Graves. If the network that we have set up has a leader, then I suppose that I'm it." She noticed the way they were all, save for Aldo, casting dubious looks towards her neat suit and the surrounding warehouse and added, "I assure you, the only thing that I share in common with President Reynolds is our gender."
"You'll have to forgive our suspicion," Michael told her. "The line between friend and foe had become very blurry over the past few months."
"Melinda has been leading the organization for the past three years," Aldo said. Alex made note of both Aldo's easy use of Graves' first name and the way that she did not so much as flicker an eye to hear it. For all that this Company-opposing force could move and strike with a finesse that was nearly military, the discipline was more lax than anything that would have been tolerated during his own stint in the armed forces. "She was promoted after her direct superior was assassinated."
They all had their suspicions about the neatness with which President Reynolds had taken power on the night of the Fox River escape. Seeing those doubts on their faces, Graves added quickly, "Again, our only similarity is in gender."
"She's been working to bring down the Company for the past fifteen years," Aldo said.
"Prior to that, I was an NSA analyst who heard something that she shouldn't have, compounded that mistake by saying something that she shouldn't have, and barely survived a bullet through her left lung because of it," Graves finished. She looked to Aldo so that she could, still wearing that eerie combination of comforting smile and all-seeing eyes, add, "And I know how they come after families."
Alex stiffened. Even if he and Pam had been finished, romantically, he was not certain how much longer he could take her death being pounded on like a sore tooth. "I'm sorry that they took that approach with you as well." The hell of it was that she sounded so sincere.
"Thank you," Alex said gruffly, though he was more grateful for the fact that she turning her attention onto Michael now.
"You'll need stitches in that," she said, gesturing to the place where his bandaged arm was beginning to show a red stain across the white. "We have medics who can take care of it." When Michael hesitated, she said, "I understand that you're suspicious. It's a valuable survival trait. However." The trust-me smile fell away; only the eyes remained. "If I wanted any of you dead, don't you think that I have had ample time to bring about that end my now?"
"Lady," Burrows said, "you really think that that's going to win over hearts and minds?"
Graves smiled in a way suggesting that not all of her smiles were necessarily nice before Aldo halted her in her tracks by saying, "She's screwing with you. It's one of her unfortunate habits. It's safe, Michael, really."
A day before, Michael still would have hesitated, but something seemed to have changed between Aldo and himself since then. He walked away in the company of a bouncy-haired young woman who seemed to want primarily to gawk at Burrows and himself rather than tend to his arm. Michael's expression was tolerant, even amused. He was going to have to get used to such attention if the Company's conspiracy was exposed.
"I've contacted Monica and Ben," Graves told Alex next. "They have to drive, so it'll be a few more hours before they arrive with Cameron. We have quarters where you can rest until then."
Alex was convinced that he would not be able to sleep even if he were to be given the heaviest amount of Valium that his body could stand, only in the next to realize how much of his body weight he was keeping up through force of will alone. He had not been inclined to look into mirrors over the past few days; who knew how bad he looked by now. Alex inclined his head courteously. "I appreciate that."
"And a medic, if you need one," Graves continued. It took Alex several seconds to realize what she even meant before he realized that there were still bandages from his fight against the handcuffs wound around his wrists. He shook his head. "I'm fine."
Graves gave the pregnant pause of someone who had spent a great deal of time being forced to take stubborn people at their word before she flashed Steadman her other smile, the one which made Alex aware of her many teeth. Steadman made a soft sound, though that could have been because Burrows chose that moment to squeeze at the back of his neck. "We've been interested in you and your sister for quite some time."
It was not possible for Steadman to go much paler, given that he had been one step above gibbering panic ever since he had been caught, but Alex still thought that he tried. "You can't prove anything," he said. "There were surgeries, all of the DNA samples were destroyed-" Graves' smile if anything grew even more unpleasant; she looked positively shark-like. "And I won't say anything if you torture me."
While Alex doubted that, Graves did not appear to be altogether ruffled. "Maybe that's so," she said smoothly. "Luckily for you, you weren't captured by the side with an interest in finding out. Can you change your mitochondrial DNA, however?"
Steadman started to look both uneasy and confused. "What's…" he started.
That smile again. Alex hoped that she had not been capable of it while she worked for the NSA. The nation was about to have enough problems as it was without having to take a long, hard look at its hiring practices as well. "Then you're about to get a science lesson," Graves said.
Alex could not stop his smile as he walked away to get that sleep at last; the look on Steadman's face made him think that he might even enjoy it. One of the techs detached himself from his computer long enough to show Alex to the rooms upstairs where the field agents showered and rested before they went out to tilt at windmills again. Alex only thought for a moment of how Graves must be funding this operation of hers and the chances that those methods were legal before he shut down the line of thought as fruitless. He was not an agent of the law any longer, but he could be an agent of what was right. That way, at least, was clear.
Alex showered quickly, relishing the way that the hot water beat at the fatigue in his muscles, marveling at how much dust and dried blood swirled down the drain at his feet. Alex's shirt had been heavily splattered with blood when he had pulled it off, as well. A small portion of it might have belonged to the dead men, but Alex thought that most of it was Michael's. He had not noticed it while he had been driving.
"Speak of the devil," Alex said calmly as he stepped out of the shower and discovered Michael sitting in a rickety chair that looked as if it had been bought from a yard sale.
"I can only suppose that this means you were thinking of me in the shower," Michael said. One corner of his mouth jerked up. The joke had fallen flat, but neither of them was going to acknowledge it twitching there on the floor. Not the time.
"Cute." Michael did something cuter, rose from his chair in a smooth and fluid motion that belied his talk hours earlier of not being an athlete, fit his body against Alex's as if it was made to be there. Alex was wearing only a towel, and Michael's hand on his cock was not gentle. That was fine; Alex was fairly sure that it wasn't what he wanted. He was not sure which name he hissed when he came eventually under Michael's ministrations. Michael did not comment on it.
"Panama, hmm?" Alex said when he was certain that his knees would hold him again.
Michael made a soft sound from the back of his throat. "You should see it," he said. "Beautiful country."
Michael Scofield had not been out of the country-on the record-for at least four years, well before Burrows had been incarcerated. Alex shifted and stared. "And one of these days you're going to explain this whole plan of yours to me."
Michael smiled in that slow way that he had. "It's more interesting if you figure it out on your own."
Alex snorted but otherwise did not respond. For the moment, they continued to only breathe. Alex guessed that they could figure out the pieces later.
---
Sara had paid next to no attention the introductions that Jane made when they all reached the warehouse, consumed as she was by the weight of the envelope in her back pocket. She had not been able to bring herself to read it in the vehicle, with Jane and LJ there; she did not know what her reaction to its contents would be. Sara had taken out the ring a few more times in order to examine it more closely, and each time had wound up shoving it quickly back into her pocket before more than a few minutes had passed. She thought that it was nice of both Jane and LJ to pretend not to notice.
Sara barely made it to one of the quickly thrown-together rooms in the upper story, which still had plaster dust lingering in the corners and under the furniture. Her hands were trembling as she tore the envelope open and pulled out a sheet of the heavy, cream-colored paper that her father had kept in his office drawers for as long as she could remember. The shaking did not lessen as Sara's eyes roamed over the handwritten words. If the wavering handwriting was anything to go by, then her father had been having some difficulties composing himself, as well. Her father had known what was coming, and he had been sorry for it. He loved her, and he was proud of her, and he had stopped seeing only her mother in her years before. They just hadn't been able to tell each other yet.
It occurred to Sara that her father had been dead for nearly a week and she still had not cried for him, not really. She lowered her head into her hands after she had set the letter to the side, carefully so that she would not damage it, and sobbed until she felt both exhausted and cleansed.
Sara did not know how much longer it was before she felt up to seeing people again, and exited her makeshift sanctuary only to run directly into Michael. He was wearing short sleeves that exposed his tattoos from biceps to wrist. Sara could see the beginnings of a white bandage from some injury that he had received earlier. Her throat tightened for a moment.
Michael paused at the sight of her, and Sara did the same.
"Hey," Michael said. A thousand things moved across his face, but Sara was only concerned with one of them, and that was the one involving his choice. She knew that her spine was rigid as he reached out and slowly, almost as if he was expecting her to jerk away, pulled her to him.
Good, Sara decided after barely a second of contact. She had not opened that infirmary door for the sake of Michael. She had opened it for the sake of right. Everything else followed from there.
"I had a chance to talk to you earlier, and I didn't take it," Michael said into her hair. Sara shifted into a more comfortable position against his shoulder, realizing as she did so that they did not fit quite right together. There had been too much chaos earlier to get to that point. "I was still figuring things out."
Sara considered this. "Oh." She pulled back and, instead of saying any of the thousand things running through her head, kissed him, sweet and chaste. Sara could feel his heart beating beneath the splayed hand that she put against his chest. He did not open his mouth to her, nor she to him. It was not that kind of kiss.
"Be happy, Michael," Sara said as she pulled away.
"You, too, Sara," Michael said. He reached for her hand and squeezed at it before they parted from one another. Sara could still feel him lingering on her fingers long after he was gone.
Sara sighed as she turned around and surreptitiously checked her face to see if there were still tear tracks running down her cheeks. She winced when she felt the salt on her fingers.
For all that the clacking of Melinda Graves' heels had announced her arrival like a trumpet announced a queen earlier, she could move as silently as a ghost when she wanted to. Sara walked around a corner and then lurched back hard as the two of them nearly ran each other down.
"Oh!" Sara lurched backwards before she recovered herself. "Got lost, sorry."
Graves nodded and sniffed as she looked around, where the makeshift rooms resembled a honeycomb or a series of cubicles more than anything else. "It's a bit slapdash," she admitted. "That's why I prefer to use the safe houses when I can. That, and security issues." Graves cocked a sideways glance at Sara as she said it, as if she was waiting for Sara's reaction. Sara did not know what reaction, precisely, Graves was looking for and so remained silent. "You and your friends are the first civilians that I've allowed to be brought here."
"Um, thank you?" Sara asked. She started to step around Graves, certain that the conversation was over, before Graves spoke again.
"I was coming to look for you, actually," Graves said. Sara paused and felt a puzzled frown crossing her face. "Terrence Steadman is a greater blow than any that we've been able to strike against the Company before. It'll pull them out into the open for the first time."
"I'm glad," Sara said, and meant it. "There are…there are a lot of people who still haven't gotten justice."
"Yes," Graves said. Sara had the feeling that she need not have spoken at all, that Graves had only been pausing between thoughts. "However, I don't believe in fairy tale endings. It will be several more years before we can call this over and done with, at least. There will be a heavy risk of retaliation against anyone who had a hand in opposing them."
Sara thought of this, and of the way that the panic had crept up on her and had yet never crawled over the edge and beyond what she could handle back in Chicago. She said calmly, "Miss Graves, I'm not afraid of going underground."
"I hope that eventually you will call me Melinda," Graves said. While Sara was sure that her confusion must be showing on her face, Graves continued, "Jane told me how well you handled yourself in Illinois. I would like to make you an offer.
End Part Nineteen