Disclaimer: I don't own Prison Break, Angel, or Buffy: the Vampire Slayer.
Author's Note: Imzadi, I really have no idea what relationships might come out of this. I'm sort of flying by the seat of my pants, focusing mainly on the plot. –J, I hope this chapter answers some of your "why?" questions. Thanks to the both of you for the reviews.
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John Abruzzi: Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.
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"Didn't know Sucre had a sister," the prison guard said as the Oracle stepped forward, allowing one of his coworkers to pat her down.
She tossed him a smile as the guard patted down her left leg. "Our family's huge—for reunions, we have to rent a stadium." Actually, she had no idea if that was true or not, but it sounded good. And it explained why Fernando Sucre had a half-sister that wasn't mentioned in his files. Simply shifting her features into a face that belonged to no one was easier than riding inside someone else's skin…and less creepy too.
Convinced that she was unarmed (boy would he be surprised if he knew the truth), the guard let her through into the visiting room. Lindsey was sitting at a table in the middle of the room, lounging back in the chair nonchalantly, though if the jiggling of his knee was anything to go by, he was nervous.
She sat down in the chair across from him. "I see you've still got the cross." She nodded to the piece of jewelry still looped around his wrist. "Keep it on—it's actually hiding you from some of the darker powers."
"Yeah," he said sarcastically, leaning forward so their faces were nearly touching, "It did a damn good job of hiding me from Scofield. In fact, it did such a good job that it gave me away."
"What?" Cass yelped, a little louder than she intended to. Sheepishly, she gave the startled guards a small smile before turning her attention back to Lindsey. "What the fuck does that mean?"
"Fernando Sucre's a Roman Catholic, you idiot," he snarled back. "This—" he snatched angrily at the chain, making the cross spin wildly, "—isn't Roman Catholic, and you neglected to mention the cellmate you stuck me with is some sort of freaky genius who notices when little details like this are screwed up."
Cass sank back in the chair. "We're screwed. We're so fucking screwed!" She tilted her head back, praying to the God of Ceiling Tiles for strength. If Scofield knew, then he might find someone who'd believe him when he said his cellmate was not his cellmate but an imposter. In a place like this, she wasn't sure who that would be, but if Fate was against them, there'd be someone…and Fate was always against her. Days like this, she wished she hadn't given up her oracular powers. Sure, she'd gotten the ability to shapeshift and teleport in return, but ever since she'd stopped being able to see the future, Fate had gotten into a bad habit of rearing up and biting her in the ass.
She lowered her gaze back down to Lindsey and noticed he was smirking. "What?"
"Scofield's not going to say anything."
"How can you be so sure?"
Lindsey leaned farther forward and gestured for her to come in closer. Cass complied. "He's breaking out," the former lawyer whispered, his mouth right beside her ear. When she stiffened in surprise, he laughed. "He's got a hole in our cell leading to a maintenance passage. From there, I don't know where's he's planning to go, but if the man is smart enough to figure out that Sucre's been body-snatched then I think he could get out if he wanted to."
"So you're big test is to help a man break out of prison?" Cass asked in disbelief. "I think the idea of the Gauntlet was to prove you're done with the side-switching and backstabbing."
Lindsey withdrew a little, giving her a smug smile that made her want to slap him—but maybe that was just the panic in her talking. "Ever heard of Lincoln Burrows?"
Cass shook her head.
"It was all the news could talk about five years ago. Supposedly, Lincoln Burrows shot Terrence Steadman—does that name sound familiar?"
She shook her head again.
Lindsey sighed. "Not too up on current events are you?"
"Technically, I died a couple of thousand years ago."
He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something but then closed it again. "Point taken. All right, Steadman was the brother of the American vice president. Supposedly, Burrows ambushed him in a parking garage as part of a pre-arranged hit and shot him to death. He's now on death row. Apparently, his last appeal got rejected a couple of weeks ago."
"Is this going somewhere?"
He smirked again, and she could feel the urge to wipe it off his face rise in her. She settled for tightening her hands around the bamboo handle of her purse. "Scofield is Burrows' half-brother. He robbed a bank and purposely got caught so he would be locked in here with his brother…"
"To break him out," Cass finished for him. Still didn't explain anything, but they were getting closer to an answer, and from the smirk still plain on Lindsey McDonald's face, he had more up his sleeve. "You keep saying 'supposedly shot'? You know a different story?"
"It was a set-up. Lilah Morgan's work, not mine, but I helped out a bit in the end." He leaned forward conspiratorially again. "I'm not sure of the details, but I do know that Terrence Steadman didn't die in that parking garage five years ago. Burrows was just a small-time punk with a colorful rap sheet—once the legal system attached him to the 'assassination' they railroaded him straight to death row."
Suddenly, it was all making sense—imagine that. "So, a man you, in part, helped to frame, is scheduled to die for a crime he didn't commit, and, in fact, his last hope is that his half-brother—who just happens to be your cellmate—can break him out." She laughed. "Those bastards…"
"Who?"
"My bosses—I don't think this could get anymore convoluted." She ran her hands through her hair in frustration. "I guess you follow Scofield—help him dig, do whatever you can to get his brother out." Her mind was totally blown; she couldn't seem to think. Her brain kept leaping from one possible avenue of thought to another. It was worse than trying to decipher the possible branches of the future. At least then, she was only expected to spit out a couple of nonsensical couplets. This was not what she'd had in mind when the Powers That Be had told her to guide Lindsey through the Gauntlet. She thought he'd get clear-cut moral tests acted out in demon realms. Demons, she understood. Humans…they were still a bit of a mystery.
"Listen," Lindsey said, "When we get out—if we get out—they are going to be hunting us. It was the vice president's brother, we're talking about. That means that the public is going to want justice, and the people who hired Wolfram & Hart are going to be scrambling to get Burrows out of the way. The Secret Service is probably involved. We're going to need a place to hide and some serious protection."
Cass rubbed a hand wearily over her face. "All you've got right now is me."
She could see him thinking—the little hamster squeaking in its wheel inside his mind. "Then…then you're going to have to find a way to clear Burrows. That'll at least get the cops off our backs. The conspirators, we'll have to deal with as they come."
"And how am I supposed to do that?"
"Most of Burrows' conviction hung on a single piece of evidence—security camera footage of him shooting Steadman."
She whistled. "When you guys set someone up, you really set them up."
"It wasn't that hard to do. I don't think Lilah even had to use magic to make it happen. Wolfram & Hart's tech department was pretty damn good. Anyway, find proof that the video tape was doctored and turn your findings over to the authorities. I'd go straight to the governor if I were you, so your stuff doesn't get 'lost' in the system." He paused. "Or the media—they'd have a field day with this."
"One problem with that: Angel reduced Wolfram & Hart's offices to a giant, smoking hole in the ground. I think your proof is gone," she reminded him.
He shook his head. "All of Wolfram & Hart's computer files were backed up at a storage facility in Houston. What we're looking for should be there."
The Oracle felt the final couple of pieces fall together in her head. Lindsey had obviously been thinking about this for a couple of days now. Whatever his faults, the man wasn't dumb.
"Hey, Sucre, visiting time's up!" one of the guards called as he strode over. "Say good-bye to your sister."
"Get the proof," Lindsey ordered as the correctional officer hauled him up and out of the chairs.
"Keep yourself alive," she commanded in return. "You don't want to see Hell again, do you?"