Thanks for the reviews! In response to the Lincoln/Kate questions, I'm not sure. That's not the direction that I intended the story to move in (I have most of this story planned out, if not written, already); any Lincoln and Kate stuff in previous chapters was sheerly accidental. As I was reading over the last chapter one last time before posting it, I noticed that it did seem rather L/K, but that was unintentional. I figured no one would except me would notice... lol. I've been thinking about where I want this story to go now, though, and now I'm considering changing my plans a little bit. This chapter is more of a filler chapter, I guess, between the last chapter and the next two. The next two chapters are a little intense (lots of stuff happens...), but the next chapter probably won't be up until Friday.
On a side note, does anybody know how old Sucre, Michael, and Lincoln are supposed to be on the show?
Disclaimor: Don't own Prison Break. The only thing I made up is Kate Curtis.
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When Kate walked out of the bathroom, wearing her jeans and navy blue t-shirt from the night before still, Lincoln was the only one in the motel room. He glanced up from the Bible that he'd been looking at, then silently brought his attention back to the book. Kate yanked her towl-dried hair up into a bun, then sat down on the bed opposite of Lincoln.
"The other man said you found Fernando by the side of the road." Kate said, after a moment's hesitation. What she was doing was risky; he did, after all, have a gun in his possession.
Lincoln glanced up, a strange look on his face. "Yeah. So?"
"You said he was your friend."
"What?"
"At the hospital. When you were tricking me into coming, you said he was your friend. Those stories don't match." The doctor pointed out. Lincoln shrugged uncomfortably. "Unless the other man found you and Fernando at the same time." She paused. "But that doesn't fit either, because the other one said 'we' found him. Plus, you all seem to know each other pretty well. Which story is it?"
"You're the captive. I'm the one holding all the cards, and in this case, the weapon. If you want to risk your life, keep asking questions." Lincoln said, not in the mood to be questioned like this. Kate fell silent.
A moment later, the door to the motel room opened to admit Sucre. "He wants to talk to you." He said, to Lincoln, who stood and walked outside. Sucre sat down on the bed, and began flipping through television channels.
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Licoln joined Michael in the car. They couldn't stand outside of the car; it was too risky, now that it was light outside. "Sucre said you wanted-"
"Yeah." Michael said. "We need money before we can even begin to try to expose the Company, or escape across the border." He hesitated, waiting for a response. Lincoln gave none. "We can try to find T-Bag, but that's risky. He might not have the money any more." Again, a pause. "Our alternative aren't good either. We could rob something, but that'll put them that much closer to us. We need the money, Linc. What do you think we should do?"
Lincoln sighed. "We need to just go after T-Bag. It'll be the easiest."
Michael smiled faintly. "That's what I was thinking."
"Let's go then." Lincoln suggested.
"Before we get Sucre and the doctor, we need to talk." Lincoln froze, hand on the door handle. "About the men. Why did you kill them?"
"What the hell do you mean, Michael? Aren't you supposed to be on my side?"
"I am on your side, Lincoln, but-"
"Bull! Wasn't it obvious why I killed them? To save Sucre, and to save you! The man was beating you, what was I supposed to do? Stand there doing nothing while my little brother got the crap beaten out of him?! It's your fault, Michael!"
"Now that's not fair!" Michael snapped. "Don't you pin this on me."
"It's your fault that I pulled the god damned trigger, Michael! It's your fault I killed them! Because of you, I am a murderer!" Lincoln shouted. He paused, breathing heavily. Michael just stared out the window. "It is your fault, Michael." Lincoln repeated heatedly. He opened the door, got out, and slammed the car door vehemently. He stormed angrily away from the vehicle, fists jammed into his pockets.
Michael hit the steering wheel in anger, grimacing as the horn went off. They couldn't afford to draw that kind of attention. He rested his head on the wheel, trying to decide how to help his brother. Lincoln couldn't really blame him, right? He was probably just feeling guilty about killing the Ernie and the clerk. God knows Michael would feel bad if he had been the one holding the weapon. He felt guilty enough the Lincoln had killed somebody. Michael was Lincoln's only brother, though, so surely Lincoln didn't really blame him. Right?
Michael stepped out of the car, watching Lincoln, waiting for him to make the first move.
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Kate considered the Puerto Rican for a moment. "They didn't find you by the side of the road, did they." She said, more of a statement than a question.
"Why would you think that they did?" He asked, eyes never leaving the television.
Kate picked at a hole in the bedding. "He said they did. The younger one." She replied. Sucre's lack of response only increased her suspicions. "How were you stabbed?" Kate asked.
Sucre turned his head toward her now. "You ask a lot of questions." She shrugged uncomfortably. "It's none of your business."
Kate glanced at the nightstand, where a newspaper had been haphazardly placed. She picked it up, scanning the headlines. 'Energy Bill Hurts Local Economy,' 'President Meets With World Leaders,' and 'Wal-Mart to Replace Empty Lot' dominated the front page of the local newspaper. A small blurb at the bottom caught her eye, however. 'Escapees In Minan-Hatford', the headline read. Kate's brow furrowed slightly as she read the article, which explained how a gas station had been robbed by some of the fugitives, how blood had been found identifying one escapee and a video identifying two others. The doctor shook her head slightly, about to set the newspaper back on the nightstand, when her gaze settled on pictures of the fugitives. Her eyes grew wide.
The woman looked up suddenly at Fernando. "You're Fernando Sucre." She said, voice full of awe and terror.
Sucre turned to her, first puzzled, then comprehending all too well. "Oh sh-"
Kate was already on her feet, sprinting for the door. She yanked it open violently, screaming, "Fugitives in 112! Fugitives in-" Sucre clamped a hand over her mouth, preventing any further shouts. He pulled her back into the room, despite her fervent kicks and attempts to force him to release her.
Sucre wrestled her to the floor, trying to subdue her. Kate's limbs were still flailing wildly, her yells still too audible. Fernando kneeled over her, hands pinning her wrists down, but her body was still thrashing. In a desperate act, Sucre did the only thing he could think to do: he kissed her on the lips. The doctor stopped moving, eyes wide in shock. Sucre lifted his head, gasping slightly for air from the struggle. The amount of blood he'd lost the night before made him far more succeptible to fatigue. For the moment, he was just relieved that he had managed to suppress this threat.
Without warning, the woman started wiggling and twisting again, and because the continued rebellion caught Sucre off guard, Kate managed to get to her feet. She made for the door again, but the door was thrust open from the outside to admit Michael and Lincoln. Kate accidentally ran straight into Lincoln, who grabbed her instinctively. Lincoln held her still, while Sucre clamped a hand over her mouth. Michael stood in front of her, a puzzled expression on his face.
"She knows." Sucre said, answering the younger man's unspoken question. Michael nodded slightly and sighed. This complicated things.
Five minutes later, the black sedan pulled out of the parking lot of the Pink Sunset. Lincoln was driving, while Michael examined a map. Sucre sat in the back, glancing every couple minutes at Kate, whose seatbelt was buckled awkwardly over both of her shoulders, as her hands and feet were bound. A strip of duct tape had been placed against her mouth, and she stared out the window, trying not to think too much.
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Ten minutes after that, a silver car drove slowly into the parking lot of the motel. Alex Mahone stepped out, and made his way towards the lobby. He had driven all through the night, following tips about the car the escapees were believed to be driving all the way to this small town in the middle of absolutely nowhere, and was in desperate need of sleep before he could do any detective work.
"Excuse me." Mahone said softly, to the receptionist. She smiled slightly at him.
"How can I help you, sir?"
"I need a room now, for the night."
"No check ins until two, sir." The young woman replied, smile fading.
"Please, I just need a room." His quiet tone gave away how exhausted he was. "I can pay in cash, up front."
"I'm sorry sir, housekeeping hasn't had a chance to clean the rooms yet." She said. "If you'd like, you can make a reservation and come back later."
"I believe that this covers the room." Mahone said, ignoring her and pulling a hundred dollar bill out of his wallet, discreetly showing her his FBI badge. "Keep the change for being so helpful."
"Sir, there isn't a room..."
Mahone spotted a room key on the counter. "I'll take this one." He said. "112. Sounds like a good room." Mahone picked it up, and started to walk away. "Thank you." He called back, over his shoulder. The young woman watched him walk away, before shrugging and taking a closer look at the one hundred dollar bill.
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Room 112. Sound familiar? In case it doesn't, that was the room our favorite cons (and doctor) stayed in. So Mahone is in the room they were in, and the four left in a bit of a hurry, maybe leaving behind some clues...
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