Here is a Sara POV to the fic 'What you Dont see'. More rambles ;)

Enjoy--dont sue me for i am merely an obsessed fan-geek ;)

I'm sure you wonder why I avoid eye contact with you.

You think I don't see you craning your head while I administer your shots, trying to get my attention in the most subtle fashion you can come up with.

You think I'm ignoring you Michael.

Sometimes I am.

But the reason I refuse to look your way is because every time I do, there they are.

Those damn eyes.

Your piercing, fierce, damned to hell, wonderfully intoxicating blue eyes.

Always fixed directly at me. The entire time we're in the room.

You're ALWAYS watching.

You think I don't see you. But every now and then I steal a glance, and every single time you're looking at me.

It makes me uncomfortable, on some occasions.

On others…it makes me…excited. Distracted. Flushed.

All the things I should NOT be toward a patient.

But you, Michael Scofield…you're a patient unlike any I've ever met.

You're a type of person I've never encountered before.

You're a damned mystery. I know you hide things from me, and I have a feeling that it's not just a FEW things.

Something is going on in your life here at Fox River.

I know, because when I risk that quick glance and catch your eyes, I see that flash of guilt that appears just before fading into an icy stare.

I feel like you created that stare just for me. To shut me out. To keep your secrets from me.

But then, some days, just when I've decided that you're going to eventually freeze me to death with that look, you drop it.

And it's replaced by those warm, searching orbs that come complete with a low-pitched smooth voice and a dictionary of personal questions and comments to direct at me.

Questions I can't help but answer. Comments I can't stop myself from responding to.

Flirtation I can't ignore.

So many times I've slapped myself.

I nearly wanted to knock my own teeth out when I saw her.

Your wife…your "business partner", as you try to put it off as.

A wife is a wife, Michael. No matter the reason you married her.

You conveniently left that stray little fact out when you gave me a birthday present, asked me out to dinner, saved my life, insinuated an interest in me.

Not that anything could come out of it anyway, a prisoner and his doctor.

But the fact that you kept something so important quiet while making feel….things…is what caused me to start ignoring you.

And yet you still stare. Searching, probing, it seems. Trying to get me to look back.

I won't. Not unless I have to. Not unless it's absolutely necessary.

Those L.L.I weapons of yours won't break me, not after I told you that we were strictly professional from here on out.

I'll glance when I want to. But I won't look for very long. Not long enough for you to see what it is your looking for.

Whatever that may be.

You claimed my questions had answers.

When you decide you want to answer them, then I'll look at you.

Until then, keep staring. Keep thinking I don't see it.

I do, Michael.

I'm not ignoring you to hurt you.

I'm waiting to understand you.

I'll look back when you think it's time to give me that understanding.

Just, for the love of God…stop smiling at me.

I want so badly to smile back.