Author's Note:
This is all I have to say tonight: I swear I wrote this before I saw any previews for 4x10! :o)

Spoilers for up to and including 4x09.

xxXXxx

Chapter 4

He didn't realize how much he missed her until now—or how much he needed her. Michael had never been a man of many words, and there had been times when he thought conversation was overrated. As he watched Sara from the corner of his eyes, her standing in the make-shift kitchenette, he had the sudden urge to take a walk with her by the docks.

It wasn't the big words or big gestures that told him that she needed space. It was the little ones. The way she deliberately tried not to touch him or the way she kept the conversations down to business as much as possible. As much as his heart told him otherwise, he stayed away.

He had been sleeping on the cot since the night that Sara had met with Gretchen. He hadn't even tried to intrude into the confines of the boat. For a while he had considered the S.S. Minnow their sanctuary, but right now he knew he was more of an intruder than a welcome guest aboard the dry-docked vessel.

He watched as Sara walked over to the table, placing a steaming frying pan on a coaster in the middle of the tabletop.

Sucre's face lit up. "Hey! This is real fish. Like, hand-fried and everything."

She smiled at him. "Now, don't get any ideas, but I made this especially for you."

Bellick shot her a furtive glance, Mahone wisely kept his head down. Lincoln harrumphed. "Since when do you cook Happy Meals on request?" he asked wryly.

She shot him a mockingly punishing look. "Come on, give the guy a break, he's still my patient."

Sucre's hand went to his waist and he feigned a tortured expression. "Yeah, man, I'm injured."

Everyone at the table chuckled, and it was good to see smiling faces again. Their content was fragile and not entirely honest. It had only been a few days since they lost Roland. And today Mahone had disposed of Wyatt. He hadn't said a lot about it, just that "the bastard" was resting not so peacefully on the bottom of the ocean. No one had asked questions.

Sara was happy to see that everyone seemed to be enjoying the meal. She had never considered herself much of a cook. But after weeks of living on fast food and stale cereal, this was a feast to all of them.

She tried not to look at Michael, but her eyes inadvertently wandered to seek out his face, his piercing blue eyes. She wasn't sure if it was really relief she was feeling when at no time during the meal he focused them on her. He hadn't come to the boat since that night, and part of her thanked him for that. Yet another part secretly wished he had, even though she knew she would have turned him away.

She wasn't listening to the general chatter around her. While she ate bite after bite, her mind was elsewhere. When she looked up again to focus on the people around her, she realized that plates were empty and faces were content.

Her gaze turned to Michael, and she immediately realized something was off about him. His face was ashen and his expression taut. Lincoln, sitting next to Michael, must have noticed her widened eyes. He turned to his brother. "Hey, man, you all right?"

"Yeah," Michael replied in a strained voice. "I just..."

Michael rose from his chair and it took Lincoln a few seconds to realize what was happening. It was all he could do to catch Michael's sagging form to save him from hitting the floor face-first.

Before she knew it, Sara was kneeling next to Michael whom Lincoln had placed on the floor. She felt his pulse, it was weak and slow. After all her online research, she had a pretty good idea what was going on.

She looked up at Lincoln. "His blood pressure dropped too quickly, can you elevate his legs?"

Lincoln looked at her uncomprehendingly for a second before reacting. He took Michael's ankles and lifted them up. "Like this?"

She nodded. "A little higher."

From around the table Mahone came with a cardboard box and put it next to Lincoln. "Here, put his legs up on that."

It took mere seconds for Michael to stir and Sara placed her hand on his arm before he could speak. "Easy, Michael, you fainted."

He emitted a low groan and Sara inquired, "How are you feeling?"

"Like I just fainted," he half asked.

She couldn't help but smile at his retort. Always with the ready wit. He lifted his head and she gently squeezed his arm. "Lie still for a few more minutes."

Sara got up from her crouching position and met Lincoln's eyes. He gave her a curt nod that meant he had understood that he was supposed to keep his brother in a lying position.

A few moments later she came back with some equipment. As she put the blood pressure cuff on his arm, she became aware of the confused and prying eyes that all looked at her and her patient. This wasn't lost on Michael either. "Looks like I just became the big attraction of the zoo, huh?"

Sara looked around at everyone. "I think we've got this under control for now. I believe there's some dishes that are waiting to be done."

Bellick blushed and Sucre nodded. Mahone lingered for a moment, then joined the other two who started clearing the table. Lincoln was crouching next to Michael, opposite Sara. As she removed the stethoscope from her ears after slowly releasing the air from the cuff around Michael's arm, Lincoln met her eyes.

"What the hell just happened?"

"It's called post-prandial hypotension. It's when the blood pressure drops very quickly after having a meal. It can happen in patients with high blood pressure."

"So it's not serious?"

"No, but the pheochromocytoma is. Obviously the beta-blockers aren't helping."

"Could this happen again?"

Her face grew more serious. "If we don't get him treatment, yes."

Lincoln breathed out a long breath through pursed lips. Sara glanced at Michael, who logged groggy but whose complexion was slowly returning to a healthier shade of skin color. "Can you sit up?"

Lincoln helped him get into a sitting position. Sara met Michael's eyes. "We have to get you to a hospital."

Was this what defeat looked like? His brain was working only half as fast as usual. "How?"

"We have the hospital badges. We'll figure something out."

"Okay," he said weakly.

"Here," Sara took his arm and Lincoln the other to help him up. They guided him to the ratty old couch.

Lincoln looked at his brother, his eyes filled with concern and resolve. "We need to tell the others. Tonight."

xxXXxx

She stayed with him, measured his blood pressure again. It was climbing, already higher than it should be. Curious eyes would steal furtive glances at her and Michael from across the warehouse. Lincoln had gone and said a few words to Mahone, Bellick and Sucre, and she assumed that that had satisfied their immediate need for clarity.

Sitting on the edge of the seat cushion, she looked at Michael. His blue eyes were alert again, hovering between inquisitive and austere. The tension between the both of them was even more palpable now. Even though she wanted to say so many things to him, wanted for his soul to soak up all her demons and wrap them in tearproof cloth, she choked on the words that formed in her mind.

Their eyes met for a long moment and she opened her mouth to speak. "Michael..."

His eyes widened slightly, and she copped out. "How are you feeling?"

She could almost see him relax from the tense anticipation of her words. "Better," he said in that subdued tone of voice that could drive her up the wall.

She nodded. "Good."

Was this what it had come down to? Doctor/patient bedside chatter? She couldn't stand this. "Michael," she tried again with quiet urgency, but he shushed her by lifting his hand.

"I can't do this tonight." His voice was akin to a whisper. His hand sought out hers and he squeezed it slightly. "Please."

She looked at her hand in his, then at his face. "Okay," she nodded, repeating, "Okay."

xxXXxx

Everyone was in. They were all gathered around the table and Michael, Sara and Lincoln had explained everything. Michael's condition, the diagnostics, the treatment options, the half-assed plan to get Michael into the hospital undetected—or as undetected as necessary.

No one disagreed or questioned their plan. Everyone seemed as intent on their next course of action as Lincoln, Michael and Sara, and that filled Michael with a certain amount of pride. He looked around the table again and took in everyone's faces. He could read a myriad of emotions and expressions, but there was one he didn't see in any of them: Doubt. Together they could do this.

xxXXxx

Mahone was in the driver's seat of the ambulance. Sara was in the back with Michael, who was sitting in an upright position on the gurney. He was the only one not wearing a paramedics uniform. The others were already at the hospital.

When Sara felt the ambulance come to a halt, she looked at Michael. She drew in a sharp breath through her nose and held it for a second. His gaze on her was confident, focused.

She unbuckled her seat belt and got up. "Okay, let's do this."

xxXXxx