Author's Note:
Spoiler warning for up to and including episode 4x11!

I never thought it would be so much fun, writing a half-AU, half-canon story. Apologies for putting Sucre's words from 4x11 into Sara's mouth.

Please cut me some slack with the medical stuff. There might be inconsistencies. I'm no doctor, I'm making this up just as much as the show's writers. But let me assure you that I'm trying to be as authentic as I can.

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Chapter 5

It had been so much easier than Sara thought. Michael was being taken upstairs to have a CT. Just as planned, Lincoln was there with him, dressed in dark blue nurse's scrubs that had his fake hospital ID clipped to the breast pocket.

Reluctantly, she went back to the ambulance outside. There was nothing more she could do. Paramedics weren't supposed to see patients anywhere other than to the emergency room. Mahone was already in the ambulance's driver's seat. Sara climbed into the passenger seat and Mahone started the engine. They would be waiting a few blocks away for the phone call that would determine their next course of action.

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Lincoln could see that Michael was uncomfortable in the wheelchair.

"Sir, it's hospital policy," Lincoln had said when Michael protested that he could very well walk by himself. Michael had given him a pointed look, but he knew that Lincoln wanted to make sure people within earshot didn't suspect anything.

Michael had relented and reluctantly sat down in the wheelchair for Lincoln to push him into the nearest elevator.

A beep indicated that they had arrived on the 4th floor and the elevator doors opened. The CT exam room was just a few doors down the hall and Lincoln wheeled him inside. A young lab tech was waiting for them, a bored expression on his face. He didn't even glance at Lincoln's ID. It was amazing how trustworthy people were if you only pretended you belonged and knew what you were doing.

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In the ambulance, the minutes ticked by. Slowly. Too slowly. Sara looked at her watch again, silently scolding herself for being so agitated—and showing it. Mahone glanced over at her, opening his mouth as if he wanted to speak, but then thought the better of it. The silence stretched on.

Was Michael already in CT? Would they have run into trouble? Would someone recognize their faces? Mahone's words pulled Sara from her tension-filled reverie. He gestured at the coffee shop across the street. "You want some coffee?"

She looked at him, her eyes a little wider than usual. "Uh... yeah. A latte would be nice."

As she watched Mahone get out of the car and walk lithely across the street, she suddenly wondered why she was trusting this man. Just a few months ago, he had been one of their most dangerous enemies, had hunted Michael and Lincoln for weeks, would probably have ruthlessly killed them if it had suited his purpose.

A lot had happened since then. Beneath the merciless exterior, Alexander Mahone was only human, and when the Company had killed his son, his shell had cracked. He was, much like all of them, a changed man.

But the beast inside was not completely buried. Having seen him lunge at Wyatt with eyes that were blinded by fury, Sara knew he was every inch as dangerous now as he had been as an FBI agent. Silently she prayed that they would not have to see Mahone's feral side ever again.

Seeing him exit the coffee shop with a tray holding two cardboard cups and walking towards her, she wondered where his loyalties lay. Now that he had exacted his revenge and Wyatt was floating at the bottom of the Los Angeles dockside waters, what did Alex Mahone have to fight for?

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Michael had never been claustrophobic, and the constriction of the CT tube didn't bother him. His mind was filled with other troublesome thoughts. What would happen when they received his diagnosis? Would he need surgery—and if so, when? How long would that put him out of action?

They were so close, they needed to get that sixth card. He couldn't fail them now. He needed to have his wits about him, and more importantly, he needed to be up and running.

He heard the mechanical voice of the lab tech through the speakers. "Mr. Freeling, we're going to start the scanning process now. Please try to lie still. This won't take long." It took a second or two for him to register that the lab tech was talking to him.

Michael focused on his breathing as he heard the low hum of the CT scanner going into action. To distract himself, he thought of Sara. Her alert, hazel eyes, her auburn hair, her sweet smile. And her lips—soft and warm.

He tried to recall the last time they'd kissed. He remembered a fleeting peck on the lips from last night, but their last kiss he would describe as sensual had been days ago. They hadn't had that kind of intimate physical contact since the night Sara had gone to meet with Gretchen, he recalled.

Granted, they had so much going on, one big explosive event had followed the next. But it was not only that. Before, they had always found a few minutes here and there to themselves, be it only in the small hours of the night when everyone else was sleeping.

Something or someone was putting an invisible barrier between them. It would be so easy to blame it all on Gretchen, but he knew there was much more to it.

The hum of the CT scanner whirring above his body reminded him that all of this was part of it too. There was so much uncertainty in both their lives. And no matter how many promises he made to Sara of one day being free, of one day sailing away with her, he knew they rang hollow at the prospect of him going into surgery or their family and friends risking their lives to bring down The Company.

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"Sara?"

Alex Mahone's raspy voice pulled her from her reverie. She turned her head sideways to look at him.

His gaze lingered on her face before he continued. "He's going to be all right."

She gazed down at the half empty cardboard cup in her hand, feeling the residual warmth of the liquid inside on her fingertips. "How do you know?"

"I don't." At least he was being honest. "But he's a fighter. He's strong. He knows what he's capable of."

Her anger suddenly flared, and she didn't know where it was coming from. "Does he?" she asked forcefully. "Does he really know what he's doing? I mean, I get it, he has an obligation—to his brother, to his father, to you. But, dammit, this is his life he's gambling with!"

In a subdued voice, Mahone said, "I think he knows that."

She didn't know what to reply. He was right, of course. Michael knew perfectly well that his life was on the line. Wasn't it incredibly selfish of her to expect him to protect himself rather than risk his life for their cause?

"So what if he needs surgery?" she asked. "He's not going to go willingly. In his mind, this operation doesn't work without him. Tell me, Alex, is he really that indispensable?"

"In a way, we're all dispensable. I think the question you want to ask is, can this operation succeed without him?" He looked out the windshield at the alley stretching out in front of them. "I would be lying if I said no, but you know as well as I do that the chances are much higher with him there."

She just nodded. He was right—again. And even though she had known it all along, she still couldn't help hoping that Michael would choose to be egoistic instead of being a martyr.

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It had been so much easier than Michael thought. After being released from confines of the scanner, Lincoln had taken him to a waiting area where the physician would come talk to him with the results of his CT.

He suddenly wished Sara was here, she would know all the specifics, all the medical intricacies, would be able to grasp what was going on. He had a basic understanding of pheochromocytoma and its symptoms and complications, but not much beyond that.

Michael sat down in one of the plastic chairs. He looked up at his brother. "Sara should be here."

"She's waiting in the ambulance with Mahone."

"I know, but she's the one who'll understand the details. She's the one who can ask all the right questions."

"You want me to call her?"

Michael lowered his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I don't know," he breathed out.

"We should stick to the original plan. If she comes in here, dressed like a paramedic, people might get suspicious."

Michael looked up at his brother. "People are gonna get suspicious if you keep chatting with me. You're supposed to be a nurse, remember?"

Lincoln's brow furrowed. Of all the occupations he had imagined for himself, nurse had never even made his list. He gave Michael a concerned look that Michael knew how to read.

He told Lincoln, "I'll be fine. We'll know what's going on soon."

Lincoln just nodded.

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An hour later, Sara received the call they had been waiting for. A brief flutter stabbed her stomach when she read Michael's name on her cell phone display. "Michael," she greeted him.

She listened to him and asked a few questions. Mahone looked at her a few times, trying to gather from the conversation what he could. Sara tried to ignore his questioning stare.

When she ended the call, his eyes sought out hers, the unasked question clearly readable in them.

She nodded slightly. "It's what we thought. Pheochromocytoma. He'll need surgery, and soon."

"When?"

"We're not sure. Possibly still this week."

Mahone breathed out a long breath. Not the answer he had hoped to hear.

"Let's go," Sara urged him quietly. "Linc and Michael are waiting for us to pick them up."

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"I can't do this," Michael said. "I can't have the surgery now. We're so close."

"You have to do this," Sara said firmly. Lincoln looked on, his mouth pressed together.

The three of them were alone in the cramped cabin of what was now known as Sara's boat. It was the only place in the warehouse where they could be reasonably sure no one would walk in on them.

Sara paced agitatedly to and fro in front of Michael, who was sitting on the edge of the bed. Lincoln occupied the only chair in the room, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

"Is there an alternative?" Lincoln asked, his voice calm.

"No," Sara responded while Michael said, "Yes," simultaneously.

Sara stopped pacing and looked Michael straight in the eye. "So what's your alternative?"

"I keep going until we have Scylla. Once that is done, I'll have the operation."

Sara snorted a breath out through her nose. Why was he being so ridiculously stubborn?

"Michael, you don't understand. Your blood pressure is dangerously high. Your migraines and nosebleeds are only going to get worse. The list of complications is quite extensive, you could have a heart attack or a stroke." She paused, then continued, "If you push on like this without treatment, you could die."

His voice was almost pleading. "Then get me treatment. There has to be a way to keep this in check for one more week. One week, that's all I need."

She shook her head, her face grim as she started pacing again.

Lincoln's question stopped her. "Sara?" His gaze on her said it all, he wanted to know if it was a real alternative.

She looked him in the eyes for a few long seconds. "No. He needs the surgery, the sooner, the better. Anything else is just too dangerous." It sounded like her final word.

A heavy silence fell, and the only audible sound was the intermittent dripping of the kitchenette's sink behind Sara that no one had bothered to fix.

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