Chapter 4: The Calm after a Storm

Sara

The soft fibers of the sheets lay gently against her face as she tosses and turns for what feels like the millionth time that night, the faint scent of the laundry detergent resurfacing from the last wash. It smells almost like lilac, but it could very well end up being something completely different. Sara doesn't remember, nor is it relevant. She exhales, her eyes scrunching closed while she tries to block out the time glowing brightly from the clock next to her bed. It's no use, however, because she has already seen the hour. 3:43 a.m. Ugh. Nearly four hours before she usually rises. Flipping to her other side, she tries refluffing the pillow, though knowing full well that this will not change anything.

It never does.

Four years…four years and it seems like Sara hasn't slept in at least five. I guess Michael Scofield has that effect on people, she inaudibly comments, here lips pulling up briefly into a grin as she realizes the double meaning to her words. She can't remember the last time she slept soundly, though there is no longer any excuse. Men wearing black suits and detached expressions aren't following her, a woman named Gretchen Morgan isn't afflicting pain or pretending to behead her, and the shrill sound of babies crying hasn't filled the air since Mikey and Katie traded in the cribs for real beds.

The balance of life is once again restored, but that doesn't mean Sara herself is. How can someone with so much agony in their heart, someone who has lost almost everything they've ever cared about, ever be capable of feeling 'restored'? It's not that she hasn't tried, god knows she has. Her kids are her entire life, and she loves being a mother. But…aside from that. She has next to no personal life, let alone a romantic or sexual one. And the worst part is that she doesn't even care. Despite Sofia's many—failed, might she add—attempts at finding her someone, she can't bring herself to even show up for the date. It's physically painful to think of being with anyone other than Michael.

They say there are five stages of grief, five stepping stones in which someone has to cross over before they can finally be content. But she's not even sure where her current state of mind belongs anymore.

First was denial and isolation. In this stage you refuse to believe what has happened. It was so easy to think he was going to come back, that he hadn't died while trying to save her life. Sara would often find herself talking to him, as if he were right there beside her. 'Michael, they said that there are two heartbeats!' She recalls telling the air after a doctor's appointment when she was about four months in. 'We're having twins!' In her mind, she would try to tell herself that life was as it was before the loss.

Next was anger. After coming to terms with the fact that she would never, ever see him again, she got angry. Really angry. It was towards the end of the pregnancy, and it would manifest in many different ways. Sometimes she would blame law enforcement, others she'd be blaming herself, and most of all she blamed him. How could he have done that? Why couldn't he wait for Kellerman to come? Why did he have to be so damn noble? The rage was blinding, and almost always there.

Once the babies were born, a bargaining of sorts soon began. Though she isn't religious, she would frequently be begging god to bring Michael back. Sara would repeatedly offer things in exchange, trying to take away the reality of what had happened. She would try to make deals to have him come back as he was before, ten toed and tumor free. This negotiating started after watching the children grow, progressing remarkably quickly, and her thinking about the fact their father would never meet them. He wouldn't be there for any holidays, or their graduations, or even there to walk Katie down the aisle one day. These thoughts were so painful, she's sure it's what started the downward spiral to the next step.

And the following was depression. Though it is a very likely outcome for all people that grieve, this stage managed to scare the family the most. The other phases were understandable and Lincoln had taken them in stride. But this one…it was terrible. Neither he nor Sofia knew how to help her other than by taking the kids off her hands for a few months and checking her into therapy. Sara was always tired (this time being the one exception to her absence of sleep over the past five years), sleeping late into the morning and then going back to her room before dinner. Also, she would be having a conversation with you, acting completely normal, and the next she'd be bursting into helpless tears. She'd even told her therapist before that she found no purpose to life any longer. The Burrows were doing a great job raising Katie and Michael, and she was finding even more fault in herself with what was happened then before. Sara's smiles looked like grimaces, and many were afraid she'd begin using again. Thankfully, she didn't.

Acceptance was the fifth step. It was the twins first birthday, an event the Sucre's and Alex and Felicia had all come down for, when she realized that life had to go on. They had all gathered around the highchairs, a piece of cake on each, singing happy birthday when it hit her that these people had all been there for her sometime or another. She could see her pain mirrored in everyone's faces when they looked at her, a glassy finish on every gentle expression she'd receive, and she knew that she had to get better for their sakes. This isn't what Michael would have wanted, something they'd all been telling her since he died, and she couldn't have someone else raising their children. She just couldn't. So from there, she started waking earlier, eating more, and the kids eventually moved back in with her. She became more active in everyone's lives, showing them exactly what they wanted to see, and a year later they finally let her quit therapy.

What they don't tell you, though, the doctors who came up with these stages that is, is that there is a sixth step. After you've come to accept what happened, there is this sort of numbness that takes over your body. You've been so hurt, so sad, that it's hard to feel anything anymore. It's kind of the calm after a storm. Sara has never told anyone about this limbo she seems to be trapped it, however. They'll take her kids away again and send her back to counseling. Thus nobody can know of the pain she hides within herself.

Absolutely no one.

Rolling over to see the clock again, she finds that she has just spent a whole hour thinking about grief. Wow, Sara, that's great. You're coping well. Dr. Fields will be so proud of your progress. Her thoughts are snide and sarcastic sounding even in her head, a bitter edge as she reflects upon her therapist. She never liked him very much.

From the corner of the room, the door cracks open an inch, Sara's breath halting in her throat and a hand instinctively itching towards the bed side table where a .357 Magnum revolver is kept. She has never had to use it, but she feels safer with it there as a precaution, especially since her and the kids live by themselves. Her fingers haven't even touched the drawer handle before two little faces peak through the doorway, a tremendous sigh escaping between her lips.

"Mama, can we sleep with you?" Katie asks quietly, her hair now out of the pigtails and falling messily down her back in ringlets. A dingy looking rabbit hangs from its ear in her hand, the bunny a sentiment from her days as an infant. It used to be white, but now after years of being her chew toy, pet, fellow tea partier, and whatever else it is that Katie has done with the stuffed animal, it's missing an eye and has been stitched up more times than Lincoln himself—who was coincidently the one who got it for her in the first place.

Michael is right behind his sister, his eyes big and innocent looking, nodding his head in agreement. Since birth, Katie has always been the more vocal one of the two, though Michael is intellectually in sync with her. He was the first to walk, but she was the first to talk. She enjoys playing games with others, while he would rather be off by himself building something with blocks on the floor. It is no question that they are more advanced than the average 3 year old, yet their brilliance only frightens her. Sara regularly finds herself worrying about whether or not they have inherited their father's psychological disorder; LLI.

Right now is no time for anxiety, though. "Of course, babies. Come here." Both stumble forward, leaving the door slightly ajar before crawling into bed with Sara. The two people she loves most in this world lay on either side of her, each arm wrapping its way around their narrow shoulders. They both smell of the soap she used to bathe them earlier after arriving home from the party, Katie's long curls even still damp. She'd been born with a head full of hair, the reddish-brown spirals growing quickly and not stopping until it was past her waist. Sara can't bear to cut anymore off then an a couple centimeters at a time, for it is so beautiful. "Couldn't you sleep?"

Even through the dark, she can just make out the familiar scrunch of Michael's nose—the same scrunch that once belonged on her husband's face. "Uncle Alex snores. We could hear him."

"And Uncle Fernando was talking to Aunt Mari on the phone for a really long time!" Katie adds with a little grunt.

Sara's cheeks tighten slightly as a smile grows across her features. Since LJ and Hannah were in town, both the guest room and LJ's bedroom were being used at the Burrows household—Lincoln would let them sleep in the same bed "when hell freezes over"—that's what he'd said anyway. Satin should be getting his ice skates ready, though, because in just seven short months they'll be married. Linc still seems to have a slightly hostile outlook on the whole thing, and LJ hadn't hesitated to remind his father that he had married his mother when they were only 18. And the fact that Hannah isn't pregnant only makes his defense stronger, especially since Lisa was when she eloped with Lincoln back in 1988.

If there were two things those brothers were equally talented at, it would be breaking out of prison and knocking up their girlfriends.

Nevertheless, there were no free beds over there, so Mahone and Sucre are staying the night here. Alex took the guest room (they tossed a coin after he declared "Heads I win, tails you lose"), and a completely oblivious Sucre got the couch. Technically, he could have slept on Lincolns, but let's face it. Nobody wanted to be under that roof tonight. "Well, I'm sorry, guys. They're leaving tomorrow afternoon so you should be able to take a nap…"

"No!" They both suddenly call out, fear of the prohibited n-word resurfacing. She hasn't forced them to nap since they turned three sixth months ago, and they clearly aren't happy with even the thought of it. "No nap, Mommy! We're big kids now!"

She quickly brings a finger to both of their lips. "Shhh…you don't want to wake them." The twins look at each other for a second, as if verifying what to do next, and apparently decide on the pout that has been known to make their mother cave once and a while. "Okay, okay. No nap. But only if we go to bed now."

They nod frantically, cuddling closer to their mother's warm body. She brings the comforter up so that it's covering all of them, and within ten minutes, both children are out cold. The steady sound of their breathing filling the dark room, Sara closes her eyes as well, trying to relax all her muscles. She usually sleeps better with them in the same bed as her, so she's pretty confident that she'll be able to go back to sleep for the next few hours. Hopefully even until 8, which would be equivalent to sleeping in.

Eventually, unconsciousness takes her, and just like every other time Mikey or Katie has slept with her, she ends up dreaming about their father.

Wind lashes wisps of auburn hair from her face, a shower of water spraying up as the speeding boat soars deeper into the sea. The sun has just begun to raise, colors of purple, red, and orange emerging from the horizon, and an unfamiliar tranquility takes over Sara's body. Sitting here, on the boat that they were supposed to sail off together on more than one account, she almost feels like the whole process of grief could begin again. Denial would be easy right now, especially since everything looks so lifelike.

"Sara?" He calls from the front of the vessel, his steps becoming louder as he makes his way closer. "Is that you?"

Who else would it be? She asks herself, an illogical jealousy taking over for a moment. The Czech stripper? Your first wife? He comes into view, and immediately any wariness she once had disappears. How could she be angry? She's seeing the man she loves. He wears a light blue button down, each sleeve rolled up to the elbow to reveal just the beginning of his toned arms. Loose khaki shorts are below that and sandals top off the bottom. He looks so casual and laidback, something she's hardly ever seen.

Mirroring the beam he holds, she lastly peers into his eye. Those eyes…so cavernous and unfathomable you'd think you're gazing into the ocean itself. He looks the exact same in a physical retrospect and that will have to do. "Michael." For some reason, whenever she says that word in reference to her husband it sounds different than in mention of their son. It's more of a purr than just a string of syllables. Not to say little Mikey doesn't hold purpose, but there is more meaning to it.

"You haven't been here in weeks," He states calmly, though she can detect some hurt as he moves faster towards her. "I was beginning to worry."

They are right in front of each other now, the need to touch unbearable. As they've learned before, though, touching is strictly forbidden. Whenever their skin tries to make contact, that's always the part where she wakes up. Always. "I'm sorry. I haven't been sleeping very well lately."

For the first time, he seems to see the bags under her eyes, the blood completely shot from both, and he frowns. "Today's November 4th isn't it?"

She nods, ashamed of the amount of progress she has made. Michael is just so smart, always able to detect when something is wrong. "Yeah. Alex and Sucre came down to visit you're grave with us. Lincoln left a paper crane, and the kids and I brought calla lilies."

A smile instantly tugs at the corners of his lips. He knows all this, for it is the same procedure as every year. But he's too polite to say anything, plus Sara thinks he secretly likes hearing about them. "Thank you." He remembers how calla lilies were the flowers at their wedding.

"You'll never guess who's getting married!" She abruptly cries, recalling today's earlier events.

An adorable look of uncertainty covers his face, a line of hesitation setting between his eyebrows. That expression is so Katie. "Is it you?" Michael stares at her with wide eyes, apparently trying to take on the appearance of being encouraging but only looking sad. A pang of delight flies through her. He looks genuinely upset.

Holding up her left hand, she wiggles her naked ring finger. "Of course not," She then holds up the chain that hangs from around her neck, both of their wedding rings and her engagement ring strung loosely on it. "I was talking about LJ and Hannah."

"Oh," Relief undoubtedly washes through his body as he realizes that his wife isn't marrying another man. "Well, that's great. I bet Linc's thrilled."

Sara smiles. He knows his brother very well. "Before they even got around to telling all of us, he jumped up accusing Hannah of being pregnant. And then when they convinced him she wasn't, he said they were too young. LJ would have none of that, so he not so kindly reminded Lincoln that he and Lisa were two years younger when they got married, and it just went from there. They fought, and long story short, Mahone and Sucre are sleeping at my house right now."

"He just needs time. He was never one for change."

They have slowly made their way inside, both of them now sitting opposite each other on one of the couches. Even in this in-between fantasy world, the Christina Rose looks exactly as it does parked at a dock just down the street. The furnishings match precisely, and the ding on the side of the exterior is even present from the time LJ decided to play bumper-boats a few summers ago.

Neither talks for a few moments, Michael's mere presence enough to calm Sara down. She knows that none of this is real, but there is no harm in pretending. Speaking out loud, she asks a question that manages to come up every time she dreams about him. "Have you seen my parents?"

His entire body turned towards her, he brings his cupped hand to rest on his forehead as he closes his eyes for the briefest of times, sighing "Sara," in a pained tone. "You know I'm not allowed to talk about them unless they come to you themselves."

"Yeah, I know." She whispers, giving a disappointed bunch of nods. "I was just wondering. They're happy though, right? They found each other?"

"Yes, they're happy." There are another couple minutes before Michael speaks again. "How are the kids?"

For some reason, in her dreams, he never knows what has gone on in their lives. It's like he's in prison again, and these hallucinations are no more than visits where they converse through a sheet of glass. She likes to think that he can really see them, though, in real life. That he's somewhere away from any destruction with all the people either of them have ever lost, watching down on all of them. That thought is usually what gets her through the day, but since he has asked, she has to reply. "They're good. They started preschool in September at the church Sofia works at. She says that they are very smart for their age—geez, I can't believe that they'll be four in just six month. They're in class with five year olds."

His heads bobs as he listens. "It makes sense. We both have rather high IQ's."

She grins at his lack of modesty. It's not that he's being proud; he's just stating the obvious. The truth. Sara wishes that she could somehow stay longer, though knows that no amount of time will ever be enough. The familiar gray mist has started to seep into her dream, blurring her vision as her body is shook awake. She can just make out the faint sound of Mikey and Katie trying to wake her, and she recognizes that it's time to go. "I'm sorry, but I have to go. They're waking me up."

Michael understands and looks at her one last time. "I love you. Please come back again soon."

"I will," She vows just before resurfacing again in the physical world. "And I love you too."

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