ch 5 and still goin lol! dont how yall feel bout veronica being alive, but...well, when i wrote this fic she was lmao.
i myself didnt exactly LIKE her, but i didn't dislike her either. she was so-so. and it was sad that she died.
but...anyway, here's more m/s fluffness!--nik
Two weeks after he'd turned himself in, the news was all over the prison. Veronica had found definitive evidence, and the conspiracy was revealed to the media.
Michael sat alone in his cell, smiling at the ceiling. Lincoln was free to live a normal life, as was his son.
The fifteen-year sentence that had been given to him upon being dragged back into Fox River was shortened the moment Lincoln was exonerated.
The original five years was his time to serve, with no possibility of parole.
And if he tried anything even remotely close to suspicious, Pope would tack on another five in an instant.
That was just fine with Michael. As long as Lincoln was happy, so was he.
Or at least, he told himself that.
Three weeks had passed now, and there was still no sign of Sara.
Was it possible that she never left Panama?
No, she'd told Pope she was on vacation. She had to come back sooner or later.
A tightness formed in his chest.
He preferred sooner.
Yard time no longer consisted of playing cards or strolling by the fence.
Not for Michael.
For Michael, yard time had become a hell of jealous inmates insisting on another breakout.
Most were kidding, bringing up the subject in mockery.
But some were dead serious.
Crossing paths with the wrong group of desperate cons was a mistake he couldn't afford to make.
But it was inevitable.
All he had to say was "no".
A few threats and curses later, pain shot through his head in the form of a stone-filled sock.
The first thing he recognized was the voice. Breaking through the fog that was his mind, Michael strained to concentrate and listen.
Muffled speech passed through what he knew was an infirmary room.
"He can't step foot in this place without doing something to end up here, can he?"
"No, I guess not.."
Cracking open an eye, the blurred image of the nurse, Katie, began to form.
He watched her back turn from him, and his vision jumped from clear to fuzzy at the sight of movement.
The door closed, and he was remotely aware that she had left the room.
Despite severe dizziness, Michael knew he wasn't alone.
His heart rate rose as he saw the red flash go past the bed he was lying in.
His lips opened to speak her name, but no words could form.
He barely registered the feeling of her hand on his cheek before he lost consciousness.