Michael's fingers tapped against his knee as he stole a glance at Lincoln who barely seemed worried. Michael, however, couldn't help thinking that the plan could be ruined. After all Bellick had told him that they were going to be chastised for working too slowly in fixing the break room. He just had to hope that Pope wasn't going to reassign them or appoint a guard to watch and make sure that they hurried further.

"I'm going to kill that fucking rat!"

Michael jumped at the unexpected eruption from behind the closed office door and saw the other convicts jolted out of their thoughts as they stared in the same direction, the door kicked open a second later by two burly guards struggling to restrain T-Bag, who had flown into a rage that instantly sent chills through Michael's body.

"What the hell?"

Through the haze T-Bag managed to focus on Sucre's question, his body relaxing for a moment as he panted; "someone told Pope about the escape!" He began to fight again, shouting profanities and threats that Michael could hear but couldn't understand.

"Fish? Hey? You okay?" He blinked and raised his eyes from the floor in time to see the guards escorting T-Bag out of the room and everyone else staring at him, panic and fear evident on their faces.

"I'm fine Sucre."

"You don't look fine," he paused for a moment, "oh God, Maricruz."

"There are bigger problems than that right now. Like what to do with Fibonacci…"

"Yeah and what am I supposed to tell my family man? I'm in here for a lot longer now and it's all your fault Scofield!"

"I'm sorry," he was so quiet that he barely heard himself speaking, everyone's voices were getting understandably louder, understandably angrier and it felt as though the world was closing in on him but he found himself unable to process their concerns right now. The one and only thing he was thinking about was Lincoln.

"Michael…" Michael looked up to see Lincoln smiling thinly at him, "it's gonna be okay. You did your best." The voice sounded condescending and Michael wondered for a moment where he recognised it from before realising that it was the same one Lincoln had used when he was distraught at failing a test back at school. He couldn't manage to hold back a gentle laugh at the ludicrousness of the comparison.

"This isn't funny!" He saw C-Note standing up and moving to the front of him menacingly, almost immediately countered by Lincoln.

"Leave him alone."

"It's all his fault!"

"You wouldn't even be here if you hadn't forced yourself in so don't you dare start blaming him."

"He…"

"I'll never get her back."

Sucre's low moan distracted Michael from the escalating argument between C-Note and Lincoln and he tried to smile at his cell mate, and, when the attempt wasn't returned he gingerly laid a hand on his arm, as though he could absorb some of Sucre's pain. "I'm sorry."

"I know."

There was another loud bang as C-Note hit the floor, his argument having become a plain fight. Pope strode out of his office, looking angrier than Michael had ever seen him and Lincoln froze, body poised to land another punch.

"Abruzzi, you're next. Now the rest of you, sit down and be quiet or you'll be punished even further."

Lincoln and C-Note both sat, Michael feeling nervous when C-Note deliberately sat in the seat next to him, blocking Lincoln's attempt to obtain it. Abruzzi followed Pope into the office, his form clear to the others due to the partial demolition of the door but the voices in such low whispers that anything mentioned was inaudible. Three minutes later Abruzzi walked out as T-Bag's guards came back and he calmly left the room, the only sign of protest was making eye contact with Michael and drawing a line across his throat with his finger.

"Looks like I'm not the only one you have to worry about eh Fish?" C-Note laughed sarcastically as he was called in for his interview.

The process continued until Michael remained alone, waiting for Lincoln to come out from his discussion. On his way out he saw that Lincoln's head was held low and he whispered something to one of the guards who let him kneel down in front of Michael.

"You doin' okay?"

Michael shook his head, knowing that he wouldn't be able to say anything intelligent.

"They're keeping me in solitary until the date. It's one week away."

Michael shook his head again, unsure what he expected to gain from the action.

"It's gonna be okay, I don't think Pope'll be too hard on you…"

"I don't care about that."

Lincoln patted his shoulder, looking slightly uncomfortable at the gesture of compassion and he stood up, "you keep your head up."

As Michael watched him leave he felt his throat go raw, he wanted to shout, to scream, to grab Lincoln and try to fight the guards that were taking him away but he decided that he needed to look like he was coping. If this was Lincoln's final week he didn't want his brother to worry that he was unhappy.

Michael wandered into Pope's office, unsure exactly how his legs weren't buckling from underneath him. He sat down in the seat, spying the model out of the corner of his eye.

"I'm very disappointed in you Michael. You had my trust and you abused that."

"I just needed to save my brother," he knew that his voice was sounding weak and broken but he couldn't be bothered to control it. It was hard enough to stop from completely collapsing.

"I know," Pope nodded kindly, "but regardless of motives you'll have some years added onto your sentence and a week in solitary confinement…"

"I can't!" Lincoln's execution was in a week and he couldn't be locked away, he wouldn't be able to stop it.

"You can and you will. You'll be released in time to see Burrow's execution if you want," he motioned the guards over to them and they took Michael's arms, raising him to his feet, "but for now you're being locked away."