A/N Hey, there to all of my readers. Thanks loads to all who reviewed. And a huge thanks to knadineg, because you kind of started me off on this chapter. THANKS mate!

"Hey Sucre, I was thinking- What's wrong man?"

Sucre was standing stock still in the middle of the cell, with one hand behind his back, holding a piece of paper with the other hand. He looked positively terrified.

"Sucre, what's wrong? What are you hiding behind your back?"

Sucre took a step to the side, and then forward in one swift movement. Maybe if he could get close enough to the door, he could get out.

But before he could get any closer to his only way out (apart from the hole behind the toilet, but, you know…) Michael had grabbed his arm in a firm, vice like grip.

Immediately Sucre began swearing in Spanish. It wasn't that he thought Michael would harm him, but he was afraid of what Michael would do if he found the knife he'd ordered.

"Calm down, and I'll let you go… But you need to tell me what's wrong." Michael spoke as if talking to a four year old refusing to see the logic in one plus one making two.

"Yeah? You wanna know what's wrong?" Sucre demanded.

Michael just looked at Sucre worriedly.

"Yeah, well, I'll tell you! Your knife arrived today! And you wanna know what? I don't appreciate sharing a room with a guy who, not only isn't planning to bring me along when he escapes from prison," Sucre hissed accusingly. "But actually wants to kill me!!!"

Michael stared.

"Wait, what? You think I'm gonna kill you?"

"I don't think papi, I know! I found that note from T-Bag, and I know all about your little secret!"

"What note?" Michael was confused. Why was Sucre acting like this?

Sucre held out the note and Michael snatched it out of his shaking hand.

"Now I was doing a little thinking about our conversation the other day, and I thought 'Why was Pretty so evasive about why he needed this knife?' And then it hit me. While we were talking, you listed why you were taking certain people along and it occurred to me that you said that you were brining along Mr Mexican Cellmate because you could hardly leave him behind due to the fact that he would see everything. And then I thought, 'Why would Pretty need a knife in his cell if he was planning to be leaving through his cell? It's not like we're in danger of meeting anyone on the way…' And then I considered the fact that maybe you aren't planning to bring your friend along? I mean, it's not like he's doing you any particular favours, is he? I think you two need to have a nice talk, don't you?"

Michael looked up from the note.

"And you believe this?" he said. It was more of a statement than a question.

"Yeah fish, I believe it. I don't think I have a choice, do I?"

"And you are aware that it's written by T-Bag?"

"YES!" Sucre still hadn't caught on.

WHAM!

"What-?"

Michael had hit Sucre in the face. Not hard enough to attract attention from the guards. Or the doctors up in Medical, but hard enough to bring Sucre back to his senses.

Michael began to hiss angrily. "I do not know what is wrong with you man! I come in here, tell you I'm getting my brother out, and you're coming with me so you can save your girlfriend from your bastard of a cousin, and you accuse me of wanting to kill you?"

Sucre cowered. "Bro, I didn't know what to think, you know? Up in here, you learn to trust nobody, not even your closest friend. I saw it all down on paper like that, I didn't know what to do…"

Michael just shook his head and laughed. "That is so like him, you know? Trust T-Bag to leave it in a place where you were sure to find it. You know, this is just what he wanted, for us to start fighting. It would tear us apart and in the meantime, increase the chances of the hole being found! I mean, it's not like he has a reason to be out. He probably just wants out to kill an old girlfriend or something…"

Sucre gave a shaky laugh. Michael had long let go of his arm, but it still felt like something was pressing in on him.

"Soooooo," Michael said. "My knife arrived?"

Sucre looked down at his hand. "Oh yeah. And T-Bag left a note."

They both laughed heartily.

Sucre had been clutching the knife so heard that it had left a red imprint on his palm.

"What do you need a knife for anyway?" Sucre asked.

Once again guys, thanks for reading. Please review! Once again thanks to all of those who reviewed.