This is a dedicated to the wonderful msgenevieve, celebrating a special day, the birthday of this awesome, unique and most talented person. Happy Birthday, Jen!

Title: Strong
Characters: Lincoln Burrows, Michael Scofield, Sara Tancredi, mentions of Gretchen
Pairing: Sara/Michael
Genre: angst, romance
Rating: PG 13

Word Count: approx. 1550 words

Summary: Lincoln brought a gift for Michael from Vegas, a gift that makes him realize that being fragile doesn't exlude one from being strong.

Spoilers: Up till the very last episode of S4.

Sorry for not being betaed, wasn't enough time to do that, therefore, all mistakes – and I am afraid there are plenty – are mine.

Strong

"Hey Michael!" Lincoln calls after his brother who is walking through the huge warehouse, absentmindedly clutching an empty glass in his hand. Not turning nor acknowledging his brother, Michael is either too lost in his own thoughts or pissed after already being told of his betrayal, which one it is Lincoln's doesn't know.

The Burrows crosses the space and follows his brother into the small kitchen, all too glad for finding it empty. He turns his back to the small window, pressing his back against the counter, watching Michael filling the glass with fresh water without much interest. His brother looks wary, beaten even, this being clearly a bad sign due to the fact he just stepped from Sara's boat after spending there a fair amount of time.

"How is Sara?" Lincoln asks without preamble, knowing his brother's girlfriend probably not reacting too well to the news about Gretchen's survival, not to mention her new investment in their matter.

"Not so good." Michael's reply is quiet, yet coldness is seeping from his voice. He closes the tap without casting a single look at Lincoln and then putts the filled glass on the counter.

"Your indiscrete disclosure about the state of my health didn't help to bear the news about Gretchen at all." Michael's tone even colder, his eyes are blazing with fire, finally boring themselves into Lincoln's.

"Look Michael…"

"It was not your right to tell!" Michael voice raises but his sentence ends in a hiss, the fury leaving his body in powerful waves.

"I just wanted to help." Lincoln says, knowing anybody else would probably away if being faced by such an angry Michael.

"Whom, Lincoln? Whom could you possibly have helped by leaking such news about me to Sara hundreds of miles away while on a mission, coloring it by your assumptions and ancient history stories about our family background?"

"She can help Michael." Reasons Lincoln quietly, knowing his brother being only desperate for trying to protect the people he loves. "Look…" he puts a hand on Michael arm in a soothing gesture. "You can't protect her forever. Sooner or later, she would have found out for herself."

"You had no right, Linc. It should have been me." His tone still angry, he shakes Lincolns hand off.

"Right. Because you were going to tell her, right? You had days to tell her Michael but you didn't and she noticed something was off herself and asked me in Vegas, and she was so desperate to get some information I didn't have the heart to lie to her face about you."

"She has more than enough things to worry about right now."

"I know." replies Lincoln quietly with a heavy sigh. "Trust me, I know. And I am sorry you are angry at me right now for telling her, but I think she deserved to know. She may be upset now but she would be far more if you started bleeding or passed out somewhere right in the middle of an operation." He says and watches his brother's posture slowly crumpling.

"There is so much for her to bear right now…" Michael almost gasps for air, "I didn't want to add to that burden just yet…" Michael utters.

"I know. But we both know she is stronger than that." says Lincoln kindly and squeezes Michael's upper arm when he sees a shadow steal over his brother's face.

"Anyway…" Lincoln interrupts. "I have something for you." He says and gives a small smile as he reaches into the pocket of his trousers, extracting a Polaroid photo. Michael's stomach clenches just at the sight of the familiar camera format, but when his brother handles him the photo, he feels his body relaxing, while his chest tightens with emotion.

The photo is of Sara in a black, beautiful, sexi dress he has never seen her wearing before. She is smiling broadly at something a person – probably Sucre – is saying to her, oblivious to the

picture being taken.

"I borrowed a camera from a guy in Vegas and took the picture. She looked pretty so I though you might like it." Lincoln's voice is a bit raspy and he is shifting in his spot uncomfortably, observing as his brother intensely gazes at the photo.

"I know you still carry that old one I gave you while you were in Sona …" Michael's eyes snap up from the photo darting directly into Lincoln, a mistrustful as well as a caught-in-the-act expression on his face. Lincoln draws a deep breath. "…and I think it's on time to throw that old one away exchanging it for new one. A more 'up-to-date' one." he finishes quietly and tries to asses Michael's thoughts while his expression stays impassive. Finally, his face breaks into a broad smile as his eyes wander to the photo again.

"She looks happy." Michael utters quietly, a sad expression touching his eyes for a moment.

"She was talking about you when I took that one." says Lincoln kindly. "She really loves you very much." He adds softly before quickly giving Michael's back a brotherly slap and retreats.

Michael's eyes rise towards the SS Minnow, where now a heavily disturbed and broken Sara tries to get some rest after being forced to absorb the heavy news that came to her in a matter of hours in double-pack.

His eyes wander back to her smiling face on the photo. She looks relaxed - at least under the circumstances - her hair pulled upwards in what looks like an elaborate hairdo, the beautiful dress supporting all her womanly advantages. Light make-up and discreet accessories make her look almost royal. The queen of beggars and thieves, he thinks darkly.

Michael puts his hand into his pocket and extracts another Polaroid photo from far another time and another place. He brings the two together, his mind and heart comparing. It's almost unbelievable how much difference there is despite the little time that passed between the two shots.

The first photo declares how very much Sara has been through. The second is the evidence to her incredible, strong – almost stubborn – will no to yield, the will with which Sara always pulls herself up from the worst of blows and heavily but nevertheless moves on.

He never met a person with such rock-solid determination to beat the faith in its own game and he knows it's one of the reasons he loves her this much. But it's also the reason why he can't find sleep at times, feeling like a rock constantly pulling her down. His biggest wish being the very opposite, namely to surface with her, together, is still only in the realms of wishful thinking.

Michael eyes both the photos anew before he makes a quick decision and tosses the old one into the trash.

Time moves on, whether it's in a way they like or not. They are living now. Not yesterday, not tomorrow, now. The past is never forgotten, no, always hovering near enough to chase one in a moment of weakness, but Michael knows one thing now. Sara always was so much stronger than that. If he has any saying in it, she always will.

He unglues his back from the counter, carefully placing the new photo into his pocket. Taking the glass of water, he makes his way across the warehouse to the boat again.

The lights are off when he enters the small cabin. Putting the glass on the small table, he crouches beside the head of the bunk, bringing his head as closest to hers as he dares. It's pitch black in the small space but he can feel her eyes on him. He brings his hand up to caress her soft hair over the curve of her head and neck, his thumb gliding over her wet cheek in a breeze of a caress.

"Brought you a glass of water." he whispers into the darkness.

"Thanks." The reply is soft, her voice still hoarse from her emotional and physical weariness.

Michael brings his head down, touching his forehead to Sara's. "I'm sorry." He whispers into the darkness. "For everything. For lying to you about the nosebleeds, for being unable to protect you from Gretchen…I am so sorry for so many things Sara…" his voice is starting to break but thank God, he can't finish his sentence for his lips are all of a sudden covered by Sara's in a fierce kiss that effectively silences him.

"Just don't hide things from me again, alright?" says Sara gently when they finally break up, panting slightly.

"Alright." Michael almost chokes at the word, touched by her generosity. He wants to continue, he wants to talk to her further, but she once again shuts him up by entangling him in a series of heady kisses, slowly but persistently pulling him up and into her bed. The tiny voice of reason sets off the alarm in his head, telling him this conversation isn't – or at least shouldn't be – over yet.

"Sara, are you sure this is …"

"Yes." The one resolute word reverberating in his ear, God help him but he doesn't need to be told twice. He immerses himself into her, seeking as well as granting comfort that makes them vulnerable and strong at the same time.

XXX

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