Title: Neglect
Characters: Michael Scofield, Sara Tancredi, mentions of the rest of the Warehouse Team
Pairing: Sara/Michael
Genre: angst, romance, POV
Rating: R (just to be sure for some language and stuff, but would probably pass PG-13 standards too :))

Word Count: approx. 4000 words
Summary: This story has been sitting on my hard drive for acouple of weeks now and Ifinally got to post it.

It's Michael's POV regarding his relationship to Sara in S4,concentrating on Michael's frustration about not being able to get throught to Sara.

It's probably set sometime in 4x05, 4x06, after Wyatts attempt to kill Sara.

Spoilers: S4.

Warning: Again, sorry but hasn't been betaed. All mistakes are mine.

Neglect

Fretting

Michael knew the word 'neglect' applied on more than one level in his relationship towards Sara Tancredi. He might have told her they were together and she could talk to him, he would be there for her, anytime. But deep down Michael knew that even if she found the strength to finally open up to him about her pain, there was no real way to put that idea into practice.

They had hardly had time to glance at each other over the table while working out the plan to get their hands on another card. And when they weren't planning, they were actually executing their plans. Everything else they were capable of doing in the remaining time was eating and sleeping.

There were some fleeting moments, though. Moments that were only theirs, when they would quietly chat to each other about anything and everything; exchanging shy smiles, light touches, occasional kisses. These moments were however too rare and grew even thinner with each passing day.

Sara wouldn't show him she hurt, and yet Michael knew she hurt badly. He knew the reason for her silence too, and it didn't lighten his conscience at all.

Being always very conscious about how swamped with work and plans and worries and their safety Michael already was, Sara wouldn't want to add to that burden. It was in her very nature not to 'cause harm'.

This whole damned plan was lying on his shoulders and Sara would hide her pain in order to spare Michael additional worries and grief. It didn't take a genius to figure this out, of course. Her generous, selfless way was a well-known and experienced character trait Michael so much loved about her, but it was also something that didn't let him sleep at night.

Because Sara Tancredi was willing to give so much of her - quickly and willingly - this virtue of hers was often exploited by too many people throughout her whole life. At the present time, it was Michael who was the main recipient of her generosity and the greedy eagerness with which he accepted and took handfuls of what she had to offer surprised as well as frightened him. What hurt the most, however, was that she wouldn't accept anything offered in return.

The cards kept coming and Sara kept playing her part; obediently, amenably, flawlessly. She never complained, never declined a job. She was the perfect soldier, a help-offering friend, a good doctor, a soothing balm offering comfort whenever Michael needed one. She was reliable and impenetrable and always ready to shoulder as much as was coming her way, never complaining, all in order to help him carry the burden of responsibility for all of their lives.

Except that Sara didn't see one little crack in her good intended plans. Instead of being Michael's strength, she slowly started to become his weakness, her stubborn silence and simulated strength unnerved and unsettled Michael - and yes, stung painfully too, with an absurd, almost bizarrely jealous touch to it – to an extend where he often couldn't bring his mind to think clearly anymore, catching himself thinking about strategies of how to bring her talk to him instead of how to get to the next cardholder without being caught or killed in the process.

Her small warm smiles, encouraging words, as well as small humor she endowed him with were in strong contrast to Sara's self-protectiveness and silence regarding her own recent history of pain and violence, and it innerved Michael more than if she screamed her lungs out at him in anger, fear or despair.

Whenever he needed her, she was there. Whenever he was unsure or hesitant or had his conscience gnawed at by insecurity, she was there, offering comfort and advice. She was his beacon, his light, his conscience, and yet; whenever he tried to be the same for her, she shut him out. As if she was refusing to lean on him with her troubles and worries, as if she wanted to be left with her grief alone.

Michael got the feeling sometimes, that there was more to what she was hiding from him. Far more actually, more to the little, thin slices of information she so carefully and hesitantly let drop to him about what happened to her in Panama. And each time, it cost him more and more effort to crack through her thick crust of self-protectiveness in their so rare private moments, happening when they were most intimate and there was no space to back away or hide anymore.

Talking

When they talked, it was either about their work or some hazy utopian future schemes both of them didn't believe they would ever live to get. Talking about her stay in Panama was still a taboo. Like a spell cast upon their already limited time together, they chose to talk about more enjoyable or urgent matters. It wasn't unpleasant. In fact, the light and sometimes even silly banter with generally far deeper undertone felt really nice. And yet, it slowly started to feel all kinds of wrong to Michael. They were eschewing the inevitable and Michael was afraid that if they delayed a particular unpleasant conversation any longer, it could already be too late. He didn't want to rush her, didn't want to push her. Making her feel cornered was the last thing on Michael's mind, and yet he felt like he wasn't trying hard enough, unable to find to right way to get through to her.

Then again, this needed time. And when did they have the time and space to talk properly? Every time they found a quiet moment for themselves, they were immediately interrupted by 'someone needing something'.

Whenever Michael crossed the warehouse on his way to her boat, he could feel at least a dozen of eyes glued to his back, following his steps, probably thinking he was only taking a break to get some pleasure - let some steam off. There was no way he could – nor in any way wanted - to explain to them, but their lack of tack and intolerance for a piece of privacy and happiness between the grim walls of the warehouse started to annoy Michael to no end. Who were they playing at?

Linc was calling Sofia and LJ whenever he got the chance, Sucre talked and dreamed about nothing but Maricruz and their daughter, Mahone was concentrated only on his revenge for what was done to his child and wife, and Roland and Bellick…well, they were simply being Roland and Bellick. Everybody was here for something, and everybody had personal interests in this game. Everybody cared for someone. If not for others, then for their own good.

And yet, every time Michael sought a quiet moment with Sara, their looks made him feel like the only selfish person in the room. It was unfair and hypocrite and each time Michael felt their looks darting his back, his blood boiled a little bit more. What was worse, Sara seemed to sense the discontent about their relationship spreading around the warehouse like a disease too, which only caused her to close and isolate herself further, entertaining in a conversation with Michael only if absolutely necessary or when it was him who first sought out the contact.

The most inequitable thing was that although it might be the right assumption that Sara was the person who occupied Michael's mind most these days, she was also the person who he got to spent the most little time with. He craved to spend more time with her - talk to her, smile at her, touch her, any contact whatsoever would be more than enough - he just never actually got to execute his intentions, his plans always being intervened by one of the members of their team. And slowly, Michael started to get almost a paranoid impression it was done on purpose.

So instead of sitting down and having a proper, private talk with Sara, the only thing Michael was able to give her in their rare fleeting moments together was a bunch of empty promises and proclamations that were worth precisely nothing.

Dammit, he had already promised her dinner three times, and yet they still didn't have the time to grab as much as a plate of cold lasagnia together. She deserved else, she deserved better. She deserved time and care and attention and he wasn't giving her any of those things, and the failure of not providing even such rudimentary things to the woman he loved pressed so hard on him that sometimes, Michael felt like he was suffocating.

She lost her father, she has been nearly assassinated, kidnapped, apprehended, tried, tortured, and the only person left to her was just being killed by the Company, causing her conscious to crumble into pieces under the heavy weight of guilt.

And here they were, circling each other secretively, not able to talk or touch freely, and she knew - Michael was sure of that - if not before then now for sure - that One day was an empty phrase standing for everything he once promised to her but could never deliver. When she confessed where she went after finding out what happened to Bruce and after he left for the 'Eagles and Angels' banquet, that was the last drop into the sea for Michael. He obviously didn't pay that much attention at all. And when then - after everything that happened – Sara told him she would never lie to him, the weight of his own lies and secrets kept literally smashed his heart into shreds of blood and flesh.

Yearning

One week. He would exchange everything he ever possessed for one week of time, where everything and everybody around them simply froze in time and space and there was no one else but the two of them. They would finally drop that little boat of hers into the water – again, as once promised yet never deliver- and they would sail away, not important where but as far away as possible. And for one week, there would be no Company and no enemies and no burdens and no responsibilities and no fears of being harmed or killed or - God damn it - tortured again.

This one week Michael would use to full extend. He would make her talk, he would make her cry, he would let the weight of the last weeks fall on his shoulders to carry for a change, and he would tell her that how much she meant for him wasn't expressible by words so instead, he would simply show her.

Maybe he would even tell her about what bothered him. That he still couldn't believe when waking in the middle of the night with his heart thumping in his chest violently, that she was there, sleeping at her boat just across the warehouse. That he hated the things he was forced to do, things he chose to do, after all hope was taken from him when being told about her death. That he loathed what was done to her and hated the people responsible for all that pain, pain he knew was now slowly tearing her soul apart.

Maybe he would even tell her about his headaches and nosebleeds, about his mother and her illness and his own fright that he may not be able to stand to his promises due to a thing neither of them can affect nor change. And maybe then, he would stop feeling like the biggest cheat ever walking this planet for hiding such a crucial fact about himself from her.

They would patch their scars and wounds up, even if not having the time to let them heal properly, and they would marvel in the fact they were able to escape the manic pace their lives had taken on, and for the shortest moments they would stop to merely breathe.

And then, on the last day, he would simply give them a break and make her laugh. He would crack stupid jokes and banter stupidly with her; all in order to see the corners of her mouth twitch upwards and her eyes roll over his foolish ways. He would gather her in his arms and breathe in her scent and discover all the places and curves of her body his fingers and mouth had not yet time to discover. He would pleasure her and let her pleasure him in return, and this time, he wouldn't feel guilty about it.

Yes, Michael would do anything for getting that one week for the two them, and yet he very well knew he would never get a chance - however remotely similar - anytime soon.

Keeping mum

Two hours ago, she told him she had been at a bar almost falling into her own ways because he was yet again not there to catch her if she fell. It's been one hour and fifty-eight minutes since Mahone called them back into the god-damned warehouse to discuss the plan of how to get to the next card. And he hasn't had a second with her alone since then. She has been hurting even more than the days before, he could tell for it was painfully visible in the way she moved - a somehow controlled – cramped - unnatural way. God only knew what she had to go through in the bar she spent several hours at but didn't actually drink.

This was a part he actually believed without hesitation. What scared him was that in another darkest hour of hers, he was not there. A clean sleight seemed to have started of exactly the same way as the last one. Lies mixed with empty promises, as well as abandoning her, seemed like a pattern in his behavior he so desperately wanted to change but coincidence and faith kept deciding it for him otherwise. She said it would not happen again and that she was ok. The first part, he believed without as much as blinking, catching the hot determination in her eyes. The second part however, he couldn't. She hurt and she wouldn't let him in and it was tearing him apart, agonizingly slowly but the more powerfully. He wanted to give her time, but he also needed her to connect in return, he simply needed her. She was offering as well as giving all her strengths, but she wasn't willing to offer her weaknesses and Michael couldn't live with having only one half of the puzzle of Sara Tancredi, currently pressing her lips gently against his shoulder.

/

Earlier that day, Sara came rushing to the warehouse strongly panicked but otherwise unharmed, exactly at the same moment when he was already starting to lose his mind about her whereabouts. The only thing she was able to squeeze through her lips was that she was ok and that she has been followed by a man about whom Alex told them didn't hesitate to kill his five year old son.

There was no way the man could have followed her to the warehouse, she made sure of that, and again, Michael didn't doubt it for a second. She knew her business. But yet again, the question of how she escaped and what she had to endure in order to accomplish it, plagued Michael's mind while his eyes skimmed the grimy clothes bathed in sweat and her pale, fear-stricken face.

It seemed like the more he tried, the more time and opportunity to talk to her slipped through Michael's fingers. But these were no small things anymore and Michael didn't know what troubled him more; the fact there was not even time to discuss the recent pursuit of a Company henchman to take her life, or the fact that Sara looked like she didn't expect any different. He sent her a silent plea of apology that said: 'I am sorry there is no time to talk about this right now', and he felt a stab of pain in his chest when he noticed she looked almost relived about it.

Self-doubting

What she had to offer to him - what she was already giving him - the delight he felt every time he saw a shadow of a smile ghost over her lips when he smiled at her over the table or sent her a wink when nobody was looking – arose a feeling of doubt deep in his chest each and every time he was graced by one of her rare smiles. For was he, Michael Scofield, a man who deserved to be endowed by the love of a person like Sara? For amongst other things, Michael was still a man who sent another human being to a certain death by being buried alive. He was still a man who had too much blood on his hands. And he was certainly a man who had gone from making good things to doing –in the most modest way said- 'questionable' things, and Michael wasn't sure if he hadn't already gotten too much further than that. If he hadn't stepped beyond the border that would separate him from Sara's side, a side that was bathed in such an intoxicating pure and bright light.

Clean sleight or not, Michael was still making the same mistakes over and over again whereas she continued to offer herself so generously, so freely to him. And it drove him crazy sometimes for he couldn't see any logical reason as to 'why'.

Breaking the ice

Michael brushes his knuckles over his forehead, feeling the headache spreading and growing stronger with every dark thought. Across the desk, he rather feels than actually sees Lincoln staring at him in deliberation. He chooses to ignore his brother's gaze. There is no way he is going to tell Sara about this, not when there is already this much loaded on her shoulders.

The blueprints on the table blur momentarily, swimming in front of his eyes and Michael does everything to suppress a heavy painful sigh.

He feels a soft, warm hand brushing his back and knows who it is without having to turn around.

"Hey, are you alright?" Sara asks quietly, placing a steaming cup of coffee on the table right in front of him. When he finally turns, he sees the concern for his well-being written all over her features. "Maybe you should take some rest. It's been a long day for you." She utters and again, he feels a stab of indefinable guilt for being the one to receive her love and care and the one to lie to her this shamelessly at the same time.

"I am fine." He replies back rejecting her offer, plastering an uneasy smile over his face and bringing his hands to rest upon the blueprints once more. He feels Lincoln's eyes burning into the side of his head, but he refuses to acknowledge his stare again. Sara's hand still rests splayed wide on his back and its warmness spreads through all of his body, magically calming his tense nerves. He looks at her anew, changing his mind in a split of a second.

"You know what? I think I could actually use some break. We both could." He rises from his seat and outstretches his hand in an invitation, absolutely ignoring their current company. "Care to join me?"

She looks a bit taken aback - awkward even - at first, but then without any further question nods and takes his hand.

"Yeah." She breathes and he holds her look, telling her there is no hidden agenda behind his words except to finally being able to spent some time together. In the back of his mind, he hears Roland letting out some stupid remark which is followed by a loud smack, probably caused by Lincoln's open palm colliding with the back of Roland's head. Serves him right.

They walk from the warehouse in silence, but the moment the door loudly shuts behind them, Michael turns around and entangles Sara in a tight embrace, burying his face into the crook of her neck, openly –almost shamelessly- breathing in the heady scent of her soft hair. She is still a little startled, for she tenses for the slightest of moments, but then she relaxes in his arms, letting him hold her tightly against him.

"Is everything alright?" Sara asks in concern, but he merely smiles into her hair, still pressing her small frame tightly against him.

"Yes, everything is alright." He tells her with his smile growing, his lips brushing the tender skin of her neck. Michael can feel how his body starts to relax almost immediately. It feels like he is melting into her, with her, and Michael continues to take in the sweet warm scent he got used to associate with her and her only over the little time they've spent together this closely.

"Want to call it a night and grab some food? I remember promising you dinner once." He utters at last, shifting the pace of mood on purpose, painfully aware his somehow odd behavior might unsettle her, and that would be the very last thing he would want to achieve today.

She withdraws ever so slightly in order to look into his eyes carefully, as if evaluating the honesty as well as sanity of his question. Then the corners of her mouth twitch upwards, and a lazy grin spreads over her face, eyes shining for the first time that day.

"Actually, you promised me dinner three times already." She replies, closing the distance between them and planting a languid kiss on his mouth, successfully teasing all his senses.

"Does cold lasagna work for you?" Michael asks, gulping hard when catching a spark of light in her warm eyes.

"Cold lasagna sounds pretty damn good to me right now." She breathes, a sudden soft chuckle escaping her lips. Michael feels her muscles relax under his touch, noting the tight knots of nerves in her body finally starting to untangle. She lays her head to his chest, right over his heart, listening to the steady rhythm for a few moments, her eyes closed, breathing even.

"Thank you." Sara utters quietly a few moments later, shifting her head and burying her face into his chest as deep as his body allows. He can feel the tight press of her nose against him and his heart tightens with emotion.

"For what?" His tone is quiet and a bit guarded as he cradles her against him, pulling her even closer, a sudden insane wish to make her sink into him completely. He can feel her hands pressing deep into his back, her embrace on him painfully - almost desperately - tightening.

"For reminding me that I'm not all alone in this world yet." He can hear her voice breaking and it's all he can do not to take her by the hand and break into a run, fleeing away with her right here, right now.

"We will do this more often; finding a little time only for ourselves." He says as he cradles her head against his chest, his hand stroking her hair affectionately. "That's a promise. One I won't break this time." Michael adds in a voice that's a bit choked and he knows this is a pledge he won't allow himself to break.

"I know." She utters confidently and he wishes he could feel such certainty too. Instead, he bows his head and kissed her.

END

Ok, I need some SERIOUS feedback here, cause I don't know what to think about this fic myself. I've written in a kind of an emotional crisis a few weeks ago and changed some bits about it now, but I honestly don't know what to think about this. So I need some tough love here guys. Please, feel free to let me know not only your positive, but as well as negative thoughts about this. :) I honestly have no idea how this will come through and how much it varies from my original writing, but I have a feeling it does. Any ideas why?