This is a birthday fic for the wonderful tvalcoholic, who asked for a Michael­/Sara fic set two years from now, that would incorporate dinner time. Well, here it comes, I hope you will enjoy it, Pauline. *hugs you*

Title: Regulars
Characters: Michael Scofield, Sara Tancredi
Pairing: Sara/Michael
Genre: gen, romance, fluff, a tiny little piece angst,
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: approx. 1800 words
Summary: Usually, she didn't like cooking at all, she preferred other people do the job instead of her, but today should be different. She was cooking for Michael.
Spoilers: sliiiiight S4
Warning: The threat of a sugar and fluff , hasn't been betaed. All mistakes are mine.

Regulars

Sara carefully pushed the cut tomatoes from the wooden board into the pan, roasting them lightly on the oil.

The meat was almost done and needed to be taken out any second now, reminded Sara frantically before stirring the now crimson-red mass in the pan. Usually, she didn't like cooking at all, preferring other people do the job for her in form of take-out, but today should be different. She was cooking for Michael.

The dish she chose to prepare was something special to Sara and she wanted Michael to taste it as well. Her mother used to make the dish for her when she was young, always when for some – any - reason Sara was sad; mother knowing her daughter well enough to know she loved the combination of meat and roasted vegetables over anything else.

However, it didn't look that difficult when her mother was preparing the food. Right now, Sara felt like going into overdrive just by having to watch the meat and the vegetables at the same time. She couldn't comprehend how her mother was able to cook a few different things at once while making it look like the easiest thing in the world, plus kindly smiling and talking to her saddened child throughout the whole process.

Sara snapped from her musings at the shrill beeping sound announcing the meat being ready to be taken out of the oven, so she grabbed the protective gloves, ready to open the burning door of the oven, but something caught her attention, making her freeze to her spot.

The roasting tomatoes were making a hissing sound in the pan, yet Sara could hear a very quiet click, indicated their back door had just clinked into its lock. She felt her limbs freeze at the sound in frantic alert; her former instincts and habits she learned the hard way not fading with time one bit.

It's Michael. It can be only Michael. She reasoned with herself. And yet, she knew he promised he wouldn't come into the house until she personally called him in. They've made this somehow strange agreement for the purpose of the whole dish staying a secret to Michael until the very end and Sara knew Michael was never one to break his promises.

And still, when she strained her ears, above the hissing sounds of the tomatoes and oil in the pan, muffled yet distinctive sounds could be heard throughout their small beach house.

Sara shot a nervous look in the direction of the front door, considering flight for the shortest of moments, then she mentally berated herself for being so foolish. Of course if was Michael, who else would it be, right? He might just have forgotten something and intended to sneak into the house the grab it and then sneak out without her noticing.

She slowly started to make her way towards the hall, noting the quiet sounds were coming from the bathroom. The wooden stirrer still clasped in her hand, she only now noticed she held it firm and high, like a potential weapon.

"Michael? Is that you?" She called in a bit breathless voice, begging heavens to get a positive reply.

"Y'ah, ib me. Dob't worry…" Came back from the bathroom, and Sara was so relieved by the fact it was her lover rather than an assassin in their house, that she even overheard the strange way he was talking in. She felt the rush of adrenaline leaving her body quickly, and she even gave a small chuckle at her silliness, when she remembered he wasn't supposed to be here in the first place. She made her way through the hallway, entering the big space of their bathroom.

"What are you doing here? You promised not to come back until I called you, the dinner is not finishe…" She stopped mid-sentence the moment she spotted the thick towel Michael was pressing onto his nose.

"What…?" she started, but all of a sudden, she didn't need to hear the answer anymore. A towel – pressed against Michael's nose – my God, a bleeding nose, she onlynow noted – and that somewhat guilty expression on his face – the sneaking in –it all clicked together in one horrible fraction of a second. The stirrer fell from her hand, her mouth opening in a shocked gasp.

Michael's eyes widened at the sight of her, only now realizing the conclusion she made from seeing him like this.

"Ib not wha' u 'ink!" he said quickly, his hands flying into the air in a gesture of surrender. The thick towel momentarily left its former place of covering his nose and was now dangling from one of Michael's hands.

Sara's eyes scanned Michael'sface in fear and despair.

The nosebleeds are back. My God, they are back, they are back!

Her mind frantic, her heart started to pound faster than if, indeed, an assassin tried to take her life right now.

Then, however, she noticed something else. Michael's face was flushed, the side of his face scratched, and his nose a bit…crooked and…smashed.

Thank God! He must have hurt his face along with his nose. It was NOT a spontaneous nosebleed but rather the result of an injury.

She let out a huge, shaky breath, bringing her hands up, her fingers digging painfully into her hips. Her breath was quick and elaborate. Finally, Sara's knees broke underneath her and her frame sunk to rest on the edge of the large bathtub.

Michael brought the towel back to his face and made his way toward Sara, quietly sitting down beside her. With his free hand he encircled her shoulders, bringing her face to rest against his chest. She complied without as much as blinking.

"I'b sorry. I didn't bant to scare u. I sbashed my bace and came back to stob the bleebing." His fingers stroking her hair lightly, he squeezed her tighter against himself. "I once bromised u that ib the nosebleebs came back, you bould be the birst bon to 'now. I bould neber break that bromise." He whispered quietly, still covering his bleeding nose with the towel.

They sat there for a couple of moments in silence, Michael giving Sara space to pull herself together, although his grip didn't lessen on her one bit. She finally raised her head, looking at him with slightly glassy eyes, a sad smile dancing over her lips.

"I know. I panicked. Sorry."

"Ib ok." He smiled and she returned his smile tenfold.

Sara brought her hands up, covering his that were still pressing the towel against his face, and pulled them down carefully. "Show me that nose." She uttered and he obliged. Indeed, the nose was…smashed. She used her fingers to press to some points, uttering a quiet 'sorry' here and there when pressing on a particularly painful spot causing Michael to wince in pain.

"Well, for what it's worth, it's not broken." She said in a small voice in the end, giving Michael a soft smile. "Now, let me patch you up." She added, raising to her feet and crossing the room to retrieve a first-aid kit from a cupboard. Slipping into her doctor-self helped her recover from the previous shock a little quicker and Michael knew this very well too, so he let her do her job without commenting. And it wasn't like he wouldn't want Sara touching his face in any time, space or circumstances, ever. It took her only mere five minutes, some antiseptic cream and a little strip of gauze fixed by a plaster to finish the job.

"There. As good as new." She said looking at him proudly. Then, unable to resist the urge, she gently grasped his head in both of her hands and planted a soft kiss to his forehead. She heard him exhale deeply and the sound, for whatever reason, made her smile knowingly.

She pulled his head further towards her, letting it rest underneath her chin, her cheek grazing over the stubby hair. "So tell me, how did you manage to bang your face in those mere 20 minutes I left you alone to yourself?" She said playfully, a pretended incredulousness coating her voice. She had a hard time to mask a laughter that threatened to erupt from her throat and Michael knew at this precise moment that they were ok. He withdrew from her ever so slightly to be able to look at her, enjoying her hands entwined at the back of his neck massaging it lightly, then gave her a small sheepish look.

"I got carried away while swinging and fell from the hammock." He uttered, grinning in embarrassment. Sara, however, frowned.

"Michael, we don't have a hammock." Michaels grin turned into a smug smirk while he gave her his most sexy look.

"We do now."

He observed with satisfaction when her eyebrows raised, her lips shaping a little 'Oh' before forming themselves into a wild grin of her own.

"We do?" her voice was low and sexy – God, so sexy! - and it was more a curious, wicked statement than a question. A sudden rush of warm liquid spread throughout Michael's insides when he saw the – now so familiar yet still maddening – erotic look in her eyes. He gulped dryly, able to utter only a confirming 'Uh-huh' before bending forward, taking her by surprise and kissing her hard, his heart leaping with joy when her mouth opened beneath his in an instant invitation. He suppressed the pain by which his bruised nose protested against the rubbing contact between their faces, but it was only a small price to pay for feeling her sweet and irresistible taste.

However, something didn't seem right to Michael, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was exactly that disturbed him.

Sara continued the lazy strokes of her tongue against his own and that was definitely more than alright. His hands were moving underneath the hem of her shirt and this seemed right also.

Was it the fact that his nose was protesting? No, it could go straight to hell, but Michael wouldn't trade this moment for anything. Yet, he knew it had something to do with his nose. Then it hit him.

Something was horribly stinking. A sharp odor of burned cooking hit his nose and he pulled from an obviously oblivious Sara in an instant.

"Ehm, Sara? What are we having for dinner again?" He asked subtly, noticing her expression going from very content to very dismayed in a fraction of a second.

"Dammit!" She cried desperately while already jumping to her feet and hurrying towards the smelly kitchen in an attempt to minimize the damage. Michael smirked, extracting his cell phone from his pocket. He dialed a familiar number and patiently waited for the Pizza Place to pick up, smiling about the fact he had the Pizza restaurant at speed-dial. Yep, the Scofields were regulars, and Michael wouldn't want it any other way.

END

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