Name: Painfully numb
Author: lizparker6
Characters: Michael/Sara
Rating: R (for language)
Genre: angst, romance, darkfic
Spoilers: vague for the end of 4x16
Word count: approx.1200 words
Painfully numb
Her body feels numb while her soul feels lonely, extremely and incredibly lonely. Like she is the very last person on Earth, like that time after her mother died and her father couldn't care less.
However, today is the level and intensity of the pain far less bearable and she is far more fragile than she's ever been. And this time, time won't heal all her wounds.
It wasn't supposed to be this way. Promises were made, some went broken and some were reanimated once again. Despite or maybe exactly because of this, she can't help but feel cheated, because the rules changed several times significantly and excruciatingly quickly, all happening once after she joined this game, never asking for her consent.
Tonight, she sits at the edge of the bathtub – yes, a fucking bathtub – in a small filthy bathroom of an accordingly filthy room they rented for the night. The main room is dark, the lights out, and from the double bed, the sounds of Michael's quiet snoring are being carried her way. She raises her head and her eyes narrow when she focuses her eyes directly at the only source of light shining above her head. The bulb is flimsy and the uneven flicking of electricity suddenly irritates her so she looks away.
A big lump starts to form in her throat and she knows it won't be long before the tears come and spill over the edges of her eyes, the same way they did yesterday and the day before that. She knows it's only a partial - and probably also a rather pathetic - way of how to let go and ease the pain she feels inside into numbness.
She is extremely tired, the eyelids painfully pressing onto her eyes in an attempt to close despite her battle to keep them open. She knows she should get as much sleep as she can get, yet she knows that until this is over - this ritual that recently became sort of her bedtime-manner - she won't be able to rest. She can feel every nerve, every fiber and every muscle of her body, her every single cell, hum with tenseness and unnatural, adrenalin-induced energy.
Every day, they risk their life. Every day – every fucking one - she acquires a deep scratch, a future scar, or a new bruise. She goes with it without complaining. There would be no point. He's already made up his mind, 'he will finish this', with or without her. It seems like he doesn't care if this pursuit of this by now pointless 'justice' - or whatever noble name he may call it - destroys them along the way as well.
Every night, they find some smelly hotel they rent for the night and Michael crashes onto the bed the minute the door shuts behind them. He is tired, always so tired, still not fit for any serious exercise yet, not to mention the stunts he is pulling on everyday basis. All her warnings, all her worries and pleas to slow down fall on deaf ears and he wakes up every morning to a new day both of them know will be full of danger and risking their lives.
Last night, he gave her a kiss on the forehead, in passing and while at the same time drying his wet scalp with a towel after the shower he had just finished. Sara was out to get some food and when she came back, he graced her with a tired, thankful smile. Crossing the room and taking the bags from her hands, he planted a kiss onto the heated skin of her forehead. It was far from romantic or particularly affectionate, merely an expression of gratitude. And yet, it was the most intimate gesture Michael made towards her in the span of the past few days. Already being used - yet still pained by - to his rather cold, quiet demeanor, the simple kiss stirred something inside of her that she didn't feel in quite some time anymore and the simple realization of that almost made her weep with sorrow and regret.
Whatever she does, however hard she tries, it like it all doesn't make any difference. She doesn't make any difference, her presence in his life doesn't make any difference. And it hurts more than any whip ever could.
If she didn't know better, she would believe to be a burden to him, rather than an asset.
Where did the love that once brought her through a series of days filled with insane torture and pain disappear? Where was the passion once present in his eyes while he kissed her on the train to Chicago? Where was the desperate devotion that caused him to take the blame for her in Panama? Where was the gentle worry he showed her while holding her tight to him the first night after their tearful reunion?
The tears spill at last. She hugs herself and quietly sobs despite the door to the room being fully open. She knows by now that Michael is a deep sleeper and won't be waking at the sound of her muffled sobs. At least, so far, he never did.
Every night, they climb into bed together and Sara smiles at him pretending everything is ok when nothing really is, waiting until he falls asleep beside her.
Every night, he says 'good night' and she knows it will once again be a terrible one. It's not self-pity that's going on each day in another foreign bathroom. It's just her way – the only she knows at the moment - to get rid of the stress and pain and worry and loneliness and fear and rush that gathered inside her throughout the events of the day. She cries in order to keep her sanity alive, albeit very weak.
Somebody once said that when in a difficult situation, you shall try to live in so called 'day-to-day compartments', for there is nothing one person cannot endure in the course of a single day. This way, you can survive day by day until it's over. Sara wonders how much longer it will take to refute this hypothesis and she finally breaks.
Every night, she thinks this is it, the end, the very last drop. There is nothing else to give, she is spend to the brim, empty and sore. She has no faith left, cannot see the chimera of the bright future they could once have anymore, regardless if they succeed or not.
Every night, Sara cries in the bathroom of a nameless motel for hours before she stumbles through the darkness to the bed completely drained, her supposed 'happy ending' deeply asleep on his side of the bed, oblivious of her daily struggle for air in her lungs.
Every night, Sara thinks she won't make it back to their bed, believing to collapse somewhere between the bathroom and the mattress. She never does.
Every night, she slips under the covers soundlessly, feeling Michael stir slightly and drape a hand around her waist almost automatically. Before, it used to be a gesture that made her feel secure, and loved. By now however, it only seems like an empty and lame pretense of having something Sara is afraid they've already lost.
Every night, Michael Scofield drowsily murmurs the same question into her ear, "Are you ok?", only not to remember any of it in the morning.
Every night, Sara's answer is the same, the lie leaving her lips in a soft whisper. "Yes," and she almost believes it.
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