Name: Cheater

Characters/Pairing: Michael/Sara/Lincoln, Michael Jr.

Genre: non-epilogue compliant, het, slash, angst, darkfic, kink

Rating: R (guess for the theme itself, yet absolutely nothing graphic. Oh, and some language too)

Word count: approx. 2000 words

Warnings: slash, incest, definitely not what I usually write!

Summary: The day Sara found out, Michael's world shattered to pieces.

A/N: A while ago, I received a fic prompt from clair_de_lune, who asked for Michael/Lincoln/Sara or Michael/Lincoln, dark, but knowing I didn't write slash then changed the pairing to Michael/Sara, very mindful of my feelings. Well dear Clair, despite everything, I've never shied away from a challenge and I asked for any prompts really, not only those I found convenient or that which suited me. And since it was your birthday...:) here goes. I don't know if this is anywhere near of what you expected or wanted, but this is what came to my mind at last. Enjoy.:)

Cheater

The day Sara found out, Michael's world shattered to pieces. Walking in on the two of them, the shock of what she was seeing took her breath away and her knees buckled.

Then, as if awaking from a dream by a sharp slap, she turned on her spot, packed her bags, took their baby boy and left their house in a hurried rush without a word.

He tried to stop her, tried to explain, he even begged, but he knew she was right. Tears streaming down her face, Michael knew she had no words to express how deeply wound – and probably shocked and disgusted – she was. He couldn't blame her. There are not many cultures – if any – that look kindly upon incest.

He cheated on his wife, a woman he loved deeply, with his very own brother.

But it never occurred to Michael, it never felt that way, it never felt like he was cheating. He always considered his unusual bond with Lincoln as a form of mutual familial affection the two of them merely took to another level. It certainly never felt like an 'affair', not in the traditional sense of the word. He was not gay and he certainly never felt anything for another man, in fact, Michael never felt anything similar for another woman either. Anybody but her.

What he shared with his brother may have been considered sick and unnatural by other people's books or society's standards, but his and Lincolns relationship was, indeed, never 'normal'. Was it really so bad, to love your brother, your own blood and flesh, to the extent where you didn't care what was conventional and socially acceptable anymore? Michael didn't think the way he felt for his brother was something he needed to be ashamed of.

And yet, he was hiding it from his own wife, from a woman who has become his own blood and flesh ever since her fell in love with her. He tried to convince himself he was doing it for her, to keep her safe and happy in her oblivion, to keep the rules and boundaries of their lives as clean and simple as possible. She is his wife and he loves her deeply, the way only a man can love a woman, and he wound never, ever, exchange what he has with her for any other woman or man in the whole wide world.

It was only that the relationship with his brother was…different, unconventional. Special and intense, yet complicated and hard to explain even to himself at times.

Michael always believed that by not telling her, he was only protecting her, sparing her doubts and grief. Now he recognizes his own lie, knowing that he was simply being a selfish coward all along simply for wanting to have them both. What he always feared might happen after she discovered the truth became real.

She couldn't understand, she wouldn't understand, and he didn't blame her. What she didn't understand though, was that he couldn't live without her the same way he couldn't live without Lincoln.

He knew it made him a greedy man, a selfish man, probably a sick man too, in most people's eyes. But he loved his wife at least as much as he loved his brother, and when she left, taking their son with her, his world collapsed.

He spent the next couple of weeks searching for her, desperate in his attempts to reach her in order to try redeeming himself, because he knew that without her, he was damned. But Sara was good at hiding, nearly as good as he was at finding people, and after a month of fruitless search, he finally accepted she didn't want to be found and returned home to a place that didn't feel like a home anymore.

Lincoln was there, but he was only one half of Michael's existence, the other essence of his life missing. They went through the motions, executed mundane everyday tasks, but the brothers didn't speak to each other anymore, words too painful and too inadequate in their situation.

He lost half of his family but if felt like earth has swallowed his soul whole. He spent hours in their son's nursery, cradling his toys to his chest, inhaling the smell of mother and child from his babies blankets.

He was inconsolable, even by Lincoln, and the older man was suddenly remembered of one of the worst times of his life, where he had a living corpse instead for a brother, the short yet eternal time when Michael was forced to believe Sara were gone.

As fucked-up as it may sound, Lincoln loved his sister in law and he loved his nephew. Seriously, how could he not? They made him happy, they made Michael happy, as happy as he has never seen his brother in their entire life. So why did he ruin it all? Why did he irreparably hurt the woman he considered a sister, why did he tear his nephew from his father, especially when he knew exactly how heart-wrenching such an act could be? Why couldn't he make himself stop?

It's been always this way with Michael, ever since they were children. The bond was simply too strong, and now the two people his baby brother cared most in this world were paying the price for his greed.

He though about leaving, hoping that if there was ever a chance for his brother and Sara to ever mend again, it was only if he was out of the picture, for good. But he couldn't bring himself to leave Michael, not now and like this, not when his brother needed him more than ever before, behaving like a ghost haunting his own house.

So Lincoln stayed, merely to take care of things and ultimately of Michael. Although Lincoln couldn't force him to sleep as much as he couldn't force him to eat, he sure as hell could and would be there to stop his brother if he ever dared to do something…stupid.

LJ called a couple of times, first shocked to hear the news of his uncles and aunts sudden split, demanding answers. He wouldn't get any, at least, not the true ones. He finished his last call by calling his father and uncle assholes, slamming the phone shut and hanging up on his father. Lincoln didn't blame him, he knew the strong bond his son has picked up with Sara, the protectiveness that could stem only from a shared trauma survived together, and he was grateful for their bond, despite that it sometimes made him feel like smashing things against the nearest wall.

A month went by, then two, and Lincoln saw that his brother was starting to loose it. He went from room to room, baby blankets, toys and Sara's clothes clutched to his chest or nose or simply in his hands, never talking, never sleeping, a grim glint of despair haunting his look.

Then, three months later, she suddenly stood at the door, child in arm, luggage at her feet. Without a word, she pressed her son into Lincoln's hands and walked by him into the house, her home, searching for her husband. As Lincoln expected, she found him in their bedroom, tangled in the same sheets that covered their bed the same day she left.

She closed the door decisively behind her and Lincoln didn't dare to protest nor intrude. Instead, he took little Michael to the sitting room, engaging him in one of his favorite plays. The boy had grown, the similarity to his father even more distinct now, and Lincoln couldn't help the guilty jolt of pain piercing through his chest, thinking that it was him who robbed his brother the past three months of his son's life. Three months Michael would never get back.

Michael and Sara were locked in their bedroom for hours and Lincoln never heard as much as a single sound come from behind the closed door. It was only late in the evening when Sara finally opened the door, her face pale and tired, the expression in her eyes haunted and tortured. The red puffy circles framing her eyes clear evidence of hours being spent crying. She didn't glance at Lincoln, merely uttered a silent 'thank you' and took the boy into her arms, ruffling his hair and giving him the first real smile in months, despite fresh tears suddenly moistening her eyes and blurring her vision.

"I am glad you are home…" mumbled Lincoln, despite the fact she was still not looking at him. He saw the back of her head slightly nod and it was more he could have asked for.

"You know…" he started tentatively, encouraged by her small gestures towards him, "he was devastated when you left. Broken, inconsolable…" he nearly whispered.

"So were I," she replied in a surprisingly strong voice, a hint of bitterness lacing her words. She quickly changed her tone for the sake of her son however, smiling at the child in her arms.

"Are you glad to be home, Michael?" she asked to small boy who couldn't speak yet, but who still gave an enthusiastic nod which made his mother let out a small laugh.

"So am I," she whispered, hiding her face into his soft curls.

It was much later when his brother emerged from the bedroom, his eyes even more puffy than his wife's and expression as beaten as Lincoln has ever seen on him, but there was a distinctive gleam of hope in his eyes and it made Lincoln hopeful too, for he was afraid that that particular spark would be for always lost to his brother.

It took some time before things started to get to normal again, little Michael's presence a huge help by often being the center of all the attention.

Neither of the trio of adults ever talked about it again, the topic being a taboo in their household. Lincoln never got to know what was said behind the closed doors of the bedroom that day, and to be honest, he never asked. He wasn't one to look the gift horse in the mouth. Sara was back and Michael was happy again, and that was all that mattered in the end.

Only two years later, once after Michael and Sara returned from a prolonged vacation in Hawaii in the middle of the winter, did Lincoln start to receive occasional strange nightly visits from his brother. Before long, things returned to their previous state. It always started as a simple brotherly talk, yet always ended the same way the whole mess started in the first place.

Lincoln knew his brother wouldn't willingly risk Sara leaving him ever again. Therefore, the only conclusion he could draw from this strange behavior patterns was, that what they were doing must somehow be blessed by Sara herself; if not directly agreed upon, then at least quietly tolerated.

Indeed, they never talked about what happened again, passing through life as any other suburban family. Yet the trio of adults made sure neither of their family other than themselves ever found out about their strange love triangle.

It was an act of utmost generosity, sacrifice and love that made this weird concept work, but it somehow did.

Many years later, standing upon Lincoln's grave, an old couple is holding hands. The woman lays down a bouquet of freshly picked flowers, the man an origami crane.

FIN

Share your thoughts, I know you want to.:)