When you start keeping a secret you don't immediately realize it'll become a secret. You just think, I'll keep this quiet for a while, see how things go. And so had Sara. If she started dating now, just now, a few months after she'd announced her intention to run for President, people would have no choice but to read it as a political move.
They'd say: 'Of course, a single woman couldn't make it in the world of politics.'
Putting a woman in the oval was hard enough, but without a man to normalize her, to make her desirable, domestic, and so feminine, how could she be taken seriously at an election?
Sara had made it on her own so far and intended to make it a lot farther. Already, Paul was working on fashioning her image as defying the usual standards of candidates. New was the keyword. Same game, new rules, new expectations, new winner.
This was what Sara wanted. Elected or not, she wanted to do it her own way.
And how could she possibly drag Michael into this, Michael who hated the spotlight and all that came with it, scrutiny, attention, Michael who belonged in the shadows?
The regular volunteers at the food bank were probably the only ones to know. Charles, Benjamin, and Brad – nice, awkward Brad who still lived with his mother, who'd hated himself for not making his move on Sara before she became unreachable, a political icon, and who, after watching her romance with Michael invisibly blossom, probably hated himself more.
Some things happen even when you make every effort to stop them, when you desperately will your body to run the other way.
Their hands brushing when they were packing food in the back, the dryness in their throats, the heated charge of their silence, when they were momentarily alone, and their proximity felt electric, full of live wires.
When you got to become the youngest and the first female Governor of your home state, you start thinking you've acquired enough willpower to be above certain things. You can keep yourself in check. You can cheat the people around you, keep your feelings to yourself.
But then suddenly you're not Governor, you're not all the things you've achieved over the years, and you're kissing a man, in the back of the foodbank, alone, with nothing but food cans all around, the feel of his tongue brings something in you back to life, something you'd forgotten, or maybe something that never existed until now.
The warm wetness of his lips on hers, goose bumps down her flesh when his hands skimmed the skin of her back, through her shirt, then under, her cheeks flushed with breathless desire.
She'd wanted to say, We can't, to make him stop. Anyone could step in at any moment. It was a quiet enough evening, only Charles and Benjamin left, but they might need something in the back and catch them all the same.
But she didn't say it, didn't stop him or find it in herself to stop, her hands unbuckling his belt, the raspy feel of his scalp rubbing down her stomach.
That's around the time Sara realized just how big, how problematic a secret Michael Scofield was.
And if she hadn't worked so hard to get where she was now, if she didn't believe in serving her country so completely, just for a moment of exhaustion and relief, she might have wanted to stop, to let go of everything.
What stopped her was how much she would hate herself if, after coming so far, she not only gave up, but gave up for love, precisely what was seen as a woman's rightful path and happy ending.
After things had slipped out of control at the food bank, it became clear Sara would have to see Michael someplace else. There was nothing else to do, no hope – no possibility of giving it thought – of never seeing him again, and so Michael became her official secret.
They had this conversation outside, behind the foodbank, where there was nothing but a few parked cars. It was a grey setting, the sky matching the color of the parking lot, which Sara thought was a decent pacifier to make sure the conversation didn't get heated.
But then, she did hate how pragmatic her proposition sounded, not-too-frequent meetings at a hotel room – never the same one – and especially, absolute secrecy, never telling anyone where he was going. Not even Lincoln.
Michael looked at her with an intense earnestness for a moment.
A ridiculous thought suddenly flashed through Sara's brain. He hates me. But of course, he only hated their situation, as did she – only she was the one responsible for it.
"And how long would this last?" He inquired. "These precautions?"
No anger in his voice. He didn't raise his tone. He knew her career was important, was really more than a career.
"I don't know." She admitted.
If it had only been a matter of timing, if it was just about people thinking Sara was getting herself a husband, she would have been able to swallow her pride and go past it. Have them think what they will. There would have been plenty of solutions to still go against the typical candidate format. She might have dated Michael and not married him, which would have been scandalous enough.
But there was another, graver reason why Sara couldn't be associated with Michael in particular, and that reason, they both knew, was his brother.
Sara remembered the first time they'd talked about it, remembered the seriousness and devotion in his tone when he'd said – You're ambitious to want to save the world, Sara. If I could save Lincoln, just Lincoln, that'd be enough for me.
Lincoln Burrows had been an on and off criminal since he was fourteen. His journey through crime had slowly escalated, from shoplifting to drug dealing and, most recently, armed robbery. Only nineteen when he did his first jail time – three months – then three months again when he was twenty-five, and now, he was incarcerated again, though not for such a short stay. Eighteen months, and in Fox River, too, which explained why Michael had moved to Chicago.
"It's not that he's evil," Michael had told her. "I realize it sounds like I'm making excuses for him, but he's not. Lincoln's been down a road of self-destruction for nearly all his life, and now he feels he's in too deep to backpedal."
"Is he a proud man?"
Michael had sighed. "Yes, there's that. He'd sooner drown than ask for help."
But she could read the guilt in Michael's eyes, as he told this story, so that she knew there was more to it even before he told her all of it – how Lincoln had got in trouble to borrow ninety grand from some drug cartel, and all to send his unaware little brother to college.
Heart of gold or not, Lincoln remained a criminal, disqualifying Michael for the white house even as a boyfriend or potential husband.
Being affiliated with someone like Lincoln was different than Sara's desire to run alone and single. One thing was to prove a point, to stand by a principle, while the other was just bad luck. If her relationship with Michael were official, he would have to make statements, to downright condemn his brother – Justice Frank Tancredi style – or defend him and be forever discredited and distrusted by Sara's electorate.
Suddenly, standing with him in the cold, outside the foodbank, Sara thought she did know how long she and Michael would have to be cautious, not to be seen together. As long as she'd want a political career. As long as she was running for President and for the next four or eight years if she made it.
In her chest, she felt cold and dry, realizing what this would mean, that it went beyond illicit meetings at hotel room. A double life, lying to everyone they knew, all in the sake of a secret commitment to each other, of a romance that might never be allowed to exist in broad daylight.
My shadow-friend, she thought, without amusement.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have asked."
"Why?" He sounded serious enough. "According to my admittedly limited experience with keeping secrets, I'd say hotel rooms are more discreet than the back of a charity center."
"But I should have thought this through."
"You mean, thought about the future?" Again, he didn't grow angry at the implication that the future for them was black with uncertainty. "Let me guess. Because since we've met, it's been getting harder not to be around each other, and since what happened the other day – you're afraid if it happens again, we might just get in over our heads?"
"Yes."
He smiled. It looked unexpectedly, miraculously boyish. "Sara Tancredi. Are you saying you're falling in love with me?"
She sounded more serious, to make up for his beaming face. "Don't you realize how much trouble this would mean?"
"But are you? No, forget I asked. You shouldn't say it like that. It's not like me to be impatient – that's something you should know about me, Sara, something that should mean a lot right now." He chuckled. "I'm good with patience. I guess I've had all the practice I could hope for with Lincoln."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying yes. Yes to the hotel rooms, yes to the secrets, yes to being with you in the shadows. The sunlight can wait. I'm a patient man. I'm saying I hope you do great things for this country, because you're what it deserves, and I can wait until you've done everything you could for it. I'll wait for you, Sara. As long as you'll need me to."
Though the parking lot was deserted, they were still outside, and the risk of being seen wasn't inexistent. And yet, Sara uttered a sigh of defeat, grabbed his shirt collar and pressed her lips on his.
"You can't tell your brother," she said.
"I know."
"Not anyone."
Of course, it went both ways. She couldn't tell anyone either, especially Kellerman – how furious he'd get if he found out, would probably think of nothing but tearing them apart.
The mere thought sent a shiver to crawl down Sara's body, with a sense of dark foreboding.
Breathless, still tasting him in her mouth, Sara tried to will herself to break their embrace. His hot exhale on her lips. She couldn't resist kissing him one last time.
"Michael Scofield," she said. "You do realize you've completely messed up my plans, don't you?"
"Not completely." He brushed his knuckles against her cheeks. "You're going to become President, Sara, and I'm going to be with you when that happens – just not in plain sight, is all. But like I said, the spotlight was never for me."
…
End Notes: Please let me know what you think, and don't hesitate to give me a nudge if you feel I'm dragging my feet with a story, I'll put it in my priority list ;-)
