Around six p.m., the president of the NRA Jacob Ness released the following statement, "Today has been a tragedy for us all. Our thoughts and prayers are with the president and her loved ones."

Bruce Bennett shook his head when he read the tweet on his iPhone. The NRA had better lie low and say nothing, if they were going to avoid the elephant in the room so blatantly. The elephant, obviously, was that the president had been shot in a middle of a historic speech on gun control. That the NRA had a share of responsibility at least in its constant lobbying members of Congress to stall reform.

Maybe there was more. But it was too early for Bruce to launch himself into the question that would be on everyone's lips in the following weeks, Who shot the president? What had happened today was a personal crisis for him as well as a political one. It wouldn't be right for him to allow the latter to take over so early, when his mind was still haunted by images of Sara's childhood.

"Sir?"

Bruce's assistant opened the door of his office.

Bruce straightened in his seat and put down his cell phone. "Yes?"

"A mister Scofield is here to see you."

"Very well. Send him in."

A moment later, Michael stepped into the room. The wildness that had beamed into his eyes all afternoon had dimmed somewhat, but Bruce could tell it was only a demonstration of the young man's willpower. What Bruce had seen of Michael today had confirmed his thoughts about this "secret lover". Although years had passed since his relationship with Sara had ended, Michael Scofield was more than a liability from Sara's past. Bruce suspected that was all Paul Kellerman saw in him, but Paul could be a bit narrow-minded. All the roads in his mind led him back to Sara. Therefore, Michael had been of interest to him only in his relation to the president.

On the contrary, Bruce had become interested in Michael himself. Wasn't there something fascinating in a young man who went from engineer to vigilante legal aide in the span of two years? So Bruce had pushed his investigation on Michael Scofield beyond Kellerman's. It had helped that Bruce was himself a lawyer, so he was more able to appreciate Michael's doings in themselves, and that some of the lawyers Michael worked with in Washington were old colleagues of Bruce.

If Michael had been too focused on Sara before to fully appreciate just how much Bruce knew about him, Bruce didn't doubt that in the few hours the young man had spent alone, he had gone back over every detail of their conversation and wouldn't miss the slightest irregularity.

"Michael," Bruce greeted. "Please, sit down."

There was a while of silence. Bruce took it that however many questions Michael had right now, he was keeping them under close check.

"I take it you've given a lot of thought to our conversation," Bruce said.

"Yes."

"Surely, there are things you'd like me to answer."

Michael didn't reply immediately. "Sir –"

"Please, call me Bruce."

"Bruce. What you did for me today meant more than you can possibly guess. I consider myself in your debt. My questions can wait."

"I admire that. But if you don't mind, and if you feel you're in the state to do it, I'd like to hear your theories."

"My theories?"

"You're a smart man, Michael. No one who's heard of you could doubt that. What no one really seems to know is how smart. So, I take it for any question you have about me, you've already considered answers. Why don't you tell me, and I can tell you whether you've guessed correctly."

Michael nodded his head. "There are two questions. Both of which are related. You told me that you knew everything that Paul Kellerman knew about me. Though I don't want to call you a liar, it's obvious that isn't true. Or how would you have known me in the cathedral, when Kellerman himself never recognized me at the hospital?"

"I also told you that I took an interest in you quite separate from Paul Kellerman."

"Which I take it to mean you've been watching me. The more I look back on what happened, the less it looks like a coincidence, Bruce. That you were sitting right behind me at the cathedral. That even in the chaos that broke loose, you thought of putting your hand on my shoulder to stop me from getting myself killed."

"And why'd you think that is?"

"I think you knew I was going to be at Sara's speech, and you thought it would be the ideal time for you to approach me."

"Very good."

"Which leads me to my second question. Exactly what do you want from me?"

Bruce sat back in his chair, his eyes scanning the young man's face. He hadn't overestimated him. "And what do you think I want, Michael?"

Michael smiled. He was used to interlocutors who wanted to be a part of the conversation. Most people are too proud not to mind that the person in front of them can do both the questions and the answers without them.

"You want me to work for you," he said.

"Ah. I take it before you came to see me this evening, you did your research?"

"You were Frank Tancredi's lawyer."

"Yes." Bruce nodded. "Now, I know you can guess that, too, but I'll say it anyway. I think what you're trying to do in Washington is noble and brave. I've reached an age when I don't have the energy to fight for justice as you do. But I still have a lot of connections and if it's what you want, I can help you get to the next level."

"You would be my gateway into Sara's world."

Bruce was surprised at this turn of phrase. There was no emotion in Michael's voice. Everything about him looked like a layer of ice atop a frozen ocean. Who knew what lay buried beneath?

"That would be one way to put it."

Michael was silent. Bruce imagined that was only natural. The man has stood in the shadows for so long, the very thought of the light must burn his eyes.

"What do you think?" Bruce asked.

"I don't need to think," Michael said. "What I've done today to see Sara is irreparable. I've walked into that hospital by your side, as your partner. The most important people in her cabinet have already identified me as such. There's no turning back. I'm your man, sir."

Bruce surprised himself with a smile.

There was an energy in that young man so much like Sara. He still remembered her impassioned speeches at her father's table, when he was dismissing some issue about inequality. She may not have won her father over, but she had won Bruce.

And Bruce thought Michael Scofield might just do the same thing, if he wasn't careful.

realTheodoreBagwell: I invite the Knights to gather wherever you are. Be the light America needs in this dark time. The country needs leaders now more than ever. I will be at Millennium Park to answer your questions and pray for Pres. Tancredi. #KnightsofAmerica #JusticeforSara #AmericaUnited

realTheodoreBagwell: Those behind the shooting will know the brute force of retaliation. An eye for an eye. We know who you are, and we will find you. You WILL NOT escape punishment. #JusticeforSara

"Senator Bagwell, you've gathered an impressive crowd tonight. What's your message to your closest followers?"

"The Knights know how important they are to society," Bagwell answered the reporter's question, solemn-faced. "They know our country has been in crisis long before today's terrible shooting. If America is to regain its former glory, then Knights everywhere need to stand up and take back their proper place. You know who you are," he looked at the crowd, then straight into the eye of the camera. "Policemen, teachers, workers, unemployed. Whatever you do. If you have this feeling inside of you that this fair nation needs protecting, I'm here to tell you, you aren't alone. Rise for her, my fellow Americans. Take up arms to fight for her. If I could have died to protect my president today, I would have, and I know many of you would have done the same thing."

Bagwell sighed. An air of despondency painted his features.

"But my dear fellow citizens, I'm afraid that the gentle America Sara Tancredi promised you has fallen today, just like our dear president has fallen. This outrageous assault has sadly proven to us what we get when our fist slackens. Knights all over this country know that should have never happened. That we should meet our enemy with an iron hand. I respect what our president has tried to do for our country. But all of you watching, you know that the time when we showed mercy to our enemies has expired. The soft way has failed. We must strange strategies or perish."

Indistinguishable questions bubbled everywhere, getting lost in the flashes of cameras and mikes being thrust toward Bagwell.

"Senator, earlier this evening you've tweeted that you suspected who was behind the attacks."

"I don't suspect," Bagwell answered. "I know. Private sources have confirmed to me the assault came from a terrorist group that originated from ISIS."

A murmur spread amidst the crowd.

"Indeed, I fear this group is extremely active inside the country. It has hundreds of thousands of followers. For the safety of the country, it's imperative we unmask them and bring them to justice."

"You have proof of this group's existence?"

"Hundreds of proof. Everywhere on the Internet." He waved at the crowd. "Thank you for coming tonight. God bless you. God bless America."

"I wish I could pray."

Kellerman looked at Gretchen, surprised at her assertion. They were still in the waiting room, although most of Sara's team had gone back to the White House by now.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Pray," Gretchen repeated. "It sucks to be an atheist. If I thought it would work, I'd put all my energy into a ball and pray for Bagwell to drop dead."

"I'm not altogether sure that's how prayers work."

"Did you hear him tonight?"

Kellerman shook his head. Gretchen moved from her chair on the opposite side of the room over to Kellerman, bending to show him the screen of her cell phone.

He read the remarks, but didn't have the energy for anger. "So, the country is full of secret terrorists. Maybe they were planted by the aliens who landed in Roswell."

"It's not funny. He's trying to start a witch hunt."

"He might just get it. People are angry. They're afraid. The circumstances are ripe for –"

"For secession?"

Kellerman looked up at Gretchen. "Don't be dramatic."

"I wanted to get your attention."

"Are we schoolgirls trying to outslut each other?"

"That's sexist."

"You have that effect on me." Kellerman's eyes were a blue glare, daring Gretchen to push him. "Right now," he said, "I have my priorities. Theodore Bagwell doesn't make the list. I'll worry about him later, if you don't mind. But please. Do get your head in a whirl about him. I have nothing better to do than watch."

Gretchen opened her mouth. Whatever scathing remark she was going to say, she was interrupted as one of the bodyguards opened the door of the hospital room.

"What is it?" Kellerman rushed to his feet.

The bodyguard looked at Kellerman then Gretchen. They were the only people left in the room.

"We need to call a doctor," he said.

"Is she worse?"

The bodyguard took a step back. Kellerman must look like a shark, ready to eat the whole world in blind rage.

"No, sir," the bodyguard said, dazed. His words sounded more like a question than an answer when he added, "She's awake."

AN: Please share your thoughts in the comment section ;) take care!