Author's Note: this story was (clearly) inspired by Les Laisons Dangereuses, and I promise it won't be as tragic and maybe almost as smutty. This is set after the final prison break episode, although I've chosen not to include the Final Break. Sara never went to prison and she and Michael did have a wedding night, and a few months together before he died. Also, I decided to ignore the fact that Kellerman visibly becomes a politician. Well, this is getting awkwardly long; hope you'll enjoy this : )
WARNINGS: There's some things to watch for in Kellerman's POV. Namely, that resistance to seduction is "part of the fun", that it's okay to keep pressing when a person doesn't want to be chased. This stuff should remain part of fiction/fantasy of course. Happy reading!
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The graveyard looked almost as grave as the young widow's face. Peachy cheeks, dry from tears, but the look in her eyes was worth a river of grief.
To be widowed before turning thirty must count as a tragedy. So young, most would say, genuinely stricken.
So young, indeed, thought Paul Kellerman. When he watched that particular widow leave a red rose on her husband's grave, flaming hair gathered on one shoulder, the only thing he wanted to say was: waste.
The gleam of her wedding ring caught the sunlight piercing through the clouds, winking at Kellerman. That woman might have lost her husband, but she's still a wife. And she'll remain faithful, if it dooms her to a life of loneliness.
A waste, for certain. Especially when the woman in question was as attractive as Sara Scofield.
She took a step back, to join the rest of the crowd when they lowered the casket into the ground. Her eyes swamped with sadness—and resignation. Like nothing in the world would disturb her grief. Then, with almost too perfect a timing, he caught her eyes.
A breath of anger parted her lips, and Kellerman repressed a grin. She'd hate him for smiling at Michael's funeral, even more than she'd hate him for showing up; even more than she hated him already.
Sara whipped her face back at the casket, a touch of red blooming into her cheeks. Kellerman had expected anger.
My coming here is in bad taste, whichever way you look at it.
But a bit of inappropriate here and there was necessary to set his plan in motion.
Chin high, Sara did not glance at him once during the rest of the ceremony. Good, he thought. Be angry at me. After he saved her and her husband from a life on the run—was it his fault if it turned out to be a tragically short life for Michael?—Kellerman knew his seduction needed to start with more anger.
After he'd saved her in court, after he'd tortured her with iron and water, and a whole series of attempts to kill each other followed. All he needed was a fresh spark, to rekindle the fire, always ready to catch ablaze between them, to burn and burn.
If I'm going to be an obstacle in her grief, better I start right away.
Why did he want to stand in her way? If he had to give an honest answer, he wouldn't know where to start.
Because no way should such a beautiful woman remain a widow till the end of her days.
Because he'd wanted her since they'd eaten blueberry pie together, and he'd watched her lick syrup from her fingers.
Because it'd been a while since Kellerman had truly wanted anything, and he sometimes liked to give in to self-indulgence.
Because he'd already played Sara once, for the company's needs, and now, he wanted to play her for his own.
Because it would be a challenge, and why the hell not?
He lowered his eyes, so when Sara looked at him, he'd look like he was respecting the dead. And she would, look at him. He glanced her way just in time to meet her eyes and watch her blush mature from pink to blood.
Kellerman didn't consider that to seduce a young widow only weeks after her husband's death was beneath him. To draw her into his games without asking whether she wanted to play wasn't, after all, worse than torturing or killing people.
He didn't give thought to what state he'd leave her in afterwards, better off or worse. He didn't care. He wouldn't care; that was the only rule he'd respect.
Before he made his move, Kellerman waited for the crowd to have cleared the cemetery and for Lincoln Burrows, the no doubt territorial brother-in-law, to have momentarily slipped out. Sara stood alone by her husband's grave, her shoulders stiff, specks of annoyance sprinkling her eyes. His presence had upset her, and it demanded effort to focus on Michael now.
I'll count that as my first victory.
Since Sara wouldn't approach him, and he hadn't come here not to approach her, he made his way toward her. Unhurried, to give her time to acknowledge his presence. You don't come near a sheep unless you're in sheep's clothing. Dip your paw in flour. Drink gallons of honey.
"What are you doing here?" Sara said, without looking up.
Not pleased to see him—but Kellerman expected this.
He took on a grave tone, contemplating the tombstone, however much his gaze wanted to stray to her fine figure, all black-clad. "I'm sorry, Sara. I didn't mean to surprise you earlier. I understand seeing me may have been upsetting."
"You're not the reason I'm upset today, trust me."
He nodded. "You have bigger concerns, of course. I won't take up much of your time. All I wanted to do was apologize."
He looked up at her, although she kept her eyes fixed on Michael's grave. An excuse not to meet his eyes.
If that's how she wanted to play it, he could be merciless, too.
When she didn't look back at him, didn't reply, he let his eyes roam over her, and knew that she could feel it. The nervousness was audible in the way she breathed. Her intakes of air uneven, making her chest rise, covered in black fabric that didn't reveal an inch of cleavage.
He watched her for a second more before he went on. "If you find my presence here inappropriate—"
"I do."
"More reasons for me to apologize. I didn't mean to offend you."
"Offend me?" she scoffed. "From what I recall, Paul, you're not one to stop at such things."
"That's just what I want to apologize about. I'm a changed man, Sara." He added, and this much was enough to draw her eyes on his. Assessing his sincerity. He displayed as much of it as he could manage. Openness. Friendship.
She looked away, like the sight of what he had to offer burned her. That sliver of bewilderment and fear started a thrill in his chest. It took effort to stop himself from smiling.
"Even so," Sara said. "I can't think of a reason why you'd come here."
"I told you—"
"Yes," she cut in. "To apologize. You're a lot of things, Paul, but you're not stupid. You'd know better than to think I wanted to hear your apologies, on the day of my husband's funeral."
"So, it's my timing that's inappropriate? Not the fact that I want to make amends, in itself."
She sighed. "Not just inappropriate. Out of character. And yes, the timing makes it worse, but it's more than that. What are you really doing here?"
"Well, you may think whatever you like of me, Sara—but I do care about you."
He did, too. Reckoned that taking the fall for her in court had been one way to demonstrate it.
Kellerman lowered his eyes to her silhouette, and repressed a grin at the subtle curve of her belly, unsuccessfully masked by her black dress.
"And in the state you're in," he continued, "I think you could need this. Someone who cares about you."
She clenched her jaw. Ice-cold. "What I need right now, Paul, is to be left alone."
A man's footsteps approached. A second later, Lincoln's hand was flying around Sara's shoulder, and his eyes were dancing from her to Kellerman, as if the air would brim with the contents of their conversation.
"I wasn't expecting to see you here," Lincoln said, sharp enough to indicate his presence wasn't only unexpected but unwanted.
The older brother's animosity was clear as crystal. Kellerman had saved their lives, a few months ago, which forced Lincoln to behave like a civilized person. But this would not make him forget that he'd murdered Lincoln's ex-girlfriend and her husband, that he had tried to choke him to death, or that he'd left Sara to drown in a bathtub.
Kellerman looked back at Sara as he answered. "I came to offer my condolences."
Lincoln's hold tightened around his sister-in-law. "Come on, Sara. Let's go."
Both turned to leave, and just when Lincoln's hand dropped back to his side, Kellerman caught Sara's wrist.
Gentle. She needed to know he could be gentle. But firm enough for her to turn back.
"I do wish you well, Sara." He said.
The tenderness in his voice visibly startled her.
A flash of protective rage shook Lincoln's face.
Sara looked back at Kellerman, so cautious he would have been afraid she'd see right through him, if he hadn't been the master of lie. All dressed in black, and with that air in her eyes that said she would not be fooled again… Kellerman had never seen her more beautiful.
"I appreciate that," Sara said. "And, from now on, I'd appreciate it if you didn't come back."
She pulled herself free from his hold. Kellerman let her go.
As he watched her walk away with Burrows, Kellerman allowed himself to enjoy the throb of excitement, shooting through his veins. The beginning of a new game. He had expected resistance. Truly, the lack of it would have been disappointing. Where would be the challenge in seducing her, if she wanted to be seduced? It would be a while, and it'd take some work, before Sara accepted him as a friend. Before he became essential to her happiness.
It'd be quite the excitement to watch her betray her vows to her dead husband, to watch her battle with her beliefs, and still be unable to resist him.
Kellerman turned back toward the grave, an unspoken mockery to Michael Scofield.
"Well, what can I tell you?" Kellerman said. "You played her before. You know how it is. We both got caught in the game, though—didn't we?"
Kellerman shook his head. That wouldn't happen again.
He had cared for Sara, once. The tight-gripping panic that overwhelmed him when he watched his men clear her apartment counted as evidence.
There'd be no room for it now. Affection. Mercy. All Kellerman needed was to get back into that ruthless mind-frame he knew so well. If he could shoot people in cold blood, surely he could tolerate the sight of Sara's torment, as he brought her to surrender.
Until she needs me.
Until her sole priority is to please me.
How unoriginal, he thought, as he started to walk away, to seduce an unwilling victim.
Sadly for Sara Scofield, Kellerman had always been a romantic.