Sandcastles (Prison Break Fanfic)

Chapter Eleven

For the second morning in a row, Michael didn't wake up alone, and just like the day before, he inhaled deeply twice to check he was still breathing.

Sara still rested on his chest, her eyes still closed in slumber, and it matched the last memory of the previous night. Her fingers were intertwined with his and her foot was still laid across his. He felt her chest rhythmically rise, then fall against his, completely relaxed despite and because of his arm that sprawled around her waist, keeping her in the place she had been absent from for so long.

Loose strands of her hair obscured too much of her face for his liking. He tucked them behind her ear, gently untangling the knots. She didn't stir, so he dared to trace her jawline with the pad of his thumb. Six years he had spent wishing for one more day, just one more moment, and now they had forever and it still didn't feel like enough.

His smile grew even bigger, somehow, when there was a soft knock on the door. Breaking their embrace, he laid Sara next to him, careful not to wake her while a part of him wished she would open her eyes at the disturbance and they would start the day together. He couldn't resist kissing the crown of her head, and the hair may not have been of the shade he remembered, but the scent was identical to the one that lingered every time she had leaned closer to him than to any other inmate in Fox River.

He picked up the t-shirt he had discarded the previous night and, pulling it over his head, walked to the door. There he was, their perfect little boy, looking up at him. Michael thought he descried the tiniest tinge of fear on his son's countenance, as though he worried that either this interruption, or the one from the night before, would be unwelcome. It wasn't, of course, and to his relief, Bryce's face was nothing but a gigantic beam as soon as he realized vexation was the furthest thing from his dad's mind.

"Ready to make breakfast for your mom?" Michael said, then scooped the boy up and they made their way to the kitchen, accompanied by giggles.

After having spent two days jetting around the country, promising an early parole to the infamous passport dealer and tracking down an aspiring actress who had almost gotten a credit in an indie movie that never got released (or had more than just one specific scene filmed), Abigail had a pretty good idea why Sara's fate was misconstrued for over half a decade. Yet none of the papers she had brought with her to Michael's place this morning had anything to do with it. Technically, it was still an ongoing investigation and statements would still need to be taken before she could disclose anything, but it was all just bureaucratic bullshit and she had crossed the line of professionalism with this case a long time ago. Thanks to her dear father, the odds of that never happening had never been in her favor, she mused when knocking.

It was Bryce who answered the door, excited as though they had seen each other more than once. And god, was he his father's son, standing so confidently in the entryway like he had taken his first steps there. He stared at her, his eyes as eloquent as the dusty old dictionaries on the back shelves of libraries and undoubtedly telling her something. If a day ever came when she could grasp his existence, she might just understand him.

"He wants you to lift him up," someone supplied.

Lincoln. Of course. He was a few feet away, kept hidden by the miracle of his nephew. Whatever he had been up to in Panama made him even larger, and the wardrobe he had apparently not yet refreshed emphasized it.

In the scrawny second their eyes locked, it didn't look like he already knew about her father. He stood absolutely still, with the exception of his fingers that didn't know whether to rub his forehead and grab the insides of his pockets. She had seen Lincoln Burrows dismayed enough times to know that thrashing and cursing was how he responded to the smallest trigger; what her father had done was an off the scale one, especially now that the little boy stood between them.