Sandcastles (Prison Break Fanfic)

Chapter Thirteen

Part Three - Forward

Chapter Thirteen

After the story reached its closing line and their son was tucked in, his eyes no longer fearing the challenge of sleeping by himself, Sara headed left toward the bathroom, like every evening, and Michael was to retreat to his office, for the first time since he wasn't alone anymore. If her steps were hasty, his were hesitant in question, an invite she disregarded.

She felt ridiculous about it as soon as the bathroom door closed. Taking off her clothes did nothing to shed her of the feeling, and once again it failed to escape her just how perfectly two people would fit in the shower cabin. She adjusted the temperature of the running water, but regardless of the effort, it was as scorching as the strip of fading sun that had fallen upon Sucre's backyard when her heart still beat in the rhythm they had shared and she could still enumerate the places his lips had kissed.

He had rushed out after her as inconspicuously as being surrounded by people allowed him. Sucre played music loud and one practically had to scream to be heard, but it couldn't eclipse his steps nearing. They had always had a way of erasing the reality, so egocentrically only seeing, feeling, falling for each other. She shut her eyes as he stood behind her, close enough for her to know that his bloodstream still raved as well. How she managed not to turn on her heels and crash her body into his, was a mystery to her, especially when his hand slipped into hers.

He leaned closer and his breath, heavy with the consequences of their tryst while she was breathless in elation, was on her skin.

"Sara, we didn't use..." he started, because of course that would be the thing he would focus on. God forbid he would kiss the hollow behind her ear or gaze at her with the insinuation that would make her want to leave the party early and find a way to get Lincoln off their couch as soon as their son succumbed to slumber. But that was Michael Scofield for you, following his own moral code that didn't give anyone else a say and gave him absolutely no pleasure everyone else would take for granted. Maybe she was still too much in love to call him out for it. Maybe she just wasn't used to always being unconditionally put first, even and especially when all she wanted was to hold his hand. And she definitely should be more alarmed that they were talking about this, again.

"I know," her head jerked toward him, stopping just before her cheek could touch his lips. She watched them shudder, then walked away before he could speak the words she knew beleaguered him.

Now the little pharmacy bag with the pill was next to the sink. It wasn't that she was thinking of not taking it, but she had the identical intent once before and right answers had always been an abstract concept with Michael Scofield. If she was to recount, the first right thing to do would have been to tell Bellick about a prisoner crawling around the ceiling and knowing his way around Fox River. And the absolute wrong would have been to keep the door closed and send a convicted murderer to his death.

Things had never been simple with the two of them, escaping prisons with the other's help and running from bullets together, yet something as natural as talking seemed to be the one insurmountable thing. But since they had gotten so good at pulling off the impossible, she wiped the tears that slipped from her eyes.

Her steps stilled when the door of his office came in sight. He left it too open to call it ajar, yet it was closed just enough to give her an excuse not to enter. She didn't take it.

Who knew how far she had still been from the office when he first heard her approaching. His eyes awaited her, though he kept them too low for their gazes to meet. Still in the shirt she had creased between her fingers just hours earlier, he was sitting in his desk chair, whose blackness inevitably sent shivers down her spine just thinking of subfusc days he had greeted in this room, before.