Sandcastles (Prison Break Fanfic)

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Part One

Paul Kellerman was a man who spoke the loudest when times were at their most dire, and in the weeks since Sara Tancredi had magically reappeared in the land of the living, he was talking non-stop, greeting and reminiscing until his throat went dry. He called up every high ranking official with whom he had ever exchanged a word, the few lawyers he could trust and a bunch of famously untrustworthy ones. Everyone in the greater DC area was reminded of his heroism during the war and how his testimony helped bring the Company to the ground.

There was a gun in the top drawer of his desk at work. Whenever there was a knock on the door, his nails dug into his palms as he resisted the urge to test the fate for the third time. So each time he just coughed away the dread and sounded as buoyant as ever when inviting the visitor to enter. It was never the person he expected, and days turned into weeks as he sat anxiously by. In his defense, he had never called himself a hero of any kind; it was a label given to him by his superiors in the army, then the media after the fall of the Company. It wasn't that he was a coward, no; it was just that somehow, self-preservation had always walked hand in hand with heroism when he was around. Not that he would ever admit it to anyone, but when Scofield had set out to destroy the Company at whatever cost, spilling secrets just seemed safer than sticking with his former employers.

He knew better than to feel safer with each passing day, and maybe he was dumber with every day he allowed to pass with his mouth firmly shut. When his daughter finally admitted to herself that he was as deadbeat of a father as practically their whole relationship indelibly indicated, it was past eleven and he was in the middle of making himself a late dinner.

Before she had been transferred to the Northwest, he cooked for them every Thursday; once they were a better part of a continent apart, they skipped dinner and talked during their favorite shows, commenting on the slightest detail. Now she was back on the East Coast, and if she waited another forty minutes, this would be the third Thursday in the row going by without a call. He had three weeks' worth of opportunities to see her, as a father and a former Company operative, yet hadn't taken a single one, because Paul Kellerman's words always spoke louder than his actions.

There was no reflection of red and blue lights on the walls of the living room, and no sirens under his window announced the arrival of belated justice. No one yelled his name and ordered him to open the door. If the bell wasn't reverberating in his head, it would be like it had never rung at all. It really was a perfect opportunity for him to do what he did best – bail. Maybe she was testing him. Maybe he passed when he opened the door. Perhaps regardless of its backdrop, it was a heroic thing to do.

"Abigail," he greeted her.

She watched him with the same spite her mother had when he still made the effort to drop in his toddling daughter's life. He had stopped the second time Abigail stared at him, completely oblivious to the fact he was her father. It had been a handy excuse for a man who changed his name with every assignment that landed on his desk.

"Dad," she said, but the voice gave away that of all the names she would like to call him right now, a father was be very, very low on the list. On her drive over, she wondered whether he would greet her with a plea or a blatant ignorance of what they both knew. Now she realized that either she would meet with equal disappointment.

She was pretty sure that he would give her no incentive to stay, thus she didn't bother walking in. He must have just taken a blueberry pie out of the oven, for its smell lingered around them. Once upon what felt like a million years ago, it was the scent of an effort she had been slowly starting to have faith in. Now she knew better than to think he actually wanted his last dirty secret to come knocking on his door.