Sandcastles (Prison Break Fanfic)

The End

One thing Michael did know about Sara, though, was that she would say yes. No matter where he would steal the last kiss before the new kind of forever began, regardless of the hands of the clock when the question left his lips, whatever the name on the little box was, she would say yes. So he got her something absolutely not expensive enough in his eyes and something absolutely too extravagant in hers. He figured it was a good compromise.

It was Bryce who had given him the idea for the perfect time. It was a couple of weeks before the Halloween and they were shopping for decorations, of course passing the aisles stocked with Christmas-themed items.

"Mom loves Christmas," Bryce remarked. "The tree, the lights, the music, everything."

So Michael endeavored to have everything, the music, the lights, the tree, and more. Three evenings before the Christmas Eve, when Bryce was already tucked in and asleep, he told Sara he had forgotten something in the office. She gave him that smile that barely moved her lips but shone in her eyes, then kissed his lips, letting them linger there for that additional second no one but them would notice.

When he returned after an hour, an hour that dragged on for longer than some he had spent staring death in the face, she still sat cross-legged on the couch, with a blanket on her lap and a book in her hands. He probably should be more nervous or nervous at all, given the slight weight in the pocket of his coat, but as she looked up at him, he had never been surer of anything in his life.

"How's the project coming along?" she asked without suspicion.

"I'm pretty optimistic about it," he smiled. "Come to the balcony with me?"

There were two paper cups of hot chocolate in his hands, and even though she cited the cold as a reason for staying in, cuddled under the blanket, the cup the steam still billowed from made her give in. If anything, really, the cold was their ally. She was nestled up next to him, his arms were wrapped around her body, and under the blinking Christmas lights, he could see their future clearer than ever before.

So after they had emptied their cups and there was just a little bit of chocolate on her upper lip that he couldn't wait to kiss away, and she was busy talking about how excited she was about the imminent visit from France, he reached for the little box in his pocket. He held it in his hand until she turned her head back to him because it was how they were, never able to keep their eyes off of each other for long.

The smile her lips were shaped in disappeared as soon as she realized what it was that he was holding. Her jaw dropped and she gasped, and he had to laugh at the surprise, for she knew this was coming. There may not be rings on their fingers, but it was a mere formality that didn't match their feelings. Just weeks ago, at a business party, he had introduced her as his wife and hadn't realized his slip of the tongue until they were already home. She admitted that she, too, hadn't caught it until a wife of one of Michael's colleagues asked her why they had opted against wearing rings.

The ring that arrested her eyes might have no diamonds, but to call it unassuming would be an understatement. What other rings carried in carats, this one did in a crane that adorned it. It was the same shape as the paper ones he had never stopped folding for her. He would have liked to add a couple and a few more small diamonds, but for her, it was perfect just as it was.

"Yes," she said before he had a chance to say anything.

"But I haven't even asked you yet," he laughed. Every major event in their story so far was an aberration, a perfect imperfection of meeting each other behind the prison walls, getting on her good side to get her to do what he needed, pushing her to the verge of death, more than once, having her raise their child by herself; the least he could do was ask her to marry him in a way she deserved, in a way a man he demanded of himself to be was supposed to ask a woman, especially a woman like her.