H
E
A
L
I
N
G

O
V
E
R
N
I
G
H
T

                               Chapter 3

    As soon as Sara was in the bedroom she set about assessing
    Lincoln's injuries.  His breathing was shallow and he was in and out
    of lucid consciousness.  But she had gotten a weak, "Hey Doc," from
    him as he floated.

    To give Sara room to work, Veronica left the room to go unload the
    groceries. Michael stood back in the door watching Sara work, but
    after a few seconds he pushed off the frame and followed Veronica
    outside.

    She was unlocking the trunk to the car when she felt him standing
    just behind her.

    "I thought I made it clear to you that she was not to be involved."

    "I've got news for you, Michael." Veronica replied without turning
    around. "Right now my priority is Lincoln living through the night.
    And Sara is our best shot."

    "What about the name I gave you?"

    She signed with visible frustration.  "A mob doctor is not our best
    shot."

    Michael challenged her assertion without opening his mouth; he did
    it by just narrowing his eyes.

    "True or False, you have information the mob wants." Veronica
    knew he wouldn’t play her true or false game, so she continued after
    only a moment's pause. "Information they want so badly they were
    going to use me as collateral to get you to talk.  Information they
    were willing to kill Nick and his father over…"

    "Veronica," Michael implored in low tones, "I'm sorry about Nick. I
    really am."

    "Me too, but he's the one who took the deal with the devil." She
    replied matter-of-factly, but she swallowed a hard lump in her throat
    as she said it and forced herself to turn her attention back to the
    present.  "This thing is bigger than us. It has a life of its own and we
    have very few allies.  We can't afford to ignore the people we can
    trust.  Do you trust Sara?"

    His eyes flicked from hers to the ground. "That's not the point."

    "It's exactly the point."

    Finally, he relented. "I trust her, but I don't want her getting hurt."

    "I know." Veronica replied in a kinder tone than the one she'd been
    using as she handed him several gallons of water to take into the
    cabin.  "I'll take her back to Chicago as soon as Lincoln's out of the
    woods. We took precautions; nobody has to know she even left her
    apartment tonight."

    Michael didn't respond, he merely took the jugs of water into the
    kitchen and then headed straight back to the bedroom.  From the
    doorway he stood for a moment observing Sara.  She was
    murmuring soothing words to Lincoln as she assessed his injuries.  
    As mad as he was at Veronica for going to her, he couldn't help but
    be fall-on-his-knees thankful she was there.  Which only made the
    culpability he felt over her involvement heighten, the invisible noose
    of guilt around his chest twisting ever tighter.   

    After a few more minutes of watching her tend to Lincoln, Michael
    finally spoke in an uncharacteristically small voice. "Can you help
    him?"

    Sara tore her gaze away from her patient and his injuries and
    directed it towards Michael.   He looked and sounded like a lost little
    boy.  Her immediate impulse was to hug him.  She refrained.  
    Instead she stood and motioned to the living room.   Once out of the
    bedroom Veronica immediately walked over to join them.

    "You definitely did the right thing by not trying to remove the
    barbed wire yourself," she looked pointedly at Michael.  "Right now I
    can't tell how deep the wound is and the wire is what's holding the
    skin together and preventing him from bleeding to death."

    "Can you fix it?"  Veronica asked breathlessly.

    "He needs to go to a hospital, but I know better than to even
    suggest that.  I think I can remove the barbed wire, but I'm going to
    need some help.  We're going to have to stitch and repair as we go."

    Veronica looked green at the suggestion, fishing a bullet out of Nick
    had been one of the more traumatic experiences of the last month.  
    But Michael just nodded in a business-like manner. "Okay."

    "We're also going to need some things, things that aren't available
    at the corner drug store."  

    Veronica had been thinking about this the entire drive to Chicago
    and she'd made some calls to information from a disposable cell
    phone she'd purchased.   "About ten miles from here there's a very
    small town, but they have a rural hospital.  Can you get what you
    need there?"

    Sara crinkled her brow. "I'm sure they have what I need, getting it
    is another issue altogether.  I can't exactly waltz in and ask for it."

    Veronica looked increasingly nervous.  "What do you suggest?"

    The doctor turned and leveled her own intent gaze at Michael and
    challenged, "You broke out of a maximum security prison; surely
    you can break into a minimum security hospital.  Although, no one
    will be leaving a door open for you this time."

    Michael winced inwardly at the accusation in her voice, but his reply
    was cool and detached. "Write down a list of what you need and I'll
    get it."

    Sara immediately shook her head. "It's too complicated.  If they
    don't have exactly what we need, I'll have to improvise and use
    something else. I need to go."

    "Out of the question." Michael replied instantly.

    "I beg your pardon." Sara asked with even, yet defiant tones.

    "It's too dangerous."

    "Dangerous?  You think some Barney Fife is going to gun us down?"

    "If we get caught…"  His voice almost faltered at the prospect, "If
    you get caught with me…"

    Sara met his eye with a confidence she didn't quite feel. "We better
    not get caught then."

    ***

    Sara gave Veronica the small supply of bandages she'd brought from
    home and instructed her how to get started cleaning and bandaging
    the assorted cuts and abrasions on Lincoln's arms and hands without
    jostling his torso.  Then after a minute of studying a map they were
    off.

    The road twisted and turned in front of them as Michael steered the
    car through the wooded area.  The air swirling between the
    occupants of the vehicle felt combustible, as if striking a match
    would instantly ignite the charge and there would be no way to stop
    an explosion.  

    Through the heavy silence, Michael stole a glance at his passenger.
    Anger radiated off of her very being and it was unsettling because it
    was not the energy he was used to from her.  He had to say
    something, he wanted to say something, but at the same time he
    was a coward.  He didn't want to be the one to light the match.  

    Besides he didn't know what to say to her.  He owed her so many
    explanations, so many apologies and so much gratitude.  It shamed
    him to think that he had so much to answer for that there was no
    good place to start.  

    Finally, he couldn't stand it anymore.  It was ironic; a quiet guy--
    who'd lived much of his life trying to shut out the noise-- suddenly
    couldn't stand the silence.

    "I didn't want you to come."

    "Veronica told me."  She replied robotically, not betraying the fact
    that his words were salt in her wounds.  It was an extra twist of the
    knife to know that despite all she was doing; her presence was so
    unwelcome to him.

    From her tone, he realized how his words must have sounded to
    her, he backtracked. "Don't get me wrong.  I'm more grateful than
    you'll ever know that you're helping Lincoln tonight, but…"

    "But what?"  She asked with practiced indifference.

    "I hate that you're getting dragged even deeper into this.  It wasn't
    my intention for you to have any involve-"

    "Listen, Michael, save your speech about not wanting to involve me.
    I believe that you didn't want to involve me, but you did.  I believe
    that you didn't want to hurt me, but you did. I believe that you
    didn't want me here tonight, but I'm here. So let's just do what we
    need to do to save Lincoln, okay?"  She finally looked over at him.

    He glanced at her and saw her resolve.  Looking back to the road he
    agreed, "Okay."

    But he wasn't feeling okay.  The betrayal he saw in her eyes taunted
    him.  He knew he deserved it, but it killed him to know that what he
    saw there was personal. She obviously felt betrayed by what their
    personal relationship had been and suddenly he badly wanted to
    make her believe that not everything had been a lie.

    After another minute of silence, he spoke again in deceptively calm,
    cool tones.  "You have every right to be mad at me."

    She turned to look at his profile again, this time his words provoking
    new fury that suddenly ran hot through her veins. Incredulous at his
    audacity, she snapped, "I know.  I certainly don't need your
    permission for that."

    "But you're angry for the wrong reasons." He was trying to make
    her understand, but at the same time was clueless to his own
    impudence.

    Sara almost laughed at his presumptuousness. "Must say I don't
    really agree with that.  Especially since I haven't told you what I'm
    angry about."

    "If you tell me what you're angry about, you'll say the things you
    should be mad about, but it won't be the real reason that you're
    angry."

    Sara narrowed her eyes as she studied him for a minute.  "Okay,
    Michael, try this on for size.  I made the decision to not lock that
    door.  That's all me. It was conscious and deliberate and I recognize
    my culpability.  But I'm furious that you played the 'Lincoln is
    innocent' card in order to get me to leave that door unlocked, all the
    while knowing you were helping eight other prisoners escape. Men
    who were guilty and dangerous.  Six of whom who are now… out
    there.  I left that door unlocked partially because I honestly didn't
    believe either you or your brother was a threat to anyone on the
    outside. I didn't sign on for those other men."  She looked over at
    him.  "How's that for valid a source of anger?"

    "Pretty good."  He admitted softly, the belt of remorse around his
    heart cinching tighter. It had become his constant companion for the
    last two weeks. "Are…" he took a deep breath before asking, "Are
    you in trouble? Do they suspect it wasn't a mistake?"

    She looked over at him with disbelief and then shook her head. "Of
    course they suspect me, Michael.   The only thing saving me is my
    alibi." Just then he pulled into a road behind the small hospital, his
    eyes casing the joint before they even came to a full stop.

    "What's your alibi?"  He tore his eyes from the building and looked
    at her with genuine concern as he asked.

    Her jaw involuntarily clenched. She didn't want him to know this
    weak and shameful detail about her life.  It was humiliating to admit
    that drug addiction hung like an albatross around her neck and that
    it had almost killed her. But, sadly, at this point there was really no
    reason to hide it from him, it wasn't like she was trying to curry his
    good favor.  

    "They found me at home, OD'd on morphine, near death.  My alibi
    is—conveniently-- that I went back to the prison that night for the
    morphine, not to leave the door open for you.  Though, that didn't
    occur to me at the time.  So they had two choices.  A, chalk it up to
    the Governor's daughter and ex-junkie accidentally leaving a door
    open while stealing drugs in the process of falling off a three year
    wagon of sobriety.  Or b, accuse the Governor's daughter of leaving
    the door open purposely in order for her married convict boyfriend
    to escape.  After keeping me under an umbrella of suspicion for over
    a week and questioning me extensively, they chose a."

    Michael was having trouble processing everything he was hearing.  
    She'd almost died?  It was all news to him. "I didn't… I didn't know.
    Sara…"

    She didn't look at him; instead she busied herself gathering the
    small duffle that they would put the supplies in. "It wasn't in the
    papers.  Everything has been hushed up."

    "You almost died?"  The question threatened to completely choke off
    his air supply.  The thought that he was the reason sent pain slicing
    through his heart.

    "Michael," She turned and drilled her eyes through his. "Lincoln is
    back at that cabin in horrendous pain. We’re here. Let's focus."

    That was enough to get Michael to center his attention on the task
    at hand.  But he wasn't done with that conversation, not by a long
    shot.  

    ***

    Breaking into the small medical center turned out to be a fairly
    simple prospect.  As with most things in the middle of nowhere the
    doors were all open and security seemed to consist of one camera
    aimed at the back parking lot.  

    "What about the camera?"  She asked once they'd plotted their
    route in.

    "Out here, it's probably for show. I doubt it's actually connected to
    anything."

    "Just in case… here." She took the baseball cap from her head and
    handed it to him, before shaking out her hair.

    "You want me to wear a Northwestern hat?"

    "If that camera is really taking video of anything, school loyalty is
    going to have to take a back bench to disguising the shape of your
    head which has been on every newscast for the last fortnight."  

    Despite the serious nature of the conversation they'd had just
    minutes earlier, the tone of her voice was more relaxed than it had
    been since the moment she'd arrived at the cabin.  He took
    advantage of it to try and relieve some of the tension between them.

    "Fortnight?" His voice held a low chuckle.

    "It's a word."

    "Yeah, I know. It's just that no one who is actually alive this century
    uses it."

    "Well, I just did.  Wear the hat. Just in case."

    "What about you?"

    She brought her hair so that it fell forward creating as much a veil
    as possible and then put the hood up on the navy colored sweatshirt
    she'd just donned. When she was done she turned her attention
    back to him.  His sleeves were pushed up a few inches on each arm,
    revealing his most identifiable feature.  When she reached over and
    tugged the fabric over his tattoos, her hands came into contact with
    his badly scraped ones.  Holding one of his hands in hers gingerly,
    she looked up and met his eye.  "I'll look at these when we're done
    with Lincoln."

    His breathing arrested as he felt the tender way she touched him.  
    He'd sorely missed that over the last… fortnight.  "You don't need-"

    "Don't argue with me, Michael."

    For the first time that day she saw the old smirk reappear on his
    lips. "Okay."

    It was almost dark as they walked close to the wall to avoid the
    security camera, in case it was in fact working.  Once inside, they
    made several wrong turns before finding a supply room they could
    raid.  Sara pushed back the hood of her sweatshirt and was about to
    start grabbing all the stitching and bandages they would need when
    Michael grabbed her arm before she could begin.

    Startled, she turned back to him in question and watched as he
    pulled a couple of pairs of latex gloves from a box and handed her a
    pair. "Fingerprints… in case they figure out there was a robbery."

    Sara nodded quickly and snapped them on, but at the same time his
    words brought into sharp focus what they were doing.  It might
    seem hypocritical since it was not the first time she'd stolen from a
    hospital, but it bothered her.  "I hate that we're stealing… at all, but
    especially from such a small hospital.  Everything costs money and
    that's in short supply in rural clinics like this one."

    "We'll send money when this is all over, I promise." Michael replied
    from his spot at the door, before whispering harshly, "Someone's
    coming."  

    "What do we do?!" Sara whispered frantically in return.  

    Acting in a split second, Michael opened a second door in the room
    which happened to be a tiny broom closet. Grabbing her hand he
    stepped in and pulled her with him as he shut the door in one
    impressively fluid motion.  

    Sara's heart was beating a mile a minute as they heard the door to
    the supply room open.  But she wasn't sure what was more
    affecting, the person just on the other side of the door who might
    discover them at any moment, or the man standing behind her.  
    Actually, pressed behind her was a more apt description.  The closet
    was small and Sara tingled at the sensation of his broad chest sealed
    firmly against her back and his warm breath on her ear.  She could
    almost swear to feeling his heart beat against her shoulder.  It
    seemed just as elevated as hers.  One of his arms was tight around
    her waist keeping her firmly against him. Where he thought she was
    going to run off to in the tiny closet, she wasn't sure but she stood
    still in his embrace all the same.  It felt an achingly good place to be
    and she berated herself for enjoying it so much.  

    Michael held her to him as if the ship was going down and he was
    her life vest.  He wished they could maneuver in the closet so he
    was in front and she was behind him, in case the door opened and
    they were confronted, but it was impossible in the small space so he
    contented himself with holding her protectively to him, ready to pull
    her so they were side by side and he could shield her body if
    necessary.  However, as much as his posture was defense, he
    couldn't help but notice how soft and warm she was in his arms and
    how right it felt to be close to her.

    So it wasn't in all together discomfort that they stood like that as
    the seconds ticked by.  They heard the person moving around the
    room, but it didn't seem like he or she had any interest in the broom
    closet, so both of them were able to relax a modicum.

    When they heard the door click and the person presumably leave
    the supply room, Michael slowly opened the closet door with his free
    arm and they both peered out.  The first thing he noticed was that
    the hospital worker who had just been there had left keys in the
    drug cabinet.  

    "Bingo."  Michael whispered as he propelled her forward until they
    were once again in the supply room. "Anything we need from here?"

    Sara needed a second to get over being released from his embrace.  
    She inhaled sharply and forced herself to focus.  "Antibiotics,
    tetanus, lidocaine…"

    "What about pain killer?"  Michael looked at the drug cabinet to
    Sara.  Several bottles of morphine were lined up neatly for the
    taking.

    "Yeah." Sara swallowed hard and felt herself begin to break into a
    cold sweat. Her hands trembled slightly, but she hid that by keeping
    them busy.

    "Are you sure?" He looked at her worriedly after what he'd just
    learned in the car.

    "Lincoln has wire through his abdomen and it's gonna hurt like hell
    when we remove it even with the lidocaine. It's the least we can do
    for him.  But you grab it; I don't even want to touch it."

    He nodded and put it in the bag with the other supplies.

    "We better hurry before whomever left their keys, comes back."

    Sara nodded and surveyed their rather extensive stash.  While she
    grabbed a few extra pairs of latex gloves, she looked up at him
    naively. "What about you, do you have insulin?"

    He just peered down at her with apology in his eyes. "Sara…"

    It took only a second for her to process the truth. "You don't have
    diabetes."

    His gaze fell to the ground in answer.

    "But the test showed you were diabetic." She asked trying to wrap
    her mind around the depth of his deception.

    "Pugnac."

    "God, Michael!" She spit the words out angrily and then whapped
    him on the arm.

    To keep from inciting her further, he kept the humor out of his
    voice, but it was hard considering the absurdity of the situation.   
    "After everything, that's what you choose to get violent about?"

    "I'm a doctor.  You had me administering insulin to a patient who
    didn't need it.  That could cause complications."

    "Yeah, but I'm the patient and it was only for about six weeks."

    She just shook her head angrily. "Let's just get out of here."

    ***

    Just like the ride to the medical clinic, the ride back to the cabin
    began in silence.

    Sara stared out the passenger window at the dusky sky.  After all
    that had happened to her in the last few weeks, she could barely
    believe where she was or what she was doing.  She especially
    couldn't believe who she was with. One of the most wanted men in
    America.  In the last week she'd thought about what she would say
    to him if she ever got the chance, well here was her chance, but
    predictably those rehearsed speeches now failed her.  She knew she
    wanted answers from him, the whole truth.  But after learning that
    even his health had been a lie, she wasn't sure she could handle the
    whole truth.

    "Did you ever tell me the truth, about anything?"  She finally asked
    without turning from her window.

    He knit his brows together in deliberation, as he tried to come up
    with an answer she deserved.  He didn't want to blow this
    opportunity to make her understand that not every thing had been
    an act.  "My name is Michael Scofield.  I'm 31, and went to Loyola."
    As if to emphasize that point he pulled off her Northwestern cap he'd
    been wearing and handed it back to her.  He met her eye as she
    took the cap back from him.  "And it really is possible that we could
    have met out at a bar during college, I would have been attracted to
    you and asked you out, and in that life, today, maybe we'd have 2.5
    kids, live in Winnetka and drive matching German minivans."

    "You don't need to do that." Her voice was laced with tension as she
    took the cap and started fiddling with it in her lap.

    His gaze went back to the road. "Do what?"

    "I'm going to help Lincoln; you don’t need to keep working me. It's
    unnecessary and embarrassing."

    Michael twitched at the accusation, though he knew he deserved it.  
    "I'm not working you. I was… it was just one of those 'in another
    life's' we talked about once. You asked about the truth, not
    everything was a lie."

    She just looked at him incredulously and then back to the passenger
    window.

    "I'm sorry, Sara."

    "That's okay," she replied with a humorless chuckle. "The thought of
    matching German minivans kind of amused me, although we're both
    way too edgy for Winnetka.  You should work on your line."

    "Not about that."

    That got her attention and she looked back at him.

    "I'm sorry about everything."

    The honesty of his sentiment rung out of his every pore and she had
    no choice but to take him at face value.  "The thing is, Michael, I
    know you are, but it just doesn't make me feel all that much better
    right now."

    "Okay." He replied after a few seconds of heavy silence. "Will you at
    least tell me if you're okay? After the… overdose, I mean."

    "I'm okay."

    "I didn't… I didn't know you had a problem." He glanced over at her
    as she was once again staring out the side window.

    "How would you?"

    Not wanting to get into the research he'd done on her, he
    misdirected with, "You said you almost died."

    "I did.  Someday I'll have to thank Katie for ratting me out and in
    turn, saving my life."

    Michael furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

    "That night… the night of the break, Katie told them that I'd been
    there and that…"

    "And what?"

    She cringed inwardly at what she was about to say. "And that I had
    a thing for you. That was enough to get them to send the police to
    my apartment.  They found me. Almost D.O.A."

    After he let those words settle around him. A lump formed in his
    throat.  In gravely tones he made a statement of fact, "It's my fault
    that you took those drugs that night."

    That got her to turn from the window.  "Michael, I'll tell you what
    they tell us in recovery. Nobody else stuck the needle in my arm. It
    was all me. I'm angry at you for many, many things, but not that.  I
    don't blame you and it does neither of us any good for you to beat
    yourself up over it."

    He let that sink in before replying. "If it's okay with you, I think I'll
    beat myself up over it anyway."

    "Suit yourself." At the moment, she had her own demons to content
    with she wasn't currently equipped to battle his as well.

    The indifferent way she said the words twisted his gut.  "Sara, if I
    could go back and change things-"

    "What?" she demanded with heat that wasn't there a minute ago.
    "You'd what? Not pretend to have diabetes? Not plan your escape
    route through my infirmary. Not ask for my help with the keys.  Not
    tell a lie every other word. What?"

    He stared straight ahead at the road, the only clue that her words
    were hitting the intended target was a vein that worked near his
    temple when he said, "I don't know. Something."

    TBC...
Go to:
Chapter four
Feedback is appreciated!