Unexpected Repercussions - Chapter 5

His heart pounded, deafening in its intensity as he held his breath. The sole focus of his eyes was the woman in front of him.

The woman whose eyes had just opened to glance around hazily before she finally focussed on him. A confused frown immediately appeared on her brow.

“Sara.” His voice came out as a rough whisper. Unknowingly, he tightened the grip he had on her hands. Part of him dreaded her reaction. Dreaded the fact that she would soon give him that accusing look. The betrayed look that would shatter his heart. Perhaps he should have stayed away. Then he would not have to go through the accusation. But he had to see her, he had to know that she was going to be alright.

She blinked slowly. He could see that her pupils were dilated. What on earth had happened to her? How did she end up collapsing from a drug overdose? What did she do last night?

“Sara?” he repeated more insistently. A warning alarm began to sound in his head. Why was she just staring at him like that? Like she was not really seeing him. Like she was just looking through him. “Sara, say something,” he pleaded desperately.

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Instead, she licked her dry lips, and then turned to look around the room. Spotting a water jug and some plastic cups nearby, Michael went to get it for her. Pouring some water into a plastic cup, he handed it to her and watch her drink it greedily. Her full attention was on the cup in her hands and she barely seemed to notice him standing there.

When she finished the water, he took the cup from her and knelt down beside her bed. “Sara,” he called out again. Then, when he still received no reaction, he grabbed her hand firmly. “Look at me, Sara.”

She turned slowly until her eyes locked on his.

When he searched her face, a sinking feeling appeared in his midsection.

There was no sign of recognition in her gaze.

Sara looked up at the man in front of her. His face swam in her vision and she blinked in a futile attempt to focus. She could make out that he was dressed like a doctor, but he did not look at her as if he was one. He seemed far too concerned to be an impartial medical practitioner.

His words were coming to her like the sound was filtered through some sort of damper. It was muffled, making it hard for her to hear what he was saying. But his tone was earnest. Was he trying to tell her something important?

It was so hard to think. And she felt so tired. He was asking her something, but her mind was too weary to form a response. Her body felt heavy, like lead.

All she wanted to do was to sleep, but she had heard this voice. Something inside her had told her to open her eyes. But why?

She stared past him to the silent television mounted on the wall. The images were flickering too fast, too bright. The colourful patterns seemed like strobe lights to her. It was making her headache worse. Making the burning pain at the back of her neck, in her spine, worse.

He turned in the same direction towards the television, and then she heard him gasp. Getting to his feet abruptly, his gaze remained fixed on the moving images on the screen. As she watched through her hazy vision, he lifted his hands up and pressed them against the sides of his head. The action seemed strangely familiar to her, but when she attempted to remember where she had seen it, the throbbing pain piercing through her skull stopped her.

When he looked back at her, she could make out that he seemed alarmed. His eyes were wide as they flitted back and forth between her and the television screen.

He bent down quickly, taking her hand in his. She looked down at his slender fingers entwined around her smaller ones. Again, that flash of familiarity returned, but the hammering in her head chased it away before she could make sense of it, making her frown in frustration.

“Sara. I’ve got to go,” he said softly, but she could not mistake the urgency in his voice.

Her vision was beginning to clear, and now she could see even the blue and green flecks in his intense hazel eyes. She knew this guy. She had seen those mesmerising eyes before. But where? And when? And what was she doing here in the hospital?

Not knowing what else to say, she said, “Why?” The broken sound came out strange to her. She could barely recognise her own voice.

He looked at her for a moment before he lowered his head, pressing their joined hands to his forehead. She heard him inhale a ragged breath. “I hope you’ll remember this. I’m sorry I got you in to this. I didn’t want you to get hurt,” he declared in a voice filled with anguish. “Sara, please. Please be okay.”

Sara frowned. Got her into what? “It’s okay,” she whispered so softly that she did not think that he had heard her.

He took a deep breath, his head still lowered. His voice hitched as he said, “I’ll fix this. Just… wait for me. I’ll come back.”

Wait for me…wait for me…wait for me… It repeated like an insistent mantra in her head. Someone had said that to her once before.

Michael. The name came automatically to her mind.

Michael. That was his name.

Michael Scofield.

A blinding pain seared through her mind and she let out an involuntary groan. Flashes of memory began to bombard her like an uncontrollable avalanche. Suddenly, everything came back to her in a rush.

The infirmary. Michael smiling up at her as she gave him his insulin shot.

Her removing a blood-soaked sock from his feet. A tear-stained Michael telling her, “Don’t make me lie to you. Please.”

The space in the ceiling void in A-Wing. Michael telling her about Baja and Thailand.

Her father’s harsh words after her escape from the prison riot.

The entrance to the visitation room. Michael’s wife walking out. The sudden, bitter taste of jealousy.

Her father’s presence on her birthday replaced, as always, by a bouquet of flowers.

Michael’s red origami flower sitting on her desk.

The burn on his back, marring the perfect picture of his tattoo.

The passionate expression on his face when he kissed her. When he asked her to wait for him.

The feeling of betrayal when she found out what had happened to her keys.

Her father’s cold indifference to her when she confronted him about Lincoln. Her realisation of her father’s manipulation of the situation to his own benefit.

Leaving the door unlocked.

The vial of morphine. The feel of the sharp tip of the syringe as it pierced her skin. Craving numbness, not wanting to feel. Only wanting the pain to go away.

She realised now that in her distress, she had taken far too much.

“Michael?” she whispered tremulously. She swallowed hard as her mind cleared further. The fact that he was there, dressed in scrubs, told her that the escape had taken place. So what was he doing here?

His head snapped up, the shock evident on his face.

She swallowed past the dryness in her throat. “What are you doing here, Michael?” she asked, glancing at the door. What if someone found him here?

But why should she care after everything that had happened? He was just another man in her life who had seen fit to betray her trust. Was there nobody she could count on anymore? No one she could trust? No one she could believe in? Her father, Michael, they were all the same.

His grip on her hands tightened as his eyes searched hers, as if to convince himself that she was really there. “You were on the news. What happened, Sara?” he asked quietly, a worried frown on his face.

She wanted to laugh, but the only thing that came out was a strangled gasp. His concern for her felt so real. Like always.

Then a small voice sounded at the back of her mind. What if it was real? What if he really cared? What if he meant everything he had said?

Evading his eyes, she shook her head. She could not look at him. Not at the sincerity in his eyes, or else she might be tempted to believe everything she so badly wanted to believe. “Nothing,” she finally said cagily. She did not want to go into an explanation. It was too hard to explain anyway.

A sharp tug at her hand made her turn to him. “Look around you,” he said harshly, gesturing at the monitor and the tubes, his motions broadcasting his agitation. “This is not nothing, Sara! Collapsing from a drug overdose is not nothing!” he hissed, frowning deeply. Then, in a softer voice, he continued, “Don’t do this. Don’t push me away.”

A bark of laughter escaped her lips. “Don’t push you away? I cared, Michael. I cared and look what it did to me.” Her voice was full of self-mockery.

He shook his head slowly, almost sadly. “You wanted to make a difference. Don’t punish yourself for the mistake I made,” he implored, his expression tortured.

She hardened herself. “The mistake’s mine to make,” she said flatly. “Lincoln’s free now. You don’t have to pretend to care.”

“I’m not pretending, Sara,” he insisted vehemently.

She did not know what to say. Part of her desperately wanted to believe him. The part which still believed that she could make a difference. To make things better. But there was a part of her which did not want to take the risk.

She had taken a risk when she went to her father with Lincoln’s file. But her father had done nothing but to use it to further his career. He lied to her. Her values and beliefs did not mean anything to him.

She had taken a risk when she let herself care for Michael, not only in the doctor-patient sense, but something deeper. But he had sent everything crashing down on her when he told her about the escape plan. She had been just part of his big, elaborate plan.

His voice brought her out of her contemplations. “Sara. I need to go,” he said regretfully.

At his words, an inexplicable feeling of rejection washed over her, but she shook it off. “Okay,” she said flatly.

He straightened slowly, his eyes not leaving hers. “Believe me when I say that not everything was a lie.”

Her heart twisted painfully. “Don’t, Michael,” she breathed out softly as she squeezed her eyes shut. “Please don’t. Just go.” She could not deal with it now. It was still too painful.

Her eyes remained shut, but she could feel him move closer. His breath fanned her cheeks just before she felt the soft, gentle touch of his lips against her skin. Her breath caught as her heart constricted with emotion.

Then the sound of the door opening and closing reached her ears.

When she opened her eyes again, he was gone. A sudden feeling of loss came over her. Glancing around the room, she spotted an origami flower on the bedside table. With trembling fingers, she picked it up. It was a flower that would not wilt with time. Something symbolic of permanence. Something lasting.

A lone tear trickled out of the corner of her eyes.

What has she done?

“Take care, Michael,” she whispered softly to the empty room.

Considering how numb he was feeling, Michael was glad that he still had the presence of mind to lift the surgical mask over his face before he left the room.

The police officers only looked up briefly when he exited the room. Simply giving them a nod, he continued to make his way to the stairwell.

He had taken only a couple of steps down the stairs when his stomach suddenly lurched queasily. The stress of the situation must be getting to him, he attempted to reason to himself as his face twisted in discomfort. Or perhaps the lack of food. Pulling down the surgical mask, he braced an arm against the wall as he attempted to calm himself. Leaning his forehead on his arm, he took a deep breath. He had to remain calm. He had to think.

Everything was going wrong.

He did not even want to recall the sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach when he had first thought that she did not remember him. The mere idea that he had caused such a disaster was enough to make him sick. Then, once the initial shock of that had worn off, his short-lived relief had been replaced by the anguish brought on by Sara’s reaction. Her reaction was not unexpected, but it still hurt.

Sara was bitter. That was glaringly clear. To his dismay, he realised that not only she distrusted him but she was also scared. And it was all his fault.

And to make things worse, C-Note was now in trouble.

He could only guess that it must have been because of that single phone call C-Note had made earlier. The short news broadcast he had seen on the television did not elaborate on the facts, but Michael did not expect them to. Well, at least not until they succeeded in apprehending their target, Michael thought with a grimace.

What would this mean for Lincoln, Sucre and Abruzzi? Did C-Note manage to get the message across to them before the police flooded the area? Were they already on the run now as well? Was it safe for him to call them?

It had been relatively straightforward when the plan just involved getting Lincoln out. Sure there were times when things had not gone according to plan, but the elements were still contained. But now, everything seemed so fragmented with everyone all over the place. His control was slipping, everything was falling apart and he could not shake the feeling of helplessness which was beginning to descent upon him.

A tentative voice behind him broke his train of thought, momentarily bringing him out of his dejection.

“Doctor, are you alright?”

He froze. His immediate thought was that his mask was off. Carefully, he peered out of the corner of his eyes to the owner of the voice. She was standing a few steps up from him.

It was the nurse from the laundry room. He remembered that her name was Phay.

As calmly as he could, he said without turning around, “It’s okay, Phay. I’m alright.”

His mind raced. Michael knew that he was cornered. Raising his mask was out of the question. He could not do it without raising suspicion. And he could not leave either. Not without exposing himself. He clamped down on the urge to groan.

The curiosity was evident in her voice when she asked, “Are you our new surgeon? Was it you I bumped into earlier?”

He nodded, and then said briefly, “Just transferred here today.”

“Great! We sure need more surgeons here.” She paused for a while, and then continued anxiously, “You sure you’re alright?”

Michael tensed when he felt a hesitant touch on his shoulders. He closed his eyes, hoping that she would decide to leave before she saw his face clearly.

“You’re obviously not,” she remarked dryly. “Come on, let me have a look,” she coaxed gently.

Quickly, he replied, “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine in a minute.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw her move closer. Then the next thing he knew, she slipped. A small shriek escaped her lips. Desperately, her arms flung out in an attempt to hold on to something solid.

Michael did not stop to think of the implications of his actions. Instantly propelled into motion, he spun around, grabbing one of her hand while his other arms went around her waist.

Which brought his face just inches from the nurse’s terrified eyes.

Her grip on his arms was tight as she exhaled in a rush. “Oh, thank you,” she said breathlessly, her expression now awash with relief.

It did not take long before the inevitable happened.

Michael watched apprehensively as her eyes began to widen in recognition as they swept over his features. Her grip on his arms went slack. There was no mistaking that she knew who he was.

Slowly, he released his hold and backed down the stairs away from her. She remained rooted to the same spot, her lips slightly parted and her eyes rounded in shock.

Would she sound the alarm? He wondered briefly before he spun around. His footsteps echoed in the stairwell as he sprinted down the last flight of stairs, pulling up the mask over his face.

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