Author's note: hope you're all enjoying the story! Reviews and follows and all that jazz always make my day-feel free to share your thoughts :) Happy reading!

XXXXX

It had already been about an hour since he'd talked to Sara, and he still couldn't believe she was flying down to be with him. He was lost in thought, gazing out the window at the sunshine and palm trees, wishing he was on vacation.

"You sure about this Michael?"

They were taking an exit into Miami, only about twenty minutes from where Christina had told them to go. It was midafternoon, and he was glad he'd have the rest of the day to settle in and get things taken care of with regards to his surgery. There had to be paperwork, right? Payment? He couldn't know, but he had a feeling he wasn't just going to waltz into the operating room the next day without preamble.

"I'm as sure as I'll ever be," he replied, ignoring the butterflies in his stomach. Of course, hewasn'tsure-it was a real gamble he was taking, but he felt like he had to. Just that morning he'd had another bad nosebleed, accompanied with a lot of pain and almost blacking out. At this point, his fear of the surgery was outweighed by his fear of doing nothing. He couldn't wait.

Lincoln nodded, "I'll drop you off close by, but I can't go in there with you."

"I know," Michael replied. They couldn't risk Lincoln being within sight of the Company headquarters…or whatever the heck the building was that they were heading to.

"And look, I uh, I got another cell phone at the store last night so we each have one. I put mine and Sara's number in the one for you."

"Thank you," he looked over at Lincoln, his steady presence behind the wheel. Since Michael's nosebleed that morning, Lincoln had driven all day, never complaining, "and thank you for taking me there. I know this wasn't the plan-"

"-the plan didn't involve a lot of this, Michael. Sometimes you just gotta go with the flow."

"I know," he sighed.

"I know you don't like not having a plan, but I'll be alright. I can take care of myself."

Michael glanced out the window and smirked, "Yes, I know you're perfectly capable of crossing the border with a fake I.D. like a good little criminal all by yourself."

Lincoln chuckled, "Didn't say I was proud of it, but it is something I'm actually good at."

"Hey, you're good at other things too."

"Oh yea?" he glanced over at Michael, "Like what?"

He paused, "Like fishing for compliments."

They both laughed as Lincoln turned left at the light, "Ok so," Lincoln said, getting back to business, "the building should be down here on the right."

It was obvious which one it was, the only building on the whole street that obviously employed talented engineers. The building was massive, glass windows instead of walls facing the outside, a perfectly manicured courtyard in the front. There was a fancy coffee cart in the courtyard, benches and tables occupied by well-dressed men and women, and beautiful pink and orange flowers lining the sidewalks.

"That has to be it," Michael pointed, "drop me off a few blocks away and I'll walk."

They drove closer and saw the building number, confirming that it was the right place.

"Ok," Lincoln turned on his blinker and rounded the block, crossing a few more streets before finding an open parking spot. He pulled into it and got out, putting a quarter in the meter. They wouldn't be long, but there was no reason to risk a ticket.

Michael got out too, grabbing his backpack and putting his baseball cap on along with a pair of sunglasses, disguising himself as best he could for the short walk he had.

He didn't know what to say, so he just went over and hugged Lincoln.

"Good luck," Lincoln said simply as he hugged him back.

"You too, be in touch," he looked him in the eyes, searching for confirmation. He had to know that after all this, Lincoln made it safely to Panama.

"I will," he promised, "and hey."

"Yea?"

He smirked, "Say hi to your girl for me."

He grinned and nodded, "I will," and with that, Lincoln got back into the driver's seat and Michael turned around, heading down the block with a smile on his face.

It felt good to be on his feet after sitting for so long, and the weather was beautiful; sunny and clear, with a faint floral smell in the air. He walked the couple of blocks and ventured off the main sidewalk and into the courtyard he'd seen from the car. He realized as he approached the door, he really didn't know what to say or expect. The place didn't look like a hospital, so walking in and saying, "Hey, I'm here for brain surgery," didn't seem logical, but he opened the door anyways, knowing he had to start somewhere.

The inside was just as impressive as the outside, he noted, as he strolled across the marble floors, past a sculpture in the center of the lobby, and to the front desk.

"Hi, can I help you?" the young woman behind the front desk asked Michael. He already felt out of place; everyone in the building was dressed business professional, and he was in jeans and gray button up shirt…with a backpack and a baseball cap. If the woman behind the desk noticed, she didn't let her judgement of him betray her, and her eyes remained kind and professional.

"Yes, uh, Christina Scofield is expecting me."

"Of course, let me give her a call," she picked up the phone and started dialing, "and what was your name, sir?"

"Michael," he replied, leaving the last name out of the picture for now.

She nodded, "Christina I have a Michael here for you," she paused to listen, "of course." She hung up the phone and addressed him, "She'll be down shortly, please make yourself comfortable," she gestured to the wide open lobby, "there's water, coffee and tea over there if you'd like, bathrooms are down the hall."

He nodded, "Thank you."

The building was nice, he couldn't deny that. The lobby was open and inviting, with high ceilings and a calming color palate of grays and blues. There were comfortable couches and chairs scattered around, many of them facing the glass walls that looked out over the nicely manicured courtyard. He considered taking a seat on one, but instead wandered over towards the corner. He chose a chair that faced inward, towards the lobby, not wanting to be caught off-guard; he needed to see whatever was coming his way. He didn't want Christina to startle him from behind, giving her the upper hand from the get-go.

He slung his backpack off and took a seat, leaning back and stretching his arms out onto the arm rests. There was a water fixture next to him that covered the wall from floor to ceiling; an expanse of smooth, gray rock with water trickling down it into a pool below. He listened to it, trying to drown out everything else, to steady his breathing and have a calm, centered frame of mind when Christina decided to come down to get him.

The serenity didn't last long, and his mind started nagging him, conjuring up a variety of bad scenarios that involved Lincoln not making it safely to Panama. They'd only split a short while ago, but he hated being separated and not knowing every minute that he was alright, that he hadn't been caught. They'd come so far, that the thought of either one of them not making it out alive, and not making it to a place where they could enjoy some freedom for the rest of their lives…the thought of it alone was enough to have him deeply disturbed.

He drummed his fingers absentmindedly on the arm of the chair. The elevator, which was to the left of the reception desk, dinged and the doors began to open. His heart started pounding even though he couldn't see who it was yet, but his instincts were right; Christina exited the elevator, walking slowly yet confidently towards him.

It was still strange to see her alive and in person, despite already having seen her at Fox River. She was dressed in an all-white suit, accessorized with gold jewelry and a purse that gleamed as she walked. She was alone, and for some reason that surprised him; he'd expected her to be flanked by men with large guns…he didn't know why, but he did. The fact that she came un-armed and by herself meant she wasn't as much of a threat to him; at least not for now.

He straightened in his seat, and then decided to stand, knowing he would tower above her, and hoping that the difference in height would give him a sense of control, and make him feel like he wasn't at her mercy.

Her heels clicked as she made her way across the lobby, "Hello, Michael," she greeted with a smug grin.

"Christina," he replied coolly.

"Can I show you to my office? I'd rather speak in private if that's ok," she asked.

Knowing he didn't really have a choice, he nodded, grabbed his bag, and followed as she turned and went back to the elevator. They got in and the door closed, a silence falling between them as she pressed the button for the fourth floor.

"So," she began, clasping a hand over her other opposite wrist, "looks like you've had quite a week."

"You could say that," he agreed.

"I'm glad you decided to go through with it, Michael."

He didn't know how to respond. He certainly wasn't glad to be here. Sure, he was grateful for the operation…and the fact that they could erase his criminal record, but he felt like he was selling his soul in exchange. That's what happened when people started working for The Company, right? They abandon everything they've ever known, everyone they love, and dedicate their life to their work. The follow orders, often blindly, and hurt or even kill people without question. He didn't want that.

"I know what you're thinking," she said, her eyes piercing his, but showing a hint of amusement, "you're thinking, "Why did I agree to work for these people? These horrible people who do horrible things," right?"

"Pretty much," he agreed, his eyes still fixated on the elevator doors.

The elevator stopped, and the door opened. As they stepped out she replied, "You'll come to understand that…not everything is as it seems here, Michael. There are reasons why we do what we do."

"I don't want to know."

"You will know," she snapped back with a ferocity he hadn't expected, "you work forusnow whether you like it or not."

His stomach sank at her words, but he swallowed the fear and discomfort and continued to follow her. It was a long, bright hallway leading to her office; it was almost too bright, the sunlight and artificial light merging and causing him to squint, fearing the headache that usually followed. He couldn't deal with that now, not in front of her and not when they had important matters to discuss. He took a few deep breaths and kept his eyes as closed as possible.

Her office was a corner office all the way at the end. She pulled the door open and gestured for him to enter, "Set your bag down and take a seat."

He did as instructed and walked into her spacious office, setting his bag down just inside the door and taking the baseball cap off as well, figuring his "disguise" wasn't needed anymore. Christina had already sat down in one of the chairs circling a beautiful, glass coffee table in the center of the room. He took the seat opposite her.

"So," he started, "the surgery is tomorrow."

"As promised," she confirmed, "I arranged for you to meet with the doctors tomorrow morning if you'd like. They can go over the details with you."

"Ok," he agreed, glad he'd at least get the chance to say hello to the people who'd be cutting into his brain.

"But never mind that," she continued, "I'd like to discuss the terms of our deal."

He sighed, of course she did. He was worried about having brain surgery the next day but no, she wanted to talk about what he owed her.

"Fine," he agreed.

"But first," she picked up a decanter from on the table and poured herself a glass of scotch, "would you like a drink?" she met his eyes, the decanter hovering over another, empty glass.

"No thanks," he replied coolly, refusing to give her the satisfaction.

"Suit yourself," she replied, setting it down and taking a sip from her glass. She sighed contentedly and leaned back in her chair.

"So," she began, "The Company is willing to provide this operation at no monetary cost to you. They'll monitor your recovery here for the first few days and then provide you with a hotel room once you're well enough to be on your own."

"Ok," that all sounded right so far, although his mind was stuck on the word, "monetary"; he owed them…just not money.

"Once you're well enough, per our Doctor's assessment, you'll start working. I also assume you'll be moving to the area; finding housing will be your responsibility once you've worn out your welcome at the hotel. You won't be a rushed, but it's something to keep in mind."

"Ok," he said more slowly this time, "but…what kind of work?"

She smiled, "You'll be employed as an engineer of course."

"I figured, but I mean…what kind of stuff will I be working on?"

She took another sip and set her glass down, "That's classified information."

"You," he paused in disbelief, "you won't even tell me what I'm being hired to do?"

"Not until you're recovered and ready to start."

"Let me be clear," he leaned forward, growing agitated, "if what you're hiring me for involves harming another human being, pointing guns at people heads…framing people," he stared daggers at her, "then count me out."

"Oh, Michael," she waved a hand, "there are plenty of Company employees who're far dumber than you to do the grunt work. We're interested in your mind. You won't be carrying a gun on the job anytime soon."

He held her gaze, not sure how he felt about dumb people walking around with guns either, but that was a conversation for another time.

"How long do I have to recover?" he asked.

"A week or two, but it'll depend on your progress of course."

"What time is the surgery tomorrow? And where?" he needed to know not only for himself, but he had to tell Sara too.

"Your surgery will be performed here. This building has everything, one of the benefits of working for a Company that employs so many engineers. The tenth floor is all medical personnel and researchers; that's where your surgery will be done and where you'll be monitored during recovery."

He nodded, "Is there a hotel nearby?"

She looked confused, "Well, there are several, but the one you'll be staying at between recovery and finding a more long-term place to live just two blocks away," she tilted her head slightly, "Why do you ask?"

"I'll have a guest who needs a place to stay that's…close," he offered, not wanting to share the details.

Her brows furrowed but only for a moment, then her expression went back to neutral, "A guest? And who might this friend be?"

He didn't respond, and her eyes grew wide, "Not Lincoln?" she questioned as if that would be the most abhorrent thing in the world.

"No," he confirmed, "Lincoln wanted to be with me through all of this, but your persistence in trying to kill him made that impossible."

She looked amused, "Then, who? I'm not trying to be coy, Michael I really do need to know who it is so I can give their information to reception. That's the only way they'll be allowed into the building to see you," she explained with a twinkle in her eye.

He held her gaze, "Sara," he said simply, "Sara Tancredi."

The corners of her mouth turned up slightly in understanding, "Ahh," she drawled out, "Sara," she paused and stared at him, as if she were trying to see into his mind. He didn't like it.

"Yes, Sara. If you don't mind I'd like to get settled in soon, I've got a big day ahead of me."

"Of course," she got up and he did the same, heading towards the door, "You'll be staying on the tenth floor today in the room where you'll be recovering. It's quite comfortable, and that way all of your belongings will already be settled."

"Sounds good," he agreed as he slung his backpack over his shoulders and followed her out of her office, squinting before even getting into the hallway, bracing himself for the bright lights.

The elevator ride up to the tenth floor was about as uncomfortable as he expected. He couldn't decide how he felt and didn't know how to act towards Christina as a result. The mixture of emotions led him to simply stand there, staring at the elevator doors, and not saying a word. Despite his best efforts, he was getting a headache again too which didn't help, so he was more than ready to get to his room and decompress.

Christina led him to his room and opened the door; she was right, it was quite, "comfortable" as she'd put it. While it was reminiscent of a hospital room, with a hospital bed and a few machines next to it, the rest of the room was like an upscale hotel room. It was huge. There was a set of four chairs and a coffee table near a large window, a dresser, a desk with a computer, a small refrigerator, sink, and microwave. He had no idea how that was even allowed, weren't hospital rooms supposed to be kept more sterile than that? But he tried not to question it.

"The doctors will be in touch tomorrow morning; they should come get you to discuss your surgery around 9am, and the surgery itself will happen in the afternoon. If you need anything just call reception, the number is by the phone."

"Thanks," he replied simply as she shut the door and he let out a long exhale. He set his bag down in one of the chairs and went to the window; he had a nice view from the tenth floor and he watched people walking around down below. He'd loved that about his apartment in Chicago, being on an upper floor and watching the city life from above. It had always calmed his mind, had been a welcome break from designing a building or planning the escape, and it had the same effect on him today. He sat down cross-legged on the floor by the window and rested his forearms on his legs, watching the bustle of life below and letting his mind wander.

This was really happening. Tomorrow was the big day…maybe his last day. The thought had crossed his mind before, but he hadn't dared to entertain the idea until now. Surgeries could go wrong even with the best of intentions, and he still wasn't sure that The Companies motives were pure.

Strangely enough, Christina's refusal to tell him anything about what he'd be working on after his recovery provided him with a little bit of comfort; if they intended to kill him on the table tomorrow, she could've told him all The Company secrets, knowing he'd never live to tell another soul anyways.

He sighed, knowing that his current avenue of thinking wasn't leading him anywhere he wanted to be. He was at the mercy of the surgeons; and there wasn't anything he could do at this point to change that. He had a long night ahead of him, and got up to start unpacking his few belongings, trying to cast his worries aside, and hoping for the best for the day ahead.

XXXXX

The line at the airport was long. Sara had gotten there two hours early and it looked like it was a good thing she did. She'd left work that day right after her 4 o'clock appointment and went straight home to pack and book her flight. The only options were a red-eye that night or an early flight in the morning; she opted for the red-eye, not wanting to get into Miami the same day Michael had his surgery. If there were any delays, there was a chance she wouldn't get there in time, and she couldn't risk that.

She liked to travel light and only had a carry-on, so she went past bag check and straight to the security line, feeling the butterflies appearing in her stomach as she approached it, the reality sinking in. She was nervous about seeing him again, especially so…out of context. They would be seeing each other outside of Fox River, and she wasn't his doctor anymore. Would they have anything to talk about? How well did they even know each other?

"Next," the TSA agent called, snapping her out of her thoughts.

She handed him her driver's license and boarding pass.

He scanned it and looked up at her, "Miami, huh? Heading for some warmer weather?"

"Uh," she stammered, not even thinking that normal people from Chicago go to Florida to get away from the cold, "something like that."

He chuckled, "You don't sound too excited."

"Sorry, been a long day," she said with a laugh, not wanting to go into detail and figuring it was a good excuse.

"Ugh, I feel that. God help us both."

She laughed and thanked him, moving with the line and putting her bag into the bins. Was she really doing this? It had been a long time since she'd done something so spontaneous, she made the decision to fly that morning and booked the flight a few hours later. She brushed off the uncertainty; it was kind of late to back out now…and she didn't want to back out. She'd end up sitting at home regretting the fact that she'd chickened out, and she couldn't do that to Michael. He wanted her to be there. The thought made her smile.

She watched absent-mindedly as the guy in front of her slid his belt out of its loops, took his hat off, took a laptop out of its bag, emptied his pockets of change, and removed his watch. It made her really glad she packed light and wore the simple outfit of jeans and a green sweater. She simply removed her shoes and put them in the bin, waiting for the line to move.

The focus was on Michael, she reminded herself. She was there for moral support at his request, and she'd do whatever she could to get him through the rough days ahead and aid in his recovery. The details were all a bit fuzzy though, and maybe that's partly what was bugging her. Once she got to Miami, she didn't know where to go and didn't know how long his recovery should be-she had a general idea but nothing concrete.

She'd told Warden Pope she'd be off work for a week, maybe longer, for a family matter. He had graciously told her not to worry about them and wished her luck, but that they'd greatly miss her while she was gone. She hated skipping work because no one was there to cover for her; she was it, the one physician on staff. All of the routine work would fall to Katie, but any emergencies would mean that the inmate would have to be transferred to a nearby hospital, which in theory is fine, but it's an expensive and cumbersome process, which is why they'd hired her in the first place. She tried not to think about it, keeping the guilt at bay. They'd manage without her…they were gonna have to.

The line moved forward and she made her way through, collecting her bag and slipping her shoes back on. She checked the board for her flight number and started heading towards her gate. It felt so familiar and comfortable being in an airport again. She used to travel all the time but hadn't taken a trip in forever. She racked her brain, trying to figure out when she had last taken a vacation or even stayed in a hotel…she honestly couldn't remember, and that was sad.

Maybe the TSA agent had been right, she needed to enjoy the warm weather and tropical vibes while she could, even if that meant staring at palm trees from Michael's hospital room…or from her hotel room. She'd booked a room, not knowing if he wanted her to spend the nights there or not, and finding comfort in the fact that she'd have a space of her own if needed.

She found her gate and took a seat, putting her bag on the floor in front of her, realizing how tired she was. She glanced at her phone and realized it wasjust after eleven o'clock, and in her defense, she'd worked a full ten-hour day that started around six that morning. The clock validated her fatigue even though she knew she shouldn't need it to. If she's tired, she's tired, and shouldn't feel the need to prove that she deserved to feel that way, but she did.

She didn't sleep well on airplanes which was an inconvenience, but a little dozing off would be better than nothing. She was set to get into Miami around 4am and would take a cab to a hotel nearby; she was staying close to the airport since she didn't know where Michael's surgery was happening and figured she'd be desperate for an actual bed by the time her flight got in.

Dinner hadn't happened, she realized with a pang in her stomach, but it was too late for that anyways. She didn'treallyfeel hungry, she just felt tired…and anxious, which was an unpleasant combination. The clock glared at her from the wall, reminding her that she had about an hour until she was set to board her flight, so she sat back, crossing one leg over the other.

She watched as people walked past her, some speed walking, others half asleep with neck pillows draped on their shoulders. A group of four business men walked past, well dressed, with their brief cases and designer suits, leaving a subtle cloud of expensive cologne in their wake. It made her think of her father, seeing men like that always did, and it always gave her a slightly queasy feeling, leaving a bad taste in her mouth.

He traveled all the time for work too, always catching a flight here and there, which is why the thing she remembered about him most from growing up was his damn briefcase. That dark brown, leather briefcase that was always at his side. Whenever it was stationed by the door, it meant dad had an early morning flight. To where? She never knew; he didn't bother telling her where and didn't bother saying goodbye. It was as if he expected her, even as a small child, to understand and respect the fact that work took priority over family. If he had to leave, that's just the way it was, and he'd be back whenever he was back.

Her jaw clenched at the memories. She'd always hoped that someday, things would be different. That perhaps, when she was older, they would have more in common, that he would respect her and value her opinion. But the opposite had happened. The older she got, the less he wanted anything to do with her. She knew it was partly because of her struggles with addiction, and sheunderstoodthat. It had been hard on both of them, though for different reasons. She was fighting her battles and he was trying to make sure her battles didn't cloud his political reputation. He'd admitted her to treatment programs and had paid for them, but it didn't take a rocket-scientist to figure out that he did it out of self-interest, and he continued to operate out of self-interest.

His refusal to even allow Veronica more time to look into Lincoln's case was just another example, and it made her wonder how things might have been different. If he had granted them more time, and Veronica found enough evidence to exonerate Lincoln, where would they all be? Lincoln would be free, obviously, but Michael would still be at Fox River. He would have had his surgery already and would be back in his cell. She'd still be his doctor, having to do her best to keep a professional distance, to keep her own walls up when she was around him and being careful not to get too close. She wouldn't be able to visit him like she was going to do now…to have that dinner he'd promised.

She couldn't help it and let out a soft laugh to herself, shaking her head, did that really mean that she owed thanks to her father for being able to date Michael right now? That couldn't possibly be right.

The gate agent's announcement derailed her train of thought, and she was grateful. She grabbed her bag and stood up, along with everyone else, and moved into the line that was forming by the door for boarding. She had a long night ahead of her, and an even longer day ahead of that. She only hoped she'd be able to catch a little bit of sleep on the flight down, but she wasn't holding her breath. With that less than encouraging thought, she scanned her boarding pass and walked onto the plane, bracing herself as best she could for whatever tomorrow might hold.