Disclaimer: I do not own Prison Break in any way. Which is depressing, because if I owned it….Well, let's just say there'd be more Michael and Sara interactions involving a partially dressed Wentworth Miller.

A/N: So this is my very first Prison Break fic. It of course takes place immediately after the fall finale. Hope you enjoy, and please, please leave a review, so that I can post the next chapter. By the way, the song to this is, "Far Away," by Nickelback, which I feel suits our fave couple perfectly.

Chapter One

This time, This place
Misused, Mistakes
Too long, Too late
Who was I to make you wait

Sara had spent the last hour walking the crowded street, trying to plan her next move. Michael, the one person she knew she could trust, had been captured. She didn't know where that left her, but she knew it wasn't good. Although, at that moment, all she could think of was him. Michael…She thought sadly. He was going to watch his brother be executed, only to spend the rest of his life behind bars. Closing her eyes, she leaned against the brick wall of a store front, trying desperately to gather her thoughts. She knew she had a key. Possibly, and probably, the one thing Lance had been after. The one last solid piece of her father she had left. Oh, god, dad…She remembered his limp body hanging from the noose. Blinking back tears, Sara turned her key ring over in her hand, inspecting the strange key, before returning it to the safety of her pocket. The key was important, that much she knew. But why was it important? Although she really had no clue, she suspected it somehow linked her back to Michael and Lincoln.

I have no ties to you and your brother anymore. Ha, right. She thought helplessly. She knew she would never not have ties to Michael. Something about him just got to her. He was so different from anyone she'd ever known. If things had been different...Though what did it matter anymore? Michael and Lincoln had been caught. Dammit Michael! She cursed him in her mind. Though she knew she wasn't really angry with him. She was angry at herself. Angry that she had doubted Michael enough to get into her car to leave, only to realize that she couldn't bear to leave him behind. Her few regretful minutes of hesitation had cost her deeply. She ached all over. Her recently sutured arm stung, and she knew she had better clean the wound again soon. The last thing she wanted to do was risk an infection. Medical treatment was not something she wanted to deal with right now. What she needed was to disappear for a while. Lance – or whoever he was – would probably be pissed, and more determined than ever to find her. Though, disappearing sounded easier than it was in reality. She had very limited finances, no clean clothes, and absolutely nowhere to go. And yes, the one person that she needed - no - wanted to help her, couldn't even help himself.

She tapped her head back against the concrete several times in frustration, ignoring the awkward looks she was getting from curious passers by. Dammit Sara, think! She urged herself angrily. She ran her hands through her hair, noticing the odd feel her newly cut hair. Sighing, she pushed herself of the wall and started to head back down the street, trying to decide her next move. If only she could figure out a way to contact Michael somehow, she prayed silently.

As if someone had been listening to her prayer, as she rounded the next corner she once again caught sight of the television inside a store window. Michael's face flashed up on the screen, followed closely by Lincoln, and then flashing back to an eager reporter.

Breaking news just in! The reporter exclaimed excitedly. It seems that the fugitives behind the Fox River 8 escape, Michael Scofield and his brother, Lincoln Burrows, have just an hour ago escaped from police custody. The pair was being transferred back to Fox River penitentiary to carry out their sentences. Burrows was scheduled to be executed for the murder of President Reynold's brother, Terrence Steadman…. The sound of the reporters voice faded as Sara took in the shocking news.

Michael is okay! She thought happily as relief swept through her body. Michael. Is. Okay. She allowed herself a small smile before realizing in horror that she'd left any hope of contacting him behind. She began to retrace her earlier steps, hurrying through the crowd, trying desperately to find what she was looking for. At last, after about 10 minutes of running at a slight jog, she stopped, almost out of breath, next to the trash can she had tossed her phone in earlier. She glanced around, once again noticing the curious glances she was receiving from people nearby, before thrusting her hand down into the garbage. She squirmed and tried not to gag as her hand felt something slimy. Oh god, please, please, please be here! She begged silently.

Suddenly, she heard a ring tone sound from deep inside the pile of trash. Hurriedly, she began to sift through, desperately trying to locate the source of the sound. Finally, she felt her hand grasp the phone, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She pulled the phone out, not even bothering to wipe it off, before lifting it to her ear. Just as she was about to answer, the familiar ring tone stopped, and the phone went silent. She flipped the phone open frantically, checking the caller ID: Private number.

"Dammit!" She cried in a tear filled voice, yet again attracting odd stares. It's ok, she thought hopefully. He'll call back. He has to. Sara stared at the screen, willing it to ring. All of a sudden, the phone emitted a sharp beep, displaying the last words she wanted to see: Battery low. It chirped a final time before the screen went black. Resisting the urge to throw the phone, Sara stood up shakily, clutching the phone tightly. Giving a final glance down at the screen, she tucked the phone safely in her pocket, and took off down the street.