Authors Note: Hey, this is the epilogue, the final chapter to an interesting turn of events. Thank-you to the people that reviewed this piece and the people who've read it. After this I'm going to mainly attempt to focus only on A Cappella, but we'll see how that goes.

XXXX

Michael shifted in the uncomfortable plastic chair, clasping his hands together in a fist, and leaned forward, balancing his elbows on his knees. The chair was child-sized, too small for his grown form, but the sight in front of him made him forget the complaints of the seating. He laughed as a blond boy dressed in a lion's costume extended his arms, crinkling his fingers to illustrate claws, let out a small roar and scampered to the tree stand. The nine children behind him twirled in a choreographed dance, a couple stumbling slightly, belting out the background lyrics to the boy's song.

The small classroom, colorful decorations and finger paintings hung on every wall space imaginable, remnants of the day's art project scattered on the rectangular desks pushed into the corner, had been transformed into a theater room. The students were on the dais, fully adorned in a variety of animal costumes, their faces painted with make-up for the part they played. They wore smiles, excitedly singing for their parents. The audience of twenty or so adults were bunched together in front of the stage, some fidgeting in the children's desk chairs, some in the back sitting on the desks, or crossed-legged on the ground. Everyone watched the kids intently, unable to take their eyes off of them.

Michael found Meghan standing off to the right, near the edge of the stage, and smiled. It astounded him that this was what his life could be from now on. Two years ago he was a man so astutely focused on the well fare of other people verses himself that he'd been thrown into a tornado of workaholic antics, beating his brain against the wall that incarcerated his kin. He hadn't cared in the beginning who he hurt because all he wanted was to free his brother and he'd worked that manipulation to the point where life got in the way. Sara and Meghan had gotten into the way. And now he was sitting in a pre-kindergarten classroom, watching his daughter perform her first of many school plays.

Not once in the past had he ever considered the possibility of raising a child. He knew that it would have been nice—he was good with children—but he was too overwhelmed with the haunting that he could end up like his own father. Therefore, he was reluctant in settling down since the idea of children would arrive. On the night that he had met his daughter for the first time, he'd lain on Sara's bed and had voiced his concern about his ability to raise her. Could he do it? Would he follow the curse of the men in his family? Lincoln hadn't exactly been a model father when it came to his son, so why did he think that he would take care of his family any better? His love had stroked her child's head, brushing the soft hairs, and laid her head on his shoulder. You're here, aren't you? That proves you're not your father. You're here with us.

Maybe it was true. He didn't remember his father ever being there when he was growing up. Lincoln told him about him, but all he wanted to know was that he had run off without a word, leaving his mother and brother to fend for themselves. Michael held Sara that night, cradling his baby in his arms, and knew he'd never leave them alone. He wanted to have this life and he was going to work his hardest to fulfill this desire.

The little boy bowed out and Meghan stepped forward; Michael grabbed Sara's hand beside him, resting them on her leg. Meghan stood in the center of the stage, dressed in a gray rabbit's costume, gesturing as she started her rehearsed song, singing in the high-pitched voice that belonged to a child. Her parents watched her. Her dark curls were tucked underneath the headpiece, the floppy ears bouncing across her blue eyes, but she carried on the play with an exuberant confidence that was the quintessential of both adults. She traced her fingers, index finger pointed out, in an outline of a circle, singing about a rabbit's hole. Michael's eyes followed her as she hopped across the stage, her arms tucked in, hands limp to exemplify paws. She leapt, he smiled.

Sara glanced at him, catching his reflection in the corner of her eye. He was fighting a tear. He hadn't gone through the journey correctly, unlike many of the men sitting in the room who had changed diapers and aided in learning the alphabet or number system. He'd been absent for most of Meghan's life, unable to watch her grow because of his past and the crimes he had committed to save the person he loved. He risked his own safety to see her the few times he broke and wept, running through the shadows to seek the two girls who held his heart. There hadn't been a returning point; he'd done what he had done and there wasn't any changing that fact.

Sara glanced around her and noticed two mothers—mothers on the PTA Boards—whispering and giggling to one another. Their eyes were pointed at her, searing into the back of Michael's head; several times one of their fingers would lift and pick her out. She scowled, narrowing her eyes at them. The woman hushed involuntarily, noting they had been caught in their gossip of the woman loved by the escaped convict, and fixated themselves on the show. Sara sighed helplessly and looked back to Michael. She squeezed his hand, beckoning him silently to glance at her. He cast a look, his features turning to confusion by the expression on her face. She leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder, snuggling closer as he wrapped his arm around her.

Being with him had never bothered her, not as it had for other people she knew. She'd known since this had all begun that people were going to criticize them and they were going to disapprove, but all that mattered was that she and Michael could live the life they chose together. She hated the words of scorn and judgement, she hated how she heard people whisper when she walked by, she hated that people talked about Michael like scum, and she hated that her daughter had to be caught in the middle. A mother never wants harm to come to her child and she has a divine right to protect herself and the life of her offspring. One more than one occasion she'd had people come and spit lies in her face, scaring her on some level that she'd break into tears in the car. Michael and Sara had agreed, for her safety, that they would wait for several years to tell Meghan about this part of her life, to explain why people treated her parents so differently. It was for the best. But she had proved to be a wise girl for her age; she understood that danger was lurking and comfort was needed. She provided the solace.

Barely anyone gave Michael the courtesy of giving an impression. No one allowed them to get to know him fully. If they did, they would see from one look in his eye as he doted on Meghan that he had an immense love for the little girl. His life had skyrocketed off-course at some part and had safely landed him in a future that he was grateful for, one that was perfectly acceptable by his standards. In the beginning he didn't expect this outcome, like he hadn't expected the literal nightmare would send him a woman to love or that the experience would reproduce a child, but life is funny that way, isn't it?

XXXX

"There's my girl!" Michael bellowed joyously.

Meghan darted out of the classroom and ran into her father's open arms, the rabbit ears slapping her forehead, squirming when he balanced her on his hip. She slung one arm around his neck, her nail poised at her lips, and smiled at Michael and Sara who had surrounded her with praises for the night's performance. She grinned proudly, clenching her pink tongue between her teeth.

"You were great, baby." Sara said, holding Meghan's small hand in her own.

Michael agreed automatically. Meghan shrugged. The play had ended with an embrace of all the children in one song about world peace and, while the boys and girls had undressed in the accorded bathrooms, the parents had migrated to the cafeteria to socialize. Michael and Sara hadn't lingered long, supporting a couple glasses of punch and talking to another group of adults, since Meghan never stayed in one place too long. As predicted, they had gotten back to the classroom to pick her up just when she'd turned in the costume to her teacher. She greeted them in a red sundress.

"Did you at least have fun?" Michael inquired, holding her on his hip with both hands.

A few pairs of parents were waiting for their children in the hallway as well, one discussing a matter with the teacher, but Michael turned and started to make his way for the front door, not enjoying the feel of their eyes on his family. Sara caught the teacher's eye and waved at the woman. She returned the gesture.

"Yeah. But practicing was more fun." Meghan confessed, dropping one hand at her shoulder to twirl a strand of hair around her finger.

Sara strolled beside them, walking in stride with Michael, listening to the conversation. "Why was it better?"

Again, Meghan shrugged. Michael glowered sarcastically at the little girl, then his eyes found the ears pointed up on her head, attached to a plastic headband settled in her hair by a coil. It reminded him of the silly antennae kids used to wear when mocking aliens. He patted down on the ears. "What are these?" he asked.

Meghan immediately covered the ears with her hands, protecting the furry cloth. "Daddy! These are my ears!" she exclaimed.

Michael held up a hand, defenseless. "I'm sorry." he replied in a child's whine.

As they neared the door, Michael's ear caught the faint echo of pounding water on asphalt. He looked to the front door and found a crowd of families around the door, helplessly stationed there, isolated under the porte cochere. Michael wondered aloud, grabbing Sara's attention. She narrowed her eyes and ventured ahead, leaving Michael and Meghan at their leisure pace. She pushed open the door just as Michael came up behind her, reaching out to hold it open for them. She whimpered.

Huddled under the cover, families mystified at the sudden downpour, staring in confused anger as the rain sheeted down in a white glow, making any visibility nearly impossible. The sudden life of red and yellow lights could barely be seen radiating through the maze of cars, sending out rays onto other vehicles. The lights danced across their frozen forms. The pavement had been transformed into a glassy gloss, the sheen clearly reflected. Michael set Meghan down gingerly; she held Sara's hand.

Michael peaked his head out, examining the melancholy black and gray clouds over their heads. A droplet just missed the tip of his nose. "Was there any rain in the forecast?" he questioned, thinking back to the last weather report he'd seen, which had been almost three days ago.

"Not that I was aware of." Sara professed. She looked at him, studying his spacious coat. "Did you bring an umbrella?"

"Well, no. It wasn't supposed to rain." he retorted.

"Well,"—her shoulders drooped—"that's what you get for parking on the other end of the parking lot."

Michael gapped at her. She arched an eyebrow at him, urging him on to play. Smirking, he hastily grabbed her hand and wound it behind her back as he wrapped her in his arms. "Hush." he commanded.

"Oh, don't tell me to hush. You got us stuck in this." she playfully countered. He kissed her cheek; Meghan whined, pleading that they not embarrass her. They smiled at her. "What do you propose we do?"

"Well," Michael considered. "We're here and our car's out there so…" He kept a firm grip on Sara's hand and stepped back, pulling her out from under the cover. He mischievously grinned at Meghan. "We run."

Before Sara could sputter a word of protest, she was dashing for the car, screaming Michael's name. Meghan laughed beside her, her wet locks flying behind her. Sara shrieked again, clasping her eyes closed as laughter bubbled from her throat, their figures now fleeting guises wrapped in a white sheet. Michael ran ahead of the girls, leading the way through the rumble. He held Sara's hand above his hand as they squeezed in between two cars, yelling a word of encouragement. He fondled the keys in his pocket, drew them out, and unlocked the car quickly. It blinked twice.

He released Sara's hand. They parted sides, drops thundering off their faces and clothing. Michael noticed Meghan was missing. He looked back and smiled, remembering in that moment why he was going to love being a father. She stood behind the car; head titled back in a welcoming to the storm, enjoying the warm rain. The water had rapidly mottled her clothes, wrinkled and frumpy as the rain absorbed into the fabric. Water sluiced down her face, capturing her cheeks and lips. She could feel it soaking her skin and slide down her neck. She opened her mouth. Moisture flowed in and she tasted the dusty sweetness of it. She twirled in the torrent, clothes clinging, her arms stretched to the dark sky.

Thunder reverberated through the neighborhood, punctuating a bright flash of lightning. The girl slowly came to a stop. All around her leaves shivered and shook from the impact of the storm. On all sides the grass glistened in the faint light. The soft spatter of petite splashes was heard wherever drops fell on the drenched sidewalk. She heard a car swashing down further in the lot before she saw it; water sprayed from its wheels as it sped through the puddles on the uneven street. The sound grew louder, then fainter as it passed.

"Meghan!" Michael called, raising his voice to be audible. "Come on!"

The little girl whirled around to her dad and ran for the safety of the car. He braced the door open and slammed it shut as she slipped in, climbing in the vehicle himself. Sara shook her hair out, wetting her fingers, sporting a vivacious curly coiffure.

She giggled then pointed a menacing finger at the man beside her. "I blame you."

Michael gazed at her, completely oblivious to what she said. He admired her, how her red hair was threaded and plastered to her smooth skin, how she wore that large smile even though she'd been pulled into running across a parking lot in the rain, how she was gazing at him with the equal amount of fire and adoration.

"Dad, I don't want to go home." Meghan declared, plumping out her lip in a defiant pout.

Michael turned in his seat, a smear smoothing across the leather. "You don't want to go home? What do you want to do then?"

Meghan shrugged, her infinite answer for her indecisive attitude. "I think it's past Meghan's bedtime." Sara voiced maternally.

"Sara, come on."

"Mommy! Please!" Meghan begged in unison.

"Yeah, Mom, let us go somewhere." Michael echoed.

Sara huffed, mouth open in disbelief at Michael. He really was getting good at this. She collapsed against the seat, crossing her arms over her drenched shirt. "Okay. What do you want to do?"

"How does ice cream sound, Meg?" Michael offered.

Meghan gasped excitedly, her entire body arching upwards in absolute agree. "But no chocolate." Sara jumped in. "You have that you'll have so much energy tonight that you'll be bouncing off the walls."

Michael raised his eyebrows, thinking in his mind. He started the car. "That has me sold."

Sara gawked at him, seeing the hidden agenda in the statement. She lightly swatted his arm. He stuck his tongue out at her. He eased them out of the parking lot, following behind an SUV, and veered off down the slick street, killing the reflections of the red and yellow traffic lights. He and Meghan stumbled into an ebullient retelling of a birthday party she had recently gone to where the little boy who turned five had gotten cake smeared in his face. Michael bounced questions back at her, relishing the feeling of her words.

Sara watched him, smiling to herself, head titled, thinking this was his place. After everything he had been through, after everything he had witnessed that had brought him to this moment, he deserved this. He deserved to be normal and not have to worry about the government coming after him and his family. She reached for his hand rested in the space between them. He took his eyes off the road and looked at her. She offered a smile. He rose her hand to his lips and kissed it, his thumb caressing the skin.

Sara had searched her whole life for what she saw as her place in life. Sitting a classroom decorated by the hands of four- and five-year-olds, in the arms of the inmate that took her heart and gave her a daughter, she found her place. That place was with her family and for the first time in nearly five years, that what she could call it: a family.

XXXX

FIN

A/N: Well, there was the epilogue. I hoped you enjoyed this story; I sure enjoyed writing it since I didn't think it was worth it when I first started it seven months ago. I don't know what prompted me to end it with rain and ice cream. I suppose it could be the fact that it's raining here and I remember dancing in the rain as a little girl. Do you remember those days? I do; they were carefree, enjoyable. Anyway, that's it for now. I'll catch ya on the flip-side.